Process? Nah!

 

We spend a few weeks getting them ready for closing out the Fiscal Year.  To do that you need three things: Knowing how much money came into the budget, Funds spent on Goods and Services, and an estimate of what other unpaid obligations are out there.  They sort of got the first two, as the Automated Financial system we built for them pretty much does that.  The last one is another story.  Ah, General, I see the Ministry has awarded only about 100 contracts this year, yet we seem to be expensing far more?  Well yes Mr. George, the vendors have been working and delivering goods for a while now.  I stare at him, “ah even without awarding contracts?”  Of course Mr. George, you can’t expect the police to go without food and fire wood?  So much for process.  Seems like Mr. Old Bills is going to busy this coming year.  Yes Mr. George, I think so. 
 

A Gun to Their Own Head

Its odd how many times the locals put a gun to their head demanding that unless we provide them “X” then they won’t do “Y”.  It’s an interesting game of brinksmanship that we inevitably loose since they have been doing this stuff a lot longer than we have.  Just this week, the parliament voted down the next budget because they wanted, among other things, for us to commit in advance to paying the prior year’s contract expenses.  What those are, we are not sure yet, but that does not seem to stop them from demanding we pay anyway.  I have to admit, it’s a brilliant strategy and not one we have a real counter for.  I sat in awe of the strategy being applied before me, trying to hide my body language.  I smiled, thinking of the dilemma from a scene in the movie “Blazing Saddles”.  I wonder if they will pull the trigger?

 

Santa Pimp

We have done much to spruce up this camp for Christmas, but the big day arrived so it was time to take it up a notch.  A few weeks back I went to the tailor at the Friday Bazar and drew up a rough sketch of a Christmas suit.  He clearly seemed perplexed at this rather odd order, but would do what I wanted as I had already bought four custom fitted suits from him.  Two weeks later, it arrived.  I put it on and it fit like a glove.  Santa Pimp strutted around camp Christmas Eve, the next day at the Director’s meeting and even on a movement with my Guardian Angel keeping an eye out for any pesky Afghan elves.  It always makes you feel good when class up the joint.  Merry Christmas!!!

 

 

How Bad Do They Want It

It fascinates me just how much effort we put into helping them succeed.  We “help” them develop the plan, the execution strategy, bring resources to bear and even crank numbers they should easily do.  Sometimes it seems we want this vision more than they do.  Many times it’s a cultural thing, not wanting to take the lead for fear of failure in the eyes of others, but sometimes it’s just because we seem to want it more.  There are a number here who ascribe to “holding their feet to the fire”, but they forget that it leaves your hands burned as well and makes a cripple of the one you are trying to help.  Things will change, but over time.  To them, our deadlines are not, but rather another point for further discussion.  I am convinced now more than ever that this Nation-building stuff is not for the Military, not because they can’t, but rather it’s the lack of patience.

Good Air - Bad Air

They told me the air here would be terrible.  Not only does Kabul have the highest particulate fecal matter in the air on a good day, but that at winter time its far worse.  The locals burn everything to keep warm.  Plastic, tires, dung, anything.  It’s their version of recycling.   Some days it smells like a combination of a Gym, feet and bad BBQ if you can imagine.  If there is no wind to blow it away, the smog stays put and your lungs get irritated.  We have all begun to invest in air cleaners for the offices and our sleeping quarters.  After a year here, the military can petition for 10% disability, but we in the Civil Service have no such privileges.  The one good thing is the annoying runners have pretty much ceased for the winter.

Reasonable Air

 

 

 

Not so good air

 



Tis the Season

It’s still two weeks before Christmas, but somehow I got the bug to start decorating this place.  Usually I don’t touch anything Christmas until 12 days out, but somehow the blandness of the camp was getting to me.  On our late-start day, I came in early, going deep into the storage rooms.  Before long I found the X-Mas kitsch stash left by others before me. A fake tree, some lights, garland, a few wreaths and large box of bulbs.  Within an hour I was on a decorating frenzy, others showed up and joined in.  Little by little, Christmas was soaking into our can.  More importantly, we set a high bar for the other cans.  Folks are now taking selfies in front of ours to send home.  This is good.

My Afghan Interpreters asked about the meaning of the Christmas tree, Santa and the lights.  I told them in a story-like fashion that Americans try to make all religious holidays fun so we don’t kill each other.  The tree was a compromise to the Druids and Santa, well who can resist an old man who sneaks into your house to give something special to your children!!! 

 

 

 

 

Trust

I have learned that there are two key moments for an Advisor in Afghanistan.   The first is when your partner brings you into his circle of trust.  You can tell that when you both walk and he holds your hand for the first time in public.  It’s an outward symbol to others, especially to his guardians who are from his clan, that I have earned the trust of the leader.  This is good as you never know when an extra gun barrel down range will be needed.  It took me about a month and a half of face-to-face meetings, and keeping my word on a few key promises to earn that status.  It was an incredible high for me when it happened. 

