So the warm weather is here. The last week has been in the 50's to 60's. When comparing that to the past month of 30's, 20's, and teens this is practically beach weather. The sun has been out and the clouds have been sparse. Beautiful weather. This is the weather I have been begging for and dreading. This is the weather that makes me feel selfish and selfless all at once. This is the weather that makes me smile and leaves me wanting to cry.
The month of February is the worst month for weather in Afghanistan. We had sub-freezing temperatures for 75% of the time. We had rain anytime it wasn't freezing and snow/sleet the rest of the time. That kind of weather weighs on you. I would open the door to my tent and be greeted by stone grey clouds, howling wind, and cold. Not a great way to start any day. There was no respite from the "under the weather" feeling. In a warzone like Afghanistan, winter means work consists of a lot of boredom. The insurgency isn't fought, from either side sometimes, in weather like that. The insurgents use that time to recruit, and rest. The coalition uses that time to refit, repair, plan, and plan some more. What this translated to, for me, was a lot of inner battles.
I was very close, on several occasions, to calling it quits out here. I wouldn't call it full on depression, but I absolutely hated my situation. I hate being away from my wife. I hated the fact that I couldn't walk out of our building and at least feel some sort of comfort from the sun on my face. I hated that I couldn't really do anything (not literally true, but it felt that way) in regards to fighting the bad guys. I didn't want to go to work, I didn't want to stay in my tent, I didn't want to spend time outside. I am sorry to all of you, but I didn't want to write about it either. My time at my computer was spent in worlds not at all related to the one I was living. I played video games (sorry, Margaret!!), I talked to my wife, and I read the news from back home. I did try to write a blog, though. I rambled on and on about the weather for about 3 paragraphs, then reread it and promptly deleted everything but the first sentence. Then I typed for what felt like hours and completed the first paragraph. That's when I shelved it. The weather was to blame. I told my wife that I just wanted the weather to change. That's all I wanted. I wanted sun and warmth because it would provide ME with enough comfort to get through the days. It's hard to imagine feeling guilty for something like that, but I did and I do.
A week ago the sun came out for good. I've found myself standing outside my office with my bearded face pointed at the sun. The warmth gets held against my skin by the beard and the breeze only hits me in the forehead and eyes. It feels so incredibily good. My attitude has improved tremendously and I have said at least once in the past week that I was confident that I would last a whole year out here. I've had some things go my way at work and so I've been excited to get into the office. I worked several 16 hour days and a 19 hour day. I felt better after those long days than I did for the whole month of February. I love my job. I love being a behind the scenes guy whose responsibility it is to assist the fighters in doing their jobs. It is on my shoulders to sharpen the tips of their spears and ensure that their shields are impenetrable. At least, that's how I picture it. It's that second piece that makes me feel selfish for wanting to feel the sun on my face.
Anyone familiar with the war in Afghanistan has heard of the "Spring Offensive." It is a term used to describe quite a few things. Firstly, it describes the beginning of the war for the new year. Both the coalition and the insurgency ramp up operations and don't let up until the winter comes back around. The coalition implements plans, hatched during the winter, to conduct operations that result in enemies being captured or killed. The insurgency does the exact same thing. Secondly, it describes a time of year. There is an unknown date that we all prepare for out here. It normally falls sometime in March. With it comes sunlight, cool breezes, and warmth. No one knows the exact date, but we all fear it because we know what comes with it.
In my line of work, I am usually one of the first to hear about rocket attacks, IEDs, TICs, and enemy and friendly KIAs. At 7pm everyday we have a meeting with all of the people in my office. The meeting is meant to bring everyone up to speed on what we, as an office, have done for the day. It's very informal and, like most things in the military, methodical. Sam briefs, then Tom, then Katie, then me, then... The phones in the office ring but the meeting goes on. People walk in and out, but the meeting goes on. Two days ago, a soldier was killed near FOB Tillman (where I worked in 2008). I knew as soon as anyone else that he was wounded, but alive. I knew as soon as everyone else that the medical helicopter was on it's way. I knew as soon as everyone else that the fighting was still going on around this soldier. And I knew the moment the soldier died. The meeting paused to allow everyone to utter their pain. "Dammit", "we lost one". Then the meeting moved on.
