Another Day At the Office

There's drama in our little slice of Afghanistan. Shootouts between
the Afghan Army and the Taliban (Taliban as shorthand for "the bad
guys." The real mix of insurgents is much, much more complex) in the
town square. Local officials getting unilaterally (and, in my opinion,
unfairly) sacked. Busted mosques. Someone had the idea to invite a
handful of local leaders out to one of our field bases to have a
little meeting, an elders' shura, to hug it out. We expected 8. 100
came.

It was an impressive, but by no means rare, collection of respected
elders from a particular valley. The exchange lasted for hours, often
at a roar. As a state department colleague put it, "Democracy in
action." And it made for a lovely picture.

But clearly, I'm tired. My mind drifted towards cynicism, despite my
best intentions. We invited 8. 100 came. "Who's stacking the deck?" I
wondered. They railed against the government, against the Afghan
Army, against the Americans. "What have you done for yourselves?" They
argued, they yelled, they agreed to kick the Taliban (and the rest of
the riff-raff) out of town. "But who among you will take
responsibility?"

In a way that's never been clearer to me, the devil's in the details.
All the big talk of governance, development, and security that fills
the pages of innumerable Afghanistan "strategies" comes down to how
deal with groups of old guys who's concept of Afghanistan barely
stretches outsides the confines of their respective valley, or
mountainside, or whatever geographic barrier/ family allegiance
defines their place in this world.

Allow me to drastically oversimplify: Ask too much of these guys, and
you risk re-establishing the warlord system, and destroying any chance
to help build an Afghan national identity (we're not Nation-builders,
I know). Ask too little, and you've built a welfare state (Janet
Jackson's "What Have you Done for Me Lately," would be a fitting them
song to many of our relationships here.)

I've seen the pendulum swing. I've struggled to find the balance. I've
struggled even harder to convince my colleagues and superiors that
that balance has, thus far, eluded us. I need a vacation.

The Gov

Apparently, someone thinks I photoshopped myself into the last picture I posted. To avoid such slander, I leave myself out of this one.

The magnificent creature in this picture is none other than the Governor of my province. The reason I have a job here. The source of all my frustration. One of the most fascinating people I've ever come across. A mid-level warlord turned politician who I'd have mistaken for a caricature if not for the fact that we work together.

Case in point: we're in the most dangerous valley in our area the other day, sitting on the floor having lunch after a big deal traditional meeting with a bunch of local gray beards, trying to
convince them to get their kids to stop joining the Taliban and join the Afghan Army instead. Governor's there, the Afghan Army commander, some embassy folks, the Head graybeard, some ISAF folks (I snuck in and snagged a good piece of floor).

My commander, who thought the shindig was done and went to go put his armor back on, walks in late while everyone's got a mouthful of food. Governor looks up at him, points at the commander's kevlar crotch armor (the most embarrassing, but important, part of our gear) and asks, "what's that for?" Boss, not missing a beat, looks back and says "it's for my wife." "I walked these mountains for 30 years," the Gov says, "fought the Russians, fought the Taliban. I never wore one of those." "You're a hell of a fighter" says my boss, trying to salvage the exchange. "My wife will tell you what I'm better at," cackled the Gov in response.

An Afternoon at the Bazaar

We had an entirely unusual and pleasant afternoon the other day. There's a little bazaar we drive through nearly everyday on our way to do business. The other day, for the first time on our rotation, we decided to stop.

 

It was cold and damp. We got our fair share of dirty looks. It was always a little nerve-wracking to see a car off in the distance speeding in our direction. But it was entirely satisfying to leave our 6 ton armored behemoths behind and get out and just walk for an hour. I spent most of the time talking to shopkeepers, asking about business, about inflation, about security. Foreigners with guns tend to make people nervous, so I did my best to break the ice with my muttered bits of broken Dari (Salaam! Cheetor astem? Hoob asti. Name ma Felipe ast. Name cheest?).  I doubt they understood what I was trying to say, but, more importantly, they got the sense that I was trying and, with the help of our interpreter, we managed to talk.

 

Of course, no afternoon in Afghanistan is complete without the kids. The kids in the picture were trying to sell us a little yellow bird. Our interpreter (in the brown camouflage) bought it for a buck to free it. He took hold, threw it up in the sky to set it free, whereas the bird weakly struggled out a few half-hearted flaps and fell into a puddle. Figures.

