Ambassador Eikenberry began the Country Team meeting by saying out loud in the midst of abject silence six names of those Americans that had given their lives over the weekend. A quiet moment ensued where each of us ventured into our own thoughts. My mind acknowledged that this place, Afghanistan, and this struggle, timeless, is real. This moment, I am here in a room in the United States Embassy in Kabul with fellow U. S. citizens and warriors to throw our lives at this problem we face as a nation. The quiet moment finished; onto the next order of business: we, the new people, were briefly introduced to the Country Team, greeted and thanked by the Ambassador, then ushered out to continue our orientation to the workings of this American embassy, a compound with high walls, concertina wire, Ghurka guards at each door, checking for badges, opening doors and saying with a Himalayan accent, "Welcome, sir."
The embassy grounds are laid out in white-man grids, rectangular, orderly. A large street runs between two sides, West and East. Though there is a tunnel that connects the two, we are now allowed to cross the street between the two gates; it's easier to cross the street which is wide but blocked off at both ends by a series of checkpoints so very few vehicles, usually armored SUVs moving slowly, appear. It's a small town atmosphere, you get to know the faces of most everyone within a couple of days; newly arrived people have a look of jet lag and, "Is this where I am supposed to be?" Not like a small town: the piled sandbags that line the rows of office and hooch trailers, some hardened structures, and signs on the hooch door that told us what to do in case of a rocket attack. Hooches are crowded: usually 5 to a room but it could sleep 8 with the 4 bunk beds, room dimensions about 8 feet wide, 25 feet deep. Putting five older men, some of whom are lawyers, all who fart and snore at some point in the night, in a tight room with all their gear guarantees quick adaptation. One learns how little space one really needs. However, one must complain about the slave ship conditions. One also appreciates normal living in the U. S. There were six rooms like that in my hooch. We had two plastic shower stalls with those special curtains that suck into the shower when used so you have to peel the plastic off periodically as you lather. Much more fortunate than the women, who only had two commodes and sinks, we had a small urinal to accompany our two commodes and sinks. With twenty or so guys in the hooch, rush hour in the morning took on a new meaning. Good thing the commute was walking distance.
Decent food at the embassy, only one meal where a healthy alternative was not available (chose not to eat the mystery meat and exclusivized the salad bar). I often ate poolside, the weather being very similar to Denver. Swam to get over jet lag. Did yoga and even led a couple sessions of yoga in the Red Tent, which is no longer red but mostly russet tinged brown. Near the Red Tent the bar, aptly named Duck and Cover, offers a good choice of beers and beverages, to which we retired a few nights to build relationships, made good new friends like Chris Corpora who has a PhD in organized crime. Hmmmmmm...
Kabul sits in a bowl of stark, treeless, brown sharp mountains. Daytime sky above is royal blue which on descending concentric sides quickly turns to haze at the edges, blurred horizon, particulate breathing. Nights became chilly but clear under a gibbous moon, stars, and planets.
Night before the election last Friday, there was an earthquake for 40 seconds. Also something to write home about, a rocket landed not far from the embassy, a feeble attempt to scare. I slept through both. I wonder what the earthquake portends, if it does. The rocket just shows man's smallness when he uses force to try to run human spirit.
Ran into a friend who is an American businessman working in Kabul; he had an ominous opinion that there had been a recent attitude shift among the Afghan people that, if accurate, would eventually result in a rushed exit by the U.S. It was fascinating to explore that with him. But also fascinating, and surreal, that night was Natalie Cole, yes, her in person, singing for Embassy personnel at the screening of a movie on Afghanistan called, The Black Tulip. Yes, she sang, Unforgettable and that's what that night was...in the middle of a war zone, listening to her beautiful voice in a big tent pitched on the tennis court at the U.S. Embassy.
Am writing this on a small plane traveling from Kabul, southwest, about to arrive at Camp Leatherneck. Below, to the south oceans of sand extend to the horizon. To the north are brown mountains and a river, the Helmand, which provides water for vegetation. It's a mile-wide green ribbon on the ground reaching northward to the Kajaki Dam, which the U.S. built in the 1950s for Afghanistan. Along that green ribbon, poppy fields grow, a primary source of the world's opium and heroin. The ruin of many lives begins here and meets with our human nature to anesthetize the pain of this world. I wonder if the farmer who grows the stuff would care about the effect of heroin on other human beings. That green ribbon also houses the most entrenched of the violent Taliban, Sangin Valley.
Let me finish with how the Geologic and Mineral Resource Map of Afghanistan describes Camp Leatherneck and environs. "Conglomerate and sandstone-- Alluvium: shingly and detrital sediments, gravel, sand more abundant than silt and clay." No doubt, there will be dust. Should be okay for am but a strange mix of dust and water, hoping to keep the proportion of water enough to see each of you again and smile. Peace and thanks for your prayers, now more than ever; I am here, plane just touched down.
Love, Tim