I hate it out here. I hate being away from my family. I hate that I have to pause at every loud sound. I hate that I live in a tent. I hate that I have to feel guilty for wanting warmth. But I hate that I lost a soldier. I hate the feeling I get when I think of what happens when they announce "blackout". I hate that I haven't done more.
I'm exactly where I want to be, everyone. I'm sacrificing by being out here, but I'm sacrificing nothing in comparison. I'm good at what I do and I'm going to keep doing it because the more I contribute, the less they have to. I'm not depressed. I'm not homesick. I'm steadfast. I'm not looking for support, because I've got all of the help I need from my God and my desire to help these men and women. I wanted to let you all know why I haven't written in so long. I love and miss you all. I will see you all again when my contribution out here is complete.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
It's a war zone in here.
As I turn the corner, one of my colleagues yells out to me from down the hall, "Come get this dang box." He's carrying a box big enough to fit a spare tire in. As he hands it to me and I feel the weight, he reads off something he noticed on the shipping slip taped to the outside of the box. "Nerf guns/Bullets" it reads. He then takes off down the hall to our office at a dead sprint. Flinging open the door, I hear him yell into the crowd, "MIKE'S GOT A HUGE BOX OF NERF GUNS!" And so the fun began.
As soon as I walked through the door, everyone was up from their desk and crowded around the center table in our office. I didn't have to ask for a knife to cut the tape, as I was offered no less than 4 before I could even speak. I opened the box slowly in order to build anticipation from my crowd. Right on top of everything, is a football. Now, Mamma Case had told to expect something from "Nick Saban". Knowing her brother Butch, I took that to mean I was getting some underwear or maybe even some "lawn decorations." This football was neither. Right on the side was the signature of the man himself. What was my first reaction, you ask. Total disbelief. I know my mother-in-law and to think that she held this ball in her hands and then showed the sheer willpower to place it in a box and ship it around the world, simply blows me away. Thanks Mamma! Oh, and my second thought was, "Margaret is going to be SO jealous!"
Unfortunately, there aren't any other true Tide fans in my office and the football didn't garner the type of response from the crowd as it certainly warranted. However, directly under the football was what everyone was waiting for. In all of its yellow, black, orange, plastic, NERF-y glory. I pulled out a revolver-type NERF gun. There were literally shrieks from the men in the crowd. Of course, with all of these people and just one gun I'm sure there were some sinking hearts in the crowd. But alas, I then removed a second, and a third gun. Then I removed two giant bags full of extra darts. Finally, after digging through mound after endless mound of snacks, beef jerky, breakfast bars, toilet paper, and hand sanitizer I found the item that would throw the office into pure chaos. What was it? You guessed it, another NERF gun.
Within seconds, there were little styrofoam darts flying through the air in every possible direction. There were guys laying prone under desks, guys jumping behind chairs and shooting while in the air. There were guys bouncing them off the walls Robocop style. There was even a guy sprawled out on the conference table using the piles of treats I was still removing from the box as impromptu bunkers! Needless to say, the guns stole the show. In this 4 or 5 days since we received them, I have not gone a day without someone doing target practice or an all out NERF war being waged. Just tonight, I witnessed two young men use the NERF revolvers to play out a riveting game of Russian Roulette.
Despite all of the guys being occupied by the toys, there were still plenty standing around when this next part occurred. As I was pulling out goodies by the fistful, I started setting aside the Gold Bond body and foot powder. After 3 bottles (the biggest bottles anyone had every seen) of each, I began to notice a lot of awkward looks from the people around me. After the Gold Bond creams began coming out, I felt it necessary to clarify that not all of them were for me and I did not have some strange illness that required my bathing in medicated powder every night. About half of the office believed me. The other half still won't come within 5 feet of me though.
Mamma Case, Mr. Case, and everyone that contributed to this care package, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for such great gifts. I hope that my blogging does justice to the amount of joy you are bringing to the military men and women out here. There are a lot of people out here that now recognize packages originating from Alabama as ones to behold. I'm extremely grateful and proud to be known as the most popular guy in the office thanks to you. I love you all and cannot wait to thank you in person the next time I'm down to visit.
