Happy Holidays

Happy Holidays!  As 2011 closes I look forward to 2012 as it means my tour is now less than 90 days until I am back at home with my ladies.  Here is a look at my thoughts on Christmas Day here on FOB Airborne.

Here in Afghanistan it's much like any other day.  I awoke on this chilly Christmas to a clear sky and took my usual walk to our operations center.  That walk is often the best part of my day because of the serenity I feel before heading out on a mission or starting a seemingly endless stream of paperwork and meetings.  I've mentioned before that our FOB is on the side of a mountain which opens to the valley below and we have unobstructed views to the 14,000 foot mountains that are only a few miles away.

Enjoying our Christmas Tree sent to us by our friends,
the Sudbury Military Support Network

This morning those peaks have a fresh coating of snow and are sparkling in the clear air.  It's a beautiful site as the sun rises and casts hues of rose and peach in the sky just above the snow.  The moon is hanging as a crescent, rasting on highest peaks and seems to be a reminder that we're spending Christmas in a Muslim country.

I am very thankful that this morning I was able to Skype with my girls and read them our traditional "'Twas the Night Before Christmas."  I couldn't display video of myself because our connection is so slow, but it helped me feel connected to the girls.  The Skype call was especially nice because I was able to say hello my two great brothers, their wonderful spouses, my unceasingly supportive parents, and my future-hall-of-famer nephew as well.  My adorable, heart-melting twin nieces were already in bed, but I'm hopeful I'll be able to say hello to them soon.

As the day went on, it was business as usual here in Afghanistan.  Missions, planning, coordination, though one phone call helped me realize just how good I have it here in Afghanistan at my FOB.  Another team leader in an area that was recently hit by a massive vehicle-borne IED is living without heat in his tent and without hot water for the showers.  Hot meals are a rarity, and morale is depressingly low during this Holiday season.  The IED destroyed a number of facilities at the FOB including the dining area and the living areas.  Thankfully there was not a significant loss of life, but that was a few weeks ago and they are still trying to recover.

I thought about my hot shower this morning and the nice meal they are planning tonight and feel incredibly guilty.  Yes, I'm away from my family and miss them terribly, but I am at least somewhat comfortable here whereas many of my friends are spending their sleeping hours shivering and going weeks without showers.  It is true that there are different levels of sacrifice we all face here in Afghanistan and I'm keenly aware that mine is not near the equivalent of others.

The day ended with a very nice meal in the dining tent replete with decorations and fresh cooked foods.  We enjoyed each others company, shared stories of our kids we chatted with during the day and bragged about our amazing wives holding everything together back home.  We took our time to eat and didn't rush back to a mission or a meeting, we were done for the day.

My room has a strand of Christmas lights and I'm listening to the Boston Pops Holiday CD on my iPod.  My iPad is flipping through the pictures of my girls from Christmases with family in Massachusetts, Colorado, Ohio and New York.  I guess I can add Afghanistan to that list.

I'm enjoying thinking about next year and how much more personal and meaningful it will be for me, trying to keep awake because tomorrow is just another day.  At least the tomorrow's are starting to add up, each one another day closer to being home.

With All Good Intentions

Today took us outside of the wire to a local bazaar.  We are often asked to identify how well businesses are doing, how they perceive their micro-economies and how

Forgive and forget

Growing up I was taught to forgive and forget.  Those that know me best understand all too well that this has always been difficult for me.  It's not so much the forgive part, but the forgetting.  It's a constant effort to ensure that I don't allow my mind to over analyze or self deprecate about things that have happened in the past.  Forgiveness given and received should relegated to the unused recesses of our minds so that past transgressions don't consume the present. 

Sometimes just listening helps elders open a
dialog to resolve their own issues.

Afghanistan has a completely different philosophy when it comes to transgressions that may deserve forgiveness.  A man who has been crossed will often harbor ill will, as will his son, and his, and so on.  When I travel among the local populace I will often encounter an elder who has a story to tell.  Many times this story is about something that is troubling him or his family.  A goat that was stolen by a fellow villager's grandfather from his grandfather thirty years ago is still a raw wound, a great grandfather who repudiated another man's daughter after years of marriage can lead to decades of fighting.  Many of these conflicts make the Hatfields and McCoys appear to be merely quibbling siblings.

The history of conflicts between people and families runs deep here in Afghanistan.  The conflict can lead to assaults, rapes, and murders.  There is seemingly no limit to the extent a family will seek badal, the Pashtunwali word for "justice."  What is interesting, however, is that when we attempt to help mediate the decades old troubles, there is an element of forgetfulness if not forgiveness.

A recent opportunity to work with two village elders to resolve a water resource issue was ultimately determined to be due to a land dispute that had been going on for half a century.  Afghanistan has no land records that are credible so there is no way to objectively determine where land boundaries are.

We took the time to talk with the elders to find the root cause and went through years of family scorn, killing of livestock and other heinous acts.  But most flustering was that in the end, neither of the men could point to the original reason why the dispute arose other than it was a dispute over who owned what land, but even then they couldn't say exactly what land.  They had forgotten the root cause.

Qur'an verse 24:22 says, "They should rather pardon and overlook.  Would you not love Allah to forgive you?"  Sounds very familiar to forgive and forget.  I have to be extremely cautious about quoting the Qur'an here in Afghanistan, many Muslims would be deeply offended if they knew that I've studied the Qur'an and the Hadith.  Yet still I try to casually ask them what they felt about Allah's forgiveness and sometimes, though less often than I would like, it helps forward the debate between the conflicted parties.

The Afghan populace must learn to forgive and forget, or at least forgive and move on.  Harboring decades - or even centuries - of discontent will only continue to lead to violence.  When the NATO security presence leaves, the country will be left with resolving its own conflicts.  What better time to embrace the words of the Qur'an, pardon and overlook the past in order to build a new and prosperous future.

Until next time

Most of us have experienced the signs.  It starts with a strange sensation in the throat, a feeling that you want to swallow but you just can’t.  You’re not really sure what it is yet, there’s a lump that seems to be growing.  Then your nose twitches as you try to breathe more deeply so that the feeling goes away.  But when the eyes start to blink and feel warm and wet as they do when the sun is too bright on a lazy day at the beach or a crisp morning on the slopes, you recognize the signs.

Then the battle begins.  Your amazing wife is doing her best next to you on the drive to the airport to hold in her emotions and the wonderful girls in the back are quiet now, no more chatting about nothing that important to avoid talking about saying goodbye.  It’s only a couple of miles and the airport signs are everywhere now that tell you there are only a few precious minutes left. 

