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.