As you know, I typically start off with the weather and this week is no exception. We have had a couple of beautiful spring days and a couple of days of rainy fall weather. Normally a lovely day would be followed by a dreary day, but this week it was three gorgeous days followed by thee terrible days then one great day. It rained so hard one night that we had a lake in front of our shop and admin building. I tiptoed around the edge, hopped over a particularly treacherous area, and then made one Bruce Jenner sized leap thereby plunging my right foot two-thirds of the way across our newly acquired body of water. Fortunately I was wearing my super gore-tex trail shoes that shed water just like a duck’s back. Once safely across, I found some wood and stuff and began pitching it in our lake to use as stepping stones. No doubt a stellar idea however one that was short-lived. Our lake evaporated by the next sunny day and I then had to pick up the crap I cast into Lake Ontario.
Dobbie and I have an on-going debate about our waterway that passes through the northern fringe of Bagram. I have classified it as a small river yet Dobbie is certain that it is a creek. In any case, it is big enough to warrant a bridge and supplies the locals with their usable water. Well, because of all this new found moisture, our waterway did more than crest its banks; it flooded the northern end of Bagram. The primary road that goes around Bagram is closed at this location because it is under water and so is a bunch of other things in that area. A-10 Warthogs are parked in wheel high water and many of the storage containers are sitting in the murky stuff. I did notice that the locals are high and dry. Evidently they are aware that rain happens and have a system of culverts and diversions that prevent flooding of their mud houses. I wonder if these rains afford the locals a chance to change certain aspects of their earthen villas. Is this the time when they can add a room onto their house or change the roofline?
I started a Dari Headstart Language program this week. I know I have told you bunches about the Pashto speakers here and have only been partially correct. According to my instructor, Ajmal, Pasto is primarily spoken in Southern Afghanistan while Dari is primarily spoken in this region. The dialects are close enough that it resembles someone from Boston speaking to someone in Atlanta. Anyway, it’s interesting and I hope to better converse with some of the locals or at the very least understand what they are saying to me. I’ve already been trying out some of the phrases and so forth on Dobbie. He has yet to be impressed although he seems pleased to get the Cliff Notes version of my classes from me.
We had a mortar attack! Yeah, there hasn’t been one in two years, but we had one tonight. About 1930 I was happily typing away and I heard a small explosion in the distance. I didn’t recall Giant Voice notifying me of a ‘Controlled Demolition in 5 minutes’, but other controlled demolitions have occurred before without us being notified in advance. Oh well. Dobbie came over to my room to chat and we were sitting here carrying on like a couple of old ladies when all hell broke loose. Giant Voice announced ‘Incoming’ and to ‘Occupy the nearest bunker immediately!’ Sirens went off and everyone began the scramble to a secure area. Dobbie and I seemed a little perplexed, but knew we should head to the bunker regardless if the attack was over or not. We ambled the 17 feet to our nearest bunker and joined about 20 others who had found their way to this same bunker as well. Whew, it was good to be safe. We stood at the end of our bunker with a few soldiers for the next hour. Every five minutes, Giant Voice announced ‘Incoming’ and ‘Red Alert’ and intermittently played sirens at decibels that North Korea could hear. The only wonderful part of this onslaught was the speaker that resides 12.7 feet from my hooch window ceased any transmissions. The other 1023 speakers around Bagram did a fine job of relaying the critical information, but now it did not seem like my ear drums were being sand-blasted with audible agony. 57 minutes into our bunker occupation, all was clear and we were free to resume whatever business we were conducting at the time of the attack (or the time that we were ordered to our bunkers).
The reports the next day indicated that a single mortar round landed in the vicinity of the airstrip (that’s virtually all Bagram is; two airstrips) with very minor damages and no injuries to personnel. Amazingly enough, that single mortar caused 17,000 people to cease all activities and assume a covered and concealed position for an hour. Two Taliban Freedom Fighters dropped one old Soviet 107mm mortar round out of a tuna can five kilometers onto a heavily manned, primarily American military base and sat back on the high ground and timed how long it took us to realize the attack was over. Wow! We’re sure showing them the might of our impregnable forces. There is no doubt we are winning this war.
Ed arrived today fresh from a couple of months in lovely Iraq. His presence signals the loss of Dobbie as he will be going to Iraq. While I am happy to have Ed, I am not excited about seeing CD go. In the interim, the three of us have a few days together to get some vehicles done and do boy stuff here in this fabulous country. I think we’ll kick the frivolities off by grabbing some ice cream at our third-world DQ. Then maybe enjoy some strange beverages in coffee mugs on top of our shop in the darkness. Take in some of the sights and watch jets take off and land. Who knows?! Maybe we’ll even construct world famous architecture.
