Just got back from a short vacation in Dubai. MPRI encourages us to take leave and get out of Afghanistan every ninety days or so, and I intend to take advantage every time.

Tuesday, 4/17/2007

Worked until about noon, then Dana drove me to the Afghanistan airport in Kabul. Had to go through a security checkpoint before entering the airport where they frisked us & the driver, and inspected my luggage. Then, amazingly enough, we were passed through to Lot 1. There are three parking lots at the airport, numbered from closest to farthest, 1 to 3. Normally ordinary folks are only allowed into Lot 3, where they have to drop off or wait for passengers. Lot 3 is unpaved, unmarked, and surrounded by barriers and concertina wire. I carried my luggage into the airport and had to pay about $20 in tips (bribes) to get through ticketing and into the waiting area.

Funny thing about Ariana Afghan Airlines, we were seated by nationality and sex. Whenever possible, they try to seat the foreigners together and the women together.

I saw someone on the flight that I thought I recognized, but couldn’t quite place. Then I noticed he was with two guys carrying TV cameras with CNN tags. He was a reporter who’s name still escapes me, but I’ll figure it out and edit this later.

Noticed some scraping and wobbling noises during take-off that made me think there was a suspension problem with the landing gear, but we landed safely at Dubai International Airport so that’s someone else’s problem now.

Got to the hotel, the Arabian Courtyard Hotel & Spa, and unloaded. Had a few beers with some Spaniards from Pamplona at the hotel bar, a man and his Mom. I asked if he ever ran with the bulls and he sheepishly said yes. Then Mom told me that she would never allow him to because it was too dangerous, but one day she was looking in the newspaper and there he was, running from the bulls. Bad boy.

Then I went to pickup Julie from the airport. Her flight was three hours late so I got to hang out with Arabs, Indians, Pakistanis, and a myriad of other nationalities I can only guess at. Finally she arrived and we went to the hotel. At this point, the daily journal ends due to mature content…

Wednesday, 04/18/2007

We treated ourselves to 80-minute massages in the hotel spa, and walked across the street to the Dubai Museum. The museum is an old fort in the heart of old Dubai. They had displays of how Dubai used to be, mostly poor Arabs living in houses made of palm branches. Fish and dates were staples of their diets. The primary industry was pearls, before oil was discovered in the sixties. The museum was informative and entertaining.

We also found this neat little art gallery. Mostly paintings, all of the art was, of course, of the middle east.

That night we went to the Western Steakhouse at the Crowne Plaza Hotel. We had a nice bottle (two bottles, actually) of Merlot, escargots sautéed with butter & garlic, I had a juicy t-bone steak and Julie had a rib-eye and lobster tail. It was delicious. Then we hit the hotel bar and closed it down.

Thursday, 04/19/2007

Low-intensity day. Not only was Julie wiped out from the time change, but we were both nursing hangovers from last night’s activity. We mostly stayed in the room and enjoyed each other’s company. We did venture up to the hotel pool for a few adult beverages, but not any farther than that.

Friday, 04/20/2007

The plan was to go to the beach this day. We were up and getting dressed, I bent over to tie my shoe and got a terrible, stabbing pain in my back. I don’t have a history of back problems, but I must have twisted just the wrong way because it hurt like Hell. We had the Desert Safari and BBQ Dinner scheduled for that night, but moved it to Sunday and scheduled a dinner cruise instead. The hotel was very close to Dubai Creek, which is really a large inlet from the Arabian Gulf. We got on a boat called a Dhow, cruised up the creek, had a delicious dinner, and generally enjoyed the views of Dubai at night from the creek. It really is a beautiful and interesting city. At dinner, we were introduced to Omm’Ali, which is a traditional Egyptian Bread and Butter Pudding.

Saturday, 04/21/2007

Had the Dubai City Tour planned for this day. Luckily for us, because of the tour company’s timing/bookings, we got out our own van and tour guide. A lovely woman from Sri Lanka was our tour guide and a surly dark-skinned man from Eritrea was our driver. We saw most of the city while she pointed out sites like palaces and other attractions, including the Sheik’s palace. While we weren’t allowed to go into the Sheik’s palace grounds, the entrance is a tourist attraction. Beautiful landscaping and lots of peacocks. Part of the tour was stopping at a spice market and the gold souk. “Souk” means market. Gold is relatively inexpensive in UAE and sold by the weight. I dropped some serious cash on a ring for Julie.

Finally made it to the beach. We wanted to go to the Burj Al Arab Hotel, which is a landmark multi-million dollar hotel built on a man-made island in the Gulf, and shaped like a giant sail. Rooms there go for $2,000 to $7,000 per night. But non-guests need a reservation at the restaurant and specific attire to get in. So we settled for Jumeriah public beach instead. Nothing particularly noteworthy there, but I took a nap and got sunburned while Julie walked the beach. On the way back to the hotel we stopped at Harley-Davidson of UAE and got some t-shirts.

