Lessons Learned

The Government likely spent over $100,000 to train, transport, house and feed me in Afghanistan.  A lot more if you count all the fine young soldiers who kept me safe in Camp and on Movement. For this they got someone to work 76 hours per week, every week, carry a weapon everywhere except to bed and shower, Advise three Afghan Generals and two Deputy Ministers and their staffs, lead a team of financial managers, and tackle over thirty initiatives.  Not a bad trade I say.

I will always be very appreciative of the soldiers (younger than my oldest daughter) who protected me on convoy and at the Ministry.  I often asked about their personal lives and told them what I did so that they would know why they were protecting me.  I dreaded every day the thought of anyone of these fine young folk being hurt or killed protecting me and my vow to meet their parents if anything ever did happen.  While they all believe in the mission, as a parent, the guilt on this middle aged man would be hard.  I would have preferred a beat up Toyota Corolla with a Masood sticker (look it up) on the windshield  for movements.

So what did I learn?

 Mission

1)      The mission is sound, but the execution needs rework.  We are caught between thinking this is still a military affair rather than nation building.  We have to make up our minds.

2)      Nation building is the domain of civilians.  Though the military have the means for some of this, they do not have the patience for letting a nation move at its own pace.

3)      Too many are risk averse.  The military were told to come here, we volunteered.  That alone makes all the difference.  We know what we signed up for, so let us do our jobs.

4)    We birthed this addict, and now its an adult who has a very hard time living without our $$$ fix.  Its drive to extract more from us is incessant and distracting from growing their nation.  The only way to cure the addiction is to significantly throttle back on the $$$.

People

1)      The two most important times in an advisor’s career.  When you first know that you are in their inner circle, and when you know they are lying to your face.  You have to be able to accept that.

2)      You have to be a little strange to deploy like this.  Some see adventure, but most either like this lifestyle, trying to get away from something back home or both. 

3)      Governments, Businesses, Organizations.  Culture matters.  At the end of the day, its all about people. If you can master listening to them and building the work so that it meets both objectives, you can accomplish much.

4)      People bring their true selves to any situation, its only a matter of time before it comes out.

 Myself

1)      I can adapt to almost any situation, don’t panic, and listen to my gut.  Rules are a fallback when you can’t/won’t think.

2)      I take the time to make my collaborators feel comfortable, though good works are what instill confidence to trust me.

3)      The traits my mom and grandmother taught me of humility, keeping your word and “don’t whine and just do something” apply to so many aspects of leadership, management and life.

4)      I still have a distaste for bureaucracy and the trolls who put process before product.

 

Time to go

My helo flight out was planned for mid-morning, but I got the word that it had been moved up. No more time for one last email to the Commander, no more time for purging files, and not much time to say goodbye, yet again to staff.  The week had been emotionally draining for me, but now it was time to go.  I sent out a few txt to staff letting them know I was leaving.  A few rushed to the helo pad, and then more came.  Before long, the cameras were out and the tears rolled.  A few selfie shots, as the helo came in.  A few hugs, and before I knew it, Camp RS was out of sight.  It was time to go, of that there was no doubt, but I will miss these friendships, yet revel in the fact that we accomplished much.  Now is the time to look forward, and after about a week of mindless travel, I’ll be home then back to the Pentagon.

 

The Last Movement - Donors

On my last full day, the Italian charge-d-affairs, Eugenio, called a meeting of Donors to review the letter to the Afghan president I drafted on the progress toward transition of the Payroll function to the Afghans this coming winter.  I bummed a ride with the US Embassy staff to the Italian Embassy as it was easier and since I had already turned in my ammo, my sidearm was pretty useless.  I arrived in style, no kit, no hidden weapon, just my cell phone and a few Embassy guards.  The Italian Embassy is pretty close by in a modern building surrounded by gardens, and oddly enough and old 1930’s Bi-plane.  All the cohorts were there, and we had a typical NATO meeting where everyone said something, but only a few were willing to do something.  I took an action to revise the letter that night, before I departed in the morning.  We had lots of hugs and kisses, except for the Japanese who just bowed. Ooops, I never got to that letter.

 

One last Movement…….maybe.

