Goodbye again

"A life you love." 
- Charles Dickens, Tale of Two Cities

Tonight on the lawns of Tanglewood under a starlit sky, my best friends, family, and thousands of others are performing or enjoying a live performance of one of my favorite works, Verdi's Requiem.  It's a masterful composition that evokes poignant emotions each time I perform it.  In it lies joy, sadness, despair, hope, and redemption in a performance with marked fortitude followed by subtle, hushed whispers.  The chorus and orchestra mesmerize the audience with a range of dynamics and tempos that combine to create a unique experience even among the great works of this repertoire.

I won't be at Tanglewood again this year as I prepare for another deployment, this time to the Horn of Africa.  I'll miss the grand vista of the Stockbridge Bowl that opens in a wide expanse behind concert halls, the elephantine trees that spread their thick, grey boughs over the warm, smooth grass, and the ever present musical themes floating through the air.  For a musician, Tanglewood is an enigmatic place that takes little effort to expunge the worries of life and simply resign to a mystical existence where what you love is all that surrounds you.

I thought about Tanglewood as I spent my last few weeks in Sudbury, along with all of the facets of my life that I'll miss.  When you know you will be apart from something so familiar, even the familiar can seem fresh.  The tree I never noticed in Great Meadows Wildlife Reserve, the trail that I run when the air is crisp and damp in the New England morning that appears greener and more inviting, the school that my daughters attend has slight change in hue in the afternoon light, all of which a little more noticed by eyes that would normally be fixated on the here and now.

Missing what I'm leaving behind is always the hardest part of deploying, in particular leaving behind Carrie Lou and the girls.  When people ask why I've chosen to do this, it's hard to adequately explain how I feel about making the sacrifice to deploy.  I don't need the money, I don't need the job, and I don't need the excitement in order to feel fulfilled as a person.  But as Dickens' character says, it's for "a life you love," and to me it's for the life my girls love.

There is a great deal of suffering and repression in the countries of eastern Africa.  Governments that siphon off the riches of their country's natural resources, fanatical leaders that promote barbaric mutilations to further their religious agendas, and abusive warlords who build their fortunes on the backs of those that are indentured.  In much of Africa, a young girl with dreams is oft left with little opportunity to realize those dreams, each one slowly whittled away as the years pass and the promise of a better life fades further in the distance.

My girls have a life they love, safe within the confines of a wonderful community that supports them and their mom while I deploy once again.  I truly believe my sacrifice is in some small way preserving that life.  But more importantly, I hope my sacrifice can bring a life to love to others that struggle just to survive in countries that have been ravaged for years as they struggle to emerge from under the thumb of colonialism, internal strife and civil wars that have decimated what many believe to be part of the cradle of civilization.

Maybe I am too idealistic, too naïve to see any fallacy in believing that small changes and sacrifices eventually combine to become the force behind real and permanent change.  I'm just unable to bring myself to believe that.

My courageous family is unwavering in their support even with the hardships we'll face.  Our friends show no lack of support from our musical, academic, professional, and social circles.  And everywhere I go, my fellow Americans display an affection and gratitude for service that is unparalleled.  A deployment is a sacrifice that is simply a part of the life I love.

Not Forgotten

Sudbury is a town that continues to amaze me in many ways. Its passionate residents with their diverse opinions and backgrounds contribute to heated debates about schools, budgets, and politics. There are as many opinions as issues and as many who'd just rather stay out of the discussion entirely. Yet, for some issues, the true nature of the people of Sudbury shines above the fray in our small world in our small town.

This past Sunday, the Sudbury Military Support Network was at Sudbury Farms soliciting donations of food and supplies to send packages to troops overseas. Organized by the ever-present voice of support for our military families in Sudbury, Patty Houpt, over twenty volunteers braved the rain and DVR'd the Pats game to help the package drive succeed.

The support was overwhelming. Standing in the rain in my uniform as a recently returned Afghanistan veteran, the number of well wishes I received and the number of items donated was a testament to the support our town continues to show to our service men and women. For two hours, people rushing in to prep for the Pats game or for Hurricane Sandy were polite enough to listen to my ten-second spiel, and many of them chose to donate.