After the beach, we decided to see a movie. Now keep in mind that I am a pseudo-movie buff and for the last three months all I’ve seen is either grainy old re-runs on Afghan TV, or poorly focused pirated movie DVDs from the bazaar. So dammit I’m going to the movies. We went to the Emirates Mall which has an indoor ski slope, had a drink in a swank new age bar, did some window shopping and people watching, and saw 300. Not too complicated of a plot, but the visual effects were stunning.

Sunday, 04/22/2007

Today is the day we rescheduled the Desert Safari and BBQ Dinner. But it didn't start until later in the day so we had some time to walk around and do more sight-seeing. Then back to the hotel and I scheduled another massage for my aching back while Julie went to the pool. At least that's what I thought...but first she walked over to that art museum we found earlier and bought a very cool painting for me. It was a scene with a mosque that we could see from our hotel room window, only it was from the opposite viewpoint--from the creek.

Later our driver picked us up for the Desert Safari. It started out with “sand bashing” which was four-wheeling on the dunes. I really didn’t expect too much, but it was a blast! We were picked up in a Toyota Land Cruiser with a roll bar. We stopped to get another couple & their beautiful 5-year old daughter. They were from Italy and only Dad spoke English so he did all the translating. We drove out to the dunes and learned that our driver was the senior driver for the company and trained the other drivers. He took us up & over progressively bigger dunes and performed maneuvers that were breathtaking. At times I just knew he was going to kill us all but he made it look simple.

Then we stopped on a high dune next to some rock outcroppings and watched the sunset. The rocks were purple, and light. I’m guessing it was a sort of lava from an ancient volcano or something.

After the sunset, we drove to a site set up like an ancient Arab settling. There were some camels to ride, and Julie (International Woman of Mystery), rode hers like a pro. Then we went inside. There were different stations set up: first we had some fried dates, then found the bar and ordered some drinks (I didn’t expect that!), and Julie got a Henna tattoo on her hand. We then had some appetizers. I don’t know what it was exactly, it was like a goat meat and Hummus burrito, but it was good. Then we were seated on rugs & pillows at low tables for the buffet dinner. Rice, vegetables, Hummus, bread, lamb, chicken, beef, and more Omm’Ali. Then belly dancers came out to perform. They encouraged spectator participation, and the little Italian girl was adorable. Julie (International Woman of Mystery) also wowed the crowd with her undulating.

Monday, 04/23/2007

Julie’s day of departure. We walked down to the creek for some sight-seeing. Happened across another museum, this one was an old Sheik’s house that was restored and most of the museum was a collection of photographs. Browsed around the textile district and went back to the room to pack. Surprisingly, everything Julie brought, plus the stuff we bought, all fit in her suitcases! Went to the airport and, sadly, departed until my next leave. I’m planning to go home in July.

As I left the airport, I asked the taxi driver to take me to the mall with the most movies. Turns out that was the Chinese mall, way across town. The mall was interesting, all in oriental motif with a Chinese junk (boat) in the lobby. I saw The Reaping, which was better then I expected, and then went back to the hotel. The plan was for me to leave the day after Julie so I could see her off at the airport before I left, but I couldn’t get a flight for the 24th, so…

Tuesday, 04/24/2007

Slept in, had breakfast in the hotel, and went to the museum to look for a book about Dubai that Julie wanted. Then I went to the Centre City Mall in Deira. Did some window shopping, ate at a Lebanese restaurant in the food court, bought a watch, and found where the locals buy their clothes. There were several stores tucked away in a corner on the third floor. These we high end stores, men’s & women’s attire in separate stores. In the men’s stores they had those white robes, different colored and patterned headdresses, sandals, and accessories. In the women’s stores they had the black robes, black headdresses, veils, and accessories. Then I went to see Shooter. Incredible plot, but great action.

Monday, 04/25/2007

Up at 3:30 AM to get to the airport and through customs for my 6:30 AM flight back to Afghanistan. This would be a good point to explain that Dubai has two terminals. Most westerners only ever see Terminal 1, which is indicative of a world-class international airport. However, local flights (Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, etc.) arrive/depart at Terminal 2. A little rougher, grungier, and smellier, Terminal 2 started to remind me where I was going back to. We departed on time and I sat next to an individual that smelled like feet.

Interesting arrival. I had a window seat on the port side, so I could see when they rolled the stairs up to the plane. Immediately, about twenty high ranking ANA officers lined up on either side, creating a greeting line. They were laughing and joking and had flowers and photographers. An Afghan in civilian clothes was escorted off the plane to hugs and handshakes. I asked my feet-smelling neighbor if he knew who that was, and he said something about a former commander ruining the country. I asked “Taliban?” and he said, “No, before Taliban.” I asked “Mujahideen?” and he answered yes. Now I’m not sure if his English was that bad or if he was sympathetic to the Taliban, but I thought Mujahideen were the good guys, or at least before many of them turned Taliban.