 

Three days before I redeploy and I got a chance to get to the Ministry one last time for a meeting of the Donor Nation Audit team, but it was a chance to say goodbye to the Afghan staff, the General, the Deputy Minister and the Guards.  I rushed from building to building, in my battle rattle of course, trying to say goodbye to as many as I could, but my real mission was to meet with the Deputy Minister and let him know of our leanings to helping out with his $58M Old Food Bills dilemma.  The DM was happy to meet me, and shooed out his entourage to talk.  He was happy to hear about the cost sharing proposal worked out over these many weeks.  He motioned for his staff to get my gift from his car, and in a few minutes, he presented me with a traditional handmade over-garment, while I gave him a MoDA coin, with my name spelled wrong of course. Back in the MRAP armored vehicle, the ride to camp was pretty long from the Kabul traffic.  I thought much about all that we were able to accomplish this past year.  I made 80 armored convoy movements, only a dozen of which were in the Green Zone to engage in over 32 major initiatives. Not bad.  We had two major bombing events on Coalition facilities, but thankfully none on RS, and over twenty other significant terror activities around town. My team was almost lost by a crashing helicopter which missed our weekly staff meeting site by 15 feet, but tragically took the lives of five onboard.  I cancelled two movements when things just weren’t quite right, only to hear that bad folks were waiting for us.  Overall, it was a good year for me, leading a wonderful team, advising at the Ministry and working some pretty tough challenges in and outside the castle walls.  Frankly, I’m gonna miss much of this.

The Afghan Medal

Its been eight days since I’ve been to the ministry.  The roads remain black outside the Green Zone as they search for a half-dozen or so bad guys with their even nastier vehicles who are hunting for us.  It’s a Catch-22 as if we don’t get out, then security forces cant find them.  The General had his family prepare a celebratory meal for me three times now, only to have me sadly inform him that that I cannot come to the Ministry.  Ramazan is now upon us and thoughts of one last meal with the General and his staff are gone.  With no other options, the General came to see me.  I gladly escorted his vehicle through security and ushered him and staff up to the USO deck.  He clearly was tired from the fasting, but insisted on seeing me.  We sat and talked a bit while my and his staff gathered.  The general presented me with a set of prayer beads, a certificate of appreciation from the Minister, and a small rug as a token of the Ministry’s appreciation.  While we had exchanged small tokens over the year, I had nothing to give him today, other than a year of my life to the betterment of this country.  We had grown close over the year, and he knew, and greatly appreciated what I meant. He asked me to stand and presented me with the Ministry Medal of Merit that up until now had only been given to one other non-Afghan.  I also got the official certificate which allows me to wear it in public.  I was deeply honored, proceeding then to say a few words of thanks all the while not doing a good job holding back tears.  Ugh, so much for the hard-nosed American. 

 

 

Overboard, the war on Spandex

 

With less than a week to go before redeployment (Army term for going home), I find myself getting very impatient with the ever-growing rules sets in camp.  The new senior-enlisted soldier is bound and determined to run what is essentially a white collar operation as an Army camp.  The FRAGOs (Fragmentation Orders) grow now to one or two per day for all sorts of small items.  One for how to turn in reports, one for attending mandatory lectures, one for not eating in front of the locals during Ramazan.  The latest is the banning of Spandex.  Under the guise of not offending the locals while we are in our gym (but no doubt because some colonel was offended by rear flesh seen at spin class), they have now declared war on the skin clinging garments and the sleeveless tops that typically go with the ensemble.  Worse yet, the camp police have been ordered to enforce the ban.  Folks are pissed as they raid the gym every day like a SWAT team staring down the women and admonishing them for garments, seemingly too tight.  The Finnish Ambassador was caught up in one such rousting, to everyone’s horror.  The majority of the camp athletes are now heading to the US Embassy gyms much to their dismay.  We are spending $4.5B per year on this adventure, with less every day going to buy the goods and services to win the insurgency, but we seem to have plenty of manpower for such inane activities.  Its time to go.

Please Don't Go

My boss got a letter from the Deputy Minister for Interior Affairs. “Hello and Good Morning; This is a recommendation letter asking you if it’s okay with Mr. George to please extend his mission period with the Ministry for one more time, as he is a good adviser to all MoI Finance Directorate and at the same time he is a good solution maker for all financial problems.”  Well, it appears they want the bill payer to stay a bit longer, no doubt to take care of some more pesky bills.  Or maybe the Greek in me resonates with them.  I’m not sure, but my counterpart Major General is not happy that my time is nearly up.  He has been a champion of many of our causes, and for that has put his life, and of his family at risk.  I’ve got mixed feelings, but we have given them the tools to succeed, now they have to want it more than me.

 

Yes, it is time to go.

 

A Shiny New Building

The Coalition spent a good sum building a new Ministry HQ building, unfortunately its not in town where a Police HQ should be, but that’s another story.  The place was built to western standards to support cube-ville and large collaborative work spaces, but of course the Afghans don’t work in such places.  They prefer separate offices to mark their domain.  Collaboration is fleeting at best.  We delivered a nice building in December, they cut the ribbon, and then the Afghans proceeded to make modifications.  Nice terrazzo floor?  No, it must be covered with marble, Cube-ville desks? Dismantled, sold for scrap as everyone wants an office with big wooden desks.  Their contractors got to work partitioning all the large work areas, and partition they did with no regard to A/C, air circulation, lighting or fire escapes.  Lights in the way?  No problem, just split the difference.  Ceiling fan in the way? Just cut off a blade.   Ah, the foibles of absolute determination to get the mission done at all costs. 

