It was a miserably bright and sunny day in Afghanistan on September 10, 2001. The ground was scorched, and shade was nonexistent. Somewhere out in the desert that day there was a middle aged Afghani man named Abdu working through the thick of it all. Right in the middle of finishing up the first stages of his job, he was frightened by a sound he heard coming from the distance. It made him jump. He turned to his boss Muhammad, known to many as Pusher, and with a nervous crackle in his voice asked if he had heard the noise as well.

“Yeah, but it was nothing; just keep packing. We really need to get this stuff moving, and fast. If we don’t get it there soon we won’t be the only ones getting nervous. Our guys are going to start get nervous here real quick too.” Pusher responded.

“You know Abdu,” Pusher continued in a more serious and paranoid sounding tone than normal, “the Taliban are out strong these days. They’re cracking down hard on movers now. The trade isn’t what it used to be anymore, but one thing is: everyone still always wants their cut!”

He began to shake his head, “they’re probably going to be on the look out for us tonight too” he said. “The Man we’re moving for informed me this morning that our deal tonight might be expected now, since someone had mentioned the possibility of a transfer soon after what happened last week. Remember the mule from a few days back?”

Abdu looks up from the last brick of heroin he had been wrapping up and nodded his head, indicating he did. He spoke gently saying, “yes, I remember quite well. He was the one that got caught at the border just last week. His wife was arrested and his eldest brother was murdered in their front yard. I hear that the Taliban were looking for answers.”

“Exactly, and now because of that they might be on the lookout for us tonight. I’d bet it was him that let them know there would be another move soon. So leave no traces! Wrap everything up real nice and make sure you have not forgotten the sweet wrap either!” Pusher exclaimed with distaste in his mouth. “The last thing we need are the damn dogs smelling our stuff.”

“Damnit!” Abdu barked back at Pusher, “The last thing I need is to get caught. I know what I am doing, don’t tell me what I need to do. Also, what is all this ‘we’ business you keep speaking of? It’s only me that’s taking any risk here. You are not going anywhere.”

Abdu paused for a moment to catch his cool after his little outburst. Then he threw his hands and head back down to finish packing for the trip and said “let’s just get this over with. I’m tired and my kids have not stopped crying for three days. They are stuck home eating nothing but rice and dirty water. My wife is on her death bed these days too, it seems. Her body is falling apart, so getting this move right is the only thing I can do to make things a little better for her and the rest of my family. I really need this money. Which means I know I can trust myself to get things right here; it is not even a question. What I do have to worry about through is whether I can trust you.”

Pusher sat silently for a moment before he finished wrapping, packing and securing the last of it up—the little bricks of pure, unprocessed, high-grade Afghan heroin—putting them in their place for the ride. He thought about Abdu’s accusation and looked down at the tires he had already stuffed with heroin for a moment to think.

Everyone wanted to claim a piece of the profits from this black gold, he reckoned, but no one wants to be found touching it themselves. Finding someone in a more desperate situation than yourself was the only way to work with the drugs safely. Pusher knew that very well and it was exactly what he was working to do. Push it down, let it sink to the triangles’ bottom, where the base is large and the loss of a few stones comes with little concern. Those at the bottom are easily replaced, he figures, for there is always an endless supply of other people whom are even more desperate. Each consecutive level up becomes more important to the stones sitting above; each below, that much less. That was the way of life, and he wasn’t bothered at all by the fact that his motivations were focused on getting the drugs to the drop zone and the money from the deal back into his own hands more than anything. Then secondly, he would carve a small slices to feed the mules that did all the hard labor. The risks the mules took were unimportant to him. All must survive, he figured, and the chains holding us together—the natural hierarchies of life—are unbreakable.

Pusher shook his head and stretched before he began again wrapping to finish up with the last few bricks up and pack them into the last remaining tire to be filled. A smirk formed on his face and he looked down so Abdu wouldn’t see. He smiled because he knew Abdu had a point; he knew that in all reality he couldn’t be trusted. Although he had no intention to go against his own word, he knew that if a choice had to be made, his choice would be made with the priority that would best ensure he would be paid. Even if it was at the expense of a life.

