Duck Season, Happy New Year

One of the nicest things about the gift of living in another culture is the chance to see how much we are alike, despite the very human tendency to fixate on the differences that set us apart.

Such was the discussion I had in the back of an MRAP (the rolling bank vault we use like the family station wagon) as I made my way to work one day.  Turns out that the soldier I was riding with was a duck hunter back home, and he explained to me how duck season work in Afghanistan.

It turns out to be strikingly similar, with some variation like the concept of needing governmental permission to shoot an animal which would definitely be lost in translation, or perhaps they would simply consider that to be covered under the Afghan statute which allows any adult to own (and carry in public) a single assault rifle to be used for self-defense. Lesser weapons are probably treated like bb guns in the U.S., and can be found at the Afghan equivalent of Walmart (though there isn't really any equivalent).

Open Season!!!
(just kidding)

Anyhow, the technique is the same.  You make a duck blind (hiding spot), try to lure the ducks with decoys or calls, and then blast away.  While I have to question the wisdom of firing any weapon in the neighborhood of a military installation (and a good portion of Afghanistan could be considered to meet that criteria), my new friend was clearly impressed. They had apparently gotten a good look at some of the decoys, which he noted were not what you'd get from a Cabella's catalog, but were pretty impressive for being made out of sticks and garbage bags. Indeed, we passed a flock of decoys on our trip which were plenty good enough to fool me (not a duck hunter). High-quality decoys or not, he was certain the Afghans went home with far more game than the average Cabella's customer.

Sometimes The Ducks Shoot Back... (note holes on drivers door)

(actually an Afghan April Fools Day joke, it's a sticker)

Along with duck season comes New Years (March 20) - which seems a far better time to make a fresh start than the dead of winter.  It is celebrated by going outside for picnics as a family enjoying fresh fruit and green things with the idea tha everything is reborn fresh and new. Unfortunately, I have not had the chance either to duck hunt or to go to a New Years picnic, but I have enjoyed the changing season.  Of course a dust/ice storm blew through during the holiday break, in the Afghan equivalent of the thunderstorm that seems to kick up right before you start the grill on the 4th of July.

 
Regardless, spring is marching forward, and the demoralizing events of the past weeks are slowly fading away, though the spectre of fighting season looms on the horizon, and the insurgents included us in their celebrations by rocketing BAF.

The Soviet Method of Duck Hunting

(a HIND helicopter - think Rambo III)

It will be an important and difficult year for Afghanistan when its citizens and leaders will need to make hard decisions and take on heavy burdens. Despite the frustrations and setbacks, this is a country that often eludes my comprehension by commands my respect, and I'm honored to play a small part in their struggle to find peace.

A Sense of Urgency... Or Not

As spring arrives, troops prepare for a rotation, and the withdrawal of coalition forces (CF) draws ever closer, I am sensing an odd mix of urgency and lethargy.

On the one hand there is the urge to rack up tangible accomplishments before hanging up ones boots, on the other is the contrary instinct to fade quietly into the sunset and not tempt fate. In the middle of this mess is the change of season, and the expectation that "fighting season" will soon get started. Taliban don't like fighting in the snow any more than we do and like taking their holiday in warmer climates just the same as us.

Ski Season is Just About Over...

 

Anyhow, I'm trying to just muddle along as best I can without fully embracing the (very American) fallacy that if we just work harder and longer Afghanistan will be reshaped in the next 2-4 weeks, nor the fatalism that often starts with the phrase "it is what it is" and ends with excusing oneself from trying at all.

In that vein, I had a chance for a nice stroll in downtown Charikar this week (going to a KLE not to stop at the corner grocery). I wish I had more of an opportunity to take pictures, as it was charming, colorful, and (at times) friendly.  The highlight was a series of three boys, who were probably 6, 4 and 3 years old, standing by the road (in that order) giving high-fives to the soldiers walking by. Older children enjoyed using the smattering of english they have picked up.

I Stuck by the Medic, Just in Case...

Others were more reserved, but didn't hesitate to return the greeting of a hand on the heart and a brief nod which has become instinctual enough that I catch myself doing it with non-Afghan colleagues. Mostly, our group seemed to get about as much attention as a flashy car driving down the street; enough to catch your attention and merit a comment to your neighbor, but not enough to interrupt business or a conversation with your friend. 