 

 

Kite Runner - Part 2

The nice man thought long and hard about his bucket list.  So many things to do before he leaves.  One thing he wants to do badly is fly a kite in Kabul.  A local paper one, colorful with a cutting string for aerial battle.  His local aid gets him three, I guess he figures the man will crash the first two.  Clouds were forming in the late day as a storm was brewing, so now was the time to fly.  He climbed the balcony and got to the top platform, gauging the wind and waiting for the right moment.  Tried as he might, the kite wouldn’t take off.  The local Afghan in the shop below sensing his struggles got his kite out as well and got it aloft.  Undeterred the nice man got is up, maybe 30 feet before it came down. 

Before long a camp police patrol came stomping by.  She stopped, looked up at the man, put her hands on her hip, "Hey, are you flying a kite?" she asked.  Since the kite was in his hand, he technically correctly answered "well not really".  To wit she proceed to say that he was violating a Camp Order.  Hmmmm, he says loudly, "Is that the Order next to the one that tells one how to wipe their ass?  Angry police lady was not amused and quickly stomped off to no doubt write her report about the incorrigible, but handsome, man.

I guess the nice man will go next door to the Embassy to try his luck.

 

 

Is it Safe?

Folks always ask me if its safe here.  If you wanted safe, then this is not the place to work.  Its all about calculated risk and frankly a numbers game.  For those that don’t go out of the walls, its pretty safe with lots of security features and guards keeping a constant eye out for bad people.  If you travel in the Green Zone to one nearby Ministry, your risk goes up a bit for the walk, and a bit more if some errant guard decides that you are a target.  For those of us who go outside the Green Zone to one of the many other Ministry sites, the risk goes up appreciably commensurate with the vehicle you ride in. Bad people are actually out hunting for us. It happened last week to one movement.  We didn’t go out that day, but a few other colleagues did in a well-equipped armored MRAP convoy.  A bad guy rammed his sedan into one MRAP and fortunately it didn’t go high order.  They arrested the driver and cleared the car of the 150 lbs or so of high explosives.  My fellow advisors came back to camp with a story and a dilemma.  Poor detonator placement meant the difference between a fender bender and a tragedy.  It’s a numbers game, as the more you go out, the higher the risk.  I’m at over 70 movements so that puts me at higher risk than those with a dozen and less than those with a few hundred.  You can’t worry about it.  You prepare, get your head in the game and make the call on whether to move that day or not.  As for one of the Advisors in the convoy, he was in one of the other two MRAPs.  He was also in the second helicopter that did not crash into our camp in October.  Not sure how one man can go through two close calls like that and ask himself whether he is just lucky or just teasing fate.

The Other Half

Our Embassy colleagues are just over the wall, but they may as well be in a different country.  They rarely get out, so they rely on us that do for much of their information.  I see them at Donor meetings and talk to them regularly.  I must say, they are smart and driven young people and as such they do live a lifestyle far different than ours.  We have General Order #1 which pretty much precludes anything fun.  They have no such prohibitions, and like to party when the day is done.  We go over to sample their food, local bar (no drinks for us) and the open courtyards.  It is a refreshing escape from Camp.  Celebrating Asian Pacific Islander Day was a real chance to see how the other half lives. Not bad.  Back to my Ghetto.

 

Tree Wars - Victory

Some weeks ago “Tree Wars” began on Camp and I was bound not to lose.  Our three fruit tree saplings are stressed, but surviving (another allegory for this place).  It was time for the cu-de-grase this this final battle.  Our Ministry of Finance colleagues dedicated their tree with a marble plaque, shamelessly carved with their names on it, outdoing another Division’s “Friendship” plaques.   I funded some local Nuristani craftsmen to make us three wooden signs and they came through fabulously.  Carved, scrolled, painted and stained signs as a testament to our enduring commitment (literally) to this place.  Did I mention the Nuristani are direct descendants from Alexander the Great when he was here?  Yes, we Greeks invented everything!!!  Oh yes, we won this battle.

Mr Old Bills is Busy

Mr. Old Bills has been busy as it’s been my objective to clear the books of these old obligations before I leave in a month or so, easing the burden to my successor.  The locals know it and have been bum-rushing my office hoping to hear the Ka-Chunk of my stamper.  It hasn’t been working for them.  The last three Committee sessions I chaired resulted in nothing approved representing in some $55M in old claims still sitting around.  They are getting nervous and so am I since the prevailing leadership winds around here are saying “no”, mostly on principle.  My strategy for the next month while I tee up the options for leadership is simple; make Afghans produce good paper (and excuses), let them sweat a bit to instill discipline, and keep myself safe for another day.  If I say “no”, now then my cloak of invincibility loses its mojo, putting me and my team at risk.  I just don’t need this shit. 

