Our last night in Kunar. Over the past week we have been sending the team out in small groups. Each day we have been walking up to the flight line to bid farewell to each group as they load their bags and climb on to the helicopter that will start them on their journey home. Yesterday the weather cancelled the flight delaying a group of seven another 24 hours. They were obviously frustrated and a bit anxious having to stay an extra day. But this afternoon their deliverance arrived and they were able to finally depart Kunar. So now there are five. Tonight we ate dinner together, as we usually do. Only today we were the minority in the dining facility. New faces filled the room, faces we no longer knew. We represented a remnant of a proud team that spent the last year together. This place has past us by so now it is time to give room to the new team and allow them to continue the work that we had been the stewards of the past nine months.
As each group left, I was struck by the emotions that I felt, or perhaps, the lack of emotions. Although I will never see most of the team, I do not feel sadness. Even though I am heading home, I do not feel elation or joy. All those emotions are inside, stored away until a time when I can reflect and allow them to be released. For now, although my duties have been turned over and I am Commanding Officer in name only for less than 24 hours, still I am focused. I cherish my four remaining teammates and the job is not done until we all embark our own helicopter and leave Kunar once and for all, a team only in our memories as each of us reflect on the year that was. I don't know if we did any good to help the cause. I would like to say we put a dent in the effort at hand and, perhaps, Afghanistan will have the strength to reach that ultimate goal of peace and stability.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
No Coffee Table Books
Eighteen pounds and counting...
I know I have put quite a few photos on Facebook over the past nine months providing a nice memory of my deployment to Afghanistan. A few of my very nice friends and family have said "Oh, you should put these in a book!" Yeah....no. It is flattering but the quality of the photos don't measure up to a book. Plus there is no rhyme or reason to the photos I take. For many of them I am shooting while I move because we are always moving in a tactical formation so there is no time to stop and frame a shot and ensure I get the best shot. Often I will rest the camera on the extra magazines (the kind that have bullets not the kind you read) in my tactical vest and just take photos as I walk. This is why many of my photos are out of focus or not framed well. For a few weeks we had a French photojournalist with us. It was funny to see him work because he had no shame. He would walk up to people on the street, put his camera lens in their face, snap a couple of pictures and then be off in a flash, scurrying to the next potential photo op. No shame, no words just move, stop, point, shoot, move on. I don't have it in me.
Over the past nine months I have posted over 300 photos on Facebook. It is intriguing to see which pictures people will comment on or push the "Like" button for. Oftentimes I will look and say to myself "Really?" How come no one is liking this one or that one. There have been some that I really really liked but no one would comment or like. No, no need for a book. For me it is fun to look at them and think back to where it was taken and what I was doing. Back in the day I thought it would be fun to be a photographer for National Geographic. When the kids were small I started taking thousands of pictures and now our house is full of photo albums....and I am still in the Navy....with no future at National Geographic. But I always said, if it works out great! If it doesn't then we have a wonderful chronicle of our family.
My cameras have taken a beating and I am down one lens after an unfortunate accident, but they were sturdy and were always with me. Now, there are few missions left so soon the chapter on Afghanistan will come to a close. I look forward to the next chapter...
I know I have put quite a few photos on Facebook over the past nine months providing a nice memory of my deployment to Afghanistan. A few of my very nice friends and family have said "Oh, you should put these in a book!" Yeah....no. It is flattering but the quality of the photos don't measure up to a book. Plus there is no rhyme or reason to the photos I take. For many of them I am shooting while I move because we are always moving in a tactical formation so there is no time to stop and frame a shot and ensure I get the best shot. Often I will rest the camera on the extra magazines (the kind that have bullets not the kind you read) in my tactical vest and just take photos as I walk. This is why many of my photos are out of focus or not framed well. For a few weeks we had a French photojournalist with us. It was funny to see him work because he had no shame. He would walk up to people on the street, put his camera lens in their face, snap a couple of pictures and then be off in a flash, scurrying to the next potential photo op. No shame, no words just move, stop, point, shoot, move on. I don't have it in me.
My cameras have taken a beating and I am down one lens after an unfortunate accident, but they were sturdy and were always with me. Now, there are few missions left so soon the chapter on Afghanistan will come to a close. I look forward to the next chapter...
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
28 Reasons after 28 Years
Amazing to think that 28 years ago today we woke up in a studio apartment in Phoenix, Arizona. I walked the couple of miles to work, arriving just before the 6:00am start time, punched my time card to get my $4.75 an hour started for the day. At noon I left work early, walked home, took a shower and put on my best (and only) slacks and button-down shirt. Midori and I then walked to the bus stop and took the bus downtown to the Maricopa County Courthouse. Mom and Dad happened to be in Scottsdale for a horse show, so they joined us at the courthouse along with our friend George. After Dad paid the $25 for the marriage license we waited around until the justice of the peace, who looked suspiciously like Burl Ives, greeted us in his chambers and pronounced us man and wife (just me and Midori...not Mom, Dad or George).