Where did all these flies come from?! Our lake evaporated and suddenly 750,000 small biting flies are clogging the air. Sure there are the regular flies like you all have back home, but these others are nasty. We went out and bought fly swatters and ordered fly strips and other heavy armament to combat this horde. CD, Ed, and I may not be out quelling the Taliban forces, but we sure are doing our part to rid Afghanistan of its fly population. At our current rate of fly dismemberment, I figure we have another seven weeks of fly combat. We have even started playing country music at much louder volumes hoping to disrupt their tympanums thereby giving them incentive to go elsewhere. It seems to be working.
Kris sent me a package that included, among other things, Raisin Bran that was packaged five months ago, sat in a warehouse or on a shelf for an additional three months, and a week in transit to me. I cracked the box open for breakfast one recent morning because I didn’t feel like trudging to the DFAC to pick through some eggs manufactured by chickens grazing the great plains of Afghanistan or oatmeal given to North Korea by the United States as humanitarian aid that was traded to China for weapons that China sold to Afghanistan to be used for American Soldiers in their dining facilities. I’m telling you this because the raisins in my Raisin Bran were particularly plump, juicy, and (dare I say it) fresh-tasting! A few weeks ago I impressed you with the description of the raisins here in our DFAC that I throw into my oatmeal to break up the taste and texture of the oatmeal that has been treated with pesticides in China to keep the insects and mammals from eating or living in it. The raisins are dark dried-up pieces of petrified wood that make me think there may be particles of granola and actual usable oats and or grain in my oatmeal. I had a discussion one day with one of our military food service workers where I questioned the freshness of the raisins. I was assured with absolute certainty that those were indeed U.S. raisins, home grown in sunny California, and exported here post haste to be placed in our Class I (food) storage cycle for use by U.S. military personnel. Nothing but the best for the bravest folks on Earth! This whole situation leaves me rather dumb-founded. Why isn’t Kellogg’s supplying U.S. personnel abroad with sweet, plump, juicy raisins? How is it that a company in Battle Creek, Michigan can buy California raisins, process them, package them, store them, and ship them to stores all over the U.S. with a “Best Taste and Freshness” before date of January 8, 2008 yet my fresh from California to Afghanistan two-month old DFAC raisins are rock hard and have the flavor of dust?!
Bagram has a DFAC that is primarily run for the plethora of KBR workers here. It is on the opposite side of Disney Drive (the main street) from where the workers are which means that 7000 people must cross Disney Drive not once, but twice to eat and return to work three times daily. Since there are no street lights, Military Police (MPs) control the cross-walk for pedestrians during lunch, stopping traffic for something like five people at a time however they do not control the cross-walk during breakfast or dinner. Because of this, pedestrians dart out in front of the myriad vehicles to get to the other side of the road. The posted speed limit is 25 KPH, but in actuality you are fortunate to see the north side of 12 KPH and have the added distraction of trying not to run over anyone. For some reason I have the luxury of being the driver more than CD and Ed. We are constantly gawking out the windows at the foreigners and strange vehicles and nearly every day one of them yells “Look out!” It’s usually because some idiot has chosen to cross the road in front of me as I am driving and looking at the latest Polish armored car. Ooh, the joy!
Have I told you what bliss it is that the Giant Voice speaker just outside my window is dysfunctional? It is! Now when the ass that announces: “The Aerial Gunnery Range is now Hot!” it doesn’t sound like he is standing in my room with a megaphone. It’s soft and mellow. And, at 0100 in the morning, I don’t even hear it and can sleep right through the announcements until the F-15E Strike Eagle with some 60,000 pounds of thrust (half of that rambling through my B Hut) lights up the jets when taking off. I’m not sure if the speaker’s malfunction is a direct result of intentional abuse, but I sure like the results. If someone actually repairs that speaker, I’ll hire an $8 a day Hajji to (accidentally) back over it with a truck. I’ll bet I can get a couple of other guys to go in with me on those 8 bucks.
OK, picture time. The attached picture was taken up on top of our work shop. This is the place we go in the evenings sometimes to watch things happen and relax from a day of tearing up our hands. We took this picture as it was Dobbie’s last visit on the roof. We’re standing on remnants of sandbags that previously made up a defensive fighting and observation position. Note the sprigs of grass growing out of the sandbags. We have surmised that the red bricks in the wall that we are leaning against are Russian made as Afghans still have yet to master brick making. Although you cannot see them in this picture, the grandeur of the Hindu Kush is directly behind us. Yes, it was a beautiful day and was quite warm. Yes I am wearing the long sleeve shirt to prevent those UV rays from performing a sort of photosynthesis with my flesh. You can obviously see my face is already intoned with a few more pigments of red than Ed’s or CD’s. Anyway, it’s a farewell celebration of sorts.
Please do not lose a single hour of sleep waiting for my next installment of life on the other side of the Earth. I’ll get it out soon enough with tales of deviled eggs Afghanistan-style, the ‘Stop, Drop, and Roll’ during a 6.2 earthquake, and why the Norwegians are here to save the day.
Thanks for reading,
Craig