There are still over 70,000 troops deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan, but that number is simply boots on the ground. Likely 150,000 troops will rotate in and out of Afghanistan over the next year and a half as we approach the 2014 date for the last combat troops to redeploy from Afghanistan.  Some of the troops will come from Sudbury or are part of families that live in Sudbury, this isn't quite over yet.

Afgahnistan and Iraq are drawing down, but we are increasing a presence in Africa, thought by many to be one of the strong-holds of fundamentalist Islamic terrorist organizations. As with many ideologies, the spread of dangerous ideas is not limited to one country, region or even continent. Our troops deployed from Djibouti down the eastern side of Africa to Madagascar deserve our support and I am certain the Sudbury Military Support Network will be there for them as well.

There is no better way for me to express the emotional response I felt on Sunday witnessing that outpouring of support than to say I would deploy again. I would deploy to preserve freedom for my family, for my friends, but more importantly, for my neighbors for whom I have so much respect.

Thank you, Sudbury.

Wheels up!

There was a rising but quiet pitter patter rhythm in the distance that my ears had been yearning to hear.  The sound was unmistakable, two Blackhawk helicopters making their way across Maydan Shahr district in Wardak Province heading to FOB Airborne.  I was soon able to make them out as their silhouettes passed in front of the mountains, cautiously avoiding any consistency of pattern in order to avoid giving the insurgents a reliable flight path for an attack.  Their shapes, vague and nearly indiscernable at first, were soon heading straight for us with noses up, preparing to land.

The noise was deafening as the helicopter's rotors beat the air with a fury, allowing the helo to land gracefully on the pad at the HLZ (helicopter landing zone).  The sand and small rocks were flying through the air under the bright and clear blue sky on that warm March day.  The door opened and out came a few new guests to FOB Airborne as I waited too anxiously for the all clear signal to load the first helo.

The signal came and with what seemed like the speed of the fastest speed walker on earth, I grabbed all 200 pounds of gear and labored across the pad.  The crew chief helped me load my bags and I jumped into a window seat by the door, my favorite place to fly.

I've flown over a hundred times in Afghanistan, but this time my heart was in my throat, my leg bouncing nervously and my hands struggling to connect the clasps of the seat belt.  Soon the belt was tight and I sat back to look out the window.  The door closed tightly next to me and the crew chief jumped aboard.

When a helo is sitting on the landing pad, the engine revolutions are reduced and there is only a little vibration.  I stared out of the window as we waited for the pilot to take off, a thousand memories passing through my mind.  My first landing on FOB Airborne, my first mission to a remote COP, the room I lived in for nearly a year, the countless missions outside of the wire and meetings with governance officials, friends I'll cherish, friends I lost, enemies I'll despise, snow storms, sand storms, IEDs, firefights, noise.

I felt the engines rev higher in preparation for takeoff, the vibrations of the helo passing through my body as I realized this was it, this was my freedom flight, this was the last day I would ever spend in Wardak Province, Afghanistan.  My body seemed to relish the strengthening vibration as memories and stress, pain and fatigue, loneliness and aggravation began sifting out of me.

The last four weeks have been the most stressful of the deployment.  The number of "green on blue" incidents where trusted Afghans shot their American counterparts in cold blood, the Koran burnings, the murders of the women and children just south of us, and the IEDs and firefights starting again all made me very nervous, very often.  My head was constantly on a swivel and I trusted no Afghan I saw on my FOB that I didn't know personally, and even those I did know I wasn't sure I could trust.  Outside the wire where I had usually been in a relatively relaxed posture, I brought extra ammo and kept an extra weapon on red status just in case my primary failed.  But there would be no more missions outside the wire, no more Afghans soldiers I didn't know wandering around me.

These last few moments before takeoff lasted an eternity as every sense was more finely attuned to my surroundings.  The sound of the rotors had a peculiar secondary sound on each beat of the blades that I'd never noticed before.  There's was a soft, bell like chime from one of the latches that reminded me of a Christmas ornament dangling on a brightly lit tree.  There were a few loose bolts on the seats as a metal on metal clank matched the pattern of the rotor pulse.  My strong exhale, trying to calm down a little, ripped through the other sounds in my head with a thunderous rancor that was unexpected.

My body knew we were flying before my eyes did as it felt the small changes in balance as the pilot gently lifted us off of the pad.  He kept the helo level as we rose slowly and inched towards the outer edge, turning to the opposite direction.  As we nosed down, moved forward more quickly and rose up, I watched the buildings of the FOB fade into the distance until they appeared as they did when I first saw a map image almost fourteen months ago.

