The Mission, and Life, Continues

After a couple of days of stunned grief, we got back in the saddle on Thursday and went back to work. Nervously, I climbed back into my armored truck and, along with the team, hit the road. We drove past the site of this week's suicide bombing, scorch marks, a small crater, and a downed tree all that remained of that horror. I took a deep breath for myself and made the sign of the cross in memory of our friends.

 

Our first stop was to check in on the UN advisers to the upcoming elections. As we walked into their walled, barbed wired compound, we were hit by an odd, sweet, outdoorsy smell. Inside we came upon a gorgeous rose garden, lovingly tended and in fool bloom. Wonderfully, movingly unexpected. We walked in and had French press coffee and chow hall donuts (I stole some early that morning) with a Bolivian, a German, and two Liberians. Our Afghan elections officer, located nearby and hearing we were in the neighborhood, dropped in, gave me a hug, held my hand, and asked where was that laptop I "promised."

 

We moved on to a meeting with some of our Provincial Council members, the highest elected officials in our province (who have an odd tendency to blame things on "the government"). They were genuinely happy to see us and to see us ok. One of them called immediately after the attack to make sure we were ok, while another went to the scene. I, like a tactless fool, sat down and got straight to business. They politely answered, then went on for 15 minutes about how they were so glad we hadnt been involved and how they were praying for the good people that were killed and their families. And they meant every word. It was touching. I felt connected. As we finished our meeting, they told us how much we'd helped them, how much they'd miss us when we left, but how happy they'd be when we were safe with our families. I was moved.

 

We finished our day and came home, successful, exhausted, and relieved.

 

On Friday I learned that a very close friend here just received test results from a routine medical check he did while home on leave. The results were not good.

 

On Saturday morning I learned that the Deputy Governor of our Province, a trusted colleague who was everything that the Governor is not, passed away on Friday night after a months-long struggle with illness.

 

On Saturday night I went to church for the first time in weeks, looking for a little peace.

 

This morning I went back out, took another deep breath and made the sign of the cross, looked at some projects, met the oldest, coolest judge in Afghanistan (picture Gandalf speaking Dari), and came back home, sweaty, tired, and ready for this damn month to end already. 

I Have to Believe

We just finished a dignified, beautiful ceremony whereby we saw off the remains of three airmen and soldiers on their final journey home to their loved ones. They were killed this morning in an awful attack in an otherwise peaceful neighborhood that my guys and I know all too well. Although my team was not involved (contrary to the claims of the bastard who took credit for the attack), we nonetheless lost dear friends and colleagues with whom we trained, with whom we worked, and who we will dearly miss.

 

I have to believe that they did not die in vain. I have to believe that they gave their lives in the service of lasting peace and dignity here. Like us, their mission was not to make war, in the traditional sense -- their work was to help rebuild Afghanistan and give the next generation, if not this one, a chance at a decent life. I have to believe that they did not die in vain.

 

It's hard, though. It's hard not to feel angry and hopeless and cynical and furious. And sad. Just plain sad.

 

Every day here we saddle up and go out into our province and build and train and mentor and cajole and push. And every day we hit walls. We see freshly built roads falling apart from lack of maintenance, fresh wells run dry, fat contractors doing shoddy work, corrupt officials skimming development funds, local "leaders" asking why we don't solve their problems, people eager to point the finger at someone -- anyone -- else when asked the simple question -- "what are you doing for your community?"

 

Deep in the dark caves of my mind I fight against the voice that asks,"what's the point?" And I fight, With myself. With the other cynics. With the "blow 'em all up and let God sort em out" crowd. I make myself believe that our work, my work, here is honorable, and just, and needed. Sometimes I even convince myself it's effective.

 

But today. God, today...

Spring in the 'Stan

My first week back was miserable. I'd had these high hopes of going home, recharging my batteries, and coming back to work with renewed energy and enthusiasm. Instead, I went home, had the time of my life with my nearest and dearest, and came back loathing everyone here, Afghan and American alike.

Pleased to report that I'm better now. Part of it was the jet-lag, I think. Although i'm still as homesick as I've been since my first year of college oh so many years ago (I counted the other day and was floored at how long ago that was!). But I'm in a better mood, because I can, once again, appreciate the awesome ridiculousness of this place. For example:

- On May 5th I was in a meeting with a local legal official, a somber Pashtun guy from down south who could barely be bothered to speak Dari, the standard language of official business here. We were discussing plans for a new juvenile detention facility in the Provincial Capital when his phone started loudly ringing. His ringtone? La Cucaracha.

- The base-wide e-mail the other day soliciting people to sit on an Asian-American heritage month planning committee. The subject line: "Ethnic Observers Needed."

- Our translator coming into work the other day proudly proclaiming that the Afghan Government had taken action against Swine Flu. They quarantined theTHE pig at the Kabul Zoo. (At least they didnt start rounding up Mexicans.)

- Standing outside, rifles in hand, 50 pounds of armor on our backs, with one of our security detail the other day. A storm had just broken and we were staring at the mountains, gigantic and jagged, barren and beautiful, draped in the scraps of the clouds that had blown away. "It's like Lord of the Rings or something, " he turns to me and says, "but without the monsters and wizards and stuff."

Finally, I looked outside and realized it was spring. Big green leaves and chains of white blossoms on the trees. I'd forgotten they were trees. They were just these skeletal, monochrome, scratchy things. Fresh birsongs. Fields of red wildflowers everywhere. Barefoot kids (same as back in the winter, but they're actually enjoying it now.) Waking up at 5am and stepping out into the morning sunshine. You'd have to be pretty committed to self-pity to stay miserable.