Kandahar Dispatches

I've been lucky in many ways during my trip to Afghanistan.

It is a Muslim country, and as a woman I've had to be careful. I have an Afghan outfit, complete with head scarf for when I go into Kandahar city.

I don't wear my sunglasses or makeup. And I always sit in the backseat. However, being a woman here has allowed me some unique opportunities as well. I've been able to meet and interview more women than some of my male colleagues.

This is my first time to the NATO base in Kandahar. So just about everything is new.

I pretty much spent the first few days wandering around with eyes wide open (not so smart with the dust) trying to figure out what kind of world I've landed in.

There are lots of interesting oddities. But my favourite is the small discs you get instead of change when you buy something.

I landed in Kandahar under a hot sun.

It feels a little like you've landed in another universe. This is after all a military base. In the middle of the desert.

Shortly after I arrived I found out there was going to be a ramp ceremony for the latest Canadian soldier to die in Afghanistan.

I had seen these ceremonies so often on television, but to stand there, and hear it, and witness it first hand was unreal.

For the media at Kandahar Airfield, it was a bizarre weekend to say the least.

One event in particular reminded us that we are definitely not in Canada. Our phones started buzzing, practically simultaneously, early Saturday afternoon. Text messages, phone calls, e-mails were coming in from our "fixers."

They are the local journalists we hire to keep an eye on things outside the wire, videotape "breaking news" we can't get to quickly and help us conduct and translate interviews in Pashto and Dari.

They had important news, they told us.

Afghan Security Intelligence Officials were having a news conference in the late afternoon.

Brief mentions of the arrests of several "Pakistani Taliban" were followed by promises of updates when possible.

Are Afghan women better off now than they were five years ago? The CBC's Carolyn Dunn reports from Kabul.

At first glance, Kandahar Airfield is exactly the same as it was when I was here a year ago. It is still dusty; clean hair is a luxury I know I won’t enjoy again for weeks. It is still so dry most of us are constantly guzzling water and complaining that our skin feels as taut as a drum skin.

Our working space is exactly the same, though the military is repositioning us in the coming days. If you hear no news from KAF, you’ll know we’re still trying to figure out which wire goes where.

They’ve changed sleeping tents since I was here last, but a cot in a tent is a cot in a tent no matter where it is. Even most of the journalists and technicians know each other pretty well. It gave my cameraman, Richard Devey, pause. “It’s surreal. I’ve got a real sense of déjà vu,” he told our table at lunch yesterday. He’s right. It is the same, only different.

By David Common

My post yesterday on how much information should be made public on wounded Canadian soldiers has elicited a great many responses. There are obviously many of you out there who feel passionately about this.

I’ve also heard from the military, which says it puts out all the information possible. [The DND response is included in the continuation of this post.]

By David Common

I’ve just spent a few days on a thrilling and depressing story. My camera operator and I were embedded with an American medevac helicopter crew. They’re a good, friendly, capable bunch of guys who welcomed us instantly.

By far, the majority of the injured who are loaded into the back of their heaving Blackhawks are Canadians.

That tells a tale now rarely talked about: a great many Canadian soldiers are being injured in Afghanistan. And we’re not hearing about it.

By David Common

Kandahar City

Cameraman Marc Robichaud and I dashed in to Kandahar City the other day. I say dashed because that's exactly what you have to do. The city is a very dangerous place for westerners so when we go, it's a short visit. No time to visit the dry cleaners, if you catch my drift.

We dress in the traditional shalwar kameez (many people call it a pajama top) which is very comfortable and airy in southern Afghanistan's often overpowering heat. We know full well that we aren't fooling anyone who can see us up close, especially with my blondish hair. But the idea is to keep as low profile as possible, including on the drive there.

By David Common

It was a vicious two weeks. During September 2006, in the place the movement was born, Taliban fighters gathered en masse in the Panjwaii Valley, presumably to prepare for an all-out assault on the nearby strategic city of Kandahar.

Almost all of Canada's battle group was sent out and day after day, there were hours and hours of shooting. Canadian soldiers died. Taliban fighters died (though it's never been clear how many). When it was over, NATO claimed victory and suggested insurgent forces were destroyed. Operation Medusa, as it was known, became legendary.

The problem is, while the Canadians could fight, they couldn't stay. The troops were needed elsewhere.