I sat back in my seat, closed my eyes, and imagined Carrie Lou and the girls straining for a glimpse from the end of a jetway in Boston, smiles on their faces, their eyes sparkling beautifully on a sunny day.  Fourteen months after I started on this adventure, I can imagine the walk together out of the terminal, arm in arm, hardly able to let go of each other, ready to pass into the next phase of our lives.

A quiet unease

There is a growing unease among the soldiers here on the FOB. It is quiet and unspoken, yet palpable as we recognize what the change in the season will bring to our little corner of Afghanistan.

The winter has been very cold and the snow at our elevation deep, at times the weather dropping over two feet of snow on us.  The snow is welcome because it falls across the mountains and the fields that surround the villages here in Wardak Province, covering the landscape in a surreal sheet of white peace that is rarely broken by explosions or gunfire.

The deeper the snow, the more difficult it is for insurgents to travel and gather their weapons as they wait out the cold and ice.  When the snow is deep, an insurgent's tracks from a weapons cache or an IED placed on the road is easy to identify.  It is during this time of year that the roads are the safest.

I shuddered this morning when I realized that nearly all of the snow on the southern side of the mountains near us has melted away.  The receding winter reveals evidence of the barren waste that occupies most of the countryside; a brown, featureless surface that yields not life, but death.  When the ground is free of snow, it is much easier to launch a rocket and even easier to hide afterwards.

In Massachusetts, where there wasn't much of a winter, the buds will soon be bursting.  The pink dogwood flowers, passion-fruit color croci, the deep green of the grass awakening from their own winter hibernation are a welcome sign of spring back home.  There are areas of Afghanistan where the Spring brings beauty, but ours is not one of those areas.

My countdown is in single digits, just a little more snow for another week or so would do me just fine.

Good things come to those who wait

I embarked on a long journey last June when I arrived in Afghanistan; no, not the journey of the deployment.  This journey was just a part and would be more difficult - navigating two massive bureaucracies in an attempt to improve the lives of Afghans through mysterious government systems of abject neglect and corruption.

Afghanistan has a very primitive health care system.  There is no health insurance, few real hospitals and only a few reliable, quality clinics.  These facilities service only about fifteen to twenty percent of the entire population.  The rest are left to whatever care is available in their villages or, if they able able, to trek hours or days to a facility that can help treat them.  The mortality rate of children in particular is high because there is simply no way to get mothers and their children to facilities often enough for even routine care.

I endeavored last June to create a mobile hospital system in our area that would change the dynamic, allow health care to reach the rural Afghans and provide a noticeable, if small, improvement in their health care.  Afghans traveling long distances is too much for many of them, our project would be to purchase ambulances that would have four wheel drive, have room for emergency patients and carry enough supplies to be a mobile clinic.

The Turkish Provincial Reconstruction Team works with us often on different projects and they had recently constructed a few clinics in the very remote districts of Merkaz-e Behsud and Hesa-e Awal-e Behsud.  We sought to equip those clinics with the ambulances so that the local medical staff would be able to extend the reach of their clinic and their supplies.  One of the benefits of these two districts is that they are mostly Hazaran, an ethnic population that is very supportive of coalition forces and is a safe area for us.

This simple task turned out to be a bureaucratic nightmare on both sides, the Afghans and the Americans.  We first submitted the reams of documentation and paperwork to purchase the ambulances and were met with the first frustration.  We were asked, "Why in the Behsuds?  There's no value for us to offset the fighting there."  It seems part of our "hearts and minds" campaign is to wage war by spending money in the places where people want to kill us.  Give them money and projects, and they'll stop shooting at us.  I'm not sure who's brilliant idea that was, but let me just say, it doesn't work.  More on that in a later post after I leave Afghanistan.

In the end, we successfully convinced people that spending money in areas where we could actually have a positive effect on the lives of ordinary Afghans was a good thing.  We completed all the remaining documents and paperwork and eventually were able to push through to a contract.  We executed the contract and waited anxiously for the ambulances to arrive.

Then the real fun began.