I also had a revelation. The vehicle that carried me back to Afghanistan wasn’t a Boeing 727; it was a time machine. The last four hours transported me from 2007 back centuries. I was back to the dirty, crowded airport where I had to pay a $5 bribe to a policeman and $3 to a self-appointed porter to get my luggage. I walked out of the terminal past bundles wrapped in burlap which many of the locals were using for luggage, past more security, through dozens of dirty, bearded men, across a dirt “parking lot” bordered by concertina wire. Everything was the color of dirt. Alex was there to meet me, and our driver, Jon, took my bag. We got to the van, donned our body armor, and drove through the dusty, clogged, unpaved streets to our safe house. At the house, I changed into my MPRI uniform and we went back up Jalalabad Road to Depot-1 in time for lunch. Did I really leave or was that a dream?

Pics are posted here.

Out.

Did I say something about “normal” and “routine” in yesterday’s entry? Did I actually use those words?

We had an earthquake today. This morning, at about 8:00 AM, the ground shook. Not just a quick rumble like when a bomb detonates. This was a long, drawn out, variable shake that lasted about 30 seconds. No report like an explosion has.

So not only is the Taliban trying to kill us from above ground, but now Mother Earth is trying to kill us from below ground. God I love it here.

Just re-read what I wrote. Interesting that I can describe the differences between an explosion and an earthquake. Yep, just another normal, routine day at the office.

Out.

It was a beautiful day in Pol-e-charki today. The sky was clear and the sun was bright. I was standing in the yard at D-1 this morning talking to my wife on the cell phone when an armored HMMWV pulled up and parked right next to where I was standing. There was a loaded .50 caliber machine gun mounted on the gun ring (sunroof), the belt of brass-jacketed ammo glinting in the sun. Just another average day in paradise.

But later I almost got arrested. Well not really arrested. We were driving home, as usual at break-neck speed, dodging huge potholes and barely missing bicycles, carts, donkeys, and jungle-trucks. Troy was in the front seat filming the road. In a previous entry I told you about filming the drive to send home. Ramon, another MPRI employee, asked Troy to film the ride for him so he could send a disk home too. Ramon is a very loud and very opinionated Puerto-Rican that would probably explode if he had to stop talking for more than 30 seconds. Ramon is always in a hurry. Always. Think of an overweight (sorry Ramon), middle-aged Speedy Gonzales.

Much like I did a couple days ago, Troy filmed most of the route between D-1 in Pol-e-charki and our safe house near Camp Eggers in Kabul, about a 30 minute ride. He, of course, didn’t narrate with the same entertaining and informative candor as I did, but it was sufficient. Along our route there are many places where photography is prohibited. Inside the gates of D-1, for example, the American Embassy, the Ministry of Defense, and other secure areas. Troy would always turn off the camera and put it down when passing through those areas. However, one of the last turns on our return trip passes directly by the entrance to one such place and Troy did not immediately put the camera down. He wasn’t filming the entrance to the complex and we pass by it almost everyday without incident, so it was an understandable mistake. Understandable to us. But the armed guards at this particular installation didn’t see it that way.

In the middle of the road, our vehicle was quickly surrounded by Afghan guards armed with AK-47 assault rifles yelling at us in Dari. To our driver’s credit, Sharon rose to the situation and with vigor explained to the guards who we are and what we were doing. I’m spelling Sharon’s name like the name of a girl in English only because I don’t know how to spell it. Sharon is a 40-something male with two wives and eight sons. His name sounds like Sharon only the emphasis is on the second syllable.

The yelling went on for a while as Troy nervously tried to show the guards exactly what he filmed. Soon an English-speaking Afghan approached and we were able to explain the situation to him. Troy handed over the disk but they still didn’t let us go. Then an American, I suppose, who I think was a Blackwater operative, took control of the situation. He said normally they’d confiscate the camera but for some reason he let us go and let Troy keep his camera. It was at about that time when my heartbeat began its descent back to normal and my sphincter began to relax.

Then back to routine. Changed and went to the gym. Did 60 minutes on the elliptical machine while watching a Cold Case re-run. I had dinner at The Goat, which is the larger of the two chow halls on Camp Eggers, and walked home to watch a pirated copy of Breach. I fell asleep half-way through.

Out.

I just found out that one of my first entries here was published in the Texas Mortgage Press, an industry magazine of the Texas Association of Mortgage Brokers (TAMB). I don’t think too much about mortgages and real estate anymore, except when I talk to my wife Julie who is a loan officer with PrimeLending. But news of my article made me think today about how much my circumstances have changed over the last three months.

Last week I borrowed a video camera from our Supply Records Manager, Troy Huntley. Troy is a retired Marine Corps staff non-commissioned officer. He’s been with MPRI here in Afghanistan for almost one year. He and his wife live in Jacksonville, Florida. Some have suggested that Troy resembles Disney's Ranger Woodlore, but you didn't hear that from me. I used his camera to tape the drive to/from work so I could send it home to give my family a little flavor of what it’s like here. When I told Julie what I did, she started laughing. Then I realized how funny that must have sounded, “Honey, I videotaped my drive home from work for you!”

