Mine Victim

One of the hardest aspects of my profession is dealing with mine victims, both during the accident and the period afterwards.  During the seconds after accident you go into automatic, you don’t have time to think, you DON’T think, you just react. You do what you have to do to get the job done and hopefully save a life. The gruesomeness of the accident normally doesn’t bother you; you look past it and accomplish your job.

After the victim is taken away to a medical facility and you are left behind in the aftermath of the accident, that is when the nerves hit you and your knees start to shake a bit. But you have to learn to deal with it because the work is not over yet. There is still a lot more things to get done, reports to write, clean up, and investigations to get started. These investigations are very crucial to determine the cause of the accident so that it can be prevented again, especially if we are doing a wrong procedural step.

That is the physical part; the emotional part comes later, as was the case for me in February 2007. It was at this time that I was tasked to negotiate a settlement between the company I worked for and a mine victim’s family. The way it is done in Afghanistan is that the company has to meet with victim’s family and village and negotiate a cash settlement. In the International Mine Standards for Mine Action there is a chart that establishes the amount of money to be paid to a victim according to the type of injury. This forms the basis to enter into negotiations.

And so my journey started thru the cold and muddy streets of Kabul towards my meeting with Wali’s family. Four months ago Wali got out of his truck and against the advice of deminers present proceeded into a known, active minefield and stepped on a soviet PMN anti-personnel landmine. Wali was not even contracted by us; he was hired by the company we contracted. So even though the accident was entirely his own fault, here I was going to give him money.

As my driver drove at Mach 3 thru the backstreets of Kabul, weaving in and out of traffic, I was thinking how to tell the grandfather and father of what their kid’s leg was worth…how does one do that? I was going alone with a translator. It was still Kabul so my guard was never down; with my sidearm on my hip I kept my eyes all over the place. I didn’t know what I was to expect, a friendly family or one that was overly hostile and belligerent; were these people former Mujahideen or pro-Taliban sympathizers or worse still…active Taliban.

We turned into an unpaved road and made 4 or 5 more turns, enough to get me disoriented…not good. We pulled over in front of a three story building with eight young men sitting directly across the street and three others right next to the door I was to go into…not good. Was I getting into an ambush? I kept looking at hands and eyes for any overt sign of hostility but found none…paranoia perhaps?

As we climbed the stairs to the third floor room, there were plenty of eyes looking thru barely open doors, all the kids wanted to look at the white man in their building. Climbing those dark, cold, dusty steps did not give me a warm and fuzzy feeling. At the top of the steps I was greeted by a warm, smiling grandfather. Ekhrudin invited me into what I guessed was their living room. I removed my boots and entered a very cold room, furnished by pillows, carpets, a table with tea and a pot-belly stove. We started with nice pleasantries, as is the custom, but as pleasant as it seemed I never forgot I was not in a friendly city so I sat on a carpet, facing the door, with the windows on my right side. I had clear escape routes if things turned sour. A few minutes after arrival, Wali entered. I had never met him before and he seemed a very nice young man.

With the room rapidly filling up with relatives I was eager to start, the sooner I had an agreement, the sooner I can get out of “dodge”. So taking the initiative, I started telling Ekhrudin my purpose for the visit. He listened intently. After stating my case to the family, Ekhrudin stood up and pronounced solemnly to all present that he was happy with the cash offer, and immediately brought some food out along with the ever present green tea.  And thus the negotiations ended, as quickly as I started them, he finished them.

Grandfather Ekhrudin started to tell me about his fleeing Paktia province with his family, running from the hold of the Taliban. Now it was my turn to become the listener. The story was fascinating and intriguing leaving anyone listening with the thirst for more. Grandpa stood up and announced that he had prepared a meal for me; I was completely astonished by his hospitality. Unfortunately I had a full day of meetings and didn’t have time to stay. I got up to leave and accorded with Grandpa that we should get together at a later day to talk some more. I thanked him as politely as I could for his understanding, for his hospitality and for accepting my offer. I expressed my sincere feelings over a much unfortunate accident and departed the house.

On the way back I asked my translator why the family had been so quick to accept our offer without bargaining. He stated there were various reasons. The first and most important was that they had accepted that the accident had been Wali’s fault and understood completely that we had no responsibility or obligation to engage into a monetary negotiation with them and that we were doing out of a moral, not legal obligation. The next reason was that Grandpa had taken a liking to me, he liked my honesty. That certainly made me happy.

It was still very hard to sit there and put a price on a human limb, and have to negotiate over it as if it were a piece of meat hanging at the butcher’s shop.

This is certainly one part of my job that I don’t care to repeat. The only thing that made this task bearable was Ekhrudin’s Afghan hospitality.