Aaron's Afghanistan Blues

Friday, December 23, 2005

4-Footed Friend

In addition to adjusting to life with the new Crib, the Bamyan Forward Operating Base (FOB) has just grown with the addition of an unexpected member, Kiwi Shir. (BTW, I have tried yet again to add a picture to this blog, this time of me and Kiwi Shir, but blogger.com will have nothing to do with it.)

Kiwi Shir is a 9-month old, 55kg behemoth of a puppy. His paws are HUGE. I bet he grows another 20 kilos, easy, and we're not talking an overweight dog by any means.

I don't know exactly when it happened, but the Kiwi patrol which covers the northern districts of Bamyan Province (populated predominately by ethnic Tajiks, which makes them minorities here. This is a role reversal from the rest of the country, where the Tajiks and Pashtos are the ethnic majority, and the Hazaras are the minority trodden underfoot.) adopted this tiny little puppy at their base. With the onset of winter, the patrols may not be getting out as much, so they felt they should bring this little guy back to the central FOB so he would not be lonely.

I had a puppy, a sweet golden retriever puppy we nicknamed "D.A." (no, not district attorney -- figure it out) for a few months when I was in high school. My mom's exaggerated and unreasonable fear of dogs in general, and of this puppy more specifically (D.A. liked to jump up on people to show her affection) meant that any time as part of my family would be short-lived.

He's got less energy than I thought initially, however. I was kinda surprised when I took him up PT Hill that it was so much work. I've always had dogs that dragged me along when I walked them. This lazy puppy, when I went uphill, I had to drag him with me. It's hard enough hiking that hill as it is, think about dragging another 50 kg of dead meat. Nuts!! Down hill, now that is another story -- would've been more fun running at top speed like that on icy paths with no grip if I was not worried about sliding off the path, where we think there may be land mines. (Afghanistan always brings you back to reality, you know?)

All in all, I like Kiwi Shir. A lot. He's a great puppy -- playful, energetic, fun. Just what a puppy should be, in my mind. He needs some obediance training, but that can happen. I have been half thinking, how can I get this dog home? I want to adopt him. Of course, he would have to have not my mom's, but now my wife's seal of approval. She's actually scared of anything with fur. Somebody traumatized her as a kid, wrapping her up in a fur coat and not letting her get out for a while. Kiwi Shir is already larger than my wife now. How is she going to handle a dog who nibbles (not hard bites yet), jumps, and generally scampers around like you would expect from a much smaller animal? I'm probably completely out of luck. Stinks to be a dog lover only to find that the love of your life is someone petrified of animals. Oh well.

Seasons Change

I've been waiting to write this one a long time. Since I got back in early November, their is one topic that dominates every discussion, every thought, every action, every aborted action, Old Man Winter. Everybody warned me -- winter in Bamyan is a bear. (They call it other things too, but that's what I will use here.) My predecessor in this job is from Michigan (or Minnesota, one of those Canada-lite joints), and she couldn't deal with it. What on earth am I going to do, a Louisiana boy who just finished a two-year hiatus from seasons, much less cool weather, in sweltering Malaysia? I'm sure somebody knows, but it ain't me.

Full disclosure -- I am a winter wimp. Given the choice, I would take hot, humid, muggy, sticky, rainy weather to this stuff any day. I've had some exposure to what a real winter is like, in New York and one year in DC, surprisingly enough, but this is a different animal, one I would like to see driven to extinction.

From the Blackhawk flight back here in early November, I felt the full impact of the reality of this winter nightmareland. Oh sure, the first few times you see the snow come down, it's great, it's beautiful, it's peaceful, it's quiet, poignantly so, but after a while, enough all ready. I don't need the sleigh bells ringin' and all that glistenin'. For the locals, getting coal in their stocking makes for a good holiday, because then they can heat a room and survive another night. All of your clothes get residual soot, or get greasy petrol/diesel slime on them, if the offices have the diesel drip heaters. Nobody minds though -- the alternative is definitely less attractive.

For me, the biggest deal are the showers. I have discovered my limit -- hot showers. The showers work most of the time, and they have hot water probably 60% of the time. They have figured out how to keep the generator's fuel from turning to gel (I wonder if this was the perverted inspiration for napalm), but it is a never ending struggle, for truth, justice, and warm water. You know the brain freeze you get when you guzzle a slurpee, or eat too much ice cream too fast? That's what showers are like here. You have to be careful not to bite your own tongue off because your teeth are clattering together like construction equipment pushed past their limits. Then we walk out of the shower block and what water is left in your hair freezes.

