34 HOURS IN KANDAHAR

(27SEPT2008)

My time in Kandahar is relatively short. I am primarily pressing the flesh with folks I work with but haven’t met, and seeing if there’s anything I can do for them (there isn’t). I’m also making contacts which, in my experience, will come in handy later.

As soon as we arrive Thursday night, we put our names on the list for a flight back to Bagram. We’re told the earliest flight has a showtime of 0430 Saturday morning. There is groaning.

Friday is spent shuttling from office to office meeting people, and taking in Kandahar for the first time. My POC here has been on the ground for 3.5 years and has seen the base change dramatically in that time. When he got here, he scrounged for everything he needed, building his office with a hammer and nails he “borrowed”. He tells me “If a piece of plywood fell off a truck anywhere on base, I’d catch it before it hit the ground.”

The base itself has an obvious international flavor to it. Run by NATO, American forces are outnumbered by those from other countries. In my short time there, I see soldiers from the UK, New Zealand, Poland, Estonia, Slovakia, Canada, France, Switzerland, and Belgium. Every soldier has their country’s flag on their uniform, and those are just the ones I recognized.

Adding to the realization that we’re not on a US base is the Big Voice, announcing with a thick British accent which I find incomprehensible, and the DFAC whose food is just a little off. At breakfast I see scores of people putting something called Weetabix in their cereal; it looked to me like a dog biscuit. I ask for sausage and receive something undercooked – it was like eating the appendage of some gelatinous creature. Lunch is more of the same, and it’s all enough to make me long for my DFAC at Bagram.

Late in the afternoon we’re largely done with our mission and I sneak off to the MWR to scrounge for books and watch a baseball game. With the game tied in the 9^th inning, the siren wails again and we move outside to hunker down in concrete shelters where we remain for about an hour. I miss the rest of the game.

Not wanting to eat at the DFAC again, I offer to buy dinner at one of the few restaurants on post, all of which are situated on or near “the boardwalk”. While most bases have an area where off-duty personnel can congregate and relax, Kandahar’s boardwalk is the nicest I’ve seen. It’s a large wooden walkway enclosing an open sand area set up for sports, to include a concrete hockey rink in one quadrant.

Our Kandahar native suggests the Dutch restaurant and I’m surprised to see that we can actually sit down inside of it; usually what passes for a restaurant on Army bases is fast-food take-out. That’s all we have in Bagram. After reading the long list of menu items they’re out of, we each order a cheeseburger with fries, and enjoy a relaxing meal at an honest to goodness table.Afterward, we walk around the boardwalk poking into gift shops and watching the Canadians play hockey – no ice or skates, just sneakers on concrete – under the lights. At one point, an Indian on one team scores a goal and runs around with his arms in the air yelling “Score one for the brown guy!”

We eventually return to our POC’s hooch to get some much-needed sleep before our early showtime. He lives near the waste water management ponds and the wind is delivering an overwhelming stink into his living area. He’s prepared though; his shelves are littered with every variety of air freshener the PX has ever offered, and he soon thwarts the smell. I can’t help but reflect that he’s been living like this for 3.5 years.

We’re up and dressed again long before I escape into any meaningful dreams. The APOD is almost deserted at this early hour and we’re certain to make it onto the flight. We check in and watch some boxing, each of us dozing intermittently for the next 3+ hours until we’re told to board our flight.

It’s a Blackwater STOL flight, the same kind I took down to Sharana earlier this month. We pile in and I take a few pictures out of the expectedly dirty window before I fall asleep. We get into Bagram around 0930 and I waste a good portion of the day making up for lost sleep.


NATO = North Atlantic Treaty Organization
DFAC = Dining FACilities
MWR = Morale, Welfare and Recreation
PX = Post Exchange
STOL = Short Take-Off and Landing

WELCOME TO KANDAHAR

(25SEPT2008)

It’s always better to travel with someone in theater, so that you have someone to complain to and so that you can look at him and think “I hope I don’t look that tired.” You of course look even more tired.

My colleague and I put our names on the waiting list to get to Kandahar days in advance and so by today, when we’re ready to travel, we’ve broken into the top 10 spots. These are good odds for making a flight, and we score a flight with a showtime just after 1700.

Showtime is when you have to be in the APOD or you lose your seat. You hand over your CAC, weigh your baggage, and then wait for anywhere between 30 minutes and forever until your plane arrives. If it arrives. Many flights are cancelled or diverted, often with no explanation.