Now hear I am celebrating our anniversary in Afghanistan for the second year in a row (last year I was here on the site survey). Midori put out the rule not to get her anything since I am terrible at buying stuff online and spend large amounts of money on things that look pretty cool in the picture but cost large amounts of money. So rather than break the rule, I decided to give Midori the following...Happy Anniversary Midori!
Now hear I am celebrating our anniversary in Afghanistan for the second year in a row (last year I was here on the site survey). Midori put out the rule not to get her anything since I am terrible at buying stuff online and spend large amounts of money on things that look pretty cool in the picture but cost large amounts of money. So rather than break the rule, I decided to give Midori the following...Happy Anniversary Midori!
After 28 Years
The 28 Things I Love About You
- Your beautiful smile that lights up a room and steals my heart
- Your patience
- The way you look at new things with sparkling eyes and child-like wonder
- While I was gone for so many years you managed to raise three amazing kids
- The way your skin smells…it smells like, home, warmth, comfort, love
- You always support me whether it is a Navy League dinner or a staff get together you allow me to drag you to events you are not necessarily comfortable going to
- No matter what room we are in or how many people are in it, you are always the most stunningly beautiful woman in the room
- I would not have achieved professional success in the Navy without you
- You buy my clothes and usually get it right
- When you don’t get it right you recognize it and tell me to stop wearing it (because I will wear it until you tell me to stop)
- You are an amazing cook
- I feel that you are proud of me and that gets me through each day more than you know
- For the most part we have a similar outlook on life
- For the parts of life we don’t necessarily match, you tolerate my outlook (back to the patience thing)
- You are so very good to your parents. Even though you live across the ocean from them you have done more for them than anyone else in their lives
- Your gifts are always perfect
- You tolerate my gifts…better yet you tell me not to buy you gifts
- Your body. Whereas I have bounced up and down in weight (50 here, 50 there) you continue to look amazing
- You are more beautiful today than when I first met you and you were gorgeous back then
- You care about your friends
- Although you claim to not have a ‘religion’ you are the most spiritual person I know
- You cry at sappy movies…and don’t give me a hard time when I do too
- You have tolerated my singing to the radio in the car for the last 28 years
- You love our dogs and cats
- Your laugh
- You are good to my family
- You are kind and so unconditionally thoughtful as you do things for me and the kids, planning events or buying things thinking about what would make us happy…
- You truly are my best friend
H
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Just A Few More Observations
My first observation is that I cannot get my brain to have one coherent thought for more than a minute or two, which is why I have defaulted to these short, random ramblings.
It's funny how I log on to this blog over and over to check the statistics to see that a very small handful of people actually read this (yes! three hits today)! Weird how I had six hits from the Ukraine this week...not sure what keyword they honed in on or if it was just the same person looking at it six times.
The stars here are incredible. Almost every night is clear and because there is not much stable power in Afghanistan there are not many lights on at night allowing for some spectacular views including the Milky Way that we often see smudged across the sky. When I go to dinner I can usually look up and see Orion's Belt, and then later at night when I am heading to the restroom around midnight or two, Orion has moved across the sky hanging just above the mountains. The only thing I have seen that compares to the stars here is out at sea. There have been some great nights at sea but the stars here just seem closer as if the blanket thrown over the world at night has been drawn much closer allowing us to practically reach out and touch them.
It's funny how I log on to this blog over and over to check the statistics to see that a very small handful of people actually read this (yes! three hits today)! Weird how I had six hits from the Ukraine this week...not sure what keyword they honed in on or if it was just the same person looking at it six times.
There is an Afghan gentleman who works on the base. His job is to watch two pipes and alert someone if they overflow. This is true. So he leans against a wall and stares at the two pipes. That's it. The creepy thing is one of the pipes is right outside my door, so every time I step outside, there he is, leaning against the wall, staring right at me. We have established a silent but amiable relationship in which I make sure to wave to him at least once a day. He always waves back. I figure I want to stay on his good side...
To the west of the base on the farthest mountain there is a massive rock near the top. Our Sergeant Major dubbed it the Virgin Mary, and from where we stand it actually does look like a statue of the Virgin Mary. We decided that she is there looking over us and making sure no harm comes to the team.
One of the true frustrations with the Afghan culture is their sense of time. It is accepted that if a meeting is suppose to start at a particular hour, it will not start for thirty to sixty minutes after the published time. At each meeting the Americans are always the first ones there because, of course, we are taught to be early so when the time comes the meeting starts as scheduled. Today the meeting I attended started over an hour late. When I first arrived I used to ask my governance advisor why the meeting was not starting. He would smile and say "It is Afghan time so, it will not start on time." By the way, very rarely do they apologize for being late...they just start the meeting as if they were starting on time.
