Happy New Year

In the waning minutes of 2011 I figured I would provide one more post to give a very quick view of the year.  It is cold and my heater isn't working so I can't sit here to long without freezing.  January 2011 found me in Washington DC, finishing up my last month of Pashto training and enjoying my last real month of freedom before the deployment started in earnest.  It was the last month that I had regular hours and was able to come and go as I wished, not having to run around in a convoy of Mad Max vehicles, or locked down in an open bay barracks in a state I hope to never visit again.  I was living in the basement of a former Assistant Secretary of Commerce sharing it with one of my classmates and four cats.  I was close enough that I could visit my brother David and his wonderful wife and daughter Marybeth and Emma for some family time and a hot meal.  Most of my time was studying a language I still haven't mastered and never will.  My closest friend was a calico cat named Dandelion.

February I made my first trip to Afghanistan to visit Kunar and get a feel for what challenges lay ahead for the team I had yet to meet.  I remember the first time I climbed into one of the massive armored trucks and rolled out of the base and on to the roads of Kunar. "So this is what I have to look forward too...hmmm."  The trip to Afghanistan, and the month, went by quickly even with the snowstorm in Bagram that kept us stranded for four days unable to go anywhere.  Before I knew it March came around and I was home for just a few days before heading back to Camp Atterbury, Indiana.  I actually spent the first week of February there with the small group of PRT COs, but when we returned our teams had started to form.  March was filled with meeting the team and getting to know everyone as we started our training.  By the end of the month the entire team was together.  April, May and the first part of June are a blur as we "formed the tribe" learned how to be soldiers, shot lots of weapons and lived in open bay barracks together.  It wasn't terrible, but it wasn't pleasant and more than anything we just wanted to get out of there so we could start the deployment.  Having already been to Kunar I knew our living conditions would be better in Afghanistan.  It was sometimes difficult for them to believe that, so it was great to see their eyes light up and their smiles light their faces as they arrived. 

But, before we left for Kunar, we were allowed to go home for a week.  As luck would have it that was the week Bob graduated from Oregon State.  It was wonderful to see him in the ceremony.  I was more nervous and excited for him heading off on his adventure to Los Angeles than I was for my deployment.  He has done so well, I couldn't be prouder.  The week at home culminated in a graduation party at the beautiful home of my sister Molly and her husband Steve.  It was nice to see everyone celebrating Bob and Rachel's graduation.  It was a good way to finish the trip.  Going to the airport with Midori and Sara, I was a blubbering fool. It was difficult to walk away  from them and head to the plane...what was I doing?

Since July everything has run together.  This has been the toughest job I have ever had, although it has changed a bit since returning from R&R.  The leadership challenges have been endless and never have I questioned myself or my abilities than I did in the first six months.  My leadership style changed...for a variety of reasons, and now I kick myself for not trusting my instincts and doing what I know how to do.  Now, I am more calm and can see more clearly what I need to do.  There is still plenty of fog, but I can see my way through it now (with the help of a great team).  Some of the stories will have to wait to be told until I get home...it is just better that way.

Christmas day I spent most of the time up on our observation post eating a Christmas lunch with our squad that is up there keeping us safe.  The Sergeant Major and I spent about three and a half hours with them before the helo came and took us back down to the base.  Later my boss flew in to join us for Christmas dinner.  We spent the first hour serving up dinner for the troops.  I was responsible for the ham and the cheesiest macaroni and cheese I have ever seen.  After dinner the boss stayed for a little bit and then we put him on a helo and he was off.  The evening ended standing around the fire pit enjoying the company of a few Soldiers and Sailors who weren't quite ready to call in a night. 

Jumping back to November, I believe the greatest moment of the entire year was walking into my house for the first time and having Midori leap into my arms.  I wasn't sure what her reaction would be when I surprised her...it was better than anything I could imagine.  The worst moment was perhaps when I realized how much time I wasted during the two weeks I was home.  I was sick the first three or four days and then made Midori sick.  Once I was healthy I should have spent more quality time with both Midori and Sean.  Instead I was in a daze for most of it, doing as little as possible and wasting precious time.  Regrets suck.

So that brings us to the last hour of the year.  There is a lame party at the USO building but I will probably go out and join the gang standing around the fire pit again.  Better than sitting at the computer in this cold room I suppose.  All in all it has been a good year...challenging, educational, frustrating.  I have made some lifelong friends, that is certain.  I look forward to new challenges in the year to come...Happy New Year.

Once More into the Breach

I have been back in Afghanistan for a little over a week now.  I arrived back in Kunar last Thursday afternoon.  I sat down with my executive officer and sergeant major for about an hour and received a quick update before retiring to my room to settle down to a long winter's nap.  I started fresh the next morning after the best sleep in a week after traveling from Seattle to Atlanta to Kuwait to Bagram to Jalalabad to Asadabad.  The next day I was back at it.

When I started my travel, I wondered how I would feel coming back.  To spend five months in this place, then go home for a short time knowing all along I would have to come back, was a little strange while I was home.  But once I arrived it was just like riding a bike.  This place, after all, is where I work.  This is my job and I have committed to seeing it through.  For the first few days of course I heard "welcome back" over and over and answered the questions about how my leave was and how the family was.  I didn't mind it, and actually appreciated it, but did not feel completely back into it until that eventually subsided.  It was great to see all the members of the team and I was excited to start working to put a dent in this difficult mission.

By the second full day I was jumping on a helicopter to take a very short trip to another FOB so that I could walk over to the Governor's compound to attend a large gathering.  Since our guys already had training scheduled on the FOB, Abe (our Rule of Law guy) and I decided to catch a quick flight so we could attend without disrupting the schedule of the guys who would normally drive us over.  The meeting was the culmination of an effort that had been going on for years to bring to an end a major feud between two families in Kunar.  As the story goes it started over a woman over 35 years ago.  Ever since then they had been at war with each other.  The two families are from the same tribe and both are prominent in the province.  One family was headed by Malik Zarin who was the top elder in Kunar until a child with a suicide vest killed him back in April.  The other family includes a member of Parliament.  So there was quite a bit of power and it was in everyone's best interest to end the feud.

So, about three months ago a 45 man jirga was appointed and started in earnest on brokering a peace agreement.  They created a document that both families would be required to sign and honor.  The agreement included compensation on both sides for injustices that may have taken place over the years.  Throughout the feud at least 20 family members had been killed with many more injured or caught in the crossfire.  A jirga (I knew you were wondering) is a group of elders that decide on legal or tribal issues. Pashtunwali is the code that all Pashtuns live by with a very specific set of principles that cover everything that includes providing shelter to strangers, revenge, honor, loyalty, etc.  Because this jirga had come up with the agreement and because the heads of the two families signed it, the feud is now over.  Everyone we spoke to said that the entire families would respect the agreement and no more blood would be spilled.  They would now live as brothers.  The meeting was attended my parliamentarians and ministers from Kabul and what seemed like every elder in Kunar.  The shura hall probably held 300 people and the courtyard in the governor's compound was full of hundreds more listening to the speeches.  The culminating event was literally bringing family members up on the stage to hug each other in a show of brotherhood.  Thirty-five years of strife ended in one day and sealed with hugs.

So, I am back in the grind.  My XO headed home for his leave (which means I am busier than usual) and I have settled back into the same battle rhythm I was in before I went home.  Now, it is time to put a dent in this mission we have been tasked with and get this team home on time.

R&R Comes to an end

I knew, way back when this journey started, that there was an opportunity for everyone to get home for two weeks of rest and relaxation (R&R).  But it was difficult for me to wrap my mind around.  In the Navy, when the ship leaves on deployment, everyone is there throughout the deployment.  We don't send people home unless it is for an emergency.  It was especially foreign to me to leave the command as the commanding officer.  To leave the command in the middle of deployment seemed like a betrayal of the team and was not sure how much "rest and relaxation" would happen knowing the team was continuing to go into harm's way without me.

But deploying to a war zone on the ground is not the same as deploying on a ship.  At least on the ship there is the occasional respite from duty each time they pull into some exotic port and enjoy a few days of liberty.  In Afghanistan, there is no break, no exotic ports, no liberty.  I realized in October that not only did I need to use my R&R, but the team needed me to use it.  I needed to decompress and they needed to continue the mission without me for awhile.  My Executive Officer needed to have the opportunity to develop by running the show and participating in missions.

So, on the 14th of November I stepped onboard a helo and started the long journey home.  The first leg was a thirty minute flight to Jalalabad.  It did not start out well, as five minutes into the flight I realized my butt was too comfortable (what)?  I was sitting evenly on the canvas seat in the helicopter, which was a bad sign.  I reached down with my right hand and confirmed my suspicion...and my heart fell.  Moments before leaving I had changed my uniform pants to a clean pair.  Their are eight pockets in the pants, so it is always a process to move everything over from the old pair to the new pair.  As luck would happen, I checked seven pockets when I switched out.  Sitting in the bottom of the cabinet in my room was a dirty pair of camouflage pants with a wallet in the back pocket...idiot.  I wasn't going to get anywhere without my ID card which was sitting in that wallet which was in the back pocket of the camouflage pants in the bottom of the cabinet in my room.  This was not starting well.