A Day at the Office

Not exactly, but close... We took this at a Mosque opening event we took part in a couple of weeks ago. Basically, a photo op.

 

The story behind the pic- my boss (wearing the headset) and I chased our commander, his Boss, and the Governor down the road in this little village where we did the photo op. We caught them at the last minute ducking through the little door in this mud-walled compound and heading into a crowded room.

 

Pushed our way through a group of mustachioed men with guns, most of them Afghan police and Army we hoped, found the boss at the other end of the room sipping tea and shooting the breeze with some ancient mullah, and took a seat on our helmets to keep him covered.

 

My friend says that my blog is too factual, that I gotta talk about my feelings more. So, how'd it feel to be in a room full of strange men with AK-47s? Truth be told, scary, but perversely fun.

Snowflakes Keep Falling on My Head

Just checking in here.

So, last night I wet to the gym and went back to our headquarters for a little late work. It was a crappy, rainy, soggy night.

When I left for my shack a couple of hours later, I stepped outside and it was a different world. The rain had turned to giant, fat snowflakes that had fallen hard for, apparently, the entire time I was inside. Everywhere, everything was covered in an inch of gleaming snow.

Muddy roads, wooden shacks, dirty humvees were instantly softened and brightened. The reflected light off the snow made the night bright as dawn. The night was quiet.

It was shockingly, unforgettably, fleetingly beautiful.

Friends: Part II

US pays $40,000 after 15 Afghans die in raid

By JASON STRAZIUSO – January 28, 2009 

TAGAB VALLEY, Afghanistan (AP) — U.S. commanders on Tuesday traveled to a poor Afghan village and distributed $40,000 to relatives of 15 people killed in a U.S. raid, including a known militant commander. The Americans also apologized for any civilians killed in the operation...

The continuing saga of death and diplomacy in my little slice of the struggle. Truth is hard to come by. Solutions even harder.

 

I promise that pictures of kids and clinics and roads and rivers are soon on their way, and that we remain hard at work trying to build stability here. It's just amazing how complex and fragile those gains can be sometimes. It's hard, but that's just the way it is.

Friends

Afghan official warns foreign forces against causing civilian casualties

Media: BBC Monitoring (Afghan Islamic Press, Pakistan)

Date: 21 January 2009

 

Kabul, 21 January: The chairman of the Provincial Council of Kapisa: If foreign forces continue causing civilian casualties, their fate will be similar to that of the Russians. After a number of civilians were killed in a foreign military ground and air operation the other night [19 January] in Kapisa Province, the Chairman of Provincial Council of Kapisa Dr Monawar Shah strongly condemned civilian casualties in an interview today and told Afghan Islamic Press [AIP]: "We have called on foreigners many times to avoid civilian casualties in their operations. However, foreigners killed 14 civilians in the Anzari village of Tagab District the other night on first of Dalwa." Dr Monawar Shah added: "Twelve people were killed and six others were wounded in the operation. Also, the foreigners took eight people alive with them."

 

He said this was a very bad action by the foreign forces and added: "We have previously also told foreigners and now, too, we tell them that if they continue civilian casualties in Afghanistan, their fate will be similar to that of the Russians." He expressed the hope that the foreign forces would not endanger the lives of ordinary people and would adopt a proper policy in this regard. The coalition forces said yesterday that they had killed 19 insurgents, including a commander. Foreign forces have previously also carried out such operations in Kapisa which have reportedly caused civilian casualties. People have also staged demonstrations against such foreign military operations many times.

 

I saw Dr. Monawar the other day, apparently just before he gave this interview. I see him pretty often. He gives us man hugs. He makes us tea. I consider him one of my Afghan friends here. It's pretty hard to think that he expects us to meet the same fate as the Russians. I guess I'd be pretty pissed off, too, if a whole bunch of folks in my village were killed. We called him on it later. He said he was misquoted. I think he meant what he said.

 

It comes down, as does this entire struggle, to how you define combatants vs. civilians. From what we were told, some of our guys (coalition troops, but not my unit directly) did a late night raid, took fire, and fired back in force. To our guys, everyone in those houses was a combatant. To the Afghans, most of them were civilians. From the coalition perspective, they lived with Taliban- "harbored them," we'd say. As soon as our guys started taking fire, they perceived everyone in those houses to be a threat. The Afghans argue that, down in these distant valleys, everyone knows Taliban, everyone lives with and among them, everyone is related by kin, or tribe, or some lingering alliance from their days fighting the Russians.  The hard truth is that, down here, friendships are fickle, volatile, dangerous things.