After a what seems like an hour of quiet I tell Marianne, “Hey, don’t forget to send me pictures when you ride.”  What shallow words, I think to myself, as I look for anything to say to break the tension.  We all know what we’re thinking and feeling, and the sullen “Ok, daddy” response makes me feel worse.  Caitlin demands, “Daddy, you have to send more videos!” and I realize that for the next few months, that’s all the personal contact we’ll have.  “Ok, I’ll try,” I reply knowing full well how bad my internet connection is and that it’s a promise I’ll likely break.

The terminal is in full view as I'm trying to will the car to head to arrivals instead of departures as we turn off to the terminal.  “Ok, quick hugs, no long goodbyes, I’ll be home before you know it!”  No response, but I didn’t really expect any.  The car pulls up to the curb and we all hop out, grab my bags and put them on the side, and then hug and kiss each other goodbye.  It’s easy not to say much when there’s nothing worth saying that hasn't been said in the past few hours.

These last few, quiet minutes speak volumes about our family and what we feel about each other.  We don't hear the hushed din of traffic or the bustle of people moving in and out of the terminal.  What can be clearly heard is Caitlin’s nervous giggle, Marianne’s labored “goodbye” and Carrie Lou’s stifled sniffle.  One, two, a dozen hugs later and we’re all holding it together pretty well. 

The girls hopped back in the car, a couple of hugs and kisses more, then Carrie Lou pulled away from the terminal with Caitlin nearly out the window.  She kept waving and yelling "Goodbye!" long after she could see me.  A deep breath, a wipe of my eye and I turned into the terminal to start my long journey back to Afghanistan.

I told the girls I'd be home before we knew it.  I wish I believed that.

Breaking up is hard to do

During every deployment there is a process called RIP/TOA, which stands for Relief in Place/Transfer of Authority.  This happens when a new unit comes into theater and then when they leave again.  It's a fancy acronym for the process that relieves one command as another takes charge.

Our Civil Affairs company arrived in theater in the middle of our higher unit's deployment and we recently welcomed a new higher unit to my FOB here in Afghanistan.  For the past few weeks, we've been involved in the RIP/TOA process between the two units.  The old unit is heading back to the states, the new unit is just getting their feet wet, and I've made a few observations.

It's not better, it's not worse, it's just different.  I keep this phrase foremost on my mind during a deployment transfer process because it speaks volumes about the changes and challenges you encounter.  One unit's way of doing business is usually very different from another unit's.  For example, we are in the process of transitioning Afghanistan into the hands of the Afghans as we look to extricate a significant military presence by 2014.  Because of this strong effort, the military is stepping back to allow the Department of State to take a much more prominent role.

This has a direct impact on how we do business on the military side.  You could say the old unit, with ownership of the area, did it better by entrenching themselves at every level of Afghan government.  You could say the new unit has made it worse by stepping away from this involvement.  But I don't think that's the case, it's just different.  The new unit has a new set of challenges in relationship to the planned pull out of troops and as such needs to approach the problem set differently.  If that means reducing the prominence of the military in order to promote the prominence of the Department of State, even if it reduces our influence, it's the right decision.

First impressions shouldn't be lasting impressions.  The old commander of this area was a very affable, if formidable, leader.  He often joked with his staff and was very inclusive in his leadership style.  The new commander's first impression was exactly the opposite.  A stern, smile-less face accompanied him on many of his first meetings leaving many of us that served both units with the impression that he was difficult, unyielding, and solely focused on the kinetic fight.

I had the opportunity to meet with him one on one the other day and he is anything but his first impression.  The man is genuinely intelligent and understands the importance of the governance and development efforts we're undertaking here in Afghanistan.  I look forward to working with him over the next few months.

Complacency here has a whole different meaning.  One of the biggest problems you face when leaving theater after a year-long deployment is "senioritis."  Many of us have experienced this in our high school years, that time between exams and graduation when you relax your standards, take greater liberties with those around you and sometimes simply not show up.  But here in Afghanistan, senioritis gets you killed.

About a month before this unit pulled out, another unit under our Brigade became complacent.  When you are out on a mission to an area you've been before, it doesn't matter if you've been there once or a hundred times, you never try to do the same thing twice in the same place twice.  That gives the enemy the ability to judge your patterns and prepare an effective assault.

That small unit went out on a patrol and in their complacency, ignored these rules and stopped at the same place to rest at the same time three days in a row.  On the third day, an IED was set off where they would rest - they lost two soldiers and a few others will spend a long time in recovery.  We don't have the option of ever letting our guard down, whether it's day one or it's day three hundred and sixty five.

You never forget the friends you make in war.  When the old unit's last personnel were on the bird and flying away, I was genuinely sad about watching these friends leave.  It wasn't about them going home without me, it was that the relationships we developed were formed more quickly and were more lasting than they would have been if we had known each other in the civilian world.

Billy Joel wrote lyrics some years ago about soldiers from the Vietnam war where he sang, "we would all go down together."  These soldiers and I had been in firefights, been hit by IEDs, run to bunkers when the mortars came flying in, and said a final goodbye to friends that didn't make it the whole tour.  I will miss those soldiers but I am happy for those that were able to return to their families and friends.

The future will be challenging as we continue to push for transition here in Afghanistan.  I head home on leave soon and am not looking forward to getting on the flight back here.  I know things will continue to change when I'm gone and I'll need time to re-adjust on my return.

I know I've already changed a bit myself from this experience.  I'm not any better, not any worse, I'm just different.

Character by association

An open letter to my best friend:

I read a Japanese proverb today, "when the character of a man is not clear to you, look at his friends," and couldn't stop thinking what a difference you and your friendship have made in my life.  It seems only yesterday when we met though it was so long ago I had hair on the top of my head, I was very single and wasn't really thinking about the future.

When we met, I didn't think we were going to develop a friendship that was going to last this long.  We were simply too different, you had your own path to follow and me, well, I really didn't have much of an idea what path I was on let alone where it was heading.  Our friendship had a few stalled starts because that's sometimes how life happens.  Building friendship - true friendship at least - is something we had to work at.

Over the years our friendship has developed such that trust is implicit, communication is easy and we've discovered a great many things that we share an interest in.  All the things a true friendship is supposed to be.  At some point it's good to have a friendship where the hard work is done and you can really enjoy just being friends and I'm grateful we've reached that point.  Sure, there are always things to do to make sure the friendship doesn't become stale, but that becomes less and less of an effort over time.

The benefit of being associated with you isn't that I can publicly claim you as a friend, it isn't that you have a pick-up truck I can borrow and it isn't that you host great football parties.  It's that you help make me a better person as I look to you for inspiration, an example of how to live my own life.

If the Japanese proverb is correct, then I am deeply thankful for character by association.  I know you are regarded in the highest esteem personally and professionally, have an extremely positive outlook on life, are a great mediator with an even-keeled personality, and possesses an unimpeachable work ethic.  I am fortunate that by this association, people might look at me a little differently (and hopefully a bit more forgiving of my personality flaws) because of how they view your character.