The second is when you first discover that this same person is lying to your face.  At the end of the day, no matter your intentions, you are the outsider.  Once you realize these two situations can, and do, coexist, you can better meet your mission.  The boss said on our first introduction that you will find yourself bouncing between going too native or too cold.  You need to operate in the middle to be effective.  Afghanistan is the place for the pragmatist.

 

Afghan Allegory

The closest allegory to Afghanistan I can find on camp are the local cats.  Yes, the cats.  They can clearly fend for themselves, meow only when a coalition member walks by them, and know for the most part that once they do, we will give them something valuable from our stocks.  Yup…that is this place. 

We have a group of folks on camp who are members of the Feline Force Protection Agency (FFPA) that look after the cats. They gave them all names, provide checkups, shots and set up and stock their feeding centers.  You can even take one home to the US for a few grand if you want to.  Presumably, these cats are cared for to be the mousers of the camp and keep rabid strays away.  There are signs all over camp not to feed them, but who can resist.  (I can).  The reality is that most are overweight, can barely climb or run, yet do a fine job of keeping weak outsiders away from the cushy life here. They have learned well.

 

USO Tour

I remember long ago hearing about entertainers going overseas to perform for the troops.  I thought how nice it was for them to take time off to bring a little bit of Americana to those away from home. Well, I was the recipient this time, as the Harlem Globetrotters came to camp to play in our dingy gym.  It wasn’t much of a place but these guys (and the first female Latina) made the best of it.  They did the same forty year-old routine with a smile and everyone loved it.  I couldn’t take my eyes off the spectacle.  They flew in by helo that afternoon in battle rattle, met the troops, played a game against their “opponent” (who I rooted for just because), took pictures, signed autographs and off they went.  I smiled the rest of the night.

 

Crazies

We were all shocked, but unfortunately not surprised, by the carnage in France and California.  In a very weird way, I may be safer here than back home.  At least I have weapons, an armored car and folks who keep an eye out for crazies with their car bombs.  I may even know about when the car bomb guy will be on the road.  Back home, the crazies (whether terrorists or the “non-terrorist”) could be anywhere and strike seemingly at random.  While the coalition foreigners here understand terrorism, they don’t understand the rash of mass shootings in the US.  How can you put up with this almost every month the Afghans ask?  I really don’t have an answer.  The left don’t want those with psychological problems to be stigmatized while the right don’t want the tools of their carnage to be controlled.  I just shrug and tell the Afghans to think twice about leaving.

Hunters

We haven’t been out of the Green Zone for a week now.  Not a good thing if you are an advisor, but we make due by inviting our principals come to camp, and they do show up once in a while.  Frankly, as leaders, they can’t afford to be away from their offices any more than we can back home.  Advising at camp is not the same as going to their Ministry.  The bad guys are out hunting for us, so we make it hard for them.  It’s an odd thing to have a pretty good idea who these guys are by name, where they are from, and what they drive, yet can’t do much about it.  The local police are hunting for them as well and luckily caught a few this week, but there are a few more out there.  The “Be on the lookout” warning for a Toyota Corolla with a single bearded male doesn’t help much in this city.   You go out on convoy with your head on a swivel when allowed and stay put when you aren’t.   We aren’t here to stay put.

 

Next Generation

We graduated another class of 24 college educated young Afghans to be contractors for the Ministry (in Kabul and in the Provinces) to help them flesh out the processes and procedures needed to make this place run.   The hope is that sometime in the future they will roll into the civil service corps, but frankly I have my doubts.  The average civil servant makes between $250-$400 a month, while these contractors will make about $1100 a month which nearly twice that as a one-star General.  This is not sustainable.  I spoke to the class letting them know just how important their job will be.  I reminded them that without money, there is no police, and that errors in their work ties up money that could otherwise be supporting the forces in their battle with the enemy.  They seem to get it.  While I am very hopeful, I am not naïve.  Most will do great work but a few will get turned by corruption, especially if we leave in place the uniformed middle managers left over from the Soviet era.  Folks here never get fired, they just get moved to other positions, with some even getting promoted away.

Thanksgiving

A very American holiday that seems to resonate with many in the coalition.  It’s a time to gather with those closest to you, share a meal and think about how good we actually have it compared to many outside the castle walls.  Those around you are either your peers, support structure, or guardians and I’m happy to be meeting as many of them as I can.  The command asked us leaders to think about volunteering our time to serve food to the troops.  Who could pass up the chance?  We donned our hair nets, gloves and aprons and manned the chow lines.  It was great to see smiles on the young soldiers.  The vendor who has the catering contract will be leaving at the end of December, so they cooked up a pretty good meal (I guess to make up for all the poor meals in the prior months), with lots of decorations made from fruit and bread.  It was nice and a good break from the grind.  Yet, by 7pm, most everyone was back at work.  Nation building never rests.