As luck would have it, one of my guys was on another flight later in the morning.  There were four of us leaving on R&R but only three of us were manifested on the early flight, so I knew Petty Officer Ruiz was going to be leaving the base within a couple of hours.  As soon the the helo landed in Jalalabad, I called back to my Operations Officer.  The call went something like this:

Where are you right now?

I am outside behind the headquarters building sir.

Do me a favor and walk over to my room.  Tell me when you are there.

Alright sir, I am here.

Enter this code into the cipher lock ****.  Let me know when you are in.

I'm in sir.

Walk forward to the cabinet on your right, open up the door on the left.

Okay, got it.

Do you see a pair of pants laying there unfolded?

Yes sir.

Pick them up, and take the wallet out of the back pocket.

(Snickering and laughter)got it sir.

Please take the wallet and give it to Petty Officer Ruiz before he jumps on the helo.

No problem, consider it done.

Once again my guys came through in the clutch.  Petty Officer Ruiz delivered the wallet just a couple of hours later and we were all able to fly out of Jalalabad later that day.  The next leg took us to Bagram Airfield where we would catch a flight to Kuwait.  While two of the guys were able to get out to Kuwait early the next morning, I was stuck in Bagram for about thirty six hours before getting on a C-130 in the middle of the night, packed like sardines in uncomfortable seats (sitting sideways) for about five and a half hours.  After arriving in Kuwait, we were told that we would be flying out of Kuwait in a couple of days so to get comfortable and come back for a Friday flight ( I had started traveling on Monday and this was now Wednesday).  I had taken a minimalist packing tact and brought only a back pack with a few changes of underwear and my computer.  Once I realized I was going to be there for a couple of days, I went to the exchange and bought a pair of running shoes.  I figured I might as well work out for a couple of days rather than laying around.  But on Thursday morning, before I could even try on the shoes they called our flight number over the loudspeaker.  So we all assembled and were told we had 45 minutes to gather our stuff and report with our bags to catch an earlier flight.  I wasn't going to complain.  That night we were heading on the long, long journey to Atlanta.  I was squeezed into a middle seat all the way from Kuwait to Ireland and Ireland to Atlanta...lovely.

Once in Atlanta, since no one knew I was coming home, I decided I better try and connect with someone at home to pick me up.  It is great having a brother living in the area, so I pulled out my stateside phone and attempted to call Mike, but quickly found out my phone was no longer activated.  Bummer.  I went to a pay as you go email station and stuck a five dollar bill in the slot which gave me about five minutes to write an email to Mike and ask him to pick me up in Seattle later that afternoon.  Later, I spied a Major who had been on the same journey with me from Kuwait waiting at my gate.  He was nice enough to lend me his phone and I was able to connect with Mike.  Before the flight left I stopped by the gift store and bought myself some Nyquil since I felt my head and chest filling up with crud and my general health plummeting.  The Nyquil knocked me out on the flight to Seattle.

Of course (time to cut this short), it was all worth it when I walked through the door and Midori jumped into my arms.  It has been a great trip despite being sick for the first few days (and then giving Midori my cold).  A great Thanksgiving at Molly's and a nice visit to Oregon.  The time spent with my family and with old friends was a great way to recharge the batteries.  Now it is time to get a haircut, pack up and head back for the final three months of a rewarding but very challenging tour...hope I remember my wallet.

The Comforts of Home

I always tell people that FOB Wright is the best kept secret in Afghanistan.  Compared to other Forward Operating Bases, or large airfields for that matter, Wright is plush.  We have good food, good berthing and we are small so everyone know everyone unlike some of the other bases that have thousands of people.  Plus, being tucked into the base of the mountains, the scenery is breathtaking.  We are so close to the hills and mountains that lately the sun goes behind the peaks around three in the afternoon.  

So, when the job requires traveling to other bases, the standard of living goes down considerably.  Last week I had to go to Kabul for a conference.  I flew in a Blackhawk helicopter from Jalalabad toKabul with the Commanding Officer of PRT Nangarhar.  It was a revealing trip as we flew over eastern Afghanistan.  For most of the trip from Jalalabad to Kabul it was like flying over the moon...no life, no vegetation, just brown and uninhabitated.  Once in Kabul we were led to a transit tent where we would be staying, quite a downgrade from my accomodations at Wright. The tent was cold and dank with about twelve bunkbeds.  As we arrived there was a British officer who was just leaving.  He recommended we use the restroom that was further away, because, the one that was right outside the tent was pretty nasty.  He blamed it on the Lithuanians who evidently have yet to grasp the concept of sitting on a toilet, and would rather stand on the toilet seat and squat down to do their business (this is the same issue we have with the Afghans unfortunately). When I say restroom, it is actually a couple of Conex boxes with toilets, sinks and showers installed.  Usually the showers don't work well or put out cold water only and you usually walk out feeling dirtier than when you went in.  I had a close call when I took a shower and my micro-fiber towel (which is similar to a shamwow but is thin enough to put in a backpack) fell off the hook and traveled downward towards the slimy, dirty standing water on the floor.  Using the soccer skills of bygone days, I stuck my foot out just before it hit the floor, saving me from a very uncomfortable situation.  One of my fellow PRT COs was not so lucky and he ended up having to towel himself off with the only dry corner of his soaked towel.  

The other problem that comes with leaving Kunar is getting back in a timely manner.  Because most travel is via helicopters and C130s the ability to get a flight is a combination of luck and timing.  The morning after the conference ended, we were scheduled to jump on a Blackhawk and fly back to Jalalabad.  From there I would have to find a ride back to Kunar.  When we jumped on the helo we settled in for what should have been a quick 30-40 minute flight to Jalalabad.  Instead we ended up flying to a FOB I had never heard of in the middle of nowhere.  After taking some more passengers, we headed out to....some other base where we picked up some French officers.  Off we went to some FOB on the top of a mountain where we dropped off some of our fellow passengers.  Finally we completed our tour of Afghanistan.  After two and a half hours of flying we landed safely in…Bagram.  Not where we wanted to go.  So we spent the night there and caught a flight back to Jalalabad the next day.  After a few hours there I hopped on a helo bound for FOB Wright.  A welcome sight it was, including my own room, the clean restroom, good food and the wonderful people that make up the team.  There’s no place like home.

Dollar Signs

I have met some great people during my time in Afghanistan.  Some are courageous and patriotic, doing all they can to bring peace to their country after thirty years of war and strife.  Some do not ask for a thing and understand that it is on them to find a way forward.  Others do not hold out much hope for peace after we leave.  When I ask what they think will happen after we leave, they talk of civil war and continued pain and suffering. 

I have moments where I start to feel a connection with some of them.  I have made friends since I have been here and I am genuinely happy to see them and converse in whatever way we can.  Often times though, the feeling of brotherhood fades away as the conversation inevitably leads to money.  Can the PRT do this for us, can they do that for us, build this, build that, pay for this, pay for that.  For so long, the pursestrings at the PRT were wide open and the PRT had projects all over Kunar.  Now, we have shifted to mentoring and guiding them to use their own resources within their own government.  Only they still have yet to make that transition.  They don't trust their government and they still believe that the only way anything will get done is with PRT money. 

I remember a month or so ago I was at the governor's compound with Sami, my trusted governance advisor.  He is a good man, just 22 years old, who has high aspirations to hold office some day.  But for now he is my right hand man, as we navigate through the process of getting the provincial government to use the processes that are there for them.  Sami and I were standing in a courtyard talking to a couple of other gentleman I had grown fond of.  Inside I was feeling good about the whole scene.  In all this madness of war I had come halfway across the world and now was having a normal conversation with some people who were working hard for peace.  But, as normal, the conversation was directed toward a clinic in their district that had the solar panels stolen from the roof.  So the clinic now had no power and the level of medical care had dropped.  Speaking to Sami in Pashto (my Pashto is not good enough to have an involved conversation) they told him to ask me to replace the solar panels.  He asked them if they had talked to the Public Health Director to see if he would replace them.  They told them to just be a good interpretor and just tell me what they were asking.  He argued that he was not an interpretor, he was my governance advisor.  They laughed at him and told him to translate.  When Sami relayed the conversation to me I said the same thing he did, ask the Public Health Director...use your system that is in place.  They argued that the director would not do anything and that he didn't care about them.  I told them I would talk to the director but they just shook their heads, looking at it as a dead end.  I made sure they knew that Sami was not my linguist and that he answered them in that way because he and I are on the same page.

