Getting the Lay of the Land

Monday, August 8, 2011:  Getting the Lay of the Land

For the first few days I woke up around 5 am and went to the gym.  While I assimilated somewhat easily to the routine, I still found it difficult to get used to the air.  It wasn’t the 5,800 ft. elevation, it was the smell.  Even if my sinuses were completely clogged, I could tell how bad the air was if I wasn’t able to see the mountain tops in the smoggy distance. However, aside from the poor visibility caused by the dust and other crap (literally) in the air, the temperature was comfortable, in the low 90’s  – a far cry from the triple digit heat that we experienced in Arkansas and Dallas. 

On some mornings I was surprised at how peaceful it seemed.  Often, as I made my way to the gym, I would pass a guard on his appointed rounds.  As we approached each other, I would offer him the traditional greeting by placing my right hand over my chest and nodding my head forward.  Since his hands were busy holding his AK-47, he only returned the nod. 

I wasn’t the only one still battling jet lag. I entered the crowded cardio room to find only the stationary bike unoccupied.  After logging 6 miles, I continued to explore, and found the sauna, steam room (which wasn’t working) and the hot tub.  As I left the gym, more people were beginning to gather and engage in morning conversation. Discussions included the schedule for the day, where we might get assigned, and more “briefings” from those whom had been on prior missions.  Their war stories were always interrupted by questions from newcomers like me, as I tried to learn more of what our jobs would entail.  Early in our stay, however, the main topic of conversation was how well or poorly we slept.  The flight from Washington to Dubai and then, Kabul, took its toll. While most of us slept for a portion of the flight, our internal clocks were still way off, and would remain so for about a week after our arrival.

The smokers were lighting up their first cigarettes of the morning.  Among them were a few who, despite their best intentions, were procrastinating and putting off their workouts for yet another day.  As the conversations continued, Bernie (remember the photographer?) exited one of the dormitories and walked towards our group. His eyes were still puffy from sleeping, having just arrived the previous afternoon – a couple of days behind us.  He too, had been having trouble sleeping. He was one of the first guys that I met at the initial mustering at the Memphis airport.  During our stay at T1G, he was constantly snapping photos, and took the shot of me shooting the AK-47. He was a friendly chap who readily engaged in conversation.  Having recently retired from the military, he admitted to weighing a bit more than he liked.  Despite his sleepy appearance, he seemed to be happy to be here.  Either due to his being overweight, or wearing a t-shirt too small, the front of his belly protruded between the bottom of his t-shirt and the top of his pants. His friendly greeting to the group of “Good morning, gentlemen!” was met with, “Hey, I don’t know if anyone told you, but someone took the bottom of your shirt.”  Being the friendly guy he was, and having developed a thick-skin as a result of spending so many years in the army, he literally took the comment in stride, placed his hands on either side of his belly, and replied, “Yeah, I gotta work on this” and continued on to the gym.

I walked around to get familiar with the layout of the camp.  In the parking area were quite a few vehicles.  Most were the heavily armored pick-up trucks that were used to transport people to and from their destinations.  Most of the travel was done in convoys of at least two trucks, with much preparation beforehand.  Prior to departing, a convoy commander is designated. Individual vehicle commanders are chosen as well.  It’s their responsibility to obtain the identification of their passengers and record information on each as to their blood type, allergies, and ID number.  Just prior to departure, the convoy commander conducts a convoy briefing during which instruction is provided as to vehicle assignments, routes to be taken, alternate routes if needed, safe havens, action in the event of attack, and relevant intelligence updates.  Everyone travelling is expected to remain alert to possible threats, and in the event of anything suspicious, inform the driver.  In driver training, we were constantly advised that while everyone else is watching, the driver JUST drives. 

In the parking lot, among the pick-ups, I spotted vehicle #225 – the hotbox in which we rode from the airport.  Just looking at it, motionless, stirred memories of the uncomfortable ride.  It sat as if brooding, waiting for someone to get in so it could exact its torture. Ugh! I had hoped that I would never have to step into that vehicle again.

