EVERYONE DECIDED TO DRESS UP AS SOLDIERS

(31OCT2008)

Normally I start to wind down at the end of the week in anticipation of the weekend when communication from offices in the States dries up. I still work on the weekends – every day – but the pace of things slows slightly and you can catch your breath and work largely uninterrupted by requests from CONUS.

This Friday does not find things winding down for me, however. I have a meeting with my BTN CDR this morning, and tomorrow morning I will brief him and my BDE CDR, both of which require preparation and a fair amount of time playing the role of PowerPoint Ranger.

Being Friday, though, the bazaar is in full swing and I have time to kill when another meeting I have is delayed. I walk around the little shops, quickly becoming numb to the unchanging swath of cheap merchandise. So many of the little stores have all the exact same things for sale, and it’s hard to see any of it as something I’d want to have as a souvenir or to give as a gift, though I will undoubtedly change my mind on the latter as the holidays approach, and on the former as I'm getting ready to leave for good.

After my meeting, I have lunch and reminded that today is Halloween. My mother had sent me a Halloween card that arrived yesterday - I was surprised she was able to anticipate the mailing delay so well. Usually I receive holiday greetings weeks after the fact.

As always, the DFAC is decorated for the holiday. I’d held out hope that the servers might dress in costumes, but it’s not to be. In fact, I spot only one person who may be wearing a costume but, honestly, it may just be a really bad toupee and I don’t ask for fear of offending.

My meeting with the BTN CDR goes well. It’s relaxed and we spend as much time talking about hunting as we do about the work I’m presenting. I don’t hunt, but my BTN CDR does, so that’s what we talked about. That’s usually how those things work.

I attend a VTC later in the evening and return to my hooch at almost 2200. I still want to add to, edit, and change my brief for the following morning, though, and I clatter away at my computer until almost 0400, which doesn’t even seem like a big deal. Long days and nights are common in theater, and you always just make up the sleep when you can.

I’ll make it up tomorrow. I hope.

CONUS = CONtinential United States
BTN CDR = Battalion Commander
BDE CDR = Brigade Commander
VTC = Video TeleConference

LIFE OUTSIDE THE WIRE, BRIEFLY

(30OCT2008)

My colleagues and I lease two vehicles, NTVs, for use on base. We’re a little short-handed right now, with only 3 of us stationed in Bagram. One guy works on the airfield, quite apart from the other two of us, and he has the use of his own pick-up truck. My other colleague, Alex, work together most of the time and we share a small SUV, trading the keys back and forth.

Our numbers will be growing over the next couple of months, to a total of 8 or 9 personnel on Bagram, and we requested permission from the base to register another vehicle – we were turned down. The base is incredibly crowded. Traffic on Disney Drive (the main strip) is commonly backed up and inches along as pedestrians line up at the crosswalks. The parking lot at the PX is almost always full.

It’s going to be interesting coordinating 8 or more people with one vehicle. I’ve considered buying a bicycle, but the coming winter months will make that a poor solution in the short term.

There are a lot of NTVs on BAF, and they’re each leased from a small number of Afghani companies, and all of them are incredibly expensive. We pay $1,800 each month just for the pick-up truck. Many of us joke about buying a few vehicles over here, leasing them, and retiring with the income you’d generate. We’re sure the government requires the use of Afghani companies, though, as a means of getting money into the local economy.

The leases at least come with comprehensive service plans, as I discovered recently when the pick-up needed a new set of tires in order to pass a base inspection. The wrinkle is that the company that leases us the vehicle cannot come on to post, which means we have to go out to meet them.

I won’t discuss the security measures of the ECP, for obvious reasons, but Alex and I drive off base in the early afternoon, just after lunch, and are immediately flagged down by two men in an SUV parked in a dirt lot just outside post. We pull over and greet the company men sent to help us with the tires.

The dirt lot is incredibly uneven, pitted and rough. Not a great place to change tires. The guys’ boss had told us earlier on the phone that they would change all 4 tires in 10 minutes, and so I issue the challenge to them, pretending to set my watch. They start to scramble and scurry, gabbing the new tires and the jacks from their car before I tell them I’m kidding. “Please, take your time.”