Staff Meeting inStyle

I try not to hold many staff meetings.  Give folks overall guidance and a long leash and you will be amazed what can be done.  I tend to keep tabs on what is going on with the team by walking around.  I hold a staff meeting once a week, but now that it is getting cold, we gave up the outdoor settings for a conference room.  For that last few weeks, we got the Palace conference room.  It just amazing just how much more important meetings feel when in such spaciousness, seats aren’t ripped, the floor is clean and there is a map on the wall. 

Ka-Chunk!

I have chaired three sessions of the Old Bills Committee that I put together to formally review prior-year claims which seems to have consumed Ministry officials so much so that they have pretty much ignored current year efforts.  Packages and questioners from the 33 Claimants are prepared by the Ministry to be reviewed by my staff.  When that work is done, the claimants formally come before the Board.  My Deputy is Mr. “NO” and I have seemed to have earned the moniker “Santa George”.  Its an interesting balance as we review and argue with the Ministry functionaries the merits of their case, lack of data and dubious rationale for cost growth.  In this place, a document is not worth its weight if it doesn’t have a formal stamp on it.  There is a certain finality in watching someone stamp your document and they relish it.  I figured this out quickly and made my own stamp which sits just in reach as these packages are being debated.  The Ministry staff listen as make my ruling on their claims for millions of Afghanis (their currency), but they really pay attention when I reach for the stamp.  Silence on their side as their eyes grow with anticipation.  I take my time, write in the findings, and check the numbers, sign, then reach for the stamp.  “Ka-Chunk” and its final.  Relief and smiles on their side of the table.  “Next Case” I say with a direct tone.  Its amazing how such a small thing means so much.

 

The Nut

You would think that with all that’s going on in this big campaign to rid the country of the bad guys, the focus would be on the Country’s survival.  But alas, for the last three weeks, it’s all been about pay.  As the budget guy, I have the distinction of being the gateway to everyone getting a little extra pay.  “You know Mr. George, police in a “Low threat” regions are experiencing threats like their comrades in the “High threat” areas so they should get the same incentives……that would be fair.”  So I rattle off policy and remind them that “low threat” does not mean “no threat”, and that there is a process to petition the 10 member nations to revise policy, but that takes time.   Well, while you help us with the donors, can we get our raises now the General says.  I’m thinking, I can’t even verify with confidence that these guys show up to work every day, don’t take a cut of their soldier’s pay or sell the bullets, and they want a raise?  (By the way, I only received a 1% raise in the last few years).  The same has been going on for food allowance, incentives, bonuses, and for Reserves (who aren’t even working) and anything else which gets them their nut.  The pressure is on me, but I hold firm, referencing policy, procedures, peppering them with audits, and throwing the “fairness” argument back at them.  They will squeeze what they can from us as long as we are here.  It’s a game, though can be a dangerous one.

Mr. George Sir........

The events of the last two months have spooked many of the educated locals and the ones of means are looking for ways out.  A major city in the fell to the Taliban and now there is panic amongst the “Kabulis”.  Although the police succeeded in reclaiming Kundoz, Confidence in the Govt has been shaken.  “Mr. George, you know a Special Immigrant Visa is available for us and all it would take is a letter from you to help.”  Hmmmmm, you know that there are maybe a few thousand bad guys, and 3 Million of you here in Kabul, I say in a rather analytical tone to the assembled group.  It seems to me that you all clearly have the upper hand and if only a third of you each hurled a rock at the bad guys, this problem would be over.  Stunned looks by the young college kids.  “Do you think you can write me a letter”.  In Shallah (God willing) – I say.

Trick or Treat

You can’t help but form bonds with kids you meet around here. My predecessors and my staff know of these local street merchant kids. " I wish I could"…(fill in the blank)…….they would say, but this is their world and they are doing what their families have asked them to do.  Over here, their culture is not about the individual, but rather about family, clan, tribe and maybe somewhere further down, national identity.  Kids toil for the betterment of the family, regardless of circumstances.  Most westerners would not think twice about buying the little girl a new pair of shoes or a jacket for the boy, only to find out later these have been sold. For us to intervene directly into a child’s life is to bypass the family.  This is unacceptable.  My contractor staff, who live just off Camp, now give them Redbulls and snacks when they commute back and forth to their residence halls. Anything else and the handlers take it away.  Halloween came with mountains of candy in the care packages for us.  So we packed them into bags and tasked them with distributing them to the kids.  Afghans don’t have or even understand Halloween, but kids know candy.  They were happy and so were we.