Alright, one more example.  I know this is running long, but I am making up for lost time.  About two weeks ago we attended an opening ceremony for a new school (the one with the infamous poop minefields).  The governor was going to attend so we were waiting for his arrival along with hundreds of students that, until now had been taking their lessons under the trees in the courtyards.  During my last visit I had a great conversation with the headmaster of the school, sitting in his dark, dingy office in the old school that was being replaced.  We had talked about everything from education to cricket while drinking Mountain Dew (the national drink of Afghanistan).  I greeted the headmaster on the day of the ceremony and we shared our excitement for opening the doors to the school and providing the students a great place to learn.

As we continued to wait I saw a man I recognized to be the foreman on a road project we were funding nearby.  He said he was there because this was his village and he had brothers and his own children attending this school.  Again we had a nice conversation, although I started to feel uneasy because I was staring at what looked to be the barrel of a gun poking out from his shirt.  I asked him nicely what he had under his shirt and he confirmed that it was his gun.  He pulled out his permit but I told him I didn't need to see that, but it made me nervous since it was pointing right at my face.  He adjusted his holster and we continued our conversation.  A bit later (the governor was over an hour late), one of the elders took me outside the wall to show me where they wanted a culvert and small bridge built across a small stream that crossed right in front of the entrance to the school.  There was a very small and unstable log crossing the stream, maybe five or six feet above the trickle of water.  The elder explained that it was very unsafe for the kids and something had to be done.

What a great opportunity, I thought to myself, as I grabbed the construction foreman and showed him the issue.  Yes, he said, this would be a very simple job that would take no more than a week.  If you hire me to do the job, it would be very easy.  No, no, no, he was missing the point.  Perhaps if you got together with your fellow villagers you could all make this happen yourselves, without our help.  That would be a great victory for your village.  No, he said, it is a very difficult job, too difficult for us to do.  What?
Later, after the governor arrived and the ceremony was over, I bid farewell to the headmaster and looked forward to seeing him again.  Yes, he said, we have many more requests for you....(sigh).

So, I am getting a glimpse into the world of the rich and famous where you never know if they appreciate you for yourself or just for your money.  I'm pretty sure my bright, shiny personality isn't winning anyone over.  Dollar signs, unfortunately, are driving their affection for the tall American.  By the way, two days after the ceremony, the foreman with the gun poking out of his shirt was shot in the leg three times while driving home.  

Basic Hygiene

Alright, this is a little disgusting, but I have to write about it.  When I say we build schools, we actually just pay for the schools.  We work with the Provincial Education Directorate to determine what their priorities are and then we propose school projects up the chain of command.  Once they are approved we go through the bidding process, calling for contract bids from local contractors.  Once a contractor is selected a contract is signed and the work begins.  We place conditions in the contract that require the contractor to hire locally providing employment opportunities to the local villages rather than bringing in workers from another district or province (which is a recipe for disaster).  While the school is being built, our job is to visit the work site on a regular basis and conduct quality control inspections to ensure the workmanship is up to standards and that they are maintaining the timeline to complete the project on time.

For some of the schools, when we visit there are already studying under the trees or in the corner of the courtyard.  Teachers will bring chalkboards outside, prop them up against the tree and have the kids sit on blankets in the shade while they teach the lesson.  It is good to see such a hunger for education.

But let me get to the point.  When they build the schools, they always build the restrooms as separate buildings.  Each restroom will have maybe six or seven stalls.  Depending on the contractor, some restrooms will include porcelain and plumbing.  Others will consist of a hole in the floor.  The buildings are basically permanent port-a-potties since the holes don't lead to any piping system.  We have made a couple of visits to a school that is getting ready to open.  The students have been sitting under the trees for quite some time, waiting for the school to be finished.  As I walked into the restroom to check on the construction I ran into a mine field, with piles and piles of poop all over the floor.  The concrete floor was also stained with urine and the air was stagnant and thick.  The first time I saw this I told the foreman they needed to clean up the restroom.  The foreman explained that all the kids get a break at the same time so the first six or seven kids get the stalls and the rest just squat and do their business wherever they can.  What?!?  The next time we visited one of the restrooms had been cleaned up and locked.  The other one, however still had poop mines.  Walking around the side of the building the ground was covered with piles of poop as kids would go behind the building to do their business.  I spoke to the principal about teaching the kids proper hygiene and the importance of avoiding disease.  He looked at me and said "Oh, this is the girls' restroom."  Okay...and your point is....what exactly?  I guess since they are girls they can figure it out for themselves.  He assured me that once the school was actually open and the kids were out from under the trees and in the building they would be taught the proper way to use the restroom.  I'm not sure why he wants to wait to get them in the building but we will see.

This is just another example of the struggle to bring them into the 21st Century and the importance of education, not only for the kids, but for the parents the teachers and the future leaders of the country.

Observations

I know, I know, it has been way too long between posts.  I am pretty sure I have already lost my sixteen loyal readers.  I have many posts in my head that never quite make it to the computer.  The key is to have shorter, more frequent posts rather than trying to duplicate War and Peace every time I write something.  So, here I sit at 6:45 in the morning watching the first game of the World Series.  I was up at 5:30 and still missed the first three innings.  Between watching the playoffs and catching an NFL game on Sunday nights/Monday mornings my body clock is getting seriously screwed up.

I'm not sure who I am rooting for.  When I have no vested interest in the teams I just go with my gut.  Last year I was rooting for Texas because I have an intense dislike for Tim Lincecum.  Watching this first game my gut is telling me St. Louis...but that could change.

The weather is becoming cooler now...almost perfect.  Before the sun finds it's way over the mountains the air is cool and still.  Once the sun comes up it consistently makes the mid-80s which is nothing after months of temperatures over 100.

With the cooler temperatures comes a threat I was not aware of until just a few days ago...snakes.  Although I have not seen one yet, I have heard of two vipers and a cobra being seen or killed on the base.  Really?  Isn't it bad enough that we have bad guys up in the hills, now we have to watch where we walk because there are snakes running around (slithering around)?  As luck would have it pretty much all snakes in Afghanistan are posionous...sweet.

Having said that, the Afghan Jungle Cats are still around.  Looking at their size, I am not too sure they are built to take on the snakes.  Instead it looks like the cats and the snakes will be competing for the mice that have taken residence on the base.

This has been, perhaps, the most challenging leadership experience I have ever faced.

I have had the honor of meeting some great people...both Afghan and American.

They need more variety in their food.  If the Afghans opened a good Italian restaurant, a Mexican joint or even a Chinese buffet I believe all their "sad brothers" as they refer to the Taliban would come down from their caves and enjoy a new and exciting dining experience.  Before long they would forget what they were fighting about and peace would be at hand.

I have seen the fish that come out of the Kunar River and I have seen what else is in the Kunar River...a sushi place is not an option.

I believe they have already forgotten what the fighting is all about.

Yesterday I came out of a meeting at the Governor's Compound.  There was literally a line waiting to ask me for something.  As I walked out I could see they were nicely spaced about every ten yards or so along the path they knew I had to take to get back to my vehicle.  I would speak to one group/person, walk about ten yards and be stopped by the next request.  Everything from tribal elders asking about a road to the Cricket Association asking about outfitting their teams with new equipment. Who will they wait in line for when we are gone?

St. Louis won Game One.  I am good with that.

More later...

Oh The Things I've Seen

The great thing about living in another country is being able to see another culture and how they live their lives.  Here are just some of the small things I have seen, heard and observed...none of them terribly important, but interesting nonetheless:

Wheelbarrows.  I have mentioned the plethora of kids that are running around here, but what I didn't mention is that many of them work their fannies off.  It is almost as if the career years are from eight to fifteen and after that you get married and have ten kids.  So there are some hard working kids all throughout the province, and most of them have wheelbarrows.  I have never seen so many stinking wheelbarrows in one place.  Of course, it makes sense...they are cheap and can be handled fairly easy by an eight year old depending on the load.  Those that don't have a wheelbarrow must be saving up because they end up using their backs to haul everything, whether it be crops (cornstalks, hay, wheat, etc) or bags of rice or potatoes or fruit.  The girls don't use wheelbarrows or their backs.  Instead, they use their heads...literally.  The girls can be found carrying bundles on their heads.  I'm not sure what is in those bundles but I assume it is foodstuff.  Yes, the kids are resilient.  Whether they are in the fields or downtown, they are working...usually with wheelbarrows.