I know that life is especially difficult for you right now, but I can say with certainty it's not impossible - something I learned from you that I wanted to remind you of.  I'm thankful that one of the most important lessons I've learned from you is how to put my own need for support off to the side to devote support to someone else.  I hope that I'm able to provide the same level of support, care and understanding that you've shown me over the years to help you get through the rough times.  It's your character to look on the brighter side of things, to look past the difficulties to the goal.  I'm hoping to remind you that it's your character, the true person you are, that will help get you through this.

I know things are difficult and I wish I could be there in person to help you through it all.  Just know how thankful I am that you have been my best friend for all these years and I look forward to many more.

I'll be home soon, I love you Carrie Lou.

Time

How many times have you thought, “If only I had more time!”  I don’t think it matters if it was while cleaning the house before your mother arrives, in the hours before college finals or when your boss is hovering over you because you didn’t get a 10-hour project done in 30 minutes.  In the end, it’s the same; the perception of time running out can be a strong motivator.

It doesn't get easier

Warning: some graphic detail.

A question I am often asked is, "does it get any easier the longer you are in Afghanistan?"  You might guess the short answer is both yes and no, somedays yes and some no.  Yes, it gets easier because more things become familiar and the pangs of family separation ease.  Yet also no, because all it takes is one day to remind you of all the reasons why you have resigned yourself that wiping the Taliban off the face of the earth is what may be required to cure this country of its ills.  It's those days that never get easier.

I am privileged to be able to work for peace and development here in an economically burgeoning province.  I work with local officials, meet with village elders, travel to project sites and meet locals feeding their families with American dollars on projects we sponsor.  It's rewarding and frustrating, but for the most part, my day is spent trying to help build Afghanistan.  But this day was not one where I felt positive; in fact, I could not have felt any more disheartened. 

This feeling started several days ago when I was meeting with a group of provincial line directors to discuss the status of some of our projects.  One of those projects is to help develop a local bazaar that is doing so well, it is running out of room.  It also could benefit from extending the municipal water supply and electrical grid to support business growth other than just necessities.  The people whose shops are in the bazaar are legitimate entrepreneurs, building their business in an area where they are under constant threat of intimidation and violence.  The locals you meet there are friendly and for the most part, the elders welcome us.

We discussed a number of options for the bazaar including how the Afghan government could also support its growth.  It was a productive meeting and we found a possible way forward.  Just as we were moving on to another topic, we felt a loud blast that shook the room's single pane windows to the point they might break from the shock.  What was surprising was the fact that none of us really seemed all that concerned.  These events are all too common.

The real disappointment came when we heard more details about the blast - it was an IED that was detonated in the same bazaar we had just talked about.  Our discussions then went from how to build the bazaar's capacity to how we might have to rebuild the bazaar.  The innocent civilian lives that are lost and the toll the Afghan people are extracting upon themselves is incomprehensible to me.  As we left the meeting, we all knew that even the best intentions, some things are completely out of our control.

The few days after that meeting was one of the worst and leaves me seething.  Two young boys, that were not yet teenagers, became entangled in the Taliban's web of violence.  I had blogged once before about the Taliban sending children into harm's way in order to draw attention or draw fire from Coalition Forces.  Thankfully they haven't been that successful; however, the Taliban are nothing if not resourceful at finding ways to wreak havoc on their own people.  

The two boys were apparently given money to emplace an IED on a road.  That IED went off prematurely and killed one of the boys instantly, the other boy had a chance to live.  He was rushed to the local Army base missing an arm and a leg, both torn off by the blast.  The only reason he was still alive is because he wasn't the one carrying the IED.  His courier was carrying him, covered in blood, and pleading with the soldiers at the gate to let him in.  

It's hard for a young soldier at a gate to weigh such a decision in his mind with precious little time.  He hesitated; unsure what to do, likely shocked by the scene, and called his higher.  The soldier couldn't understand the pleas for help in Pashto as frantic discussions ensued on whether to let the boy onto the base.  There are legitimate reasons for being cautious.  The Taliban try every tactic they can to gain an advantage, this could be another one of those tactics.

The officers in charge of the entry point rushed to put on all their kit (body armor, helmets, etc.) and get to the gate to assess the situation.  Meanwhile, the boy was fading and seconds became minutes.  By the time the decision was made to let the boy in and provide advanced care, the deepening pools of moist, red blood that filled around the feet of the man carrying him foretold the end of the story as the boy's wails had fallen silent - it was too late.  

I don't want to assume we could have saved the life of this boy, and I don't want to second-guess the actions of the soldiers at the entry point.  The boy's injuries were severe and the soldiers were just trying to prevent more lives from being lost.  The only bad decision that was made was by the Taliban, using children as their pawns in a sadistic game of chess.

I cannot see any quality in the Taliban leadership that speaks of honor or courage as they only impose fear and terror on their fellow Afghans.  I cannot see any actions by the Taliban to improve Afghanistan as they only seek to improve their own power base.  I cannot see any value in allowing their leadership to live.  The first time I had an insurgent in my sights, I hesitated as I wondered for a second whether taking his life would be the right decision.  I'm past that.

Promoting peace

Peace in Afghanistan is a difficult thing to contemplate, yet we try every day to bring the country a little bit closer to experiencing it.  The government is doing their part, we are doing ours, but the hurdles are significant. On this beautiful sunny day we had the opportunity to meet and talk with a number of local and national government representatives as we looked for avenues towards peace.  The gathering included local governance figures, village elders and religious leaders who were all proactively seeking peace. The meeting was replete with speeches, good food, music, and genuine conversation about the direction of Afghanistan and how to bring the country together.  We spoke of programs in place, the transition in 2014 and even how education of the Afghan children will be one of the most important things the Afghan people do in the coming decades. Voting was also a topic on the minds of many as the laws of Afghanistan have called for local elections to start in 2005 and municipal elections in 2010, but neither has materialized. War has been in this country for over three decades and has suffered for centuries before that.  The Great Game between Russia and Great Britain, the influences of Pakistan and Iran, and the influences of religious zealotry.  Challenges abound, but it will take decades more to know if the positive changes we are attempting today will have any staying power.

Quintessential "finger food" Developing a rapport with our partners Discussing a way forward on peace A local musician

How the Other Half Lives

People have often asked me what the living conditions are like in Afghanistan and it's hard to describe because my experience has been very limited. I live on a FOB (Forward Operating Base) which has many of the basic conveniences - hot meals, reasonably comfortable living quarters and relatively safety because of the size of the base. Some friends live at a COP (Combat Outpost) where things are bit more austere. Cots for beds in tents, some hot meals and less security because they are in more kinetic areas on smaller bases. Some friends are engaged in VSO (Village Stability Operations) and they sleep under the stars and eat MREs (Meals Ready to Eat). I even spent a few days at Bagram Air Field, which is huge, but still lacks the true comforts of home. But for all those experiences, this past week I've learned how "the other half" lives.

