Even if nobody intentionally filled the well to hide treasure, or to deny the enemy easy water, it would slowly fill. Over the past 2,000 years, one can only imagine how many people threw stones into the well. Between the elements, the settling dust of the plains, stone-tossers, or people tossing people…. if only a couple inches detritus per year accrued over a period of 2,000 years, that’s over 330’ of fill. The original well might be 500’ deep, or more. We still don’t know.
Stone tossing at Kafir Qala: Afghan base in the far distance
Afghan Army Base as seen from Kafir Qala
It’s noteworthy that at least four bases and forts are constructed within a short distance. Eight miles from Kafir Qala is the Citadel of Alexander the Great in Farah City. Closer still is the American and Italian base at Farah City, and yet closer is the ANA base captured in the above Gigapan. And so that’s four military installations within a two-hour walk, spanning more than 2,000 years.
Wide Gigapan facing generally west from Kafir Qala
Kafir Qala
The shadows were growing longer and it was time to head back to Farah City. Our retinue can be seen resting, but up on part of the fort is one of our Afghan interpreters who had taken a long route up, and now wanted to take a short route down. Don’t do it… I could sense that he was going to go for it, and so I yelled up to him, “Don’t do it! Go back the way you came!” Alas. People die all the time in my dispatches, but he didn’t know that. “I don’t want to have to bring your body to your mother and father!” He hollered down that he could do it. I hollered up again, “Don’t do it!”
That’s Kris, the inventor of Axe Handle Cam, with hands on his knees. Kris was unaware that our interpreter was taunting death just around the corner.
Most of the men at the bottom could not see him, and thought I was yelling to them. They looked at me sort of crazy like, as you can see in the picture.
Instead of doing the smart thing and going back the long way, he did the man-thing, and decided to go for it. So what else is there to do? I hollered up again, “You are going to die! Go around!”
He kept coming.
He stopped several times, and at one point considered going back the way he came. Those white clothes were going to look very bad covered in bloody mud, embellished with pebbles.
One of the stone-tossing police watched the drama unfold. In America, the Park Rangers would come out now, and you’d be arrested and maybe get in the local paper, or you’d fall into the Grand Canyon and rescue helicopters would collect your parts at the bottom. In Afghanistan, we just watch.
He stopped several times, always smiling with fear, and nervously drank water before coming down a little more, and he finally made it, apparently oblivious to the fact that it’s very bad luck to do dangerous things around me.
And that was it. We drove back to Farah City, and on a different day boarded one of Steve’s airplanes, flew out of Kafir Qala to Kandahar. Then I flew to Japan where authorities were lying about radiation, and, people will surely die.
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