# Found this on the laptop, forgot I wrote it.



## Mojo Magnum (30 Oct 2010)

Wrote this while over seas a couple years ago.  I had been in theatre for five months at this point and was more than ready for a break.  I loved all the guys/gals I worked/lived with and all shots taken were in good fun.  I'm no writer, it is what it is.  As always the real purpose behind sharing this type of thing is to offer some window into the experience for the new guys/gals .    Enjoy.


Sunday January 18, 2009


Eighteen days, that’s how long I’ve got until I go home for my HLTA (vacation).  I can’t believe my luck so far.  I’ve been here in Afghanistan since late September of 08.  It’s mid January now and the rainy season is in full swing here.  Mud everywhere.  The rain comes down hard and fast, pools up and evaporates before it can sink in and make any permanent change to the dry, barren landscape that makes up this boring place.  Oh it’s exciting enough to be here, but like most Canadians, I like my excitement on a regular basis, and the novelty has most definitely worn off.  There is a famine here, rarely talked about accept in the most private of social circles.  I know it’s not a new thing, it’s mentioned in every war movie worth watching.  Dry times, literally.  No booze, and worst of all, no sex.  My thoughts inevitably shift to that which I miss most.  A certain goddess of a woman who waits not so patiently for me to return and take up my place as “the guy who keeps the kids in line”.  And not to mention “the guy who meets her needs”.   After this many months living the “dry, celebate and well mannered lifestyle that is the norm for deployed pers all over the world.  I’m ready to have my needs met as well.

Whatever I was looking for in this experience, I’ve found it.  As is common in my experiences in life, the meteoric rise to the top has been somewhat elusive.  In fact, as is common in my experiences in life, covering my ass is about the most I can hope to successfully achieve, and even then with some room for improvement.  In my five months in theatre I have narrowly escaped a prison sentence, had a Navy guy try to charge me with insubordination and after a full year of work up training, had my job completely changed as soon as I stepped off the plane.  I’ve been out on the road standing next to wild hawgee’s, ran some two hundred fifty meters of exposed road in IED country with all my ‘full battle rattle” on to get to other troops in need of my assistance (I’m the radio guy), and found myself standing where other Canadians had died just days before.  But, at least I’m not in the factory anymore.  I spent ten years of my life living the very meaning of James Taylor’s song “Mill worker”.  Day in, day out, mouse on a wheel and whatever awaits me down this road I would gladly accept it over never having experienced anything but the same four walls for the duration of my adult life.  I don’t know how some people do it.  I suppose it’s how you are raised.  One too many talks from Mom about how I can do anything, and be anything I set my mind to.  So here I am,  turning 38 in five months and damn, what a wild ride so far.  I’ve married the love of my life, weathered the challenges that marriage brings, I’m the Father of three teenaged sons, all of whom show wondrous potential for the future of which I am excited to see, and I am embarking upon a new journey as a middle aged Private in the Canadian Army.  It’s been everything I’ve hoped for.  Adventure, travel, steady pay and benefits for the family, and of course, many a new friend to share the adventure with.

