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.