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It's a dusty day in the village of Belanday. People are playing soccer in their traditional Afghan clothing. Canadian soldiers are waiting at the gate of this small village to deliver supply to them. Then, a bomb goes off.
The water supply truck I'm riding in races away from the scene, but remains close enough that I can still see the situation in the village. The soccer playing stops and people gather around the "dead." It turns out, it was a suicide bomber.
Welcome to the Kandahar Air Field, right here in Wainwright, Alberta where even the weather is the same -- hot as a desert by midday, cold as one at night.
I'm spending three nights at the Canadian Manoeuvre Training Centre as a part of the media tour and after only a few hours I start to appreciate the simpler things. The 1,200 reservists from Ontario preparing for their eventual tour, though, have to stick it out for two weeks.
Master Corporal Michael Woolley, a 'Class B' reservist from London, Ont. Snaps a picture in late August during the Canadian Forces Maple Defender training exercise. Mcpl. Woolley is the Public Affairs Photographer and he has been in the reserves for more than seven years.
Photogallery
The idea of Maple Defender, as the exercise is called, is to expose the reservists to the worst situations they might face during their deployment in Afghanistan. The scenarios -- like the Belanday bombing -- are carefully created by veterans who have been "in country," and they are played out by real Afghans and actors who are either villagers or insurgents. No one knows who the enemy is. They speak Farsi to the Canadian soldiers and the soldiers have to rely on interpreters, just like in real life.
The base is in the middle of nowhere. There is no artificial light and at night, it's pitch dark. But the stars shine brightly at night, and you can even catch a few shooting stars, although I wasted my wish on having dry feet.
The soldiers and 20-odd journalists on the manoeuvre sleep in tents. There's not a single porcelain toilet within artillery distance, just portable washrooms that are never as clean as you'd like them to be and never lose their stench. To top it off, there are no hand-washing stations nearby.
But the food is hot. Most of it, at least. The soldiers and media embeds eat the same food soldiers eat in Afghanistan. We're all given Individual Meal Packs (IMPs), and although the Canadian rations are supposed to be some of the best in the world, believe me, you wouldn't want to try subsiding on them for longer than a weekend. IMPs come in brown bags and are full of pre-packaged foods that -- whether good or bad -- have enough preservative in them to sit safely on the shelf for years.
One good thing is there's a wide selection of entrée choices such as Swiss steak, Indian chicken, and Minestrone Stew. My favourite is the beef cannelloni in tomato sauce. These packs also come with instant drink mixes as well as desserts ranging from chocolate bars and cookies. Some soldiers save these sweets for later when they are in the field and they have no time to eat.
The same night the village of Belanday is bombed, I decide to look for more action with some Engineers heading to the replicated village of Loy Karezak to build wells.
I was led to believe that Loy Karezak is only about half an hour from the FOB (Forward Operating Base). This ride, however, turns out to be one of the longest rides of my life.
Don't get me wrong. I had a good time chatting with the guys. There's no fluff. They say what's on their mind. They are honest. They swear, they joke, and they laugh. Everyone is friendly. Being in a platoon, you can definitely feel the camaraderie.
By the third hour of sitting in this truck, my bladder is about to burst. Being the only woman among seven male soldiers and one other journalist, I patiently wait for a chance to use a proper washroom (and by proper washroom, I mean one of those portable ones). I can only hold for so long, so I decide to speak up.
" Um… I really have to pee."
" Okay, wait here, I'll check," says one soldier, who jumps out of the truck.
"You might have to wait. The land is flat and there are no bushes around," he tells me.
I try, but after only a few more minutes I realize I can't.
"I think I'm gonna go behind the truck…"
"Give her some TP." I discover TP stands for toilet paper.
One of the soldiers hands me a roll he was using as a pillow. By this point, I am not even embarrassed, only focused on getting somewhere quickly and I accept the toilet paper and jump out of the truck.
I stoop down behind a giant army truck tire while one of the soldiers watches out for me. It reminds me of how my dada would do the same thing when I was a kid on family road trips. There is an awkward silence when I get back on the truck. Nothing's private in the army.
After all the waiting, we never even get to Loy Karezak. Instead, we stop in the middle of a large field. It's pitch black, and we are told to get out of the truck. It is cold and it starts to drizzle. The other journalist and I are told that we can't use light or make any noise. It is so dark, you feel invisible. You can hardly see where you are standing and who you are talking to. The occasional flash of lightning and roar of thunder makes it even eerier.
I exercise my prerogative as a civilian and jump back on the truck because the rain is getting heavy, but the soldiers have to stay out.
Eventually everyone is told to pile back in and we head back to the base. No action, no well building. This night was just one of army's "hurry up and wait" episodes.
By the time I'm dropped off at my tent at 2:30 a.m., I am exhausted, wet and freezing and have never been so happy to crawl into a damp sleeping bag and fall asleep to the soothing sound of rain.
