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.