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?

An Office Like Any Other

They say the only constant is change.  The same is true here.  I thought I’d only be an advisor, going out a few times a week in convoy to see my Principal at the Ministry of Interior, becoming his personal vizier in the ways of dealing with us.  Luckily, I am doing this, but the Nobles here also made me the Director of a major Division with a staff of 20 and all the daily tasks that go with it.  I get to track progress to plan, supervise, build plans, ensure my folks stay safe and play nice as well as respond to daily tasks from above.  I came 7000 miles to do what I was doing back in DC, except that I walk around armed and go to some meetings outside the castle walls dressed for battle (literally and figuratively). Thanks goodness I have a solid analysis team and a great British Deputy.  Unfortunately he will be leaving in a few weeks.  After four years of this, he wants apply his skills in a place a bit greener and where you can have a beer after work.  I don’t blame him.

Part of my team.  Lead analyst and my Deputy.

 

Convoy Virgin

Its been two weeks and most of the new advisors are no longer convoy virgins.  The first outing is nerve racking for most of us, not knowing what to expect.  We rely on our training and the experience of those in the vehicles who have done it.  We gather notes, done body armor, conduct the mission brief where we do all the what-if drills, backup plans and discuss what Ministry offices we will be at and where we want our guards to be.  We then get to our vehicles, charge the weapons, do a last set of checks and off we go.  Our view of the city is through the armored windows.  Not very personal but at least we have protection.  We enter Kabul’s chaotic traffic flow and work our way the mile or so to the Ministry.  It takes us generally an hour to do this.  The first meeting with my principal was cordial as we sized each other up.  For me this a new thing, for the General, I am the next in a long line of advisors over the years.  The Afghans are experts at high context communications and masters at reading you.  After an hour or so, meeting with a number of officials, we load up and convoy back to the castle.  I try to snap a few pictures, but my mind is a whir with thoughts.  We get past our gate and a sense of relief washes over me as we enter the safety of the castle.  We uncharge the weapons and bid farewell to our drivers and guardians and walk back to our offices.  I am drenched in sweat from the journey and not because its 97 degrees outside with 50 lbs of body armor.  Relief.  I am no longer a convoy virgin.  Its been all business since then.

 

In the Castle

Our camp is not like where we trained, or any other military base I’ve been to. We live and work in a veritable fortress, eerily reminiscent of a medieval castle. We are in the middle of a city in a fortress surrounded by very high walls guard towers and imposing gates.  Getting in and out requires passing a myriad of checkpoints.  Horse and carriage have been replaced by armored vehicles driven and escorted by young soldiers.  Oddly, our contractors live off the compound and each day walk outside the gate in body armor to their residence halls with names like Monkey House, and London.  The fortress walls protect our little city for 2000 folks from around the world.   We work mostly in converted shipping containers in bullpen settings.  There is large cafeteria, gym, three restaurants, residence halls, laundry, post office, stables for all the vehicles, rec center, post office, and a number of coffee shops to feed the insatiable need for coffee.  There is a small park to unwind at that us advisors have claimed for game night in the middle of the week.  Across is the “palace” where the seniors live and work.  The place is obsessed with personal hygiene.  Understandably since a bacterial outbreak would be devastating in such close quarters.  The dirtiest thing in camp is the door handle to the cafeteria.  Just in the door you must wash up before getting food.  It’s a good thing.

The camp has a certain battle rhythm to it and its not long before you get into one yourself.  Soldiers and civilians find ways to unwind.  The Balkan troops play wicked games Footsol (small sided soccer on a tennis court) in the night.  Northern Europeans play volleyball in the gym.  Most run around the inner perimeter or work out at the gym at all hours.  Others hang out in their National Support Element centers (essentially little CONEX Box clubhouses decorated by each country.  The Germans have a plaza setting with a Maypole, the Italians a nice café setting.  The Norweigians have what looks like a cabin in the woods. Anything to remind them of home.  One of the restaurants puts on Salsa night on Saturdays.  Im there to polish up on my skills.  It odd when the night ends and your dance partner has to done armor over her dressy outfit to get home.  We do live in a strange place.

 

 

Arrive at Camp

We waited for our last helicopter ride to Camp, far away from the large airbase we came in through.  A night flight strait into camp. Our CH-47 helicopter is our own as we loaded our gear through the back ramp, watching as the crew master strap it all down to the floor while we take our seat in the slings.  We are in full body armor now for the last leg.  Its hot and noisy, but the view of eastern Afghanistan from the open rear door is spectacular.  We land late at night on a dusty field and quickly unload and haul our gear the fifty yards to the gate.  Our sponsors are there to meet us.  Welcome to NATO Camp Resolute Support.

