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!

Countdown...

Dallas:

As good as the training was, we were all happy to be leaving T1G; not only because the heat was taking its toll on us; but also because we were anxious to get “in country” to begin our mission. However, we would first have to spend a few days of additional screening and training in Dallas.  I considered myself fortunate to be in the first group to leave Arkansas for the airport in Memphis. The second group would follow on a later flight.  Our group was transported in an air-conditioned van in the early morning hours before sunrise.  Ah, the simple things we take for granted!  This was so much better than travelling by yellow school bus.  During the ride to the airport, I thought back to the last time I was on the bus.  It was on a trip to buy some bath soap.   

While at T1G, the yellow bus provided a “get away” from the compound, if we so desired. Three evenings a week the bus would travel to Wal-Mart so we could purchase things weneeded, or if we just wanted a break away from the training area.  What a treat – a trip in a yellow school bus with no air-conditioning, to a Wal-Mart in Arkansas!!! Boy, it doesn’t get any better than that!   As training drew nearer to the end, we were rewarded by being allowed to purchase beer during one of our Wal-Mart runs. Of course you can buy beer in Wal-Mart –        after all, it was Arkansas!  For many, the prospect of finally having a beer after a long, hot training day was almost too much to bear.  The excitement of many in the group was palpable.  Not for me, mind you – I didn’t want to invite the gout.  As it turned out, about half of the group would partake.

Larry Bray, a veteran of international police training missions, was no stranger to training for

deployment.  He knew the importance of remaining hydrated during training. However, as I

passed by his bunk, his ratio of two Bud Lights to one bottle of water made me wonder...

Larry's nightcap(s)

                                      

That's Larry on the right.  Apparently, his training methods paid off - Good shooting!

I intially had my doubts about the introduction of alcohol in a training environment, especially

considering that we had all been away from home for almost two weeks.  But for the most part, everyone behaved.  It was none the less, interesting to note some differences emerge between the two groups.  

Our group (I referred to us as Company A) seemed a bit more reserved. I had become accustomed to reading in my bunk, and slowly drifting off to sleep.  Without fail, someone in the room would always shut off the lights by 10pm.  However, on one of the “beer nights” at    around 10:30, I realized that I hadn’t yet completed some required on-line training.  Since I didn’t have a computer, I had to rely on the charity of my classmates to allow me to use one of theirs.  Of course, Patti came to the rescue.  I left the dark, quiet, library-like setting of Company A and visited Patti in Company B, in the adjacent building. I opened the door to blaring lights.  On a flat screen TV that was mounted on a wall, The Hangover – Part 2, was playing.  As three or four guys viewed the movie from their bunks, a few others watched while seated at a table, clutching beers in their hands. Another nick-named Best-dressed, by Nato (short for James Pinedo, from Fresno, California), was hamming it up,providing muscle poses in his ACU’s.

Richard Pullium "Best Dressed" striking a pose

Another was borrowing someone else’s laptop to also complete the on-line training.  One of the

female members of the class who would be assigned as a mental health specialist, had taken

over someone’s top bunk, with the covers pulled up to her neck, also watched the movie from

her vantage point.  Every now and then, when the Hangover provided some laughs, the room

would erupt in a roar.  The laughter would cause a stir among those few who were trying

to sleep.  The poor souls would re-position their pillows over their heads as their covers spilled over the sides of their bunks. 

The contrast between the two groups was notable.  By 10 pm, Company A was dark, with the only sounds coming from a few people snoring over the hum of the air conditioner.  Company B, on the other hand, was more like Animal House.  As I was making my way to Patti’s laptop, Nato, called out to me in his raspy voice, “Hey, Benny Blanco (a nick-name given to me by Patti).  Go to your building and get us some beers!  I went over there before, but Red knew I wasn’t from that building so she looked at me and said, ‘What do you want’?”  “Red” (Rebecca Blackwelder,  also nick-named by Nato) was a recently discharged Army veteran, who had spent some of her deployment in Iraq.  She chasing away Nato, a husky former Marine, who was taller than “Red”, and weighed about 190

lbs., gave the gathering a good laugh.  Still craving more beer and shaking his head, Nato gave her the credit she was due, “Man, she wouldn’t let nobody that wasn’t from that building anywhere near the beer.  She was watching that fridge like a hawk.”  As I set down to complete the on-line training, I thought to myself, “So this was how the other half lived.”

Rebecca Blackwelder (above) AKA "Red" as named by Nato.

James (Fresno) Pinedo, otherwise known as "NATO", near a fridge of course.