Touchy, feely.  The Afghan people are very touchy, meaning there is much hugging and hand holding, particularly among the men.  To see men, even soldiers or police, holding hands is common.  Greetings range from shaking hands to each person placing their hand on the other's heart to full out bro hugs with a double tap.  The strangest thing I saw was when we were sitting in a district center with a group of district elders.  They were all white beards who had seen many years of war and conflict (which I know is slightly redundant, but when there wasn't war there was still conflict.  For the most part, Afghans wear sandals, and they take them off prior to entering a building, similar to the Japanese custom.  One of the elders was sitting with his left leg resting on his right knee.  The elder next to him thought it appropriate to rest his hand on the other man's bare foot...awkward.  It seemed normal to them as his hand was there for quite some time and the other man did not try to move his foot away from the elder's grasp.   Hmmm

Speaking of feet.  This morning while I was in the restroom washing my hands the guy at the sink next to me was washing....his foot.  I was impressed with his dexterity as he was able to get his foot up there to rest on the sink so he could give it a good scrub.  Prior to prayer Muslims typically perform ablution (awdas in Pashto) which involves washing your face, ears, hands, arms and feet.  But, prayer time was not for a couple of hours.  Nope, he was just washing his foot.

Surreal moment of the year.  There is a radio in my restroom that is on 24 hours a day.  Normally it has Pashto programming, but sometimes in the middle of the night they will play English programs.  One night, half asleep as I finished my business and headed for the door.  As I walked out the door, the last thing I heard emanating from the radio was "Ladies and gentleman, it's the Jack Benny Show!"  Am I hear right now?

A Cat's Tale.  You can't have dogs and cats on the bases over here, mainly because they aren't vaccinated and often carry rabies.  A veterinary team was traveling from base to base to euthanize all dogs and cats for the protection of everyone on the base.  Evidently a soldier had been bitten by a dog on another base in Afghanistan and had not been properly treated.  He eventually died of rabies after returning to the states.  As luck would have it a very elusive cat had kittens under one of our buildings on base.  Just a few days before the vet was arriving I saw a couple of the kittens for the first time.  They were in a playful mood, chasing each other around just a few feet away.  Once we walked by, though, they scampered back to their hiding place.  One of the civilians working on base was a secret member of the Feline Liberation Front, putting food out for the kitties every day.  I asked him to stop and let him know their days were numbered.  The day the vets showed up though brought more surprises.  Once they were able to catch one and take a close look they determined that these were no ordinary cats.  In fact they were protected Afghan Jungle Cats, a funny name since there isn't a jungle to be found in Afghanistan (which may explain why they are endangered).  So, the vets left, the kitties lived and the Feline Liberation Front claimed a huge victory.

Recall specials.  Remember when Toyota had to recall all those cars when they were accelerating by themselves?  I found out what they did with all them...they are here in Afghanistan.  Okay, maybe not, but there are more Toyota Corollas here then in Tokyo.  Somebody at Toyota was a genius when they cornered the market on white Corollas right here in Kunar.  It is humorous when they tell us to look out for a suspicious white Toyota Corolla...that's like saying "look out for a suspicious wheelbarrow pushed by an eight year old kid."

More later...time for bed.

Never Forget

As a very long ten year anniversary of 9/11 comes to a close in Afghanistan, I find myself still in the office, finishing up five or six issues all at the same time, while trying to keep tabs on the football scores back home.  I am a bit out of uniform as I sit here in my uniform trousers (yes, we call them trousers) and my NYPD "Gone But Not Forgotten" shirt that was given to me by Paul McMahon of the 46th Precinct in the Bronx.  I have had it for nine years and I wear it without fail every 9/11. Today I flew a US Flag on our flagpole and will send it to Paul and his precinct as a gesture of thanks and remembrance.  We had a small ceremony this morning to start the day.  It actually went very well.  I gave a little speech that I thought about and thought about for weeks and then sat down an hour before the event and just kind of threw stuff on the paper.  I have perfected the art of procrastination.  Shortly after the ceremony, one of the guys I am closest to on the team became sick and had to be flown to a larger base to be evaluated.  So I spent the entire morning in medical with him making sure he was getting good care (as always he received excellent care as our doctors, medics and corpsmen are the best).  I walked him out to the helicopter that took him away.  Looks like he will receive some treatment and be back within the week.  In the afternoon my body told me to take a break, so I did.  Of course that just put me behind, so here I sit as the last few minutes of the day wind down.  I thought I would put the content of my speech...I suppose it is a cheap way to have a long post so it looks like I worked really hard on this.  Anyway, here it is:  

Ten years….at first glance it would seem that no one in this room would ever need reminding of why we are here and what circumstances brought us to eastern Afghanistan.  But, ten years we have been at this which means that ten years ago some of you were more concerned about getting through sixth grade and moving on to middle school.  For others, Afghanistan was just that place that had outlasted the Soviets, sending them home with their tails between their legs.  But the theme has been since ten years ago today, “never forget.”  Time can place scar tissue over deep wounds and turn memories hazy. Enduring the daily grind here in Kunar can fog the purpose of our presence as people concentrate on getting home and just getting through the deployment.  Never forget that Afghanistan was a safe haven for Al Qaeda, allowing them to train and plan for and execute the events that took place ten years ago.  Never forget that ten years ago almost 3000 people died senselessly on American soil and that since then another 1800 have given the ultimate sacrifice.  Never forget that the mission is to build the capacity of the Afghan government so they can stand united against the Taliban and against Al Qaeda so that this country never again becomes the training ground for an event such as 9/11.  It is a difficult task to stay focused and ready   24 hours a day week after week and month after month, but that is what we have been charged with and that is what we have to accomplish.  Never forget that every person in this room and every person on this base, military and civilian from E1 to O6 has an integral part to play.  Whatever your part is, always ensure you strive to be the best at that task because it may come to pass that we all have to rely on you in the hour of need.   I had the opportunity to chat with my mom yesterday on Facebook and I asked her what she planned to do today.  Her response was:

 “Just church, staying cool watching TV and crying a whole lot…It is a horrendous day to remember. We have one flag flying and their will be many prayers said for the people of that day and all of you men and women over there.”

My mom’s thoughts are even more poignant when you realize that her generation was forced to experience two events similar in nature, as she still remembers Pearl Harbor and having a brother stationed on one of the ships in Hawaii on 7 December 1941.  Today and long after we have departed we must strive to ensure our generations do not have to experience another Pearl Harbor or 9/11 and watch as our sons and daughters or grandchildren are forced to go to war once again. 

Everyone handles the memory of that day ten years ago differently, and that is why we have chosen to make this entire day a day to not only reflect but to look ahead.  I will tell you that I have seen the resolve and the commitment to making Afghanistan a secure and stable country in many of the Afghans that I interact with every day.  Yes, there are still plenty of bad guys out there, and there are still those that just do not get it.  But there are also those who do get it and who are dedicating their lives to a peaceful Afghanistan.  So, today, I will reflect on the events of that day ten years ago and the course this effort has taken over time.  But I am also looking ahead at the work in front of us and I know we can achieve this mission.  For those who are getting ready to return to their lives in the states, I thank you for your service and your sacrifice and I pledge to you that what you did here had an extremely positive effect on the final outcome and those of us who will be here a bit longer will continue to fight the good fight as you have done for so long.

For the last few days I struggled with what I wanted to say today, because I feel this is such an important day to remember.  This morning as I stepped outside for the first time, I was struck by how still the air was and how the temperature was just right.  It is a beautiful morning, in a way that only  Kunar can be beautiful.  The beauty of this place calls to you and entices you to let your guard down.  But behind the veil of natural beauty, we must never forget the threat that hides behind that veil.  I was drawn towards the flight line as I wandered this morning and I looked at the sign that proclaimed this base in honor of Sergeant Jeremy Wright.  I felt a bit guilty that I knew absolutely nothing about this man for whom our base is named.  So I figured it was appropriate that, on a day of remembrance and on a day where our gym will be dedicated in honor of Corporal Arruda, I would find out who he was.  Jeremy Wright was a talented runner, in fact he was an All-American from Wabash College prior to joining the Army and becoming a Green Beret.  He had traveled around the world when he ran competitively and he knew that he owed his country for the wonderful gifts he possessed as an American.  Similar to Corporal Arruda, he was killed by an IED on 3 January 2005.  I found a tribute page for Sergeant Wright and wanted to share a couple of passages:  This first passage is from one of his Army buddies.

Its been nearly 3 1/2 years and I still see you smiling up at me and giving me the thumbs up as we started to roll out that morning. Man was it cold.

I always thought I was self-motivated and 'gung ho' but you showed me the true meaning of motivation. Remember that morning that Dave and I were outside stretching for a run and slowly talking each other out of it because it was cold and raining? You burst out the door and just started running towards Bull Run. Thats all it took, Dave and I looked at each other and started running; all excuses gone. That mountain was a beast and you nearly killed Dave and I just trying to keep you in sight.

But more than just exercise, you were probably the hardest working individual I ever met. No matter how late I thought it was when I finished in the toc, you were almost always still there or in the team hut still plugging away at something. You taught me alot, even if you didn't realize it, and I will always appreciate that. When James says 'You were the best of us' he doesn't just mean the Team. You were the best man in the whole Group.

I hope you are well buddy."