The Ironies of Afghanistan, A Soviet DSHK Machine Gun on a US Humvee

While our guard was certainly up, the guns generally were not, and the only real adrenaline rush came when CPT Esquire showed his soldiering skills by spotting an incoming motorbike with a gun-totting passenger and alerting our group to this event. Luckily, the weapon was not the typical AK-47 (which one is allowed to carry around for self-defense), but something that looked strikingly like a revolutionary war era flintlock rifle with a 3-4 foot barrel, and was probably being used for duck hunting.

On balance, it was nice to see the normalcy of a "city" street, and remember that mostly, people just want to have a job, earn enough to feed their family, have clean water, and go about their business.

Our Welcome Home

Leftover Bits and Peices

There is a widely-told story in Afghanistan that when God finished making the world he collected all the odd bits and peices that did not fit anywhere else, threw them down, and created Afghanistan.

This is a collection of some bits and peices of my own that mark my memories of this quirky, beautiful, troubled and wonderful place.

Cultural quirks

In a twist of logic that remains a mystery to me - my Korean hosts insist on a closed door policy for offices, meetings etc. - but keep bathroom doors open - sometimes including when they are in use (in a gender-mixed building).  So far the one Korean that I dared to ask about the matter seemed to think I was trying to make a joke and offered no explanation.

While proud and fierce - the Governor - who regales visitors with stories of personally defending his compound against suicide bombers, was very comfortable having an impromptu medical checkup in his office with a half-dozen guests in attendance explaining his pains to a bemused but well-poised army doctor who yielded to his insistence that he do a quick examination, and I am simply glad that the condition was a lower back issue, and not a more sensitive region.

He is also very gregarious fellow who follows the Afghan custom of being friendly by getting up close and personal, giving lots of hugs, putting his (very large) hands on your knee, back etc. All this is pretty standard, but in a gesture of hospitality and affection that is hard to top, the Governor paused a meeting we were holding, slowly reached down below the table (luckily a glass one so I knew he wasn't going for his AK-47) and then with a swift and powerful blow, killed the fly on my knee (the far one, since his hand had remained motionless on the closer one).

Texaco Station

At the beginning of my training - and repeatedly since I have been struck by the pride and unity of my military brethren, and often wondered what a State Department version of the Warriors Creed might look like, and even started drafting one until I realized it would probably get me in trouble - so I'll just share theirs and keep my job, for now at least.

The Soldier's Creed / Warrior Ethos / Warrior Creed

I am an American Soldier.

I am a Warrior and a member of a team. I serve the people of the United States and live the Army Values.

I will always place the mission first.

I will never accept defeat.

I will never quit.

I will never leave a fallen comrade.

I am disciplined, physically and mentally tough, trained and proficient in my warrior tasks and drills. I always maintain my arms, my equipment and myself.

I am an expert and I am a professional.

I stand ready to deploy, engage, and destroy the enemies of the United States of America in close combat.

I am a guardian of freedom and the American way of life.

I am an American Soldier.

While there are of course inept (or at least quirky) soldiers, the vast majority of them exemplify this code, and genuinely want to see good things happen in Afghanistan.  Papa Duck, my military counterpart is a fine example of this. Leaving behind a family and a civilian career which he enjoys, he inherited an evolving mission and a shrinking team to accomplish it. Undaunted, he has shaped and reshaped his team to get everything possible done to build up our little corner of Afghanistan and the people who live here. I decided on his title due to his focus on the part of the creed that puts the team first, as he always has the welfare of his subordinates as his priority, and never fails to do everything he can for them. Graciously, he has even taken me under his wing (so to speak) - offering to pick up supplies from BAF, making sure I arrived safely after a trip, teaching me all kinds of useful things about guns, knives, grenades, body armor etc. etc. etc. and generally ensuring that neither I nor his other ducklings wander into harms way.

  

one of my favorite photos showing of our soldiers playing volleyball with afghan soldiers and police

Bagram Burning... or Not

While I don't want this to be a political blog (I get enough of that in my day job) it did seem like I would be remiss in not commenting in some way about the events that have put Parwan in the spotlight.

Didn't notice that Parwan was in the spotlight? Join the club.  Most people, including a majority of those who live on Bagram Air Field - or BAF as my faithful readers already know are unaware of the province in which they live.  In fact BAF is right smack in the middle of Parwan, and easily visible (and audible) from my PRT, and much of Parwan for that matter.

