Looking Past the Numbers

This past week's helicopter crash that took 9 American lives has made this the deadliest year in Afghanistan. Sometimes it's hard to understand what the number mean. I found a feature on the CNN website that allows one to understand each one of those numbers a little better.

CNN Interactive Feature

Khostan...Tawanestan

This past weekend marked a couple of anniversaries.

One was marked by all Americans. September 11^th.

While it was business as usual here (as it is every day, including this past Labor Day), there were special moments.

As part of a routine to obtain a souvenir flag that flew over Afghanistan, I snapped the picture below of an Army Sergeant, who with the help of a Marine Sergeant, just finished lowering and folding a flag that was presented to someone. That someone was me.

The Sergeant, Mayline is her name, works in the Joint Manning and Personnel section, and has two kids at home. The youngest is just over a year old. She talked about her baby girl, having just seen her on Skype the night before.  But Mayline didn’t complain that she was perhaps missing her daughter’s first words, or first steps. She knew she had an important job to do, one that was created nine years ago this day.

The other anniversary is mine. My technical start date with the government is September 10, 2001, although I wasn’t actually in the office until several days later. I took my oath on  September 12, 2001, when I rode an eerily quiet El train into a much deserted downtown Chicago, where I encountered a federal building that was “business as usual.” I stood on the 36^th floor with my back against a window that framed the Sears Tower, and swore to “defend the constitution” as all federal employees do. I never thought I would have the opportunity to help do just that nine years later in the epicenter of that effort.

A more formal 9/11 event was held for all base personnel in late afternoon, around the same time the events in New York started to unfold nine years ago.  And while the event had some of the traditional moments of silence, playing of taps, and patriotic singing by the base choir, it also had something surprisingly different. It had an opportunity built into it for the American military and civilian personnel to thank the local Afghans and third country nationals, who work on the base, preparing our meals, cleaning our restrooms, emptying our trash, and washing our clothes. They work every day, regardless of whether or not it is their national holiday, and quite frankly, they do a good job. They were told that Saturday was their Labor Day.

At the end, the Command Sergeant Major of the compound yelled out for everyone to repeat, the U.S. Forces motto in Afghanistan:

Khostan…Tawanestan!

Khostan…Tawanestan!

Khostan…Tawanestan!

Which translated means, 

We Can…We Will

There is Still Some Room Up Front

Since arriving, I’ve been impressed with the many things the U.S. military does to make living here as comfortable as possible. From the food, the movies, the Armed Forces Network programming, and Internet accessibility, keeping continuity of a normal lifestyle is important. It removes some of the strangeness and helps keep many routines going that we all have back in the states.

This past Sunday morning, I went to church. And like everything else, they make going to church here as similar to the states as possible. The church itself is comprised of some of the finest materials. The angled ceiling and walls are made of the finest vinyl around. The grand lighting of fluorescent tubes, linked together with extension cords, provides a glow over the congregation.  The pews are constructed of welded tube frames, highly polished, that I’m sure came from Rome.

Even the attendees add to the day by wearing their finest camouflage, and polishing their weapons extra well that morning. The Marine who lifts the most weights in the gym, leads everyone in song. The Air Force Colonel who is straight business seven days a week, takes an hour break and reads. The Army Captian, who typically drives the combat vehicles, takes off the gloves to pass out communion. And the priest who has responsibility for most bases in the area, stands outside the tent in a gravel field wearing a traditional robe and greets everyone coming in, and going out.

The Chaplains office here caters to all religions:  Jewish, Protestant, Catholic, Latter Day Saints, Muslim, and they frequently ask people to let them know what is missing, so they can satisfy those individuals too. In a country where religious freedom doesn’t exist, a small patch of gravel in the center of town is open to all.

And since this was a Catholic Mass I went to, there were plenty of open seats in the front. Just like home. 

This is a picture of the base chapel.

Some pics of my new home

The new sleeping quarters. Entire bunk to myself.

Cool Down

I exercised today for the first time in about 3 weeks. During lunch, I ran the perimeter roadway within the base walls. Each lap around the base is about 1 kilometer. It was sunny and close to 90 degrees. After three laps, I was spent. I was soaked with sweat, huffing, and my legs were on fire. I started to cool myself down under the awning of a building with a bottled water. I wasn't sure how I was going to climb the steps back to my room.

One of the base guards, who is a local Afghan, walked by. In very broken English, he asked:

"You're family, is good? Family good?"

"Yes," I replied, "my family is good. How is yours?"

He said, "Good. Thank you. Garmi! Garmi!" and starts fanning himself.

I said, "yes, hot. Very hot today. Garmi."

He comes up to me, and points at the side of my head, my temple, and says, "Araq! Araq!"

I look at him puzzled, thinking he is saying Iraq (as in the country). He then draws a line down his own face with his finger and says, "araq."

"Sweat," I say. "Araq. Sweat." He nods approvingly.

He waves, and starts to walk away. About ten steps later, he stops, and comes right back to me, face to face. This man is probably in his mid-forties to mid-fifties, but he looks like he lived a very hard life. His face is weathered like leather, and I don't think he had ever been to a dentist. His eyes look tired and kind of sad at the same time. He comes within a half-foot of my face, lightly pokes me in the chest and says:

"Afghanistan good. America good. You good. I good," and then turns and walks away.

I ran one more lap.