Although early morning darkness had not yet given way to daylight, the temperature in the van gave some indication of the coming day’s heat.  As we approached the Mississippi River, the natural border between Arkansas and Tennessee, the maximum load of fifteen people in the van began to add to the stuffiness.  It was just then that I noticed one of the retired Army vets lowering his head and pulling the front of his shirt up above his nose. Someone had passed gas.  As the smell began to spread, Vickie  Dumas (another Army veteran who had been in mission in Iraq, and whom had recently retired from an Alabama sheriff’s department), said, “Oh, that’s nasty.”  Finally, it hit our section – rancid!  Everyone seemed to come to a consensus as to who dealt it. All indicators pointed to a big guy, about 6’4”, who weighed about 230.  I couldn’t believe I was regretting not being in the school bus.  At least we could have fully opened the windows!  Since the offender’s lack of control was a recurring problem, we were thankful that we were only a short distance from the airport.  As soon as we pulled up to the curb, we spilled out of the van, each trying to get a breath of fresh air. 

Having recovered from the ride, we gathered our gear and headed into Memphis Airport.  As we waited in line to check our bags, I learned that one of my colleagues, Jose, had managed to “go over the wall,” the previous night.  He along with a few others from training, had escaped T1G the night before and gotten to  sample some of the night life in Memphis.  He had just returned by taxi about a half hour before we left for the airport.  Since my seat was next to Jose’s, I thought that I had finally caught a break.  He was sure to be tired from a night out on the town, and would certainly sleep the entire way to Dallas, as would I. 

I was right – sleep he did.  He also snored - loudly!  So much so, that everyone within ten rows of us would crane their necks to see where the noise was coming from.  Despite usually being able to sleep through just about anything, I was unable to get some shut-eye because of Jose’s cabin rattling snorting throughout the entire flight.  Since I couldn't sleep, I was more attuned to my bladder telling me it needed relief.  Being at a window seat, I would have to make my way past “snoring beauty”, to the aisle.  I unbuckled my seatbelt and tried my best not to disturb Jose.  Placing my hands on either side of his armrests, I hovered above him as he snored into my face, with his mouth agape.  Because of the cramped conditions, my left foot brushed against his right knee as I was climbing over him.  I was looking directly into his open mouth as his eyelids opened and his eyeballs rolled downward signifying that he had awakened. When awoke, he had a look of surprise on his face as he gained consciousness and tried to figure out why I was looming over him. I’m not sure if he understood the entire context of what was transpiring, but after I told him that I was going to the bathroom, his eyes rolled back up into his head and he returned to his much needed rest.  For the most part, the flight to Dallas was uneventful, with most dozing off for a good portion of the flight.  As for me, no sleep would come; compliments of Jose.

Jose Lebron ("Snoring Beauty") in a more conscious state.

In terms of heat, we jumped from the frying pan into the fire. During our short stint in Dallas (it was less than a week), the recurring story in the news on the Dallas-Fort Worth TV stations was the consecutive number of days of triple digit heat.  While there, I drove a classmate to an orthopedic specialist for an examination (the hand injury he incurred while participating in the obstacle course would prevent him from being deployed). En route to the doctor’s office the temperature on a bank sign read 111 degrees.  Because of the heat we spent most of our time in the hotel.  The accommodations were excellent.  We lodged in an upscale Marriott directly across from the Texas Motor Speedway.  We were provided a per diem for our meals so ordering prime rib or filet minon only cost us a couple bucks out of pocket.  After two weeks in the Arkansas sun, things had finally started to pay off.  

While in Dallas we completed some more on-line training, attended classes in caring for combat injures, and once again, continued with additional medical screening.  A few needed to get military ID cards, some had passport issues, and still others had to have EKG’s or sleep studies done.  I had to undergo another hearing test. After receiving the OK following a final examination by the physician, I was relieved to finally be done with the medical process.

While we were there, I received my final check from the college which allowed me to buy a computer. Buoyed by the prospect of not having to rely on others for computer related issues, I travelled to Wal-Mart to purchase a laptop.  While out, I received a call telling me that I had to report back to the hotel for a medical issue.  I couldn’t believe it; I had already been cleared by the physician!  It could only be bad news.  After hurrying back to the hotel, and reporting to the medical suite, I was informed by one of the technicians that I was still missing my varicella vaccine (whatever that is).  As I rolled up my sleeve, I thought, “Another shot!  Incredible!” 

On one of our last nights in Dallas a small group of us visited Roanoke, on the outskirts of Dallas, to do our laundry.  In the group was Patti, John (the Human Specimen) Green, Vickie, Best Dressed, another candidate from a different class whom we didn’t know, and me.  There were more than a few mutterings as we pulled up to the laundromat.  While there were a number of homes in the area, it still seemed somewhat desolate.  The setting prompted someone to say, “This is Texas, ya’ know;  if somebody shows up with a mask and chainsaw, I’m outta here!”  The laundromat was a few doors in from the town’s main street, on which one could stand in the middle, and literally, “see from one end of town, to the other”.  We stopped in a small restaurant and ordered some drinks and something to eat.  The pizza wasn’t bad considering we were in Texas.  As we finished, Patti, speaking perfect Italian, struck up a conversation with the owner.  As it turned out, the owner had come from Sicily, the same origin of Patti’s parents.  Afterward Patti turned to me and said, “Can you believe it?  What are the odds of that? Here in Texas, I meet a guy that’s from Sicily.  Small world.”  I agreed, but had only one admonition for Patti, “Yeah, that’s neat Patti.  But why couldn’t you start talking it up earlier, before we paid the bill?  Maybe you could’ve gotten us the meal on the cheap…!”  All in all, it seemed like a small, quaint, friendly Texas town; a place that made me wish I had more time to explore and speak with some of the locals.