Chai Latte Diplomacy

My Brit deputy and I have become adept at bringing in coalition donors for coffee or Chai to discuss and get consensus on one topic or another.  It’s a wonderful exercise as you get to know someone on a personal level and tease out positions that otherwise would never get said in a formal meeting.  It’s a great way to get things done, and we should do more of it back home.  What someone drinks, whether it’s at the bar or in the coffee house, says much about them.  This past week, I had four Chocolate Chai Lattes in just one afternoon, but what we gained from our counterparts was worth more than a month’s worth of meetings.  Maybe I need to set up a Chai account in the budget which will certainly be much cheaper (and more effective) than three Armored Vehicles, 15 Guardians on a trip to the edge of the Green Zone.

Penny Wise, Pound Foolish

The Ministry came to us begging to fund a media team which had been cut loose.  “But Mr. George, this is an important function that cannot be allowed to go away” they said passionately, knowing they had found a sympathetic 2-Star on base to champion this latest form of welfare.  I developed a few options for leadership, but the viable ones involve us paying.   Did I ever tell you about our standing line: “We do not pay, until we do”.  It’s an uphill battle to get them to see the bigger picture of self-sustainment.  As I presented the options to the room of senior Afghan and Coalition leaders, I reminded them that at the end of the day, it’s a $180,000 problem, easily solvable given our $4B commitment to this place, but I reminded them that just a few days earlier, we penalized the Ministry $1M for some violation and they didn’t seem to notice.  Yet, for this insignificant issue, we have three Deputy Ministers arguing.  Where was this passion over the violation?  They “won” $180K, but lost $1M.  I think I’ll let them noodle that one for a while.

Bombs and Rainbows

The enemy made a bold statement by attacking one of the Afghan Security Force compounds close to us.  We knew it was big as our building shook pretty well.  The alarms went off telling us to shelter in place as we kitted up, take account of our staff and continue working at our desks.  A rather interesting sight as your co-workers in full body armor, clicked at their mouse(s?) and tapped on their keyboards.  The bad people detonated a vehicle bomb at the compound gate, then stormed with armed men.  The whole thing lasted a few hours as the gun battle raged on.   About two hours later a rainbow appeared with its end seemingly landing about where the tragedy took place.  This place is full of irony or hope………….take your pick.

What Goes Around

I have a file of folders behind my desk of all the key issues I have/am working.  Its old school, but at least whoever comes after me will know what is going on since you can’t trust the servers and they won’t likely have access to my files.  It’s a funny thing, but after 10 months, what slowly moved from the front of the file to the rear, now jumps up to the front again.  Just when you thought you killed an issue and did the happy dance, within a few months someone (Afghans) will find a way to do “Project Lazarus”.  Lately, Death payments, and Special Police Unit pay have come back to haunt me.  Seems like some energetic officer thinking they can really help their counterpart, listens to a sob story about the mean “Mr. George”, and presto, a new crusader is born.  I’m thinking of putting up a banner outside our can which lists all the “initiatives” we are not entertaining.  Essentially, go away!

 

 

Newbies

Our trainers warned us that if the locals weren’t getting what they wanted out of you, they would wait you out for the next newbie to come.  The trick is to document all your “no” responses in such a way that it sounds like “I fought the good fight for you, but other forces were at play”.  It seems to work in this highly conspiratorial society.  We beat down an expensive digital simulation trainer (i.e Gameboy on steroids) that a prior US Colonel dangled in front an Afghan General some months ago.  Yet a new Colonel arrived, the General whined about the need for better trainers and that a proposal was ready to go, and the newbie bit, hook, line and sinker, and even committed to do all he could to see this unaffordable and unsustainable trinket delivered.   When the proud Colonel knocked on the door of Mr. Money (me), I smiled and told him that he had been suckered.  There was no money for this and it was wholly unsustainable.  “Well George, what can “we” do so I don’t lose face, he said sheepishly.  I told him to go back and scope down the project, wait a month and tell the General, that because other forces were at play, the good Colonel can get him a much scaled down version of a training center (think Carnival-style B-B gun shooting gallery).  And so it goes………………………..again.

New MODAs

The next crop of 22 MODAs arrived in Camp.  We had to sponsor at least one to help get them through the endless Army paperwork and settled into their rooms.  Some had worried looks of Taliban behind every tree, but most were just happy to finally get to work after seven weeks of training.  Our Class is now betting how many of this new batch will be sent home before their year is up.  The class before mine has sent home 10 of the 23 that came (clearly a dysfunctional lot), but ours has only lost one so far.  Like I said earlier, this country wallows in shades of gray, so if you are a black and white thinker, and can’t live a simple life in a cramped setting, then this place will chew you up. This latest batch is very friendly which should serve them well.  At the end of the day it’s your ability to get along with people that will save you (figuratively and literally). 