Being outside post is sort of anti-climactic. We’re parked in a dirt lot with several other cars, and two Afghanis are changing our tires. The town I can sometimes spot through the fence on post is across a small field lined with rough paths. Villagers stroll out from time to time and walk by us, one man rides his bicycle in large circles before picking it up and carrying it across a hedge of concertina wire. Every once in a while, Army vehicles stream out of the ECP in their formation, disappearing into the distance where they might find enemies waiting.

Alex and I are watching the Afghanis work, feeling uncomfortable as most people do when watching other people perform manual labor, when we’re approached by three Afghani boys, probably young teenagers. One of them is pushing a wheelbarrow stacked with packages of Afghani snacks; I can’t make any of them out and besides I didn’t bring any money. They also have with them a large container of water (or tea?) for sale.

The boys approach us sidelong, trying to avoid our two workers who, when they spot the kids, shoo them away with curt demands in Pashto. The boys leave quickly, harass another nearby car full of people, and then make their way across the field toward the village.

The changing of the tires takes more than 10 minutes, but not much more. While they’re changing the driver’s-side front tire they notice gasoline in the wheel well and point out that our fuel filter is leaking. Not expecting to have to repair this, they open the hood of their car and remove their own fuel filter, swapping it with our faulty filter. The older of the two sucks gasoline out of the filter and blows into it, showing us where the leak is by the air that come out along a seal. (This is the second time I’ve seen someone suck gasoline out of a fuel filter. The first time was in Arizona, but that’s an entirely different story.)

We thank the guys for their help, we shake hands, and then Alex and I drive back on to base. Our adventure outside the wire was short and entirely uneventful.

NTV = Non-Tactical Vehicle
BAF = Bagram Air Field
ECP = Entry Control Point

GUESS WHO'S COMING TO DINNER - THE 4-STAR GENERAL EDITION

(25OCT2008)

It’s not very often that you see a 4-star General, let alone spend any time with him. The CG of AMC, GEN Griffin, visited Afghanistan last week and though his visit was short, some of us had an opportunity to have dinner with him – an intimate affair with 40 of his closest colleagues.

There was a private room in the DFAC, though my hopes for better food are dashed. It’s the same chow I always eat. His schedule is tight, so there’s a quick once-around the room when we say who we are and who we work for. He asks each of us where we call ‘home’ in the States, and to a few people he asks further quick questions.

When it’s my turn he asks me how long I’ve been here (“Two months, sir”) and how long my tour is (“16 months, sir”). My latter answer raises eyebrows throughout the room, as most tours are 4-6 months for civilians. I think it’s buys me some credibility with some folks I’m still getting to know professionally.

The GEN oversees the awarding of two bronze stars to redeploying soldiers I work with, and gives coins to several others. Every commanding officer has a coin – an oversized metal coin with his/her unit’s insignia and/or other fancy imagery and slogans. They’re used as commendations, and most people who’ve been around the Army have at least a few. I have 3 or 4, though I can’t remember where I’ve left them…

We spend no more than an hour with the GEN before he’s whisked off to high-level meetings with the folks running the war in Afghanistan. He’s in country only for a few days, something of a farewell tour before his retirement next month.

CG = Commanding General
AMC = Army Materiel Command

‘Materiel’ is defined as ‘equipment and supplies of a military force.’ A friend of mine used this word in her résumé when she left her job with the Army and to all of our frustration she was told twice by potential employers that she had made a typo.

DFAC = Dining FACility

‘Redeploying’ is defined as ‘leaving theater’ or ‘going home’. It of course sounds like you’re ‘deploying again’. I have suggested we use the term ‘undeploying’ but it hasn’t stuck yet. I’m still trying.