I realize that this is pretty Andy Rooney-esque of me, to be whining (whinging, as the Kiwis would say) about one relatively small detail. Facing a cold shower is not as bad as some of the squalid conditions I have seen soldiers live in, but it is more than enough for me. I also know my buds still trying to salvage their existences in New Orleans, back home in Lake Charles, and others in the hurricane zone face bigger challenges. Hats off to them for making it in an unwelcome environment, but for me, as eloquently and diplomatically stated as possible, cold weather SUCKS.

Travel is not too bad yet. Bamyan is a dry enough environment that, even below freezing, if the sun hits a spot, the snow and ice there will melt in a matter of days. Where it gets fun is in some of the mountain passes where sunlight decides discretion is the better part of valor, and gets nowhere near. Already those passes are clogged with snow and ice, but as I keep hearing, this is just the beginning.

I have been wanting to write this for six weeks now, but I decided to wait to send this missive, because, technically, winter only started two days ago. Strangely enough, Wednesday was a surprisingly mild day -- temperatures got above freezing for the first time since I don't know when. The locals tell me that winter has not begun yet -- we still have 20-30 degrees or so to drop in the next month or two. I cannot get my brain around that fact. I suppose I will cope just like everyone else, but I have to admit, my next break, at the end of January, is beginning to look less like a break and more like a lifeline. More about clinging to that lifeline as we trudge through the holidays. Take it easy folks.

Friday, December 09, 2005

Farewell Crib 6

Another beautiful, crisp, day in Bamyan. It's a Friday too, which means a day off (not lately, actually, but that's for another time). Thank goodness, right?

Not this time. Today the last contingent of New Zealand military Crib 6 will depart Bamyan, headed for home (in summer, I might add) and points beyond. Their time in Bamyan is done.

This is the fourth of four C-130 Hercules lifts to bring Crib 6 back home, dragging out the goodbyes over an entire week. In some ways, it's agonizing. Today's crew is most of the senior NCOs, warrant officer types. The warrant officers comprise the bulk of my friends from this group, as we are all a little older than the bulk of the Kiwi troops, and have a little perspective on what we are doing here.
Of course, the Commander is also on this flight. Originally, it felt like I was starting off on the wrong foot with him, and that we were headed for months of butting heads or worse, but turns out that we got along famously. My first four months here have been immeasurably better because of the great professional relationship I had with the Commander. I would like to think that we have become good friends as well.

I have to confess that this is hitting me harder than I had expected. I have been living overseas for the better part of 8 years now, and I am used to seeing people come and go. You would think I am old hat at this.

Guess not. I have made some real friends in this last bunch, as we've shared fun (although a little alcohol would've livened things up), work, more work, more work, bombs, bullets, idiot UN drivers, good food, bad food, mountain hikes, PT hell, bazaar shopping (and haggling), RISK, Stand-To drills, American Chopper midnight marathons, rugby (how could I forget rugby), bad DVDs (I especially like the ones where the voice comes over the top and says "The concession stand will be closed in ten minutes." No, I don't buy fakes, but I have watched a few with the gang.), wayyyyy too much chocolate, lollys (all candy is a "lolly"), and a bunch of other stuff I can't think of at the moment.

Originally Parade Day was going to be big and flash. A Brigadier was coming out, as well as a couple of Coalition commanders, a Political Advisor (sort of like me), and a couple other VIPs. Of course, this being Bamyan, the military says they could not fly in because of "high wind." I don't know what it is about this landing strip, but it seems to scare pilots. Dunno. In other words, it was just the locals, outgoing Kiwi Crib 6, incoming Crib 7, the Americans here, and the Afghan staff. More like a family affair, and, I believe that is how most of us prefer it.

Life with Crib 7 will be good, I know, but it is hard to focus on that at the moment. Today I just want to focus on the end of this chapter, not the beginning of the next one. To all my Crib 6 pals, Marie, Joe, Louise, Hailey, Monty, Adrian/Gary (long story), Murray, BJ, Cam, Kev, Maace, Becks, Marty, Wally, Woddi, CSM Jim, Steve, Cheery, Red, Harry, Dobby, Nigel, Skiff, Russ, Dan, JK, Bob, anybody I've forgotten (I feel like I am reading my acceptance speech at the Oscars -- "you like me, you really like me!") and of course Tim, God Speed. We'll catch up again somewhere, sometime. The Chinese don't say goodbye, they say "zai jian," for "see you next time.

Zai Jian, Crib 6.