PS. Here is a picture of me and some of the guys representing for the hometown football team. Note that they haven't been able to put the NERF guns down, even for a picture.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
The Youth Take the Cake
Day 1,987: Hello again from the other side of the world. I've been in a pretty good mood the last couple of days and I've been trying to find something happy to write about without providing the play by play of my daily talks with my wife. Well today, I received my muse in the form of not one, not two, but 5 care packages from a wonderfully thoughtful youth group from the great state of Alabama. Roll Tide!
The guys and gals from Chapel Hill Baptist Church Youth Ministry got together and provided myself and, more importantly, the soldiers, sailors, and airmen that I work with a truck load of great snacks and treats to satisfy every sweet tooth in the place. Since in my line of work I am unable to carry a camera while in the office, I am going to paint a picture of a few of the moments that stuck out to me as ones that needed to be captured.
So once I had checked for mail, I returned to my office (shared with about 10-15 people) with boxes stacked up to my nose. Upon entering, I immediately had everyone's attention because when someone gets a care package, we all get a care package. They had no idea how good these particular boxes were going to be. Before I opened the first box, I had a crowd of 3 to 5 people hovering over me just waiting for a glimpse of the goodies.
The first box I opened had tons of magazines in it. US Weekly and People Magazine are as good as gold to the women working in our office. The "Sexiest Man Alive" edition was nearly torn in two. Before I finished going through the rest of the goodies in that box, every magazine was open and the celebrity gossip was flowing freely throughout. That box also contained a ton (maybe literally, there were a lot) of hot chocolate mix pouches. As I am not a coffee drinker, this received high marks in my book of "awesomeness levels."
Another box contained a seeminly endless pile of Little Debbie snacks. The moment this box opened, I could have sworn all of the air in the building was sucked up by the gasps of everyone within (and maybe outside of) eyesight of the glory that is...the Twinkie. I didn't realize it, but apparently twinkies can be eaten without ever chewing a single bite, as several of the soldiers demonstrated after barely containing themselves long enough to remove the wrapper. After setting a few snacks aside to satisfy my own sweet tooth, the remainder of the snacks were placed on the table front and center of the office for all to enjoy. Hours after placing it there, I noticed several people were still munching away. A huge hit with the masses! On a personal note, I want to thank whoever packed this particular box. You clearly had in mind to pack as much awesomeness between the 6 walls of the box as possible. The fact that you included incredibly soft toilet paper indicates that "you get it." The fact that you then stuffed a twinkie into the empty roll of the toilet paper puts you in the top 5 of my "all-time most brilliant idea kind of guy/gal" list. Congratulations, you sir/madame are my hero.
Now, before I delve into the all out madness that ensued upon my opening the fifth and final box, let me just say that there are times out here when sane men and women lose all sense and revert back to caveman like behavior. Ice cream night at the chow hall is as close as I'd seen people come to being animalistic, that is until today. The very first thing I see in the box is a ziplock bag with "Peanut Butter Candy" written in marker. I know what these are. They are little golden pieces of heaven covered in peanut butter. The rest of the poor fortunate souls have no idea what they are about to experience. I passed them out and heard at least 2 grunts and what I am pretty sure was a bear's growl as everyone scarfed them down. People immediately began questioning how something so perfect could exist. I don't want to say that anyone was crying out of sheer joy, but it might have happened. The fact that I followed that up with homemade cookies pushed several people over the edge (they began running around the office screaming like school girls). As these were grown men wearing Army fatigues, it wasn't their proudest moment.
So all funnyness aside, I hope everyone at Chapel Hill knows what joy you have brought to a group of men and women a long, long way from home. Some of these military people don't get care packages that often and a day like to day helps all of them deal with the stresses that come with this line of work. I hope you all recognize that a group of very strong, very committed soldiers, sailors, and airmen are speaking praises about you and the extremely generous gift you provided. I am proud to say that you are all my friends and that you care enough to take the time and spend the money to send me and my colleagues gifts from home. To Justin and Jennifer Ray, (thanks again for marrying Margaret and I!) thank you for being a continuing blessing in my life. I can't wait to see you both again soon.
Endless thanks and lots of blessings,
Mike
PS. The bible verse paper you all sent me is hanging on my wall right next to my door. Thank you for being the vessel for the blessings that God has given me today!