This second passage is from his sister, who writes on the website quite regularly:

As the 10th anniversary of 9/11 comes in the next couple of hours, I think of you with not only sadness for everything that we've missed not having you here for the last 6 years, but also filled with pride. I am proud of the sacrifices you made as an individual. You stopped everything in your life...your running...your career dreams and goals...to serve our country...to help keep us safe. And that's how you died. Protecting us. Protecting those with you that day. Protecting the innocent, helpless people in Afghanistan. I know you are with each of us...and I know that you will watch over your new little niece or nephew once October arrives. That baby is going to have the best guardian angel that could ever be sent. We love you and miss you as much today as we did the day you left. Never forget that! Hug dad and grandpa for me...xoxoxo"

Lori and Macy of Indiana

For those of us who are here to carry the torch of this effort, we must never forget the sacrifice of those like Sergeant Jeremy Wright, Corporal Raphael Arruda, and especially today, the 2977 victims of 9/11.  On this day, ten years after that tragic day, there is absolutely no other place in the world I would rather be than right here with all of you, serving in the greatest military of the greatest nation on earth.  I am proud, honored and humbled to serve with you and I thank all of you for what you do each and every day.  Never forget, God bless you and God bless America. 

The Best Kept Secret in Afghanistan

Whenever I meet a visitor to Forward Operating Base (FOB) Wright I always tell them "Welcome to the best kept secret in Afghanistan.  If you have to be in Afghanistan and you have to live on a FOB, this is the place to be.  Not just because it is in a pretty spectacular setting, nestled between large mountains and hills at the base of the Hindu Kush mountain range.  Not only because the surging Kunar River turns the valley into one of the greener spots in the country.  But also because FOB Wright may have the best dining facility around.  It is not large like some of the other bases where you have to weave around the maze of tables to try and find an open seat among the crowds of soldiers and civilian contractors.  No you can always find a seat and you are always going to get great food.  We always have fresh vegetables and fruit and a wide variety of water, soda, gatorade and energy drinks (which I stay away from).  Desserts are plentiful including hard packed ice cream for lunch and dinner (bad news).  Plus, the dining facility, or Dfac as it is referred to, is in a real building instead of a tent like many FOBs around here.  So it offers a pleasant setting for starting the day or winding down after a long hot mission.  The Dfac also provides an excellent way to watch the weeks melt away as the daily meal choices roll by.  Tuesday is Italian...spaghetti or lasagna every Tuesday.  Wednesday is Mexican night.  Friday is surf and turf.  It actually has pizza every couple of weeks, which is too bad because they actually prepare a mean pizza.   A couple of nights a week they also offer mongolian stir fry.  As the days roll by it is always good to see Italian night roll by.  Tuesday is the day that has become a kind of mile marker.  When you run a marathon, you search longingly in the distance for the next mile marker, knowing when you see it you are that much closer to the finish line.  Italian night on Tuesdays is my mile marker that tells me I am that much closer to the finish line...that much closer to home.  Of course, the markers are still in the low numbers...we are nowhere near the 26.2 mark.  But the days will continue to roll by and I will look for that pasta each Tuesday and know eventually we will say our farewells to the best kept secret in Afghanistan.

The Longest Month...Part II

I know I wrote an entry a few months ago where I lamented that May was the longest month ever.  Well, I gotta tell you May, you've got nothing on August.  Thank goodness August is finally over (although I still have a couple of hours so anything could happen).  Aside from all the exciting things that happened throughout the month, along with the leadership challenges, August was the longest in history because of Ramazan (commonly referred to as Ramadan in the states).  During the month of Ramazan, all Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset.  To them, fasting means nothing passes the lips...no food, no water, no cigarettes...nothing.  Once the sun goes down, however, all bets are off, and around seven in the evening they will gather together for an Iftar dinner where they replenish their bodies.  Then, for most, they wake up at around two in the morning and eat a big meal, knowing it will be their last for about seventeen hours.  After the meal they go to prayer and then they start their day.  Since the schedule is so out of whack, most everyone stops working around noon and then they lie down for a nice siesta around two.  It makes it especially difficult when you are working and walking around in 100 degree temperatures and you can't drink any water...makes for a long day. 

But this isn't about their long month.  This is about my long month.  For one thing, although I did not fast, I also did not drink water around them or eat anything around them.  So, whenever we spent time at the Governor's Compound I would abstain from drinking so as not to unintentionally harass one of our Afghan counterparts.  That wasn't so difficult, and it certainly made that first drink of water or gatorade taste that much more refreshing.  But, what I missed more than anything was the snacks.  Because the Afghan people live in such a polite society, anytime you sit down anywhere for more than a minute, a snack tray would always appear.  No matter where you go in Kunar, the snack trays look almost identical (someone has a monopoly on this) and the contents of the tray would almost always be exactly the same thing.  The trays are circular and are divided into four sections surrounding a circular section in the middle.  Invariably the snacks would be dried chickpeas, pistachios, almonds (still in the shell), and raisins.  These four selections always surrounded the favorite of all in the middle...chewy toffee in a gold wrapper.  Yum.  The variation on this theme, which I have only seen a couple of times, is an almond with some sort of sugary confectionary cover...my all time favorite.  One time, in a particularly long meeting, I ate those almonds and then started sneaking them from another tray.  Oftentimes it is the only way I can maintain coherency.  Because the electrical grid is suspect or non-existent in most places (most times people rely on generators), there is not much air conditioning in sweltering heat listening to long speeches in Pashto and listening to the translation as the sweat rolls down your back, and your eyes start to get heavy because your system is shutting down....so I eat the snacks.  The chickpeas are like chewing sawdust pellets, but I have grown to love them.  The pistachios and almonds entertain because you have to extract them from the shell...not always an easy task.  The raisins, for some reason, I have avoided.  Perhaps I will try the raisins next time. 

The other thing that shows up whenever you sit down for more than a minute, is a drink.  Usually it is one of the two national drinks of Afghanistan, chai (tea) or Mountain Dew (Mountain Dew).  Yes, the hot drink of choice is tea and the cold drink of choice is Mountain Dew.  Not sure how they did it but the guy who introduced Mountain Dew to Afghanistan is a genuis.  Everytime you sit down to a big lunch, Mountain Dew for everyone.  Sometimes there will be a Sprite, but they are far and few between.  The problem with Green Tea and Mountain Dew is that they look amazingly similar.  More than once, sitting outside in 100 degree weather I have been brought a green tinted liquid in a clear glass and had to make sure I took a cautious first sip to determine whether it was tea or dew.  Taking a big gulp of hot tea could be painful and embarrassing.  At one meeting after we first arrived, we had to stay longer than planned because we caught them without anything to drink so they sent a runner out to the store to buy some Mountain Dew.  So we waited, and waited and kept the conversation going so that we did not insult them by leaving before the dew arrived. 

But the pain of no snacks and no chai and no water or dew is past.  Ramazan is over and the country is on vacation for a few days as they celebrate their version of thanksgiving.  People will start returning back to work on Saturday or Sunday as the celebrations wind down.  Once again, when we arrive at the Governor's Compound we will bring ice cold water to share.  I can't wait to get back to the meetings so that I can once again enjoy the wonderful Afghan hospitality and dive back into the chickpeas, almonds and that wonderful toffee!

Yesterday morning I stood out on the flight line and watched one of my guys head toward the helicopter.  He was starting a long journey back to the states that would take him from Camp Wright to Jalalabad to Bagram to Kuwait to New Jersey (and a few more layovers in between Kuwait and New Jersey I am sure).  He was heading back home to bury his father.  The night before he had learned of his father's passing, so now he was on his way home to provide some strength for those who had been there at the end, and to figure out how to grieve for his own loss.  The realities of life and death are not put on hold during deployment.  Kids continue to grow up and experience life, people lose and gain employment, hurricanes threaten homes and loved ones, and people pass away.  I remember being on deployment and receiving a letter from Mom saying Aunt Darlene had passed away.  I couldn't remember the last time I had seen her, but once I joined the Navy the times I had seen her had been few and far between.  But, I sat there in my stateroom with tears rolling down my cheeks, sad for my mother and for Aunt Darlene's family that had always been a part of my life in some way even if it was just wonderful memories.  Numerous times over the years I have been faced with breaking the news to a Sailor that someone close to them had passed away.  The helplessness of being so far away and the guilt of not having been there, regardless of whether or not you could do anything about it always seems  to be the first reaction. 

This young man who is now on his journey back to the states (which will no doubt be affected by Hurricane Irene) is a strong, powerful, stoic man who takes great pride in doing his job well.  But the other night he was reduced to sorrow and tears as he sat in disbelieve at the loss.  The tears came in waves as the reality would hit, or as a friend would come in to comfort him. We pray for him and for his family and there is no doubt that his father was proud of the man he had become and the grandchild he had given him.  He will bury his father, comfort his family and then return, taking the long route back here to resume the deployment so far from home.