ROCKET CITY

(20OCT2008)

As always, the travel down to Salerno is exhausting. Though the flight is just around an hour long, we’ve been up and down for days checking flight schedules at 2300 and again at 0345, waiting for flights that never materialize, or which at the last minute decide not to take pax. Smaller, outlying FOBs like Salerno rely almost exclusively on air transport of cargo, and we’re bumped from a couple of flights in deference to mail, which is understandable.

We finally make it onto a C-130 (my least favorite way to fly) and experience a hard landing on the gravel runway at Salerno about an hour later. Happy to have finally gotten there but, as we say, “dragging ass”.

We stagger to the Salerno APOD, weary from the days-long trial of trying to catch a flight and preemptively put our names on the stand-by list for a return trip to Bagram, hoping to soften that predictable hardship. We call our colleagues in Salerno and they pick us up within a few minutes.
My first impression of Salerno is that it’s small, which it is. Named by the Italian military which first built it up, FOB Salerno is now primarily a US base, though every base I’ve been on has at least a smattering of international military forces. The east side of the base is fairly flat outside the wire until the mountains rise up at the border between Afghanistan and Pakistan. The west side has a series of fairly large hills sporting satellite dishes and small outposts. On the other side of those hills are a couple of Afghani towns.

FOB Salerno is the site of a two-day, sustained attack by the Taliban in mid-August of this year. They came at the base in large numbers, with several suicide bombers among them. Though the enemy was repelled and lost dozens of their fighters, we did lose some personnel in the attack – a sobering reminder of the enemy’s capabilities. Before and since, Salerno has received a fair amount of incoming fire, primarily from nearby Pakistan – thus the FOB’s nickname “Rocket City.” There were no attacks during my visit to FOB Salerno.

We drive to check in with our command and are given billeting – cubby-holes in a brick-n-mortar with plywood divisions separating each person’s area. There are beds, with characteristically dreadful mattresses, and I’ve brought a sheet, a sleeping bag, and a small pillow to complete the picture. We share an area with two permanent residents.

We spend most of the morning and afternoon in meetings, and I retire to my bed as the sun starts to set, falling asleep and missing dinner entirely. I’m beat from the many failed attempts to get here in the first place.

Sunday I’m up extra early and walk around post – literally. It’s small enough to get from one side to the other fairly easily, and I enjoy getting the lay of the land. These smaller FOBs are always more relaxed than a place like Bagram. Being further away from the flagpole (HQ), you’re left to your own devices a little more. At Bagram, your bosses always seem to be breathing down your neck.

I could enjoy working in a place like Salerno or Sharana if it was possible to do my job there, which it’s not.

I meet with some units during the morning and we check on flights back to Bagram, our short mission completed. There are no flights today. None. Not one going anywhere. We’re stuck in Salerno for another night. I walk into the PX and see row and row of empty shelf – our colleagues complain of no shampoo, soap, or deodorant, and I make a note to bring supplies for the guys next time.

We decide to hit the bazaar and it’s just as I see everywhere, LNs with shops selling more or less the same junk, and the occasional useful item. We’re walking around the bazaar when we see people eating lunch and we decide we’re hungry as well. We find one of the small shops is serving rice, a flat bread, and grapes as a complete meal.

We order plates for each of us, but they refuse to take our money. The LNs are serving it on their own and had invited some of their US Military friends, and they invite us to join in. I have a nice conversation with an Afghani doctor whose brother owns the small shop we’re eating out of. The doctor lives and works on post, leaving the base only intermittently and secretively to visit his wife and children in the nearby village. His brother, we learn, has just been engaged and we congratulate him. When I ask when he’ll be married, he says “Monday.”

The food they serve us is delicious – a very long grain rice with raisins, a dish simplistic but very scrumptious. The bread is equally good, freshly baked and warm, and the small grapes are a nice chaser. We use the shop’s tables to eat on, and in the picture my plate is resting on piles of bootleg DVDs. If the covers are to be trusted, each DVD contains 49 movies. The one directly above my plate is titled Arnold Schwarzenegger vs. Bruce Willis.

We find some other work-related activities to kill the rest of the day, and set up a meeting at the DFAC for dinner. One of our colleagues recounts how he was outside his room having a cigarette a few weeks earlier when a rocket flew just over his building and exploded nearby, scattering the ever-present gravel over him and the building. I say, matter-of-factly, “Smoking kills.”