As you doubtless know there was a recent incident in which Korans were "improperly disposed of" on BAF, causing deep insult and provoking many demonstrations, several of which ended in clashes and fatalities (the worst of which occured in a Parwan town far removed from BAF where four people died). Suffice to say - as every official from the President down already has, that is was a big mistake, and was unintentional. There was good reasons why the Korans required disposal, I won't go there.


Insert Juicy Riot picture of Burning Tire and Screaming Protestor - crop out the bored reporters and police on the side waiting for the show to either end or turn genuinely nasty


Anyhow, what has been heartening and humbling is to see the reactions among the Afghans.

Firstly, when they say that the Koran is the incarnation of god, they really mean it, feel it actually, in a way that we, who have vestiges of such tradition in things like taking the oath of office on a bible, genuinely cannot fully comprehend.  For us this is simply a cultural fact to learn, like not leaving your chopsticks stuck upright in your ricebowl (unless you really meant to end your day by calling out your dinner companion for a street fight). For Afghans it is simply an element of good upbringing (actually of any upbringing) and therefore presumed to be known, even by the infidels.  Like us, Afghans easily forgive our frequent cultural gaffs, like when we speak out of turn or accidentally sit in the spot of an elder.  However, as one friend told me "if we don't have the Koran we are nothing" so even if you can convince somebody it was an accident, ignorance of the Korans importance is itself deeply offensive. It might be like having a visitor from out of town break half of the ten commandments and then explain with a straight face that they didn't know stealing, lying, killing and making a graven image wasn't allowed in your house.  Even if you beleive their sincerity you would feel let down and violated, and probably a tad angry.  Afghans (particularly Taliban), cite this as the latest evidence of our barbaric nature, and I must say it is depressing to have a certain degree of empathy for that conclusion, however much I also understand that the error was an honest one, even an earnest one made in the course of trying to protect and serve both America and Afghanistan.

Anyhow, I've mentioned the bad news phenomenon before, and simply wish that people could see a bit of what else goes on when things DON'T go badly.  In this case, there were hundreds of community leaders, some elected, but most not, who encouraged and in some situations enforced peace on their neighbors. However slow the actual government may move, real governance, by which I mean communicating with, reacting to, and influencing the population, happens VERY fast and very well - just not through the channels we are familiar with.  People who are all but invisible to us as outsiders, and many we conveniently lump into the "bad guy" column were essential in preventing violence. This does not BTW mean they did it for us, they did not, they did it to prevent Afghan on Afghan violence and in so doing showed just a hint of how the country really runs, on a complex network of friendships, alliances and tribes that go back decades.

In short, today, the people in Parwan who really hold sway, decided after two moderate riots (as measured on my newly developed riot-o-meter) that they had sent their message, and wanted to go back to work on BAF (think steel company to Allentown only much more so). In fact, they even turned back "outsiders" from the next town over, who wanted to come through rocks at the poor G.I. manning the ramparts at BAF. Power to the people!

However, what is most humbling in the whole affair is how our Afghan allies have borne this burden without rancor or complaint.  As they swallow their own disappointment and anger at the incident they have nodded through our apologies and explanations and then quietly gone out to face elevated dangers, threats, and the judgment of their families and communities in order to stand at our side and get back to working towards a tough goal that just got notably harder.

Afghan Heroes

As time wears on, and some of those around me have started to count the days until their departure, the frustration, resentment and fatigue are taking their toll.  Even the "can do" sometimes painfully optimistic approach of my green suit friends is fading a bit as their tours march toward the end. While often expressed in the general terms of "let the Afghans fix their own *!@*)^ country, I'm outta here" a more honest sentiment I have heard is disappointment at constraints that prevented efforts we wanted to make, and not seeing more progress.  In short, wondering if it all made a difference. A question I'm not going to try and answer.

For me, I'm trying to be sympathetic, but am being careful not to catch a case of short-timers disease. Certainly there are reasons to worry about the future of Afghanistan, and I do, but my theory is to worry less about Afghanistan and more about Afghans. For every Talib or corrupt warlord or dirty cop, there are men and women struggling and dying to make their country and community a better place, and I try to hold onto those when I get the cynical sniffles.

Afghan inspiration #1 - unnamed bus driver  As we drove up to the Salang tunnel our interpreter pointed out a landmark I couldn't even see, which I think was a just a pile of stones. While I have learned enough Dari and milspeak to get by, I haven't learned Rock, which is something of a lingua franca in Afghanistan - and is used to mark routes, give warnings, and commemorate events. 

