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.