The guys and gals from Chapel Hill Baptist Church Youth Ministry got together and provided myself and, more importantly, the soldiers, sailors, and airmen that I work with a truck load of great snacks and treats to satisfy every sweet tooth in the place. Since in my line of work I am unable to carry a camera while in the office, I am going to paint a picture of a few of the moments that stuck out to me as ones that needed to be captured.
So once I had checked for mail, I returned to my office (shared with about 10-15 people) with boxes stacked up to my nose. Upon entering, I immediately had everyone's attention because when someone gets a care package, we all get a care package. They had no idea how good these particular boxes were going to be. Before I opened the first box, I had a crowd of 3 to 5 people hovering over me just waiting for a glimpse of the goodies.
The first box I opened had tons of magazines in it. US Weekly and People Magazine are as good as gold to the women working in our office. The "Sexiest Man Alive" edition was nearly torn in two. Before I finished going through the rest of the goodies in that box, every magazine was open and the celebrity gossip was flowing freely throughout. That box also contained a ton (maybe literally, there were a lot) of hot chocolate mix pouches. As I am not a coffee drinker, this received high marks in my book of "awesomeness levels."
Another box contained a seeminly endless pile of Little Debbie snacks. The moment this box opened, I could have sworn all of the air in the building was sucked up by the gasps of everyone within (and maybe outside of) eyesight of the glory that is...the Twinkie. I didn't realize it, but apparently twinkies can be eaten without ever chewing a single bite, as several of the soldiers demonstrated after barely containing themselves long enough to remove the wrapper. After setting a few snacks aside to satisfy my own sweet tooth, the remainder of the snacks were placed on the table front and center of the office for all to enjoy. Hours after placing it there, I noticed several people were still munching away. A huge hit with the masses! On a personal note, I want to thank whoever packed this particular box. You clearly had in mind to pack as much awesomeness between the 6 walls of the box as possible. The fact that you included incredibly soft toilet paper indicates that "you get it." The fact that you then stuffed a twinkie into the empty roll of the toilet paper puts you in the top 5 of my "all-time most brilliant idea kind of guy/gal" list. Congratulations, you sir/madame are my hero.
Now, before I delve into the all out madness that ensued upon my opening the fifth and final box, let me just say that there are times out here when sane men and women lose all sense and revert back to caveman like behavior. Ice cream night at the chow hall is as close as I'd seen people come to being animalistic, that is until today. The very first thing I see in the box is a ziplock bag with "Peanut Butter Candy" written in marker. I know what these are. They are little golden pieces of heaven covered in peanut butter. The rest of the poor fortunate souls have no idea what they are about to experience. I passed them out and heard at least 2 grunts and what I am pretty sure was a bear's growl as everyone scarfed them down. People immediately began questioning how something so perfect could exist. I don't want to say that anyone was crying out of sheer joy, but it might have happened. The fact that I followed that up with homemade cookies pushed several people over the edge (they began running around the office screaming like school girls). As these were grown men wearing Army fatigues, it wasn't their proudest moment.
So all funnyness aside, I hope everyone at Chapel Hill knows what joy you have brought to a group of men and women a long, long way from home. Some of these military people don't get care packages that often and a day like to day helps all of them deal with the stresses that come with this line of work. I hope you all recognize that a group of very strong, very committed soldiers, sailors, and airmen are speaking praises about you and the extremely generous gift you provided. I am proud to say that you are all my friends and that you care enough to take the time and spend the money to send me and my colleagues gifts from home. To Justin and Jennifer Ray, (thanks again for marrying Margaret and I!) thank you for being a continuing blessing in my life. I can't wait to see you both again soon.
Endless thanks and lots of blessings,
Mike
PS. The bible verse paper you all sent me is hanging on my wall right next to my door. Thank you for being the vessel for the blessings that God has given me today!
Friday, January 21, 2011
The Ups, Downs, and In Betweens
Mostly the in betweens.