Talking and laughing throughout dinner, time gets away from us, and it’s pitch black when we leave the DFAC. I mean pitch black. I mean there are no lights anywhere, for safety reasons, and I can’t see two feet in front of me. I keep a little red LED light on my keychain for just such occasions, but it turns out that a patch of red dirt several feet in front of you when everything is still completely black doesn’t really help much.

I walk slowly and deliberately back to my room, walking into only one concrete barrier on the way. I lie down to read a book and am in the middle of a sentence when one of the permanent residents turns the lights out. I have no choice but to go to sleep.

Monday morning. We head up to the APOD and check on flights. We missed one early in the morning, but another one for the afternoon has a few seats available. Though we’re still pretty high on the stand-by list, the flight has 8 seats and there are only 4 people waiting in the APOD including us.

We kill time playing a little horseshoes, and I catch up on my interrupted reading. I carry a book with me whenever I travel, as there are always long hours sitting and waiting to fly in theater.

While I'm sitting, minding my own business and reading, I spot a fairly large animal poking its head out of a culvert near the runway. I ask one of the local airmen and he tells me it's their "half-naked coyote", presumably named due to its spotty covering. I watch as soldiers walk or drive within feet of the coyote and it never flinches, accustomed as it is to living on an Army base.

Our plan finally arrives, a STOL packed with mail when it arrives. All of the crew and us passengers help to unload it, forming two chains into the hold of the aircraft and out to the forklift on the tarmac. It’s nice to see all of the packages coming to these soldiers. The outlying FOBs like Salerno experience more separation than we do in Bagram, in the terms of delayed mail, poor phone, and inconsistent internet access. I know how much it must mean to them to receive packages from home, or luxuries they've ordered online.

The flight back to Bagram is uneventful, if a bit bumpy. I like having a proper airplane seat on the STOL flights, and the view of Afghanistan from the air is getting more and more familiar to me: the ever-present soft hills and mountains sometimes rising up to the craggly peaks of proper mountains, the crumbling-walled compounds of the Afghani people, the dry river beds (called 'wadi') snaking down through valleys in the slopes - houses and small towns scattered along their banks.

We arrive back in Bagram (“home”) before lunch, though the last week has beaten me to a pulp and it feels like midnight. My own bed is no more comfortable than any other in country – worse than many, even – but it’s mine.

pax = passengers
FOB = Forward Operating Base
HQ = Headquarters
LN = Local National (also HCN = Host Country National)
DFAC = Dining FACility
Short Take-Off and Landing

TRAVEL DELAYS, AS USUAL

(17OCT2008)

Our flight today is delayed, and is then cancelled altogether. For us, anyway. Turns out they need the air asset for another mission and we’re bumped from the flight.

There are no more flights to Salerno today, but we’ll swing by the APOD around 0300 tomorrow morning to see if a Blackwater STOL flight pops up. They update their flight schedule in the wee hours of the morning, I believe just to torture us.

We had put our names on the stand-by list 3 days ago and normally that’s only good for 72 hours. We ask if we need to be resubmitted, but they have a policy not to purge the stand-by list to Salerno precisely because it’s so difficult to get there – most people end up waiting more than 3 days for a flight. Travel within Afghanistan can be extremely frustrating.

I return to my room and do some work before walking up to the PX in the afternoon. As I’m strolling along, the most delicious smell makes my mouth water. I have a hard time identifying it, or locating the source, until I see smoke wafting from the DFAC across the street. They have large grills set up and, at 1400, are cooking the steaks they’ll serve to us for dinner tonight beginning at 1700.

This is why the steaks are always dried out by the time we get to sink our teeth into them.

APOD = Aerial Port of Debarkation
STOL = Short Take-Off and Landing
PX = Post Exchange
DFAC = Dining FACility

HEADING TO SALERNO

(15OCT2008)

The last few days have been cool, and the nights have been downright frigid. It’s making the walk to the port-a-john at 0300 pretty uncomfortable. I hear tale of very cold times ahead, with ice and snow sweeping onto us from the surrounding mountains. I’ll have to see if the PX has long underwear in stock.