What could he do about the situation though, he figured it’s how Allah wills his way. Everyone must do the best they can to survive in this world, even at the expense of others. He knew for sure the Americans and Europeans did this. Then said something to Abdu in order to calm and reassure him anyway that their would be good to come from this move, knowing well that the chances for this mission to improve Abdu’s life were slim.

With confidence he looked Abdu right in the eyes and said, “this is going to make you good money. Don’t worry. Things will get better for you and me, and for Afghanistan. You just do things right, like I told you to, and everything will be just fine.”

Then he walked a few paces back away from the car and picked up a small handgun and a little zipper-bag and called to Abdu. “Hey, come here. Remember to take the route I have told you of and please take some protection and this extra money with you. You should have no problems, but you should take these just in case. It is not always easy to move in Afghanistan this late at night but if you trust me you will have less problems, perhaps even no problems at all. Just make sure you are ready for anything, make sure your tires are full at all times, and whatever you do, do not get caught. We will both be in trouble if you lose it, so don’t lose it!”

After the last of the little bricks had been packed tightly into the final tire, Abdu turned and watched as Pusher tighten the last nut to the left rear wheel to secure it. He thought to himself as he stared, “this man brought me my destiny and now he tightens it to the axles of a machine. Why such luck?”

Pusher began to whistle a poppy, upbeat tune while Abdu continued to think to himself, “misery is all I can afford and it is all that I have in this life. Why I am still the one that must suffer more pain so the ones with everything, those people living immersed in pleasure, can get stoned and live in complete ecstasy. Why can they break free from suffering and forget that there is pain in the world while I am stuck right in it? Why can they forget their own dealings in the world which foster pain’s creation, yet I can not be relieved of their ignorance?”

His hands had begun to tremble, he needed some sort of relief and sought out in his mind a way to make himself feel better. He considered the paradox in which he lived. “At least we can thank the Europeans and Americans for this opportunity to make some money,” he began to reason. “It is time to count my blessings, it would seem. Without the drugs, there would be little hope left at all for life in my family. We would have nothing! With them, we at least have access to money, which we can use to buy enough food to continue on lving another day. Great Allah has given us this fruit from the earth and gives us rain from the sky to help us through these dire times. I praise you Great Allah; I praise you for what you give.”

Abdu was interrupted in his thoughts by the clap of Pushers hands. “That’s it,” he said with some pep in his voice. “Go wash up and get some rest,” he commanded with a set of raised eyebrows and crinkled forehead, “it is a bumpy road into Zabol, you know.”

“Yes,” Abdu responds, “I know.”

“Alright then,” Pusher continues as his eyes soften up, “I will be here getting things ready for your departure. Be back in one hour sharp! Today is our big day. We’re going to get this done.” Ending his talk with a final clap of the hands that left a musty stench of oil and dirt in the air.

At one point, when there was a break from the constant need for dodging holes he began to think to himself out loud. He needed to find again the reason why he was doing what he was doing, and he was the only person he could ask for answers.

“Only the insane would do something so dangerous as this,” he figured. “Why then?” he posed the question, just wanting to hear his answer one last time to calm his nerves.

“It’s for my family. There is nothing left for me to do. I can not just let my family starve. We have nothing as it is except our little home and this piece of metal on wheels. We have nothing and yet we still owe the Taliban everything. They ask for our wives, our lives, our children, our respect, duties, and they even ask for food we do not have. Great Allah, guide me through to the city. It is my destiny. Help me Allah, I must return to my family. They would not survive the weeks to come if I do not.”

After he finished this thought, he was distracted by lightened spectacle to his left, which he could see stretching infinitely deep into nights eternal darkness.

“There must be thousands of acres of it out there!” He marveled at the sight.

“It’s the only damn crop we can grow anymore. I hate it!” he yelled aloud.

“It’s the source of all our evils, yet it brings the only relief to our broken souls. It’s a crop which can not be eaten, so we starve unless it is sold! It’s the creator of war, for it’s the currency we use to buy weapons to kill.”

“Damn it! “ he cried as a flood of tears fell from his eyes.

“It’s a leech, I know; it keeps our blood flowing steadily when it must, but has been left untamed. It continues to drain us, I know. We do not have much more blood to live by.”

