More than seven years ago, I deployed to the heart of Kabul, Afghanistan, as a military police officer with the U.S. Army. As I was conducting a force protection review on the perimeter of our base — marking discrepancies in my notepad — three small boys cloaked in tattered, stained cloth hovered on the other side of the steel gate. I peered between the cement barriers to see their heads bobbing up and down as they fought to make eye contact with me.
“Miss, chocolate, miss?” said the leader of the group, seemingly the only one who could speak English.
“What’s
your name?” I asked.