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.

I went to the gun range today at Pol-E-Charki near 201^st Corps.

Under the DIAG (Disarmament of Illegal Armed Groups) program, weapons captured from Taliban, al Qaeda, warlord, and other criminal activities are sent to the Afghan National Army (ANA) Central Workshop for inspection and repair, then test-fired before being issued to ANA units. They are mostly old Soviet weapons.

Today we fired DSHKA heavy machine guns, PKM machine guns, and AK-47 rifles. More pics are here.

There were also some US armored HMMWVs sharing the range and test firing their weapons (.50 cal. machine guns, 7.62mm machine guns, and M4 rifles), and an Italian unit in APCs (Armored Personnel Carriers).

Out.

This is my second attempt to write this entry. I had a beautiful literary masterpiece written previously, but the system crashed and I lost it. Last week I was thinking that my blog was looking a little bare and it was time to write something, but I was out of ideas. Mr. Big Hands was at the gate on Wednesday but I didn’t have my camera. I’m saving him for when I can get some pics to augment that story.

Thursday started out as any other day. Breakfast at 0530, then off to D-1 for more POI development, translation, and review. Strawberry, our crippled yard dog (sort of a cross between Pivo and Cooper), met me at the office for her morning snack. I always liberate a sausage link from the DFAC in the mornings for her. She must not be Muslim because she likes the pork sausages as much as the turkey ones. People that have been here a while told me that she used to be healthy, and would run with a beautiful athletic stride. Then one day she started favoring a hind leg, having apparently been hit by a vehicle. She still runs on three legs, like many natives of this country, adapting to her unfortunate circumstances.

Thursday, of course, is the beginning of the Islamic weekend, so we took off at noon and headed home. We always travel in pairs at least, with four vehicles and drivers dedicated to our section. Heading back along our usual route, we were stopped at a military road block on Jalalabad Road.

OK, Mom and Julie, stop reading now.

Mom, Julie, click here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s8MDNFaGfT4

There were about a dozen ANA soldiers with AK-47 assault rifles redirecting traffic down a side road off of Jalalabad Road. Our idiot driver at first attempted to go through the soldiers, at which they became extremely agitated. Dana and I quickly and unceremoniously corrected the driver and ordered him to follow the soldiers’ instructions. My heartfelt advice to anyone reading this: never argue with men carrying AK-47s.

We got out of that situation just fine, and were on an alternate route back to Camp Eggers, when we were stopped dead in traffic just before Massoud Circle. Massoud Circle is a traffic circle dedicated to a Kurd resistance leader killed by the Taliban. Massoud Circle is also the site of one of the worst IED attacks on a US military convoy. With Massoud Circle within sight, we were in a stand-still traffic jam, blocked in on three sides by other vehicles, and on the left side by the concrete barrier separating lanes of traffic. Normally, this type of activity would indicate that President Karzai was moving through the area. Traffic is typically stopped or rerouted to secure his convoy and escorts. But that day, President Karzai was in London meeting with Tony Blair.

We were starting to feel a little uneasy, blocked in traffic like sitting ducks. Some tricky and skillful maneuvering by our driver got us out of our position and heading in the opposite direction towards the airport. Our driver, Sharon, being a local and knowing the area, with best intentions (we presume) attempted to take a side road to get us back on track. The turn was into a narrow alley in a poor neighborhood. I say “poor neighborhood” to differentiate it from the safe houses. These were mud buildings, cluttered with daily activity of average Kabul natives. Not knowing what was ahead since we couldn’t see past the first turn about 20 meters in, we directed Sharon to back up and keep the vehicle on major, paved streets only.

He got us back on the main road and drove at breakneck speed in the direction of the airport. Keep in mind that there are no traffic laws in Afghanistan—at least I’ve never seen indication of any. Traffic circles are usually the most exciting, being congested with vehicles, pedestrians, donkey carts, trucks, soldiers, bicycles, and just about anything else you can imagine, intertwining in every direction with no clear right of way. It’s actually quite amazing to see, like a choreographed dance, all the players seem to move with an inherent grace, sort of like a school of shad or flock of sparrows shifting direction and skirting obstacles almost as one being, never colliding.

We made it back to the safe houses just fine. Never did learn what the detour and congestion was all about. After dropping Dana off at his house, the driver was going to my house and we were stopped for a short while in normal traffic. Kids, as usual, came up to my window to sell gum or simply beg. There was something I hadn’t seen before—a woman in a buqua leading a blind man. Impossible to tell how old she was, I got the feeling that the man was her son, as opposed to being her husband. I rolled down my window and gave her all the cash I had on hand—three dollars.

Friday was a better day. Went to Camp Phoenix with some other MPRI personnel and played racquetball, then went to the PX and ate pizza. Went back home and took a nap until suppertime. Fridays are a feast. This Friday I had steak and crab legs, with pralines & cream ice cream for desert.

Yesterday was a bonanza. I had two boxes in the mail. One was some PT shirts and shorts I ordered with the $30 Wal-Mart gift certificate I won in the monthly photo contest; and the other was from Julie. Valentine’s card & candy, magazines, headphones, an optical mouse for my notebook computer, and assorted mail.

Now it’s Sunday morning, a normal work day, and I’m sitting in my conex box/office writing this in MS Word to copy into the blog later. Has to be later because the internet is down. It’s snowing hard, and whenever it rains or snows, the internet goes down.

I added some new pics to the photobucket. You’ll see the burqua woman & blind man; my interpreter/translators Aimal & Abdullah; Dana; Dana’s driver, Sharon; and Strawberry.

Out.

Pretty dull here most days. Usually my day consists of waking up and going to breakfast at 5:30 AM, to work at 6:30 AM, off at 3:00 PM. Go to the gym and dinner, back to the safehouse and give Julie a wake-up call, then in bed by 9:00 PM or so.

We had a little break in the monotony--Monday was a national holiday so I got to sleep in. It was Ashura-when Muslims commemorate the martyrdom of Husayn ibn Ali in the 9th century. Some of the Shiites display their mourning by flailing themselves bloody with chains.

There are a myriad of military forces here. Besides the US Army, US Air Force, US Navy, and US Marines, I've seen soldiers from Canada, Great Britain, Germany, Egypt, France, Romania, and Turkey. The two oddest services (in my opinion) that I've seen are from Poland (they wear forest green jumpsuits and in addition to their sidearm wear a fighting knife on their belts) and Mongolia. The Mongolian soldiers didn't look any different, I just thought it interesting that soldiers from Mongolia would be deployed here. The ones I saw were here to repair AK-47s.

Camp Eggers has a monthly photo contest. I won 2nd place ($30 Wal-Mart gift certificate) for my photo of the kids in their traditional Afghan outfits.