Spam Cake

Today is November 11^th. An ordinary day for most people.

In 1918, on the 11^th hour of this 11^th day of the 11^th month, the Germans officially surrendered, ending major combat operations in World War I. Subsequent acts of Congress made November 11^th, Armistice Day, a day to be dedicated to the cause of world peace. In 1953, a shoe store owner in Kansas felt the day should honor all Veterans. Through his connections with the local Chamber of Commerce and the Board of Education, he convinced other business owners and schools to close their doors in his small town to honor Veterans.  The idea caught on.

A special event occurred on base today in honor of military members past and present, especially those serving around the world and in danger.

A special event was held on November 10^th as well. The 235^th birthday of the United States Marine Corps.

The Marines typically put up with a lot of crap. For one, their budgets are usually lower than the other services, so they are forced to do more with less. They are teased for being a component of the U.S. Navy, and they’re not too happy about it. They have a reputation of being gritty, and willing to work and live in the sparsest of environments.  When one of them mentioned during the staff huddle that the kitchen wouldn’t bake them a cake for the event, the Army Colonels told them to just put icing on the Spam they eat so much.  There are not many Marines at my base (about 5% of base population).

But hand it to the Marines, because they don’t do anything half-assed.

The Air Force and Navy birthday celebrations were pretty predictable. All base personnel stood around the flag pole. A few speeches were made, the national anthem sung by whomever was the best singer from that service, and a recording of their fight song was played. Their events lasted 20 to 30 minutes each.

The Army Band
(photo courtesy D. DeLeon)

The Marines – they had a band. An Army band. How the Marines were able to get an Army band to play for them at their event is beyond me.  The band played background music while events were getting set up, they played the national anthem, and they played the Marines hymm. The band was choreographed to the motions of the Marines during the event. Live music on base is almost as rare as hot water for the showers.

Although in the morning there were two Marines mopping the platform under the flags (yes, they were mopping stone outdoors), we did not stand around the flag pole. That would be too basic. We were informed in advance exactly where we were to be positioned, along the main walkway in the courtyard.  And the Marines brought in a color guard to present the flags.  

USMC Color Guard
(photo courtesy: D. DeLeon)

March through formation
(photo courtesy: D. DeLeon)

The event was timed out precisely. Each Marine executed the exact same movement at the exact same time.  A video montage was presented. And a 2-Star General made an appearance to speak about what it means to be a Marine. The tradition, integrity and sacrifice that accompanies the uniform.  A cake that some Marines were able to obtain from another base was marched in.

After the cake was cut, it is Marine tradition to have the oldest Marine and youngest Marine take the first bites. The oldest, a Colonel, was born in 1956. The youngest was born in 1990. He would have been 10 or 11 years old when September 11^th occurred, and probably in the 5^th grade.

Youngest and oldest Marine
(photo courtesy: D. DeLeon)

The Marines make up 10% of the fighting force in Iraq and Afghanistan. Yet they make up 25% of the casualties. They are the front lines. They clear the paths that others take. Ned Dolan is attributed the quote:

"Freedom is not free, but the U.S. Marine Corps will pay most of your share."

Semper Fi.

The Few, The Proud
(photo courtesy: D. DeLeon)

Run Forrest, Run!

There’s a lot of food here. They have four formal feedings a day. For the sake of the buttons on my pants, I only partake in three. The fourth is a midnight chow and I’m usually in bed by then, except for the occasional Saturday when I have to stay up late to watch college football. So I’ve had a couple midnight meals but they are the exception.

I treat every meal as if it is the last time I will see all the food available. You never know when somebody is going to take out one of the food delivery trucks or if Pakistan will close the border again. So In my mind, if I don’t get a taste of everything good they have to offer, I may not get the chance again. Who knows if jambalaya will ever make a return to the menu? And what if the ocean runs out of crab legs? I’d kick myself for not getting one last taste. And my favorite meal of the day, breakfast, features a made-to-order omelet station. It’s my responsibility to keep the host nation griddle master employed so he doesn’t turn into an insurgent.

If that wasn’t enough, they have a snack shelf. It’s full of potato chips from Dubai, Pop-Tarts from Battle Creek, and Beef Jerky from wherever Jack Links is manufactured. So you grab these and stuff them strategically in your office and in your room. Then my Mom and sister, Karen, send me a box of cookies and snack mix, and I ask them for more, and receive more. Then my coworkers get Tasty Cakes and they share. Then some random middle school sends care packages full of Girl Scout cookies, homemade cookies, candy and crackers.  With a surge in troops came a surge in calories.

So after about a month, I was 8 pounds heavier. At first I thought the gravity was stronger on this side of the planet, and it was throwing off the scale. It turns out that wasn’t the case because of something stupid called physics.  I then blamed the mandatory malaria pills for making me bloated. It turns out crazy dreams are the side effects of malaria pills and not bloating, and we’ll save that topic for a future post.

