Eyes of an Afghan Child

From a distance she appeared to be no more than 5 years old, clinching tightly the hand of a younger boy by her side. Draped in a dirt-stained white scarf, I moved closer to catch a glimpse of her nervous eyes. Head down, scurrying away from my bold, armored jacket and helmet, her eyes and mine parted ways. Yet I felt her presence, among young boys, long bearded men crouched on the side of the road, and among the donkeys as they shifted back and forth carrying a heavy load of stones. She reappeared a few minutes later, brown-haired toddler in tow, as if she were his mother and again shifted her eyes for a second towards mine...at last our eyes connected. A beautiful soul, aged well beyond her years, a girl yet a woman, a child without childhood who saw another woman dressed like a man in her village. Who is this lone figure, able to move about the men freely with her face uncovered, even shaking hands with the men and taking their photographs.
As we loaded into our vehicles and edged slowly down the dirt path, she walked ever so quickly behind our vehicle, still gripping her brother's hand, looking sternly at me as our eyes grew further and further apart. A tear rolled down my cheek while absorbing the dichotomy of the beautiful mountains draped in the background and the children wearing the only set of clothing they own.
Jalrez District is a small area in Wardak Province that many Afghans see as a dangerous area in Afghanistan but on this day, with local villagers walking the streets, selling goods, sharing their stories and offering thanks, this is a place that is filled with peace, not war. But the media will say what they will, trying to create a headline instead of trying to prevent human misery.
I have to say I am falling in love with Afghanistan, with the friends I have made, with the caring nature of the people I have met and with their yearning to improve their lives.