We waited just under 4 hours for our flight, put on our IBA and kevlar (required for flights on C-130s) and are escorted across the tarmac carrying our bags. I can’t help but reflect that I’m very used to boarding aircraft from the tarmac now. Proper airports and terminals with their accordion walkways are a luxury we don’t have in theater.

I dislike C-130s, having had two particularly bad flights on them in the past, but this flight is less than full (a rarity) and so we have a little room to spread out. I’m able to get a little shut-eye on the almost 2 hour flight from Bagram to Kandahar.

We arrive around 2200 and as we’re walking from the plane to the APOD where we have to sign in, we’re quickly ushered inside about a minute before a siren wails. We’ve arrived just ahead of a rocket attack and apparently everyone heard the explosion except me.

We’re stuck inside for about an hour waiting for the Big Voice to give the “All clear”. I’m told that the APOD where we wait is the location of the Taliban’s last organized stand, and my colleague points out bullet holes that have been hastily plastered over and a charred ceiling. The next day we visit in the daylight to see un-repaired portions; crumbled walls and gaping holes in the roof.

We have another colleague who works in Kandahar and as the base is overfull and there is no transient housing available, we retire to his office (attached to his living quarters) and I lay my sleeping bag on an air mattress between two desks.

It’s probably the best night’s sleep I’ve had in Afghanistan.


APOD = Aerial Port of Debarkation
CAC = Common Access Card (military ID card)
IBA = Interceptor Body Armor
kevlar = term we use solely for our helmets

ON TO KANDAHAR

(25SEPT2008)

My colleague and I are top of the waiting list for a flight to Kandahar tonight. It looks like it's going to be another C-130, and the flight is quite a bit longer than the one to Sharana. We're hoping for a quick turnaround, but it all depends on air asset availability for the return trip.

We'll see.

TUNA BRIDGE

(24SEPT2008)

The sign on the bridge reads:

‘The Berg-Kamps

Tuna Bridge

The legend of Tuna Bridge

In the summer of 2003, this crossing only existed as a jump across the ditch with a steep climb up the road. One sunny afternoon while CJCMOTF LTC Tom Berg and CSM Kevin Kamps were executing this crossing, they noticed a slightly exposed metal ring in one of the footholds created by many soldiers wanting to cross the street en route to the original Viper tent village. Having previously attended a landmine class (and having paid attention), they stopped movement on the gravel walkway and alerted Based Ops. The entire intersection was cordoned off, stopping Disney traffic for over 30 minutes, and EOD was brought in to unearth the potential mine. The mission was a success and EOD dug up… and unopened can of Russian tuna fish. Not long after, the bridge was constructed and named “Tuna Bridge” in honor of this event.’

CJCMOTF = Combined Joint Civil-Military Operations Task Force

LTC = Lieutenant Colonel

CSM = Command Sergeant Major

EOD = Explosive Ordnance Disposal

GIVING LIFTS

(22SEPT2008)

When I was in Balad, Iraq, I had my own vehicle and would often give lifts to soldiers who were waiting for shuttles to get around post. I made good contacts this way and at any rate I was doing them a favor and it was the least I could do.

As my office in Balad was only a short walk from the hospital, I would usually swing by and pick up soldiers in casts and on crutches who were struggling to get to the PX to buy toiletries or other sundries. I remember one soldier I picked up was limping pretty bad and I felt like I was doing my good deed for the day, helping a wounded soldier by giving him a lift to the Taco Bell. Then he told me he broke his ankle playing basketball and I didn't feel so bad for him anymore.

This morning I was riding with two of my colleagues and we were headed from the laundry point to the APOD when we saw an Air Force CPT with several USPS packages waiting at a shuttle stop. As the APOD is right near the Post Office, we offered her a lift and she happily hopped in.

Turns out she's working near Kabul and is in Bagram on her way out for R&R. She's part of a team that is training the ANA how to set up, operate, and maintain telecommunication hubs. She told us that it's been a little hard going. Setting up satellite dishes is fairly technical and many of the ANA soldiers she works with had never seen a computer before. When I asked her what the ANA soldiers were most impressed by, she said "The mouse. They can't believe the mouse does what it does."

APOD = Aerial Point of Debarkation
CPT = Captain
USPS = United States Postal Service
R&R = Rest and Relaxation (leave/vacation)
ANA = Afghan National Army

THE KITE-FLIER

(21SEPT2008)

There's a village just outside post which I can only catch glimpses of sometimes, between the barriers and concertina wire. I often forget it's even there. Today as I was walking back to my room I was admiring the particularly good view of the Hindu Kush mountains and there in front of me was a single kite against the backdrop.