Part of our mission here in Afghanistan is to stabilize the country. I won't go into what stabilization means (that's a longer post for another time), but there is a specific framework for district stability that the government would like us to follow. The past few days I've been at the US Embassy in Kabul for the training on how to implement that framework. I can't say it's been a difficult time for me.

I am writing this blog post on a beautiful sunny day in Kabul, the clouds passing silently borne by the soft breeze that is often present during this time of year. You've heard me talk about sunny days before, but this is a little different. I'm also sitting on a gorgeous tiled patio under a pergola on a comfortable chair. My view is of the pool and the tanning bodies by the side of it. If that wasn't enough for you to ask, "In Afghanistan?" then let me draw your attention to the two couples playing tennis on the court next to the pool as their friends sip wine on the patio watching them play. Women feel safe enough here to undo the backs of their bikinis to avoid tan lines. Yes, I looked and took notes, can you blame me? This is a completely different way of life.

We walk to the dining facility each day through what we've nicknamed "the quad." It's a multi-story apartment home complex viewable from outside the wire. On the balconies of the apartment homes are outdoor grills and patio furniture, and last night we passed by a fun, music blaring, drinks-in-hand party on one of these balconies. The staff here are allowed alcohol, take their Fridays off for "mental health," and usually don't start work until about 0900. Mental health, are you kidding me? This is how the other half lives, therapy to deal with stress here at the Embassy when the coffee shop runs out of skim-milk for the cappuccinos.

My friends and I that are here from our FOBs and COPs can't even fathom this lifestyle. One of my friends didn't get a shower for a week because the water delivery didn't come, yet we passed by landscapers watering down the patio to keep it clean the other night. One of my other friends lives on a COP that doesn't have a green spot on it because it's all loose stone that's been laid on the ground, yet the grass here is beautifully green and well manicured replete with well tended rose bushes. Maybe we shouldn't be jealous, but we are, a little.

The real problem with the "other half" isn't this lifestyle, it's their perception of our lives in the countryside. Too many times during this class we've heard mid-level civilians refer to Afghanistan as "ready to transition" and how "safe" it has become. Just a couple of weeks ago my unit lost two soldiers to a roadside bomb. Another soldier is going home from wounds suffered when his platoon went to visit a once "friendly" neighborhood. And a suicide bomber had a premature denotation that was close enough to be felt but not so close as to injure anyone. When we described these events and asked what they thought about their version of Afghanistan being safe, one response was, "Well, there certainly are safe parts. That's progress, right?" Sigh. She took out her phone from her Coach bag to take a call and stepped outside with her iced coffee.

Apparently we're not getting the message through from the troops on the ground. Or those in Kabul are too busy sipping their lattes on the grass during their hour long lunch breaks to listen. Either way, the other half is living the dream while my soldiers live the nightmare. My goal is no longer to put into place this new framework and do yet more reports. My goal is to find a way to get the message through, loud and clear. Someone's ready to listen, we just have to find the receptive ears.

Side note: some of my friends have commented that my posts seem to be out of sequence or difficult to follow if heard one to the next. I apologize, but that's by design. I randomly assign days for my posts to appear in order to disassociate events from dates. I hope you understand.

An Eid Celebration

Today is the first day of Eid ul-Fitr as I write this, the Muslim holiday that signifies then end of the holy month of Ramadan. Eid is an Arabic word that loosely translates to “festival,” and Fitr to “breaking a fast.” Muslims do not consume food or drink from sunrise to sunset during Ramadan and then celebrate the end of fasting by inviting families and friends together for three days of celebration.

I was invited to an Eid celebration with the Governor and local leaders this morning and it was the most joyful and happy event I’ve attended here in Afghanistan. The table was set for approximately fifty people and we laughed and talked for about an hour as we ate some wonderful food, listened to beautiful music and relaxed without a mention of anything other than life, God and families.

The celebration started as a rubab player – a type of lute common in Afghanistan – strummed traditional Afghan folk songs on his beautiful instrument. The rubab had a fret board inlaid with mother of pearl and a body made of dark mulberry wood. The body of the instrument was well worn but meticulously cared for by a professional musician. As I listened to him play, his focus intent on the music, it was a joy to watch his hands dance to effortlessly across the instrument as he evoked the passion of one consumed by his art.

I sat next to the leader of agriculture for my province and he told me what the first few songs were about. The words, had there been a singer, would have told stories of harvest and rainfall, the blossoms of spring and the snows of winter, the joys of children and the beauty of Afghanistan. The music was tied to the earth, to the acknowledgement that sustenance comes from the earth and from God, and man is but a pawn on his board.

We laughed as we talked about how much more relaxed Afghans were once they could break their fast, and we spoke fondly of our love for our respective countries. He is a man that is committed to playing a role in helping Afghans help themselves in order to be self-sustaining. Educated, intelligent and engaging, he is a leader whom people follow because they choose to, not because they have to.

Our conversation and our enjoyment of the music were accompanied by a delicious spread of Afghan specialties. We enjoyed a sweet tasting bread that reminded me of a honey infused, cake-like corn bread, dark yellow in color on the outside and light yellow on the inside. It was a bit denser than Carrie Lou’s light and fluffy cakes that I miss very much and had a granular texture like some corn breads that would melt in your mouth. The rich flavors would linger the palette and accompanied by a Sheer Chai, a traditional Afghan drink, the pungent tea balanced well with the sweetness of the bread.

The morning was beautiful, not too warm and a bright sun above, as we left the large dining room to continue the celebration outside on the lawn of the Governor’s office. Laughter and joy were obvious from most that were in attendance and it did not take long before the dancing began on the grass. The traditional Afghan dances have similarities to many other ethnic dances with jumping, spinning, clapping, and lots of body movements. One of my counterparts from USAID invited me (challenged me?) to join the dance on the lawn. It was difficult to learn at first. As I continued dancing, distinct patterns emerged and I looked slightly less the village idiot from the FOB.

We were soon laughing, spinning and clapping with many others in a circle as we danced to the sound of traditional Afghan drum. The tabla has animal skins on either side, one side is played with a large stick and is a lower, bass drum like sound while the other is played with a thin stick that produces a higher, more percussive pitch. The variation of sounds the musician was able to make with this instrument was astounding. We danced to two different tunes and musical patterns that had me dizzy from all the movement.