Like many readers of my now published journal, my wife’s drive home everyday is much like mine was when I worked for Ed Fussell at Mercantile Mortgage so long ago. From prestigious north Dallas down Preston Lane to LBJ, then west for about a mile or so and turn left at the Galleria. About another two miles and into the driveway of our four-bedroom, three-bath home within walking distance of a park, schools, and shopping. The most stressful part of the drive was when something happened to cause a delay—maybe a Dallas Police officer had pulled over a banker in a BMW for going 10 miles per hour over the posted speed limit, causing on-lookers to slow down. The scariest part of the drive was either passing a landscape truck with persons of questionable citizenship inside, or being passed by a student from one of the many local private schools driving too fast in his mother’s Jaguar.

I was thinking about that on my way to work this morning. As usual we checked with BDOC (Base Defense Operations Center) on road conditions before leaving. Portions of Jalalabad Road (a road we often take) were Black, meaning no unnecessary travel. Part of the reason was from intelligence sources that I am not privy to, but apparently the military suspected a threat. Part of it might have had to do with the suicide bomber that killed four civilians yesterday in a Kabul market. I also heard an unconfirmed report that Baghram Air Base took some incoming fire last night. What all that means is that we had to take an alternate route to work. (Imagine you’re listening to the morning news on your way to work. Traffic is backed up on the North Dallas Parkway because of an accident, so you decide to take Central Expressway instead. Same thing.)

I can’t describe the exact route we took, for security reasons, but I got the best view of Bala Hissar I’ve seen yet. Bala Hissar is an ancient fortress that was built in the 5^th century. Of course I didn’t bring my camera today. We also passed some early Afghan houses. They weren’t occupied, and I assume they were still standing for historic reasons. In previous posts I described some contemporary Afghan houses as “mud huts”. I was trying to use literary license to color my description, but what I was really talking about was block-shaped buildings constructed from sun-baked bricks that were produced locally. The houses I saw today were really mud huts—they looked like dirt igloos.

Although the scenery was a little different from usual, I didn’t get the opportunity to gawk much; my attention was elsewhere. Just a few months ago I drove to work scanning the road ahead for speed traps. Today I watched everyone everywhere. Any man with a beard could be Taliban. Any woman in a burqa could be a disguised Talib. Anyone anywhere could be a suicide bomber. Any roadside debris could be an IED (Improvised Explosive Device). Just a few months ago I took notice when I saw an occasional police cruiser pass me from the opposite direction. Maybe, if I was really observant, I might see an armed forces recruiter in a nondescript government sedan. Today I saw three armored convoys; Swedish, Italian, and Turkish. Just a few months ago getting to work was uneventful and I was immediately thinking about going home. Today I was thankful to safely arrive at the depot with American military, Afghan forces, and private security around me, and already wondering if road conditions would worsen and delay my ability to leave for the trip back to my quarters.

A lot has changed for me in the last three months. Only nine months left on my contract. I’m already thinking about extending…

We are issuing these four door Ford Rangers to the ANA (Afghan National Army) and ANP (Afghan National Police). The one in this picture is Army, the Police ones are Forest Green. Looks like a handy and sturdy vehicle. I like the idea of four full doors on a Ranger. I wonder why these aren't sold in the US? Maybe because they're manufactured in Taiwan? Oh yeah, they're diesel too. Hmm...

I wonder what it would cost to ship a dog from Afghanistan to Texas...

As if things aren't bad enough, sometimes we get reports like these:

UXO explosion: 04 March, Herat Province, Zende Jan District – One person was killed when he stepped on an anti-personnel landmine. It is believed the device was deployed during the Soviet era.

UXO recovered: 04 March, Paktya Province, Gardez District, Gardez City – Five Soviet era anti-tank rockets were uncovered during construction work. The ordinance has been removed.

So not only does the local populace have to worry about getting caught in crossfire between Taliban & coalition forces, or being in the wrong place at the wrong time when a Muslim suicide bomber decides to make his debut, but they also occasionally get vaporized by old landmines left here as little reminders of Soviet occupation. Oh boy.

I couldn't resist. Dumbass terrorists.

Bombers Killed: Three men were killed when the bomb they were carrying detonated. The bomb detonated after their bicycle went over a bump in the road in the central Pakistani town of Chechawatni. Their target was either a cattle market or the funeral procession of a recently murdered policeman. Pakistani Security Forces are on high alert following a series of suicide bombings and arrests through out the country.

So these three jackasses were riding one bicycle (I've seen that here) with their little homemade bomb strapped to the handlebars, on their way to become "martyrs" for Allah, when their bicycle hit a bump and BOOM! Now that's funny. I wonder if they got their 72 virgins?

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.

Have you ever noticed how on TV shows and in the movies, the bad guys are always horrible shots? They can spray countless bullets at the hero and miss every time. There might be some truth to that. We get daily Security Reports on activities the previous day. Here's an excerpt of the one I received yesterday:

Rocket/Mortar Fire: 07 Feb, Kabul Province, Kabul District, Kabul City, Two sets, reportedly of two rockets each, were fired at Kabul City. The point of origin was determined as Bagrami District. The first set impacted in an area between the Airport and Camp Souter. The second set impacted on the ANA range. No casualties or damage resulted from either.

So four rockets were fired and they all missed... Now I'm not complaining, I am quite happy that the insurgents can't shoot. I just thought it was noteworthy.

