I climbed four of five guard towers at Depot 1 today and took pics. Click here to see them.

Mr. Big Hands

I finally got a picture of Mr. Big Hands. He’s one of our guards at Depot 1. His real name is Abdullah and he’s originally from Salang, Afghanistan. We call him Mr. Big Hands for obvious reasons. He’s the biggest Afghan I’ve ever seen.

Look at his features. I suspect there’s some Cossack blood running through those veins. Remember the Soviet Union occupied this country from 1978 to 1989, right about the time Abdullah was born. Hmm…

Per MPRI’s contract with the US government, the military is responsible for our life support. That means housing, food, medical, security, etc. We eat in the dining facilities and go to the medical aid stations aboard military installations like Camp Eggers and Camp Phoenix, etc. However, our living arrangements are a little different in Kabul.

There just isn’t enough room to billet everyone assigned to Camp Eggers. Of course, the military has priority. Although there have been some exceptions, for the most part, all US military assigned to Camp Eggers live on post. Most of the billeting consists of conex (shipping) containers converted to living quarters. Two soldiers share a 10X20’ space. Community showers/bathrooms are in separate buildings. With few exceptions (primarily KBR), contractors don’t live on Camp Eggers.

MPRI contractors live in the city; in houses we call “safe houses.” They are big homes converted to billet between twenty and thirty people. They have names like Falcon House, White House, and Big House. The houses are surrounded by hardened walls, HESCO barriers, concertina (razor) wire, and security guards. The security guards are locally contracted Afghans with AK47 rifles.

Most rooms in safe houses don’t have bathrooms, but there are usually one or two bathrooms per floor. Some houses have kitchens that are shared by the whole house, although most people hardly use them. There is usually one refrigerator on each floor, and many people buy small refrigerators for their rooms. Most windows are taped up and/or covered with Styrofoam in the winter to help insulate against the bitter cold. Windows to first-floor rooms facing the street are typically covered by a wall of sandbags for additional protection.

There are crates of bottled water stacked in a storage area or in the halls, along with an emergency supply of MREs. Some houses have common areas with couches and a TV. Each house has its own washer/dryers.

Staff are hired to clean the houses and rooms. They empty trash, clean the common areas, clean the rooms, and do personal laundry once a week.

Vehicles, mostly vans and a few SUVs, are parked at the houses. Drivers rotate duties throughout the week. Most of them are on-call; when an MPRI mentor needs to go somewhere, he calls the dispatcher and a vehicle meets him to take him where he needs to go. There is a driver on duty until 10:00 PM each night.

We have evacuation drills regularly. Every resident keeps a “bug out” bag with essentials handy in case of evacuation. A bug out bag usually has things like a change of clothes, toiletries, copies of essential documents like passport/visa and ID cards, flashlight, water, snacks, blanket, etc. During a drill, which can happen at any time, residents grab their bags, body armor, helmet, passport, and a blue chemlight. They meet for a quick head count and keys to the vehicles are distributed. The plan, in case of emergency, is for a military force protection unit to come to the house and escort us to a safe area like Camp Eggers, an ISAF (International Security Forces – Afghanistan) compound, or the US embassy.

Except for the security guards, sandbags, evacuation drills, etc., living in a safe house is a lot like living in a college dormitory without the beer, parties, loud music, and girls. Most of the MPRI contractors are over 40, many are over 50, and the work day starts early so the house is dark & quiet by 8:00 PM.

The water is pumped in from a well. The water is treated with chlorine, and sometimes the chemicals are so strong they cause your eyes to burn during a shower. You must use body lotion to keep your skin from drying out too much. Electricity is provided by huge generators that run on diesel and hum all night—except when they break down, which is quite often. When the generators go down, the water pumps stop too.

All in all, it’s not so bad. You tend to get into a routine. Some folks go to the rooftop after work and watch the kite fights during the day or look for rockets and tracers during the night. Some folks meet in the yard for a smoke and gossip before dark. Some go straight to their rooms and you don’t see them again until the next morning.

On Fridays, which is our day off, you’ll see people coming and going to the bazaars, ISAF compound (for their European dining facilities), or in to work. Some folks will grill, some sunbathe on the rooftop, and few guys even set up an archery range between the houses.

One day I’ll probably look back with fond memories on my time living in the safe house. Not right away, but some day.

Out.

Family & friends often ask me about the trip from Afghanistan to Texas so I thought I’d explain. Of course this only applies to civilians like contractors; the military uses a completely different route.