Soon the Afghans needed to continue their Eid festival in their own way and we started to depart. The Governor went on to visit the sick and needy in the hospitals, the officials went to other charitable and village events, and most of the staff returned to their homes to visit and enjoy time with their families.

For three days, the government will be shut down and people will be celebrating. The danger hasn’t passed and our situational awareness returned to a high level of alert shortly after leaving the celebration. But for those few hours, I saw a side of Afghanistan I’ve been hoping to see. A people proud yet humble, who are joyful and engage me as a friend, not just soldier.

I truly hope I have more opportunities to be a part of this Afghanistan, the Afghanistan as it can be, as it should be.

Peace and Quiet

“I just wish I had some peace and quiet!” Many of us use this phrase with exasperation when we feel overwhelmed by what is going on around us. The constant communication we receive from the many different parts of our lives – children, phones, e-mails, colleagues – can often seem like incessant interruptions of our thoughts. It’s no different out here in Afghanistan, there is noise everywhere.

The activities of my day usually bombard me with constant noise. I wake up to the sound of HVAC units running in my room. I walk to the showers and the chow hall past noisy diesel generations. Our FOB is constantly receiving aircraft landing just a few hundred yards from where we live and work. When I am out on a mission, the noise of the massive engines on our MRAPs is at times deafening. Even walking back at night under the stars, I continue to hear the trucks, the generators, the helicopters. It seems everywhere I go, I wish for peace and quiet.

Back home, I would tell Carrie Lou that I wished for peace and quiet when the girls were rowdy, or when I was just trying to concentrate on something. I would wish for peace and quiet when I would be interrupted in my office in Cambridge on really busy days. I would wish for peace and quiet when some yahoo on Memorial Drive is impatient and won’t let off his horn because he can’t speed home.

I thought about all of this on my walk past the generators and the MRAPs heading out on mission last night and I realized that what I really wanted was the peace and quiet of home.

I started to realize what peace and quiet really meant to me, and it wasn’t devoid of sound. It meant listening to soft snoring of my girls after they fell asleep at night. It meant the crackle of a warm fire with a good book. It meant the soft breeze through the trees on a warm summer day.

I don’t really want peace and quiet. I want the peace of being around my family, and the quiet that accompanies just being around each other.

The Value of Life

Insurance companies make a living providing a service that places a value on things we feel are important. They value lives, material goods, and even perceptions. The dollar amount of a life is often accompanied by a vast set of calculations, actuarial tables and medical examinations. When the value of a life is calculated because of a death or injury, often those that are younger are valued higher because they have more years of lost earning potential than those that are older.

Our society mirrors this value proposition. We value our sports athletes higher when they are younger. We revere the aged athlete, but they don't usually carry the same value for advertising, ticket sales or even points they can score. We also often value higher what is hip or young or new. The plaid bell bottoms that were all the rage in the 70s (thanks mom!) are simply not valued high enough for someone to wear in public today. If you can find them now, they are usually cheap and at a second hand store.

I feel I can say with certainty that my family and I value our children highly. They are young, they are dear to us and none would apply a monetary number to any of them. As Caitlin might say, I value my girls "infinity plus infinity!" They can be everything we weren't, or everything we wanted, or even surprise us with nothing we've dreamed about all on their own.

What does it say, then, about a society that doesn't value children? Are they less of a society? It's a difficult question to answer without arriving at a conclusion that is influenced by our own society and up-bringing.

I've asked myself about society here in Afghanistan and what it values after hearing some recent information on new tactics of insurgents. I have been going over the implications in my head trying to understand the incomprehensible. The insurgents know the Americans will pay "solatia," a payment to a family when an innocent Afghan is killed as a sign of good will regardless of fault. The insurgents also know that children injured or killed in fighting, regardless of who is to blame, is bad press for us and good press for the insurgents.

The new tactic was simple for insurgents. When the Americans come to a hostile area, they would send out children of the villages to open areas between where the Americans were and where the insurgents were hiding. The insurgents would then initiate a fire fight when the children were directly between the two fighting forces. The intent was simple. If a child was injured, the insurgents could use that as propaganda, and if the child was killed, propaganda and money for the village.

How can we fight this and have a hopeful future for Afghanistan? How do we even attempt to apply reason to an insurgency that places so little value not only on their lives, but on the lives of their children? Muslim men believe that they will be rewarded by Allah with virgins in heaven. What reward do they believe their children will be granted?

I am overwhelmed by fury, sadness and confusion. I simply can't understand it, and maybe it's because I've been fortunate enough to have parents that have always shown me love and support. Even when I was younger and not always making the right choices, I still couldn't imagine being sent into a field in the hopes that by my injury or death I could be used for propaganda or for a new wall around my home.

Since learning this, the number of emotions and memories that have reminded me of my girls are innumerous. I remember Marianne on my chest and holding her as she slept when she was only a few days old. I remember Caitlin's first smile when we didn't know if it was a smile or gas. Marianne's first tooth she lost, Caitlin's winter outfit on the swing in two feet of snow when her grandparents came to visit from Ohio. Marianne's first day of school, Caitlin's just two years later, cross country meets, dance shows, band concerts, software programs, videos, hikes up mountains, softball and soccer games, and going to see the Red Sox.

When I would talk to people returning from Afghanistan who ultimately came to detest Afghans, I always wondered if I would be able to give the Afghans the benefit of the doubt. I'd thought to myself, "They don't have the resources for education," or "They need to develop their economies to help people find jobs," and even, "They have been burdened by centuries of war and conflict." I had thought there would be a logical explanation and a logical path to a just and successful society.

As I laid there in the dark before falling asleep on the night I heard about this, I thought about my girls in their beds thousands of miles away. I thought about the night time tickle fights with Caitlin and the riddles with Marianne. I thought about how peaceful they look when they sleep, and how much I enjoy seeing them when they wake up.

I thought about what it would take for the insurgents to recognize the joy they could have for their children, how I might help them understand. That was weeks ago. I still haven't a clue.

The Orchards (Part 2)

The trip to the orchard was a beautiful, but brisk, walk in the woods. Carrie Lou and my brother Josh will remember me saying a few years ago we'd be taking a "brisk walk in the woods" as I took them to hike Mount Monadnock in New Hampshire. I don't know they've ever forgiven me for telling them that and then leading them on a trek up the toughest trail to the peak. But this to the orchard trip was truly brisk, brisk as when you have too many bushes and trees and small knolls around for people that don't like you to hide in.

There were beautiful trees and plants along the way, some bright purple flowers in the fields of golden wheat and white barked trees that reminded me of birch. The grasses were a pale green and tall as they swayed in the breeze that day. Everything about the trails to the orchards put my mind in a different place.