Also interesting are the reports of suicide bombers. I think I have this suicide bomber thing figured out. The reason for suicide bombers is because the insurgents are such lousy shots. Since they can't seem to be able to hit the side of a barn from the inside with the doors closed, they use suicide bombers to increase the probability of a hit. However, what you don't hear about on the news, are those suicide bombers who also miss. Here are some fairly common reports:

BBIED: 31 Jan, Nangarhar Province, Muhmand Dara District, Torkham Border Post - A suicide bomber, wearing or carrying a device entered the border post building and detonated his device. Initial reports indicate that the bomber was the only casualty.

VBIED: 04 Feb, Kandahar Province, Kandahar District, Kandahar/Kabul road – An ISAF convoy was subjected to a VBIED attack. No casualties, other than the suicide bomber, were reported. Only minor damage to a convoy vehicle was reported.

So they can't shoot and even the suicide bombers often kill only themselves.See? Don't worry about me--I'm not in danger! Death to the Taliban!

Today was interesting.

Alex Henderson arrived in-country about a week after I did. A retired Army Warrant Officer, Alex is a confident, outgoing guy. He let it slip that his buddies call him "Hollywood". Easy to believe that--Hollywood has curly hair, baby doe eyes, and a girl in every port. Like many of the guys here, he worked for KBR previously, in Djibouti. His last assignment in the Army took him to Bagram Air Base, about 60 miles north of Kabul. He has a twelve-year old daughter living with his mom.

When new employees get here, we are all assigned a laptop computer, among other things. In our conex box/office at D-1, we have a wireless Internet connection. D-1 is where I work--it is the Afghan National Army (ANA) National Supply Depot. There are also two other National Supply Depots called D-0 and D-2. Those of you familiar with military logistics will probably point out that there can only be one National Supply Depot. I agree, but things are different here in Afghanistan. Don't even start on the problem of having a "D-0". Back to the story: Alex's computer was never able to establish an Internet connection. For reasons too involved to flesh out here, we were never able to get our sole tech support guy to fix it. So today our boss, Dana Cook, sent Alex & I out into the city to buy a new Internet card on the economy (reimbursable, of course).

Did I tell you about Dana Cook? He's a crusty, loud former Army maverick from South Dakota. In the few weeks that I've been here, working from a desk next to his, I know all I'll ever need to know about hunting buffalo, elk, coyotes, rabbits, deer, prairie dogs, and whatever else walks, runs, crawls, swims or flies in or around the Black Hills. His wife sounds like a sweet woman and she must be an absolute saint, I'm sure. Interesting also to get a local's perspective on Harley riders, the Sturgis Rally, and Indians. Don't get me wrong, I'm picking on him in case he ever reads this. Dana is actually a great guy and has invited me & my family to stay at his house next time we go to Sturgis to do some fishing, and perhaps consume some adult beverages.

Alex & I grabbed one of our Interpreter-Translators (IT), Gee, and headed out into town in an MPRI vehicle commandeered by one of our drivers, Abdul. Gee apparently knew where to buy a Internet card. The route started out fairly familiar--down Jalalabad Road toward Camp Eggers. Then we turned off next to the Ministry of Defense toward downtown Kabul. We started to see a lot of people walking alongside the road, and Alex asked the driver where they were headed. "Downtown" he replied.

There are pics in my photobucket album. I'm almost lost for words. Downtown Kabul looked like it was right out of a movie. The first movie that comes to mind is "Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome", only the scenery in Thunderdome was cleaner and better organized. Throngs of traffic--everything from military vehicles to donkey wagons to people wagons to people. There seemed to be no order to the chaos. Everything from power cords to 'fresh' produce to fish was available to sale on the streets. Gee had the driver stop and let us out in the middle of it all. Then he led us into what I thought was a storefront shop, instead it was a doorway into a larger "mall" in the interior. Wow. It was an open courtyard, with about seven stories of shops overlooking a shabby-looking building in the middle, onto which trash and debris was deposited. The whole place smelled like urine, body odor, and marijuana. Could have been clover cigarettes, but it sure smelled like marijuana to me. We looked into several dirty shops cluttered with electronics, computer equipment, video supplies, etc., from every country and manufacturer imaginable. Gee asked for the part in about a dozen shops before we gave up and headed to another possible source.

That's when I realized that I made a mistake I will never do again. I had left the sanctuary of reasonable civilization needing to urinate. I asked Gee if they had bathrooms there. He hesitated, then led me to the rear of the mall and out into another adjacent enclosed area. There it really got ugly. Two boys, I guess about ten years old, were monitoring the "bathroom". As a stall became available, they handed me about four sheets of pink toilet paper and pointed to the door through which I was supposed to go. I walked into a 4' by 4' concrete stall with a 6" by 8" hole in the floor. The smell was almost unbearable. I skillfully aimed at the hole and completed my task. Through the hole I could plainly see the deposits of the visitors before me. I say "plainly see" because there was sunlight down there. I hesitate to envision what exactly was out there. On the way out, one of the boys had his hand out (imagine that!) and Gee gave him ten Afghanis (about twenty cents).

Our next stop was a smaller, dirtier mall, but we found the Internet card for $70.00 US dollars.