Since arriving out here, 46 years ago, I have had all of the above. The in between is what captured my attention today, finally. Sorry for the delay in posts! The days out here literally melt together after just a few days of the same thing. It starts to wear on your mind because instead of living a long 24 hour day, it turns into a long 48, 72 hour day. There are also times when a bad day encompasses just a few terrible minutes. What this means, is instead of having a standard (24 hours) "bad day" or a "good day", you have these seemingly hybrid days spanning mere minutes to 3 to 4 days with ups, downs, and in betweens occuring over and over again. Let start with the ups.
My up days are the ones when I finish something that I've been working on for several days. When that item is used to help the warfighter stay alive or help the bad guys fail at doing so, I have a very up day. At least twice a day, one of my colleagues and I step outside of our office and throw the football. I have an up day when I throw a nice, tight spiral the whole time we're out there. Recently, I had an up day when I realized that I needed to tighten my belt one notch. Since getting in shape was one of my pros when deciding to come out here, I'd say that is definitely qualifying of an up day. I also received my first evaluation from my company, GTEC, and also my first pay raise. Ka-ching! I made my wonderful wife laugh a lot on Skype the other night. We talked for two whole hours. Those two hours turned an incredibly "standard, bad day" into an up day. This, unfortunately, brings me to bad days.
My bad days have been tough to deal with. When the only thing to take your mind off of bad days is throwing a football and doing work, it's tough to get out of a funk sometimes. And since I'm working 84 hours a week, work is often the cause of my bad days. I've had to deal with only one of the worst kind of day, and for that I thank God, so I will only concentrate on the "more trivial" bad days for the sake of the blog. My bad days have included dealing with seemingly endless seas of incompetence from a certain "Big Contractor" company (Malcolm you were right), I've had to deal with other analysts attempting and succeeding at highjacking my projects and claiming them as their own (one of the biggest no-no's in this line of work). I've also come to realize that not wearing the uniform anymore makes my job more difficult. As a contractor, you have to operate under the belief that no one in uniform thinks you know what you're doing.
I've had soldiers from junior enlisted, with less time in the military than I did, to Captains, commanding entire battalions, tell me that I don't know what I'm talking about. They are, of course, very mistaken. One thing that I've strived to accomplish out here is to show these warfighters that I am nothing more than another round in the chamber for them. I want the warfighter to recognize that when they need me, I can provide a variety of elements to their capabilities when handling the fight. Of course, this means that I have to put myself out there and that brings with it another set of circumstances to account for. Personalities.
The other day I had 3 officers line up, shoulder to shoulder, in front of my desk and lay into me for what they thought was my naivete in how I responded to a situation that, in my opinion, they mishandled. I was instructed to ensure that I recognized that I was speaking to men who have been shot at a lot in the past 2 months. This is the equivalent of being slapped in the face with a 2x4. Assuming someone has not "paid the price in sweat and blood" is simply unforgivable if I were wearing a uniform. Without knowing that I've been shot at, I've lost men, and I've seen death, I had to accept the insult and push forward. Needless to say, this was a bad, bad day. However, I stuck to my guns, maintained the respect of my coworkers, and eventually received an apology from the soldiers. They are just trying to do their jobs the same as me. The phrase, "same team, same fight" comes to mind.
Despite everything that happens out here, my life is lived in the in betweens. Every single day is monotonous and incredibly boring for 90% of the time. At least, to someone on the inside it is monotonous and boring. For some people, the things we do daily would be noteworthy under any other circumstances. This brings me to the event that spurred the thought for this blog post. It is pretty silly, and maybe toeing the line of "too much information", but I can't help but smile when I think about it now. It revolves around Port-a-Potties.
So I'll paint the picture for you all. It's Friday at about 8pm, and by this point it is pitch black out. Afghanistan does not have ambient light unless it is cloudless and the stars are shining bright or there is a full moon out. This night, there were neither stars nor a moon to speak of. Earlier in the day, I decided I would return to my tent to pick up my headlamp before chow. I forgot to get the headlamp. So, the short of it: blackest black, no headlamp. Now, Sorry ladies, it's Port-a-Potties or nothing out here. They have the green plastic boxes placed strategically all over the base. Each station will have 2-5 boxes. In this instance, there were two. Upon realizing that the steak from dinner and I were in disagreement with eachother, I stumble in the dark and finally reach my destination. Now, if it's black outside you can just imagine how dark it is inside. What do we all know about port-a-potties? They are disgusting. You don't touch them, period. Well, in the pitch black, that is exactly what is going through my mind.