Front and back views of our “limo” from the airport

As I continued to make my way around the camp, I started to get a feel for how small it was.  In addition to the services I already mentioned, crammed onto the grounds were the laundry facilities, a small PX with exorbitant prices ($4 for a can of Pringles!), and a “haji” shop - a small store which carried a wide array of cheap goods like clothing, new and used computer accessories, badge holders, knives, knock-off DVD’s, etc. You name it – there’s a good chance they had it!  So for the size of the compound, it was pretty well equipped.  However, always in the background, beyond the buildings, was the sniper fencing, a reminder of where we were.  It indeed seemed true – as one of the other contractors had put it, “It’s like being in a minimum security prison.” However, WE get the guns… 

A couple members of the hotel staff.  The woman on the right was the masseuse.  (Sorry if the image quality is poor.  I had to crop it for security reasons since in showed a location).  

As we continued to train and wait for our assignments, many were becoming impatient.  Subsequently, we started to share amongst ourselves, some of our concerns and complaints.  The grumbles ran the gamut from the distrust of the Afghani guards with AK-47’s, to the poor public speaking abilities of some of our instructors, to the mess hall that served bland, overcooked food and smell that clung to our clothes for days.  For me, there was the ever-present battle between being able to eat all I wanted, and the apprehension that “the parasite” would rear its ugly head again.   

The Camp

The next few days allowed me a better look at our surroundings.  Yes, it was a “hotel”, but in quite different surroundings.  They attempted to provide the best hospitality and services they could, given the situation.  We were surrounded by mountains whose peaks poked above the sniper screening, which could be seen in the distance if the day was clear enough.  One could get an idea of how badly the air smelled without having to go outside.  If you couldn’t see the mountaintops – it stunk out there. 

The compound itself wasn’t very big.  From a center point near the rec center, one could look from one end of the camp to the other.  It was surrounded by tall green fabric mesh, otherwise known as sniper fencing, which rose above concrete walls. The fencing didn’t offer any ballistic protection, just concealment from anyone attempting to look in from the outside. Inside the fencing, razor wire was positioned at the top of concrete walls. As you can imagine Hescos, concrete walls, and sniper fencing are a familiar sight around Kabul and surrounding vicinities. 

  A view between buildings of the sniper screen, with a mountaintop in the background.

On the grounds were approximately 10 steel and aluminum buildings.  Most were sleeping quarters, with others used for administrative offices.  We were provided laundry and maid services - nice benefits!  Sandra, one of the mental health professionals that also attended T1G, struck up conversations with some of the women on the housekeeping staff.  She was told that many of the ladies that cleaned our rooms in their traditional Islamic garb (long coverings, with open-face head scarves) were widows whose husbands had been killed by the Taliban.  The mess hall and Rec Center were staffed by foreign nationals from countries such as India, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, and Kyrgyzstan.

Within the rec center were a pool, ping pong, and Foosball tables, a classroom, an eatery (which was soon to reopen after undergoing a thorough sterilization – remember the parasite I previously mentioned?) hard-wire internet connections, and an area where haircuts, manicures and pedicures, and massages could be purchased.   It was actually, a nice place to relax.  

Work was being done on the Tiki Bar, a small outdoor stand that would soon be charging $4.00 for a couple scoops of ice cream (Hotel prices, I guess).  

A view of the TikiBar, with again, mountains in the background.

 

There was also a “real” bar located within the Rec Center.  However, we were reminded, in no uncertain terms, that the bar was off limits.  If we imbibed alcohol while in country, it would be grounds for termination. 

During much of my stay, a work crew was busy pulling cable underground from one end of the camp to the other.  Their work ethic was apparent as they labored in the hot sun; some with footwear; others without.  I was doubly impressed considering they were working during Ramadan, and were not permitted any water throughout their entire workday. 

They relied on an old Jeep-like vehicle (which frequently required tinkering to keep running) to assist them in their efforts.  The Jeep struck me as something that would be great to drive on the sands of Island Beach State Park, back home in NJ.   

  A member of the work crew.  OSHA might have had an issue with his footwear (or lack of it). 

 

  Can you spot the supervisor?  (Hint – check for the guy that’s seated in the shade).  I guess we do have SOME things in common.