When the ambulances arrived at the embarkation point in Afghanistan, the customs officials refused to allow the ambulances into the country without paying the requisite import tax, roughly $140,000 USD.  The ambulance contractor was surprised, as were we.  This was a donation by the US Government to the people of Afghanistan, why would we pay more money to the government for the privilege of donating to the government?  The thought was this was more a ploy to shakedown the contractor, but the customs office wouldn't budge.

It seemed our best bet was to work with our US partners to identify a document, memo, phone call that could be made and straighten this out in short order.  The response I received was even more shocking.  Everyone I spoke to thought the contractor was shaking us down!  I tried to explain that the contractor was only looking for a way to get permission to bring the ambulances into the country, but you can only hit your head on the brick wall for so long.

Trying to work through the Afghan government was just as bad.  Nearly everyone we spoke to wanted a little something to help us out, and I know you all know what I mean.  Now it became a matter of principle.  These were ambulances, not LCD TVs.  These ambulances were going to save lives.

Three months we worked the problem through multiple levels of governments on both sides.  Eventually, there was a very positive resolution.  The Ministry of Finance at the highest level of Afghan government finally stepped in and instructed the customs office to release the ambulances without prejudice.  Two days later the ambulances arrived at FOB Airborne.

It is nice to know the Afghans finally worked out the resolution with the Afghan government, in the end that was the best solution.  But the frustration of working through such obstinate and corrupt government processes left me as frustrated with my own government that refused to offer its support for a project that it itself was funding.

We enjoyed a wonderful, sunny day with a ceremony presenting the ambulances to the Director of Public Health and our friends at the Turkish PRT.  It was a great end to a long process that will bring a better quality of life to many Afghans.

Senioritis

I remember the last few weeks before high school graduation where everyone was experiencing "senioritis."  Well, everyone except maybe the beautiful and brilliant Lisa Misterka who was heading to MIT. Those last few weeks of skipping class, studying only when we had to and generally goofing off were innocent and a part of the American high school student experience.

Now that I am in the last weeks of this deployment, those thoughts of senioritis and the difference here in Afghanistan is foremost on my mind. The end is in sight and we are working hard to pack and transition gear, information and relationships we've built up over the past year. I have met a number of inspirational people and feel content that the work I've done has made some small difference in the life of the average Afghan. Yet the excitement coming home also brings the realization that the two most dangerous times for any soldier are the first thirty days and the last thirty days. I'm now in those last thirty days.

Whom can you trust?

Maybe it's because I didn't know what to expect or it was such a whirlwind when I arrived, but I am more nervous now than I've been my entire tour. Part of my anxiety stems from the fact that one of my very good friends, 1LT Derwin Williams, was killed by an IED days before he was to return home to his wife and three daughters in Chicago. His job was much different than mine, he was trained to defeat IEDs on the roadways and he was only equipped with an up-armored HUMVEE. But he was so close to being home, that fact resonates deeply with me.

The protests and riots that many of you are observing in the news may not seem like much, but for someone like me that works with the Afghan government on a near daily basis, it is quite unnerving. We've always known that there are Taliban sleeper cells embedded in the Afghan government waiting for a signal to act. The burning of the Qu'rans at Bagram Airfield seem to have given them a signal of some sort as there are too many acts of violence happening from inside "safe" zones where we've become comfortable and relaxed.

The meetings I used to attend with a sense of relative safety I now find myself jittery and ultra-focused in. More than once I've found my hand moving to my pistol I always wear with my thumb on the safety and my forefinger on the release, just in case. I'm no longer comfortable being in a room with Afghans behind me where I can't see them and where I used to stop and shake hands with visitors at the provincial and district centers, I now avoid crowds of people. There's two feet of snow on the range, but zeroing a weapon, regardless of how cold it is outside, is usually a good way to ensure a shot aimed is a successful shot.

There are only a few more weeks here on the ground and I am looking forward to turning in my weapons and going home. I expect it will take me a little more time to adjust when I get home this time.

Run to Home Base

Traumatic brain injury (TBI) is one of the most common injuries for soldiers who have served in Iraq and Afghanistan.  Some estimates put the rate as high as 30% of all combat related injuries.  The problem with TBI, and its more prevalent cousin, mild traumatic brain injury (mTBI), is that the symptoms can remain hidden for months or years.  Mass General refers to these injuries as "the invisible wounds of war."