Back in Camp

Strangely, after three weeks of endless touring and levity, its seems right to be back in camp. The team is exhausted from the last couple of weeks.  The Helo crash and its aftermath, a couple of car bombs against convoys and an earthquake which rattled the camp pretty good, has taken its toll.  No time to rush in with meetings and action items.  So we spend time laughing where we can. The duty cycle has not slowed one bit.  What was critical three weeks ago, is now passé.  There are other pressing problems, and all have a budget dimension to them.  Yet, its near Halloween so our next Division get-together will be costumed themed to help lighten the mood.  As a leader, your job is to sense the mood and adjust work accordingly.  They seem genially glad to have me back, and equally glad that I am in costume.

 

 

Light and Dark - Another Sad Day

It’s a wonder how it is that things can be enjoyable and terrible at the same instant.  After 90 days I went on R&R (Rest and Recuperation) to Europe to see the family, take in the wonderful sites and eat good food.  The stress and urgency seem to melt away and things that would bother most seem petty compared to what is going on back at camp.  Yet, no sooner that two days after arriving that I get an urgent email.  A helicopter went down in camp killing five and wounding five others.  My staff was having our weekly meeting on the roof-top deck when it all happened.  The helo came in for a landing, as they do all day long, but this one departed slightly from the designated path, clipping the observation balloon tether.  The pilot struggled to keep the craft aloft and make it to the ball field landing site, but couldn’t.  The craft came barreling in, headed straight for the deck, sending my team running and diving for cover. By some fluke, it missed the deck and crashed on its side some 15 yards away against a blast wall. 

Fuel gushing out of the wreckage didn’t stop some from my team and many others from rushing to the scene.  Some helped secure the helo, switching off power as fuel gushed all around while others removed the wounded from the wreckage, getting them to the camp medics.  Those killed were equally tended to and laid out away from the wreckage.  Again, by some fluke, there was no fire, otherwise it would have been much worse.  To retrieve them all took over an hour.  Those killed were taken to a room and tended to by my Turkish Air Force roommate and his team who volunteered to prepare the bodies and tend to their personal effects. When in camp, you have only yourselves to tend to these things until help arrives many hours later.  If not for a few yards, I likely would not have much of a staff to come back to. All this was going on while I was having pasta overlooking the Roman Forum.

Out of Sight

It is clear that most of those I talked to in Europe, and maybe America as well, have forgotten about Afghanistan.  Europeans are consumed by the immigration crisis, though they forget that 40% of these destitute washing ashore in Greece are from Afghanistan.  Americans are consumed by trivial pop culture, and the election circus.  Few, if any, realize that there are many civilians doing the nation building. Tourists and locals seem genially sympathetic to our personal efforts and feel for my time away from family, but it is clear, they see little, if any benefit to us being there.  What can you say? Its hard to measure what success looks like in a place like this, though the military are consumed by the win-loss narrative.

Kabul Krud

It’s getting near the end for some of my staff.  Four will redeploy back to the states beginning in a week.  I figured I’d treat them to as real of an Afghan lunch as I could in his place.  I went to the local Afghan rug merchant on base and asked if I could host my office for an Afghan catered lunch in his shop.  Of course said proprietor Rahimi.  The day came and he had a lovely set up in his shop and we sat on the floor, on beautiful Afghan and Persian rugs to eat home-prepared beef and rice, lamb and chicken kebobs, stewed vegetables, stuffed dumplings and tea.  We had a wonderful time and the food was delicious. 

Rahimi and his brother told us of their families which was great, then of their real desires to get out of Afghanistan which put a bit of a damper on things, but who could blame them.  The next morning, not many were in the office and those that were, didn’t smile. It seems the “Kabul Krud” got to seven of the dozen that were at the lunch, but no one knew the extent of the digestive carnage that befell my Finance and Budget shop until the next day.  Word spread fast around camp of our horrors and we soon became a leper colony.  I sent most home to pray at their own porcelain alters.  For four days, I was labeled as the staff killer.  Luckily, they all recovered and now back as productive as ever.   Maybe we can laugh about this someday?

Patience........Eroding

Old timers, those that have been here six months or more, told me that I would become cynical after two months, tops! Well, it’s been nearly three and I’ve got to say, I’m finally losing patience the some within and outside the castle walls.  I pride myself in being able to get along with folks, work collaboratively, then move out on a solution.  Outside the walls, the Afghan way is to assess all the angles for a while before committing to anything.  It’s a byproduct of surviving, knowing that your enemies are watching and waiting for a mistake.  General, we worked real hard to establish these Budget accounts to help repair Ministry facilities damaged by the enemy.  All we need is a final sanctioning by the Minister, so do you think we can put this in front of him before the holidays I ask.  Well Mr. George, this will not be possible. You see, we came in to work on this for three days before the holidays, so now we will take those three days off on the back end on the holidays……..it’s only right you know. Hmmm, oh yes, only right I say in disbelief as my Deputy smirks.  Well maybe we should just contract for all these repairs ourselves, I say wryly………. Can you do that for us Mr. George?   I’m leaving now.