Kids and More Kids

So there is this burn pit right outside the base.  Since Waste Management Co has not made their way Afghanistan yet, we have to burn all of our trash...I know, not exactly environmentally friendly but there is no other alternative at this stage.  So each day trucks go out and dump the trash and burn it.  So the pit is a large blackened crater that is constantly smoking like the top of a volcano.  Here and there you can see little, smoldering fires as the remnants of the trash gets turned to ash.  But the fire has competition for the trash.  Because the pit is constantly occupied by a collection of goats, sheep, mules, cattle and kids.  The goats and sheep are always rummaging through the burning garbage looking for something good to eat.  The sheep...I am pretty sure they were white at one point but hanging out at the burn pit has turned their wool black.  The other day as we drove by it was raining, so you could see some of the black soot washing away from the sheep although it was just making them looking nastier than they already did.  They do not seem to be too concerned by the fires and the hot earth they are walking over, although they do not seem to be too concerned about anything.  One of my guys said he saw two goats at the top of the burn pit, as he put it..."they were making love, and they were both on fire."  Now, that's what you call the heat of passion.  I'm not sure why the cows and mules hang out there except to see what all the excitement is about.  The kids from the nearby villages will venture in sometimes too.  Perhaps they are suppose to be tending the flocks and herds.  They will rummage through the crater for whatever good stuff they can get their hands on without getting burned.  Crazy.

Driving through the province, it is amazing how many animals and kids there are.  Even driving to Asadabad, the capital of the province that is only five minutes away, if we go at the wrong time in the morning we get stuck behind a mini cattle drive as the farmer takes his livestock down to whereever it is they hang out during the day.  So, they head right down the main street until they take a right just before they get to the center of town.  It is always sketchy when we are driving around because these animals are fearless and stupid.  You will see three cows, or maybe four of five mules walking down the side of the road, no one tending them of course, and you will invaribly see one of them just start tilting his head to the left as though he has decided he wants to cross the road.  Pay no attention to the large vehicles (with weapons) barreling down the road.  Next thing you know it's little head tilt will become a left turn right into the middle of the road as it decides to saunter across without a care in the world.  So we spend quite a bit of time hitting the brakes for a wide variety of animals. 

The kids!  The average Afghan family has five to six kids...that is the average.  So, there are kids everywhere.  Because they are kids, they always come out to the side of the road whenever we pass.  Depending on the village, they will either wave, give us a thumbs up, give us an obscene gesture or throw rocks.  It all depends on where we are in the province.  There is one village in particular where it seems they are not big fans, but the kids still stop and watch us go by...there are so many more than in other places.  They are all young...under twelve...and they will just watch us go by, with little or no emotion.  Kind of like the Stepford Children or Children of the Corn maybe...slightly creepy.  Of course, because it is summer and the temperature is anywhere between 101 and 107 on most days, you will see the kids out swimming in the canals and the river just like anywhere in the world.  I have even seen kids tubing down the river and relaxing along the river bank.  Unfortunately, the kids in the canals are swimming in the water that carries the sewage away from their villages...nice.  There is no clear water here.  It is all brown, even the river. 

Of course the kids are critical in the process of building this country.  Breaking the cycle and educating the next generation so they can better understand the world around them and not be manipulated by ignorance and hate is key.  That is why we build schools and promote education.  The percentage of kids getting an education, both boys and girls, is going up which is great.  What they do with this education remains to be seen.  Hopefully it will get them out of the burn pit.

Judge Judy...Afghan style

As we attempt to solve the puzzle that is Afghanistan, one of the primary pieces is rule of law.  If the country is going to be able to stand on it's own two feet and if the people of Afghanistan are going to have a lasting trust in their country, then they are going to have to believe in the rule of law and a modern style of justice that involves lawyers, judges and courtrooms.  For centuries they have relied on honor killings, vengence and the word of the tribal elders who would gather and mete out justice.  Kunar, for all of the other problems it faces, has been the standard bearer for modern justice over the past couple of years.  They have been having public trials with prosecutors and defense attorneys and judges just as the system is suppose to work.  In fact, the pride and joy of Asadabad is the new three story courthouse that just opened in May (courtesy of PRT Kunar thank you very much).  Even with all the success and the commitment shown to the rule of law, the past still confronts the future in most cases as was shown the other day when I had the opportunity to observe a murder trial at the new courthouse.  To showcase how successful Kunar has been, our rule of law expert at the PRT, Abe Sutherland (who has been here for over a year and a half and hopefully will stay longer) invited some dignitaries from Kabul to observe the trial also.  So on the morning of the trial we greeted a Brigadier General from the embassy along with an Afghan Supreme Court Justice and representatives from their Attorney General's office and Ministry of the Interior (which is much different from our Interior...instead of being in charge of national parks they own the police and border patrol).  After tea with the Governor, the entire entourage, including the Governor, walked the block and a half from the Governor's Compound to the courthouse.  It was like a little parade with the police lining the streets and the crowds gathering to see who was blocking traffic and our security forces surrounding the VIPs.  It was a very short walk but it is always interesting to walk the streets of Asadabad.

So the case was this:  About a month ago a man was getting out of his car near the traffic circle that we had to walk through to get to the courthouse.  He spied a man across the street who had killed his father and uncle over twenty years before, when he was only two.  According to the suspect, the killer of his father saw him and went back to his car to retrieve a gun.  But before he could get there, the suspect avenged the death of his father and uncle by shooting the man in the neck, killing him there in the street.  He then went to the nearest policeman and surrendered himself.  Vengeance has no statute of limitations in Afghanistan, especially with Pashtuns.  As we entered the courthouse, we had to climb the stairs to the third floor where the courtroom is located.  The room is fairly small, probably only holding about 100 people.  When I entered the room it was practically full, but my good friend Akbar came to the rescue.  Akbar was one of two interpreters who worked with the team when we were in Indiana for three months.  Hadi and Akbar lived with us in the open bay barracks and participated in all the training we went through at Camp Atterbury.  Hadi was nice enough to come visit me in Washington state when I was home on leave.  Akbar, who actually grew up in Asadabad, was in Afghanistan visiting his family and had come by the base the day before to say hello.  I invited him to the trial and he actually brought a couple of his friends.  Akbar always took care of me and today was no exception, as he kicked some people out of a couple of chairs in the back and made room for me and Sami, my governance advisor.  Akbar is a good man.  The room was hot and humid with a hundred bodies and little air conditioning.  It was 100 degrees outside and probably worse inside so everyone was soaked.

As the trial began three judges complete with robes and beautiful white turbans with tails that fell over their shoulders, entered the courtroom.  After the charges were read the prosecutor claimed it was a cold-blooded honor killing while the defense attorney claimed it was self-defense.  The man on trial stood at the front of the courtroom wearing a lime-green button down shirt and looking more relaxed than I would have expected.  He leaned on the railing much of the time and drank from a bottle of water.  When he spoke he said it was him or the victim as the victim was going for a gun.  His mother (who was only in the room when she testified and the only woman in the room except for an American public affairs rep from the State Department) testified that many years before, while she held her son in her arms, her husband and brother were shot and killed by the victim.  She said she brought it up to the mujahadeen when they were in power but nothing was done.  Then when the Taliban was in power she brought it up to them and still the man remained free.  She grew tired of bringing it to the authorities because no one wanted to help.  She pleaded with the court to free her son as he was her only means of support and she would be destitute without him.  After the mother testified, what seemed like their entire village lined up to testify that yes, the victim had killed this poor man's father and uncle many years ago and that he had suffered enough so please free him.  For some of the witnesses the judges asked them how old they were when it happened and some of them were only two or three at the time.  Because of the lack of records in Afghanistan, some had to guess at their age.  One said he had fasted for three years at Ramadan at the time of the shooting.  the judges made fun of him because it would have been much easier to say "seventeen" (people start fasting at Ramadan at fifteen).  After about twenty people testified, the judges said no more, even though there was probably another fifteen or so waiting to say the same things.  The trial was more about the twenty year old murder than the month old one.  The point of the people was that it was justified and honorable so let him go and allow him to take care of his mother. 

The judges asked the prosecutor what he wanted and the prosecutor told them he was asking for execution of the suspect.  The Defense Attorney asked for him to be set free, providing the judges the entire spectrum of punishments to choose from.  While they were out of the courtroom deliberating, I asked Akbar and Sami what they thought and they both thought he would be set free (as did much of the rest of the room).  The judges were only gone for about fifteen or twenty minutes when they came back and read their verdict....guilty, with a sentence of six years in prison.  The room was silent...no outcries or complaints.  Just quiet acceptance of the verdict.  I was looking at the young man as the verdict was read and their was no visible sign of relief or dissapointment.  He remained stoic, although perhaps a bit less relaxed than before.  The funny thing is, he will most likely be safer in prison since it will make it more difficult for the victim's family to exact revenge on the young man.  None of the victim's family was present at the trial...perhaps because they did not want to legitimize the proceedings by their presence.  In all likelihood they will be patient and wait for the man to get out of prison before they seek vengence as the honor code of pashtunwali would call for.  If they had been their they would have been saying "we accept the findings of the court and the punishment given to the man and we accept that justice has been served."  Of course all of this is theory on my part.