 

A Big Bus

From Kuwait, it’s a short five hour flight to Afghanistan.  To get there we found space for all of us on a midnight flight on a very large cargo plane, adapted with modules of airline style seats in the center and sling seats along the sides.  The plane was full with young soldiers heading to other theaters and a few civilians like us. None look terribly excited.  I of course am in the center seat of a five wide row.  The soldier next to me looks twelve.  Boyish face, well-mannered with a ring on his finger attesting to an equally young bride somewhere back home.  He asked me what I was doing here, and I explained our mission.  He was blown away how someone as old as his dad was going through this.  Oddly, he thanked me for my service.  This will not a comfortable ride. No overhead compartments, and little if any room below the seat in front of you.  Big bags are strapped into a pallet behind us with your carry-on in your lap.  I pitied the soldiers with their ruck sacks, helmets and weapons on their laps. The plane is stripped to the bare bones with all its internals there for all to see.  Very functional, loud and the climate control leaves something to be desired.  Some are freezing and some are sweating.  Surprise!, we land in the morning this time.  As we unload, I wished the young soldier well, telling him to savor the adventure, but not do anything crazy.  That young bride needs you home.

We met a fine woman named Angie who was to be our facilitator getting us settled in.  She is a contractor civilian doing logistics for over eight years here.  She is kind, professional and clearly knows the ropes.  All processes need a facilitator, and Angie is worth her weight in gold.  Too bad they dont pay here that.  We haul our gear across the base to our temporary housing (converted shipping containers) as we await transportation to our final destination.  Did I say its hot??

 

 

Security

It’s a strange thing being on a base in these parts.  Security means many things to the average person.  For some at the base, it’s a real contradiction.  Soldiers and airmen in full uniform or street clothes, some with side arms and long guns and some without.  Transients like us with their weapons locked up in triplicate, and Local workers going about their daily routines, seemingly oblivious to it all.  Stores, rec centers, theaters, and eateries are filled with a wide mix of them all.  “Sorry sir if my rifle fell on your foot” says the young soldier.  No problem I said, its all good.  Most around here are pragmatic professionals just getting through the day in the way they feel most comfortable about security, but there are the ones we call the “paranoids”. They are armed and looking for bad people around every corner, fumbling with their weapons.  They probably shouldn’t be here.

  The most interesting are those in gym clothes with either a long gun slung over their shoulder or like one officer we saw with a pistol tucked in his reflective safety belt.  Clearly none of these guys intends to jog, run or lift weights in that get-up.  This odd fellow was checking the clothing turn-in drop off containers, for what wasn’t clear, all the while putting his pistol on the top of the drop box as he rooted through the box, barrel facing us of course.  One of the civilian locals had to remind him that this was probably not good weapon practice.  You think???    

Skulking in the Night

We arrive in Kuwait after midnight and the same goes for pretty much everywhere we arrive. We stumble and fret dragging about 200 lbs of “luggage” each and carry-ons with a year’s worth of clothes, supplies that we just “had” to have and all the armor the Army sought fit to loan us, across sand and gravel paths.  We store most it in tents or cages in the open to bake in the sun for a few days as we await yet another transporter to take us to the Promised Land.  No one is particularly happy, expect possibly those former Army types amongst us that still do gown-up camping.  The standard rolling bags, suitable for getting to the Hilton in town are woefully inadequate, failing big time as their little wheels jam with sand and those that have them are suffering.  Even the stylish olive green duffle bags, suitable for tall, strong and young soldiers are weighing heavily on the civilians.  It’s a rather pitiful sight as bags flip, straps burst and gear slowly departs from their owner’s control and litters the ground in a trail.  Like what you see in the movies when the defeated army retreats across the desert.  Note to self: Shoot the guy who thought of this scheme.

There are many reasons why people do things at night that could easily be done in the day.  Especially in these parts:  Convenience, because maybe it’s cooler and less crowded (idealist), Security, because maybe we don’t want the bad guys to know we’re here (naïve), or maybe we don’t want to offend the locals with our presence.  Most of the group are clearly think it’s the latter reason.  We have skulked into town deep in the night, like the unwashed, transported by unmarked busses with curtains the drawn, arriving at our destinations before anyone is the wiser.   We get through the gates of our compounds and are now safe from the outside world.  Everyone helps unload gear from the storage trucks in long lines.  There is a sense of community here, not doubt from the mission, but more likely the shared sense of suck operating in a hot, dusty lace.  The good news is that we are free to wear gaudy garb, eat copious amounts of food, and play at our rec centers.  Its tailor made for us.