 

 

With a New MODA. Note the style differences

 

 

Tree Wars

One of the program offices planted two saplings in front of our Camp Morale Center.  Well, this did not sit well being bested by the new kids on the block.  So the Ministry of Finance Advisors went one better and planted a taller cherry tree at the same place.  Clearly war had been declared.  Not to be outdone by either, I asked my Afghan interpreters if they could get me prices for three fruit tree saplings from somewhere in Kabul.  The next morning, three saplings, with few roots and wrapped in small shopping bags end up in my can as my interpreter smiles.  “Mr. George, look we found you trees”.  Clearly a midnight raid on someone’s precious garden, but I wasn’t going to ask.  “Oh well lets get these symbols of Afghan righteousness and transparency in the ground quick.  I gave the camp gardener $20 (one week’s salary) to haul them to the same small patch of lawn with the other trees.  And there it is.  The tree war has been won by my Ministry of Finance team with one each apricot, apple and pear saplings that maybe in three generations of advisors from now will taste from its branches.  I wonder where we can have a sign made?   …………Oh Zafiri, can you find out the cost of a few signs?

 

Jewel Guy - Follow up

The Jewel guy ended up selling me fake rubies and sapphires.  Ah Afghanistan!  Sort of the story here.

Trainwreck

Sometimes you are at the right time to witness a train wreck as it happens.  You know, the situation where the deftly laid out plan is subjected to a series of anticipated and unanticipated gaffes when it all then falls apart.  But there are those rare moments, when you actually are there helping to lay down the tracks, winding up the engine and ever so eagerly pushing it to get it moving knowing all along that a catastrophe awaits.  We all sat and watched as the locals agreed to timeframes they (and we all knew) could not meet.  No matter what we said to the contrary, leadership set its vector and that was that.  “Do you realize that we tried this with less than half the contracts last year and it took us six months, but now we want to do all this in a month?” we chimed in.  “Well, it’s in “The Plan”, so they will just do what they agreed to do ……..”  Never one to miss a chance to say something, I chimed in, “but Sir, you did hear they said “Inshallah” after every sentence as they committed to this (Their definition: God willing, Our Definition: No Way!).   As a Roman once said to the slave “Row well and live”.

 

Movies

To relax after a tough day, we sometimes rush out of the office a bit early to the camp theater to watch a movie.  It’s an eclectic mix of titles that play at 8pm every day.  The weeks usually have a theme, Action Adventure, Romantic Comedies, Dramas, Mysteries, Holiday and the always popular war movies.  This week we had Afghan related movies “Rock the Casbah”, “Kite Runner” and “The Beast” intermixed with war related movies where the locals fight outnumbered against the evil occupiers.   Characters extoling the virtues of the “Freedom Fighter” against the mean imperialists in this place seems paradoxical.  You can see folks squirming in their seats. 

 

Speak Woman!

Her name is Gulshan.  We hired this young financial Subject Matter Expert to work the Gender portfolio at the Ministry.  She is a smart, Indian educated Afghan woman with something to prove in this male dominated world.  At the first formal quarterly budget review of the year, she was selected to brief the status of “Gender” salaries and investments.  This was a first as no woman had ever briefed at a Two-star level forum.  She came to the head of the table, sat down and began rattling off numbers and her assessment of the state of the high profile program, making eye contact with the General and the other Colonels gathered around the table. Her voice was firm and her words knowledgeable and authoritative.  Gulshan hit it out of the park!   A great day, and a phenomenal start for the next generation.

The Jewel Guy

Every Friday I go to the bazar that sets up between camp and the embassy.  Its filled with very aggressive (but vetted?) Afghan vendors selling all kinds of stuff; rugs, furs, counterfeit watches, counterfeit guns, counterfeit everything else. (I got my “authentic” North Face jacket there) and of course gems and jewelry.  It’s not a place for the faint of heart. You have to know what you want and not feel guilty about lowballing them to 25% of their asking price.  Many camp ladies join me as I keep the wolves at bay.  I visit Ramanullah to see the latest jewels that he picked out “especially for me”.  “Brother, it is good to see you again.  I have some nice emeralds and rubies for you or maybe some blue tourmaline?” as he escorts me behind the table to a “special” broken folding chair while his chai boy gets me some extra sweet tea.  He knows I need a loop and a light to check his haul, and he obliges.  I look though the fist sized pile of stones in front of me, while others stare at me as I begin to spin myself up to negotiate a price for a stone.  The back and forth is endless.  Finally, we settle on $7 a carat for the rubies (colored no doubt) and $26 per carat for the emeralds.  A pretty good morning of haggling. I’m exhausted.

