The driver in question was Omar Sobhani, one of the Reuters drivers in our Afghanistan operation.

When I first met him, this good, solid, bearded man with lively eyes, was fluent in Russian, Urdu, Hindi, Pashtun but no English whatsoever; as I had no idea of Russian, Urdu, Hindi and Pastun our conversations were limited and hilarious to anyone else listening, but somehow despite this,  right from the very first moment, we understood each other.

On my first trip to Afghanistan when we stopped the car to take pictures Omar was always calm but alert in an almost imperceptible way. The stops would be very short, with minimum interaction with the locals and none of the usual hanging around or loitering photographers like to do in order to get pictures. In Afghanistan this is just not sensible. The opportunity for misunderstanding in such circumstances is considerable. They may never have seen a camera and will be curious, but they may mistrust it and you and be wondering what you and it are doing in their ‘hood’, whatever the motives crowds gather quickly so at the slightest sign of unwanted attention With one flash of Omar’s quick, electric eyes we would be out of there - quickly. All it took was a look.

We had long conversations in our imaginary language and I admired his skills as a driver; how he drove securely to suicide bombing sites without drama, got us past security barriers, dealt with foreign and Afghan forces, always very edgy particularly immediately after an attack; took unimaginable shortcuts and managed to coax all the power out of the vehicle when it was needed; drove through the Hindu Kush mountain range on the worst roads I had seen anywhere in the world, and all in a very calm and professional manner, without a hitch.

Omar was very used to driving text, pictures and TV journalists in his country and was always curious about what we did. Back at the office when his part was done, Omar would usually peer over our shoulders and watch when we were doing as we edited and transmitted our material.

One day in 2005 during the holy month of Ramadan we were driving in the hills surrounding Kabul and as we came round a corner, I noticed a slight decrease in the acceleration of the vehicle and saw him Omar look ahead, then at me, and then at my camera with a 70/200 mounted on it. There, in front of us was a nice picture of a man praying on the roof of a house on the side of a hill. Omar had not only spotted it but also knew which lens to use to shoot it. I looked at him and asked “good pickchaar ?” he said yes, “good pickchaar” so I told him, “you take the pickchaar”. He looked at me in confusion. I passed him the camera with its 70-200mm lens and he made the picture through his open window.

Later on we sat together in the office and sent his first picture to the Reuters wire. He was happy and proud, and so was I.

Omar had the quick eyes, the attitude and approach a photographer needs. While he lacked English and a knowledge  of cameras and computer technology, he had the fundamental attributes and everything else could be learned. And so it has proved. Thanks in no small part to the guidance and tutelage of Reuters senior photographer in Afghanistan, Ahmad Masood, my friend Omar is now a Reuters photographer and a very good one indeed. He speaks a lot more English than just “pickchaar” these days, confidently uses computers and satellite communications and has done amazing top class work in one of the most difficult operating environments any photographer could work in - and he hasn’t forgotten how to drive !!

On March 21, I arrive at Kandahar Air Field (KAF). On my way out of the KAF flight terminal, I find my good friends U.S. Army Colonel Ed Kornish and Sergeant Major Andy Bolt waiting for me. Soon after, over coffee and cigarettes, Colonel Kornish says there is a mission planned in Zabul province and we’d better hurry.

Just a few hours later we are on our way in four Humvees. Around three in morning, we stop to take a rest in a small base near the village of Shajoy and at first light we move to join the Afghan National Police (ANP) at one of their bases nearby.

Then we all move off towards another village, where the soldiers and police hoped to surprise a group of Taliban fighters. The convoy of four ANP pick-ups and four Humvees soon leaves the tarmac and heads into the desert, avoiding even dirt tracks to escape the ever-present danger of IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices). I can’t see anything. Dust is everywhere, coming in through the gunner’s position on top of the truck. I cover my face with part of my scarf and with the other part I try to protect my cameras from the dust.

A few times the convoy stops for soldiers to observe the area or for the ANP to question villagers. An Afghan villager resists the ANP when they find his motorbike has no papers. The officer quickly detains him and punches him few times for good measure. I watch it from a distance but I’m too far away to take pictures.

About 20 minutes later, I see an ANP foot patrol in front of a mud-wall compound carrying rifles and RPG-s, and I jump out of the truck and run to join them. The ANP soon find a PKM Soviet-made machinegun, the other policemen start to shout and run towards a hill-top. I start to follow him.

Straightaway, the police open fire at three motorbikes carrying six Taliban fighters trying to escape. The Taliban dropped the bikes and returned fire. Wild chasing started, U.S soldiers follow the Taliban up the hill as one ANP truck drove around the hills to block any escape and other officers join me on the hill.

Another group of ANP arrive and a policeman fires off four or five rounds from his PKM by mistake, hitting the ground less than a metre from my feet. I just look at him. It was not the time to say anything.

I start to climb another hill with a few ANP to catch moments of the fight as gunfire and RPG rounds continue from a distance. It was a very hard climb and I start to think again of quitting smoking, or throwing away my body armour, helmet and water to get to the top. Somehow I reach the hilltop. I hear the screeching sound of a bullet hitting a rock nearby and I dive for cover.