With so many problems in the past with pain in the knees, ankles, feet, back, head, etc...I find myself taking the time these days to really take notice when I am feeling no pain. Those moments when you do a quick scan and realize, knees-good, ankles-good, headache-nope, irritated-nope, tired-nope, wow, so this what it feels like. We take it for granted when nothing hurts and we actually feel good. I have started to take notice and savor the feeling where there are no pain signals going to the brain, I'm not tired and I'm not irritated. I find I appreciate those moments and it drives me to have more of them by taking care of myself. It certainly never lasts all day and sometimes it is mere moments, but I capture that feeling and make sure I don't take those moments for granted.
Ensign James Whitman is my MVP today, not only because he accepted an extremely annoying assignment today, but also because he is one of the few who occasionally reads the blog so...this shoutout is for you Mr. Whitman.
The stars here are incredible. Almost every night is clear and because there is not much stable power in Afghanistan there are not many lights on at night allowing for some spectacular views including the Milky Way that we often see smudged across the sky. When I go to dinner I can usually look up and see Orion's Belt, and then later at night when I am heading to the restroom around midnight or two, Orion has moved across the sky hanging just above the mountains. The only thing I have seen that compares to the stars here is out at sea. There have been some great nights at sea but the stars here just seem closer as if the blanket thrown over the world at night has been drawn much closer allowing us to practically reach out and touch them. Enough ramblings.....for now.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Random Observations
Just some observations and thoughts as we continue this journey:
-I am thoroughly impressed that my Mom turned 83 years old yesterday. I was glad we were able to Skype for awhile. Her tenacity and strength are inspiring.
-The more thin-skinned and sensitive you are the more lonely command can be.
-One day when we were out at Marawara Bridge checking on the construction progress I spoke with a couple of young men who were busy with a pile of green stuff that was rolled up into little balls. They were putting each green ball into little baggies. Evidently these budding entrepreneurs were bagging them up to sell them as a type of dip that men put in their lip just like Copenhagen. They told me they buy tobacco at the bazaar and then mix it with lime and ash and then sell the balls for five Afghanis (about ten cents). People who buy it pinch a little off and put it in their lip. Not sure what else goes into it besides lime and ash but I have a feeling there may be more to it then that. One of the Afghan police who was with us bought a bag for himself. One ball usually lasts a whole day. The young men said even kids do it, sometimes starting at eight years old...crazy.
-I first came here last February to conduct a site survey. While I was visiting I took a picture of a young boy outside a school we were building. Throughout the year I have seen him a few times and, in fact, took a picture of him yesterday. I commented to him that he has grown quite a bit over the past year. He replied, "That is God's will." He also mentioned that we have been coming here over and over and we have never given them anything. I reminded him that we built him a school and he returned "Oh, yes, thank you." Reference my previous point and you see I had to shame him into appreciation. Then he proceeded to ask me what I had in my pockets that I could give him (nothing), what about in the trucks (nothing), how about my gloves (no).
-I am thoroughly impressed that my Mom turned 83 years old yesterday. I was glad we were able to Skype for awhile. Her tenacity and strength are inspiring.
-The more thin-skinned and sensitive you are the more lonely command can be.
-One day when we were out at Marawara Bridge checking on the construction progress I spoke with a couple of young men who were busy with a pile of green stuff that was rolled up into little balls. They were putting each green ball into little baggies. Evidently these budding entrepreneurs were bagging them up to sell them as a type of dip that men put in their lip just like Copenhagen. They told me they buy tobacco at the bazaar and then mix it with lime and ash and then sell the balls for five Afghanis (about ten cents). People who buy it pinch a little off and put it in their lip. Not sure what else goes into it besides lime and ash but I have a feeling there may be more to it then that. One of the Afghan police who was with us bought a bag for himself. One ball usually lasts a whole day. The young men said even kids do it, sometimes starting at eight years old...crazy.-Nine pounds so far on the New Year's Resolution....long way to go.
-The Afghan Jungle Cats that started out as cute kittens have somehow taken over the base. They must be part rabbit because they seemed to be multiplying at a rapid pace. Either that or they called all their jungle cat buddies around Afghanistan and said "Hey, come on out to Camp Wright, we'll have a great time!" We received a second opinion on their heritage and may be able to remove them from the base or euthanize them. I know, I know but if they scratch someone it means rabies shots and we don't have enough vaccine for everyone. Unfortunately the Feline Liberation Front is in full force around the base, so we have seen various cat dishes with food and even a little cat house for them to sleep in...gotta take care of this.
