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.