I think when your world has fallen apart and you’ve gathered yourself up like broken glass and glued yourself back together so many times, you start to have some really big trust issues. Not only that, but your willingness to be screwed over, becomes less and less. I can be an extremely black and white person, and so it was around the time I met Mahdi that I left very little room for human error. Grace was not high on my list of priorities. There was a high standard to be met, and I need that if any room for trust to be made. There was precious cargo aboard, and my momma bear instinct was at it’s peak. 

The Paris Bombings had just happened the previous fall, and I wanted to understand why one would even consider such an action, didn’t this thing only happen in the Middle East? The left wing media would gloss over the incident and the right wing audience would take the incident and credit it’s behalf to every brown person they ever seen. Blanket statements and hate was running rampant, but no actual explanation or education was given. The mud slinging hate to the extreme was flying from both ends. Outrage politics has never done the world any good, and I needed to be able to break through the chaos and understand. But how? This was pretty serious stuff and living in Northern Canada sheltered from most of reality, was a barrier I had to navigate.

Little did I know just how complicated the issue really is. Even to this day, after everything that has happened, I’m constantly reminded that just when I think i have some sort of grasp on the subject, I’m thrown for a loop and just as one analysis one piece to a puzzle, rotating it and using shapes and image to navigate exactly where it fits to the greater picture, another layer was added. I figured out the border pieces pretty quick, even managed to sort who was who, and how and what in different piles, but now I had to find ways to file each piece of information accordingly, stepping back every once in a while to see the bigger picture.

In the days previous to this, I had spent countless hours researching Afghanistan and the war on terrorism in a desperate attempt to gain some level of understanding of Mahdi’s world, but also to maintain some level of due diligence for security issues, finding any hiccup in what I was being told. I questioned him everyday, sometimes my questions were demands and sometimes they were defensive accusations made to see how he would react. Each time he responded with his same patient and calm manner, I was impressed. He was always sure to speak to me kindly, even when I was less than, he was sure to never raise his voice and always held a demeanor of respect and patience. I was most definitely engaged in conversation like I’ve never had. But I’ll admit I was lacking some background information, but so was he. So together we dug deep into our cultures and as the why’s of our ways. My appetite for knowing more grew with each day but the last time I paid attention to anything even remotely related, was 9/11. I was a bit behind. I had spent the last few years raising babies and my world was small. However like I had expressed previously, Dick put a jump start on that journey.

And so I began to research.

Often during my many driving excursions, I would play podcasts. I can remember one time in particular a podcast where an American was being interviewed for his documentary on Kamikaze Pilots from Japan during WW2. I know this has nothing to do with Afghanistan but it was this guy’s story in which he told that struck home to me and I wanted to share it with Mahdi. It was about perspective which was important to me as it was only recently that the little world bubble in which I had lived had been popped from the man whom I call Dick. 

And so everyday I began to dig deeper, digest and analyze what lay before me allowing for me to asked harder and much more complicated questions in Mahdi and I’s conversations. I didn’t hold back, not even a little bit. |Once I gained some footing, I started to become personally challenged because many of my questions stemmed from personal assumption and judgment. I needed to sift through some of those before I was ready for more. Every once in a while I would stumble over something significant causing instant barriers to errect and I would became frustrated and confused. Something inside of me would panic and I would, block all forms of contact for a couple of days while I processed and found a way to address a subject. For example, I had found a research paper written by an American soldier (I wouldn’t be able to give reference, rank etc) but it was speaking of how STD’s were running rampant through the local nationals working on the base because of the act of anal sex. Not going to lie, I panicked and I judged and my mind began to build this case against Mahdi to a point I was worked up and ready to address the subject full on. When the time came for me to address it, I presented my argument and posed the question asking if Mahdi was partaking in this behavior? I dropped a bomb and then waited and watched looking for any clue in his reaction that might give me the opportunity to delete and block him. The reaction I was looking for never came. He acknowledged the report and it’s validity and even gave testimony to it’s reality as an issue not only on the base, but within his society. Mahdi remained calm, and with his patient demeanor he then countered posing the question, “Jennel, do people in your culture and society engage in the act of anal sex, or engage in secret or overt sexual affairs with the same sex or opposite sex? Child exploitation is evil and yes you can find that here all over the place, but tell me, do you really know what happens in your next door neighbour’s house?” Immediately I was disarmed. As I write this, I think about Jeffery Epstein and the mass human trafficking’s happening on the USA/Mexico border, let alone in our own communities. I was so ready to cast judgement and point fingers as if I was holier than thou, but as hot as I was going into the conversation, I cooled right now humbled and checked myself. I was reminded that we all stand equal before God, for all have sinned and fallen short, why would it be any different than here? It’s easy think our ways are so high and mighty, but the realities that we in the West often refuse to acknowledge or overtly cover up, because while the deep vein of sexual abuse against women and children runs deep within our own neighborhoods, we too keep our mouth’s shut and turn a blind eye.

