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A Checklist For Home Buyers
14 years ago
30 May 2009
15 May 2009
Sabari... rockets, anyone?
I left Salerno in a MaxPro, the souped up Cadillac version of the MRAP. The one-hour trip turned into six hours, as the route clearance element was thorough and stopped often to evaluate suspicious landmarks. Their efforts paid off though, three IEDs were found and detonated along our path. I watched the transmitter light up as it blocked signals- likely from insurgents trying to detonate the explosives before we could. Again, the realization set in that these bastards are sitting along the road, pushing some button expecting a big boom to tear us apart.. and then I find myself laughing, as our EOD blows up their bomb. Poor bastards, must be so disappointed, all the work they put into making and laying it for us, and we drive away, unharmed, leaving them at square one. Ha.
Sabari is... small, to say the least. They serve chow out of mermites (at least its not first strikes though!) and besides the TOC, the main hall, and a gym-in-a-tent, there isnt much here... besides the hand-made port-a-shitters.
The first afternoon I was gathered with 2nd Platoon waiting for the mission brief... whistle, boom... a rocket, sounding closer than the others Ive been around, sent everyone hustling away to the bunkers. I was kind of bewildered by their rush, Ive never actually gotten in a bunker for a rocket. As Im walking, trailing behind everyone looking at them like they are over-reacting, the second one impacts, and this time, its about 30 paces away. Ah, thats why we get in the bunker here. So I pile in with everyone else, all of us laughing, several cracking jokes, some smoking.I look at the concrete bunker and wonder if it really would do much to protect us, besides bury us under rubble,and come to the conclusion that it may possibly be more for peace-of-mind than anything else. We sit through a couple more rockets, and the leaders decide to just get in the trucks and push out. So we leave the people not going on mission in the bunkers, we pile in our trucks, and roll out... quick.
A female interpreter is in my truck, scared to death. The poor woman was shaking, sweating, struggling.. we patted her and told her we would take care of her. She cried. She said to me later 'I dont know how you live this every day. You all are so strong.'
We bounced and swerved through the river bed, on the lookout for the insurgents that were shooting rockets at us. We got to the village and dismounted, I loaded a round in the chamber, and proceeded in the tactical march down the alleyway. It was one of those moments (yet again) that I wondered when I went from playing Army, to doing the real thing. The locals glared at us over the walls. We got up to a group of them, and the Human Terrain Team sat to speak with them. I took some photos. I pulled security from the corner of the Mosque. I took some more pictures. I wandered slowly up to a group of young boys and coaxed them to come closer. I used butchered Pashto to speak with them a little, and then one young man who was headed to the University, came and spoke to me in English. He wanted to know why I take pictures of Afghans. I told him they were beautiful. He told me he wanted to be a reporter, and was going to go to school for Journalism. I stood and spoke with him for 15 minutes, as the hoard of young boys grew to about 50, surrounding me with their curious eyes. One reached out to touched me, shrieked like I was on fire, and they all giggled. One of the 2nd Platoon Soldiers shushed them from behind my back, and pulled security on me, back to back. Then, an elder ruined all my fun, came over and screamed at the boys. The interpreter said he chastised them for talking to a woman. They watched until he wasnt looking, and smiled and waved, then hid behind their head-wraps. A few minutes later, they scattered, sprinting... as gun fire rang out, close. I was amazed at myself, before I had time to process what was going on, I had taken cover behind a tree and had my m-4 raised. Then it occurred to me, wow, are we getting shot at? Huh. Fascinating. It was over in ten seconds, and everyone started creeping back out. Ive always been curious to know what my reaction would be, and I was almost disappointed that the training and instinct took over so much so, that my brain had to catch up with what my body was doing. We walked down the alley to speak to some of the residents, trying to gather information and intelligence on the received fire. The Sabari locals are threatened and terrified constantly by the insurgents, and so were reluctant to speak with us about them. Knowing that they had heard the rockets that afternoon, we listened as they said they hadnt seen or heard anything. 2nd Platoon swept a field and found numerous mortar impact areas, and we went to search a qalat with the Afghan Police, but found nothing. We came back empty handed, but in high spirits, ready to head back again the next day. And so ended my mother's day. I got a CAB, but didnt hear from my children, or anyone else for that matter. Happy Mother's day to me.
We woke up at 345 the next morning to complete our PCCs and PCIs, brief, and head out by 530. Within 5 minutes we had a vehicle stuck in the watty and were all hoping that it wouldnt be an indication of the day's activities. I pulled security overlooking a wheat field while the sun rose, and was thoroughly appreciating the beautiful country. We arrived in Chinah an hour later and proceeded to speak with the local nationals, who were surprisingly friendly. I came prepared for the children this time, equipped with gum. They were shy at first, but after cooing at them for about 30 minutes, I convinced them to let me take their 'Hahkus' (picture) and even got them to 'wakhanda' (smile.) I spoke with a little girl named Lulumah, told her my name and how 'khristah' (pretty) she was. We were good friends after that. :) We hiked around the village, along the side of a mountain, and then I went with an overwatch element up a hilltop where the locals have built a prayer area. We pulled security on the stacked stones under a tree for most of the morning, watching the families in their qalats living out their daily lives.We spotted a coochie off in the distance and headed over to talk with them. I was taking photos of a fascinating old man when the rockets started hitting. Their aim was poor enough that we couldnt tell if they were even aiming for us, but somewhere around number 5 we all sprinted back to the vehicles, and were shortly given information that higher had a grid of the point of origin for the insurgents firing at us. We sped off to find them. The radio traffic was fairly intense as the leadership tried to figure out how to get there, and coordinate the 'big guns' with our air support. We reached the area of qalats where the insurgents were, and dismounted amid the buzz of the choppers. I followed the infantrymen up the alley, pointing my m-4 over the walls and in the side alleys, and trying to convince myself that this wasnt training. For some reason, the adrenaline wouldnt kick in though, and I was completely calm, my biggest challenge juggling my camera and my m-4, trying to find a pause where someone had the area secured for a split second enough for me to get a photo. The target area was a company sized area, and we were covering it with a platoon, so they were short-manned so much so that I (dubbed Kodak, the camera girl) had to step into an infantry role. We rounded up a group of military-aged men, and filed them along a wall to hold. I guarded these men with my m-4, some of them staring at me with loathing, some with mild surprise. I stared back at them. I analyzed them. I tried to pick out which ones I thought looked suspicious, which I thought looked innocent. I raised my camera, and a few shielded their faces. I wanted to ask them if they thought that wasnt obvious. After rounding up the rest of the men, we went on to search a few of the qalats. We stacked against the door, and I almost laughed, remembering back to basic training when we had learned this technique, and I had thought 'I'll never do this, Im not infantry.' Ha.