First you have to get out of Afghanistan. You can’t go on Expedia or anything like that to get tickets; you have to go to a local agency or airline office. Most people fly to Dubai for the first leg, then make their next flights that were booked online. There’s only one airport to fly in & out of—the Kabul Afghanistan International Airport, or KAIA (pronounced like the automaker Kia). This in itself is an adventure.

First you enter the outer guarded gate to the airport and all traffic is directed to an area where the driver is questioned and the vehicle searched. Travelers must remove luggage from the vehicle and take them into a small office where they are x-rayed and often searched. Sometimes you are patted down and there is a separate enclosed area where women are patted down by female inspectors. Often the inspectors will find something harmless in your luggage and claim it could be used as a weapon. Five dollars takes care of that.

Then you load the luggage back into the vehicle for a short trip to one of the outer parking areas. Unless you have some sort of diplomatic or VIP pass, you can’t just drive to the terminal. Unload in the parking lot and carry your luggage about 100 yards through at least two more checkpoints to get to the terminal entrance. Along the way there are vendors, money-changers, beggars, taxi drivers, and hoards of people waiting for arriving passengers. They wait in the open parking lot because without an airplane ticket you can’t get within 50 yards of the terminal.

Once at the terminal, your bags are searched again and you are patted down. They let you in and you’re greeted by dozens of baggage handlers offering to assist and even take you to the front of the line—for a fee, of course. Inside it’s loud, dirty, and disorganized. Other people are motioning to you to have your luggage shrink-wrapped or banded—for a fee, of course. Stand in line for your ticket and go through another x-ray and search before you can go upstairs through customs and into the waiting area.

The waiting area is small, crowded, and the bathrooms are horrific. Planes are never on schedule, so you have to check in at least two hours early in case the pilot decides to board before the scheduled time. Be sure your connecting flight in Dubai is tomorrow morning, because there is no guarantee what time you’ll arrive. Last time I was there, out the window I could see snipers on the rooftop.

Finally your flight is announced and everyone crowds down a slim corridor outside to awaiting buses for a short trip across the tarmac to your plane. Off the bus and into a line where border police again check your tickets and passport. Women, especially women with children and women traveling alone, are escorted to the front of the line. Interesting thing, flight attendants will rearrange seating on the plane. Unrelated Afghan men & women are not allowed to sit next to each other. It’s a Muslim thing.

There are only a few commercial airlines that fly out of Kabul. Actually, it is more correct to say that there are only a few commercial airlines flying out of Kabul that are allowed to land in many other countries. Mainly because their maintenance is not usually up to western standards.

In the air, at first the view of the rugged and often snow-capped Afghan mountains is breathtaking. Once into cloud level, you settle in for the three hour flight. The in-flight meal is halaal. A halaal meal is one prepared according to strict Muslim protocol. I don’t know exactly what that means, but think of it as being similar to a kosher meal (meat has to be slaughtered/prepared a certain way, certain ingredients are used, etc.)

The Dubai International Airport is huge. There are three terminals. Flights from Kabul, the former Soviet Union, Iran and charter flights all arrive at Terminal 2. From there, you have to take a taxi to Terminal 1. I often get a room overnight if there’s enough time between flights, or go to a mall and catch a movie (or a hotel bar), or sometimes straight to Terminal 1. Terminal 3 is new and strictly for Emirates.

As far as I know, there’s only one direct flight from Dubai to the US and it’s a Delta flight to Atlanta. I usually fly American Airlines which means I go through London.

Interesting story about my trip through London one time. There are two airports in London; Heathrow and Gatwick. Once my itinerary had me landing in Heathrow and departing in Gatwick. Never having seen London before, I decided to take this route because I thought I’d at least get to ride from one city to another and see some sights. However, not only was the bus ride expensive (about $60), but the bus ride is down a highway and not very scenic at all. A few farms and commercial establishments, but we didn’t even go through a city. What a waste of time and money.

To leave one airport and go to another for international flights, you have to go through customs both arrival and departure. Not a big deal, I thought. However, at Gatwick while I was in line going through customs, I came to a young agent who was clearly new to the job. He checked my passport and upon seeing that I came from Afghanistan he became obviously nervous. He told me he’d have to talk to his supervisor and asked me to wait. I could see the two of them talking and looking cautiously my way. Finally the young lad walked up to me and whispered, “Sir, I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but considering where you’re coming from…” as he quickly opened and closed my passport at waist-level and off to the side so only he & I could see “…we’ll allow you into the terminal but you’ll have to be searched before boarding the plane.” I almost laughed but instead leaned into him and told him in my best conspiratorial manner that I understood.