 

Kit or not to Kit

We live in world of rules here.  Everything you do is somehow covered in an Army SOP (Standard Operating Procedure) or a FRAGO (Fragmentation Order).  In the Army, you follow them to the letter to get promoted.   The SOPs cover all anyone would ever think of doing, developed by trolls who never come out of their caves.  (Did you know there is an SOP which says I can’t wear a singlet?, yes look it up)   For me, an SOP is what you resort to when you are clueless.  All other times, use your head.  I live by the mantra “do until someone says you cant” rather than the typical “don’t do until someone says you can”.  Try my way, you will enjoy life and accomplish more.

We now must get “Kitted up” (full body armor, helmet, weapon and a trip ticket) anytime you go outside the wall.  The trolls never knew we escort about 40 Afghans every other day into camp at the gate and because the welcome gate is technically outside the wall by five feet, we must be kitted up.  The young Afghans look perplexed when they see us walk up in full “Battle Rattle” just to turn around and escort them back in.  Mindless.  Now the Embassy does not like guns, so we don’t take them when we go over to share a ride with their staff, but our SOP says we have to be ready for war.  So what do we do?  Well, don your kit, hide our pistol in your pants and wave at the guards.  When you get in their transport you have to take your kit off as they want you arriving at whatever destination in style.  Then reverse the process to come get back.  I’m sure there is an SOP on how to question an SOP.

All "Kitted up" and someplace to go

Slowing Down

Things have slowed down quite a bit in the last two months and to someone like me who likes to have at least three balls in the air at one time, this is frustrating.  I guess its inevitable as we transition more responsibility of what were our initiatives to them.  They have a different pace and what seems urgent to us, is merely something to think about for them.  Add to that is a new Minister and a Deputy and the place comes to a halt.  Procurement reform, financial auditing, programming, and building policy have all slowed to a crawl.  Yet, when it comes to asking for more money, they are literally knocking on my door.   “Mr. George, do you think the donors will move faster on our pay incentives?”,  Well you know, the average soldier does earn three times more than a college professor here, so the donors are a bit hesitant, I say.  Without batting an eye, seemingly ignoring my comparison, “Yes, it is not fair that the Army gets more than the Police” he says. Fair is relative around here I say. 

Ballon Fiasco

A hard rainstorm sent our observation balloon into a heaped mess on one of the castle walls with its cable stretched across the camp.  While the workers were busy attending to the mess at one end of the camp, the security folks locked us all down for our safety, presumably as a precaution from the dangerous cable, or maybe the deflated balloon was really a Taliban Trojan Horse.  We do a lot of things under the pretext of safety around here, some rightly so, but others?  I ignored the mindless lockdown, kitted up and went to the lot with my team to await my ride.  What the trolls didn’t realize was just how many movements were planned that day as the massive tactical vehicles began to show up hoping to pick up their passengers.  They kept coming and coming and before long the lot was jammed with all sorts of armor, worse than Christmas at the mall, and with lots of Guardians standing around.  At least we got out with our more nimble British Foxhound armored vehicles.  Ah yes, cluster Fu-kery at its finest. 

 

Its getting crowded

 

Close Call

One of the related Divisions who advise at another Ministry got wind that strangers knew they were coming to the Ministry for a meeting.  Sensing something wasn’t right, the team changed locations to another building at the last minute.  While they were meeting with their counterparts, a suicide bomber hit the front gate of the Ministry they were originally planned for and at the original time they would have been heading in.  We are all hyper vigilant now.  You can’t wish your way through this with a “well it won’t happen” mentality.  We never say what time we are coming to the Ministry.  We arrive when we do.  Sort of like Cuban time in Miami.  Maybe not a bad way to be.

Harder Movements

It’s getting harder to move to and within the Ministry.  A couple of weeks ago, advisors at another ministry were ambushed by a guard while they walked between buildings.  The guard was killed and fortunately, no coalition force members were killed.  What that means for all of us is that we now have to wear our body armor even after we get inside the Ministry compound until we arrive in our counterpart’s office.  On one hand safety is important, but the message is just as important. If I wear armor, I am saying to my counterpart that I have little faith in him and his guards.  It’s a subtle, but important balance I have to maintain.  I explained the new rules to my counterpart, and he reminded me that only God knows the time of our demise, so this concern over armor and weapons has its limits.  This fatalistic view has always bothered me.  The good Lord gave us a brain as well to keep us from taking unnecessary risks.  Just this week, a suicide bomber struck at the back gate of the Ministry of Defense killing a dozen or so Government workers as they left for the day.  Fortunately my peers who advise there using walking movements don’t use that Gate as it exits out of the Green Zone.  That said, nothing is guaranteed here.  I weigh the risks every day of weather to even go outside the wire, and have done so fifty times now in vehicle convoys which are safer, but as with the ambush incident, nothing is guaranteed. Advisors now are bit more attentive at the convoy pre-briefs. 

