Operation Clean

We are supposed to have a team of Afghani’s that clean the office. This was our Christmas present from TF Bastogne. Almos is the team leader for Operation Clean at the Red Cross. He makes a point of being in command avoiding all physical labor and actively interpreting our wishes to his band of brothers. It is obvious he has a political feature. He started work two days before Christmas.
December 23 – Almos and his posse invade the Red Cross with brooms and Hefty garbage bags. Almos informs me that if I need anything he is my go to guy. I feel a bond. A brotherhood. I ask him how to say, “I hate dirt” in Dari. He says something like “Ma gang hawk” The “hawk” is very guttural and prolonged like a cough. I have the team chanting “Ma gang hawk”. The team is using dirty water to mop the floor. I demand clean water and they adjust. Everything in the office is done in about 15 minutes. I see a coming together of nations.
December 24 – I wait until mid-day seeking my posse of sanitation. I’m informed they do not work on Fridays.
December 25 – Christmas and the office will be spotless. Almos and his team are still not around.
December 26 – Almos arrives back in the office. He brings only one of troops who sweeps with passion. Almos pours a healthy cup of coffee and asks where the sugar is. He takes his cup plopping himself into the massage chair. He is a Lord and his vassal sweeps next to him. I tell him we need bottles of water and we still have to mop. He says, “He will be right back.”
December 27 – Almos is not to be seen.
These are the people we are turning the security over to. They have an 85% illiteracy rate (not that this is bad thing). They just live on Venus and we live on Mars.

Santa ain't coming to town

The wind blew dust today until you couldn't see. Now the wind is carrying winter to us. The soldiers put on an extra layer of clothing as they stare out at the barren trees along the river bed. The enemy, the bad guys, the evil doers stare at the wire. They have been staring for thousands of years.

The soldier stares at a goat herd. This is a country buried in the 13th century. He wonders if there is a word for "Peace" in Dari or Pashtun. Christmas is two days away. Santa doesn't fly over the Hindu Kush. He flies over Carmel,Ca. or Greenwhich, Ct or Beverly Hils,Ca. but he isn't landing in Afghanistan.

The soldier lifts up his collar looking up at the stars that sprinkle the sky. It is a cold lonely planet and Afghanistan is a place that doesn't tolerate remorse.

where sorrow flows from the mountains

The sunsets and sunrises are beautiful. The Hindu Kush mountains are jagged, bold and look like a playground for the Gods. The dust from the valley creates a veil from which we view the high peaks. We see the sloping shoulders of the mountains as they lean into our valley. We see the creases where the river flows toward us. Each morning hints of early spring with frost and the promise of warm sun. Every evening feels like the end of an Indian summer with coolness flooding the valley as the sun flees behind the peaks. Beautiful.
The beauty is lost here. There is poverty, pain and anger. A war for each generation. The men carry guns on the game trails back to Pakistan. There the wait. You don't have dig deep here to find the bleached bones of the dead.
Sadness, sorrow and grief is what Afghanistan exports.

where is the band

Where is the band?

This year the war isn’t so sexy? When it started celebrities lined up to embrace the troops. Iraq was getting big names to tour through the country. Last year,the Fox sports crew did a show in Bagram, not this year. Maybe, it was a poor ratings week. Where are the Rockettes? And the USO shows?
Politicians make their perfunctory appearance and have as much crowd appeal as a popcorn fart. They descend from the clouds with a cadre of media and microphones giving a speech seeped in banalities. Thankfully they disappear to the relief of the many.
The soldiers carry it alone. They are on the edge of the empire whether they are inside the wire or outside. Tonight,a 19 year old kid with a 70lb. pack on his back and a rifle is at the gate. The winds from the Hindu Kush kick up dust, the stars are smothered in war and it goes on for another year.

what winter means

The weather in Bagram has been warm and nice. Like good fall days in Montana near the end of September where the mornings and evenings are cool with the sun giving off plenty of warmth during the day. Here no rain for over a month. There isn't any snow in the high peaks and the fighting continues. The hospital stays busy. This is the metric I use.

If the weather turns cold the bad guys can't hide their weapons in the ground. It is to frozen. They also aren't as mobile. Less water in the spring means poor crops and less funding for the Taliban. Eventually the mountain passes will close and the fighters will cross the Pakistan border and wait. This is their strength time.

We have elections and a population raised on instant gratification. They will cross the border and heal up to see what spring brings. Time is their trump card.

there is no lynch pin

Two days ago an Afghan Policeman trained by our forces took his weapon and killed six U.S. soldiers. Yesterday, was another Fallen Hero Ceremony on the base. Last week was another one and the week before. Sorrow and sadness traveling through the base. A heaviness that is tangible. And the war back home is a footnote. The American military doesn't deserve the American public.