Experience Date- April 2012
Location- Village of Senjaray, Zhari District, Afghanistan

Song- My Demons by Starset

https://youtu.be/LSvOTw8UH6s?si=0cf20snDyIUF54sf

I found myself staring at my firstborn in shock one day, in her eyes reflected back the little girl I met in COP Senjaray, Afghanistan (AFG) in April 2012. The likeness of their faces, the smile, the fighting Spirit, them deep brown eyes telling of Souls so much older than mine. I crashed back into 2012 yet stood in the midst of the year of 2024 pushing and pulling the energetic cords between it all. It tears me apart every other day because there is no way of knowing for sure what happened to the girl from AFG, coupled with the distance between my babies. I’m eleven months postpartum after my second girl and I went off the rails, unhinged, and left them in better hands than mine. I have not seen my two babies in over seven months. I do not think anyone can truly understand the number of flashbacks of emotions I go through, let alone sounds, smells, and geographical similarities of the deserts of New Mexico…Anyway, part of my job consisted of gathering information from the women of AFG on the front lines with the men of Bravo Company, 1-508 PIR, 82nd ABN DIV. (Youtube video posted below) That is how I ended up traversing the Village of Senjaray and the likeness of the adobe bricks they laid out to dry took me back to my hometown of Zuni Pueblo, NM. The children were walking barefoot or with what was left of their shoes covered in duct tape with bundles of sticks on their back for firewood. (attached links for Zuni/AFG references below). I would haul wood with my family, use axes and bare hands to carry back to our truck and run barefoot kicking up the dust and stepping on goathead thorns. I don’t mean to find so many similarities, but I ended up finding them anyway. Most of the women and children would open up immediately to my teammate and I without a second glance. These experiences all blend in on different patrols because of how big a blur it has become, and the flashbacks come at random times so bear with me as I type to let some of this out.

The biggest part I did not enjoy seeing was how the females were given little to no education and living in the shadows of the men who did not seem to value the lives of the girls they gave life to… they would sell them off for bags of rice, sheep, and other things in exchange for an arranged marriage and a lot of them raped as well as the unlucky little boys around. I did not see all of that happen so I cannot confirm it, but it did not feel as peaceful as it may have looked. However, I did feel love in between the mothers, the resilience and empathy flowing from their eyes and Souls. My Military Occupational Specialty (MOS) was a 68W- Healthcare Specialist/Combat Medic which I kept hidden from them for security reasons, but it got out anyway. There was one instance where I was asked for medical advice and all of a sudden, I became the doctor to go to. The questions that arose, the things that I tended to… were not good. From the smells of the wounds of a stray bullet on a young girl’s leg to picking off gangrene off a little boy’s head still comes back to me in spurts…there was only so much I could do. I did not know at the time I was an Empath so the energies I picked up where many as I laid my hands on so many people and for every person I touched, I did not yet know just how much I gave pieces of myself away to them... We managed to visit a place of education called the Pir Muhammad school that was war tattered because of the Taliban’s hold on such places and taught the good forces of the Afghan National Army (ANA) and Afghan Local Police (ALP) how to defend those educational strongholds. I sat in the class with what was left of the remaining girls and teachers brave enough to get there, for the walks were long and treacherous. The language beautifully written on the chalkboard while the girls giggled and sat in awe at the sight of us with our weapons next to an open book and pencil. It gave me so much gratitude for all the education that came to me at the tip of a hat throughout all my years. It saddens me still, yet I pull strength from these experiences to this day, and the little girl crosses my mind so much. Did she gather courage to stand up to the men when I showed up that day? Did she learn resilience from me just as much as I learned resilience from her?? Did she learn how to read and write that beautiful language of Pashto? The cursive letters flowing gently across the chalkboard…Is she even still alive…My heart aches for all the unanswered questions, yet I have my own babies to help find their place in the world despite many miles between them and I. The experience of that family ended abruptly because the Taliban caught hold of the two brothers who would come sit and talk with us and beat them for it. They stayed away from us, and I moved to a different unit midway in July to COP Kandalay with Delta Company with a new village to experience. We did not go out as much so there is little experience I had to share except pulling security in the wee hours of the night while the rest of the Soldiers slept. The rare times we did go out, it was brief and not something I can remember much at the moment. These are only my experiences I can remember off the top of my head and need to release in order to heal. There are different experiences I will write more about later. Such as a wedding we got to participate for the police chief of Senjaray which was exhilarating, despite the meaning behind an arranged marriage. For now, my heart needs to find some healing after all this. The girl pictured looks very similar to my firstborn, Summer which is why I will not post of what Summer looks like. I hope this all made sense and this is me speaking from my heart, nearly in tears, and releasing what needs to be let go of. I hope this ignites the compassion I have felt for many years and opens your heart to see just how fortunate we all are living in this amazing country, especially as women. I gear this toward anyone, but this may hit harder to women than men. Thank you all for sitting and sharing one of my Fyrestarter stories.