I learned some new words today. While getting back into the vehicle to leave, a police officer told our driver to "Bora, bora!" (Go, go!), and in traffic on the way back, Abdul called somebody a "kaka-e-khar" (uncle of donkey) and a "shadi" (monkey).

I added some pics of "jingle trucks". We get a lot of shipments through Pakistan. The Pakistanis like to decorate their trucks with bright paint and chains sort of like wind chimes. They jingle when they go down the road. Hence the name "jingle trucks"!

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.

I was recently thinking that I didn't have anything interesting to write about. I have a few ideas: Mr. Big Hands; Strawberry, our three-legged yard dog at the depot; the persistent kids always selling scarfs, gum, candy, or simply begging (my fellow loan officers & I could learn a few things about closing a deal from these kids); jingle trucks; the creative and widespread use of our conex boxes by the indigenous personnel--but those stories will have to wait for another day because yesterday turned out to be interesting.

Yesterday was my day off. Like I've said elsewhere, we follow the Islamic weekend which is Thursday noon through Friday. I didn't have much planned--there's not much to do. But I did sleep in--until 7:30 AM anyway. At 7:30 we were roused out of bed for a muster. When that happens, we're supposed to gather at the nearest bunker--in this case, the basement of our safehouse--fully clothed, equipped with our body armor and bug-out bag. A bug-out bag contains essentials like extra clothes, flashlight, knife, leatherman, chemlights, shaving kit, ID, passport, cash, etc. The idea being that this was a drill for in case we had to evacuate. At least that's what I thought (and what I later told Julie). But it turns out that it wasn't completely a drill. There was something--a mortar or rocket--fired at the embassy. We waited around for about an hour and were released, so we went to breakfast.

After breakfast, I walked back to the safehouse, took a shower, and walked back to Camp Egger. Got a haircut, went to the gym, ate lunch, went to the PX. Alex and I were just leaving the PX when we heard gunfire. Automatic weapons fire, and some screaming. Coincidently we were standing near where the armored HMMWVs for the reaction force are stationed. Soldiers scrambled to man the vehicles and load their weapons. I watched it take place and they were rolling in under a minute. Luckily I had my camera and there are a couple shots of the HMMWVs in my photobucket album. Turns out it was only the ANP (Afghan National Police) firing celebratory into the air for some reason.

Shopped at the weekly Friday bazaar on the way home. Franz Zichy, one of my fish buddies from the Texas A&M Corps of Cadets, wanted a Jezail. Jezails can be rifles but typically they are smooth-bore guns. They are unique to Afghanistan, primarily captured British muskets modified for firing over walls and/or from camel-back and highly decorated with Mother-of-Pearl or bone and brass fittings. I found a good one with a working lock and engraved with the West Indies Company stamp and "1811". There is also a pic of this rifle in the photobucket album. A little trivia: Dr. Watson, Sherlock Holmes' sidekick, was shot with a Jezail.

That's all the exciting stuff. Took a nap. Went to dinner. Friday night is steak night. I had steak, crab legs, corn-on-the-cob, and Pralines & Cream ice cream for desert. Walked back to the safehouse and watched "Stomp the Yard". Horrible movie.

Out.

Several people have asked me what I'm doing here in Afghanistan after spending the last five years working as a Mortgage Loan Officer. I served in the Marines for fifteen years, my last command being the S-4 (Logistics Officer) for the 8^th Marine Corps District in New Orleans, Louisiana. I left the USMC in 2000 and got my securities, insurance, real estate and mortgage licenses, and worked as a loan officer for Mercantile Mortgage in Plano, Texas until last month.

I like a little adventure from time to time, so I decided to take a year off from the mortgage business and go to work for MPRI in Afghanistan.

Let's see if I can explain what I’m doing here in Kabul.

I work for a company called MPRI. MPRI stands for Military Professional Resources, Inc. MPRI is an L-3 Communications company. It is considered by some to be a PMC, or Private Military Company. PMCs exist, in part, because of decades of reduced military budgets and troop numbers. As our politicians have reduced the number of uniformed military, the military has explored ways of coping. They started contracting out essential but non-combat related jobs. When I was in the Marines, I remember about ten years ago our dining facilities (chow halls) were run by Marine cooks, and augmented by Marines on temporary assignment. Remember the cartoon antics of Beetle Bailey peeling potatoes? But then we transitioned to civilian-operated dining halls. A civilian company was contracted to run the Marine Corps dining halls which freed more numbers of Marines for combat specialties. That worked so well that the services began looking at other areas in which civilian contractors could help. Using civilian contractors was also cost-efficient. Now companies like Halliburton-KBR build, operate, and maintain roads, buildings, dining facilities, etc., all over the world on military contracts. Companies like ITT run military communications. Companies like MPRI are training, augmenting, and recruiting military forces.

MPRI is here, in part, to support CSTC-A (Combined Security Transition Command – Afghanistan).