At any rate - the rocks marked the spot where a passenger bus had hit some ice and was sliding inexorably towards a drop that would be quite fatal. Seeing the catastrophe in the making, another bus driver made his calculation, picked his spot and laid himself beneath the tire about to go off the cliff. All the passengers survived, the driver did not.

#2 This year in one of the Kabul bombings a suicide bomber was spotted by police in the line approaching the checkpoint and they raised the alarm. Seeing that he was caught the bomber moved to detonate his explosive. Meanwhile, as one of the often-maligned Afghan National Police was running at him through the panicking crowd. He tackled him and covered him with his body just as the bomb went off.  There were no other serious injuries.

#3 As I returned to our base together with the Afghan security forces that had led the mission, I watched the most senior officer stop at a traffic circle that had become a slushy mess. He ordered two of his men to get out and walk a good kilometer back to their base, then told a father who had been struggling along the street with his young son to hop in the truck and tell the driver where to take them.

#4 One of the people I know and like best in Afghanistan has been tirelessly helping to promote efforts to reconcile with the Taliban and find a lasting peace despite the fact that he could easily have been killed in an attack on the office where he works. He mentioned in passing that he had been held by the Taliban in solitary confinement in a cave for over three years.

The Morning Commute

In other words, just like at home there are rogues and rascals, but there also many extraordinarily brave and decent people (and some who are both) who are trying to pull together a country that hasn't known normality for more than a generation.

War stories

Part of the fun of life in Afghanistan is the downtime spent with new friends trading "war stories".  Some really are war stories, or stories from the personal lives of colleagues whose other work as policemen, firefighters, etc. often sounds far more frightening than an average day in Parwan.  Other stories are more along the lines of "worst date ever" - and the histories of misspent youth.

Really?

Officer Friendly - a perennially cheerful and talkative officer got the ball rolling one night by asking the group if we'd ever been arrested. This unleashed a flood of tales that ran the gamut from excessive speeding to assault with a deadly weapon. I have never been so glad that I could answer "yes" to that question, since I was well out of my league in the wildest story competition, and didn't want to come off like the Momma's boy I am generally assumed to be (no I'm not telling - but it was solidly on the speeding end of the scale).

View From the Turret

Soon some of the real war stories starting popping out, with a bit of gore, and a lot of humor, often at the expense of the person telling the story. One of my favorites was about the proper use of a mortar. One intrepid mortar team was getting tired of trying to adjust their fire (change the angle and direction of the mortar) using a spotter since they coulnd't actually see themselves where their rounds were landing. They hauled the mortar onto the roof, and waited for the enemy to start shooting again. Soon enough they could see the muzzle flashes and they started firing. Now able to get instant feedback on their accuracy they were rapidly zeroing in on their target when they dropped in their third (and final) round, which was wildly inaccurate because of mortar mechanics. A mortar is just a tube with one open end (that points in the direction of the target) and one closed end (by the ground). The projectile is dropped in, and when it hits the bottom the propellant explodes in that very small space, and part of that force expels the explosive round out of the open end and it flies out in a nice arc to land on the target (in theory). The rest of that very considerable force is transferred to the closed end of the tube, and onward into the ground, or in this case, the roof. Having already withstood two impacts from a heavy object being forced downward, the roof gave way as the final round went off - plummeting into the (thankfully unoccupied) barracks below. The Afghan commander walked in, looked up at the hole in his roof, shook his head, and went away muttering about who is training who.

Camel Spider

a popular feature in Afghanistan war stories

(I'm told they're harmless)

Other things are simply goofy, like issues with the camp "Mayor" a military officer who serves as a kind of  administrator/landlord/handyman/ombudsman/counselor to the facility he/she is located on. At a big base, it's very like a civilian mayor, dealing with roadwork, housing issues, quiet hours etc. etc.  On a small FOB (check the list) it's more like being the older sibling who was put in charge as the babysitter - except they aren't usually the older sibling, and Mom and Dad are usually still home. Like any Mayor, they hold town hall meetings - with the difference that attendance isn't usually optional.  Our Mayor held a memorable gathering one evening in which we were advised of our collective inadequacies, called liars (for not publicly confessing to sins like scraping the icing off the cake and leaving the remainder) and informed that most of the (somewhat severe and unnecessary) rules which had been proclaimed by the Mayor and generally disregarded by the troops would be henceforth disregarded by the Mayor as well, since actions speak lounder than words, and he wanted to say *#%^ you to all of us...

The incumbent lost this year.