  My favorite “Jeep”

  

    

Also scattered about the camp were bunkers to which we would go in the event of rocket attacks.  Back home you’d be hard pressed to find one of these at your nearby Holiday Inn.  Pretty cozy, no?  

As the days passed, more and more of my colleagues received their assignments. Those of us who remained, were required to attend daily meetings for local assignments, as needed. 

  Bernie and myself outside of the Rec Center, awaiting word on our assignments. Bernie was one of the first people I met upon arriving at Memphis Airport.   Retired from the military, he’s also an excellent photographer.  I used many of his shots (the better ones). 

 

After a couple of days, I think I started to feel the effects of the food.  Pardon the description, but things were beginning to get “a little loose”, if you know what I mean. Many of us seemed to share the same symptoms.  After a few days, however, things began to “firm up”.  I wonder if the Imodium had anything to do with it?

 

Kabul

Having never been to a war zone, I wasn’t quite sure of what to expect.  Upon taxiing to the terminal, we deplaned directly onto the tarmac, and immediately felt the oppressive Afghanistan heat as we made our way to the terminal.  The dingy concrete walls, covered with peeling paint, reminded me of bleak, communist 1950’s era buildings I had seen in movies.  Even though it was mid-afternoon, inside it was dark with dirty tile floors and dim, fluorescent lighting overhead.  Positioned at every turn, were armed soldiers; some vigilant, others, not. We queued up in lines reminiscent of the wait at Great Adventure (somewhat apropos, don’t you think?) Almost immediately, men with luggage carts were beside us asking in heavy Afghani accents, if we wanted help with our luggage.  Patti and I decided that we would do our part to help out the local economy and shared a cart.  Some in our group did the same, while others chose to keep their belongings in hand.  We were told that we would be met by an interpreter or language assistant (LA) from the company, but were provided no description of what he looked like.

By now, because of the delays created by getting our passports and visas checked, the group had separated. Our baggage handlers, however, seemed to know where they were going as they headed for one of the exits. I wasn’t absolutely positive that they weren’t just stealing our luggage; or worse, part of some kidnapping plot, but I hesitantly decided to follow the bags.  We trailed them back out into the hot sun and towards a parking lot.  By now I could see the rest of our group being met by someone checking names against a list.  The men who read from the lists were dressed in civilian clothing, armed, and wearing body armor.  They weren’t Afghans, but spoke with different accents which were difficult to understand none the less.  The drivers and other members of the security team came from many different countries.  Most of the drivers were from either Bulgaria or Romania, while another was South African.  Many members of the team, who usually ride as front passengers (or shooters), are from Nepal.  These “wingmen” are referred to as Ghurkas.  Because of my difficulty understanding the English spoken through the various accents, I immediately got an appreciation for the international flavor of the mission.  Had the rest of the class not been in the area, the language barrier would have given me enough of a concern that I might be getting into a convoy for a different contracting company, and end up who knows where?

 I was put at ease when a big husky fellow called my name from his list, “Kosteelo?” I responded, “Yes.” “You go in vehicle 225!” It sounded to me like a Russian accent, but I fully understood his gesture as he pointed to what looked like an armor-plated hearse.  A few of my classmates were already starting to load some of their gear into the vehicle.  Some of my other colleagues were loading their belongings into two F350 Ford pickup trucks.

We quickly crammed into the back of vehicle #225, or the “box”, as some referred to it, which was already partially filled with our luggage.  As the last of us got in, the big fella closed the door behind us, securing it with a type of latch which consisted of a metal bolt that dropped into a channel.  The “locking mechanism” was similar to the way a medieval castle’s door was secured with piece of wood that was dropped into a “catch” to keep the door shut.  Looking at it from my vantage point, I was unsure as to how it opened from the inside – not a very comforting thought.  As hot as it was outside, it was even hotter inside the vehicle.  As we started to roll out, our driver informed us in a heavy South African accent, “We ave no aya conditioning, so it moit be a bit uncomfortable.  We’ll troy to git you they-ah as soon as we can.”  With our legs entangled among luggage and each other’s legs, the convoy began to push out.  As the South African accelerated, the loud rattling of a diesel engine was accompanied by big puffs of smoke from the exhaust.   For as loud as the clatter was, and for as much smog as the vehicle was putting out, the “box” didn’t seem to move very quickly.  In fact, it moved so slowly, that it failed to make it over the first speed bump leading from the airport.  The South African backed up a bit, and after gaining some speed, was successful on his second attempt over the bump.  However, I couldn’t figure what was worse; not being able to clear the speed bump, or driving over it with no rear shocks.  A number of the taller guys hit their heads on the roof as we drove over subsequent bumps and potholes. 