Gone was the hard pounding of pavement or the pinch of small rocks that are on the FOBs. Gone too was the smell of diesel fumes from every direction and the constant din of rumbling generator engines. We didn't pass one single port-a-potty and the wretched smell because the contractors wait too long to clean them. And the air was clearer as there weren't any vehicles around kicking up the dust into the air. We even crossed an old wooden bridge over a creek, each end having a large, elm-like tree that seemed to stand guard. It was a genuinely different environment than I have yet experienced here.

When we arrived at the orchard, things didn't seem all that bad. There were some trees that had some obvious problems (lack of water, lack of nutrients, etc) and some apples that had spots, but for the most part the crop looked good on the trees that had apples. It was the fact that many of the trees had no apples at all that was the greatest concern. We talked amongst ourselves and our experts did some assessments of the trees and the crop. As we were doing this, another group of students appeared as they were curious what we were doing.

I wasn't all that much help assessing the trees and the crop, so I took some time to talk to this new group of students. My interpreter and I asked them if they were skipping school, if they lived near by, and who was in what grade. The boys were laughing, at ease around soldiers and happy to talk about things on that sunny day.

I was curious about their school life and what they thought about being in school. Their classes, the school itself and their teachers are obviously different here in Afghanistan. Everyone I asked told me their favorite class was Islam and their second favorite class was Pashto (the native language in this part of Afghanistan). It was curious that they all had the same answer and while I was interested in pursuing that further to see if they were conditioned to answer the question that way by their teachers, another comment took me down a different path.

One small boy said his favorite class was Islam and his second favorite Pashto as had all the other boys, and in the same, metronomic way. But he had a larger than life smile when he told me his third favorite subject was computers. I asked him what about computers interested him and he said, "Everything!" He went to talk for about five minutes about all that he had learned, the typing on the keyboard, clicking the mouse, changing the pictures, even writing a letter. He was so excited, wanting to tell me everything and, I think, impress me with all he had learned. I was excited to see him happy and asked him if he thought he would continue to learn more about computers. He replied, "I will learn everything!"

Some of the other boys started talking about their experience with computers, but none were as excited as the first boy. It was clear he had found his calling in his mind and he was, at what seemed to be 12 or 14, ready to go to college and just study computers all day long. I asked some of the boys what they thought they would do once they finished school. Some said go back to the farms, some said go into government, but the excited boy told me he was ready to go to the United States to learn more.

I asked him to tell me why he wanted to go to the United States and he replied, "No one can teach me here." That was a curious reply so I mentioned that the university in Kabul had many programs that he could study but before the interpreter finished telling him what I was saying, his head was shaking no. He told us that he knew there was no future for him in Afghanistan, and his parents wanted him to leave and study and be successful because they felt Afghanistan was going to go back to war after the Americans left. That was a very disheartening thing to hear.

Many of the other boys chimed in and had similar comments that they felt there really wasn't a future, most of them wanted to leave Afghanistan as soon as they could. Even the ones who said they wanted to farm after school said they wanted to go to Pakistan or Iran where there was always plenty of water and food and jobs. I didn't have the heart to tell them some of the hardships of what they'd experience being foreign workers in another country.

I left the boys and said thank you and told them I would visit again if I could. As I hiked back with the others, I couldn't help but think about sustainability and what the boys were saying. If you are training students to use computers, what good will that do them if there are no computers for them to use? If you are training them to be teachers, what good will that do them if there are no schools? What do we need to do to create sustainability so that a small boy can dream and actually realize his dream in his own country?

If the students at this age have already given up and feel their only opportunities are in other countries, Afghanistan is in for an even rougher future than I had thought. Winning hearts and minds is one thing, winning the hearts and minds of Afghanistan's future has to be one of our priorities.

The Orchards (Part 1)

I posted a blog a couple of days ago that mentioned a trip to an apple orchard. The trip included a stop where I had a nice conversation with an elder (see my previous post). After that meeting, we continued on to the orchard and had the opportunity to interact with children of the village as the students had just been let out of the morning classes.

We stopped outside of the orchards to wait for the local agriculture leader to meet us. It was our intention to meet with him and some of the farmers to talk about the trees, their land, irrigation, water management, and any other topics we thought would be helpful to them. As is often the case in Afghanistan, we waited quite a while. There is a saying here, "Inshallah," which means "Allah willing." To many Afghans, it's just an excuse to be late or to avoid doing something they should. Our American idea of time and time management simply doesn't apply here in Afghanistan. I hear it often as I wait for hours to meet with someone who doesn't call or let me know they will be late. When they arrive, they apologize and tell me Allah didn't will us to meet at the time we arranged. I could go on, but that's not the topic for today.

While we were waiting, dozens of elementary school aged boys swarmed around us. They tried to impress us with their knowledge of English and math in the hopes that we'd reward them somehow. Some of the boys recited ABCs, some counted up to 10 and 20 and 100, and some tried to have a conversation, "Hello, name my Abdul is." It seemed genuine and there was a lot of laughter from both sides as they practiced their English and we practiced our Pashto. Believe me, our Pashto was probably just as funny to the boys.

The boys kept asking for "pens" while we were talking to them. Pens are apparently scarce in classrooms and the kids know soldiers always carry pens with them. One of our soldiers carries about a dozen or so for times like this. He's a tall, strong soldier who by all appearances could have played linebacker in the SEC had he not donned a uniform and come to Afghanistan. But the gentle giant would also insist the boys ask politely for a pen, one at a time, and would joke with those that tried to go back to the end of line and get a second pen. It was nice to witness the interact between the soldier and the boys as they and he laughed often and heartily.

The difference in the clothing, speech and posture of the boys told me even in this small village there was a distinct set of classes. One of the boys had a beautiful shirt of deep plum embroidered with a gold color thread that was distinctly Afghan. He was not only one of the most polite, but his English was the best. He stood taller and straighter than the other boys and never pushed or slouched the entire time. He kept a small but clearly evident grin on his face the whole time, careful not to show too much emotion.

Many of the other boys had clothing of similarly earthly and bright colors, but their clothes were stained and tattered, an obvious indication that after school they had work to do on the family farm. They were more easily excited and interacted with us both vocally and physically. These boys were milling around everywhere, happy to not be in school or at home doing chores. They laughed loud and challenged each other to demonstrate which of them had the better English.

We soon had to leave this group of students as we headed off of the roads onto the trails that lead to the orchards. Our Afghanistan leader never did arrive, having claimed security, phone calls, forgetfulness, and finally a dead battery as the reason for not being able to meet us. "Well, let's try and meet in the next day or two to go over what we find today," is what we told him when we realized it was futile to wait. "Inshallah," he replied.

The Orchards (Conclusion)

A Blessing or a Curse

On a recent sunny day - they are all sunny days in Afghanistan - I traveled to a valley that is well known for its apple crop. Apple and apricot farming is a large part of the agriculture here in Afghanistan. These crops are locally grown and consumed, and much of the crop is exported to other provinces and other countries. I am excited about harvest time as fresh apples are one of my favorite foods.