So, as I'm standing there refusing to touch anything, I hear the door in the stall next to me open and shut. Through the slits in the top of the Port-a-Potty I can see that this person has some sort of light. Without any concern for how it would sound, I simply said, "hey, would you mind shining that thing over here. I can't see my hand in front of my face." Like a gentleman, he simply holds the light up over his head and shines it in for me. Now, as a guy, there are things that back home you never do. Talking to a man while he is doing his business is way, way up on that list. However, on a completely standard day out here, you may find yourself asking a man to shine a light into your stall so as not to embarass yourself upon walking back into your office to find that you missed entirely. :) Good night everyone!
Since arriving out here, 46 years ago, I have had all of the above. The in between is what captured my attention today, finally. Sorry for the delay in posts! The days out here literally melt together after just a few days of the same thing. It starts to wear on your mind because instead of living a long 24 hour day, it turns into a long 48, 72 hour day. There are also times when a bad day encompasses just a few terrible minutes. What this means, is instead of having a standard (24 hours) "bad day" or a "good day", you have these seemingly hybrid days spanning mere minutes to 3 to 4 days with ups, downs, and in betweens occuring over and over again. Let start with the ups.
My up days are the ones when I finish something that I've been working on for several days. When that item is used to help the warfighter stay alive or help the bad guys fail at doing so, I have a very up day. At least twice a day, one of my colleagues and I step outside of our office and throw the football. I have an up day when I throw a nice, tight spiral the whole time we're out there. Recently, I had an up day when I realized that I needed to tighten my belt one notch. Since getting in shape was one of my pros when deciding to come out here, I'd say that is definitely qualifying of an up day. I also received my first evaluation from my company, GTEC, and also my first pay raise. Ka-ching! I made my wonderful wife laugh a lot on Skype the other night. We talked for two whole hours. Those two hours turned an incredibly "standard, bad day" into an up day. This, unfortunately, brings me to bad days.
My bad days have been tough to deal with. When the only thing to take your mind off of bad days is throwing a football and doing work, it's tough to get out of a funk sometimes. And since I'm working 84 hours a week, work is often the cause of my bad days. I've had to deal with only one of the worst kind of day, and for that I thank God, so I will only concentrate on the "more trivial" bad days for the sake of the blog. My bad days have included dealing with seemingly endless seas of incompetence from a certain "Big Contractor" company (Malcolm you were right), I've had to deal with other analysts attempting and succeeding at highjacking my projects and claiming them as their own (one of the biggest no-no's in this line of work). I've also come to realize that not wearing the uniform anymore makes my job more difficult. As a contractor, you have to operate under the belief that no one in uniform thinks you know what you're doing.
I've had soldiers from junior enlisted, with less time in the military than I did, to Captains, commanding entire battalions, tell me that I don't know what I'm talking about. They are, of course, very mistaken. One thing that I've strived to accomplish out here is to show these warfighters that I am nothing more than another round in the chamber for them. I want the warfighter to recognize that when they need me, I can provide a variety of elements to their capabilities when handling the fight. Of course, this means that I have to put myself out there and that brings with it another set of circumstances to account for. Personalities.
The other day I had 3 officers line up, shoulder to shoulder, in front of my desk and lay into me for what they thought was my naivete in how I responded to a situation that, in my opinion, they mishandled. I was instructed to ensure that I recognized that I was speaking to men who have been shot at a lot in the past 2 months. This is the equivalent of being slapped in the face with a 2x4. Assuming someone has not "paid the price in sweat and blood" is simply unforgivable if I were wearing a uniform. Without knowing that I've been shot at, I've lost men, and I've seen death, I had to accept the insult and push forward. Needless to say, this was a bad, bad day. However, I stuck to my guns, maintained the respect of my coworkers, and eventually received an apology from the soldiers. They are just trying to do their jobs the same as me. The phrase, "same team, same fight" comes to mind.
Despite everything that happens out here, my life is lived in the in betweens. Every single day is monotonous and incredibly boring for 90% of the time. At least, to someone on the inside it is monotonous and boring. For some people, the things we do daily would be noteworthy under any other circumstances. This brings me to the event that spurred the thought for this blog post. It is pretty silly, and maybe toeing the line of "too much information", but I can't help but smile when I think about it now. It revolves around Port-a-Potties.