The few days in Dallas went by quickly.  I finally received word that I would be leaving with half the class on the following day’s flight from Dallas to Dulles in Washington, D.C.; then hop onto a flight to Dubai where we would stay overnight, then catch our flight to Kabul. Again, I was on the first flight out. The other members of the class would be delayed a few hours, then board the next flight and join us afterwards in Kabul.  A few were routed through Germany, and somehow would end up in Dubai for the trip to Kabul as well. 

On the flight to Dulles, I was lucky to get a roomy seat next to the emergency exit over the wing.  After settling in, I would try to get some shut-eye during the flight to DC.  Even before take-off I had just started to doze when a large man with a dark complexion, dressed in traditional Muslim attire, took his seat to my left.  When the flight attendant asked him if he understood that being seated at the emergency exit would require him, if needed, to assist other passengers, it became clear that he spoke no (or very little) English.  I could feel my xenophobia setting in, as I began to contemplate airline hijackings.

Soon after take-off, my “neighbor” fell asleep – a good sign, I thought. Midway through the flight he was awakened by a flight attendant, who offered a meal.  He refused the food, but accepted a can of juice which he stowed into his bag.  Since he was awake, I decided to excuse myself for a bathroom break.  As I stood, I noticed that one of my classmates (the big guy who was blamed for farting in the van) was seated directly across the aisle, just opposite from my new “friend”.  Considering the circumstance, I was glad it was one of the bigger guys in our group that was now seated across from us. He acknowledged my eye contact with a nod, as if to say, “You can go, I got him covered.”  As I turned to walk to the rear of the plane, I noticed that my other colleagues had their eyes trained on the Muslim passenger as well.  They were watching him like hawks.  Through their non-verbal communications, they were too were telling me, “We got your back.”  Apparently, they were suspicious as well.  I returned to my seat glad that others with whom I travelled were vigilant.  At the same time however, I was somewhat bothered that I was profiling this man who had done absolutely nothing wrong (as far as I could tell).   I returned to my seat telling myself that I would cut this guy some slack.  Almost immediately after I returned, he again fell asleep.

Through the window I could see that the sun had started to set.  As the captain’s voice came over the speaker advising of our descent towards Dulles, the Muslim awoke and immediately checked a watch that he kept in his carry-on.  He repeatedly did this over the next ten minutes. After looking at his watch one final time, he slowly began rocking back and forth in his seat with his eyes closed, while silently mouthing something I couldn’t hear.   As I discreetly spied on him, I glanced across the aisle and saw my classmate watching him much more intently.   Given the noise of the airplane and silence of the words being spoken, I strained to hear what was being said.  I was listening for anything which remotely sounded like repeated chanting of “Allahu Akbar”.  While the term is used to praise God, "Allahu Akbar" can also be used as a battle cry.  As such, it had been captured on many confiscated videos of insurgents either planning, or actually executing terrorist attacks.  From both my seat and my classmate’s vantage point from across the aisle, the Muslim was under heavy surveillance.  I had unbuckled my seat belt in case I had to move quickly and hoped that my colleague across the aisle had already done the same. 

Finally, the “mysterious” passenger stopped his rocking, opened his eyes, and immediately began opening can of juice that he had accepted from the flight attendant earlier.  Then it dawned on me.  It was Ramadan, a Muslim holy month of fasting during which no food or drink is permitted from dawn to dusk.  My cabin mate had been checking his watch to determine the exact time of sundown.  Once sundown had officially arrived, he prayed before taking a drink of his juice.  I felt like such a heel. 

As we gathered our belongings after landing, I was compelled to ask him, “Muslim?”  He nodded, yes.  I queried him again, “Ramadan?”  He smiled and said, ”Yes.”  He pointed at me and asked, “Muslim?”  I answered, “No, Christian.” to which he again smiled and simply said, “Oh”.  Feeling both embarrassed and sympathetic that he probably hadn’t had anything to eat since before sunrise, I reached into my pocket and offered him a bag of trail mix.  He graciously refused.          

After landing at Dulles, there was very little time to catch our flight that would take us to Dubai.  I recall one passenger who was moving with our group towards our departure terminal.  With reddened face, he was carrying two bags, huffing and puffing as he hurried towards the gate.  I thought that if he was going to have a heart attack, this would be as good a place as any since he was surrounded by retired cops and military personnel.  As we boarded the plane, a large, wide-body, with aisles left and right, and six seat rows in the center, I wondered what the 13-hr flight almost half way around the world would be like.  As we took off, from Washington, D.C., I sensed a strong sense of departure from the states.  While I was looking forward to the mission, I hoped the time would go quickly until my return.