My trip to the orchards was a hike through a bazaar and then onto trails that meandered through the orchards and the fields of the surrounding village. The bazaar in Afghanistan is the equivalent of a strip mall in the states, just a bit more rustic. This bazaar had a carpentry shop, a few fruit and vegetable shops, an auto repair shop and a number of smaller enterprises. The doctor was in as was the pharmacist, a bit shocking as it was to see the conditions in which they had to operate.

I had the opportunity to stop and talk with an elder of the village. It was a genuinely courteous meeting and he was happy to share his opinions and his thoughts about the village, the country and even his family. We spoke for over an hour and I learned a lot from him.

The elder and I spoke of our families at first when I asked about the population in the village. He said that it seemed to him the village population was changing, but that his family was growing too fast. He spoke very fondly of his wife with a huge smile as he told me a story of her cooking when they were first married and how much better it was today. I think many of us that are married have heard or told that same story before.

He was a proud father of nine and grandfather to many more, telling me how when his wife kept having children he went to his mullah (the local religious leader) and asked him what he could do to keep her from having more. The mullah told him, "Allah will bless you only with what you deserve." He laughed as he told me this story and said he didn't know if Allah was punishing him or blessing him. The sparkle in his eye and the jovial laugh convinced me that he truly believed he was blessed.

Our conversation turned to the government and the village, and his persona completely changed. Instead of leaning back, hands across his large belly, laughing and smiling when he was talking about his family, he leaned forward, his hands directed towards me and his eyes squinted and opened to emphasize his points. He was livid the government was taking so much money from the people. "What right do they have to keep the money that the people need?" It was obvious that his idea of big government meant the people in his village went hungry or without jobs. He didn't believe the government was doing anything to help them, no matter how many times they talked with their government officials. His voice was cold and stern as he talked of water problems, lack of health care, schools in disrepair.

We turned our conversation back to happier thoughts as we talked about the apples in the area. I mentioned how much I enjoyed Fall back in New England and that apple harvest was one of my favorite times of year. He invited me back to help pick the apples with a smile and said that I could help keep the children from eating all the apples they pick instead of putting them in the basket like they were supposed to. His smile and laugh meant we were back on a happier topic.

The elder was concerned about the crop as there were some problems on the village farms. Water was a bit more scarce this year and some of the trees seemed to be dying. We talked for a while of how to manage apple trees, that they have a short number of years of productivity and then they need to be harvested and new trees planted in a regular, planned cycle. He knew there was a cycle, but he wasn't sure what it was, they had always just guessed. I promised to put him in touch with some people that would help him understand better.

Part of the mission here in Afghanistan is to help promote sustainability. The Afghans rarely think beyond next month or next year, let alone five or ten years from now. The apple orchards are a good example. Historically, they have waited until after they have a sign about the productivity of the apple crop before cutting the trees down and planting new ones. They don't think proactively and plan for when that will likely happen and they end up in a situation where they might wait too long to take action. That impacts their ability to sustain a crop long term because it literally becomes feast or famine.

When we engage our agriculture teams with the local farmers, we are able to promote good harvesting techniques, reliable land management for farming and even how best to conserve the limited water they have access to. We want to help the Afghans realize their potential in farming and as important as sustainability, move them from sustenance farming to surplus farming. They already enjoy some surplus in their apple crop in the years where they have a good harvest. If they could improve their farming they would increase their ability to sustain that surplus year over year and provide financially for their families every year, not just the years when the crop is good.

The meeting ending cordially and I thanked the elder for his time. It is still a wonder to listen and see the similarities between their culture and ours. The worries of big government, the middle man always taking his piece, the love of family and friends. Not everyone in Afghanistan wants to share this much, but it's always a great experience when they do.

We're not in Kansas anymore

BOOM!!!! It was the loudest sound I'd ever heard. Last summer I sang with the Boston Pops on the Esplanade and was very close to the large guns the National Guard traditionally fires over the Charles River during the "1812 Overture." It was louder than that.

The sun was shining, as it has almost every day over here, and the air was mild following a mission to a local village. I had a good meeting with elders, ate lunch and caught up with a friend at another location along my route. I felt good about what had been accomplished that morning. We left to return to my main base and I started thinking about all the things I needed to get done that afternoon.

I was riding in the back of our truck culling my to-do list which seemed to grow longer every day. I started prioritizing my work as best I could and made some notes for myself to add even more to the to-do list. The back of our vehicles don't allow for a lot of viewing outside because of the limited visibility so there's not much else to do. The ear plugs keep out the drone of the massive diesel engines, the constant rise and fall you can feel through the vibrations in the seat, all of which makes conversation difficult. It seemed like just another day on just another road.

The sound and shock of the blast as it hit our truck shook me out of whatever quiet thought I had. The force of the blast slammed by head against the back of the truck, my helmet pads crushing under the force. I looked over at the other person in the back and saw his eyes widen dramatically as we looked at each other trying to get confirmation that what just happened, well, actually happened.

Seconds passed like minutes. The truck lurched both back and to the right simultaneously as I reach out for anything I could hold on to. My seat belt locked into place as my body started to push forward as the vehicle slowed so suddenly. I tried to grab the tether belt of the gunner with a free hand in a vain attempt to be ready to drag him down into the truck. It was a drill we'd done over and over in training, but my locked seat belt kept me from being able to reach him.

The truck slammed back to the left and righted itself as our driver hit the gas to get out of the danger area. I felt myself fall back again, grabbing my rifle as I had let it go to try and grab the gunner. Finally we came to a stop, we looked around, and then the time felt as if it was accelerating as much as it had slowed in the seconds before. The smoke from the blast was all around us and coming into the truck from the hatch, the distinctive smell of explosive stinging my nose.

"ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!??!" "YEAH, YOU?!?!" "F-, YES! DAMMIT!! M-F!!!" The shouting kept up - no PG rated version is possible to recount - until we were all sure we were ok. We got lucky, there weren't any serious injuries. It took a few seconds of radio checks and then the call came in, "FIND THE TRIGGER MAN!!!"

The back door was lowered and I was the first out of the truck and exited towards the site where we were hit. My sergeant and I headed to a building to look for any signs of people. I can't even remember all that we did, but we cleared a building where a shop was and then headed into an open area. We found recent footsteps and the likely place where someone jumped over a wall. Another team that had exited found the command wire and traced it down, but we never did find the ones responsible for this.