And so, our conversation would then turn to the why’s of what we held to be true, based on fundamental foundations that separated our cultures, giving way for justice to be carried out. He would explain that when that |Taliban held power, even a goldsmith could leave his shop unlocked because the fear that palpated within the life of Afghanistan at the time, meant that one would lose an arm, or a life should they be found guilty. There was no red tape or wait for a court date, the process was immediate and swift.

“But what if they were falsely accused?” I had asked.

|Mahdi shrugged and said “That’s a problem and a reality. Ruling with fear and oppression may keep your gold safe, but innocence can be lost and oppression is easily manipulated.” This would then open up our conversation as it shifted to the Western Justice system and the foundational ideology behind it, such as the American Constitution, it’s basic principles and why. I didn’t grow up in the USA, and I’m not fully versed into the doctrinarian as to the historical significance, but again, like most subjects, it caused me to pause and dig deep and truly analyze my whys and what’s. And so there I was, a Canadian, with multigenerational American roots dating back to it’s inception, began to explore American history with an Afghan who has stood side by side, of those who were serving their country, in his country, brother’s in arms, defending each other’s lives. I read from a book, drawing from a formally education background, sipping my $8 Starbucks, comfortable in my home, having never missed a meal let alone experienced war while he sat next to a tank, as the convoy had returned home from a mission. He was living it everyday, the tangible reality’s of war in efforts to give his family a life, his sister’s a future and education, and to in real life, experiencing loss after loss after loss. He but to even take that further to a much more ideological principal, one that we both understood to be core values in life, human right’s based on the core foundational principals of the bible vs the Quran or rather Islam, as they are interpreted by various groups.

answer every question with a story to give perspective about his life. I would hear stories of his childhood in Iran, his time spent homeless living in a ditch when they first arrived back to Afghanistan, his father’s failed businesses, his family conflicts, and his time spent in the military. 

And naturally in turn, I would talk about my struggles, my childhood trauma, broken marriage, motherhood, religious struggles and my growth surrounding my faith, even a family Mennonite heritage where we could talk about head covers and ugly baggy dresses. Once we broke down some major prejudice barriers, we could discuss and banter back and forth the whys of our world and what should be. 

And so Mahdi met the need I was after. It wasn’t about a desperate love affair or some insane need to push boundaries. My high school friend serves in the USA military as a helicopter pilot, and so it was through his deployments in Afghanistan and via the vortex that is social media, I came across mahdi’s instagram post. A friend of a friend of a friend, as it goes, had mentioned to follow him to support him as a brother. I just haphazardly pressed that follow button like it was another recipe that I’ll never cook. Looked like a good idea, sounded interesting but the odds of me coming back to that page to investigate further was extremely low. 

It’s was quite a while after that in which it was I who ended up breaking the communication barrier asking him who he was as he had liked a few of my posts. The truth is I thought he was another military soldier trying to gain my attention by making my phone ding, another little trick or nuance of a soldier’s life taught to me by Dick et al, so I reacted and went to go after him. 