During the trip, I tried to see as much as I could through the thick windows, but to no avail.  I was concentrating on the miserable ride.  Each time we slowed down, I was hopeful that we were approaching our destination, but it was just the driver trying to lessen the effects of the vehicle’s poor suspension system. After approximately ten minutes, everyone’s shirts were already drenched with sweat.  After a few more minutes we were all trying to adjust our legs in order to get the circulation going again, but due to the overcrowding, there was very little room in which to move.  Finally as I began to feel the beginning stages of motion sickness, the vehicle swung wide to the left, in order to make the right turn into the small opening between the Hescos that led to the metal entry gates leading to Camp Pinnacle.  Hescos are structures (cages of wire mesh and fabric) filled with sand and dirt that are used to help protect against oncoming vehicles, blasts, bullets, and anything else that can be used as a means of attack.  

As soon as we could, we tumbled out of the hot box to cooler air.  I can’t say fresh air, because upon getting out of the vehicle, I immediately became aware of the stench. At T1G we learned about the poor air quality in Kabul.  A web article reported that the Afghan Environmental Protection Agency estimated that annually, 3,000 people die from the effects of air pollution – That’s more than the UN’s report of 2,777 civilians killed as a result of the war in Afghanistan in 2010.  Much of the pollution is attributed to, among other things, open burning, lack of vehicle emissions controls, and a massive influx of people seeking the security of the capital city which existed a few years ago (however, not so much recently).  The terrible smell in the air was something I had never experienced before (and this, coming from one who grew up in the proximity of chemical plants and oil refineries!)  Regardless, the cooler air was refreshing as it hit our sweat-soaked shirts.  We had finally arrived!  After unloading the bags, we were directed into a classroom where we were greeted, briefed, and given something that I had taken for granted during the previous three weeks’ training – water!   

We were informed that Camp Pinnacle is actually a hotel run by a private company.  Here, we would be attending additional training, including firearms qualifications – again!  Within a week, we would ship out to our assignments. During the briefing we were cautioned to drink only the bottled water that was provided to us.  We were also advised that the problematic parasite that they think was responsible for sending a number of people to sick call, and one to the hospital, had been eradicated.  After receiving that gem of information, we went to the mess hall.  Needless to say, I didn’t eat much.

After dinner we settled into our rooms.  I was assigned to room with Eddie, a New Yorker from the Bronx, who transplanted to Virginia after a stint in the Marine Corps.  After unpacking some incidentals, it was into the rack for my first night’s stay in Afghanistan...

Layover

I managed to sleep for about five of the thirteen hours during the flight to Dubai. I spent the rest of my time trying to stretch my legs and attempting to concentrate on an in-flight movie that I still can’t remember. During the flight, a woman whom I ascribed to be middle-eastern was seated to my left. To my right, was a man I guessed to be an American contractor. As luck would have it, I was between the yin and yang of air travelers. She seemed to be in some sort of physical discomfort throughout the flight, and was therefore constantly moving in her seat; while the contractor was somehow able to sleep during the whole trip (he must have been medicated). Then there was me, stuck in the middle. Often when I tried to sleep, the woman would bump my arm as she tossed and turned, seeking relief from her ailment. Since I was trying to remain hydrated in preparation for our arrival in Afghanistan, I drank as much water as I could. Of course, my increased intake of water required me to awaken the man to my right so I could use the rest room. This occurred too many times for me to count. I must say however, that the guy couldn’t have been more accommodating. I was amazed of course, at how he never had to take a leak in thirteen hours!

