Reflections on a short visit

I have been back in the states for a week now, spending it mostly in bed fighting a bad cold that I brought back with me.  We received an unexpected week off, so I flew back to Washington State to spend time with the family.  Unfortunately, most of the time was spent in a Nyquil stupor.  Living in a tent while we were at Bagram coupled with sixteen hours of flight time back to the states probably went a long way towards making me sick.  I spent the first week in Afghanistan with a similar cold.  Tomorrow I head back for two days of training in DC and then it is back to Indiana for about three months.  As soon as I left Kunar, updating the blog became impractical as I had to wait in line for a computer on base.  They have a free internet cafe with a thirty minute limit.  At least ten minutes of that is waiting for the different web pages to load.  I would go on maybe once a day, check email real quick, send a short reply and my time would be up.  Now that I have a few moments I thought I would throw out some reflections on Kunar and my short time there:

-  It did not take long for reality to set in after I arrived.  The first night there they took me up to the flight line to observe an incoming medevac helicopter that was coming in with casualties.  A vehicle had hit an improvised explosive device on the road and some of the guys were banged up so they were bringing them in.  The stretcher bearers were lined up in two rows waiting for the helo to come in, not sure what to expect but ready for anything.  In their time in Kunar they had been through this dozens of times and they had seen a little bit of everything.  I had the sense immediately that they took this collateral duty very seriously but at the same time they were loose and comfortable in what they had to do.  Their part would only last a few minutes as the  surgical team would take over as soon as they were in the clinic, but their part was critical nonetheless.  The only light was from the moon as the helo came toward the landing pad.  We all faced away as the rotors kicked up dirt and rocks and we had to take one knee to avoid getting blown over from the terrific force the rotors generated in all directions.  One of the guys quickly put my collar up and velcroed it like a choker so I would not be digging the dirt out of my shirt later on.  Once the helo was on the ground the stretcher bearers went toward the helo in their two lines and quickly started making their way through the dark toward the clinic, being careful with their precious cargo.   The opening credits of MASH popped into my brain as the same scene played out right in front of me.  Inside the clinic the doctors and medics went to work, evaluating the four patients, taking x-rays, asking probing questions and determining the course of action.  Again, I was impressed by their professionalism and their amazing skills.  Thankfully none of the injuries were serious, but I knew I was no longer sitting in my corner office in Seattle looking up at the Space Needle...I was at war.

- It was interesting to look into the faces of the people as we walked through the villages or visited the schools.  They looked...tired.  I have tried to put myself in their place, to get a glimpse of how I would feel if another countriy's soldiers (and a few wayward Sailors) were patrolling my street in Lake Stevens, weapons at the ready or rolling through my town with their large armored vehicles.  Of course, I know I would not like it.  Especially if I was seeing the second or third country's soldiers in my lifetime come through and stay awhile.  The Russians rolled in and stayed through much of the eighties.  Once the Afghans drove them back to Russia, Afghanistan was torn apart by civil war until the Taliban took control and we all know how that turned out.   Over the next few months it will be important for me to determine how I will approach the relationships that I will be inheriting when I return to Kunar.  The PRT has been around for about seven years, so I will be the next in a line of Americans in cammies saying "we are here to help."  How I approach it is definitely a work in progress.

-  It was intriguing to see the dynamics at one of the schools we visited.  As I mentioned in a previous post, the school was in session when we arrived.  The front side of the school had six classrooms facing the courtyard, three to the left of the main entrance, and three to the right.  As we approached the entrance, the three windows to the right opened and the space was immediately filled with boys of many ages looking out at us.  The current PRT CO walked along in front of the windows and started to greet the students.  A teacher in a white pukol (hat) and a denim jacket came out from the front entrance carrying a stick.  The stick was not particularly thick but it was sturdy and I immediately caught on that he was heading directly for the boys in the windows.  I noticed a boy in the first window closest to the entrance.  He was probably fifteen or sixteen, tall and thin, and he was leaning forward with his hands on the window sill. He was looking away from the teacher toward the CO.  I could see right away that he was going to be the unfortunate victim of the stick wielding teacher but there was nothing to do but cringe as the stick came down with a loud thwack across the student's wrists.  A scramble of bodies disappeared from the three windows as the students practically fell back into their classrooms as the teacher made his way along the windows.  Fortunately their youthful speed kept them from having their wrists scarred by the teacher's wrath as they were able to get out of range before he could reach anyone else.  Twice more inside though, students ventured out into the hallway to see what we were doing only to have the stick-wielding teacher corral them back into their respective classrooms.  The last boy, another teenager probably seventeen or eighteen and six inches taller than the teacher, received a good whack across his hip and backside before he scrambled back to class.  Our linguist told the teacher it was not necessary but he just replied that if he did not do that the students would be "climbing on our shoulders like monkeys."  A few days ago I read an article about a teacher in the US who shook a table to get the students' attention.  One of his students became frightened and dialed 911.  Sure enough the police took him away and he is now suspended.  Perhaps we can strike some sort of balance on this issue, yeah?  Of course, it also gave me flashbacks to seventh grade history when Mr. Clausnitzer smacked me upside the head a couple of times when I was talking in class.  Another instance, again talking in class, he actually grabbed me by the hair and led me to another desk.  Wow, this is great therapy...so many issues are coming to light!

Enough for now.  I had a thousand other observations while I was there and I cannot wait to build upon them in the coming months.  More later...