Ahmad Faisal is a 29 year old Afghan who lives in a rented apartment in downtown Kabul with his pregnant wife, Sara. Like many Afghans his age, he has witnessed the horrors of the Taliban first hand and has spent much of his life in neighboring Pakistan. We often talk about that period in Afghanistan’s violent past, how he wore a fake beard because men were supposed to have real beards and he couldn’t grow one, and how his family had to hide their small TV in a hole in the yard during the day. He cannot remember when Afghanistan was at peace because there has been no peace in his lifetime. So far, there is nothing remarkable about any of this since it is the story of countless young people here caught up in the modern Greek tragedy that is Afghanistan.

However, there is much more to this particular story because Ahmad Faisal is exceptional by any measure. He is a neurosurgeon, trained here and in Pakistan. In a country that is desperately short of doctors, Ahmad Faisal does not practice medicine. Not anymore. Instead, he works for me as my interpreter and translator, and accompanies me whenever I go to the Ministry of Interior to meet with Afghan officials responsible for building the Afghan National Police. So, why isn’t he working in downtown Kabul as a neurosurgeon? The answer is both simple and extremely revealing; he could make perhaps $200 a month as a neurosurgeon here, compared to $800 a month hanging out with me. This is one of the strange things in Afghanistan but Dr. Faisal’s story gets much stranger.

As an interpreter supporting the US military in Afghanistan, he can also take advantage of a little-known special immigrant visa program administered by the US State Department. By supporting the US military here for two years, Dr. Faisal will be eligible to take full advantage of this special program and leave Afghanistan with his family and make a new life for himself in America. This program is a very powerful magnet and it attracts the most highly qualified Afghans from across the country. While this program was probably not designed to create a “brain drain,” the old saying about the road to hell being paved with good intentions applies here, because that is precisely what it has become, with the best and the brightest in Afghanistan applying for entry into this very special program and winning a free ticket out of the country.

Since this program is highly competitive, the cruel irony is this; only the very best are accepted, which means only the very best will be leaving. These are the same people that are needed to fill key positions if Afghanistan is ever to become a real, independent, self-reliant and self-supporting nation. The Afghans applying for this program includes the most motivated, intelligent, educated Afghans here-doctors, lawyers, engineers, pharmacists, scientists, software developers. Their communication skills, both verbal and written, are superb. All of them must be fluent in English as well as Dari and Pashto and must be able to accurately translate very complex documents. In a country where illiteracy is as high as 80%, this is quite an accomplishment. Faisal and I discuss this issue often. One of our typical conversations will go something like this:

“Tell me why you want to leave your country,” I asked on the way to the Ministry of Interior the other day.

“We have had this conversation many times,” Faisal replied wearily. “You know why.” That’s true; we have talked about it many times but it still fascinates me.

“Tell me again,” I insisted. “Make me understand.”

“I need to make a better life for my family. Life is very hard here. This is not a good place to raise children.”

“It might be hard in America. The economy is bad. Many Americans have lost their jobs.”

“Yes, I know, sir. But I am strong and I will work hard. You will see.” Without question, this is a true statement. Otherwise, he would have never gotten this far.

“We can save Afghanistan, Faisal. They will need you when the war is over. Things will get better. We will win.”

“When will we win? When will the war be over?”

“Soon, Faisal. Many more Americans are coming. And the Afghan army and police are growing every day. You know all this.”

“Of course, of course,” he told me smiling patiently, the weariness returning to his voice. “You are a very good advisor. Afghanistan is very fortunate to have you.”

“But I need you with me. We are trying to save your country, Faisal. We are doing this for you! Not for us, for you! Do you understand?”

“No sir. You are not doing this for me.”

“Of course I am. You are Afghan!”

“Ah, that is the problem, sir. I am Pashtun. We were Pashtuns before there was an Afghanistan and we will be Pashtuns after Afghanistan is gone.”

We rode along in silence for a long time, watching the snow come down, each of us wrapped in our own thoughts. We are a very good team and have profound respect for each other. There is no topic we do not discuss at length. Politics and religion are two of our favorites; every topic is fair game, even this one.

On this day, we will be meeting with senior leaders of the Afghan National Police, and Faisal will faithfully translate what they want today; more policemen, more weapons more radios more Ford Rangers. The snow is still falling as we get out of our mini-van inside the Ministry of Interior compound. We will continue the conversation on the return trip to Camp Eggers. Deep down, Faisal knows that I am right about his leaving Afghanistan, but he will not tell me; he is stubborn that way. However, there is another side to this coin; deep down, I understand his position and I know that he is right as well. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity and he’s not willing to roll the dice by gambling on Afghanistan’s shaky future. In the end, we are both right and that is the real tragedy.