CSTC-A works with the government of Afghanistan and the international community to reconstruct the Afghan security and defense sectors. CSTC-A is reconstructing the Afghan National Army, and the Afghan defense sector by recruiting soldiers, training Afghan recruiters, organizing the Ministry of Defense and mentoring its senior leaders and the General Staff, acquiring weapons, uniforms and equipment, as well as developing the policies and processes needed by a modern army to establish viable acquisition, personnel and other systems required to establish a working military infrastructure.

Afghanistan has been at war for decades. As a result, their military was decimated. CSTC-A is here to help rebuild it. I work for the Logistics Branch of MPRI. One of the things we're doing is establishing the ANA (Afghan National Army) supply system and training their soldiers to run it. CoreIMS is a tool we're using to automate inventory management and control. My job, specifically, is to develop a Program of Instruction (POI) to train ANA soldiers to use a Supply/Inventory software program called CoreIMS. One of the challenges, of course, is that the lesson plans, training materials, exams, etc., must be translated into Dari, the Afghan language. I have two ITs (Interpreter-Translators) who work for me--Aimal and Abdullah. I am qualified to do this because of my prior fifteen years experience in the Marine Corps as a logistics officer and training analyst/curriculum developer.

Entry for January 18, 2007

Been sick for the last two days. During our in-brief, they told us it was only a matter of time before we got sick because everyone does. Mine came quickly. We didn't go into work yesterday because the roads were Condition Black, meaning only mission-essential vehicle travel allowed. But Black was upgraded to Yellow around noon so Log personnel at D-1 and D-2 (Supply Depot One, where I work; and Supply Depot Two, where Greg & Mark work) went into work. My supervisor, Dana Cook, realized I was sick and told me to stay in bed. I stayed in bed today also. Only missed a half day today though, since the Islam weekend started at noon. Greg came into my room when he got back from work to check on me and take me to lunch, since we have to travel in pairs. Greg is a good guy.

We first met in Alexandria, Virginia, when my group of new hires arrived at MPRI headquarters for orientation and processing. In his late forties, Greg Johnson is a retired Army Sergeant Major. He spent 26 years in the Army, 23 of those in 82nd Airborne. His wife is a school teacher in Atlanta. His first job after retiring from the Army was with KBR in Iraq. Not the first person I met who previously worked for KBR, he says MPRI is a much better company--better management, better pay and benefits, better working conditions. Although is is competent and professional, he makes me laugh with his constant complaining. Not true complaining so much, but the way he does it. His voice and mannerisms will suggest utmost pain, sorrow, & humiliation over the smallest thing.

For example, last night we walked to the Aid Station to get some cold medicine for me on the way to dinner. We arrived shortly after 1700 (5:00 PM) and opened the door just as the medical personnel were about to leave. They said they were closed and I'd have to come back in the morning. I was a little perturbed because it didn't seem like it would be too inconvenient or time consuming for them to reach into the cabinet and hand me some meds, but I wasn't too upset because I could buy some Robitussin and Vitamin C at the PX after dinner. (Has to be after dinner because we aren't allowed to bring bags of any sort into the DFAC--could be concealing IEDs ). But Greg talked about that for the rest of the night, and reminded me of it this afternoon.

Another example was today. After lunch and a successful visit to the Aid Station for the aforementioned medicines, we stopped at MPRI Admin because Greg was expecting a package from his wife. His package was there. She mailed his goodies in a printer box. While all of us are thrilled to receive packages from home, Greg complained the whole way because of the size of the box he had to carry: "Why did she have to send such a big box?"

Walking back to the Falcon House from Camp Eggers, Greg griping about his big box, we were greeted by the usual assortment of children trying to sell scarfs, phone cards, and gum. I liberated an orange from the DFAC earlier and I gave it to "Flipper". Flipper is a kid with deformed arms. Afterwards I felt bad--I wonder how he's going to peel it? Next time I'll get an apple...

Interesting day today, but let's start with yesterday. Early afternoon yesterday I was sitting at my desk reviewing some POIs when I heard a "boom" and felt the conex shake. (My office is in a converted conex box.) I ran outside and saw two ANA soldiers pointing to the sky above us. They said it was an RPG (rocket propelled grenade). Later I heard that it was an RPG fired at the nearby UN compound. A little excitement, but we all went back to work.

Today I am sitting in my office when we are informed that a vehicle with explosives was just discovered at the front gate to nearby Camp Phoenix. Now I can neither confirm nor deny the following part, but here's what I heard. Guards noticed an unfamiliar vehicle approaching. It appeared to be loaded down and only had one occupant--the driver. They trained their weapons on the driver and demanded that he stop. Now at Camp Phoenix there is an Afghan national that is a story himself. His nickname is Rambo and he lost his family to the Taliban. On a revenge crusade, he has taken it upon himself to assist in the protection of Camp Phoenix. He has a big stick and regularly chases off any loiterers or beggars outside the main entrance. Well, when this vehicle with explosives was stopped outside the gate, Rambo ran to it, pulled the driver through the side window, and began beating him mercilessly. The gate guards rescued the driver from Rambo (no word on how quickly they moved to assist). Upon inspection, they found explosives in the vehicle. Sometime later this afternoon I heard a loud boom that shook my conex box much more vigorously than yesterday. I heard that it was EOD (Explosives Ordnance Disposal) disposing of the aforementioned vehicle. We also heard that yesterday's RPG was in fact a negligent discharge (which means it was one of ours that went off by accident--right).