 

Walking Movement

 

Change the Deal

The coalition has invested in a number of staffing programs to seed the Ministries with young bright Afghans as well as seasoned professionals.  Some are very expensive, while others not so much.  It’s an aspect of many years and many chefs trying to make this place work.  Up until this point, the coalition has footed the bill, but if sustainability has any chance of succeeding, these disparate programs need to be streamlined and reengineered so the Afghans have skin in the game.  The latest program being developed requires the Afghans to pay 50% of the salary of senior advisors from day one and we pick up the rest.  The thought being that the locals will be more critical of the positions they want filled.  Yet, recently the Afghans asked to do away with the transparent hiring procedures to quickly hire those they want by name.  We don’t need another patronage network in this country, so we have resisted.   They like our free money, but not so much the strings.  Weeks go by…..and a new request arrives for the coalition to pick up the entire salary tab for the first six months and they would fund the rest later…..or better yet if we could pay it all for the year.  They have nerve.

Shakeup

The Minister just resigned and the Principal Deputy Minister in charge of all Police has been replaced.  There are rumors that the Deputy Minister I deal with for supporting the forces is on shaky ground as well.  The Director General for Finance and the Inspector General I advise seem to be safe, for now.  In this culture, when there are such leadership changes, little progress can be expected as subordinates are loathed to make any firm decisions, much less craft new initiatives, lest they be seen as making power plays.  We have key initiatives on Procurement, Accounting, Requirements planning and Civilianization which now may be slowed, or worse, curtailed.  This was not a good time for such turmoil, especially so at the start of the 2016 fighting season.  This seems like catastrophe to us, but oddly the Afghans don’t seem as concerned.  It’s as almost they are playing musical chairs, where leaders merely rotate jobs.  No one really gets sacked.  They just change jobs or employment status for a while. A perfect management scheme for no progress.

 

Progress?

Just returned from a couple of weeks back in the States where I took in the vibe of Miami, enjoyed a few good tropical drinks and went to the beach.  Three things we can’t do here.  I pride myself in being able to juggle a number of tasks and initiatives here, but now with three and a half months left to go, its time to prioritize what I can reasonably expect to accomplish.  Things progressed somewhat while I was on R&R, but just like back home, if you don’t stay on top of things and adjust course as needed, things just slow down.  My Afghan partners remain eager and willing to accept our money, but don’t seem too eager to produce the paper necessary to get it.  It’s almost as if I am starting from scratch.  “Mr. George, why haven’t the Old Food Bills been paid yet? they say almost demandingly.  “Well, you did not complete the applications, conduct the analysis and bounce the requirements against the acquisition policies as we had agreed to before I went on R&R” I say like a parent whose child didn’t do their chores, but still wants money for the movie.  “Hmm, well how about you begin paying while we produce the documents?”………..Really?  I’m sorry gentlemen but the US citizens would not see that as acceptable, so let’s get back to our plan.  More tea please…. Well I guess it’s a few more weeks of getting us to where we thought we were going to be three weeks ago. 

Civilianization

There is no strategy for Civilianizing the Ministry, not one that I can see.  By Civilianization we mean not just replacing Uniformed Police with Civilians in the Ministries, but also melding the Contracted Civilians we hired, who operate at the upper echelons, with the rest of the Civil Service Corps.  Clearly no one wants to take this on, and the Afghans like the status quo just fine.  The more on high-priced payrolls that others fund the better.  So I am taking it upon myself, and any other fool who has nothing else to do, to find an Afghan/Coalition solution to long-term sustainability and affordability.  Luckily I found a willing Brit named Samantha who is a whiz at Human Resourcing to help work this.  Together we will slay this beast and bring some structure and reasonableness to the issue.  I do have my doubts as we are talking about big money salaries, but I have to try.  I have now become “Mr. Civilianization” in addition to my other titles: “Santa George”, and Mr. “Old Bills”.  My tutors during MoDA training warned me; George if they see you are a doer, they will work you to death.  Oh well.

 

Movement to the Ministry.  Sam on the left. Guardians on the right.

 

 

Parking

When lucky, we get the beastly MRAPs to haul us to the Ministry ghetto.  They are safe, but getting to and from the ministry while maneuvering through the crowded streets of Kabul is a nightmare.  Finding parking once we get there is also a huge deal.  When on an MRAP movement, it takes at least fifteen solders to chauffer me to my meeting.  Frankly, I feel very uncomfortable putting these young folks in harm’s way for me.  Most other days we get driven in or drive ourselves in armored Toyota Land Cruisers or Ford Expeditions, which are a dream to park and get around.  The only problem is that while they will survive a small arms ambush, they have limits when it comes to car bombs.  That’s the tradeoff. 

Just give me a dented Toyota Corolla with a cracked windshield and a picture of the martyred hero Masood in the rear window, and I’d be pretty safe.

