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.

It's only a year.  Carrie Lou and I have been telling ourselves that for quite some time now, both before the deployment and now during it.  I am in my forties now and it seems like yesterday that I was riding my bike to the ice cream shoppe in Millbury, playing soccer and hiking real mountains for the first time in Albuquerque, playing football in Grafton, singing in Miami, marrying Carrie Lou, welcoming Marianne and Caitlin, traveling to Europe, South America and now southwest Asia, singing so often in Boston, and moving who knows how many times in between all of that.  If that much of my life can pass as quickly as my mind perceives, hopefully this year will as well.

This was the first deployment where all the pieces fell into place.  There were occasional questions about whether I would actually go, dates that constantly changed and commitments that had to be adjusted.  But now that I'm here, it's time to both realize that the time will pass quickly, and yet try to not miss the value of the experience along the way.

I left Fort Benning in Georgia to fly overseas on a hot, muggy day.  The air seemed as tense as my nerves not knowing how soon it would be until I could talk to Carrie Lou and the girls, family or friends.  An overnight flight, I tried as best I could to sleep but it was a futile effort.  Maybe I should have taken those sleeping pills.  When I arrived at our stop over in Shannon, Ireland, the green grass had a soft, silvery glow to it in the early morning sun and the wisps of small clouds over the ocean cliffs were traveling in the same direction as we were.  It felt for a moment as though I were heading on vacation, not a deployment.

We left the plane, passed through customs quickly because it was so early, and I stopped at a coffee shop.  I open up my Mac and tried to get on the wireless.  I was thrilled that it was working, it was free and it was fast!  I had the opportunity to talk to Carrie Lou for quite a while that morning as our layover was nearly four hours.  Unfortunately, after about an hour, everyone else on the flight realized where the coffee shop was and that it had free wireless.  The video chat eventually ended because the connection became too slow and we reverted to chat.

Leaving Shannon, the sky was bright and the flight path took us over some beautiful pastoral land that reminded me of the vacation Carrie Lou and I took to Ireland in the summer of 2004.  We had a wonderful time in Dublin and the surrounding mountains.  Having missed setting foot on that beautiful, kelly green grass in Shannon on such a beautiful day I've resolved to try and make that a family vacation soon after I return.

The flight to Kuwait was about as long as the flight to Shannon.  We landed late in the evening and it wasn't until about 2am Kuwait time that we had the opportunity to finally get some sleep.  It was warm, but it's a dry heat, right?  But the time I woke up the next morning, it was 110 degrees, and by the afternoon I stopped looking at the thermometer when it passed 125 degrees.  Dry heat or no, it was as hot as building the fence on the Arizona border with my first engineer company back in 2007.  It didn't matter then either that it was a "dry" heat.

The land in that area of Kuwait is completely desolate.  The light tan sand, soft as powder, permeates everything.  The slightest breeze whips the sand into a frenzy as it seems to have a consciousness that directs it in to every crack and gap it can find.  I was only there for a day, but it seems everything on myself and my gear had sand in or on it.  The land is flat as if it was purposely laid that way, you can see virtually no elevation for as far as the visibility extends.  I can't imagine how even the traveling desert families of the area survived such desolation.

There are some nice amenities on the base, but it's essentially a no-frills transfer station for troops and government contractors in and out of the the war zones.  Money transactions were interesting because they would accept cash, but they would give change in Pogs (remember those?).  Some fellow officers and I stopped for a bite at the outdoor restaurants and my change included a 10, 5 and 1 cent Pog.  By the end of the next day after they had been in my pocket, they were a soggy cardboard mess.

I was fortunate to get out of Kuwait that afternoon, I wanted to get to my destination quickly.  After all, it was finally time to do what I had trained to do and I was anxious now to get started.  The flight was uneventful save for the combat-style landing into Bagram Air Base, just north of Kabul.  For those that don't know what a combat landing is, imagine being on a roller coaster near the end when the ride suddenly seems like you're in a washbowl going down and down in circles when suddenly you level out and arrive back at the start of the ride.  That's about as close a description as I can provide.

