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Print It was October 2005 when I first flew into Kabul aboard a Pakistani International Airlines flight. Mud homes pocked the desert landscape. Afghanistan looked quiet and serene almost safe. That sense of security crumbled away moments after landing. Fluorescent lights dangled from the airport ceiling, evidence of explosions past. In the city’s streets, we stopped every two miles to pass through an armed checkpoint. Then came the explosions. Within hours of checking into our hotel, we heard our first IED blast. It was unmistakable: An enormous boom followed by sirens, screams, dust and a distinct smell. Advertisement Advertisement Over the course of a decade, I would make seven trips to Afghanistan and hear those sounds dozens of times. I lived looking over my shoulder, wondering when the next one would hit.

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