The pictures tell many stories … the gentleman admiring Saskia (picture 5) was the inn keeper. We stayed there for about two weeks; one evening he took me into a backroom with a big hubba-bubba water pipe. He invited me for a smoke and plied me with hashish and opium. I did keep my senses with me, though, realising there was an agenda. When he thought I was high enough he came to me with a proposition he thought I would not be able to resist: he wanted to buy Saskia. He offered US$2,000 in cash and any amount of hashish and/or opium I would want … delivered to Amsterdam. We left that very night, didn’t wait for breakfast.
In the picture below it (7) Saskia is sitting next to what we first thought was a hitch-hiker; he travelled with us – together with two soldiers – for a few days. He was there for our protection. A few days prior we had that incidence I describe below, under the picture with the boy and who I think is his grandfather.
Picture 8 shows a fire under the oil sump, to thaw the frozen oil. The engine wouldn’t start otherwise, what with the temperature some twenty degrees below zero at night. Truck drivers kept their diesel engine running, as they slept in the heated cab.
The soldiers came in handy too … at that stay in that guesthouse (pic 7) in Northern Afghanistan I needed to go to the toilet, which was an open area behind the building, where people would squat and do their business. The governor directed a soldier to come with me … I protested, I can go to the toilet all by myself, to no avail. I ordered the soldier to stay away, for some privacy.
Now, we had already been aware of dogs everywhere, of the wild kind … one could hardly tell if they were dogs or wolves. Well, as soon as I bared my bum one of those beasts came for it, teeth at the ready. The soldier was ready too and jumped into action: the dog copped a rifle butt in the snout. And I ordered the soldier to stand right next to me … I think I probably shat on his boot!
Afghanistan was a tricky place to travel through, for two reasons: it was winter and we travelled through the North, from Herat to Kabul via Mazari Sharif. In hindsight, a very dangerous – if not stupid – thing to have done … at one stage apparently we had entered Russia!