I havent been in a local qalat yet, and I was so intrigued by the lifestyle that I nearly forgot why we were there. The donkeys, cows and chickens flocked around the courtyard, and the terrified women and children ran to hide in the corner. Pots and hand-woven baskets cluttered the porch, and in each qalat, a dog barked and growled with his tail between his legs. We continued through several qalats, lead by the helicopters overhead giving us tips on where people appeared to be hiding. We combed through wheat fields and rock clusters, and I found myself falling into the tactical 'wedge' formation (another skill at basic training that I thought I would never use) alongside the guys, and the longer we went, the less I had to think about it. It started to become natural. We used bounding and buddy-cover tactics, pulling security in an alley while your battle-buddy passes, and waiting for the next guy to replace you, so you can pass. 2nd Platoon is incredibly skilled, proficient, and moves with stunning cohesion. Unfortunately the afternoon passed and the insurgents remained hidden. Tired and hot, we piled back into the vehicles to return to the COP, prepared to head out, yet again, the following morning. After an extensive AAR, I gathered my things and headed to the shower, which was more comparative to a cold hose than anything. Im butt-ass naked, washing my hair, and hear a thunk, and a boom. Damn. I turn the water off, listening. I hear running feet... pounding on the door, 'Incoming' he yells, and runs away. Fucking rockets. By the time Im rushing out of the bathroom half-dressed and dripping, they are climbing back out of the bunkers. I roll my eyes, and decide that walking bare foot on the muddy bathroom concrete, likely giving myself athletes foot in the process, was just not worth it, and next time.. well, I'll take my chances. They cant aim for shit anyhow.
We left the COP on foot at about noon the next day, the sun scorching overhead. We walked to a qalat in search of one particular IED maker. 2nd squad set up security while the rest of us went inside with the Afghan police. The man wasnt there, but his four wives and several children went scuttling into one of the rooms. The eldest wife came out to speak with the police, and assured us that there was nothing to be found there. She told the police shame on them for working with us. We searched the courtyard, and the meeting room in the corner, pulling up rugs to look for hidden caches in the floor. Finally, in the 'barn' we made a find. Bags of rubber, wire and metal, a Russian pressure plate mine, batteries, and several hand-made detonators and chargers. Enough to arrest the man. We heard rockets launching (again) and listened as they hit Sabari. Everyone just sighed. The women told us that they needed to pee, so the police shooed all of the men outside. The female medic and I stayed to pull guard, and I watched the women use their little latrine. They were acting very suspicious and talking in hushed voices, glaring at me from behind their head-wraps with their hands behind their backs. Our leadership decided that they wanted to search the house as well, but they couldnt go in with the women. So the medic and I told the women that they would need to be searched and then go to a different room. They said they needed to change clothes, and shut the door. Hmm. Our interpreter rushed them through the door, and eventually they came out. We searched them, finding only money and a cell phone, which we confiscated temporarily. I looked at their terrified faces, one of them pregnant and probably 14 years old, two of the others younger than me, and I wondered what their husband would be like when we found him.
The eldest wife had told us that her husband could be found working in the bazaar at his shop. So we trekked across shit-strewn wheat fields for what felt like an eternity, and walked through the village, calling 'Ha Salom Holechem' to the unfriendly men lining the shops. The man, old enough to be my grandpa, was in his shop as his wife had said, and he spoke to us with shaking fingers and lurching eyes. Knowing that he makes IEDs that blow my men up, knowing that he sends rockets flying onto the COP, was still not enough to curb my sympathy for him. He was scared to death. More wires were found, and he agreed to walk back to our COP with us for an 'interview.' We escorted him back through the watty and along the hard top, and I cant remember being that hot with the exception of Airborne school. My body armor felt like a thousand pounds, but I was smiling, because we had met our objective, found the target, and the guys to my right and left were motivated and excited. We filtered into the courtyard for our AAR back at the COP, sang happy birthday to one of the HTT members, and...whistle, boom. Seriously?! This one was close, they must be tracking their shots and getting better with their aim... Everyone jumped up, and once again, we piled into the damn bunker, thoroughly annoyed.
The following day was much of the same, searching qalats, patting down women, lots of sun and heat. COP Sabari had four different sets of rocket attacks, but.. I made it through a shower in peace. Everyone was napping during the fourth attack, and I looked around the bunker at the sweaty grumpy faces and thought a whole year of this may just drive them mad. I went down to the ASG compound for dinner, compliments of the Afghan commander, and enjoyed the traditional floor spread of rice/beef stew/bread and milk chai, although Im fairly sure the flies enjoyed my more of my meal than I did. I watched later as 2nd platoon (who had rushed out on QRF mission while I was at dinner) fired the .50 cal and some choppers shot their big guns off in the distance. Illumination rounds lit over Khost city, and I smoked a cigarette while absorbing my personal wartime fireworks show.
I thought I dreamt of an explosion, and I probably did, but at 430, the second and third rocket hit, and the bubbly cook called 'incoming' in a voice too cheerful for wee hours of the morning. Ugh. I asked if the bunkers were mandatory, or can I just sleep and be blissfully unaware if it hits me. Nope. Sigh. Sitting in the bunker, yet again, at 430, in my hazy grumpiness, I decided that this is ridiculous, and nuclear weapons are our best option. Of course, I came to my senses later as I walked around the bazaar and spoke to the children there. The livestock, produce, and tapestries dotted the watty, along with hundreds of people who gathered around us in throngs, to stare, and to try to communicate. I was amazed at how, even through language barriers, we were able to joke and laugh with them. A car came speeding up to our cordoned area, and wouldnt obey the stop signals, so the Afghan police fired a few warning shots with their AK-47s. I had my back turned at the time, and decided I am entirely too comfortable with those noises, as I just casually turned around thinking 'hmm, who's shooting?' The car didnt slow down. I watched two of our gunners atop the MRAPs take aim, unload, and stop the vehicle. I went back to what I was doing. Before leaving the bazaar, we walked down one of the market lanes to buy some fresh watermelon. Old men sat in their shops, shelling herbs to make fresh spices, preening chickens, sorting bright tomatoes and onions, and laying back smoking hash. The market was bustling, and our ACUs and helmets brought a sharp contrast to the street, drawing stares and bewildered looks as we walked up and actually purchased items. The farmers smiled cautiously, but gladly went through the bartering charade with our leadership, and we all walked away with melons tucked between our m-4s and body armor.
My last day at Sabari I organized a platoon photo and hassled them with moving the trucks around to get the right background. I had them climb on top of one MaxPro, while I stood on top of another... and, you guessed it... incoming. We all kind of looked around, exasperated, and shrugged our shoulders. Just take the picture they said. Yay, no bunkers!!!
While I was at Sabari, Khost City got hit by two suicide bombers, and the Salerno gate had a VBIED attack (vehicle borne IED) that killed 7 locals and wounded around 20. We heard that one at Sabari, and I spent that entire day wondering if any of my guys were hit.
So things are heating up here, and it looks like it is going to be a very, very long summer... and while these things wear quickly on us, I am still enjoying my job, the culture, and this country.
Sabari is... small, to say the least. They serve chow out of mermites (at least its not first strikes though!) and besides the TOC, the main hall, and a gym-in-a-tent, there isnt much here... besides the hand-made port-a-shitters.