Pizza Hut and Holiday Cheer

Just realizing that I hadn't posted in a while and figured I should check in. Since I've got nothing terribly insightful to share, the two things on my mind at the moment will have to do.

 

First, have a mentioned that there's a Pizza Hut on base? And that they deliver? Yup. War. American style. Extra cheese. I think of this because while I was at the gym tonight, trying to run off my substantial chow hall dinner (that's another story), this guy walks in the back door carrying a stack of pizzas. "What a jerk," I thought, figuring someone was trying to taunt those of us struggling to be healthy. Then it hit me- "I'm in Afghanistan, at the gym, and someone just had pizza delivered." This isn't Apocalypse Now. It's Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

 

Second, I can't lie. The holidays sucked. I missed home. It wasn't awful. It just wasn't warm and safe and familiar and all that great stuff that the holidays can be. The consistent bright spot, however, was the near daily outpouring of love and support, via e-mail, letter, card, package, picture, and kind thoughts that kept me going through it all. Friends old and new, family distant and close, and many, many kind strangers helped to brighten the darkest winter days.  Thanks and love to all.

Despicable

If you know me, or have seen my past posts, or saw my Iraq pictures, then you know I've got a weakness for the kids. If you know me, or have seen my past posts, or have heard some of my darker Iraq stories, then you know I've got a particularly vivid fear/hatred of car bombs.

 

Which is why this story out of Southeast Afghanistan yesterday ht me square in the gut. Some SOB decided to blow himself and his SUV up at checkpoint. Fine. Desperation. Asymmetric warfare. Terrorism. Whatever.

 

He didn't much seem to much care about the predictably adorable bunch of grade-schoolers walking through the checkpoint on their way to school. Last day of the year, no less.

 

14 kids -- 8 to 10 year olds -- killed on the spot. Several adults killed. Dozens more injured. (need nightmare fodder? see the video)

 

Disgusting, despicable, worthless, soul-less, asshole.

Christmas Mubarak!

A couple of weeks ago my boss and I (and our interpreter) spent the afternoon calling our Afghan colleagues to wish them a happy Eid. "Eid Mubarak!" he began every call, to the giggles, guffaws, and gratitude of all the folks we called.  So, today, Christmas Mubarak!

 

We spent the day working today, travelling all around the province, speaking with everyone from high government officials to village cops to dirt-smeared kids. I had a ball. Some of the highlights:

 

- During a very somber meeting with a government bigshot and a group of bearded elders in traditional dress to discuss the coalition activities in their area, cheesy, late-90's club music started playing out of nowhere. Sheepishly, one of the elders reached into his pocket and whipped out a cell phone waaaay cooler than mine. He shut the ringer off and we continued

 

- We spent an 2 hours driving not more than 10 miles to village out on the outskirts of the provincial capital. The road was so bad we saw probably 10 donkeys for every car, mostly old toyota corollas. I thought our Humvee was going to snap in two- I have no idea how these folks keeps these little Japanese sedans running for a decade on these roads. It's gotta be magic.

 

- Standing in front of a school that our predecessors built just a few months ago, a group of about 30 villagers insisted that we never do anything for them. "We built this school," we said, "and that clinic right over there." "Yeah, well," they said, "the road's terrible."

 

- As we walked down the crappy road to the new clinic, a kid pulls up beside me and starts chatting me up. "Baksheesh, give me pen." Since I didn't have enough for the several dozen kids walking behind us, I said sorry. He grinned and said "My name is Apenis." "No it's not, kid." Grin. "My name is Apenis." "Your name is not Apenis. My name is Felipe." He laughed and said "My name is Sabiullah." "OK, that sounds right."

 

- Met a Barney Fife village cop, bearded, five foot nothing, no gun, who spent an earnest afternoon shooing kids away from our trucks.  He was great. Obviously loves his job, loves his village, and takes a lot of simple pride in what he does.

 

I think the day made me nostalgic for road trips to Mexico with the family when I was a kid. We had a powder blue, '74 Chevy silverado with a camper in the back. The crappy roads, the mud brick homes, the donkeys, the endless streams of kids, the rock star treatment my dad would get every time he got out and started giving change and candy to every kid he saw. My mom yelling at him when he ran out of stuff- "if you don't have enough for everyone, don't start!"

 

It was a good day. A Christmas (eve) to remember.