A few metres on I see on two Taliban giving up their weapons. One of them is on the hill, the other in the valley. There is more chance of tripping and injuring myself going down the rocky slope, so I run as fast as toward the top of the hill to capture the moment of surrender. When I got there, Colonel Kornish and Captain Perry show up red in the face from the climbing and adrenalin. I’m not really sure what kind of pictures I’m taking as I can’t see too well from the sweat pouring into my eyes.

I move down with Colonel Kornish and Captain Perry and see three dead Taliban lying between the rocks, their bloody faces already covered with flies. The second detained Taliban looks up at me as I shoot pictures of him. He sits on ground as ANP stand guard. Soon after Sergeant Major Andy Bolt shows up, his truck was damaged and he is disappointed he could not engage the Taliban at close range. He hugs me and tells me he was worried about me when he saw me through binoculars alone on the hill top.

I took some good pictures, but more than half of them were unusable because my 24 mm lens was damaged when I dived for cover on the hilltop. I had been so busy I didn’t even notice the lens was broken.

The Marine was uninjured.

http://www.reuters.com/news/pictures/sli deshow?collectionId=1864&galleryName=All %20Collections#a=1

The group numbered 14; all of us Reuters journalists, including text correspondents, video producers and photographers. There were five of us from Pictures - Seoul staffer Jo Yong-Hak, Chief Photographer Japan Mike Caronna, Amit Guptafrom Jammu in Indian-administered Kashmir, Pichi Chuang from Taipei and Victor Frailefrom Hong Kong. The level of experience in the group varied wildly, from highly experienced correspondents, producers and photographers, to neophytes like me. 

On the first day of the course, our instructors introduced themselves - they were both ex-Australian SAS personnel, with a wealth of experience of operating in dangerous places including East Timor, Iraq and Afghanistan.

One of the most valuable things I took away with me was the First aid. They promised us at the beginning that by the end we would remember every step. I’d learned first aid at school but had forgotten almost everything about it and never had reason to practice it. Before first aid instruction began, we were asked a blunt question, ”I can do something to save each of you, but what can you do to help me?”  It made me feel irresponsible forgetting how to provide help in a medical emergency. This was valuable stuff which everyone needs not just in the field but domestically with colleagues, friends and family.

Over the next few days it was information we would have to apply again and again as we tackled the many scenarios and sure enough, by the end, we were able to remember every step of the process irrespective of how complicated it had seemed on the first day. Practical training began with a demonstration on a dummy and over the next couple of days we practiced CPR techniques on each other.

There were numerous practical exercises. In one, we were herded into a hotel room, where the instructors pointed out security flaws and dangers. Some of us were selected at random and blindfolded, the rest of us watching to make sure they don’t injure themselves as they attempted to find the fire exits while not being able to see anything. It’s scary how few people “made it” - lesson learned: situational awareness, always know where you are, the surroundings and how to get out quickly if you need to.

In another, we walked around the sprawling hotel compound with GPS units, calling in our positions to two journalists regularly who plotted our positions on Google Earth. Lesson learned: communication, call out the numbers in single digits, else you might confuse the person at the other end and he or she may plot 50 instead of 15, and put you somewhere else - a serious error if your safety depends on the information getting out.

In yet another, we were exploring the grounds when we came upon a vehicle accident, injured people in the vehicle and others flung into the surrounding undergrowth.  Lesson learned: know your first aid procedures to keep people alive until help arrives - always make sure you’ve checked the area thoroughly lest you overlook someone injured in the bushes.

For our final and for me most frightening scenario, we were asked to assemble in the hotel lobby one evening. We were split into groups and we sat nervously in a lounge, waiting for a simulated phone call from an unreliable fixer who was going to take us to interview a reclusive southern Thai rebel leader. The phone call came and our group went downstairs to meet this “fixer”. We tried to follow everything we’d been told about letting people know of your movements and security precautions - but its surprising how much of that changes in the heat of the moment. Even though you know this is a simulated scenario, the adrenalin is pumping, things are moving very, very fast, and although you try to apply everything you’ve learned, some things change with the situation. The “fixer” drove us down a dark alley behind the hotel where we’re suddenly ambushed by masked people carrying what look like AK47 rifles, shouting at us and pounding the car with their rifles and fists. My heart was pounding and I began to panic. As our “fixer” disappears in the chaos and opens the doors, we’re dragged out of the vehicle, taken a few steps away and pushed to the ground - phones, gps units, wallets, passports, everything - taken off us. As we knelt in the dirt we learned that the rebel leader we were to have met had been injured in an explosion and we were expected to help - a gun-toting rebel told us, ”he die, you die.” Inside a disused building there are injured people covered in blood and moaning in pain lying on the ground,with  glass and shrapnel everywhere. Time to apply, as best you can, everything you’ve been taught. Lessons learned: Don’t ever talk back to your captors unless you want to be thwacked, follow instructions, don’t try to escape, and try not to freak out or look scared as you attempt to remember what you’re supposed to do in this situation. 

