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?