It could be a scene right out of a country western song, dirt roads, Ferris wheel and kids playing under the bright neon lights but this isn’t rural Wyoming but rather Mara-e-Sharif Afghanistan.
When we pulled up I couldn’t believe my eyes; not only was there a Ferris wheel but also a swing ride and a rocking boat, all staples of carnivals from my youth.
I was dragged back to reality from the sweet memories of my childhood by the site of a man holding a Kalashnikov at the entrance. After passing the check point we sized up the rides. Their safety looked questionable as carnival rides usually do.
The first ride we ventured on was the Ferris wheel. It offered a great view of the city and the surrounding outlined mountains. We loaded up, said a prayer and up we went.
The vibrations in the carriage weren’t the thing that worried me; it was the sudden stops and slight freefall every so often.
The next ride was the swing. This ride contains numerous swings attached to a rotating center pole. As the ride progressed, the centrifugal force lifted the swings higher into the night sky.
There was nothing intimidating about this ride and the only thing you have to worry about was potential projectile vomit from the person in the front swing.
Next came the most daunting ride of all, the dragon boat. This ride rocks back-and-forth and eventually becomes perpendicular to the ground on both ends.
This ride was tame like the rest but the rusty components and slight movement when it rocked gave cause for alarm.
Not being one to back down from a challenge I joined my friends. As the ride began, a few testosterone driven teenagers forwent the safety bar and stood-up, holding the edges.
The ride gradually picked up and so did the usually whooping and hollering. Some kids looked nauseous while others were ecstatic as we hit full stride.
Then it happened, the electricity in the park failed. People started to scream out of fear as we swung out of control in the pitch black night. There weren’t any emergency brakes on this ride which meant we would have to ride it out until it lost momentum and since it moved in a pendulum motion that could be a while.
Fortunately after 10 minutes of ear piercing screaming the power resumed and we picked up where we left off.
The ride eventually came to a halt and people scrambled to get off; especially the rider adjacent to me who’s head was down in a nauseous state.
Feeling a little queasy myself, which I found out later wasn’t from the ride but a stomach amoeba, we made for the gate.
As we approached the gate our path was obstructed by a large mob. We skirted around it and walked towards our car. As the crowd grew so did its volume. Shouting bravado soon became flying fists as the crowd imploded.
This wasn’t your typical spat, this was two groups that despised each other. And like similar fights at carnivals back home this one started over a girl. After a few well landed punches and kicking on the ground, the man with the Kalashnikov decided he had had enough entertainment and broke up the fight.
Everyone dispersed or at least moved the disagreement to another location as we piled into the car.
I closed my eyes and let the wind blow in my face as I tried not to review the day’s contents of my stomach. Hearing the gravel under the tires as the car sped down the dirt road and remembering the night’s events, for a second it almost felt like I was back in rural Wyoming.