Keep Calm and Take it Off........Budget

When things aren’t going fast enough in the eyes of us Coalition types, we are tempted to take things away from the locals and execute it ourselves.  We call it “Taking it off Budget” which works well for getting some things done, but does nothing for building local capacity for the day we have to leave here.  We have taken many things off budget, some for good reason (technical complexity or to stop likely corruption) and some just because.  Mr. George, is there any way we can stop this from going Off-Budget? The General’s staff asks. Well, you can’t award this contract in time and the coalition thinks it can do it faster somewhere else, I say confidently.   So, if you take this off-budget, can the money still stay in our account?  As the wheels turn in their heads.     No! that is the purpose of off-budgeting, otherwise it’s just another way of giving you more money, I say.  Silence, as they smile.   My office has since made up T-shirts to wear.

Of course it says "Budget" on the back.  I would be violating General Order 1 if it didn't.

Afghan Normal

Just about every behavior can be modeled mathematically if given enough time and data.  Yet so many folks around here build management systems and measure Afghan progress through western standards.  There is precious little analysis around here, so no one has really analyzed what “Afghan Normal” is.  I assigned homework to my staff and they looked at me as if I had two heads.  We have had a functioning government apparatus for three years now, so we should have the data to tell us what their “normal” looks like, to know when the train is going off the rails.  After a week of struggling, they came up with bubble charts, and glossy phrases.  I can’t blame them, most of what goes on around here is not based in much analytical or statistical rigor.  I did a quick assessment on Afghan Payroll and found that it goes in wild swings, so much so that some districts don’t even get paid for a month, but it does settle out and it’s predictable.  For us it’s abhorrent, but for them its In-Shalah! (God willing) and it works for them.  So what’s wrong with it, I ask the auditor trolls?  Well, that just won’t do they tell me.  Why?, I ask since I have data that says this is normal.  Well, its just not right, he says, and they will have to conform.  Hmmm, how about we send a memo to the Minister and President telling them we need to flatten the Payroll bumps and make it “right”, I say sarcastically.  Wonderful, says the audit troll.  Really?

The Next Generation

My team has done quite a bit since coming here that I can look back on with pride: Increased Martyr pay, helped them learn to balance their books, get decent pay actually into the pockets of the Police, and put funding in place to repair damaged facilities.  But those will be forgotten when I leave here.  Of the significant sums we have spent in this place, probably one of the most enduring legacies will likely be one of the most inexpensive.  This year, someone had the novel idea of selectively populating the Ministry with young, smart college educated functionaries to help bring some procurement and fiscal savvy and discipline to their processes.  These “Subject Matter Experts” are not Civil Servants, having little if any protection other than a letter from the Minister and placed with a one year contract.  But if they are good, then maybe after a few years get placed in civil service.   Did you know there are 14,000 Indian-trained college graduates in Afghanistan, with 13,000 more on the way? 

 We started with 50 or so of these SMEs split between Kabul and the Provinces in the hopes that they would help the Police get their books and procurement packages in order, tracking the budget and the like.  It was a calculated risk.  If these young kids were seen as tools of the coalition, then they would be shut out by those they were sent to help, or worse yet, their lives would be in danger.   Fortunately, the program has taken off and these young folk are coming into their own and networking with each other on how best to do their job.  The program is seen as one of the most transparent around here as we do the testing, interviewing, hiring and paying of their salaries.  This year we plan to hire 75 and hopefully 400 more before we leave.  We interview about a dozen every few days who travel hours and days from the provinces to our camp.  Generals are now sending me emails asking me to hire their relatives, but we all resist telling them that we dont bypass the process.  The young ones seem to know about this and have thanked us for standing our ground.   Of all the tasks I have had so far, interviewing bright, young Afghans, hungry for jobs in their own country has been the most rewarding.  The seeds of the next generation have been planted. 

Sly Ones

Don’t ever let anyone tell you the locals aren’t smart.  The ones we deal with are the survivors of thirty years of war.  They know how we think and have mastered our processes and naiveté.  Mr. George, I have these old bills for wood and fuel from two years ago.  The documents are complete and all they need is your signature.  My Army Deputy, with disbelief in his eyes, tells me that he has seen this before and warns me not to fall for it.  Hmmm, why so long I ask the claimant?  Well, they are from the provinces and were returned many times for incompleteness.  Clue 1 (Poor work).   Having incomplete documents is a sign of lax discipline I say.  Yes, but they have now learned how to make good documents so the Coalition can approve them.  Clue 2 (Suck up).  So how do I know these bills have not been paid before, I ask? They have not and this I know, he says with confidence.  Clue 3 (He knows I can’t substantiate).  Well we’ll take a look and let you know, but if the papers are in order, then likely the bills will be paid.  My Deputy sits quietly watching all this unfold. 