My own experience with mTBI as a victim of IEDs here in Afghanistan allows me to relate, in some small way, to those who suffer from more significant cases.  The short term memory loss following the event and the ever present question of whether there is long term impact are real effects that should not be ignored.  Research is critical to improve not only treatment, but accurate diagnosis of TBI.

I am honored to support research again in 2012 with the Red Sox Foundation and Massachusetts General Hospital by participating in the Run to Home Base race at Fenway Park.  I would appreciate once more the support of my family and friends that have been with me through this deployment for this important cause.  I ran the race in 2010 and it was a great experience for important research.

Please click here to make a donation, or for more information on the research at Mass General, please click here.

Thank you for everything you've done to support me and my family, I look forward to thanking you all in person in 2012!

Klondike Derby

I was living in Albuquerque, New Mexico, as a young Boy Scout in February of 1983.  The Boy Scouts have an event in the winter called the Klondike Derby where the troop heads out into the woods to learn cold weather skills and have fun in the snow.  That year we headed into the mountains north of Albuquerque, a bucolic mix of pinon and ponderosa where the sweet scent of sap floated on the brisk, cool air. 

I arrived and setup our camp with my three tent mates on a fragrant bed of pine needles in a small clearing that had a commanding view of the sloping hillside and mountains beyond.  We found stones to build a fire ring and had just enough time to collect some firewood to keep warm before crawling into our sleeping bags for the night.  I remember the purple and orange hues of the pine cones burning and popping in the fire as we enjoyed a clear night sky.

The morning was a big surprise, our tent was surrounded with two feet or more of fresh snow, the inside of our tent colder than the outside air with the bright morning sun.  We dug our way out of the tent and cleared away the fire pit to try and get warm and make some warm breakfast.  Though the air was cold, the snow deep and the activities difficult in the new snow, it was only a weekend in the snow.

The landscape is beautiful but forbidding

I recently traveled to a remote COP (combat out post) here in Afghanistan that, at over 9,000 feet, is even higher in elevation than my main base.  This is a real Klondike Derby where the temperatures are below zero Farenheit during the bright, sunny day and brutally cold at night.  The heaters for the tents are simply inadequate to keep the temperature above 30 degrees inside, and the buildings where the Afghans work are even colder without working windows or doors.

A few curious boys in the local bazaar

The view from this COP is beautiful as it looks out over the frozen valley to the mountains.  But it's a frozen wasteland, devoid of enough trees to burn for the locals to keep warm.  We visited the bazaar and you could see the cold, hard and almost powdery texture of the faces of the children that were there.  It was obvious they were incredibly cold as they attempted to sell their wares.

The growing teenagers wore sandals with thin socks, their pants reaching down only to their shins as they were growing faster than their parents could provide clothes that fit.  There were several signs of frostbite and we invited a few of the children to come to the COP for medical care.  A small and inadequate gesture that would not solve the root problem, but may provide at least some temporary relief.

A young boy with some frostbite on his knuckle

I spent the nights in my tent with layers of polypro, waffle thermals, a long sleeve shirt, two pairs of wool socks, a cold weather sleeping bag, and my fleece cap - and yet I still shivered most of the night.  The Boy Scout motto is "Be Prepared," and I completely failed.  I had not been that cold in a very long time.  Thankfully, I was only there for a few days and like the Derby, I was able to head back to a warmer, more inviting place.  The fact that I think my FOB is a warm and inviting place should tell you something about life for soldiers on a mountain side COP.

One of the benefits of my job here working with the government officials is enjoying traditional Afghan meals.  While away at this COP, I had a very delicious dinner with the District Sub Governor as he hosted me and my team.  For a people that have very little themselves, they are exceedingly hospitable to their guests.  The dinner, a richly flavored rice dish with local vegetables was delicious.

Traditional Afghan meal with local fruits and vegetables

Following dinner we enjoyed the traditional Chai tea; however, the governor thought we would enjoy sugar in our tea which is very Western and not at all Afghan.  The gentleman who served us the tea must have put 4 tablespoons of sugar in each tea cup.  It was very hard to drink, but we accepted graciously.

My friends that are there will live in that harsh, cold environment through Spring when the thaw arrives.  It only continues to remind me to appreciate what I have when I have it.  You never know if you'll end up on a proverbial COP, pining for what once made you comfortable.

