This week started where last week ended (duh) with a couple of torrential downpours and unbelievable winds. Because of all the wind and rain, our temperatures hovered in the upper 90s to less than 110F. The humidity was unbearable; I felt sticky wet all the time and the mere thought of walking or running somewhere caused me to sweat excessively. We experienced four continuous days of hurricane winds that ripped some of the metal roof panels off of a few buildings and turned non-tethered trash cans into tumbleweeds. The only great part about this wind is any trash that was lying around is now in Pakistan.
Ed and I made several trips this week to the incinerator and to our nearby 40-yard dumpster. Bagram has two incinerators that operate 20 hours a day. The Russian dude (KBR employee) who helped us out was fabulous and treated us like kings, not to mention he let us watch our stuff disintegrate in the roiling cauldron of fire from a secure area. He was very helpful and it was probably the first time I appreciated a Russian. Unfortunately not everything that we were getting rid of was acceptable by the incinerator people so we visited our favorite dumpster (favorite in that its proximity is close and it is rarely full). Ed and I were in the middle of tossing all this garbage into the dumpster when a pick-up load of locals stopped by. The locals jumped out of the truck and into the dumpsters and began rooting through the debris and garbage, removing anything of value to them. This is not the first time I have seen this, but this was the first time they were doing it as I was throwing stuff in. The smell of the dumpsters could gag a maggot. I can’t imagine jumping in and wallowing around in that crap. Obviously, these people’s financial state and lack of ability at detecting foul aroma makes this action acceptable.
The 4th of July kicked off here with very little fanfare. With the exception of the red, white, and blue decorations and table cloths in the DFAC, you wouldn’t know that it was a special day. As most of you were recipients of a quick email I sent out on the Fourth, you know we did very little. Yes, we folded up an American flag that had been hanging in our shop. Yes, we sampled a few more of Bagram Brewery’s wares. Yes, we read a few passages out of magazines with regard to our country’s independence. No, there were no fireworks display for obvious reasons. No, we did not visit the entertainment clamshell in the evening where the 82nd Airborne’s tribute band ‘Level 82’ put on a raucous concert that was easily heard in Iran. How’s that for a thrilling day?
As I have mentioned before, we have six rooms in our B Hut with two doors on each side and one each at the ends. My door is on the East end of our hut and Ed’s is on the North side next to Sergeant Fox’s. Sergeant Fox is a likeable guy in his mid-30s with that strong New York accent acquired with a lifetime of living in Brooklyn. We like Sergeant Fox with one notable exception; he’s about as bright as a 4-watt bulb in outer space. Through the complex engineering of Hajji door opening design on this hut, Sergeant Fox’s door opens with the hinged side of his door next to Ed’s door (five inches from Ed’s door frame). With the wind, you have to latch your door from the inside to keep it from banging open and closed. The other five of us in this hut have mastered that feat save Sergeant Fox. He doesn’t latch his door and it bangs wildly onto Ed’s door. The whole hut trembles with the incredible wind force that smacks it open, not to mention the loud bang. Fox is apparently impervious to the sound and shudder as he either is missing three of his five senses or simply ignores this rampage that is similar to the bombardment on Omaha Beach.
Ed, using his best ‘I-have-lived-through-three-children’ fatherly approach gently scolds Fox every time who always replies, “Sorry ‘bout dat”! I generally do not get involved until this occurs for the third time in ten minutes at 0120 in the morning. It’s at this moment that I slip on my fashionable flip-flops, go outside in the complete darkness, hop up on the newly built deck while carefully avoiding the pine pitch and nail heads that stick up, and sashay to Sergeant Fox’s open door. Fox works a unique shift and normally gets back to his hooch around 0030 every day. Guess how I know. Anyway, I take this opportunity to look into his room and say something like, “Would you please latch your door?!” through gritted teeth. “Sorry ‘bout dat”! This occurs every time it is windy. I’m ready to devise a water bottle, hook, and 550 cord pulley system in his room to keep the door pulled closed from the inside. Maybe then Ed and I will get a decent night’s sleep.
We have six soldiers here on Vance who are performing 45 days worth of extra duty. In addition to this extra duty, they were all fined $300, but allowed to stay at their current rank with no consideration for promotion for an additional six months. How do I know? Their Article 15s are posted above the sinks at the hand-washing station on the DFAC. I like the public notoriety as it potentially dispels others of infringements against the UCMJ (Uniform Code of Military Justice). What was this travesty against humanity that caused punishment of 45 days and a fine of $300? Alcohol. They were caught with alcohol. Four male and two female soldiers were caught with alcohol (some of it was on their breath). Don’t be calling me a hypocrite just yet! While I am a huge fan of the UCMJ, I am not a fan of General Order #1 (the no fun rule in combat). I am no longer in the military and GO#1 is vague when concerning contractors like myself so I can kind of get away with such criminal activity as possessing and consuming alcohol. However, service members cannot. I’ve done my time and completed my sentence; as long as my possession and consumption is discreet, I am sailing on open waters.