Well, a little bit of due diligence won’t hurt will it? I rationalize later to my Deputy.  George, he says, you have now hitched your wagon to their horse, and it’s going to be hard to say no.  Sure enough, a few days later thirty more contracts worth of bills show up.  Damn!!!! I’ve been had.  So now I have developed this elaborate committee process to review old bills………and have been given the name “Mr. Old Bills”.  To complete the theater, I even had a document stamper made up.  My Deputy is still laughing.

The Company BBQ

Our Contractor support staff invited my office to a BBQ at their place.  It’s a way to get everyone to relax a bit.  Of course, nothing in Kabul is easy or terribly relaxing.  We must plan a “Movement” to get to the “Monkey House” just outside the walls of the camp.  The House is where our contractors live and commute to and from every day.  Oddly, we can see their place from in the camp.  So after much paper work, and weapon assignments, we are ready to march the 200 yards outside the walls to the BBQ.  We all get briefed on the movement plan, radio codes, emergency contacts and all the “what ifs”.  We then don armor, rack our pistols and get the long guns ready.  Our combat patrol to the BBQ begins and after 30 mins of dodging the street kids with their deft sales pitches, we arrive at the Monkey House.  Someone with a large house has leased it to the Contractors for a hefty fee no doubt.  We listen to music, eat BBQ chicken and learn about ourselves and our hosts.  Just like back home!!

 

 

The BBQ Patrol.  Note the Peace Dove!

 

Labor Day BBQ with some great folks.

 

Keep Gun Port Closed

We travel to our meetings in armored convoy vehicles, Toyota Land Cruisers and Fords mostly.  They are rugged and fairly dependable.  Comfort is secondary.  My deputy is much over 6 feet so his head has to tilt to the side when in his kit and helmet.  The suspensions are stiff to handle the weight of the armor so the ride is jarring.  As we ride, we are all expected to do our parts. For passengers, its keeping an eye on those just outside the windows.  Bad people have been favoring the car bomb, so we look out for anyone driving unusually.  Not a strange thing in Kabul.  I watched as school boys deftly maneuvered the traffic as they crossed the street and a young couple on a motorcycle avoiding the backup by scooting up the sidewalk.  No matter what seems to happen around here, life just keeps moving.

 

We civilians and our wonderful "Guardian Angels" getting ready for convoy.

 

A Sad Day

We were in a conference session when the building shook.  This was a big one, and expected as things were just too quiet this past week.  We followed procedure, hunkered in place and manned the phone trees to take account of the people under us.  Within ten minutes, all my twenty were accounted for.  Unfortunately a convoy of our contractors was hit by a car bomb.  My five contractors were soon to be on their way to a company meeting to hear the latest from their leadership when it happened.  The man they were going to hear was one of the ones  killed as well as two others.  Our contractors are as much a part of our team as us DoD Civilians, Military, and the Foreign Troops.  We should, and do, feel for their loss as we would a soldier.  We are here for the sole purpose of making this place better.  Clearly, some don’t see it that way.  The papers made a brief note of foreign contractors killed, but that was pretty much it.  Too bad.  Most of these Contractors are former Military or Government workers.  Besides their families, these folks will be remembered by those around here.

The Crippled Man

Being stopped in traffic on my way back from the ministry is not a good thing in this city.  No matter how dirty and dented we keep the cars, we still stick out from the masses when in convoy.  We were stuck in the midday rush, and although we knew it would only be a few minutes, it is still long enough for someone to take a poke at us, and lately folks have been poking at each other quite a bit.  In the rear seat, my job is to keep watch of my sector.  I found myself staring at a crippled man in a three wheeled rig built up from some bicycles where he could work the pedals with his hands to propel himself.  Clearly, something terrible happened to him leaving him paralyzed and without a leg, likely from one of the many wars over the last 35 years.  Yet, he seemed determined and his face showed that of proud man.  He was going about his life, shopping for goods and likely on his way home, not begging or complaining, just moving along.  His plight and this situation on that road that day said a lot about this place.  Modern cars were whizzing by, while his broken body was moving along at its own proud pace.  A perfect visual metaphor.

Evil Trackers

Like any large organization, after a while, process becomes more important than product.  Same here.  There are those of us who get out and interact with our partners, and there are those who don’t.  Those that don’t get out either support the ones who do (food, cars, housing), or worse, scheme up tasks for everyone else to do.  An insidious subset are the “Trackers” who document, assign and track tasks.  They develop, manipulate, and nurse their colorful “chicklet” chart matrices of all the tasks everyone else has to do.  Hi George, I hope all is well……oh no, I think to myself as I stand at the urinal.  I see one of your tasks is moving from yellow to magenta, and if not attended to might lead to a deep hue of burgundy.  We can’t have burgundy you know.   Hmmm, why, I ask?  (Watching to see if a blood vessel pops in the Tracker’s head).  I’m sorry, what did you say?  Well from the coordination I have done, this task is no longer relevant.  We have moved on and are now on this new path I tell him gleefully.  Wonderful!, He sates. So how do we close out the tracker I ask?  Well, says Tracker Man, write up a memo on the new plan and get leadership to approve it.  In the meantime I’ll track that in a new entry in the Tracker.  Ugggg.  His world is now back to perfect and I have a new line in the tracker matrix.  One of my peers here merely disconnected two of her four computers months ago and has far less tasks.  Genius!!!!