It reminded me, unsurprisingly, of the book The Kite Runner, but more than that it was just a nice idyllic little moment that made me think of the child in that village just being a kid and not embroiled in the conflict going on in his country.

FALLEN COMRADE CERMONY #3

(21SEPT2008)

We report at 0750 along Disney Drive, filing in along the road on both sides. It takes some time for everyone to show up, and the report time is well in advance of the procession because of that.

I chat with the guy next to me while we wait. He’s a special agent for the FBI investigating, among other things, the theft of a large amount of fuel several years back. Seems some Americans (not sure if they were soldiers or not) collaborated to divert shipments of fuel and sold them for their own personal gain. The fuel ended up on the black market and, undoubtedly, in the hands of the enemy.

All in all it’s a disappointing story to hear. The agent gives me his card and asks me to let him know if I catch wind of any criminal activity. It was an odd sales pitch.

The procession comes shortly thereafter. Two caskets, draped with the American flag, each in the back of a HMMWV carrying soldiers from the unit of the fallen. We stand at attention and salute.

HMMWV = High-Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle (‘humvee’)

MY FATHER’S BIRTHDAY

(19SEPT2008)

I was disappointed that I couldn’t get to a phone to call home and wish my father a Happy Birthday today (his 62^nd). There are definitely times when one feels more distant, more disconnected than usual from goings on back home.

THE BAZAAR, AND RETURN FROM SHARANA

(18SEPT2008)

My last day in Sharana, I spend the morning finishing up some data collection. After lunch, my colleague and I swing by the bazaar. Held once a week, the bazaar is an opportunity for LNs to sell their wares: usually bootleg DVDs, jewelry and loose gems, rugs, and random knick-knacks catering to the American visitors.

We had a bazaar in Balad (Iraq) that was open 4 days a week and it was much the same, except the proprietors were fairly passive there. At the bazaar in Sharana, the vendors are more vocal, pushy even, trying to persuade you to look at their merchandise and then, of course, to purchase it. The first table is covered with paper plates holding gems of various shapes and colors. As we pass by, the merchant is holding out a gem and saying “It’s a freakin’ diamond” over and over. He barely speaks English, but he knows “freakin’”.

The rest of the bazaar is typical. I buy some Afghani money after verifying that everyone’s selling it for the same price, and some incredibly cheap DVDs, but I’ve plenty of time to scope out any large purchases (I’ll probably buy a rug at some point).

We end up passing the same freakin’ gem dealer as we’re leaving and decide to sit down and chat with him. He has a little device, a meter with a needle that moves when he presses the pencil-like probe against each gem. He shows us that the needle doesn’t move into the “diamond” range when he tests what look like diamonds – “Fake. Fake. Fake,” he says as he files through them. Then he gets to the black diamonds and the needle jumps the far right. “Diamond!” He explains (sort of) that all white diamonds in Afghanistan are fakes. Good to know.

Unimpressed by this high-tech display, I do not spend $230 for a black diamond and we depart the bazaar.

My flight back to Bagram is on a C-130. I hate C-130s. They’re not particularly fast, there’s no view, the temperature fluctuates wildly, you’re crammed into uncomfortable sling-seats shoulder to shoulder, takeoffs make everyone shift into uncomfortable positions that you never recover from, and you have to wear your body armor when you fly in them. Other than that, they’re great.

I get back to Bagram just before the DFAC closes for dinner, so I’m able to grab a bite to eat, which is nice. I ate a light lunch to avoid yacking on the plane, and today is the US Air Force’s 61^st birthday, so the chow is slightly better than usual. I even celebrate with the airmen by having a piece of the enormous birthday cake, which wasn’t half bad.

I finally collapse into my room, weary from the travel. I’m mostly asleep, I think, when the Big Voice announces a Fallen Comrade ceremony at 0000 hours (midnight).

I’m exhausted, I’m sure everyone is exhausted, but the road fills up on both sides again because we all feel that it’s the least we can do, that it’s one of our duties. It’s a long procession this time, with 6 caskets.

LNs = Local Nationals (in this case, Afghanis)

DFAC = Dining FACility

WHAT DO YOU CALL IT WHEN YOU’RE HOMESICK FOR FOOD?

(17SEPT2008)

I’m walking through a motor pool today and some combination of fuel and other substances conspire to smell, to me, like vinegar. Vinegar always reminds me of fish n’ chips, and suddenly I really want some good fish n’ chips. The DFAC never serves good fish.

