Dear Jessica Brennan,
Wednesday I had the privilege of attending an event put on by The Memory Project – “The Memory Project is a nationwide bilingual project that connects Veterans and Canadian forces personnel with the opportunity to share their stories with Canadians in classrooms and community forums.”
I slipped in the back and sat next to a very solid quiet man who looked like military but I couldn’t really tell. I felt included but not on the inside, if that makes sense. I knew I was welcome, but also that my life experience was so vastly different to those I was with and I felt instantly filled with overwhelming respect and gratitude.
The presentation and all speakers were very moving as the topic was Operation Medusa, which occurred ten years ago in Sept 2006. According to Wikipedia – Operation Medusa was “A tactical victory that resulted in the deaths of 12 Canadian soldiers; five during the major combat operations, five in bombings, and two in a mortar/RPG attack during the reconstruction phase of the operation.”
The most interesting part of the program for me came after the formal presentations when a World War II veteran sitting in the front row, began asking questions of the young sergeant who had just spoken about his experience in Afghanistan. The World War II veteran was comparing Afghanistan to his experience all those years ago in Africa. These are not direct quotes of course, but here is how the conversation went.
“How long did it take you to get to the Middle East?” he asked.
“It took us twelve, maybe thirteen hours” replied the young sergeant.
“It took us twelve and half weeks to get to Africa,” he laughed, “What was the desert like there? Scorpions? Sand flies?”
“Yes,” said the sergeant, “And fifty to sixty degrees in the afternoon. We had all those bugs and scorpions too. There were also open wells everywhere that were wider than my arms width and so deep you couldn’t see the bottom. If you fell in and survived the fall you would never get out”.
“How many of you were there on the mission?”
“There were about eighty of us the day we went across to fight the Taliban”, the sergeant replied, “We were out numbered 3 or 4 to one.”
“When I got to Africa, there were a million men on the ground. All I could see was water towers across the landscape with ten thousand men under each. We knew who our enemy was though. We were offered help from the Egyptian army, but we didn’t totally trust them.”
“It was like that with the Afghan Army too,” said the sergeant. “The soldiers are paid so little that they are susceptible to bribes so we were never completely sure who to trust. The Taliban are farmers by day and soldiers by night. They don’t follow the rules of war, so they do things like bombing hospitals. They don’t care.”
“It was like that in Vietnam too,” another man said from his chair, “It was difficult to determine exactly who the bad guys were”.
“Thank you for your service,” a lady said.
“People ask me why I went,” said the sergeant, “I guess I thought I should, because I could. I knew if I went, someone else wouldn’t have to.”
Back and forth the conversation continued, until it came around finally to loss. The sergeant lost his voice and misted up as he talked about the death of a dear friend during Operation Medusa. The room went silent. The large man next to me shifted in his chair and a tear fell. The friend was his son.
Lest we forget.
Love Mum
xo
Happy Thanksgiving