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

Summer/winter camp has been fun, even if there are some boring parts.  The other kids are nice, even if we have some weirdos in our tent.  Guess we're all kinda weird in our own way, so that's cool. The guys enjoy hanging out, and I'm staying away from the smokers just like I promised. They've got some epic toys here, but are really strict about people breaking them and stuff, so I haven't gotten to play with most of them.

Our Toy Box

You always said that if it were up to me I'd live in a tent, and I guess this proves you right - but I wanted to let you know that you weren't right about me making my bed, which I actually do without being asked (OK most days I do it)

OK Not Military Standard,

 but Better Than You Thought Right?

We're taking lots of field trips and learning a lot, even though it's still chilly.  During the day the sun comes out and is melting most of the snow away.  We could stand to have a mud room like back home, but the good thing about having everything covered in gravel is that the water just seeps through and the mud isn't bad.  When it gets muddy we just throw some more rocks on and voila, problem solved. :)

Our New Mascot Scruffy



Next week we're thinking about going for a hike, which would be fun if the snow is gone.  I've been trying to stick to my New Years resolution about working out.  Your latest care package didn't really help, but thanks again all the same, they work hard to give us good food, but nothing beats homemade cookies (or circus peanuts).

Our Favorite Local Market...

and a Typical Vendor with his Merchandise...

(just what were you expecting?)

That's about all for now - hope everyone is well at home, talk again soon, miss you.

Love, your son

Let it Snow

Today is my first big snowstorm in Afghanistan and it's going strong after almost 24 hours.  Like everywhere else it seems to bring quiet and peace with it, and that is extra welcome here. There's enough that a half-hearted effort was made to shovel, but the base is covered in gravel, and there aren't any real paths.  The snowball fight (sadly I had a visitor who didn't seem interested in participating) wrecked the notional paths that had been shovelled so the effort was abandoned. It made me miss some "epic" snow battles that were a highlight of my recent vacation, and I'm hoping to partake in the inevitable rematch. Of course I could usually hold my ground in those battles even when outnumbered, and I am slightly fearful that the combination of enthusiasm and combat experience could result in my stumbling into an first class ambush that might leave me wishing I was wearing my body armor...

Ambush Alley

New Recruit

Another positive result is that I've come up with my first nickname for my colleagues. The Mad Medic.

Our medic is 200% dedicated to the well-being of "his" troops and would take the shirt off his back if he thought it would help them. He also takes it upon himself to entertain them (and me by extension) - typically by spontaneously barking out a laugh, and then following up with the joke that inspired it. The jokes aren't usually very funny, but he still brings a smile to my face. Anyhow, Mad Medic informed us that the snow also keeps the insurgents from attacking. Our resident attorney, who will henceforth be known as CPT Esquire gave a textbook look of courtroom skepticism and asked if he was sure the Taliban had gotten that memo from HQ. I'm with the medic on this one, who wants to fight in the snow?

Salang Tunnel Entrance

Then came the real treat of the day - an opportunity to visit the Salang Tunnel. Our intrepid governor had decided to commemorate the soviet withdrawal from Salang (his home district) by visiting the tunnel, and we were invited to tag along. After a long and snowy drive passing an obscene number of fuel trucks heading to U.S. bases we arrived at the tunnel, which was strikingly unimpressive for anything except its mystique as a soviet-era legacy and its breathtaking location starting at 10,000 feet.  We were treated with tales of how the Governor had led attacks against the Soviets and Taliban encamped by the tunnel, seizing their weapons and then firing downhill into the encampments below.  Nasty business, but always done during the summer.

  Tunnel Seen From Valley Below



Home Sweet Home (Really)

Well, after a very, very, very nice trip home I find myself back in Parwan settling back into my other “home” here in Afghanistan.

While it would be going too far to say I’m happy to exchange the company of my loved ones and the comforts of a life where the toughest decision of the day might be which K-cup to buy at the grocery store, what I CAN say is that I am less unhappy than you might think, and than I expected. My good humor is unrelated to my trip home which was a 48 hour marathon that began with just missing my departure flight due to a blizzard, included two eight hour campouts on airport chairs/floors, and was topped off by an aborted attempt to land in a second blizzard.