Not for Everybody

We are in a bubble here in the castle, and although I can see the 6^th Century walls high up on the hills surrounding this city, its unlikely I will ever touch them while I am here, yet I stare at them.  What locals I see are either Ministry professionals, vendors, guards or my young interpreters or maybe the street kids selling scarves. The vast ordinary Afghans remain distant to me behind the inch of bullet resistant glass of my car.  Folks in the castle handle stress differently.  For me its keeping busy and never missing an opportunity to talk to someone new.  Others are buried in some routine or their rooms during the off time. It’s statistically probable that given our population size, some just won’t hack it and have to be sent home.  Given the current situation, some are glued to the latest threat reports.  This is not a good thing as it will consume you.  As if we were on a Navy ship or submarine, you keep watch on each other and when it looks like someone can’t hold it together, they are quietly, and quickly, sent home.  A couple of weeks ago, one civilian began yelling from the upper deck that bad folks were coming.  Gone.    Another mouthed off at a senior military officer.  Gone.  Another started snapping at her teammates.  Gone.  Folks that have been here for over five years tell me that in the austere rural posts, they take bets on how long the new guys will last. For some its days.  Though fulfilling on many levels, this is not for everyone.

The Formal Review

After many weeks of advice, cajoling and arguing, the Ministry is ready to showcase their understanding of Budget and Finance by hosting a Mid-Year review.  My staff have done amazing things getting the Deputy Minister and his staff up to speed.  Most of our partners have a fairly good understanding of the slides they built for presentation.  Of course, they will leave the actual briefings to the young Afghan civilians we hired as their Subject Matter Experts. Uniformed types would not let themselves be put in a position of possibly not knowing something.

  This review is important, because they (and we) will realign money based on how well they are spending.  This year is a bad year for spending because the President has put a microscope on all procurements to showcase his efforts to fight corruption (a good thing), but the process is slow now.  Mr. George, are you taking our money?  Well, you are not spending it and US money has a shelf life you know, like grapes on a vine.   Hmmmm, can we get it back?  Well, not really.  Can I get more?  Why yes!.   Ok then.  I like you Mr. George.

 

One Step Forward

I have spent a month getting my counterparts to think about budgeting as more than just numbers, but rather as management.  These folks have been in their business for decades, yet planning still eludes them.  Some of this is deep rooted cultural values in that with a bit of God’s help, things will work themselves out.  The modern world is a bit different.  Money not spent to get goods and services is nothing more than scribbles on paper.  I have spent two weeks with my partners getting them to grasp the concept of needing to plan a budget for Police Officer martyrs and payments for their widows and orphans.  Not an easy subject since they have lost 1600 police in the last 6 months or so.  Same goes for repairing police stations damaged by the bad people.  Need to plan for that……..Yes, I now see that Mr. George.  It is a shame isn’t it.  Have more tea Mr. George.    They are now beginning to understand that every demand, requirement or desire (for today or tomorrow) comes with a price tag.  Score one for the Advisors!!

The Not-working Lunch

A truly American management trait is the working lunch.  Clearly a foreign concept here, but we try.  Why would you want to work during lunch Mr. George says the General? (I ask myself that every time, but I digress).  Well General Saib (Dari for “Sir”), its so we can maximize the few hours we have together before my Convoy has to leave.  Our security folks are a strict bunch you know.  Hmmmm, he says.  Ok we eat here.  Before long an Afghan meal shows up at the General’s conference table and we dig in.  He didn’t discuss a bit of work.  Oh well, at least the food was great.

 

 

Big Boom then a Big Voice

The President of Afghanistan is in the midst of peace talks with the Taliban.  This is a good thing.  After all the “Enemy” we want so much to disappear is basically the conservative wing of the Pashtun tribe.  You can’t kill your way out of this mess, but folks are trying.  My Turkish roommate and I were discussing the politics of being a refugee…..funny thing for a Greek and Turk…..when Boom!  The walls shook.  This one was big and close.  The Big Voice told us to stay put.  Ismael asked me what we should do?  Shelter in place I said and phone rally with your Turkish team like you were taught in training…….huh? he said with a glance.    Please continue on with your thoughts about the Syrian Border immigration problem I told him.

We found out the next day that bad people put a truck bomb outside an Afghan Army training center.  These folks are working hard to get one up on each other before peace breaks out.  Strange aint it?