The first afternoon I was gathered with 2nd Platoon waiting for the mission brief... whistle, boom... a rocket, sounding closer than the others Ive been around, sent everyone hustling away to the bunkers. I was kind of bewildered by their rush, Ive never actually gotten in a bunker for a rocket. As Im walking, trailing behind everyone looking at them like they are over-reacting, the second one impacts, and this time, its about 30 paces away. Ah, thats why we get in the bunker here. So I pile in with everyone else, all of us laughing, several cracking jokes, some smoking.I look at the concrete bunker and wonder if it really would do much to protect us, besides bury us under rubble,and come to the conclusion that it may possibly be more for peace-of-mind than anything else. We sit through a couple more rockets, and the leaders decide to just get in the trucks and push out. So we leave the people not going on mission in the bunkers, we pile in our trucks, and roll out... quick.
A female interpreter is in my truck, scared to death. The poor woman was shaking, sweating, struggling.. we patted her and told her we would take care of her. She cried. She said to me later 'I dont know how you live this every day. You all are so strong.'
We bounced and swerved through the river bed, on the lookout for the insurgents that were shooting rockets at us. We got to the village and dismounted, I loaded a round in the chamber, and proceeded in the tactical march down the alleyway. It was one of those moments (yet again) that I wondered when I went from playing Army, to doing the real thing. The locals glared at us over the walls. We got up to a group of them, and the Human Terrain Team sat to speak with them. I took some photos. I pulled security from the corner of the Mosque. I took some more pictures. I wandered slowly up to a group of young boys and coaxed them to come closer. I used butchered Pashto to speak with them a little, and then one young man who was headed to the University, came and spoke to me in English. He wanted to know why I take pictures of Afghans. I told him they were beautiful. He told me he wanted to be a reporter, and was going to go to school for Journalism. I stood and spoke with him for 15 minutes, as the hoard of young boys grew to about 50, surrounding me with their curious eyes. One reached out to touched me, shrieked like I was on fire, and they all giggled. One of the 2nd Platoon Soldiers shushed them from behind my back, and pulled security on me, back to back. Then, an elder ruined all my fun, came over and screamed at the boys. The interpreter said he chastised them for talking to a woman. They watched until he wasnt looking, and smiled and waved, then hid behind their head-wraps. A few minutes later, they scattered, sprinting... as gun fire rang out, close. I was amazed at myself, before I had time to process what was going on, I had taken cover behind a tree and had my m-4 raised. Then it occurred to me, wow, are we getting shot at? Huh. Fascinating. It was over in ten seconds, and everyone started creeping back out. Ive always been curious to know what my reaction would be, and I was almost disappointed that the training and instinct took over so much so, that my brain had to catch up with what my body was doing. We walked down the alley to speak to some of the residents, trying to gather information and intelligence on the received fire. The Sabari locals are threatened and terrified constantly by the insurgents, and so were reluctant to speak with us about them. Knowing that they had heard the rockets that afternoon, we listened as they said they hadnt seen or heard anything. 2nd Platoon swept a field and found numerous mortar impact areas, and we went to search a qalat with the Afghan Police, but found nothing. We came back empty handed, but in high spirits, ready to head back again the next day. And so ended my mother's day. I got a CAB, but didnt hear from my children, or anyone else for that matter. Happy Mother's day to me.
We woke up at 345 the next morning to complete our PCCs and PCIs, brief, and head out by 530. Within 5 minutes we had a vehicle stuck in the watty and were all hoping that it wouldnt be an indication of the day's activities. I pulled security overlooking a wheat field while the sun rose, and was thoroughly appreciating the beautiful country. We arrived in Chinah an hour later and proceeded to speak with the local nationals, who were surprisingly friendly. I came prepared for the children this time, equipped with gum. They were shy at first, but after cooing at them for about 30 minutes, I convinced them to let me take their 'Hahkus' (picture) and even got them to 'wakhanda' (smile.) I spoke with a little girl named Lulumah, told her my name and how 'khristah' (pretty) she was. We were good friends after that. :) We hiked around the village, along the side of a mountain, and then I went with an overwatch element up a hilltop where the locals have built a prayer area. We pulled security on the stacked stones under a tree for most of the morning, watching the families in their qalats living out their daily lives.We spotted a coochie off in the distance and headed over to talk with them. I was taking photos of a fascinating old man when the rockets started hitting. Their aim was poor enough that we couldnt tell if they were even aiming for us, but somewhere around number 5 we all sprinted back to the vehicles, and were shortly given information that higher had a grid of the point of origin for the insurgents firing at us. We sped off to find them. The radio traffic was fairly intense as the leadership tried to figure out how to get there, and coordinate the 'big guns' with our air support. We reached the area of qalats where the insurgents were, and dismounted amid the buzz of the choppers. I followed the infantrymen up the alley, pointing my m-4 over the walls and in the side alleys, and trying to convince myself that this wasnt training. For some reason, the adrenaline wouldnt kick in though, and I was completely calm, my biggest challenge juggling my camera and my m-4, trying to find a pause where someone had the area secured for a split second enough for me to get a photo. The target area was a company sized area, and we were covering it with a platoon, so they were short-manned so much so that I (dubbed Kodak, the camera girl) had to step into an infantry role. We rounded up a group of military-aged men, and filed them along a wall to hold. I guarded these men with my m-4, some of them staring at me with loathing, some with mild surprise. I stared back at them. I analyzed them. I tried to pick out which ones I thought looked suspicious, which I thought looked innocent. I raised my camera, and a few shielded their faces. I wanted to ask them if they thought that wasnt obvious. After rounding up the rest of the men, we went on to search a few of the qalats. We stacked against the door, and I almost laughed, remembering back to basic training when we had learned this technique, and I had thought 'I'll never do this, Im not infantry.' Ha.
I havent been in a local qalat yet, and I was so intrigued by the lifestyle that I nearly forgot why we were there. The donkeys, cows and chickens flocked around the courtyard, and the terrified women and children ran to hide in the corner. Pots and hand-woven baskets cluttered the porch, and in each qalat, a dog barked and growled with his tail between his legs. We continued through several qalats, lead by the helicopters overhead giving us tips on where people appeared to be hiding. We combed through wheat fields and rock clusters, and I found myself falling into the tactical 'wedge' formation (another skill at basic training that I thought I would never use) alongside the guys, and the longer we went, the less I had to think about it. It started to become natural. We used bounding and buddy-cover tactics, pulling security in an alley while your battle-buddy passes, and waiting for the next guy to replace you, so you can pass. 2nd Platoon is incredibly skilled, proficient, and moves with stunning cohesion. Unfortunately the afternoon passed and the insurgents remained hidden. Tired and hot, we piled back into the vehicles to return to the COP, prepared to head out, yet again, the following morning. After an extensive AAR, I gathered my things and headed to the shower, which was more comparative to a cold hose than anything. Im butt-ass naked, washing my hair, and hear a thunk, and a boom. Damn. I turn the water off, listening. I hear running feet... pounding on the door, 'Incoming' he yells, and runs away. Fucking rockets. By the time Im rushing out of the bathroom half-dressed and dripping, they are climbing back out of the bunkers. I roll my eyes, and decide that walking bare foot on the muddy bathroom concrete, likely giving myself athletes foot in the process, was just not worth it, and next time.. well, I'll take my chances. They cant aim for shit anyhow.