“Great Allah,” Abdu said while his hands grip the steering wheel so tightly it squeeks, “Great Allah,” he shouted one more as he sobbed with fear pulsing through his blood and pain and sadness wept from his eyes. “We are torn in two directions and we are being drained of life by two sides. I beg you as your servant, please make this end! You must! Oh great Allah!”

“Please,” he muttered over and over for a few minutes, “please oh great Allah.” Then things got quiet again and he just drove. He told himself to remember why he was doing this in the first place, his family. He told himself it would be over in less than three hours. He knew he only had two hours more to go before he got to the border, and less than an hour to get to the drop zone. He told himself these things because he knew he needed to maintain his composure and be on guard at all times. Anything could happen, and he knew that was likely something would.

“Do everything right,” he could hear Pusher saying. Then he began to repeat in a smooth and repetitive manner, “we’ll get this done, we’ll get this done.” For sure he told himself, “we’ll get this done.” This time though he was unable to convince himself, but ignored his doubts and repeated it once more, the way he liked to hear it.

The border was within sight. Abdu could not tell how well it was guarded though, if it was at all. The darkness obscured his vision. He could see a broken down shack sitting parallel to the road, but there were no lights and he saw no guards. He prayed Pusher had been right; he prayed this route was safe.

It was near eleven by now, as he pulled up to the Iran/Afghan border. His way was blocked by a gate, and he decided it was best to wait one moment before exiting the vehicle to let himself through.

His palms and face were dripping with sweat. The sting of salt in his eyes reminded him just how nervous he really was. Alert and ready for anything, he began to whistle a tune to distract himself from the dangers he felt lurking ahead. He also hoped he might get someones attention if anyone happened to be around.

He squinted his eyes to see once more if there was anyone near the road and listened tentatively for any sign of life. He held his breath for much to long as he peered out his car window listening, waiting, and praying that no one would be there to interrogate his crossing. Then decided to breath as he readied himself to open his door to the world, and told himself that it was time to move. Pain struck him instantly after he exhaled and his head filled with a pain of rhythmic thunder.

Then very unexpectedly he heard the sign of life he feared most.

A man’s voice cracked like a whip from a distance. “Stop!” the man hollered.

Abdu sat back in his seat quickly and could feel the stickiness of sweat soaked shirt on his back as he pressed up against the cushion. His grip tightened with every thump on his heart; his head ticked like a bomb ready to explode. Looking forward through it all through, somehow able to ignore the pains, he fixed his gaze on the ten feet of thick nothingness that blocked his way to the temporary license on life. Then prepared himeself for whatever was to come.

Abdu decided to make the first move. He called out to the guard, hoping to throw him off with his forward speaking. “I am here. Please hurry. I do not understand why I have to wait. Where were you? And where are the others? Are there not other guards on duty here? Please do tell me.”

The guard was thrown off a little and was perhaps even a bit embarrassed. “I was taking a piss, over there,” he said, pointing in the direction he came running back from.

“I must go quickly now. Please let me through,” Abdu pleaded. “With all respects, my brother has been shot. I have been assured he will die by morning. That is why I am in a rush. I must get to him immediately.”

“Where are you going, who do you stay with? And I must see your papers,” The Guard responded. “Your stories mean nothing to me. Everyone has stories you know.”

Abdu quickly answered each of the questions with confidence. Beginning to feel more relaxed than ever, he said “Zabol, Muhammad Mansu Arif. Papers? Here, look.”

The guard stood and watched Abdu. It reminded Abdu of a dog watching a cat lick itself clean before it attacks.

“Wait here,” he then directed and before disappearing into the little shack next to the road. Which left Abdu with a sense of confusion. Why must he wait, he wondered. Where could the guarder possibly being going? Could there be someone else waiting inside the bunker that needed to be consulted? Certainly could be, and it only took a moment for him to know for sure.

Abdu could hear a second voice coming from inside, and he knew right then that the two of them were no longer alone. Abdu’s fear that there was another one sleeping had been realized, and the investigation was to continue.

Abdu felt fear creep into his spine again as the new voice appeared in the flesh from the darkness. Within only a few moments he saw the ghostly man’s beady red eyes appear at his window, where he stood then, in front of Abdu’s waiting to make his move.

He sounded off with great force, “Where, Who. And show your papers.”