The Extreme

This place is full of extreme people.  We went in convoy to a meeting, hauling an ex-Marine as a guardian.  He was dressed for war; dress slacks, but with Army boots, armor, pistol, long gun, plenty of magazines and a gaze that could kill.  Once at the Ministry, the rest of us stripped off the armor, adjusted our coats and ties, as he just stared.  “I don’t trust these sons-o-bitches” he belted out and proceeded to walk to the meeting hall ready for war, oddly with his coat jacket on a hangar clipped to his body armor.  Not a hello or a smile from him to any of the Police about the HQ.   Pretty sad.  

We recently had dinner with a few Afghan businessmen who had been linguists with Special Forces in the early 2000’s (deep in the heavy action), and when asked what they wished all of us would know, they all said pretty much the same thing: “You came here searching for enemies instead of trying to find friends”.   Who knows how things might be today?

Guns but no Butter

Pretty much everyone in the castle is armed, and those that don’t pack are seen as a burden on everyone else.  Sort of like living in Texas they tell me.  In addition to the Military, there are all kinds of civilians here, folks who never packed before, who now walk with all kinds of gun-slinging bling festooned on their bodies, the ex-military who still believe they are in the military and dressed nearly identical to them, a few who want nothing to do with guns (and probably good they don’t pack), and the rest of us. 

For me it’s about comfort and style with a tight holster that is snug with my beltline. Saggy pants just won’t do.  I wear a shoulder holster when I go out in coat and tie to the dismay of the gun slingers.   The Italian Female soldiers have the best rigs.  Wide Form-fitting black elastic integrated belts with holster and room in the back for two clips.  Quite stylish!!  Guns aside, everyone has something to protect themselves with.  There was the female jogger with a folding knife tucked in her jog-bra, another with a dress, leggings and large folded knife in her pretty blue cowboy boots. One of my staff looks and dresses like Laura Croft of the Movie Tomb Raider, thigh holster and all.  One of my MoDA counterparts showed us his new rig, designed for office defense.  

Work and Play

Its been a month and things have settled into a certain battle rhythm.  People are recognizing my name on the various reports we put out, and since I run the budget business for one of the Ministries, folks around camp now stop me and ask about work instead of earlier when folks said hi, and how is your day?

Schedule:  Work 8 am to 9 pm Mon-Thurs and Sat.  Noon-9pm Fri and Sun. Its not for the timid.  At least one major meeting every day of the week, check!  Endless taskers coming from the Palace, Check!  More reading, writing and brief making….Check.  Go to the Ministry a few times a week, where I make nice, cajole, haggle and smile when I tell them I’m taking money from them. Check …. General, your budget execution rate is way below expectations…….I’m going to take some money back……would you like a piece of my mother’s Baklava?

To keep from going stir crazy, I have made it my mission to get involved in as many things as I can to keep from living a life of sitting at meetings or plowing endlessly through my four separate work email accounts.  Most folks get into some sort of routine.  Some eat at religiously regular times at the Dining Facility (DFAC), and run at night to try to work it off.  The endorphin addicts run around the camp (some in full body armor) or lift at the gym.  For some it’s a walk at mid-day, for me I make it a point to do the more obscure. I have found Friday morning Touch Rugby (football as the foreigners call it), Saturday Night Salsa, Sunday and Tuesday Zumba, Wednesday Dominoes with MoDA-mates.  It keeps me sane and gives me a chance to meet some pretty dedicated people and listen to their wonderful stories.  I hear there is Funk Night on Sundays……hmmmmm.

Holy Celebrations……..Boom!........Boom!

We are at the end of Ramazan, the month of fasting.  It is not an easy thing to forego food and water during the day.  I watch as my counterparts slowly drift off from protein deprivation as I try to dazzle them with my musings and advice.  Our meetings have to end before noon to keep their focus.  Eid, the celebratory end to Ramazan, is a day or two away and we work hard to get through all the talking points, but their minds are somewhere else.  I gave my principal a pricy box of Italian chocolates to celebrate Eid.  He was surprised and grateful.  My Brit Deputy gave him a tin of British biscuits.  Score one for team USA!!!

 The advisors met in the garden for game night, after a long day out and about. Four of us were busy talking smack in a fast paced game of dominos.  We talked about the progress we did and didn’t make, our families, and paystubs.  We wont be going outside the castle for at least three days.  Funny things happen in the days leading up to Eid, and leadership wants us to be safe.  We were having a great time, listening to my collection of 80’s tunes, when we heard a somewhat muffled Boom….maybe a few kilometers away.   Some folks just lost their lives, settling old scores I guess, since the coalition guys are in their camps.  Everyone stopped and stared at each other, then on with dominos.  It’s a strange dichotomy how folks prepare to celebrate while others execute mayhem.  Twenty minutes later Boom!!!, Another one went off, this time much further away.  Overall, there were six that night.  Sobering………does anyone have a double three?