Today was ashura, the day when the mud hut dwellers whip themselves and cut their foreheads to show their sacrifice to the moon god--or whatever is is they believe in. I started my day by watching the ritual of the beheading of the lunch goats. Always a pleasant thing to make you want to skip lunch. Best part was they did it right into the open sewer, so the blood will linger for days. Hey, something else for the flies and mosquitoes to dine on besides me! If I don't get malaria it'll be a miracle.
Of course, being such gracious hosts, I was invited to lunch. For a people who've been eating goat for the last 7,000 years, you'd think they'd learn how to cook one decently by now. The afghans are far better at using the spice rack than the Iraqis are, but it still tastes like well-seasoned boiled goat. I so wanted to take the goats away from them and show them how to operate a smoker and bbq pit. These barbarians don't even know about mint jelly!
I was interviewed also, very briefly, today, too. I was asked "What makes you Army Strong, able to handle the challenges of separation, the anxiety, the loneliness, and the mix of emotion that comes with combat and reintegration?"
My answer: "Zoloft."
I don't think they'll be using that one.