I have an upcoming mission to Salerno, though flights from BAF to there have been sparse of late. Looks like there’s one tomorrow, though, so my colleague and I will show up at the APOD and assume the position until we are either on board or bumped.

While I usually enjoy the travel, and it will be nice to see another base and get off of BAF, work has kept me pretty busy lately and I almost hate to leave and get further behind. I’ll catch up when I get back, though, as always. It does pay to be busy out here, as those days will fly by.

PX = Post Exchange
BAF = Bagram Air Field
APOD = Aerial Port of Debarkation

WHAT IF YOU THREW A HOLIDAY AND NOBODY KNEW?

(13OCT2008)

Holidays in theater sneak up on me. There’s no anticipation of a day off, a three-day weekend, or travel to see family or friends. There’s no sleeping in or barbecuing. Holidays are work days here as every other day, and though I usually don’t even notice them at first, there are some signs.

For one thing, nobody in the States returns your emails. Weekends and the time difference are bad enough when you’re trying to conduct business from around the world (I’m 8½ hours ahead of the US East Coast where my home station is), but when there’s a day off back home, you’re waiting another entire day to hear back from anyone.

Also, more soldiers are given some time off on holidays so there’s more people milling around the PX and the food court, walking around post and at the MWR. I went to the gym this evening and it was more crowded than I’d ever seen it, no doubt owing to the holiday.

The biggest difference, though, is at the DFAC. God bless them, they try a little harder on holidays. Normally we have steak & seafood only on Fridays, but they treat us on holidays as well. (I don’t care for their version of seafood and I never ate the dry leather that passed for steaks in Iraq, but the steaks here are passably edible.) They also put up streamers and paper ornaments, and the tables are adorned with patriotic plastic tablecloths.


The entryway into the dining room had a streamer overhead reading “WE ♥ THE US!” which reminds you that it’s not Americans running this place and we’re definitely not home.

PX = Post Exchange
MWR = Morale, Welfare, and Recreation
DFAC = Dining FACility

HUZZAH FOR THE BAZAAR!

(10OCT2008)

The bazaar on BAF is held every Friday from 1000-1500 in a corner of the base set aside for it, with covered stalls and a small parking area. The proprietors are Afghan nationals (or LNs) who live off post and come in once a week to sell their wares.

I had missed this every week until now, being either too busy with work or traveling away from Bagram when it was held. I decide to make the time this morning, and I’m far from alone. The bazaar seems busy.

Wanting to simply get the lay of the land, I walk around waving off the pleas of the merchants – Hello, my friend, come see my stuff. They call every man “my friend” and I hear them refer to some older woman as “mother”. These LNs are, by and large, fairly aggressive. This is in contrast to the bazaar we had in Balad, Iraq, where you sometimes had to wake them up to make a purchase.

There is also haggling at this bazaar, something which was not allowed in Iraq. I don’t like haggling. For one, I don’t think I’m very good at it. I talk them down, but always feel as if I could have done better. Also, I find the whole scenario vaguely insulting. If at first you say it’s $45 and then I end up buying it for $20, then were you trying to rob me at first? I realize it’s not insulting, of course, but I’m not used to it and it feels awkward.

I buy a few trinkets, but mostly I just want to see what’s here, as I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time over the next year to do more shopping. The bazaar has only a limited variety of things for sale – the most popular are the rugs and scarves.

There are also several stalls selling gems and jewelry, but I would have a hard time paying hundreds of dollars for something I couldn’t verify as authentic.

Other popular items include weapons. There’s a wide variety of knives for sale, and tables full of old rifles. If you buy one of either, you have to jump through several hoops to ship it home, but there are ways to do it through customs and the Post Office on base.