So I'll paint the picture for you all. It's Friday at about 8pm, and by this point it is pitch black out. Afghanistan does not have ambient light unless it is cloudless and the stars are shining bright or there is a full moon out. This night, there were neither stars nor a moon to speak of. Earlier in the day, I decided I would return to my tent to pick up my headlamp before chow. I forgot to get the headlamp. So, the short of it: blackest black, no headlamp. Now, Sorry ladies, it's Port-a-Potties or nothing out here. They have the green plastic boxes placed strategically all over the base. Each station will have 2-5 boxes. In this instance, there were two. Upon realizing that the steak from dinner and I were in disagreement with eachother, I stumble in the dark and finally reach my destination. Now, if it's black outside you can just imagine how dark it is inside. What do we all know about port-a-potties? They are disgusting. You don't touch them, period. Well, in the pitch black, that is exactly what is going through my mind.
So, as I'm standing there refusing to touch anything, I hear the door in the stall next to me open and shut. Through the slits in the top of the Port-a-Potty I can see that this person has some sort of light. Without any concern for how it would sound, I simply said, "hey, would you mind shining that thing over here. I can't see my hand in front of my face." Like a gentleman, he simply holds the light up over his head and shines it in for me. Now, as a guy, there are things that back home you never do. Talking to a man while he is doing his business is way, way up on that list. However, on a completely standard day out here, you may find yourself asking a man to shine a light into your stall so as not to embarass yourself upon walking back into your office to find that you missed entirely. :) Good night everyone!
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
SCOREBOARD!
Just a quick one, because I'm completely drained and am getting to bed immediately after submitting this post.
Today had all the fixings to be a very, v.e.r.y bad day. Instead...
14-1, us.
Today had all the fixings to be a very, v.e.r.y bad day. Instead...
14-1, us.
Friday, January 7, 2011
A Man's Opinion
So, I've been in Afghanistan for something like 112 days now. I've had my up days and I've had my down days. The down days get no lower than when word spreads that you've lost a soldier in the fight. We lost one on my first day behind the desk. I carved the score into my desk. 1 to 0, them. The up days vary greatly, though. Having walls put up in your room is an up day, a good workout can mean an up day, receiving mail is definitely an up day, and doing your job well an up day.
Given that I've actually only been over here for about 2 weeks, I'm surprised that I've come to a determination as to why the up days can feel so good without a glaring catalyst to speak of. It's because we're men. It's more than that, it's because we're men doing manly things. We're men doing manly things across the entire spectrum of manly things. We are forced to talk about war constantly, we are forced to survive the harsh elements in a country like this, we are forced to be physically and mentally strong in order to thrive in our environment. It gets even better.
As we were deciding how we wanted to set up our rooms, where the desk would go, what kind of shelves would be built and where, how the layout would support our day to day, I couldn't help but think that I was 9 years old again, designing a fort that would stand up to the imagined enemy. I recall being in the woods near my house in Kings Bay, Georgia. My friends and I had found what appeared to us as foxholes. These divots provided us with concealment, and were located tactically in front of the main entrance to our Area of Operations, now called an AO in Afghanistan. We pointed out which trees would provide cover from which direction, we decided which paths were our ingress and egress routes. And we simply ignored any path through the woods that didn't support our grand scheme of wilderness domination. We scavenged for downed logs to help fortify our fallback positions and we set up gnarly booby traps along routes we were certain Charlie would take.
This was what played in my head as we snuck around FOB Sharana after dark, "acquiring" 2x4's and plywood from outside of, surely heavily guarded, tents. We had to stand guard over our acquisitions to ensure others were not counter-attacking and stealing wood from our pile. We had a nasty run in one day when we stepped from our tent and saw a woman standing suspiciously over our pile of plywood. We engaged her, in conversation, and decided she was a minimal threat. She didn't speak English. Just then, two of her companions came around the back corner of our tent towards our pile. Typical flanking maneuver. Amateurs. We stood our ground and they simply walked past the pile and retreated with their tales between their legs. Never before has a military stand been so effective. How is it that 2 defenders were able to stave off the onslaught of 3 "attackers"? This example may be silly, it's is still very true to life. You feel like a kid designing your own worlds.