Dick had once taught me what tricks are played on the bases with soldiers while deployed, some of the shenanigans that can take place both there and back home with spouses – Soap boxes in the window and exterior lights being left on as a signal to those who partake in extra-circular affairs, seems to be the major ones that I’m aware of. But let’s not forget, the ones being played overseas. I have a friend who also while living abroad as a school teacher became engaged to a SF soldier, quit her job and was moving to be with him, when it was revealed he was married when a another woman answered his cell phone. Turns out that woman was some top Police Detective in their country and it did not go well for that man. It seems to be common practice for teams to pose for group pictures, twice. One with the ring on, and one without. One for the wife and one for the girlfriend. I’ve played the game before and I know exactly what world I entered. And so, never let it be understood that I was naive and did not know the element upon which I KNEW to be a reality in any male dominated organization.

Even in hockey players. 

I once wrote a blog poking fun at my rules of dating and in doing so, listed “Never date a hockey player” for they are my kryptonite. 

But I was much older and wiser, and was prepared for battle. Bring it on! I was ready to rip Mahdi’s up and down, so to speak because I was DONE with the BS. But he would diffuse the situation with honestly and truth and a calm that took me off guard. I never got to have my war with him. The truth was, I was at war with myself, internally. I needed to find hope again, I was being challenged and my educational boundaries were being pushed, my core values were being defined and voiced, and I was finding myself again. But it took some battles, because when it started, I needed to set the record straight and clear the slate. My slate. I drew the line in the sand from day one. Pardon my language but my exact words were “Fuck with me, and I will fuck with you. That is a promise I will keep.” 

Turns out, I made an ass out of myself. Something easily done when you go into a situation hot and guns a blazing.

I fully admit it. And I’m 100% thankful for it because it brought me to a place where I could feel again. 

Upon our first contact on my behalf, I thought he was trying to gain my attention, much like many others before him. I soon found out, he honestly was just catching up on his social media as he was gone on a month long, no cell service, mission and was waiting to be picked up by helicopter. It just so happened that I got the notifications all at once because over the month I had posted a number of times, causing my phone to notify me multiple times, and I in my hot headed pride, confronted him, bracing myself for confrontation, ready to say “EFF OFF” like 100 times before when military men or organized sport players would ping my phone. 

As soon as I seen those notifications all at once, I decided to end the mystery. This man over the past few months had randomly liked various posts, most of which were biblical scripture. This naturally would peak my interest, and confuse me, because in my small little bubble way up in North Canada, I grew up believing Muslims hate Christians and behead them. That’s all I knew. 

So why in the world, was this man liking my posts? That was the very reason my curiosity peaked and he stood out from any one else. I began to search out his social media. I made note of the Americans in his pictures. Every comment ever made, ever female who posted, and even sorted the plethora of questionable female followers he had on his page (insert eye roll here). I googled his name. I followed some of his followers, even reporters (take note of this one for later) and there were two definite distinctions I found. This man was definitely involved with the USA military somehow but he was not American. He was Afghan. How is this possible? 

Again, my world was small, and I soon was to be educated. In the meantime, I would take no chances. When my phone pinged multiple times and I assumed he was being bold and trying to get ahold of me in typical North American fashion, I thought to myself “enough of the guessing, I’m going to get to the bottom of this right now!!!” And so I did.

And Mahdi, was my punching bag. Only he never moved because he too was undergoing his own transformation and in doing so, we began to help each other and support each other as life brought about challenges, the bat would swing, the glass would break and this time, when we began to heal and pick up our pieces, we had help and support. He became a part of me, and I him. 

We talked about everything. I would bring up global current events, how the Middle East seemed like this black hole that the world forgot about. I began to learn that even when I thought my trials were hard and too much to endure as a single mom, there were many who even at my lowest, didn’t have an ounce of the massive amount of support given and available to me here in North America. My education even from a distance, began to dig me out of my bitterness and I knew I needed to get over myself. I knew I needed to end the pity party and stand up for my kids and show them what a parent should do when life goes sideways. Fight for our lives. And so I did. 

“Who are you? Why do you have Americans on your page? And honestly, if I were to one-up you, I would have to comment on every post you have and that’s borderline stalking.”

I meant for it to be a joke, sorta. 

“I sory. I did not meen you to thing that.”