 

 

Easy Park

 

Hard  Park

 

More Bills

The Ministry owes me a list of contract expenses by the end of the month from this past year that they want us to pay.  Ideally this list should match what was on the Minister’s approved plan, but this is Afghanistan.  What we thought were just under 200 contracts awarded this year, has become 500.  Clearly folks in the provinces went nuts with Dad’s credit card.  Now comes the reckoning.  General, “you do realize that the expenses on your list come to over twice what we have funds for”, I say confidently, expecting a long drawn out discussion, but he says nothing.  “I suggest you and your team relook this.” And off I went.  Four days later the list magically shrinks to just over what they believe is in our budget.  “This is what we want you to pay Mr. George”.  Hmmmm, I say, where did the other contracts and expenses go?  Staff interjects, “well this is what we are requesting the Coalition pay”.  I see “Old Bills” in the future for the man/woman who fills my chair when I leave in June.  They are too good at this to let such funds be left on the table.

Patching

The Military and Government Civilians recently gathered for a “patching” ceremony. Formally receiving your combat patch means many things to those in uniform.  Fundamentally it signifies being part of a team in a large combat operation.  It is awarded to all those who have been in theater over four months.  For myself is signifies that I have been recognized as part of that team.  The 2-Star General talked of the patching history and its importance in developing esprit-d-corps.  It is not to be taken lightly.  He proudly stated that we can now officially call ourselves “veterans” of the Afghanistan endeavor.  He personally handed them out to us while we stood at attention, though I think I was slouching a bit.  The patch is unique to this campaign.  A background of the Hindu-Kush maintains, with wheat signifying Afghanistan, two muskets signaling their fight for independence and a gladius sword for honor.   Frankly, I am honored.

 

Expensive Faces for a few Spaces

 

Sustainability and Affordability are part of the mantra civilians were given when we trained to come here, but too often it is expediency at whatever cost which drives many of the military here.  It’s a constant tug of war, and no more so than with the consultants we (and the other Donor’s) fund. There are at least five programs that fund Afghans to work the Ministries and they are all substantially better paid (5-15X) than the Civil Service Corps leaders and more is requested of us every day.  So much so, that when we decide to cut the support for any of them (because of patronage, corruption, inefficiency or down right fraud), the proverbial howls come.  Sound familiar?  Back home, the mechanics of Government trump the faces of the people who work it.  Over here it’s the opposite.  “Mr. George, don’t these fine people deserve to be employed?” Well yes I say, but the money you are using is for payroll management and they are photographers.  “Yes, but good photographers with Master’s Degrees”, comes the retort.  “Well if they are doing such a wonderful job, then the Government should have no problem picking up their salary’, I say confidently.  “Oh no, there is no money for that Mr. George”, they respond equally confident.  Unfortunately many of the howls come from folks in our camp who have equated their success with making Ministers happy and not making waves during their tour.  It’s a constant tug of war that I will win, or they will wait me out.

Six Month-a-versary

Its been six months since I arrived.  The first two were to learn the ropes, but now I’m the money man around here and those that need it know where to come.  I’ve been outside the Green Zone on 36 movements through the city, we’ve had 12 car bombs around town, have attended over 150 meetings, been through six “shelter-in-place” emergencies and about a dozen earthquakes.  Don’t know if that’s good or bad, but it is what it is.  “Old timers” say its much worse than 2014, but no sense worrying about it. 

We prepare to go out as needed about twice a week and do what the US Govt trained us to do.  I work with good folks and we look out after each other.  I miss my wife, daughters and my friends, and look forward to finishing this mission.  In February, I go home for a few weeks for R&R, then back for the last four month stretch.  My counterparts have come a long way and am happy to see progress, but there is still much to do.  This will have to go on long after I’m gone.  

 

Eight of my MODA  Class

 

 

 

Certificates for Everyone!

We held our end-of-year budget execution session at the Ministry.  All the heavies were there to hear the Ministry crow about all that was good, how wonderful it all was, execution at 75%, Payroll at 90%.  As long as you didn’t scratch too deeply below the paint it was all good.  That said, the procurement year was supposed to be a bust, but we just found out they had been awarding contracts all year long, just not telling anyone they did.  Certificates for Everyone!!!  Knowing how much they love certificates, I made up the awards and formally distributed them, making them all feel good about meeting the mission………at all costs. 

Just like back at home.  Everyone gets a trophy.

 

Trinkets and Bobbles

 

There are clearly different schools of thought and approach here in Camp.  There are those that work to have the Afghans reach a point of being able to sustain themselves, with a judicious applications of carrots and sticks.  The sticks being withholding funds when things get squirrelly and want to get them back on track.  Then there those who believe that success is making the Minister happy.  And happy means dangling anything shiny and new in front of them, and of course never taking money from them.  I have at least four bosses on any particular issue, and they all differ in their thoughts on carrots and sticks.   My former boss here said “You can’t be a good parent if on one hand you take away their cake, but give them ice cream instead”.   No truer words for this place.