Nice weather once things cleared up

Once I did get back, I learned that things have been running so smoothly that I am tempted to leave again and see if more improvements will follow. Despite my explanations about the scientific method and the importance of my taking another vacation to provide a statistically valid study of this phenomenon, my boss didn’t bite, probably because he just returned from vacation and apparently didn’t have the same experience…

So, dear reader, you may be wondering why I am not (yet) wallowing in self-pity counting the days until a trip to the store to get the right size of coffee filters (no K-cups here) doesn’t require a week of planning and a two day trip. (for the record, as a custodian of taxpayer funding I would always combine such a trip with other important business, like getting a haircut…)

The basic answer is that there are just a lot of interesting/cool things going on.

First and foremost, Afghans are wonderful people and live in a stark, but beautiful country. As some of my pictures show, the mountains here are covered in snow, but the donkeys don’t mind.  If I took better pictures you would notice that the local people in these picture look different – more asian.  They are in fact Hazara – a historically persecuted minority that lives in the far west of Parwan adjacent to the better-known province of Bamiyan, home of the two thousand year old giant Buddha statues that the Taliban are infamous for blowing to bits during their reign of terror. Hazaras are believed to be descended from Genghis Khan and his henchmen who swept through Afghanistan a few centuries back.

As I may have mentioned, Afghans (like most non-American cultures) have a far stronger sense of history than we do.  In a recent incident, my boss started giving me annoyed/disappointed looks because my pre-brief left him totally unprepared when a lunch conversation with the governor turned to the subject of “the Chinese minority” and their role in local politics. Just before I raised my hand to interrupt to self-immolate by interrupting him and asking him just who the heck these Chinese people are, it became clear that he was saying the Mongols, and in fact meant the Hazaras, though his word choice implied that they are still considered outsiders having settled here a mere 800 years or so ago…

The preferred modes of transportation in Afghanistan

Toyota Hilux, Armored Vehicle or Donkey

But I digress. The Hazaras live in the far west of Parwan, and I was very pleased that my inaugural mission in 2011 took me to the far edge of Parwan, well beyond the limits of previous trips in that direction. Having suffered badly under the Taliban, the Hazaras are also quite friendly to “coalition forces” and were glad to see us and speak with us.

OK , OK this is a repeat

it's the Alexander the great fort in a new season

Another neat thing of course is the machinery of war. Like all small boys (and we’re all small boys) I am genetically hardwired to find guns interesting, helicopters fascinating, and explosions awesome.  As a result, coming back into this environment I still get a kick that the guy across from you in the cafeteria is carrying a weapon that fires a .50 caliber round (which can easily disable a car) and can be programmed to have that round explode at a specified distance, effectively giving them the ability to hit target hiding behind walls or corners at a distance of several hundred meters. I will say that the cool factor is significantly elevated by the fact that my team has this capability, and the enemy does not. Similarly, confident in the knowledge that the Taliban lack an air force, I could relax and enjoy a live-fire exercise which basically consisted of blowing large and medium-sized rocks on the mountain behind our base into small and tiny sized rocks. I will say that the mere sound of a helicopter letting loose with either its “cannon” or missiles would be more than enough to send me running to the peace table. 

Regrettably, I made the mistake of making an important telephone conversation after I thought that the gravel production practice was finished.  I've been trying to replace my Afghan assistant, and was doing a phone interview with the most promising candidate.  Halfway through a nice conversation both my Korean hosts and the American helicopters moved on to joint firing exercises with the result that I had to pause for a moment as the combined sound and vibrations from multiple heavy caliber weapons and missile strikes drowned out my erstwhile new assistant. Hearing the "uhhhh is everything OK" at the other end of the line I was sure I'd just lost my big fish of the day and quickly explained that our "shock and awe" campaign was purely pre-emptive in nature, then fibbed about calling from outside (it was plenty loud in my office) and did my best to minimize the background noise and finish the call before the mortar outside my office got put in play and destroyed my credibility entirely. To his credit, his enthusiasm never dipped as we finished our talk about what a peaceful province this is, but my fingers will remain crossed until he signs on the dotted line.

Parwan Gravel Pit

Last but not least, and perhaps most surprisingly, is the cuisine. Although there are definitely meals that help me make good on my more ambitious New Years resolutions, I genuinely missed not only my daily dose of BSM (had to throw a few acronyms back at you), but what is fondly known by my younger and more muscular Army brethren as “rabbit food”.  Additionally, the age-old tradition of surf and turf for the grunts is alive and well, and my friends in low places hooked me up with a lobster tail and steak dinner to spare me from what was apparently a very meager offering at the rabbit hutch.