The next half hour or so we spent looking around the area, interviewing people who were near the blast site to see what they knew, and trying to calm down the locals and ourselves. We pulled security and kept our eyes open for anything unusual. Everything about that half hour is a blur, the only tangible memory I have is what I had written down interviewing, collecting information about the location and the situation, taking notes on what I could of the pieces that were left, and generally looking for anything, anything at all that looked out of place or that shouldn't be there.

When everything finally calmed down, I had a moment to look back at the site where we were hit, the pieces of truck and parts of IED strewn across the road. Our truck didn't look all that bad, it was damaged but we would be able to limp home. I was amazed at how strong and safe that truck proved to be, I'll take a ride in that down any road in Afghanistan. It's about as safe as you can get while traveling in this place I've come to try and help.

I looked down the other end of the road in the direction we were heading and saw young Afghan kids looking at us. They reminded me of the picture of my three girls I keep with me everywhere I go. I took the picture out and stared at it, for how long I'm not sure. "I love you" were the only words I could say to that picture I held in my free hand, my rifle still locked and loaded, the smell of diesel and explosive residue thick in the air. I kissed the picture and put it back in my pocket. It was time to get back to work, clean the mess up, and get all of us back home to the base.

Standards

One of the key parts of our strategy to win hearts and minds here in Afghanistan is to engage the local populace in projects that provide them jobs, train them in a trade and build the infrastructure in their villages. The projects I manage include medical clinics, government buildings and roadways. My team also manages smaller projects like repairing mosques, building retaining walls and assessing infrastructure that's already in place.

There are projects going on all around us in the many different areas where we operate, some that are secure and some that are not. The Afghans working on the projects all have a different skill level - some have never laid brick but are building a wall, some have never studied about electrical distribution yet they are running electrical lines. There are places where the work is great, and equally there are places where the work is pretty poor, even by Afghan standards.

I find myself having difficulty in trying to resolve what is the best course of action for my projects when sub-standard work is being done. There are so many factors at play and many times, the factors are in conflict. For instance, there is one wall project I am working that is a fairly simple project - construct a stone foundation, then on top of that a brick wall that surrounds a government building. The problem in front of us was the construction of the foundation was so poor, we could not allow the construction to continue. We had two options, ask the contractor to tear down the wall or accept a solution he and his workers proposed to rectify the problems.

Recording progress in the site's journal

I might have demanded the wall be completely torn down and forced the contractor to start again if this was a US based project. But in Afghanistan, where the wall is being built by mostly first time masons, what good will that do the local populace?

It's almost a certainty that if we take a hard stand and tell the contractor to rebuild, the workers will be fired. That's a common theme, we see a problem, the response is, "We fired the man that did this part of [insert project here]." In one inspection, no less than nine locals had supposedly been fired in the first ten minutes.

How does my decision to rebuild or fix affect my overall mission, and how do I balance what is good construction and what is good for civil military operations? I can't help but look at the workers, listen to their words, and judge their actions. Before I made my decision to tear down or fix, I spoke with two locals, one of which was a new, experienced mason brought in to help mentor and fix the problems.

Construction of a wall for a government facility

The mason was approximately 39 years old, but looked as if he was over 50. His leathery, deeply tanned face wore wrinkles that told more of his life than you might imagine. His deep brown eyes looked young and vibrant when he spoke about how all he wanted to do was teach the young workers how to do a good job and make us happy with the work. When he talked he was very animated, his thin but obviously strong arms working hard to trying to emphasize to me as he spoke in Pashto how dedicated he was to the project. His mortar-caked hands with thick calluses were flying in the air to add emphasis. We spoke at length about how he could train the workers to do so much better, and that he guaranteed on his family's honor that I would be happier when I returned in a week.

I then asked him about his family, where he came from and why he chose to work on this project. The stark change in his posture and his eyes took me by surprise. I've not engaged enough Afghans here to truly understand how much some Afghans care about their country. It seemed all at once, the brightness of his eyes yielded to a sad, sorrowful, almost hollow appearance as he looked away towards the mountains where he lived. He began to talk about how many family members he'd lost fighting over the past few decades. Gone was the animation and rapid speech, slower now his words came as if each person he spoke about brought back a memory of a happy time now gone. He looked often from side to side seeming to will himself not to look at me directly or my interpreter as he spoke.

He mentioned the beautiful apple orchards his family had once managed when Afghanistan was more prosperous. The apples sold all over Afghanistan when he was much younger and there was always more than they could eat or sell. I caught a smile as a thousand wrinkles on his face appeared of as many boyhood memories might have passed through his mind as he spoke. But soon his shoulders fell and his smile was gone as he described how his family's lands were eventually ruined by Soviet tanks and years of war that helped destroy the majority of the trees that were mature and productive. He was forced at a young age to leave home to find work and eventually became a mason.

After years of living a nomadic life searching for work where and when he could find it, a few years ago he tried to return to his home village. He wanted to work with members of his extended family to try and replant the orchards and return to farming. He knew the Americans were building wells and irrigation systems and he had high hope to return his land to how it had been productive so many years before. At first, he said it looked promising, but soon there were so many wells and so many systems tapping into the water system that the water dried up in the wells and there was no more water for irrigation. He had to leave again to find work to support his family.

This was a difficult story to hear as I cannot even begin to imagine having to live a life with those kinds of challenges. I am so very sad to have left my girls to come to Afghanistan, but I do so out of my own free will knowing the challenges we as a family would face. I wasn't forced to go, and it wasn't out of desperation. Hearing his story helped me in my decision about the project's next steps.

Not everyone in Afghanistan is trust worthy, and many people will attempt to get anything and everything they can out of the Americans. But I didn't get a sense of this from this man. Maybe it's idealism, maybe it's naiveté, but I couldn't help but think about the second and third order of effects from my decision and how many families could be negatively affected.

Force the contractor to rebuild the wall from scratch, and this man's honor would be questioned (he promised me I would be happy on his family's honor after all). The contractor might fire all these workers and start with new workers that might not do any better and we'd be right back where we started. And likely if they were all fired, the contractor wouldn't pay them a dime for work they've already done. Second or third order effects? I felt as if I was getting into fourth and fifth order of effects.

I accepted the contractor's option to back fill the mortar and redo the pointing in order to strengthen the wall and I took a gamble on whether the contractor and the workers would follow through on their promises. I went against my command's recommendation (but was told it was my decision) and realized how much credibility I would lose if this blew up in my face.

A week later and the work they've done to correct the problems not only looks good, they identified another issue with the construction that they took upon themselves to fix. The desire to prove they were true to their word was evident. I am not so ignorant as to believe that every project will turn out this way, but it seemed like it worked out well for everyone.

That day was the first time I went back to the FOB feeling as if I made a positive and tangible, even if small, difference in Afghanistan. In the movie "Contact," Ted tells his daughter Ellie, "Small moves, Ellie, small moves." I'm trying my best to make the small moves meaningful ones.