Were I home, I know exactly where I’d go: a little Irish pub on the water near my last apartment that also serves great gumbo (go figure). As it is, this is a craving that will go unfulfilled, to be replaced by many more cravings over the coming months until I have a chance to satisfy some of them, at least, when I’m back in the States next June.

WEATHER REPORT FOR SHARANA: SAND AND ARTILLERY

(17SEPT2008)

My time in Sharana is short: fly in on Tuesday, fly out on Thursday. I get housing in a transient tent and it’s nothing pretty, but when you’re traveling you’re usually just happy to have somewhere to lay your head at night. I bring my Army-issue sleeping bag and a sheet for the mattress, using a rolled-up towel as a pillow. The mattress is designed to give me a work out, it wants to deposit me on the floor and I have to struggle to stay on it.


The transient tent is in a tent city they refer to as the RSOI. It’s fairly typical as transient tents go – a collection of bunk beds on a plywood floor, it's a sturdy tent with an A/C unit on full tilt to make it incredibly, uncomfortably cold (in the winter the heater will make it incredibly, uncomfortably hot).


The tent city also hosts a slew of Polish soldiers. Their flags fly over roughly a third of the tents, and they fill the DFAC. When I arrive at the RSOI, a group of them are sitting on a bench in their underwear (sorry, no pictures); I’m told it’s a common occurrence, that the Polish like to sunbathe. The only English I ever hear them speak is “one” or “two” as they point to the ice cream in the DFAC telling the server how many scoops they want.

I spend my one full day in Sharana, Wednesday, walking back and forth between motor pools and unit offices, the APOD, the MWR, my tent, and the DFAC. My dogs are barking loudly.

It’s a productive day. I’m happiest when I’m out in the motor pools talking to soldiers, climbing on and in vehicles, and I fill several pages of a notebook with their insight, complaints, and suggestions about their rides. It’s part my job to push those notes up the right channels and hopefully affect some improvements. It’s also good SA for me, as other aspects of my job touch on how the vehicles are performing, how they’re being used, and what the soldiers are experiencing on mission.

I’m done by the late afternoon and I take some time to grab chow and finish the book I’m reading. I learned long ago to always have a book handy to endure the long stretches of waiting while traveling in theater. Finishing the book is bittersweet, as I only brought the one.

I spend the next hour or so walking around post looking for another book to read. The MWR always has a bookshelf with free books, but I am dismayed to find a very poor selection. I don’t know who Mary Higgins Clark is sleeping with, but her books are everywhere in theater. I’ve never been compelled to pick one up, though. Even the PX has a poor book selection for sale.

I walk up to the APOD to schedule my flight for the next day and find a book there that I deem acceptable (crisis averted), and remind myself to get on Amazon and order some books when I get back to Bagram (luckily Amazon delivers to APO addresses). The crew at the APOD ask me to return after 1900 when they’ll know the flight times for Thursday. I’m not thrilled about this, as the walk between the APOD and my tent is lengthy and by this time my dogs are getting hoarse.

I trudge back to my tent just in time to see darkness rolling in from the West. The sun still has some altitude, and the puffy white clouds don’t indicate a coming storm, but then it hits me. That’s an awful lot of sand heading this way.

The tent shakes and rocks in the heavy wind and the sand sounds like rain on the canvas. When some soldiers open the flap to get inside, the tent is momentarily filled with sand – invisible, but scratching at our eyes and making us cough. The whole tent smells like sand, if that makes any sense. The storm lasts about an hour, during which I read my book and exchange nervous glances with my tent-mates as one side of the tent bows in significantly.


After another hike to the APOD and a flight scheduled for the next afternoon, I grab dinner and head back to the tent for some shut-eye. A little after 2100 most of the tent is still up and chatting with the lights on when a massive boom shakes the ground. The Polish are firing artillery from about 100 meters away, and it’s deafening. It’s also scary if you think it’s incoming, which many in the tent believe at first. We assure them it isn’t, and some of us head out to watch the fireworks, but the volley is short and ends before we get a chance to see it.

I get to sleep fighting gravity again and am once again amazed not to awake on the floor of the tent Thursday morning.

RSOI = Reception, Staging, Onward movement, and Integration
(I had to look that up – nobody I asked knew what it stood for!)

DFAC = Dining FACility

APOD = Aerial Port of Debarkation

MWR = Morale, Welfare, and Recreation

SA = Situational Awareness

PX = Post Exchange (the general store)

APO = Army Post Office

GETTING TO SHARANA

(16SEPT2008)

There’s no such thing as a guaranteed flight out here. The best I can do to get from Bagram to Sharana is to be at the APOD at 0230 when they list the flight schedule for the day and try to get on one of them.