At one point, I’m taking pictures of the bazaar and a young LN comes out of his little shop and asks me “Do you want a kiss?” I stare at him and say, perhaps a bit strongly, “Excuse me?!” He repeats his question and notes the mix of confusion and aggravation on my face before explaining, all of this in broken English, of course, “For your camera, do you want a kiss? We have hard kiss for your camera.” He’s saying case – but I don’t need a case, or a kiss (not from him, anyway).

I’m very glad to see that another Afghani has brought his camel to the bazaar, and he’s selling pictures and rides. I’d seen camels from a distance in Kuwait, but in all the time I’ve spent in the Middle East (almost 300 days) this is the first time I’ve been close enough to touch one. I watch as a female soldier takes what passes for a ride on the camel, holding on to the back.

She and her husband (both soldiers; you don’t see many married couples deployed together) have a great time with the camel and jokingly offer to buy it form the Afghani to bring back to the States with them. They negotiate a price of $15, though we’re fairly certain the merchant doesn’t understand the proceedings. The couple is very happy with the price until I point out that they’re going to get killed on shipping.

BAF = Bagram Air Field
LN = Local National

I BRAKE FOR CRITTERS

(09OCT2008)
Bagram is set up like many military bases in the Middle East, with a large airfield in the middle and a sprawl of buildings on either side. The runway at Bagram runs more or less North-South and I live on the West side of post. That means I also work on the West side, since I’m currently working out of my quarters.

The group I’m with has been trying to get office space for several months, and when I first arrived (in late August), I was told that a location had been selected on the East Side of post (where the rest of our unit is) and that construction of a B-hut would begin imminently and take about 2 weeks. A B-hut is a small wooden building that can comfortably accommodate an office of ~8 people.

We’re still waiting for them to start. We would be more frustrated with the process if it weren’t so common, if we weren’t so used to it. When we were told “2 weeks” we didn’t believe it for a second.

Since I am still living/working on the other side of post from the rest of my BDE, I drive back and forth most days to attend VTCs and other meetings. Last night, on my way back from a VTC that ran late, I spotted a fox on the side of the road. I slowed down to make sure he wouldn’t dart in front of my vehicle.

You don’t see much wildlife on military bases; some birds and insects, sure, but generally nothing more. I try to keep my eyes peeled for critters, though, and was glad to see the fox, even if he was just taking a crap on the side of the road.


BDE = Brigade
VTC = Video Tele-Conference

GLORIOUSLY CHANGING WEATHER

(07OCT2008)

It’s overcast today, and I love it.

I spent 207 days in Iraq last year and it rained twice: once in the first week I was there, and once in my last week. In between, it was not only devoid of rain, but a cloud was at most a bi-weekly occurrence, and even then it was a small, puffy, white, fleeting. It was invariably hot, and dry, and I longed for weather that changed. I longed for anything to change, really.

My first 39 days in Afghanistan have been similar, in that it’s been hot, but we at least have cloudy days and clear days, dusty days when you can barely see the surrounding mountains and days when they’re crisp and gorgeous. It’s been warm or hot during in the afternoons and lately it’s been cool at night, which I enjoy.

I’m told it snows in the winters here, and I’m very much looking forward to that.

I was working in my room today when it started to rain, softly. It took me a few moments to realize what the noise was, something plinking off the metal roof of my building. It lasted just long enough for me to walk outside and then ceased entirely, leaving just a transitory hint of the smell of rain.

SMALLPOX AND ANTHRAX SHOTS

(06OCT2008)

It’s been 7 weeks since I received my smallpox vaccination at FT BENNING prior to my deployment. The location of the shot in my left shoulder festered and was really quite disgusting for a while (I have a picture, but am withholding it in deference to your appetite). Per the instructions I was given, I kept the area covered with a band-aid at all times except for short spans after showers when I let it air dry.

Finally, the spot has healed enough for me to shed the band-aid altogether, though it’s still red. Seven weeks of wearing an adhesive on my arm has left the surrounding area irritable; it has itched constantly for the last 2 months.

I received the next in the series of Anthrax shots that same day back in August and I still have a knot in my shoulder. It’s unobtrusive, but you can feel it.