We left the COP on foot at about noon the next day, the sun scorching overhead. We walked to a qalat in search of one particular IED maker. 2nd squad set up security while the rest of us went inside with the Afghan police. The man wasnt there, but his four wives and several children went scuttling into one of the rooms. The eldest wife came out to speak with the police, and assured us that there was nothing to be found there. She told the police shame on them for working with us. We searched the courtyard, and the meeting room in the corner, pulling up rugs to look for hidden caches in the floor. Finally, in the 'barn' we made a find. Bags of rubber, wire and metal, a Russian pressure plate mine, batteries, and several hand-made detonators and chargers. Enough to arrest the man. We heard rockets launching (again) and listened as they hit Sabari. Everyone just sighed. The women told us that they needed to pee, so the police shooed all of the men outside. The female medic and I stayed to pull guard, and I watched the women use their little latrine. They were acting very suspicious and talking in hushed voices, glaring at me from behind their head-wraps with their hands behind their backs. Our leadership decided that they wanted to search the house as well, but they couldnt go in with the women. So the medic and I told the women that they would need to be searched and then go to a different room. They said they needed to change clothes, and shut the door. Hmm. Our interpreter rushed them through the door, and eventually they came out. We searched them, finding only money and a cell phone, which we confiscated temporarily. I looked at their terrified faces, one of them pregnant and probably 14 years old, two of the others younger than me, and I wondered what their husband would be like when we found him.
The eldest wife had told us that her husband could be found working in the bazaar at his shop. So we trekked across shit-strewn wheat fields for what felt like an eternity, and walked through the village, calling 'Ha Salom Holechem' to the unfriendly men lining the shops. The man, old enough to be my grandpa, was in his shop as his wife had said, and he spoke to us with shaking fingers and lurching eyes. Knowing that he makes IEDs that blow my men up, knowing that he sends rockets flying onto the COP, was still not enough to curb my sympathy for him. He was scared to death. More wires were found, and he agreed to walk back to our COP with us for an 'interview.' We escorted him back through the watty and along the hard top, and I cant remember being that hot with the exception of Airborne school. My body armor felt like a thousand pounds, but I was smiling, because we had met our objective, found the target, and the guys to my right and left were motivated and excited. We filtered into the courtyard for our AAR back at the COP, sang happy birthday to one of the HTT members, and...whistle, boom. Seriously?! This one was close, they must be tracking their shots and getting better with their aim... Everyone jumped up, and once again, we piled into the damn bunker, thoroughly annoyed.
The following day was much of the same, searching qalats, patting down women, lots of sun and heat. COP Sabari had four different sets of rocket attacks, but.. I made it through a shower in peace. Everyone was napping during the fourth attack, and I looked around the bunker at the sweaty grumpy faces and thought a whole year of this may just drive them mad. I went down to the ASG compound for dinner, compliments of the Afghan commander, and enjoyed the traditional floor spread of rice/beef stew/bread and milk chai, although Im fairly sure the flies enjoyed my more of my meal than I did. I watched later as 2nd platoon (who had rushed out on QRF mission while I was at dinner) fired the .50 cal and some choppers shot their big guns off in the distance. Illumination rounds lit over Khost city, and I smoked a cigarette while absorbing my personal wartime fireworks show.
I thought I dreamt of an explosion, and I probably did, but at 430, the second and third rocket hit, and the bubbly cook called 'incoming' in a voice too cheerful for wee hours of the morning. Ugh. I asked if the bunkers were mandatory, or can I just sleep and be blissfully unaware if it hits me. Nope. Sigh. Sitting in the bunker, yet again, at 430, in my hazy grumpiness, I decided that this is ridiculous, and nuclear weapons are our best option. Of course, I came to my senses later as I walked around the bazaar and spoke to the children there. The livestock, produce, and tapestries dotted the watty, along with hundreds of people who gathered around us in throngs, to stare, and to try to communicate. I was amazed at how, even through language barriers, we were able to joke and laugh with them. A car came speeding up to our cordoned area, and wouldnt obey the stop signals, so the Afghan police fired a few warning shots with their AK-47s. I had my back turned at the time, and decided I am entirely too comfortable with those noises, as I just casually turned around thinking 'hmm, who's shooting?' The car didnt slow down. I watched two of our gunners atop the MRAPs take aim, unload, and stop the vehicle. I went back to what I was doing. Before leaving the bazaar, we walked down one of the market lanes to buy some fresh watermelon. Old men sat in their shops, shelling herbs to make fresh spices, preening chickens, sorting bright tomatoes and onions, and laying back smoking hash. The market was bustling, and our ACUs and helmets brought a sharp contrast to the street, drawing stares and bewildered looks as we walked up and actually purchased items. The farmers smiled cautiously, but gladly went through the bartering charade with our leadership, and we all walked away with melons tucked between our m-4s and body armor.
My last day at Sabari I organized a platoon photo and hassled them with moving the trucks around to get the right background. I had them climb on top of one MaxPro, while I stood on top of another... and, you guessed it... incoming. We all kind of looked around, exasperated, and shrugged our shoulders. Just take the picture they said. Yay, no bunkers!!!
While I was at Sabari, Khost City got hit by two suicide bombers, and the Salerno gate had a VBIED attack (vehicle borne IED) that killed 7 locals and wounded around 20. We heard that one at Sabari, and I spent that entire day wondering if any of my guys were hit.
So things are heating up here, and it looks like it is going to be a very, very long summer... and while these things wear quickly on us, I am still enjoying my job, the culture, and this country.
Dicey, Some Important Guys, and a few blown up ones
Access to Dicey consists of a drive through the Khost-Gardez Pass, a small road that winds and twists along the sides of mountains. At times, I looked out the humvee window and saw simply a long drop into nothingness. The Coochies, (shepards/nomads/gypsies leading strings of camels, sheep and donkeys with brightly colored packs tied to them, some holding little Afghan infants) plodded by us, glaring out of their headwraps. I think of the movies from older wars, and how they portray scared children watching invasions of military vehicles and big guns, and I am sorry to be terrifying these people. The views in the KG Pass are beautiful, and I sat contentedly in my seat taking in the countryside.
Once at Dicey, I downloaded my gear into the only other female's bay, taking up her entire floor with my cot. A Sgt sees me walking by and asks if I want to shoot a .50 cal. Um, yeah. So we go up to the top of a hill, he tells me to pick a target, and I unload on it as the sun sets. Woohoo. I spend the rest of the evening playing spades with PSD.
In the morning, I wake up to someone knocking and telling me to go to the aid station immediately. Weird. I didnt really put two and two together, considering what goes on at the aid station, so was caught slightly off guard when I met the stench of blood and burning flesh at the door. The medics were bustling around a local Afghan who had stepped on a landmine. I took the photos, knowing I couldnt publish most of them, but I figured the medics would enjoy seeing themselves in action. As I ate my breakfast shortly after, I wondered why I wasnt queazy.