I lounged around the duty-free store for a while and ambled to the gate where, to my surprise, the same young man was waiting, with his supervisor observing from a short distance. He asked me to remove my jacket and boots as I placed my carry-on on the table. He so delicately looked through my bag that I had an almost irresistible urge to yell BOOM! but I contained myself. Then he proceeded to pat me down. Keep in mind that I had recently been patted down almost a half dozen times by tough combat-hardened Afghan soldiers and police. In comparison, this was foreplay. Then the supervisor said they’d have to take my boots & bag and put them through x-ray again, and asked me to please wait. I found a seat next to another shoeless and bagless guy. I asked him where he was coming from and he said, “Syria.”

I don’t think I’ll fly through Gatwick again.

Overall, the trip from Dubai to Dallas takes about twenty hours. Add in the total time from Kabul, overnight in Dubai, and the time difference, and the whole trip takes a little over two days. I gain a day from Kabul to Dallas and lose a day going the other way. Takes about two days to overcome the jetlag. Luckily I only have to do this one more time…

But that’s another story…

Out.

I had lunch with the Afghans today.

Because of the remoteness of our work location, MPRI pays to have lunch catered for our drivers and interpreters. Once in a while, I like to walk behind the warehouse to one of the two buildings in which they eat, and join them. I think this helps foster a good working environment, but more importantly, I am able to test the quality of food being served and illustrate to the vendor that I’m watching.

Typically, it is delicious, although I have had a few reports of bad meat.

Today we had the standard naan bread and Afghan rice with carrots, raisins, french fries, and meat. There was beef kabobs, fresh vegetables, yogurt, fruit, and soft drinks.

Interesting side note. There is a TV in the small room where the drivers stay during the day and eat their lunch. After we finished eating, the news came on. It was in Dari so I don’t know what was being said, but they flashed pictures of Palin, McCain, and Obama. A small political discussion ensued with me and a roomful of Afghans. Keep in mind that the future of their country rides on this election. They were avid supporters of McCain, even though his running mate is female and they think Obama is a Muslim. Hmm…

I recently returned from vacation in Dallas. This was my third trip home in twenty-one months. I had so much scheduled and so many honey-dos that now it all seems like a blur. Let me see if I can hit the highlights:

Julie met me at the airport. Went to the house and found my anniversary gift from her: a Texas-motif beer box full of ice-cold Shiner Boch beer!

We celebrated my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary party with most of their family/friends at Casa Navarro restaurant. Mom cried at least twice so I guess it was a success.

Shane and Diane & Dave Luther came by the house one night to safety-test the beer box. We gave it a thorough workout by drinking as many beers as we could. Amazingly, it held up even under the superior beer drinking abilities of Shane.

Julie & I went on a trip to Virginia to visit some friends, Mike “Caveman” Stutzman and his new bride Joann. We went to the new Marine Corps Museum in Quantico, VA. We never made it to DC to see the sights (spent too much time at the infamous Command Post pub in Quantico), so Julie insists there really are no monuments.

Drank too much beer at Shane & Sam Thompson’s again. Dad “loaned” a keg cooler to Shane, and rumor has it that he singlehandedly finished off three kegs in three weeks. Sam and dad decided it was time to “unloan” the cooler. Chris Thompson really enjoyed some Cuban cigars—don’t ask me where he got them…

Had lunch with longtime friend Charlie Stone who lost 55 pounds since I last saw him.

Shane & I took his seven-year old son Mickey to the gun range to shoot some old .22 rifles. After a little instruction, Mickey did remarkably well. Do we have a future Marine Corps sniper in our midst?

I traded in my Dodge Ram for a 2007 Toyota Tacoma.

We had dinner with friends Ed & Gayla Fussell at Patrizio’s restaurant in Highland Park.

We took our adopted Afghan son Fida to Nate’s Seafood Restaurant one night. Another day we took him to the Texas State Fair and met real son Mike Jungen with some of his friends there. Fida had his first genuine corny dog and had his caricature drawn. Mike did his best to make Fida hurl by taking him on the scariest rides, but I’m not sure which one of them was scared the most.

Played with the dogs who were all happy to see me. Digger the wolfdog now weighs 89 pounds although he looks bigger. We had to rebuild the 4’ dog run fence because he could easily leap over it.

Julie & I celebrated our seventh wedding anniversary. We didn’t do anything special, just the opportunity to be together was enough. Maybe in another forty-three years someone will throw a party for us.

Out.