It was evening when we arrived in Dubai. The airport was incredible! It was more like an airy, upscale mall offering every type of store imaginable. It was very modern and spotlessly clean. Men and women were impeccably dressed in the style of the region.

While the above picture of Dubai International Airport was obtained from the internet (sorry, camera was dead), it was just as it is portrayed.

It was only after we stepped to our waiting van that we got a hint of the heat and humidity outside. After a short ride, we were checking our green duffel bags at our lodging for the night. Once we checked in, a few of us stepped out into the stifling night air. There was quite a bit of hustle and bustle outside the hotel with cabs and late model expensive cars going to and fro. Due to jet lag, my body wasn’t really sure of what time it was “supposed” to be, so I decided to head up to the room to retire for the night.

We were assigned two to a suite, with separate bedrooms and bathrooms. My roommate was Larry Conway, a quiet, cigar-smoking retired Army colonel. After a thirteen hour flight between “sleepy” and “restless”, I was happy to be stretched out between thick sheets and comforters, with the room’s temperature set ridiculously low. Just before I fell asleep I tried to decide which of the overstuffed pillows my head preferred. Maybe it was the plane ride; but it seemed like I was laying in one of the most comfortable beds in which I had ever been. It was a nice welcome to Dubai.


I awoke the next morning anxious to get a quick glimpse of the surrounding area before leaving for our flight to Kabul. As I walked outside, much of the city was still quiet. The hotel was a good distance from the airport, close to a mall and some eateries, but rather than explore, I returned to my room to begin packing what little I had unpacked the night before. As I did the obligatory check to ensure that I didn’t leave anything behind, I was caught off guard upon opening one of the drawers to find, not a bible (as one might expect in the states), but a prayer rug. This was after all, the United Arab Emirates.

A prayer rug upon which Muslims pray.

After packing all but a few essentials, I headed down to the restaurant to grab a bite to eat, and joined a few other colleagues who were already seated.

Breakfast in Dubai.  (L. to R.) Colleagues Rick Harvey,  Alan Hartfield and Sam McCoy.  My plate is in front of the empty seat in the foreground – Note:  See?  I have been known to eat healthy every now and then.

Afterwards, we huddled in the lobby to await our shuttle to the airport. While we waited, I noticed a sign indicating different sites to which the hotel provided transportation. In smaller print, more detail was provided about the attractions. One particular entry mentioned “…Women’s Day in Jumeirah Beach Park”. Thinking that the event may have been similar to “Ladies Night” back home where gals get in free, I asked the woman at the front desk what “Women’s Day” entailed. Somewhat puzzled, she looked at me and said, “That’s the day for women to go to the beach.” “What about on other days?” I inquired. She looked at me as if to excuse my naivete and simply said, “No. Women are not allowed any other time.” Initially, I thought that Dubai might have been a bit more progressive regarding the rights of women, but after speaking with some in our group who had been on previous missions to this part of the world, I learned that by some standards, they were “progressive”. I was sure that my sisters and other female friends and acquaintances would have taken issue with such regulations. I myself, was somewhat taken aback. However, there may have been one benefit to invoking such harsh rules upon women - they’d probably be limited to how often they might have to endure Snookie!

Shortly after take-off from Dubai I tried to take in one last look at the body of water over which we were banking. Dubai, in the United Arab Emirates, lies south of the Persian Gulf, and to the west of the Gulf of Oman, which in turn, leads to the Arabian Sea. With Afghanistan being land-locked, I knew that it might be some time until I would look upon a body of water that led to a sea. Looking out the window I could see outlines of man-made shorelines below the wing.

Dubai is known for the construction of resorts which cater to those whose resources match their extravagant tastes.  As our climb provided a better view of what lay below, I could see the design of artificial lagoons and waterways upon which more resorts would be built.  The small country of the United Arab Emirates (UAE) was certainly a dichotomy – still stuck in the past of limited women’s rights, but way ahead of many countries in terms of providing modern day luxuries that cater to the rich and famous.  As we continued to climb, I took one last glimpse through the hazy window at the body of water below and wondered what the water temperature was. I’m really going to miss the beach!