Facepalm 🤦🏼‍♀️ 

“Good grief Jennel!!! He thinks your calling him a stalker.” I was attempting to be funny and clearly failed plus I didn’t take into account for misinterpretation due to a language barrier. “FFS Jennel, you don’t have to be a dick.” I noted his elementary use of phonetic spelling, so I switched to voice message. 

So much like in Jennel fashion, I back-peddled a bit, forced myself to be respectful but also to the point and started again. Didn’t take me long to understand the situation, that he was Afghan, used to work for the Americans at one point, the SF soldiers in his feed were to honor those who were KIA, and that he was just chillin’ waiting for a helicopter to pick him up and take him back to the base.

In one second I was ready for a fight, only after hearing his response, feeling an immediate sense of humility and shame. I was so out of touch with the realities of our world, and it was right then I knew I needed to check myself. I’m embarrassed at my response but I also understand my why’s and I don’t think having an element of self defence and boundaries in this situation was wrong. And so, I don’t beat myself up over it, but rather just take it for what it was and decided to learn from it and use it as a tool, because remember outside of my personal life, the world seemed to be going crazy. 

I had questions and well, there seems to be an opportunity to learn, happening right at that moment. And so, I took it and I never regretted it. There were times of questioning, but never regret. 

After my relationship with Dick, I begun my research reading books, listening to podcasts but I took the time to be really selective in my sourcing, limited my interactions with those who could clarify my questions to include a very collective few. I would sift and sort my way until I figured out how to gather information and read between the lines. Sick taught me and showed me why to never rely on the media, so I went other routes. Even after Mahdi and I began to converse daily, it took a very long time of everyday conversations for me to start to trust Mahdi and his word. I remember the day distinctly when I decided I wasn’t going to block him…again. 

Yup. I blocked him many a time. My hot head nature made sure of that. But I’m like fashion, I heat quickly and I cool down quicker. Usually because it’s due to an instant lesson of humility. Many of my own personal relationship struggles are somewhat effected by this trait of mine. A conflict ensues, I am immediately hot and move fast in my wording, and then I cool instantly when resolved. Only the other person does not, and I forget that they are not me, and I’m left wondering what the issue is. In fact I don’t even remember the conflict because I’ve already moved passed it twenty steps ago, dealing with other issues and it’s old news. 

A character flaw I am still fine tuning. One that in my old age I have seem to somewhat tame, but momentarily slide down the hill of shame every once in a while. Depends on the sensitivity in nature, ie) defending family, my husband or myself – as would anyone, I believe. We are all human and so we must reconcile ourselves to that of a greater authority and code outside of ourselves, to keep us accountable and disciplined to the character traits we all so desire like respect, integrity, perseverance, and indomitable spirit.

I think it would be a disservice to my marriage and my relationship and myself, if I were not to include my own personal struggles and flaws in which I must discipline and be held to account so that I might develop into a better version of me. Lord willing. Likewise, without giving testimony to the personal journey in which we both as individuals have undertaken and ultimately bound us together in marriage, would impress upon others, personal delusions of grandeur, and a wannabe fairytale-like ending which would be further from the truth. Fairytales are fictional. Ours is a journey of personal valleys of struggle be that of war, divorce, identity, religion and love. It is tragic in nature and yet triumphant in ending. No matter what, we know our truth, our journey. Our paths have now converged, and now we must look onward to our future, together.

And so for authenticity sake, I must be genuine and not just give account to to the events which sumize our past, but rather the human journey of the the heart and mind that plagues both sides of our worlds. I am not a saint. I am like ever other human being, equal and fallible. I do hold myself to account to a Higher Authority, and I’m doing so strive to conduct myself with integrity to that authority. Do I mess up? A lot. But I never do with the intention of false testimony or ill will. I will admit to mistakes being made and give an account as to why choices under the circumstances were made where it was the intent of doing the right thing, only to find out, lacking key pieces of information, proved the outcome to be less than optimal.

And so for those reading this, who if by any nature holds a position of authority or title, thinks that anything of which I say might be fabricated, I can assure you, that while our journey is considered extraordinary, I can give account with evidence as to every detail to be true. I learned long ago having been educated and worked in the medical field, the importance of documentation, documentation, documentation.