Life is Good

(despite my technical difficulties loading this picture)

So, I’m back, no better than before, but hopefully no worse, and with a commitment (read New Years resolution) to step up the pace on the blog, so stay tuned.

Graveyard of Empires

Afghanistan has been described in many ways, with a tendency to focus on the "medieval" or "biblical" character of their development, or to take note of the fiercely independent, xenophobic and indefatiguable spirit of the Afghan warrior. This is perhaps most aptly, or at least most often conveyed by describing Afghanistan as the "Graveyard of Empires" - in reference to the repeated failure of great powers (England and Russia most recently) to absorb Afghanistan into their spheres of influence.

Whether this is a historically accurate claim, and whether the U.S. is in line for the next funeral is a topic that fuels many debates with my warrior/scholar colleagues (who BTW tend to be as well or better read on such things than any of my friends in the foreign service). Suffice to say, it's just not that simple.

Nonetheless, the phrase certainly came to mind when I was bouncing along the valley floor of one of the most problematic areas of the provinces, and the crumbling remains of a fortress allegedly built by Alexander the Great loomed above us.

On the return trip, the monument felt even more meaningful, as our KLE/meeting up the valley had left me feeling like many of the problems they faced had probably been around since the time that fortress was built.  Not enough water, neglect/disenfranchisement by central government, and challenges with agricultural yields and pricing. While courteous, the leaders were both wary of us and weary of what they saw as a long series of unfulfilled promises.

View Looking the Other Way

(and no I didn't take this picture)

Nonetheless, it was great to be out and about - even in what a friend aptly calls a "rolling bank vault".  Still, watching these timeless villages roll by, and passing donkey carts with our massive and thundering convoy, I couldn't shake the sense of not belonging, and the more sobering/relevant sense of being too distant to understand. It is the same sense of having an unbridgeable gap that could come to the surface when I talked to Cameroonian villagers and found only the most tenuous connection to bridge the yawning gaps in language, clothes, custom etc.  Food, children, music and similar topics could help open the door to shared humanity, but those are hard to come by as we roll along, briefly stopping, trying desperately to understand and help - often hoping that the smiles and thumbs-up signs which have become commonplace are sufficient to convey our intent.

City Hall - Note Snowcaps behind

Rolling in the Rain

It is always nice to get out, even when the weather isn't great.  No matter how big the base you are on, how much personal space you have, etc. there is something very visceral about the need to just get out and walk in a place not contained within walls.  While most people I know seem to share this feeling there are some who seem to have been vaccinated against cabin fever, and who are perfectly content to seldom or never go "outside the wire". In milspeak they are known as "Fobbits" (Hobbits who live on a FOB)

Bridge Over Troubled Water

While I have no desire to meet up with any bad guys, I am also very, very glad to have a chance to get out and see a bit of the country and talk to people in their own environment.  One of the most challenging things of the job is trying to make sound judgments and decisions with very little information. We take for granted how much information and context we gather just in doing our daily business, and it can be daunting in the extreme to try and contribute to efforts to say promote economic growth when you don't know from personal experience what products are sold in the markets, whether prices have been stable, or even what currency is being used (afghans often use Pakistani currency as well as their own). 

Anyhow, it was a cool and rainy day, but a good one, since it was a day outside - spent visiting USG funded projects.  First stop was hospital that is mostly complete - where we were checking on whether deficiencies noted before were being addressed correctly or not. The engineering aspect was outside both my skill set and interest, but I did have a very interesting conversation with some locals which helped explain that the surrounding village of perhaps 200 families had effectively no local employment, and was dependent on the young men who went to the bigger cities to look for work, most often in the army or police. 

Typical Middle Class Homes in Salang

This is typical for many places, and there were clear signs that while the village was not wealthy, it was growing and thriving - with plenty of kids running around (it was a local holiday). Using probably the oldest consular trick in the book, I paid particular attention to the quality of shoes, and by that standard, the kids were being pretty well looked after. On the other hand, it was a bit depressing that the main source of income seemed to be the oversized security forces of Afghanistan, which will be sustained through international assistance for a while, but which is of a size and cost that will make it hard to sustain in the long-term on the very small tax base of the Afghan state.

Not the Most Auspicious Lawn Ornament for a new Hospital...

As we left the hospital we took a moment to do some touristy things, like posing in front of an old Soviet tank that graces the front lawn of the hospital.  Then it was off to the hydroelectric plant I've mentioned before to check on progress there. It was great to see significant change (with significant work still left to do) and fun to stop by the old plant which looked like a set for Frankenstein with oversize transformers and WWII style lighting.