-One of the annoying differences in cultures is that in Afghanistan the term thank you is not used much. They have a word for it. Manana means thank you. But they either have a difficult time expressing appreciation because of a pride thing or it just isn't something they feel is necessary. In fact, usually they will criticize the gift or gesture, and nine times out of ten they will ask for more. I even gave one of our advisors sixty dollars because his paycheck had been drastically delayed. I wanted to help him out so he could eat. No acknowledgement, no thank you, nothing.
-Though I do not have and will not have Post Tramautic Stress Disorder, I now understand how and why people end up with it.
-I have become addicted to Frosted Mini-Wheats. Every morning I knock on the door to the Admin office. My Yeoman opens the door and hands me Frosted Mini-Wheats, a single serving milk carton and a plastic spoon. I go back to my office across the hall and enjoy my breakfast before going out on mission. It has become a ritual that I actually look forward to each day. I don't remember ever eating Frosted Mini-Wheats before this...ever.
-I first came here last February to conduct a site survey. While I was visiting I took a picture of a young boy outside a school we were building. Throughout the year I have seen him a few times and, in fact, took a picture of him yesterday. I commented to him that he has grown quite a bit over the past year. He replied, "That is God's will." He also mentioned that we have been coming here over and over and we have never given them anything. I reminded him that we built him a school and he returned "Oh, yes, thank you." Reference my previous point and you see I had to shame him into appreciation. Then he proceeded to ask me what I had in my pockets that I could give him (nothing), what about in the trucks (nothing), how about my gloves (no).
-The thing I will remember the most about this place will be the children. When most families are having seven to ten kids there are quite a few children running around. Wherever we go they always seem to gather. They are amazingly beautiful as children and most have that untarnished joy and innocence that shows in their eyes and in their smiles. I have taken many pictures of the girls and boys sitting on the rock walls as we passed to reach a particular school project. Yesterday as we walked the same path, we passed a couple of females wearing their blue burqas. I wondered to myself if, perhaps, these were two of the girls I had taken pictures of previously. Maybe they had reached that certain age, or had been married off at twelve or fourteen. I could hope and pray all day but know that the joy and innocence will fade for most of them, sooner rather than later. I fear both the boys and girls face many more years of war and strife. It breaks your heart.
-Amazingly I have already read two books and working on a third in 2012. Considering what little time I have and my track record over the past few years that is a pretty good start.
- As far as I can remember, I have only been to a movie theatre two or three times in the past year (no movie theatres here). That too is a record. I look forward to being able to go to the movies with a big tub of popcorn and a giant Slurpee.
-My kids do not have any MVP trophies on their shelves. They have never been the state champion of this or the winner of that. But, wow, I am humbled at what wonderful human beings they have become. They are all just hard working, respectful, moral, good people and they are beautiful inside and out. They all truly have good and kind hearts. It brings me to tears to think at how lucky I am while I give all the credit to Midori. She raised them while I spent most of their childhoods at sea. To say I am proud does not do justice to how I feel...truly, truly blessed.
-Enough for now...sorry if it ran long.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Gotta Love Resolutions
Twenty-five pounds.
That is my major resolution for the year. I have to lose 25 pounds. So, even though I did not necessarily get started on New Years Day, I am starting now (I can do that). Many people don't believe in resolutions and think they are a waste of time. I like the idea. I like the fact that you can continue to maintain bad habits through December know that you are going to make a resolution on 1 January. I like the thought of a clean start and the possibility of change. I have even successfully kept resolutions in the past. Two years ago my resolution was to lose 50 pounds, and I did it. Of course, I gained about thirty of that back, but that is beside the point. I established a resolution, set goals, and followed the path that I had set for myself. So, the problem was not achieving the resolution, it was letting my guard down once I achieved it.
Now, even the year that I lost the weight I was only fifty percent since I failed dramatically at my second major resolution. So, this year my resolutions are very similar to two years ago. I am going to lose 25 pounds and clean the stinkin' garage. Our garage is quite an adventure, and will take some time. Evidently it is easier to lose 50 pounds than it is to clean a garage. We will see this year. The resolution will be put on hold for the first few months so I can get home and actually start it.
So, 25 pounds, you are out of here. I promise not to turn this into a weight loss log, but this is my way of putting myself out there and becoming accountable to the four or five people that might actually read this. In 2010 I declared my resolutions in the Plan of the Week at the mighty Navy Recruiting District Seattle. Letting the entire command know kept me motivated. In fact I still get the occasional snide remark about the garage from some of my former teammates. So, now it is out there...more to follow.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, December 16, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
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.
Monday, November 7, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
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...
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...
Sunday, September 25, 2011
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.
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. HmmmSpeaking 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.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
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.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
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.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
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!
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!
Friday, August 26, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Kids and More Kids
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.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
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.
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.
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