A remote village in the moutainns cut off from
the main roads for some of the year

An endless landscape of cold

Helicopters are sometimes the only
way around the mountainous landscape

Hope is in the children's eyes

The differences between districts and villages are astounding.

The Bazaar

Down the hill from our FOB is a very active and prosperous bazaar, one of the busiest and most profitable in our area of responsibility.  There are dozens of shops that sell produce, essentials, pharmaceuticals, meats, shoes, auto supplies, etc.

A few of the bazaar owners talking with us about how their
businesses are doing. Most of the supplies are bought in Kabul.

The bazaar was very busy today and we had a great time walking and talking to local Afghans.  One gentleman I spoke to had a cobbler shop just outside the main bazaar.  His "store" was essentially a small hole about four feet deep and wide, and two feet high.  He locks up his tools and supplies and works right out on the sidewalk.  He is a from a village that isn't very close, yet this bazaar is the only way for him to earn money for his family.

The temperature was about 20 degrees today and he was working with his bare hands.  At least in the sun it felt a bit warmer, but you could see the years of toil his hands endured.  The heavily calloused and cracked fingers still maintained their dexterity as he carefully threaded a new sole on a shoe.  The white hue on his finger tips were a sign of just how cold his hands were, yet he kept working.  He was polite, but I didn't get the sense my intrusion was welcomed, only tolerated.

We continued to walk the bazaar and spoke with a number of other people.  One gentleman we encountered wanted to ask us more questions than we asked him.  His first question was direct and to the point - if we are losing soldiers in Afghanistan, why stay?  The question took me a moment to try and formulate an answer, mostly because my gut response was "I wonder the same thing!"  I explained to him that we continued to support the Afghans and wanted to work and fight terrorism side by side with them, eradicating the cancer that has consumed their country for decades.

He then asked why we didn't do more to kill the Taliban.  This was a more difficult question to answer because most of the men at FOB Airborne want to do just that, it's their whole reason for coming to Afghanistan.  But I had to explain to him how difficult a task that was without hurting other people.

A few of the men anxious to be rid of the Taliban.

The Taliban are exceptional urban survivalists.  They fight amongst the people, use homes and civic buildings for cover, and are hardly ever out in the open.  When they are out in the open, it's like fish in a barrel with our advanced technology.  But when not, it's extremely difficult to isolate bad guy from good guy.

One example of this is a recent mission to a highly kinetic area.  We were building a clinic there to try and bring health care to people in a very rural area that were far from any other clinics or services.  During this mission, the Taliban opposed our movement and took up a fighting position in the clinic.  The clinic was targeted by our aircraft and nearly razed, a clinic that was 90% complete and a year in the making.  Had there been people in the clinic, we would have had even fewer options.  But such are the actions of cowards, putting innocent lives in danger in order to pursue their own goals.

The man agreed with my assessment and described at length his hatred of the Taliban.  The destruction they bring to villages, the intimidation, the arrogance.  He agreed with me that the Afghan people need to do more to drive out the Taliban from the village strongholds but we also agreed that the Taliban terrorize their own people as much as others.  We parted company and I wished him health and happiness as we promised to look for each other when I visited the bazaar again.

Buying some fresh, hot naan from the bazaar. We spent
about 1,000 afs at four shops today. Most businesses
here sell approximately 3,000 afs worth of goods per day.

Most shops are run by older men doing business there for years, yet there is no shortage of shops run by teenagers.  I had the pleasure of meeting one of these young gentleman today who is from a small, nearby village.  He is in the tenth grade, only fifteen years old and spends his time between school in the village and the shop in the bazaar.  His English is very good by village Afghan standards and he has a smile that is as welcoming as it is big.

Many students in the U.S. that work during high school do so because they help pay for car insurance, need gas money for driving to and from sports or a little extra cash for weekend nights out with their beaus.  I know that was me.  My first car cost only $25 and was missing part of the floor under the back seat, but it still took money to run.

A determined and intelligent young man with a bright future.

This young man commutes to the bazaar on his bike and the money he makes helps support a family of eight.  This is in addition to working hard in school, something that is evident from his excellent English skills and his ability to calculate an exchange rate from dollars to afs in his head.  He is working hard to make the most of his future and hopes to attend a university someday.

It was a wonderful day in the bazaar meeting a young man like this whose own vision of his future is still bright, still full of promise.  I look forward to going back and saying hello to him again.

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.