Like anyone who spends time deployed in the forces one of the essential ingredients of survival is comfort, and all things considered, I’ve got it pretty good.  While hundreds of my contemporaries braving the sparse conditions of forward operating bases throughout Kandahar province, I enjoy the relative comfort of KAF.  Lying in my bunk bed where I share a room with one other person, I’ve applied the trusty paracord to my laptop.  It’s tied to the bed above me, and I can enjoy web surfing, online chat, watch movies or game it up, all without having to rise from my pillow.  Not bad at all.  It’s not for everyone though, as my roommate can attest.  His attempts at stringing up his laptop ended in failure as it came down on his head.   It was fun to watch.  Being from southern Ontario myself, it’s always fun to enjoy the cultural diversity of other Canadians.  Because as all Ontarians know, we are the only normal ones in the whole damn country.  My roommate and I are both late joiners to the CF.  We are both in our mid-thirties and have both lost our Mothers to natural causes within the past five years.  We are the same age as our leadership and perform well above our rank level.   And that is where our similarities end.  I’m married, he’s divorced, I have three sons, he has one daughter.  Having been a broadcaster for several years I am at ease talking with groups of people, but have grown tired of the sound of my own voice and enjoy hearing the stories of other people.  My roommate has no such concern and delights in the sound of his own voice.  We do both come from Ontario, but while I am from southern Ontario cottage country, he hales from Timmins, Ontario and would be considered more of a Quebecer than an Ontario-ite.  He is fully bi-lingual unlike my Ontario self and though my francais died a horrible death somewhere back in grade 9, I do know enough to know that French is his preferred and primary language.  It shows.  He does not speak with the broken French Canadian accent that Justin Timberlake did so well in Mike Myer’s “Love Guru”, in fact it’s only because I spend so much time with him that I’ve observed his word selection is somewhat “off” and that is really the only give away.  A very small matter, but I delight in pointing it out to him and blowing it out of proportion just to watch him squirm.  He is short in height as well as temper, way too loud, and takes pleasure in speaking French when surrounded by other Canadians who do not. His skills with the opposite sex are reminiscent of a really bad vacuum cleaner salesman   True to the stereo type of short Quebecer males, he embodies all that the rest of the country loves to hate about Quebecers.  He insists on being treated with respect even though he continually offends those around him and is completely oblivious to this fact, he pronounces Latin phrases as if they were originally written in French, and has a desperate need to be the centre of attention in any gathering of more than two people.  And, true to form,  I like him.  He is trustworthy, hardworking, and he wears his heart on his sleeve.  You never have to work too hard to find out what is on his mind, and where you stand with him.  He and I are the only two Signallers in Transport Platoon and that makes us the odd men out in a group of some fifty truckers who come from all over the country.  Cowboys from Alberta, Newfie’s and Cape Brettoners, a Jamaican from Ontario, and of course no Canadian military group is complete without your complete contrast of Québécers and Ontarians.  We make a fine gaggle.  With all our cultural diversity, occupational differences and varied educational levels, it’s more than a box of chocolates and from day to day you most definitely never know what you are going to get.

I’ve come a long way since I joined the forces three years ago, back then anything the other side of Montreal was Newfoundland, and anything between Sudbury and Alberta was,  well,  I just didn’t care.  In fact I still don’t.  What the hell ever came out of Manitoba anyway?  The cowboys are from Alberta, and the only stories I ever heard about BC had to do with how much POT was out there, and then something about mountains, I don’t know.   

One thing that completely surprised me, was the intensity of the patriotism that radiated from all those who hailed from a strange and distant land they call Cape Breton.  Damn those people are proud, and some of the best people to drink with.  Them and newfie’s,  I love them all.  Bless Stan Roger’s soul (he’s from Orangeville, ONTARIO by the way). Being my true Ontario “instigator” self, I just love to sit down with my Cape Bretoner drinking buddies, sing “Barrett’s Privateer’s” again, then feed them a few and then call them  Newfie’s and watch them go off.  Good Times.

Surrounded by all this Canadian cultural diversity, it makes Afghanistan a bit easier to take.   While I normally would have no interest in hearing my Newfoundlander friends describe the difference between a townie and that other name for people who did not come from “town”,  after five months of Kandahar Airfield, even an ADD boy from Ontario like myself can take comfort in hearing for the tenth time all about the Trailer Park boys and how they film their stuff in Nova Scotia.  And more than once I’ve entertained the boys on my stories of picking up young hotties when I was in College.  Why is it that only Ontario guys have the good pick up stories?  I don’t know.  Maybe it’s because we don’t pronounce “th” like the letter “d”.

I know my newfie friends are not dumb, I’ve watched them trounce all comers at chess, and go months on end without a day off and still maintain their level of professionalism.  But get two or more of them together and god help me. They love to talk about dis and dat dee udder ting.  And den they go down dere to du dat ting wit all tree of de bye’s, and oh my god I’m ready to shoot myself in the foot to get away from it all.  Good thing they’re so friendly, or it would be like hanging out with people who don’t speak proper English and are rude, hmm  who could that be?  I won’t say since I’ve already trounced the roommate enough for one session.

Well, I had an itch to stretch the old writing legs, and I’d say that itch has been successfully scratched for today.  I’ll write again later if I get the chance.


See ya.


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## newfin (1 Nov 2010)

That was the best thing I've read in a while!  I hope you have more and plan on posting it here.

It's funny about listening to Newfie's talk when there's a group of them around...I am born and raised in Southern Ontario-half of my life in the GTA and the second half in Niagara but my family is from Notre Dame Bay, NL.  Specifically Fogo and Change Islands.  Whenever I am fortunate enough to be around Newfoundlanders their speech sounds like music to me.  I can never get enough of listening to how they have such a more varied and interesting way of speaking english than I have learned and use in Ontario.  I guess it all comes down to what you are raised with.  Some languages are very hard to listen to and some are melodic.   Even english has versions that I find hard to understand.  Glaswegian and Newfies from Corner Brook.

I loved the post and it was very well written.  Wish I could write like that.


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