WHAT’S NEXT? CAFFEINE-INFUSED UNDERWEAR? (PATENT PENDING)

(04OCT2008)

I saw more of this in Iraq, but even here you needn’t look hard to find a soldier with a lip or cheek full of dip or chew, spitting brown into a water bottle. It’s not a habit I’ve ever found intriguing (my one experiment with it wasn’t enjoyable), but I can understand how one could get into it while deployed. With no beer to be found (part of General Order Number One), tobacco is one of the few chemical releases available us.

Caffeine is another.

Rip-It and Red Bull energy drinks are very popular in theater, and a friend of mine in Iraq brought at least two cans with him into meetings to insure wakefulness. While he was only trying to avoid nodding off in front of our commander, it makes sense that soldiers on missions would have an even more real need for a boost, to stay alert and on guard.

A good friend of mine recently emailed me an article about a couple of Marines who have started to produce tobacco infused with caffeine, to capitalize on the habit that many soldiers already have and to assist in their efforts to stay attentive in a war zone. My buddy seemed to think this was a very novel idea, and it is, but it’s not entirely unique.

I emailed him the following pictures of Wrigley’s STAY ALERT cinnamon flavored caffeine gum.

You’ve got to love a pack of gum that comes with a warning label. It reads:

· CHEW 1 STICK FOR 5 MINUTES

· IF NOT ALERT CHEW A 2^nd STICK

· CHEW A 3^rd STICK IF FATIGUE RETURNS

· DO NOT EXCEED 3 STICKS IN 3 HOURS OR MORE THAN 10 STICKS A DAY

The back also states “made exclusively for the US Military. Not for Retail Sale.”

I haven’t tried it yet, but carry it with me for emergencies.

CURRENT EVENTS

(03OCT2008)

It’s easy for to lose track of what’s going on in the States, and it’s easy to feel disconnected from current events even when I’m aware of them. I have a television in my room, and I get a news channel that I watch at times, but most of my attention is centered on my job out here.

The economic crisis back home feels particularly remote, as money is a very different creature for deployed personnel. I have very few occasions to buy anything; all of my necessities are provided. The price of gasoline is a non-issue; fuel for our shared vehicle is free.

I am perhaps even more isolated from such issues back home than most, not having a wife and family left behind who would relate their experiences. Certainly many of my colleagues are not immune to their houses in the States losing value, and we’re all affected as much as anyone by investment losses, but it never seems to be at the forefront of our conversations. More often than not, and unsurprisingly, we discuss the war going on around us.

I have been watching the debates and I keep up with the Presidential campaigns, and I discuss these with my colleagues and others when I can, but of course politics can be divisive and I try to avoid any topic that may potentially strain a relationship with someone who I will see for 12 hours a day, 7 days a week, for the next several months.

One thing that has surprised me, though, in my few conversations on the topic, is that all political perspectives are represented and there is not, as I would have expected, an overwhelmingly conservative viewpoint.

While many news stories can come and go without my even noticing them, others certainly catch my attention more than they would back home – namely, anything happening in the Middle East.

Last year while I was in Iraq, there was an incident wherein the Iranian Navy boarded a British ship and detained a number of its sailors for allegedly crossing into Iranian waters. There were tense negotiations to free the “prisoners” and eventually the British were released. During that time, we in Iraq kept careful tabs on the situation, and more than one person expressed the concern that if things went poorly, war with Iran could follow and the base we were on in Iraq would be a prime target for the Iranian Air Force. At least one of my friends had his escape planned if worse came to worse. It was certainly something we did not want to see, and there was a palpable relief when the incident was resolved peacefully.

Likewise, last week there was an incident at the Afghan/Pakistan border that saw US and Pakistani forces exchange fire. Knowing that any sort of escalation of this conflict would directly affect my safety and probably my job, I looked for updates on this story whenever I could, and was of course glad that it did not develop into anything further.

It’s definitely something that takes getting used to, and it’s easy to forget, but Pakistan is in my neighborhood right now, and Afghanistan is “home”.