Old Hydroelectric Facility - Built to Last

 

Can I Get You More Rice? Or Perhaps an AK?

In perhaps my deepest dive yet into the realm of the surreal I found myself at the crossroads of two seemingly contradictory elements of the Afghan experience - hospitality and violence.

I was thoroughly enjoying a delicious and seemingly bottomless plate of rice, flatbread, chicken, and spicy soup (without fish), with a charming man with the gentle demeanor, twinkling eyes and snowy beard of Santa Claus and having a good laugh over a popular Afghan topic - firearms.

Looking out windows made of plastic wrap, because the glass had been blown out 2 months before during an attack by suicide bombers, my friend was joking about how he was glad the U.S. soldiers who had been present weren't more heavily armed at the time as they probably would have shot the compound guards instead of the intruders (who had used a time-honored ploy of dressing as Afghan police). Then his demeanor turned more serious and we waited for the translation, which turned out to be the story of how his own weapon was destroyed in the fire that followed the attack. Fortunately for me, he was looking at my military colleagues who had more instinctive empathy for the loss (and who immediately understood that the weapon in question cost about 6K - or more than many houses in Afghanistan). I was still wrapping my head around the idea that Santa was accustomed to packing heat...

Then the conversation turned to my taste in weaponry, and I explained that was not allowed to carry a weapon. This revelation produced the customary gasps of dismay and sympathy. Undeterred by a policy so foreign I'm not sure he even beleived it to be true (it is) - my solicitous host immediately offered with total sincerity to obtain an appropriate weapon for me. Surreal and tragi-comic as it was, the spontaneous generosity and concern was touching, and made for one of the highlights of my tour so far.

For the record, I declined politely and said I would borrow one from the governor if the need arose, since he is apparently now in the habit of having both the local favorite AK 47, and the standard US issue "long arm" M4 rifle. My military colleagues have also been looking out for me - and make a habit of carrying a handgun that is "battle bling" at best, but is really nothing but extra weight on a pack that can weigh up to 100 lbs already.  However, it is an accessory I am authorized to borrow if lead starts flying. I'm not sure if I am more appreciative of the extra effort they make for me, or the implication that they seem to trust me to avoid a "friendly fire" incident. Also for the record, my goal and expectation is to never find myself in need of a loan.

Lest you feel there is no hope left when guests are set at ease by the presence of firearms, I also had a pre-lunch with an Afghan general (I love that it is impolite to turn down offers of food).  When asked his age (not by me), he said, "I am 58, and have been fighting for over 40 years, but I will be young if Afghanistan can have peace".

Pilgrimage to Panjshir

It was my good fortune and pleasure to have a legitimate business reason to go to the Panjshir valley

The Panjshir valley is probably best known for its prodigal son Ahmad Massoud, who earned the title of the "Lion of the Panjshir" for the losses he inflicted on Soviet troops which made the mistake of coming into his valley.  As the leader of the anti-Taliban Northern Alliance he was widely expected to govern Afghanistan. Sadly, Al Qaeda assassinated him on September 9th 2001, making him a martyr, whose face adorns offices and windshields throughout the country.

Panjshir is also an emerging tourist destination (yes your heard me right) - based largely on the cult of personality that has built up around him, and the newly constructed Massoud's Monument (and tomb).

See - trees, water, nice road - what more can you ask for?

Paradise - complete with a Koi pond

Some of the Soviet equipment that never made it out of the valley

We were there to discuss the "transition" - which is the handover of security responsibility from the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) - to Afghan control.  In other words, we take a step back, Afghans take a step forward and take back full control of their country and destiny. Simple to say, hard to do, but there are positive things happening.

Ironically, one of the signs of success was a recent unsuccessful attack on the base. While it succeeded in sowing doubts and concerns about how the Taliban could strike deep within territory that is famously hostile towards them, the attack itself was a failure, just like the attack on the U.S. Embassy in Kabul which did resulted only in cosmetic damage but captured headlines for weeks.

Anyhow - the change in venue was invigorating, and while I've pretty well mastered the tricks of getting in and out of the 4 point harness, I still can't get in a helo and feel the ground fall away and the green fields and brown mountain tops open up without taking a mental picture (and often a regular one) and thanking the higher power for having landed such an awesome job.

The most upsetting damage for residents was to the b-ball hoop

 

Winter on its way