And so, I began my journey and my friendship with Mahdi and will take some time to lay down some of the foundation as to our hows and why’s. 

Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some few are to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention.”Sir Francis Bacon

Much like the quote above, I began my search, and piece together some understanding to Mahdi’s world. In high school, one of my favourite classes was English Literature, and over the years many quotes stayed with me. They spoke to me and I applied their wisdom in my life. I think it would the world a favour if we could all adhere to the advice given above instead of acting in blind faith. 

As to be expected, many times subjects or incidents would arise where it was just too great to process all at once and I would react. There were many times when in my lack of military life experience, my lack of knowledge of Afghanistan, or when my still established assumptions and prejudices collided with information that was challenging them…. I would panic and block Mahdi. I needed time to think and research and file away the information that he told me. It was then I asked for western references. If he couldn’t provide them to me, I was going to walk away. Not because he gave me any reason to feel in danger, but once again, I had to ask myself, “What is it you don’t know or understand Jennel?”

So I began to search. I kept my research limited to American resources. They were either presented from a military perspective or Middle East Christian perspective of someone who understands both worlds. I was extremely picky and sifted through the noise and began to build an understanding. Somehow I found military reports online written about subjects like Bacha Bazi boys and about specific incidences where Commandos and ANA members compromised American and Canadian lives. I read about Islam and extremism and I asked Mahdi questions. I questioned him over and over again until I could wrap my head around a subject. Sometimes it would take one conversation. Sometimes it would take months of me pushing back, and some we are still working out. 

Every now and then I would come across something I wanted to share with Mahdi and see what his reaction was. It was as if I was trying to “poke the bear” only Mahdi never reacted, he did however respond always cool, always collected and always willing. This time it was a podcast. 

In the podcast, the American had always wanted to live in Japan, and after he graduated from university, he went to the country and applied for a job working for a vehicle manufacturer. It was there he met his wife, had a family and began to continue his post graduate research on Kamikaze pilots in WW2. The subject had fascinated him.

He told the story of how he and his film crew began to interview families of these pilots and wanted to document their families post war journey’s. Interesting fact that never really occurred to me before, many Kamikaze pilots never actually died or completed their mission. Some made it to their intended location only to find their target was not there. Some ran out of fuel or their plane malfunctioned, some flew to a known enemy location and surrendered and well some, just chickened out.

The crew had came across this elderly lady whose brother had successfully completed his mission. There was a shrine dedicated to his memory on her living room wall as a public testimony to his honor and to the great sacrifice in which he paid. It was evident that his sister cherished this memory of him.

The crew had been invited into her home and after setting up, they had brought her gifts and shared a meal with her. They spent the afternoon listening to her tell her story and how the war had impacted her family and life growing up. After some time had passed, they watched her pause for a moment, and as she stared at them as tears began to well up in her eyes in an obvious expression of internal anguish. The room fell silent as the woman was clearly distraught but for reasons that they couldn’t place and so they asked her what was wrong.

The tears soon manifested into sobbing in what would be a renewed mourning for the loss of her brother, only this time, she said her pride of his service had left her. Her world had come crashing as a new wave of grief overwhelmed her. These Americans were the enemy she was taught to hate, and yet, they sat there in her living room showing kindness and a willingness to hear her story. They listened patiently and showed her grace when she realized it was all a big lie. It had all been a lie. Her government had lied to her. 

Her brother had died in vain.

She spoke of how the government had lied to them, to her country, to her family, and to her brother. How they manipulated and propagated lies in order to carry out an evil most famously known as Pearl Harbour, among many other terrors of war. They were told Americans were savages and the enemy and were coming to brutally kill them. They were told their existence and their culture was soon to be invaded….And so they took action. 

As she sat across from these complete strangers, yesterday’s enemies who now she would today call friends, a wave of despair continued to flood over her as her brother’s unnecessary death was felt for the first time in her life, even though it was decades later.

It was all a lie.