The lessons and scenarios taught us about correct bandaging techniques in case of snake bites, fractures, shrapnel and chest wounds; what to do in case of a vehicle accident - one of the most common ways in which journalists are injured. We were taught about correct procedures for travelling in a convoy, how to read and give GPS coordinates, how to select a hotel room least exposed to dangers such as explosions, flying shrapnel and stray bullets (it’s frightening to be told how far a bullet can silently travel - and how little armour will do for you), how to backtrack out of a minefield and even what you can do to ease your way if you are a journalist embedded with a military unit.

I learned about simple gadgets that can really improve security; for example, $20 door stops that emit a loud alarm if someone tries to break into you room. I learned how to put together a basic med kit; what to keep in a “go-bag” in case I need to move suddenly, and most importantly, how to assess every situation for potential safety threats, letting colleagues you trust know what you’re doing every step of the way.

Everything was backed up by long conversations with much more experienced colleagues, who shared stories from their years on the job. Amit, our photographer from Jammu, was able to tell us first hand about several life-threatening situations he had been in, and how he prepared himself for them and made sure he got out safely. Video producer Madhu Soman from Mumbai and Vietnam Bureau chief Grant McCool also brought with them a wealth of experience which they were able to share in their stories of covering conflict, bomb scares, floods and barely making it through hostile checkpoints.

From my more experienced colleagues, I learnt that situations out there in the real wild world will never be as controlled as the scenarios we were presented with in Bangkok - a really scary thought - but that what we’d been taught here would give us a reference point, something to being with and some basic steps to follow that would help us operate more safely under oppressive conditions. After our final scenario, I also hoped never to be exposed to a situation in which I’d be at the mercy of trigger-happy militants as we had been in the simulation - that it’s better to be safe and not get into something like that in the first place.

All of us learned to look for things we’d never have considered before going on the course, and while some of what was taught might have seemed common sense, the course helped place safety and security right at the front of our minds.

It brought home just how much difference preparation and training can make to anyone working in an unsafe environment. Getting the story and covering it effectively is one thing but we need to do that without jeopardising our safety or that of our colleagues, eliminate completely unnecessary risks always thinking ahead to the next step and the way out. 

“Maybe the door slammed; maybe a cat jumped over a bucket; maybe a vehicle tyre burst.” So many maybes… but the reality is usually the same. It is a bomb!

“Get up now,” I will say to myself, “If you are not there before the police then you are in trouble.” I always call another photographer, or the Reuters Television producer, to double check, and I hate to hear the reply, “It is a bomb, I heard it too.” But it is the response I have come to expect.

My camera equipment, which lives with me as a constant companion, will be over my shoulder as I call our driver, who lives nearby, and is usually already on the road. Now, all I have to worry about is getting to the scene as quickly as possible. We have to fight our way through heavy traffic, aggressive security forces and angry members of the public.

More than four million people live in the Afghan capital, Kabul, and the traffic is my worst frustration. The roads in Afghanistan are often narrow and rutted, with no traffic signals, crazy drivers and a total absence of rules.

Above: Military personnel secure a suicide blast site in Kabul

Above: The scene of a suicide car bomb explosion in Kabul

Above: A military helicopter flies over a blast site in the south of Kabul

On my way to a scene I always try to tip off my TV and text colleagues if I haven’t spoken to them already, and they do the same for me. If I am lucky I will reach the scene before the security forces, which are usually composed of Afghan policemen, Afghan soldiers, members of the Afghan intelligence service, NATO forces and U.S. troops. If I am not lucky it can feel like a big military party, at which the favourite music comprises wailing ambulance sirens and helicopter rotor blades churning the air. The accompanying lyrics go something like this, “No picture!!! Camera down!!! Get out of here!!!” followed by “Go away,” “Shove off,” and lots of swearing.

Above: Foreign military personnel (L) stop an Afghan police vehicle from advancing to a suicide blast site in Kabul

Above: Afghan police and security personnel search a suspect for explosives after a suicide bomb blast in Kabul

Amid this confused situation, we have little time to think of the plight of the victims - the dead and those wounded by the blast - we can only look for pictures that describe the carnage, and try to get away without being hurt ourselves. Scenes like this make me feel as if I am at a photo-shoot at a junk yard, with the wreckage of vehicles and the bits blown off them; the shattered bodies of the victims; the blood stains; the broken windows and a million other bits and pieces.

Above: A U.S. soldier walks away from a suicide blast site in Kabul

Above: Afghan policemen secure a car bomb site in Kabul

It is only when I have arrived back at the office and filed the pictures that I am back to myself, and continue with the routine of any normal person. I say to myself, “I should get some breakfast, I should brush my teeth…” and so much more.

Above: A British soldier (2nd L) tries to stop a mourning Afghan woman from approaching a suicide attack site in Kabul

Above: An employee of the Afghan Ministry of Justice looks out through a shattered window after an explosion in Kabul

Above: Afghan families and relatives of Tuesday’s suicide bombing victims carry the bodies to a cemetery for burial in the city of Baghlan, north of Kabul

Above: An Afghan army soldier keeps watch after a suicide bomb blast in Kabul

Above: A U.S. military personnel (R) and an interpreter stop locals from approaching the scene of a suicide blast in Kabul

All photographs by Ahmad Masood