0230 turns into 0300 before they list the flights, but I’m pleased to see two (two!) STOL flights to Sharana at 0330. My joy is short-lived, however, as it turns out neither will be taking passengers – mail and other cargo take priority, so I stumble back to my room with my armor (you have to fly with your IBA and kevlar) and bag. The next flight to Sharana is at 1115 so I catch some shut-eye.

I get on the 1115 flight as the 10^th and last stand-by passenger. The flight doesn’t actually leave until several hours later (that’s par for the course), so I kill time reading my book and watching one of the many TVs they have around – the military is very good about placating the masses with media.

The STOL plane is a small, twin-propeller piloted by Blackwater personnel (yes, that Blackwater). The plane is loud and the ride is bumpy, and my seat back won’t return to its upright position, but it’s a short hop down to Sharana – about an hour. I get a window seat, but the window is so dirty I can barely see out of it.

I get into Sharana in the afternoon but have no way of getting in touch with my POC, so I walk around the post for a couple of hours – it’s small enough that you can actually walk around it. I especially liked the road on the East side that parallels the perimeter fence; the base is on a plateau and the fence is right on the edge, overlooking a flat expanse, some scattered Afghani homes, one paved road, and mountains in the distance. It was awfully purty.

APOD = Aerial Port of Debarkation

STOL = Short Take-Off and Landing

IBA = Interceptor Body Armor (armored vest)

kevlar = term used only to refer to our helmets

TRAVELING

(16SEPT2008)

I’m hoping to get on a flight to FOB SHARANA tonight or tomorrow morning and will be there the next several days. As flights are cancelled and diverted at the drop of a hat due to weather and changing mission requirements, I have no way of knowing exactly when I’ll get down there, or when I’ll return. One of the many joys of flying with the military.

FOB = Forward Operating Base

FALLEN COMRADES

(12SEPT2008)

Most bases, especially the larger ones, have a “Big Voice” that makes announcements to the entire base. In Balad, Iraq, where we had incoming mortars almost daily, the Big Voice often told us “There has been an indirect fire attack”, and to be wary of unexploded ordnance. She – the Big Voice was a woman’s voice and we often joked about having crushes on her – she would also serve notice that “There will be a controlled detonation”, so that we knew the coming explosion was not in fact an attack.

I have only heard the Big Voice in Bagram a couple of times in my two weeks here. We have had no attacks of any sort and they don’t announce controlled detonations like they did in Balad.

This morning, the Big Voice wakes me up around 0730, though I can’t understand what it’s saying. My housing is apparently located in an area covered by multiple loudspeakers, and the slight delay between them results in a garbled message. When the Big Voice (it’s a man’s voice here) speaks up again a half hour later, I leave my room and find a place where I can catch the message.

“There will be a Fallen Comrade ceremony this morning. all available personnel are required to report to Disney Drive no later than 0850 hours. No cameras, PT uniforms, or sunglasses are allowed.”

Disney Drive is the main strip on Bagram, named after SPC Jason Disney who was killed in an industrial accident on Bagram in 2002. I put on my uniform on and join hundreds of others lining both sides of Disney leading to the airfield; there are uniforms as far as the eye can see down the road. We stand at parade rest until an MP escort leads two HMMWVs carrying flag-draped caskets guarded by the fallen’s friends and colleagues.

As the HMMWVs pass, we stand at attention and all of the soldiers salute their fallen comrade. It’s an altogether moving and sobering reminder of what happens here.

PT = Physical Training

SPC = Specialist

HMMWV = High Mobility Multi-purpose Wheeled Vehicle (‘humvee’)

SEPTEMBER 11th

(11SEPT2008)

Eventually, every day will start to feel the same and I will enter what most of us refer to as “Groundhog Day” (after the Bill Murray movie). As I’ve only been in country for 13 days, I’m not quite there yet. I’m still learning things, still getting the hang of my position here, and my office & living quarters remain in flux.

Even in that state of unchanging days, though, there are occasions that refuse to go unnoticed. Holidays, as an example, remind one of how far away we are from our families and friends, marked in theater only by a meal of dry turkey and ham instead of the usual dry meatloaf and fried chicken. Other than that, it’s business as usual, and if you don’t notice the gray stuffing at the DFAC the holiday can come and go without your knowledge. I didn’t notice Labor Day until dinner.