I suppose you would like to know what extra duty these six soldiers are required to perform in a combat zone for 45 days, well I’ll tell you. Hhmmm, guard duty; no. Weapons detail; no. Area beautification; no. Vehicle services and maintenance; no. Compound fortification; kind of. These soldiers have been tasked to replace all of the thousands of sand bags surrounding bunkers and fortifications around Camp Vance. They do it at night because it’s cooler and because it is after their duty hours, hence the term extra duty. One thing I have noticed about sand bags is that they deteriorate in about a year’s time. Laying in the elements full of sand (or dirt by-products) seems to relegate sand bags to a short life-cycle so they must be replaced. I watched these solders for about 15 minutes the other night (they have a four-light, one billion candle power, generator producing light for them). They are throwing the old sand bags onto a truck where three or four of them dump the contents onto the bed of the truck and then use the contents to fill new sand bags while the other two keep throwing old sand bags into the truck. I couldn’t take any more of this inefficiency and recommended to one of the fillers to dump the contents of the old bag directly into the new bag instead of dumping it on the truck bed (this cannot be done with some of the bags because they are in such bad shape to begin with). You would have thought that I was a messiah that just altered all of humankind with my message or showed the first fire to a people. I was glad to help, but was equally disgruntled that an NCO was not supervising these six. Such is our new generation of military. Regardless of my concern, I do believe the punishment for these soldiers is appropriate and ultimately supports everyone on camp without needlessly degrading the soldiers.
Ed and I built a new stand for the TV and DVD player in my room that actually stands on the floor instead of hanging from the ceiling 24 inches above my feet. Because I only have two electrical outlets in my room, they are pretty crowded, especially the one that has my laptop, printer, external hard drive, computer speakers, night light, and hot water pot plugged into it. My other outlet currently has my coffee pot, fan, TV, and DVD player (three of those are on a three hole extension cord). Well, since we are not in the shop 12 hours a day, six and a half days a week, I brought my CD / Radio to my room. It sits on the stand with the TV and DVD player. My only problem with all this is unplugging one device to use the radio. Oh sure, I could purchase another Chinese made 220 / 110 extension cord for $6 at the PX, but the one I purchased a couple of months ago sizzled and then refused to work any longer right after I flipped the switch on my hot water pot. I’m guessing the Chinese power strip just didn’t like my German hot water pot. So, to avoid another potential electrical disaster, I am resorting to removing the plug of one item I am not currently using to plug in one of the items I am. It’s a little antiquated, but what the hell, so is the country I’m in.
You will never believe what we were having locals doing on a hot windy Saturday morning at 1000. We had them paint B Huts with an oil-based tan paint with four-inch paint brushes. They started on my B Hut and with my door. I was in my room when they started and the smell was overpowering. I had to get out and get some fresh (well, Afghan air is as close to fresh as I can get) air. They slopped and slathered the paint everywhere and took no care with regard to brush strokes, thickness / thinness, or how much they dripped on everything else. We were having gale force winds at the time of this paint expedition and it was a balmy 101 outside. You couldn’t have picked a worse time to paint. Our American soldier who was supervising the locals never uttered a word. I guess sloppy inefficiency is OK with her. I expected better supervision. I mean why go through the trouble of painting at all if it is just going to be slapped on the outside all willy-nilly with half of the paint dripped on the ground?
If any of you out there are considering or are about to send me something in the mail, please don’t. My time here is shriveling (which I am thankful about) and as is custom with mail through military channels, it goes much slower than you want it to go and never arrives when you absolutely need it to arrive. Thank you to each and every one of you that sent something during these nine months. I truly appreciate your generosity and thinking of me. There was not one letter, card, or package that was met without a cheerful, gleeful smile and eagerness to open it immediately. Thank you again!
This week’s picture is an interesting one. It was taken as we were driving by the location where the NATO mine clearing team is working (although they weren’t at the time of this photo). You have to look closely, but what you are looking for is the stacks of white rock on the ground that denotes the location of a current, active mine. The mines are thought to be placed by the Russians during their occupation here and as apparent defense from the Afghans. Obviously no mine field information was provided by the Russians so the area must be painstakingly combed through with electronic and human means (not a job I would want). This is just one of many areas surrounding this base that has active mines strewn about.
I cannot explain the glee I get in anticipating what I will write about next week. These three teasers provide as much curiousness for me as they do you (especially since I am up-to-date on these weeklies). So without further ado, here’s what I’ll pontificate about next week: The use of George Washington (and others) green-backs by the likes of Russians, Polish, Chinese, and even Egyptians; why the Koreans eat at our DFACs for breakfast as opposed to their own; and finally some of you-all’s concern with whether or not I’ll keep writing weeklies when I am no longer here. Don’t miss Week 36 as it will probably be one of your favorites as it is one of mine.
Ciao,
Craig