Our Brigade commander with all his minions showed up a few hours later, followed by a surge of media, entertainers (some big basketball guy, guys from a TV show, a baseball guy... who knows, I dont follow that stuff), and Chief of Staff Admiral Mullen. They did the usual tour-the-COP VIP routine, and I followed around blending in with the civilian media.
Arriving back at Salerno after my month out was... depressing, to say the least. I went back to my guard shift every morning, and running piddly errands, escorting media, etc. Booo.
Toby Keith showed up to give a concert. I really enjoyed his band, they were friendly and patriotic.
Army Chief of Staff General George Casey Jr. came the following day, and again, we played the VIP routine... he gets a brief, re-enlists some Soldiers, gives out a few awards and coins. Kind of killed my coin buzz, because he's as high as it gets in the Army, so now Im no longer on a quest for a 'big' coin...
I photographed another very blown up guy, I mean... this guy was literally falling apart. I wish I was a little more disturbed by all of it. The concept of a man torn apart by explosives gets to me, but for some reason the blood doesnt. I want it to. Maybe I should have been a medic.
Once at Dicey, I downloaded my gear into the only other female's bay, taking up her entire floor with my cot. A Sgt sees me walking by and asks if I want to shoot a .50 cal. Um, yeah. So we go up to the top of a hill, he tells me to pick a target, and I unload on it as the sun sets. Woohoo. I spend the rest of the evening playing spades with PSD.
In the morning, I wake up to someone knocking and telling me to go to the aid station immediately. Weird. I didnt really put two and two together, considering what goes on at the aid station, so was caught slightly off guard when I met the stench of blood and burning flesh at the door. The medics were bustling around a local Afghan who had stepped on a landmine. I took the photos, knowing I couldnt publish most of them, but I figured the medics would enjoy seeing themselves in action. As I ate my breakfast shortly after, I wondered why I wasnt queazy.
Our Brigade commander with all his minions showed up a few hours later, followed by a surge of media, entertainers (some big basketball guy, guys from a TV show, a baseball guy... who knows, I dont follow that stuff), and Chief of Staff Admiral Mullen. They did the usual tour-the-COP VIP routine, and I followed around blending in with the civilian media.
Arriving back at Salerno after my month out was... depressing, to say the least. I went back to my guard shift every morning, and running piddly errands, escorting media, etc. Booo.
Toby Keith showed up to give a concert. I really enjoyed his band, they were friendly and patriotic.
Army Chief of Staff General George Casey Jr. came the following day, and again, we played the VIP routine... he gets a brief, re-enlists some Soldiers, gives out a few awards and coins. Kind of killed my coin buzz, because he's as high as it gets in the Army, so now Im no longer on a quest for a 'big' coin...
I photographed another very blown up guy, I mean... this guy was literally falling apart. I wish I was a little more disturbed by all of it. The concept of a man torn apart by explosives gets to me, but for some reason the blood doesnt. I want it to. Maybe I should have been a medic.
Dand Patan
I'll have to finish the Kalagu blog later... Let me catch up here, so I can move forward.
This is from a couple weeks ago, when I was in Paktya.
I flew to Dand Patan with the Provincial Reconstruction Team commander, as well as several key leaders from Paktya including the Police General, Governor, and sub-Governors, to attend a political rally. The locals in Dand Patan flocked to the black hawks as we landed to greet their leadership party, the first of many significant differences demonstrated in this area. Dand Patan is located right on the border of Pakistan, so they have a real problem with insurgents crossing the border... however, they have set aside many of their tribal disputes and have banded together against enemy activity. This creates an atmosphere that is leaps and bounds above the majority of the Paktya districts, and contrasts severely with that of Zormat. The children here laugh and flirt, they'll even venture close enoughto try to converse. The Elders, while maintaining their Islam discipline, are more casual, smiling and joking.
I sat, as the only woman, through the political rally, trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible, which proves challenging with my big camera and feminity. I wore a head-wrap to be respectful, and decided that I could not ever convert to Islam (not that Im considering it) if for no other reason than the annoyance of the dumb thing... it gets in the way, slides off, blows away.. I spent more time fiddling with it than my camera.
A group of children sang for the Elders, their young voices carrying a sweet message reminding the audience that, while they may be from separate tribes, they are all one people. It was encouraging to hear a message of unity coming from the rising generation. A poet followed, challenging the crowd with the questions "Who's game is this? Why do we let them come to our country and cut our heads off? Why do we let them teach our children in their madrassas?" Following the rally we toured several facilities, and went to a school for lunch. We sat on the floor surrounding a long tarp, and I cringed as the servers walked across our 'table' with bare feet, throwing the bread down where they had just stepped. Now, every meal I have had in Afghanistan has been phenomenal, but this one... well, I politely gagged it down. Chunks of fat with bits of meat sat in a bowl of grease, in which the lovely sub-governor next to me pulled my bread apart and dumped in the bowl, to absorb the grease.. thanks man. I dont know what kind of fat/meat it was, but I am sure that I prefer my ignorance in this case.
We then went to the sub-Governors compound and discussed needs the community had. Not knowing that I was simply a journalist, he explained that his wife was the leader of the women in the area, and that she needed a building in which to hold women's meetings. He said that she was pushing for rights concerning domestic violence and a bit more freedom. He went on to say that she had left her 8-month old baby in their house to come to meet me, and had waited for three hours that morning for the rally and lunch to finish. When I still didnt come, she went home. My jaw dropped. I had no idea. I felt a deep sorrow, for a woman who would leave her baby, just to talk to an American woman about the freedoms she desired.
Our last stop of the day was yet another tea party with the key leaders. Women in Afghanistan are not welcome in groups of men, and so I usually hang back around the outskirts of such meetings. These men, however, were not having that. They pulled a chair up to the table, and I sat, looking interested in the things they were saying in Pashto, not understanding a word, but nodding and smiling. One of the men pulled out his phone and showed me his sons. I took out my Ipod and showed him my children. He asked to take a photo of me and him, so he could show his wife. After seeing that I cooperated, and apparently didnt mind being photographed, a whole slew of men pulled out their phones and took pictures, asked me to pose with them. I felt like a very silly girl playing celebrity...
The sky turned grey about an hour before we were due to fly out, and the governors were discussing how they refused to be stuck there overnight. So we flew out in Amber air. Hahahaaa... I literally decided my life had come to an end during that flight. The black hawk dropped and shuddered, over and over. A few times it twisted, and continually lurched. The guy across from me was very green in the face. Everyone's knuckles were white, as we all tried to stare out the windows and remain calm. Small gasps escaped from each of us at the particularly scary drops. We flew low, and as we skimmed the mountain tops, I tried to rationalize that if we did go down, at least we werent that far away from impact. It started hailing seconds after we landed, which was the only thing preventing me from stopping and kissing the ground.
This is from a couple weeks ago, when I was in Paktya.