So, as the man was led, in shackles, back to prison, we sat down to lunch on the second floor of the courthouse to celebrate another successful example of modern rule of law.  Then, after a few meetings in the courthouse we took the entourage back to the Governor's Compound and transported the VIPs back to the base where they jumped on a helo back to Kabul.  It was a good day because it was a step in the right direction.  The judges did not bend to the pressure of the endless village testimony but also respected the reasonings behind the killing...a blend of past and future that will hopefully be just another small step in allowing Afghanistan to stand on their own two feet and for us to get home.

Don't Make Fun of People...Karma Will Get You

So, a couple of days ago I entered the restroom right outside my room to throw away some empty water bottles.  It was first thing in the morning and I was just starting my day.  As I left the restroom I felt something on the back of my head followed by a sharp pain...stung again.  I have no doubt it was amusing for the Afghan gentleman who was watching me hit myself on the back of the head repeatedly with my own hat trying to make sure there wasn't some kind of bug attached to my head.  Oh yeah, I was also somewhere between yelling and screaming because of the shock of the moment and the searing pain in my head.  I never did see what stung me but I figure it was most likely karma.  A couple of days before our senior chief had to go down to Jalalabad for some training, and while he was there he was stung in the back of the head.  Only he swelled up and went into anphlaxtic shock.  I guess I shouldn't have made fun of him.  We do have wasps here...orange wasps that make their nests all over the place.  They usually don't bother you and you almost get used to them flying around.  Of course they also have centipedes.  One of our guys was stung on the arm by a centipede but he was fine (although I guess the little sucker didn't want to let go for a few seconds). I made fun of him too (karma again).  Not sure what stung me but I immediately went to medical where they gave me some little white pills.  Doc said it wouldn't make me as sleepy as benadryl which is good because my boss happened to be flying out to spend the day at our lovely base, so obviously I couldn't be out of it.  I'm certainly glad Doc didn't give me benadryl because the little white pill he gave me kicked my butt.  Just thirty minutes before the visit, I was loopy as an amusement park ride and could barely hold my head up (not to mention my head still hurt).  Luckily I was able to make it through, and if anything it relaxed me through the visit.  Later that evening, after the boss had left,  we had some excitement when we learned the meaning of the phrase "the rockets red glare."  Thankfully everyone was safe and we responded well.  Just another crazy day in Kunar...more later.

Catching Up

Alright, so the reason I started this blog in the first place was to keep family and friends up to date on what I was up to during my adventure to Afghanistan.  I wrote fairly regularly during the training leading up to the deployment, but as soon as I got here everything stopped...sorry about that.  So, tonight I will attempt to get back on track.  It is a shame really, because a day does not go by that something happens and I think to myself that I should write about it.  But as time rolls on more interesting things get added to the list and it becomes overwhelming to the point where I just do not write anything.  One of the problems I often face is trying to figure out what I can write and what I should write.  There are obviously things that go on that I cannot write about because of security and classification so that is easy.  There are other times where I have to take into account those that might read it so I don't unduly worry anyone even though I am perfectly safe.  Sometimes, when you write about experiences it may be a bit worrisome for the folks at home.  I have to filter some things so people don't jump to conclusions or get the wrong idea. Anyway, let's jump back into it.

We arrived at Camp Wright three weeks ago after a long trip that took us from Indiana to Germany (two hour layover) to Manas, Kyrgyzstan to Bagram Airfield, Afghanistan to Jalalabad to Camp Wright.  Some quick impressions of each stop:

    -Manas.  It was strange to be in a place that used to be part of the Soviet Union.  We spent three days at a transit base there waiting for further transportation.  We were not allowed to leave the base but I spoke with some Raytheon contractors who live out on town.  One of the guys said that a delicacy around there was horse milk.  He tried it once and said it was nasty.  I asked him if he drank it cold or warm and he just shook his head and said it was just plain nasty.  What I want to know is who is milking the horses?  I am so glad horse milk was not a delicacy back when we had a barn full of horses.  I can just see me and Dad putting the pail under the old buckskin mare named Cindy and trying to milk her...okay, wipe that thought out of your mind.  Anyway, the other memory I will have of Manas is the grasshoppers.  Thousands and thousands of grasshoppers flying around.  At dusk they are all around the lampposts eating the smaller bugs until they get their fill.  But then they are so gorged and fat that they can't move anymore.  So when the sun comes up in the morning the sidewalk is full of shmushed grasshoppers that got stepped on by people walking by.  That is all my scientific theory of course, take it or leave it.  I am pretty sure we brought a few to Afghanistan with us because they were crawling all over our bags right before we left.

    -Bagram.  I am not a big fan of Bagram.  The first time I was there was in February when we arrived in the middle of a snowstorm with the biggest, fattest, wettest flakes I have ever seen.  It snowed for three days and we were stuck there for four days.  Coming back in June it was just hot.  We were placed in a tent big enough for Barnum and Bailey Circus.  It must have had 300 to 400 bunks in it, and the with no lights or ac it was dark and sweltering.  Luckily we were able to get out of there in less than a day. 

    -Jalalabad.  We arrived in Jalalabad after a quick layover in Kandahar.  For awhile there we thought we were going to get stuck in Kandahar, which would have been my worst nightmare.  Luckily they loaded us back up and we were able to make it to Jalalabad.  That place is just simply hot.  One memory that has always stayed with me was when I flew from Seattle to Bangkok and arrived in the middle of the night.  I remember stepping off the plane to walk down the stairs and on to the tarmac and feeling the heat sizzling my brain.  Arriving in Jalalabad gave me the same feeling.  It was intensified when we stepped out the back of the C130 and had to walk behind the engines.  It was, without a doubt, the hottest I have ever felt...similar to putting my face on a burner.  Once we passed behind the plane that sensation went away but it was still 110 degrees.  I lucked out and was able to get on a helo to Camp Wright just three hours after arriving.  I preceded the rest of my team, as they had to wait one night in Jalalabad before  coming up the next day. 

Asadabad.  If you have to be stationed in Asadabad, Forward Operating Base (FOB Wright) is the place to be.  It is small yet has most of the amenities you would want.  Good food, good facilities and in a beautiful setting.  Just a few minutes away from downtown Asadabad, the FOB sits in a valley not far from the Kunar River, surrounded by hills and mountains that perhaps in another lifetime will be an outdoor paradise.  It would be a great place to hike and fish if there weren't bad guys in the hills and pollution in the river from the waste that drains into it.  It was great to see the team arrive the next day because they all seemed to be thrilled to finally be here and pleasantly surprised by the accommodations.  I guess after spending all that time in Indiana, Manas, Bagram and Jalalabad, it made Camp Wright look pretty good.

It has been a week and a half since we had a turnover ceremony and the old team left.  Since then we have been going through a few growing pains here and there as we establish a rhythm and figure out the best way to do things.  Although not as hot as Jalalabad, this place is hot in it's own right, hovering around 105 most days.  Even in the evenings the air is just hot and heavy.  When the wind blows sometimes it just feels like you opened the oven and that initial blast of heat hits your face. 

Alright, so not very interesting, but I will write much more often (and shorter) so we can keep in touch.  There is much more to report and many interesting things happening every day.  More later...

Here We Go!

I guess I should not be surprised that it is raining on our last day in Indiana.  While I was on leave my brother David tried to convince me that the weather issues were not Indiana's fault because the entire nation had been experiencing crazy weather all spring...I'm not buying it.  Today's weather is a well placed exclamation on the three months we have spent in this state never to be visited again.

Leave was great.  In some ways one week seemed very quick and way too short a period.  In other ways it seemed like it was much longer than a week, perhaps because it was so busy and we packed so much into the week that it felt more like two weeks.  It was hard to relax with the thousand and one thoughts going around in my noggin'.  With our advance team traveling across the globe toward Kunar, Bob graduating and heading off to LA, Sean getting ready for his Senior year in high school and Sara and Midori planning a wedding my already jumbled brain was overloaded.  Especially when you add in all the things that I didn't get done around the house and the thoughts of whether or not we have fully prepared for this mission.  Despite this, the time I spent with the family was glorious.  Being able to watch Bob graduate from Oregon State was a great moment.  Seeing mom along with brothers and sisters, neices, friends and former co-workers was the perfect way to spend the short time at home....I am truly blessed.