02/13/07 Edit: Talked to a Navy officer today and the subject of Rambo came up. He heard about him from the internet. I did a Google search for Rambo Afghanistan and sure enough, other bloggers and CNN have written about him. Interesting stuff...

We took off early today in order to take a different route home. Typically we go back down Jalalabad Road right past Camp Phoenix. We took some back roads and I saw some scenery I haven't seen before. People keep telling me there are some "nice" things about Kabul, but I haven't seen them yet. Looks more like prehistoric times to me.

On this new route we go by the airport. There are workers with pick axes and shovels, wearing protective body armor and helmets. Trucks and an ambulance are idling near the street. The workers are clearing an old Soviet minefield. I heard they were workers from India hired to clear the minefield. They are paid $3.75 per cleared mine. Incredible.

We get back to Falcon House without incident. Alex, Kurt & I go to the gym (assaulted by Nebula et al. en route), get some chow, shop the PX, and head back to the house. Another beautiful day in paradise.

Edit: March 9, 2007 - Another news story about Rambo - http://news.yahoo.com/s/csm/20070308/wl_csm/orambo_1

Today was my first real day off. We take off on the Islamic weekend, which is Thursday noon through sunrise Saturday. Got up and went to the gym with Kurt and Marty at 0700. There are two gyms on Camp Eggers, also in what were previously Afghan houses. One has weight machines on the first floor and aerobic machines on the second floor; the other is primarily free weights. We went to the former this morning. I did the elliptical for 30 minutes then lifted for 30 minutes. The aerobic work here is harder than I'm accustomed to because of the elevation. Kabul is 6,000 feet above sea level, making it one of the highest capital cities in the world. Then we went to breakfast in one of the two DFACs (Dining Facility Administration Center). I don't know why the Army added "Administration Center" to the dining facility. I had an omelet with cheese, onion, and mushrooms; bacon; French toast; grits; coffee; juice; and a cookie. I didn't finish the cookie.

Then we walked back to our house, called the Falcon House. All of MPRI's houses have names. I piddled around and straightened up my room a little and then went to the Bazaar. Every Friday local vendors set up shop just outside the main entrance to Camp Egger. They had old guns, mostly old inoperable Afghan rifles. Apparently it is legal to buy them and ship them home if they're manufactured prior to a specific date which makes them antiques. (Orders, anyone?) I thought it was interesting that there were also a few old British swords; WW II German helmets and bayonets; and more recent Russian bayonets and belts with buckles. There were also lots of rugs, jewelry, clothes, fur coats, and pirated DVDs. I bought "We Are Marshall", "Rocky Balboa", "Freedom Writers", "Blood Diamond", and "Night at the Museum" all for $10 US. I don't know yet about the quality, but according to the folks that have been here a while, they are acceptable. Besides, what can you expect for $2? I met Greg there and we had lunch. I had a cheeseburger, scalloped potatoes, peas & carrots, Gatorade, and a cookie. I finished the cookie this time.

Then Greg & I got a driver to take us to another joint camp here called Camp Phoenix. Camp Phoenix is about twenty minutes away on Jelalabad Road. MPRI has vehicles with drivers available all day. Whenever we leave the immediate Camp Egger area, like going to work or another military installation, we are required to travel in pairs and wear body armor. We heard the PX on Camp Phoenix had items that the PX here doesn't have so we went to check it out. I got a backpack, t-shirt, and some batteries. Then we went upstairs and had a cup of coffee at a contract coffee shop called the Green Bean. They also had a Dairy Queen, pizza place, & pool tables. On the way from the front gate to the PX we saw two German armored personnel carriers (APCs) pulling out and a UN convoy pulling in.We walked out the front gate to meet our ride and were immediately assaulted by Afghan kids demanding one dollar. There was a mix up with the drivers and we waited outside for about 30 minutes waiting. I gave two kids each $1 to try some Copenhagen. I thought that would make them go away but they just announced their good fortune to some other kids nearby who also joined in the assault. We were warned not to interact with the kids because they don't want them to be encouraged. At least the kids at Camp Eggers try to sell something, scarfs; magazines; candy--but these kids were simply begging. You could tell which ones go to school and which ones don't by the quality of their English. We were finally rescued by our driver and made it safely back to Falcon House where I am writing this, waiting patiently for dinner. On Fridays they have surf & turf: steak and lobster or shrimp. I am really going to have to start working out more or you won't recognize my fat self when I get home...

I added more pics to http://s131.photobucket.com/albums/p296/rlanicek/ .

I don't really need anything that I can't get here or order online, but I did think of something you could send if you were so inclined: children's clothes. Instead of donating those unusable items (Danny & Kim and Shane & Sam), box them up and send them to me. Most of the kids I see around here are from 8 to 14 years old, but being under-nourished they are smaller than American kids of the same age, and they have little siblings at home if the clothes are too small. It appears to me that they could all use shoes.

That's all for now. More later. Out.