I flew to Dand Patan with the Provincial Reconstruction Team commander, as well as several key leaders from Paktya including the Police General, Governor, and sub-Governors, to attend a political rally. The locals in Dand Patan flocked to the black hawks as we landed to greet their leadership party, the first of many significant differences demonstrated in this area. Dand Patan is located right on the border of Pakistan, so they have a real problem with insurgents crossing the border... however, they have set aside many of their tribal disputes and have banded together against enemy activity. This creates an atmosphere that is leaps and bounds above the majority of the Paktya districts, and contrasts severely with that of Zormat. The children here laugh and flirt, they'll even venture close enoughto try to converse. The Elders, while maintaining their Islam discipline, are more casual, smiling and joking.
I sat, as the only woman, through the political rally, trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible, which proves challenging with my big camera and feminity. I wore a head-wrap to be respectful, and decided that I could not ever convert to Islam (not that Im considering it) if for no other reason than the annoyance of the dumb thing... it gets in the way, slides off, blows away.. I spent more time fiddling with it than my camera.
A group of children sang for the Elders, their young voices carrying a sweet message reminding the audience that, while they may be from separate tribes, they are all one people. It was encouraging to hear a message of unity coming from the rising generation. A poet followed, challenging the crowd with the questions "Who's game is this? Why do we let them come to our country and cut our heads off? Why do we let them teach our children in their madrassas?" Following the rally we toured several facilities, and went to a school for lunch. We sat on the floor surrounding a long tarp, and I cringed as the servers walked across our 'table' with bare feet, throwing the bread down where they had just stepped. Now, every meal I have had in Afghanistan has been phenomenal, but this one... well, I politely gagged it down. Chunks of fat with bits of meat sat in a bowl of grease, in which the lovely sub-governor next to me pulled my bread apart and dumped in the bowl, to absorb the grease.. thanks man. I dont know what kind of fat/meat it was, but I am sure that I prefer my ignorance in this case.
We then went to the sub-Governors compound and discussed needs the community had. Not knowing that I was simply a journalist, he explained that his wife was the leader of the women in the area, and that she needed a building in which to hold women's meetings. He said that she was pushing for rights concerning domestic violence and a bit more freedom. He went on to say that she had left her 8-month old baby in their house to come to meet me, and had waited for three hours that morning for the rally and lunch to finish. When I still didnt come, she went home. My jaw dropped. I had no idea. I felt a deep sorrow, for a woman who would leave her baby, just to talk to an American woman about the freedoms she desired.
Our last stop of the day was yet another tea party with the key leaders. Women in Afghanistan are not welcome in groups of men, and so I usually hang back around the outskirts of such meetings. These men, however, were not having that. They pulled a chair up to the table, and I sat, looking interested in the things they were saying in Pashto, not understanding a word, but nodding and smiling. One of the men pulled out his phone and showed me his sons. I took out my Ipod and showed him my children. He asked to take a photo of me and him, so he could show his wife. After seeing that I cooperated, and apparently didnt mind being photographed, a whole slew of men pulled out their phones and took pictures, asked me to pose with them. I felt like a very silly girl playing celebrity...
The sky turned grey about an hour before we were due to fly out, and the governors were discussing how they refused to be stuck there overnight. So we flew out in Amber air. Hahahaaa... I literally decided my life had come to an end during that flight. The black hawk dropped and shuddered, over and over. A few times it twisted, and continually lurched. The guy across from me was very green in the face. Everyone's knuckles were white, as we all tried to stare out the windows and remain calm. Small gasps escaped from each of us at the particularly scary drops. We flew low, and as we skimmed the mountain tops, I tried to rationalize that if we did go down, at least we werent that far away from impact. It started hailing seconds after we landed, which was the only thing preventing me from stopping and kissing the ground.
05 May 2009
Operation Kalagu Thunder, Part 1
Whew... I have about 6 weeks of updates to try to nutshell here... Im going to do it in segments, so here is part 1:
I left Gardez in a blur, trying to round up the right gear and get a crash-course in all things infantry. I rode in the 'radio' seat of the MRAP (big, armored vehicle) so I had to learn how to change frequencies and set up all the radios, as well as assemble an antenna in the event that we lost a signal (this includes azimuths and elevation, not my forte!) I laughed at myself calling over the radio '36 this is Devil Romeo, over' wondering when in the hell this became my life. My seat was also next to the gunners turret, and during our roll over drills, I practiced hauling Sgt Maj's rather large frame inside. They informed me that, in the event he should die or be significantly injured, I should pull him in, crawl over him and man the .50 cal. Mmhm. They also referred to the mission we were embarking on as 'World War III' and everyone was expecting ambushes galore. Great.
We convoyed to Zormat, a little COP... on which I am the only female. The long bumpy ride results in an urgent need to pee, and there is no such thing as a female bathroom on this COP. I find myself a few minutes later in a latrine, holding a curtain, peeing two feet away from a guy utilizing a urinal. They do eventually give me a key to the 'command group' bathroom, which I can (sort of) lock with 550 cord, and I managed to only be walked in on a few times during my stay.
I spent the next week on weather-hold, waiting for the clouds to clear long enough for us to convoy out to our mission. Sgt Maj taught me more in that week than I have learned in my entire Army career. I learned all of the weapons systems, how to take them apart, clean them, put them back together. We packed and re-packed the MRAP. I had more training on the radios, the thermals, my night vision. But mostly, I learned little tricks-of-the-infantry-trade. I listened to their stories, their experiences. I took photos. And... I burned shit. Human shit. An entire day of stirring, and stirring. I thought bonfires made you smell bad... blech. Interestingly enough though, I enjoyed it.. not the shit part, but somehow infantry Soldiers just accept what needs to be done, and find a way to make it... entertaining. The week turned out to be just what I needed, long enough to get to know the guys in my MRAP, to show them that I wanted to be there, to get to a point where I could trust them. While the looming mission made it impossible to feel 'safe,' I at least knew that there was no where else I would rather be.
The COP fell apart during the week of weather hold, due to the fact that it was supporting double the occupancy limit. The chow hall was rationing food. The septic system literally collapsed, meaning no showers, no laundry, and no toilets. While they were trying to fix the septic system, the excavator dug the power cord clean out of the ground, snapped it in two. So the power was out, in the TOC. No phones, no internet. People were sleeping in MRAPs, on the ground, in tents and in the supply room. It was rainy and muddy, and the company building was sitting in a lake. If these things would have happened at Salerno, all mayhem would have ensued. But not on the line. These guys are used to 'the suck' as they say, and while the poor first sgt. looked mildly stressed, they all managed to push through... smiling and laughing, and somehow finding humor in it. I had fun, despite the conditions, and was content for the first time since Ive been in Afghanistan. No micro-managing, no babysitting, no politics... just pure, simple, work. That, is why... I would take a line unit over the bureaucracy and politics and stick-up-your-ass brigade headquarters, any day.