Mahdi sat there quietly and listened as I was relaying this story back to him. We were worlds apart both physically and in realities, but the air was thick and heavy with emotion and bridged the gap as it felt as if our physical worlds collided. It was if I could almost hear his heart beat.

He was silent and still when he looked at me. His face somber as if he was staring off into a distant memory.

“I know that feeling” he said. 

“I know that exact moment of knowing that everything that was ever taught to me or forced fed to me as a Afghan refugee kid living in Iran, was a lie. I’ve always known it. But I can pinpoint the time when what I suspected to be true became reality.”

Mahdi spent the first 14 years of his life living in Iran as a refugee from the Soviet Occupation in Afghanistan. He was born there and the little education of which he did receive was also accompanied with frequent beatings and public humiliation by his teacher for being a “dirty” Afghan. Kids would follow him home, beat him and mock him. He had told me of how he endured child labour, sewing backpacks in a factory basement for 16 hour days making just enough money for him and his brother to take the bus into the city, pay the entrance to the fair grounds, but never actually able to pay for the rides. They would just watch with wonder and imagined what it would be like to ride a Ferris wheel. I quickly learned how much Mahdi loathed Iran and everything it stood for and how “Death to America” was laced into all aspects of life and education. He has a very real dislike for that government and country. 

He began to tell me of the special forces team that he first served with as a linguist and how they were stationed in Chapchal, which was a village in northern Afghanistan. They had been stationed there for some time delivering aid to the people and gathering intel.

On this one particular cold winter night, a villager was seen off in the distance approaching the firebase and in his arms, a child lay limp showing obvious signs of being extremely ill. This was clearly an act of desperation that only a father would know when his child’s life was in danger. Fear be damned, yet it would have been pumping through his veins. Fear for the death of his child. 

Once granted entrance, the American’s had brought him into the base to be seen by the team medic. Mahdi wasn’t the interpreter involved in the child’s care, but he was situated as such that he observed the events unfold throughout the night.

He had said he could see the medic care for this child with such attention as if it was almost personal as the child was about the same age as the medic’s own children. It was also very evident the situation was dire.

The medic ended up tending to the child all night, however it was too late. The child had passed away. Mahdi watched with such focus and seen that the medic was so overtaken with grief that he lunged after the father in anger asking – no, demanding, as to why would he would wait so long to bring the child in? The answer lied in the same fear propagated by the same lies Mahdi was forced fed his whole life. But weren’t the American’s the enemy or perhaps, what if they were caught interfering with the Americans. What if the Taliban and other extremists alike, found out?

Mahdi said he knew in that moment, in the medics reaction and how he clearly cared for the child and how grief had overtaken him – that everything he was forced to believe was a lie.

It was all a lie and he wanted nothing to do with it. 

He always knew it was a lie, only now he had seen it with his own eyes. It was in that moment that he dedicated his life into changing the narrative and holding on to a new hope, and to serving alongside his American friends.

This conversation was one of the many pivot points in terms of my growth and continued efforts to get to know Mahdi. It wasn’t just the stories within a story…. within a story, that impacted me, but rather watching him relive the memories as he told these stories which left an imprint on my being. I didn’t know these men he spoke of, but I knew they changed his life and probably didn’t even know it. It was as if his experience gave me renewed hope in an otherwise broken world. An unlikely chain reaction of events. 

It’s coming up to the anniversary of our meeting. Mahdi is now in Canada and we are married. When I originally wrote this, he had exchanged one old American base in Afghanistan (plus a few others) for another as he currently awaited his release from Fort Dix in New Jersey, USA. His journey, has come full circle. From that little boy who was beaten for being a refugee in Iran, to living in poverty and homeless in Afghanistan, to serving years for his country alongside many whom he dedicated his life to and calls brother; these men were soon to be his fellow countrymen.

All because of a child, and a medic. It took a life to save a life. 

A child that changed his life forever as he too would one day stand at a gate, and fight for his life so when so many didn’t weren’t able to make it. In fact most. 

Mahdi, or JJ as he known to most, has since migrated north to here to Canada where we are building our life together and taking time to heal from what has been a journey of a thousand lifetimes.