The feeling of being a man is compounded at every turn out here. You walk up and down hills, across ground that at one time was littered with Unexploded Ordinance (UXO) and land mines left by the Russians. That's a manly feeling. You cross motor pools lined with HMMWV's, up-armored MRAP's, Bradley fighting vehicles, Buffalo IED clearing vehicles, and many other machines of war on your way to chow everyday. That's manly. In my line of work, I talk about killing or capturing the enemy a lot. I strive for that end state with every fiver of my being while I'm working. That. Is. Manly.
Two of our bases were attacked with rockets the last two days. I talked with men that were in bunkers, wearing full body armor, carrying high powered rifles, doing their job via laptops that would be covered in dust settling to the ground after being blown skyward by explosions nearby. I let them know that we were trying to help find the guys shooting at them. I let them know that they were doing an amazing @#$%ing job of getting the work done regardless of the circumstances surrounding them. That is a manly task.
The up days feel so good because you've never felt more alive, more productive. You've never felt a sense of contribution like it. You've never felt more like a man.
Given that I've actually only been over here for about 2 weeks, I'm surprised that I've come to a determination as to why the up days can feel so good without a glaring catalyst to speak of. It's because we're men. It's more than that, it's because we're men doing manly things. We're men doing manly things across the entire spectrum of manly things. We are forced to talk about war constantly, we are forced to survive the harsh elements in a country like this, we are forced to be physically and mentally strong in order to thrive in our environment. It gets even better.
As we were deciding how we wanted to set up our rooms, where the desk would go, what kind of shelves would be built and where, how the layout would support our day to day, I couldn't help but think that I was 9 years old again, designing a fort that would stand up to the imagined enemy. I recall being in the woods near my house in Kings Bay, Georgia. My friends and I had found what appeared to us as foxholes. These divots provided us with concealment, and were located tactically in front of the main entrance to our Area of Operations, now called an AO in Afghanistan. We pointed out which trees would provide cover from which direction, we decided which paths were our ingress and egress routes. And we simply ignored any path through the woods that didn't support our grand scheme of wilderness domination. We scavenged for downed logs to help fortify our fallback positions and we set up gnarly booby traps along routes we were certain Charlie would take.
This was what played in my head as we snuck around FOB Sharana after dark, "acquiring" 2x4's and plywood from outside of, surely heavily guarded, tents. We had to stand guard over our acquisitions to ensure others were not counter-attacking and stealing wood from our pile. We had a nasty run in one day when we stepped from our tent and saw a woman standing suspiciously over our pile of plywood. We engaged her, in conversation, and decided she was a minimal threat. She didn't speak English. Just then, two of her companions came around the back corner of our tent towards our pile. Typical flanking maneuver. Amateurs. We stood our ground and they simply walked past the pile and retreated with their tales between their legs. Never before has a military stand been so effective. How is it that 2 defenders were able to stave off the onslaught of 3 "attackers"? This example may be silly, it's is still very true to life. You feel like a kid designing your own worlds.
The feeling of being a man is compounded at every turn out here. You walk up and down hills, across ground that at one time was littered with Unexploded Ordinance (UXO) and land mines left by the Russians. That's a manly feeling. You cross motor pools lined with HMMWV's, up-armored MRAP's, Bradley fighting vehicles, Buffalo IED clearing vehicles, and many other machines of war on your way to chow everyday. That's manly. In my line of work, I talk about killing or capturing the enemy a lot. I strive for that end state with every fiver of my being while I'm working. That. Is. Manly.
Two of our bases were attacked with rockets the last two days. I talked with men that were in bunkers, wearing full body armor, carrying high powered rifles, doing their job via laptops that would be covered in dust settling to the ground after being blown skyward by explosions nearby. I let them know that we were trying to help find the guys shooting at them. I let them know that they were doing an amazing @#$%ing job of getting the work done regardless of the circumstances surrounding them. That is a manly task.
The up days feel so good because you've never felt more alive, more productive. You've never felt a sense of contribution like it. You've never felt more like a man.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
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