Our vehicle got classified as the CasEvac vehicle in the route clearance portion of the convoy out to Kalagu. I was the only person riding in the back... which translates to: anyone who is hurt enough to need medical care, gets stuffed in my vehicle, and I will first-aid them until they are stable. Ah. So a medic (a damn good one too) gave me a crash course on all the supplies in the casualty kit, including a horrendous looking tube made to stuff down someone's nose. I then learned to give an IV. Poor guys. Poor, poor guys. Beddy is afraid of needles. I used all the veins on both his arms. The medic gave me an IV, so I could watch and 'feel' at the same time... then he sacrificed himself as well, and on the seventh needle, I finally got the catheter all the way in, and watched the blood trail up the tube.. satisfied, but wondering if I would be able to do it under pressure.
We finally got the all clear and packed up to leave for Kalagu. The mission was in a highly volatile area, and we had all been assured of enemy contact. Two air assaults were scheduled to seize a choice piece of terrain, on which the ground element was to secure, and build a COP for the Afghanistan National Army. The road to get there was, according to intel, lined with IEDs and enemy ambushes.
Part 2 coming soon...
I left Gardez in a blur, trying to round up the right gear and get a crash-course in all things infantry. I rode in the 'radio' seat of the MRAP (big, armored vehicle) so I had to learn how to change frequencies and set up all the radios, as well as assemble an antenna in the event that we lost a signal (this includes azimuths and elevation, not my forte!) I laughed at myself calling over the radio '36 this is Devil Romeo, over' wondering when in the hell this became my life. My seat was also next to the gunners turret, and during our roll over drills, I practiced hauling Sgt Maj's rather large frame inside. They informed me that, in the event he should die or be significantly injured, I should pull him in, crawl over him and man the .50 cal. Mmhm. They also referred to the mission we were embarking on as 'World War III' and everyone was expecting ambushes galore. Great.
We convoyed to Zormat, a little COP... on which I am the only female. The long bumpy ride results in an urgent need to pee, and there is no such thing as a female bathroom on this COP. I find myself a few minutes later in a latrine, holding a curtain, peeing two feet away from a guy utilizing a urinal. They do eventually give me a key to the 'command group' bathroom, which I can (sort of) lock with 550 cord, and I managed to only be walked in on a few times during my stay.
I spent the next week on weather-hold, waiting for the clouds to clear long enough for us to convoy out to our mission. Sgt Maj taught me more in that week than I have learned in my entire Army career. I learned all of the weapons systems, how to take them apart, clean them, put them back together. We packed and re-packed the MRAP. I had more training on the radios, the thermals, my night vision. But mostly, I learned little tricks-of-the-infantry-trade. I listened to their stories, their experiences. I took photos. And... I burned shit. Human shit. An entire day of stirring, and stirring. I thought bonfires made you smell bad... blech. Interestingly enough though, I enjoyed it.. not the shit part, but somehow infantry Soldiers just accept what needs to be done, and find a way to make it... entertaining. The week turned out to be just what I needed, long enough to get to know the guys in my MRAP, to show them that I wanted to be there, to get to a point where I could trust them. While the looming mission made it impossible to feel 'safe,' I at least knew that there was no where else I would rather be.
The COP fell apart during the week of weather hold, due to the fact that it was supporting double the occupancy limit. The chow hall was rationing food. The septic system literally collapsed, meaning no showers, no laundry, and no toilets. While they were trying to fix the septic system, the excavator dug the power cord clean out of the ground, snapped it in two. So the power was out, in the TOC. No phones, no internet. People were sleeping in MRAPs, on the ground, in tents and in the supply room. It was rainy and muddy, and the company building was sitting in a lake. If these things would have happened at Salerno, all mayhem would have ensued. But not on the line. These guys are used to 'the suck' as they say, and while the poor first sgt. looked mildly stressed, they all managed to push through... smiling and laughing, and somehow finding humor in it. I had fun, despite the conditions, and was content for the first time since Ive been in Afghanistan. No micro-managing, no babysitting, no politics... just pure, simple, work. That, is why... I would take a line unit over the bureaucracy and politics and stick-up-your-ass brigade headquarters, any day.
Our vehicle got classified as the CasEvac vehicle in the route clearance portion of the convoy out to Kalagu. I was the only person riding in the back... which translates to: anyone who is hurt enough to need medical care, gets stuffed in my vehicle, and I will first-aid them until they are stable. Ah. So a medic (a damn good one too) gave me a crash course on all the supplies in the casualty kit, including a horrendous looking tube made to stuff down someone's nose. I then learned to give an IV. Poor guys. Poor, poor guys. Beddy is afraid of needles. I used all the veins on both his arms. The medic gave me an IV, so I could watch and 'feel' at the same time... then he sacrificed himself as well, and on the seventh needle, I finally got the catheter all the way in, and watched the blood trail up the tube.. satisfied, but wondering if I would be able to do it under pressure.
We finally got the all clear and packed up to leave for Kalagu. The mission was in a highly volatile area, and we had all been assured of enemy contact. Two air assaults were scheduled to seize a choice piece of terrain, on which the ground element was to secure, and build a COP for the Afghanistan National Army. The road to get there was, according to intel, lined with IEDs and enemy ambushes.
Part 2 coming soon...
09 April 2009
Afghan Schools
After a week of weather holds, a few more rockets, tower guard, and a bout of the flu where I found myself on my hands and knees puking in a port-a-john (an experience I highly recommend avoiding if at all possible!!!) I finally got off of Salerno and headed to Gardez. We made one stop and dropped a load of people off, and there I sat, completely alone in Afghanistan on a black hawk. A very odd sensation. The flight crew gave me the headsets though, and chatted lightheartedly with me for the rest of the flight.
They put me up in the Qalat at Gardez, essentially a big mud-castle... literally the whole thing is plywood and mud, and my room is decorated with Afghan tapestries and rugs. I wandered over to the Kabob restaurant and had chai with the local worker there, while we watched bellydancing on TV.
I went out on my first convoy with the PRT Engineers to inspect four Afghan schools that were in various stages of construction. We went in humvees, not MRAPs, which made me jumpy, but I relaxed after a few hours. We drove through the city, and I gazed out the window at the markets and shops, the throngs of Afghans watching us like a parade as we passed. Some of the locals smile and wave, some frown, but most just stare.
Something about middle-eastern children... they are fascinating and intriguing. Initially I was attempting to be polite and not gawk, just smiling at them occasionally. Then I realized they were not at all shy about staring at me, so I quit with the American standards, and stared right back, all day. Some of them were so curious, a few would run and hide, many attempted to flirt.. I tried to speak the little Pashto I know, and their eyes would light up as they discovered we could communicate... and then I would laugh after my few phrases were expended and they realized I really cant speak it at all. They certainly were as curious about me as I was of them... It was all very awkward, in a beautiful cultural-clash kind of way. The little girls, as few of them as I saw, are so gorgeous, mysterious, quiet... serene. They squat in their sparkly clothes, completely covered, their deep eyes boring into you. I can see the age in their faces that shouldnt be there, 6 and 7 year old girls that have the look of a grown woman, some of them in the city carting around a baby sibling on their hip.