“Zabol, Muhammad Mansu Arif. My papers, here, have a look. Please, sir, I am in a hurry,” Abdu began to plead again. “My brother has been badly injured and I must see him…” he began to say, but was interrupted and could not get the whole story all in again.

“Quiet! I do not care about your story. We are looking for someone moving drugs to Iran, we suspect you are the one. What else do you carry across with you? Do you have anything more with you? Tell me now.”

“Nothing, “ Abdu stutters, not having expected the new line of questions being asked.

“Wait, my cloths. I travel with extra cloths, that is all,” Abdu corrects himself.

“Nothing else? Why do you travel alone? It is so late. You know it does not look good that you travel at this time at night. Where is your gun, did you not bring a gun? You must have, you would be stupid not to have a weapon being out at this hour on the street. I want to search your car to make sure you have told me the truth!”

Abdu pleaded as his door was opened from the outside. “Please, I must reach my brother soon. He has been shot! He is dying! I must!” His body tightened with fear with worry the man would find his his lies. He wanted to tell him that there was a gun under the seat. There was! Because Ghostly was right, he needed it for protection from the thugs, robbers, street looters and even the police. But it was too late. Before Abdu could say anything more, he had been flung out of this car and hit the ground hard beneath him, falling with a crash. He landed right on his knees and pain shocked his body.

Abdu could see that the guard had moved forward, and could feel his presence lingering above him. He mustered but a pathetic moan before the wind from a falling object rushed past his ears and silenced him. Abdu felt within that split second, a pressure change in the air like those before the coming of a devastating storm. Before he knew what had happened, he was pounded hard with the butt of a rifle, which landed square in the back of his head; all he saw then was blackness.

He awoke a few minutes later. He knew this because he could hear both mens voices still, and he laid in the same spot. He could tell two things. Ghostly was still searching his car. And the guard hadn’t moved but an inch. Now standing with the heel of his foot driven deep into Abdu’s back, he was holding him down like a fish is held when brought from water.

Abdu tried to open his eyes to just a squint, he could bear no more. His head felt solid like a brick; a brick whose surface rippled like an ocean being pummeled by rain; each drop causing an excruciating amount of pain to bolt through his body. Then he made a mistake. He tried to move.

He knew the guard was still on his back, he could feel his heel digging deeply into his back. And he heard noise coming from the other man, and figured that he must have still been searching the vehicle. Abdu wanted to hear what the two spoke of between themselves, and tried, but could decipher almost nothing through the pounding drums he had playing inside his head.

It mattered little anyway what he could have heard anyway because without warning he was jerked up from the ground to his feet. Somehow the men already knew that he had been awake listening.

“Get up! Now!” the Guard demanded, pulling Abdu up roughly before the ghostly man began to shout.

“You lied! You lied!” he shouted, then threw Abdu’s gun to his feet. “I found this! I know you have lied! I will only ask one more time, what else do you have with you, and why do you travel to Iran at this hour? I want the truth.”

“I,” Abdu scrambled for his breath and a few words to explain himself. “I did not lie. Everyone carries a gun for protection, as you said yourself. I am traveling with nothing more than this, for I only leave my home to visit my brother before he passes on. I must go to pay my respects, so his soul can rest at peace. That is all.”

After a brief pause, Ghostly kicked the ground, putting a cloud of dust into the air. He began to shout again, and accused Abdu of lying again. “You lie!” he said. “You carry drugs and I will find them even if I must tear your car to pieces! You have left me with no choice.”

“Please!” Abdu pleaded once more, using his trump card to bargain hard. “I have money! Here,” Abdu says as he plunges his hand into the breast pocket of his shirt, beneath his sarong. “I need only enough to ensure I make it to my brothers home, you can have the rest! Please spare me your trouble. I have done nothing!”

“Let me see what you have,” Ghostly said after he extended his arm out to grab for the cash in Abdus trembling hands.

Ghostly stared at the money, then looked back at Abdu. He stared intently for what could have been an eternity and finally said, “very well then. You can go, but I can not let you go with the gun I have seized. Leave it with me and go. Be blessed by the hands of my generosity, for luck is with you today. Go!”

Abdu could not believe what he was hearing. He was free to go and he was not going to give the man a chance to change his mind. Instantly he leaped into his car and started the engine. The Guard had already made his way to the gate and opened it wide. This made Abdu wonder if they hadn’t already planned for this, it all happened too smoothly. But it did not matter at this point, he just wanted to go.