I’ve acknowledged there is an imbalance between calories in and calories out. So to compensate, I’ve started hitting the gym more, and running, lots of running. The perimeter road, in fact the only road, on base is about a kilometer once around. I try to do at least 3 or 4 laps each run. It turns out I’m not the only one who likes to run. Besides seeing many others out there for a jog, we’ve had a couple 5K races that I’ve participated in.

The first one celebrated the U.S. Air Force’s 63^rd birthday. Some Navy guy won it.

The second was for Hispanic Heritage month. Some white guy won it. In fact, the same guy who won the Air Force 5K. Apparently Navy submarines are great training grounds for distance runners.

The base has decided to suspend all future 5K’s until that Navy guy goes back home.

Below are some pics of Air Force Birthday event, my official 5K t-shirt, and the Hispanic Heritage month 5K run.

The official T-Shirt of the 63rd U.S. Air Force Birthday 5K.

Ceremony honoring the USAF 63rd Birthday later that day.

The start of the Hispanic Heritage Month 5K. I'm the crazy civilian wearing blue.

The final straightaway to the finish line.

Same old, same old.

We’re creatures of habit. We like to follow routines. Wake up at the same time; eat dinner at the same time. Do your morning routine in the same fashion while getting ready. Etc.

When I came over here I viewed it as an opportunity to change things up. Try living in new ways, and get away from having things always in a certain sequence. I was determined to bring some variety into my life and not get caught up in everyday routines.

Well, it’s hard. And I quickly fell into the routines of working out at the same times doing the same exercises, having egg white omelettes and oatmeal for breakfast each morning, and going through the same order of things when I get into the office.

On Fridays, it is considered a “low battle day.” That means we can start work a little later, perhaps 9:30 or 10 a.m. instead of the usually 7 a.m. So this past Friday I decided I would change things up, go in a little later than usual, and work out in the morning. I ran the perimeter road counterclockwise instead of clockwise. I was breaking my normal routine and it was going to be a great day because of it.

Our showers are located in a large tent that has about twelve individual shower stalls. Since I was on a mission of change, I decided I would pass up the third stall on the left, my usual, and go to the fifth stall. It was going to be a great day.

I went to move the showerhead so the initial spray was directed away from my head, and the showerhead broke off. Great. So I moved to the fourth stall on the left.

I adjusted the showerhead in this one and turned on the water. It came out in a tiny, hard stream. It was like a super-soaker squirt gun stream, but really hard. I was not about to take a shower with a stinging squirt gun as my water source. So once again I moved…to the third stall on the left.

I was back in my usual place. It felt good to be there. I turned on the water. It was cold. No hot water today.

Son of a #$%&*! They better have egg whites at breakfast.

ESPN's Monday Night Buzkashi

Salaam Alaykom.

I recently took some basic Dari language and cultural awareness training. It’s part of the counter-insurgency strategy to have a better understanding of the local culture and how to deal with it effectively.

 

Salaam Alaykom means “hello, peace be upon you.”

A proper response is Wa Alaykom Asalaam, which means “and peace be upon you.”

I practice these sayings and others with the cleaning crew, who I believe is a mother with her two teenage kids and one of their buddies.  When I say hello in Dari to them, they get a kick out of asking me questions in Dari to see if I know what they are saying. The worst part is they know English quite well, but enjoy watching me stumble through their language.  I’m still learning swear words in Dari so please don’t ask me to share those words until I practice them more.

In most countries outside of the United States, football is the national sport. Not football in the sense of the NFL , but soccer. But Afghanistan is one of the few countries where soccer is not the national sport. It’s popular, but there is something better.

It’s called Buzkashi.

Translated, it literally means “goat grabbing.”

It’s a field game of 10 to 12 players per side. The teams must transport the headless carcass of a calf or goat, weighing up to 130 lbs., the length of a football field and back, and then over a goal Line, without dropping it or allowing someone from the other team to wrestle it from them. No knives or the direct physical attack of the person carrying the carcass is allowed.

[photo obtained from training presentation]

The origins of this game are believed to go back to the era of the Mongol conquest, when the Mongol riders would hunt, kill and pick up goats without dismounting from their horses. The story goes that Afghan horseman learned to fight back and retook their animals from the Mongols who wanted to ride away with the livestock. Today it is the official national sport of Afghanistan.

Supposedly one of their star buzkashi players retired two years ago, then cried on TV and said he wanted to come back. He went to a new team, then again said he was done. Then cried again and came back. What a crazy country!

The training also provided background on the various ethnicities, traditions, and history of this country that I’ll share in future posts. One startling fact is that the country was more advanced and progressive in the 1950’s than it is today. Due to decades of wars (Soviet occupation, civil war) and the working of the Taliban and their ultra-conservative ways, Kabul went from a city with theaters and other modern luxuries, to a virtually destroyed metropolis with two traffic lights and unreliable electricity.

The below images are of a Girls Scout meeting and women at a record store, both in the 1950’s. It looks no different than pictures of America in the 1950’s. 

[photos obtained from training presentation]

Hopefully the younger people here like those cleaning our offices will realize what they are missing and bring this place into the 20^th century.

Roz e Khush.

Have a nice day.

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.