One thing about this culture that is a little hard to get used to... they have no personal space. As someone who has a bubble with a radius of roughly a mile, its a bit of an adjustment for me. They will get an inch away from your nose while talking, touch you. Ahhh..
The female engineer major and I were the only ones 'on' the mission, the rest of the Soldiers were PSD (personal security detachment) which was very strange for me. Privates do not have PSDs, they are usually in place for high-ranking officers. I kept trying to get out of the humvees and help, but they firmly explained that PSD means I sit, they make everything safe, then I move. They literally escorted me all day long like the damn president or something... except on the roof:
I climbed up on a very unstable-looking roof of one of the schools with the construction workers, on a homemade rickety wood ladder... lugging my body armor, camera and m-4. Not going to lie, I was shaky... but they all made a huge deal about it and refused to go up, which I thought was funny... hello, we're at war, on a convoy, with 5 humvees full of security for the sake of two females, and 'brave' to them is crawling up a ladder... funny.
The second mission, a day later, was quite different. We went to an impressive $2 million 'education center' in the process of being built, which I have some opinions about that I wont state here. We also went to the governors compound where I had tea with the PRT Ltc., the Paktya Governor, and an interpreter. The PRT held a contract bidder's conference, and I listened to all the contractors get very excited/hostile with each other. Foreign languages sound very intense when arguments occur. We drove through some very scary parts of Gardez this time... residential areas where we funneled down bumpy alleyways with only a few inches of space on either side. The locals here came out to stare, but it wasnt curiosity, thats for sure. The loathing on their faces was clear, hate boiling in their eyes. The kids threw rocks and stuck their tongues out. Definitely a contrast from the first mission.
The next day I flew to Zormat, for a classified mission that still isnt complete and so I cant explain any further. I will have to pick up from there on the next blog when I can...
They put me up in the Qalat at Gardez, essentially a big mud-castle... literally the whole thing is plywood and mud, and my room is decorated with Afghan tapestries and rugs. I wandered over to the Kabob restaurant and had chai with the local worker there, while we watched bellydancing on TV.
I went out on my first convoy with the PRT Engineers to inspect four Afghan schools that were in various stages of construction. We went in humvees, not MRAPs, which made me jumpy, but I relaxed after a few hours. We drove through the city, and I gazed out the window at the markets and shops, the throngs of Afghans watching us like a parade as we passed. Some of the locals smile and wave, some frown, but most just stare.
Something about middle-eastern children... they are fascinating and intriguing. Initially I was attempting to be polite and not gawk, just smiling at them occasionally. Then I realized they were not at all shy about staring at me, so I quit with the American standards, and stared right back, all day. Some of them were so curious, a few would run and hide, many attempted to flirt.. I tried to speak the little Pashto I know, and their eyes would light up as they discovered we could communicate... and then I would laugh after my few phrases were expended and they realized I really cant speak it at all. They certainly were as curious about me as I was of them... It was all very awkward, in a beautiful cultural-clash kind of way. The little girls, as few of them as I saw, are so gorgeous, mysterious, quiet... serene. They squat in their sparkly clothes, completely covered, their deep eyes boring into you. I can see the age in their faces that shouldnt be there, 6 and 7 year old girls that have the look of a grown woman, some of them in the city carting around a baby sibling on their hip.
One thing about this culture that is a little hard to get used to... they have no personal space. As someone who has a bubble with a radius of roughly a mile, its a bit of an adjustment for me. They will get an inch away from your nose while talking, touch you. Ahhh..
The female engineer major and I were the only ones 'on' the mission, the rest of the Soldiers were PSD (personal security detachment) which was very strange for me. Privates do not have PSDs, they are usually in place for high-ranking officers. I kept trying to get out of the humvees and help, but they firmly explained that PSD means I sit, they make everything safe, then I move. They literally escorted me all day long like the damn president or something... except on the roof:
I climbed up on a very unstable-looking roof of one of the schools with the construction workers, on a homemade rickety wood ladder... lugging my body armor, camera and m-4. Not going to lie, I was shaky... but they all made a huge deal about it and refused to go up, which I thought was funny... hello, we're at war, on a convoy, with 5 humvees full of security for the sake of two females, and 'brave' to them is crawling up a ladder... funny.
The second mission, a day later, was quite different. We went to an impressive $2 million 'education center' in the process of being built, which I have some opinions about that I wont state here. We also went to the governors compound where I had tea with the PRT Ltc., the Paktya Governor, and an interpreter. The PRT held a contract bidder's conference, and I listened to all the contractors get very excited/hostile with each other. Foreign languages sound very intense when arguments occur. We drove through some very scary parts of Gardez this time... residential areas where we funneled down bumpy alleyways with only a few inches of space on either side. The locals here came out to stare, but it wasnt curiosity, thats for sure. The loathing on their faces was clear, hate boiling in their eyes. The kids threw rocks and stuck their tongues out. Definitely a contrast from the first mission.
The next day I flew to Zormat, for a classified mission that still isnt complete and so I cant explain any further. I will have to pick up from there on the next blog when I can...
23 March 2009
Tidbits
I am finally heading out on a real mission.. no ceremonies, no grip-n-grins, but out with a provincial reconstruction team (as far as I know, they do humanitarian-type work, and assessments of the villages) and the Cavalry for two whole weeks. Spc Steve has to cover one of our infantry battalions, so I am going alone. I am so excited/anxious/nervous... the way the 'activity' has been ramping up lately, Im sure to see... something. Yay, stories... and an opportunity to really do my job!! Assuming it stops raining, I leave in the morning.
I went to the hospital yesterday to cover some Afghan VIPs that came to visit the men that were hit by a suicide bomber a few days ago. Otherwise Ive been running silly errands and taking photos for graphics, and of course, pulling tower guard... I watched EOD play out in the field with some rather large mushroom-cloud-producing explosives... thrilling!
I had a random chat conversation with a local that apparently 'found' me through the Afghan media... the media that I escorted on base last week were taking my photo, and one of them got out, according to the chatter. Of course, we wear our names on our uniforms. He was very persistent in knowing my location and upon my refusal, mentioned that he will 'find' me. Great. Stalkers... Afghan style.
I dont know if I'll be able to blog or not over the next two weeks, so I apologize in advance for any resulting gap in entries... I'll try to hand-record any events so I dont leave anything out. :)
I went to the hospital yesterday to cover some Afghan VIPs that came to visit the men that were hit by a suicide bomber a few days ago. Otherwise Ive been running silly errands and taking photos for graphics, and of course, pulling tower guard... I watched EOD play out in the field with some rather large mushroom-cloud-producing explosives... thrilling!
I had a random chat conversation with a local that apparently 'found' me through the Afghan media... the media that I escorted on base last week were taking my photo, and one of them got out, according to the chatter. Of course, we wear our names on our uniforms. He was very persistent in knowing my location and upon my refusal, mentioned that he will 'find' me. Great. Stalkers... Afghan style.
I dont know if I'll be able to blog or not over the next two weeks, so I apologize in advance for any resulting gap in entries... I'll try to hand-record any events so I dont leave anything out. :)
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