Not realizing he had personified the heroin he carried with him as if it were an immigrant that he had successfully transported illegally across borders.

“Only a few more minutes,” he said as he finished counting down the kilometer left before his arrival at the drop zone in Zabol, Iran.

“Now,” he said with a grin on his face, “we are here.”

Abdu hoped out of his car immediately and walked quickly to the home he had been instructed by Pusher to go. He knocked on the door of the small mud hut softly. In less time than it took for Abdu to catch his breath and think of words to say, the door was opened and a very tiny man, wearing traditional dress and a long and thinly woven black beard welcome him by his first name and offered him a seat and a cup of tea.

“No thanks,” Abdu responded in a gentle manner. “I have sat for much to long now already, I need to stand. My legs and back have begun to cramp. To be in all honestly, I would be quite pleased if we could make the transfer first, and as quickly as possible. It has come a long way, and so have I. I am ready to part with it and relieve my mind of it’s burdens.”

“Yes then, I understand. Let me call upon my son. He will be have everything taken care of very quickly. We will do a full replacement of your tires—four old, for four new. I hope that is all right with you,” said the Gentleman with a smile.

“I image it is,” he answered for Abdu before he had a chance to respond. “And, “ he said, “the money I owe to my brother Pusher and you will be appropriated as the goods have been verified to be intact and all accounted for. There should be no problems there. So please, do not worry about anything more, as I am sure you have been through a lot this evening already. In fact, I must say you have done well to have arrived unharmed. Many do not get as lucky. Praise Allah for your success.”

After a moments silence, as the Gentlemen clasped his hands together and looked up to the sky, he continued speaking to Abdu. He said, “my son and I will take care of everything from here on out and I will call for you when we are ready. But please do as you wish while you wait. You may rest there,” he explained while he pointed at a second small hut the stood across the way, “if you would like. Or you may accompany my son while he works on your vehicle. I would understand you either way.”

“Thank you,” Abdu said, unable to conjure up words to express his gratitude sufficiently. “I do believe I will rest momentarily, for my head and body pain me greatly. Then I will accompany your son as he works. Thank you again.”

“Very well,” the Gentleman said, “see you soon.”

Abdu walked around the immediate area for a few minutes to loosen up the cramp that had struck him in his back and legs. His legs felt better only a short while, he just needed the blood to circulate through them again. The pain in his back though would not let up. He felt it’s tenderness and assumed there must be a bruise from where a boot had laid just a couple of hours before. He decided that it would not get better, and that it would be best to relax.

He meandered over to where his car was being worked on by the son. A bright lamp had been turned on and focused on boy and the car. Two tires had been removed and replaced already and the third was rapidly coming off. Abdu walked up beside the boy and out of curiosity asked him if he knew what would happen next with the heroin. Where would it be moved to once it has been accounted for here?

The kid responded as quickly to Abdu as he worked with the tires. “A lot stays right here, never leaving Iran,” he said. “I think it travels north to the big cities like our close neighbor Zabol, and ends up going all the way to the capital Tehran in the north east. But a good portion also ends up being moved across land routes to places like Turkey, where then it ultimately ends up in European and sometimes American markets too.”

“My father only deals with getting it all here though, and only deals with one man in the process, my uncle Pusher“ he said after he had finished tightening the last bolt onto the replacement third tire. “He tells me it’s safer that way. Then after enough of it gets to my father, my other uncle sends a large carrier to us to pick it up and move it further north. I am told that it just makes life simpler to do things this way. The fewer people, the fewer problems I guess.”

Abdu sat quietly waiting for the boy to finish his last thoughts, then apologized for having interrupted his work. He asked him to call for him immediately after all the work had been finished. Explaining that he was very anxious to get on the road again and get home. He missed the comfort of his own home, and knew he would be unable to rest peacefully until he was home, but in the mean time he would try.

“Please,” Abdu finished, “you can find me when things are ready right here, at this tree. I believe I will wait here for to enjoy the nights breeze.”

The cool air soothed him as it rolled smoothly over his aching muscles. Every breath he took brought with him a sense of relief that softened the throb in his head. He was able to rest rinally, sitting in the sand amongst the earths elements, like pillows made of feather.