So today's biggest triumph was to finally get everything packed up and ready to load.  This whole packing thing has been a painful experience.  Especially for someone like me who is, perhaps, the worst packer in history.  I can screw up an overnight stay at my Mom's house, much less a nine months stay in Afghanistan.  While I was on leave I actually took some stuff home and left it for Midori to mail in flat rate boxes.  When I arrived back in Indiana I stared down the junk in my locker and it just would not disappear no matter how long I looked.  We are allowed to take two sea bags, a rucksack and a carry-on backpack.  Of course, included in the packing is our body armor, helmet, gas mask, and a few other required items that take up much of the space.  I was planning to make a trip to the post office to try and mail some more stuff when our Physician's Assistant, Doc Pillitiere, came by and said "Hey, I have a little space in the medical foot locker if you have any extra stuff you want to throw in there."  In a moment of weakness and unbridled joy, I hugged the man.  Now, that is out of character for me when it comes to work...there's no hugging in the Navy!  But he was my savior for the moment and, well, I forgot myself.  Of course even after using up every inch of space he offered, I was still strapped.  That is, until Petty Officer Croston made me the same offer for her admin trunk.  I was able to contain myself this time, so there was no hugging...but I took her up on her offer.  This afternoon we will load all the bags up in a truck and then wait until just after midnight to board buses to the airport as we make our way to the mission we have been training so hard for.

So, let's get this show on the road.  I have been training for this since last September...nine months of training for a nine month mission.  This is going to be a great ride!

The Longest Month

Hoorah! May is over.  Who knew May had forty-five days, which is what it felt like as the calendar refused to allow June to take over.  June marks a new beginning as the formal training finally comes to an end and we make our final preparations for heading over to Afghanistan.  I was so mixed up in my days towards the end that I seriously thought the month was over, only to be reminded that it was only the 27th.  Yesterday marked the final event in a ten day culminating exercise that put us through our paces in all the areas that we trained on ove the last two and a half months.  It was our final exam, and as expected, we aced it.  I don't know how many times over the past couple of days I have said "we are truly blessed."  For we have a great team and they continue to excel in every aspect of their jobs.  There is nothing for me to do but ride their coattails and watch them do great things.  One example is our female engagement team.  This is nothing more than the five females on the PRT that will have the opportunity to work with Afghan females mentoring them on education, business opportunities and family healthcare.  In the one event they participated in, they did so well that the trainers are going to make all the other PRTs watch the video of the event so they can see how to do it right.  The Security Force is the most well-disciplined and the most physically fit team out here.  They make great decisions and they care about the mission and about each other...truly blessed I am.

Now, if I may, let me speak about Indiana.  The next time I have to drive cross country and I take the northerly route, I am driving around Indiana.  I' sorry but I feel that strongly about it.  I will take a detour all the way around the state rather than drive through it.  At first I didn't want to blame Indiana for Camp Atterbury.  It isn't Indiana's fault that the National Guard made the choice to put it here. In fact I am pretty sure that every state has a version  of Camp Atterbury, so I was willing to let the state slide a bit.  But there is no excuse for the weather.  I can't believe how everyone always talks about the great Pacific Northwest and how it rains too much there.  I have spent most of my life in the Pacific Northwest and I will tell you I have never seen so much rain as I have seen in Indiana.  The large mud puddle that would often take up half the parking lot outside the barracks (I dubbed it Lake Kunar) has almost dried up after a few days of sunny weather.  But there is always the danger that it will come back again in a moment's notice.  With the rain comes the lightning and the thunder and the hail the size of golf balls.  All the COs had to leave a meeting early because tornadoes were touching down nearby and the building we were in was not well protected. Are you kidding me? Training events out on the firing ranges were repeatedly cancelled because of the lightning that was striking the ranges.  That was just Spring.  When I first arrived here in February it was 4 degrees and covered with hardpacked icy snow.  Indiana, no offense but I am done with you.

So, now we give some briefs, tie up loose ends and get ready for a well deserved seven days of leave before starting the real adventure. Last night a few of us had the opportunity to attend an Afghan dinner in celebration of the end of the exercise.  Over the past ten days we were interacting with Afghans who were role players in each of the exercise events.  They played every role from provincial governor to tea server to Taliban.  They were all there at the dinner so we were able to share a meal with them and converse with them outside a structured event.  It was a great evening and a nice way to wrap up things.  They even got me up dancing for about a minute (I am trying to keep it off Youtube).  We all sat on the floor and ate with our hands in the traditional Afghan style. Good company, good food....a good way to end the longest month.

I have been unlucky enough to obtain a video of the infamous stress shoot that I described in the previous post.  The fourth guy coming up and plopping down in the mud is me.  This is at about the 400 meter point just before we had to shoot.  Enjoy my pain!

Training Continues......

I apologize for the long delay in providing an update.  The pace has been fast and furious with long days and little sleep.  Plus my computer died a couple of weeks ago and is somewhere in Sony land getting fixed.  I have been jumping on one of the computers in our admin spaces a couple of times a day to check email but I always have a forlorn looking petty officer staring at me and waiting for me to get off the computer so he can get his work accomplished. Today I borrowed the computer of one of my department heads so I could do more than just a quick check of email.  Besides, he has a new IPAD and doesn't use this computer much anymore.

So, what has been going on?  Since Easter when I last wrote, we have continued to evolve into a strong team, and I have no doubt that we could leave today and absolutely flourish as a PRT in Afghanistan.  We have gone through exercise after exercise and drill after drill and through every evolution we have shown that we always do it right.  We have a great mix of people that make good decisions and conduct business safely and effectively.  Whereas we started out with each individual qualifying on the different weapons systems, whether it be 9MM pistol, M4 rifle, 240B Machine Gun, 249 SAW or M2 50 cal machine gun, we have moved into working as truck crews and full patrols with five trucks moving together and reacting to enemy contact or learning how to spot IEDs on the road.  In the past month I have disassembled and reassembled machine guns, shot the M4 rifle at night while looking through night vision goggles, acted as a truck commander on a live fire range and even learned how to enter and clear a room as a member of a fire team.  Although 99% of what we are learning we should never have to use while in Afghanistan, it is good to be comfortable with the weapons and to understand procedures.

One of the sillier things we had to do was the Stress Shoot, which involved running with your weapon for 400 meters and then immediately shooting forty rounds at a 100 meter target.  Of course, when I say run I am referring to the Army way of running which is running for three to five seconds and then dropping down to the prone position for a few seconds and then getting back up to run for three to five seconds more.  While you are doing this you have a number of instructors yelling and screaming at you like you were in boot camp, trying to stress you out even more.  Another factor to consider in this evolution is that we are in Indiana.  I don't ever want to hear people complain about how much it rains in the great Pacific Northwest.  That is all it does in Indiana.  In fact it is raining right now, just as it has throughout the spring.  So, the field we were running in was wet and nasty and muddy.  They had eighteen people at a time go.  I chose to go in the last group, but by the time the last group came around there were only four of us.  That meant that we had seven or eight instructors screaming at four of us...much more individual attention.  Of course the yelling and screaming did not affect me in the least, and I barely heard them because I was concentrating on breathing and getting up and throwing myself on the ground over and over again.  I could not figure out why they kept telling us to shift left.  Over and over they would yell "shift left, shift left!"  But then I understood....there was a lot more mud and water to the left.  So I played the game and made them happy by flopping myself into the middle of the mud puddles the size of small ponds. Reminder....fifty years old....I'm just sayin'.  Finally they had us belly crawl the last bit up a berm so that we could shoot our forty rounds.  Not sure what I learned through that whole exercise but it was fun...I guess.

Yesterday half the PRT returned from a three day exercise that was held at another training facility about an hour away.  It was a scenario that had us visiting a district in our province to assess a possible road project.  Throughout the three days I had to sit down for three key leader engagements with local officials and UN representatives (all role players) to talk about the project.  The first night we slept in our vehicles, so I was sitting in the front seat of a large Mad Max vehicle all night long.  Not much sleep was to be had.  Since we were bored and we knew that the scenario would call for us to be attacked, we sent a small team out to check out some suspicious vehicles and they ended up catching one of the bad guys.  That made the evening entertaining (I found out today they immediately changed the rules for the other PRTs going through it that you cannot run around outside your vehicles catching bad guys).  The second day the meeting with officials was followed by a very good Afghan meal.  That night we slept on the floor of a building that was used in the 1930s as "a dormitory for females unable to attend to themselves."  In other words the training facility we were on used to be an Insane Asylum.  We were hoping to see some ghosts but no luck.  Not much sleep that night either sleeping on a hardwood floor.  It was actually a great three days with some excellent scenarios and opportunities for our security forces to set up security and engage with civilians that may or may not be bad guys.  They did very well, as always and I believe everyone was satisfied with the training.

So now we start our final push, and in a few days our culminating exercise will begin which will encompass a week long scenario that will be the final exercise before we take a well deserved week off at home.  This has been a long, long two and a half months, and there is still about nineteen days to go.  But it has been worth it watching the team come together.  This is why we do it.