Dave “TFB” Bremer went home today. (That F___ing Bremer).

Dave has been in Afghanistan for three years. The first year he was deployed as a member of the Maine National Guard. He worked with some MPRI contractors and applied after his deployment. Came back as a civilian and stayed two years, until family obligations called him home. Every other story he told (and he told many) started with “back when I was in uniform” in reference to his time here as a soldier.

I first met Dave back when I was the curriculum developer at D-1 supply depot. I had to go to Logistics Command to recruit students, and since Dave was the LogCmd mentor and I asked him to take me and introduce me to the right people. On the ride over, he told me how he acquired a tough-looking scar on his face. He got it as a young soldier (back when he was in uniform) horsing around in the barracks. I suspect adult beverages were involved. He fell into a wall locker and got a cool gash below his right eye.

Dave was the joker in our office. I had to log off my terminal whenever I left, or I’d return to find that another guy received a love letter from my email account. He was always ready with a story or anecdote, usually from when he was back in uniform, about some foolish thing he did at one time or another. Along with “back when I was in uniform,” another favorite saying of his was “that’s gay,” which was applied to almost everything anyone else did, implying latent homosexuality of the victim. Come to think of it, maybe Dave had some issues with his own masculinity...

Dennis, Dave’s interpreter Wasi, & I took him to the airport where he took off his body armor for the last time, handed it to Dennis, shook hands, and walked to the terminal. Afghanistan is probably one of only a few countries on earth where heartfelt goodbyes include the departing saying, “I hope you guys don’t get killed on the way back.” How sweet, I think I’m going to cry.

Fair winds and following seas, Dave...you homo.

Out.

One of our contractors, David Bremer, is going home. Today GEN Azizuddin, the ANA G-4, arranged a lunch for him. It was delicious.

The stuff wrapped in newspaper is lamb chunks in a piece of flat bread called na'an. There's more na'an, kinda ribbed looking, on plates around the table. There is mantu, which is sort of a meat-filled dumpling covered in yogurt that is wonderful. There was another meat dish that I couldn't identify. On two of the larger platters are a bunch of vegetables, along with a sort of meatball with a hard-boiled egg in the center. The three dishes with a white, yellow, and red something is a thick and sweet pudding.

Not visible are three huge dishes of rice with shredded carrots and raisins.

Dinner was followed by fresh fruit: apples, oranges, and bananas.

Before and after the meal we had the mandatory hot tea called chai.

Out.

Look what followed me home, Ma!

Admittedly, most guys here send things home like rugs, scarfs, antique guns, wooden chests, etc. Not me. I'm sending an Afghan home.

The US Dept of State has streamlined the visa process for Afghan nationals who are interpretor/translators (IT) working for the US. Many of them have taken advantage of the program, to take a chance for the American dream.

My IT, Fida (pronounced like feta cheese), acquired his visa, saved some money and left Kabul today for the two-day multiple-stop plane trip to Dallas, TX. Much to Julie's consternation, I offered to let him stay at our home temporarily. Trust me, I didn't make the offer lightly--I think very highly of this young man.

He graduated from high school and medical school, and is a certified medical technician. That certification probably won't mean much to US medical facilities, but it's a start. While he worked for me as an IT, he moonlighted at the Afghan National Hospital. His father is a government official in the Ministry of Education and is a genuine believer in the importance of education—so much so that he fled to Pakistan with his family during the Taliban rule so his daughters could continue to go to school. Fida has three sisters, one who is married and two younger ones. He has two brothers, one older who is a doctor but works for MPRI as an interpreter/translator because it pays better.

His goal is to find employment, get his own place, become a US citizen, and save enough money to send for his family. He intends to enlist in the US Air Force, and if that doesn't work out, then he'll find work elsewhere. I have little doubt that he'll succeed somehow.

So if/when you see him around, please make him feel welcome. After all, our forefathers were all immigrants to the US once...

Out.