Bagram was an experience I was wholly unprepared for.  After being in Afghanistan for so many years, I would have thought the American presence there would have been a bit better planned and managed.  The sheer mess of the place was appalling, building and containers strewn wherever they landed, trash every where, and one main road that seemed to service the entire base yet wasn't big enough for traffic and people.  I was very surprised how unkept the base was, there seemed to be little if any pride in the base except for a few areas.

I survived five days in Bagram waiting for my flight to FOB Shank, south of Kabul in the Logar Province.  We finally secured a flight reservation and at 2 am went to wait to board the C-130 to Shank.  The 6am flight was a very short flight but I was in the jump seat and had a great view.  The desolation of the mountains and the sheer difficulty in the terrain was more than I had expected.  Knowing I'd likely be in those mountains soon, I suddenly wished I'd spent more time on the StairMaster than running up and down the Charles!

FOB Shank allowed me to get some in-theater training I needed, zero my weapon that had been brought by my unit, and get acclimated to the 6,000 foot altitude.  A five-mile morning run the first day nearly brought me to my knees, the runs on subsequent mornings were a little easier each day.  We experienced a mortar attack near our tent, but it was far enough away that we weren't in any real danger.  We witnessed a road side IED attack a few miles away while running one morning on a hill on the edge of the base which put the reality of the mission into a much keener focus.  It wouldn't be long before I'd be traveling on that road.

I arrived at my more permanent location at FOB Airborne after those first few days at Shank.  Airborne is even higher, but the base is a bit more compact and is less "garrison" like Shank and Bagram were.  The flight from Shank to Airborne gave me an even better view of the land and I've posted some pictures from that flight.  There are parts of this country that appear idyllic and serene, seemingly quiet neighborhoods of extended families working hard to survive in a difficult climate with little arable land and few water resources.  The swaths of green trees and gardens along the rivers where apples and apricots are grown lull you for a moment into a sense of ease.  I felt myself longing to wander down to the local fruit market and with a smile and hand to my heart, buy some fresh apples and make a new friend.  The reality that my movements in the area would very limited and only with a fully armed team of soldiers replaced my thoughts of a simple stroll to the local market.

My time here at Airborne has been different than what I expected.  I had planned to be remote in the mountains working with small villages and rucking every day.  What I have actually been doing is working at the Provincial level with the governor and his ministers.  My work is a broader stroke rather than a finer point that seems to have a far reaching impact on the area as a whole.  It's interesting and I feel fulfilled in the work I am doing, but it's a much bigger job to do.

One of the most interesting aspects of what I am doing is trying to help facilitate the huge number of non-government and US government entities in this area and their programs that are designed to help the Afghan people.  There are agricultural programs, banking programs, leadership programs, women's programs, medical programs - and the governor is tasked with trying to find ways to improve the lives of his people amidst a climate of terror and a thousand years of traditional life.  He seems to be a good person, albeit a true politician, who is genuinely trying to improve the lives of the people he serves.  Fluent in English, he is an easy communicator and works tirelessly.

What seems to be most difficult is finding ways to mentor, assist, educate the sub governmental level workers.  For many of them, working at this level is new for them and for their village.  Many are still not literate and much business that transpires is oral and not written.  The governor is often frustrated that he cannot communicate both the sense of urgency and the importance of finding ways to improve the lives of the people of Afghanistan with the people that report to him directly.

There's a quote from "The American President" where Michael Douglas is chastising an opponent when he says, "Bob's problem isn't that he doesn't get it, Bob's problem is that he can't sell it!"  That is how I see things here in my short time.  There are a lot of people here trying to do good work and trying to help make this a better, safer place.  But it's a very hard sell to the people that matter, the villagers, the religious leaders of the remote areas, the people that need to understand the message most clearly.

It's only been a short time yet, there's still much to do and certainly much to learn, and before I know it I'll be home wondering where all the time went.  It's only a year.

Thank you again to everyone for your support to me and to Carrie Lou, I hope you know how much it's appreciated.  My best to everyone and I look forward to seeing you all again soon.

Leaving Shannon Airport in Ireand.

The mountains are very desolate.

A small village in the foothills.

The rivers, few as there are, provide the only farming. Less than 18% of Afghanistan has land suitable for agriculture.

You can see the stark differences between the wealthier land owners and the remote villages.

This valley is very close to me and is one of the most productive apple and apricot areas in Afghanistan.