September 11^th is of course such a day – not a holiday, but a day we can’t help but notice and one that speaks directly to the armed forces and what we’re doing all the way out here in the first place. I was in Iraq last year on this date, and the day was subdued, as it was here in Afghanistan today.

Flags were flown at half-staff, and I spotted several units raising and lowering flag after flag, no doubt to be presented to someone with a certificate stating that the flag was flown over such-and-such HQ in Afghanistan on September 11^th.

I have a flag that was flown on a UAV last year on this date in Iraq, even brought the flag with me to Afghanistan, though it didn’t occur to me to look for opportunities to fly it today.

It’s not always easy to draw the connection from that tragic day to our life and work in Afghanistan, though we often try to. I went about my business today, reflecting and remembering the events of 7 years ago, but focused, as we all are, on what we’re doing here and now.

DFAC = Dining Facility

UAV = Unmanned Aerial Vehicle

ABOUT TO SMELL BETTER

(08SEP2008)

The PX had soap and shampoo today, though they limit the number of each one can purchase. I learned in Iraq that if there's something you need, you just have to keep going back, because you never know when they're going to stock certain items.

I think it took 3 months for me to get clothes hangars in Balad (where I was stationed in Iraq).

Anyhow, I got my shampoo and soap, and I'm excited to take a shower and smell like something other than a dead skunk.

I FEEL THE EARTH MOVE, UNDER MY FEET

(06SEPT2008)

I’m sitting at the desk in my room this morning, at about 1030, when the floor begins undulating, like the little building I live in is being lifted and shaken slightly. It feels similar to being on a helicopter just as it begins to lift off. Turns out we had a little tremor, something I wasn’t expecting and, hopefully, that will never manifest itself more seriously.

GUESS WHO'S COMING TO DINNER. NEVER MIND, YOU'D NEVER GET IT.

(04SEPT2008)

My colleague and I stopped by the PX so that he could buy a television, but he decided that the line was far too long, as it often is. I desperately needed soap and shampoo, which the PX had been out of but now had in stock. I didn’t want to make my buddy wait, though, so I decided against getting any.

As we were leaving, we saw a line of people waiting for a book signing by LTC (RET) James Megellas, touted as “the 82^nd Airborne’s most decorated officer” which is pretty impressive considering the history of the 82^nd ABN.

The line wasn’t very long, and we’re both of the mindset that we should take advantage of any unique opportunities over here, so we stood in line, shook the guy’s hand, and got a signed copy of his book chronicling his combat experiences in Holland and Germany during WWII.

I later saw him and his wranglers at the DFAC at lunch and again at dinner. I wonder what he thought of the chow halls here compared to what he was eating in the 1940s in a very different war.

When I returned to the PX later that day, they were entirely out of shampoo and soap. I reek.

PX = Post Exchange

LTC = Lieutenant Colonel

RET = Retired

DFAC = Dining Facility

TRYING TO SLEEP or THAT CAT’S LUCKY I WASN’T ISSUED A SIDE-ARM

(03SEPT2008)

Sleep can be hard to come by in theater.

The walls of my little room are not very thick, so between helicopters flying overhead, jets taking off not far away, soldiers loading/unloading their vehicles, people walking by, people talking, car wheels in the gravel, and the wind whipping itself against the walls, it can be hard to get to sleep or to stay asleep.

Add to that the furious squawking of irate birds just after sunrise. I’ve been awakened twice now to the beating of wings against the walls, door, and A/C unit of my little room. I jumped up the first time to see birds all atwitter, a cat slinking around obviously having caused the ruckus.

It was a little weird seeing a cat here. In the 7 months I spent in Iraq, I never once saw a cat and only once saw a dog that wasn’t an MWD. I walked into a unit’s barracks looking for someone and they had a pet dog, entirely against regulation, in their living area. I pet him and asked for the CPT I was looking for.

I woke early on purpose a couple of days ago to watch the first NFL game of the season. Given the time difference, the game was in progress when I awoke at 0445, and so was the call to prayer. My housing is right next to the base perimeter fence, and there is an Afghani village just on the other side. I’d slept through this call to prayer a few times, apparently, but being awake already it was hard to get back to sleep. At times chanting and other times simply speaking, the voice is amplified through a loudspeaker and is enough to leave me staring at the ceiling until it ends.

I awake the next morning at 0445 again because I forgot to change the alarm on my watch, again hear the prayer service, and again lie in darkness waiting for it to finish.

MWD = Military Working Dog

CPT = Captain