More Random Thoughts

Today is Day 176 of my deployment.  Amazing … I still remember my arrival in the AOR so vividly, even though I was dealing with the double whammy of jet lag and sleep deprivation.  And now, here I am, five days from popping smoke.  Now, rather than dealing with jet lag and sleep deprivation, I’m just feeling a bit spaced and worn out.  And that’s a dangerous time for me, that’s when I do my worst stream-of-consciousness rambling.  For example …

Saturday morning (in the wee hours), we had another IDF attack.  I don’t know how many rockets hit, or where they impacted.  I only know that our NCO came banging on my door around 2:30 AM to ensure we had 100% accountability of all personnel.  I eventually woke up, answered the door, grunted in his general direction, then promptly went back to sleep.  Then I woke up thinking … what if that was the last rocket attack during my deployment, and I SLEPT THROUGH IT!!!

To do a 180, from light-hearted to dead serious, we were all devastated here by the loss of a Chinook helo loaded to the gills with SEALs.  Thirty of America’s finest youth, snuffed out with a single RPG shot.  I briefly wondered why I didn’t go into one of my signature f-bombing rants at tragic loss of life.  But the reality is, this is war, and young men and women will die.  That’s what war is all about.  Sad, but not unexpected.

My rants, on the other hand, have been triggered by stupid stuff back home.  Judges out of touch with reality, or religious “leaders” who pervert their faith with hate.  In retrospect, my episodes of righteous anger on the job have been inspired by stupid or negligent stunts in Tampa or DC.  This tour has made me much less tolerant of people who, through stupidity or malice, impede the mission.  My attitude towards slackers may make for a bit of a rough landing back inside the Beltway.  Only time will tell.

More to follow …

Wrapping Up

So here I am, six days away from flying out, and I'm starting to feel a bit of separation anxiety.  Yeah, really.  I dearly want to head home, but I also realize I'll miss the mission here, and the jokers who work with me.  I've started my emotional separation ... been a little quieter than usual, except when some bureaucratic hump ticks me off and I go on a tirade.  Last week was a banner week for people making ill-informed, unprofessional remarks and decisions and incurring my wrath.  Maybe I'm getting just a little bit touchy, a little less tolerant than usual.  And, given my impending departure, getting a little more protective of my troops.

Who, by the way, have been working their tails off to fix some system crashes in the AOR.  I brow-beat Carmelita not to go back into the office, but to head to her room and decompress.  Her idea of decompressing is cleaning.  I just heard her next door, singing a Mexican folk tune as she banged around the hooch.  I never knew mopping could be so noisy.  But her singing was soothing, as it wafted through the thin walls of these cans we call home.

Time to post this and get back to sorting clothes ... what to pack for shipping, what to carry back on vacation.  I've procrastinated long enough, I'll soon be hating life as I stand in line at the post office.

Good night, gentle readers.

The Shoe’s on the Other Foot

Over the past few days, I’ve gleefully made disparaging remarks about my contempt for certain aspects of Afghan culture, most of which revolve around treating their women-folk like crap.  And I stand by those remarks.

But, as I’ve observed over the past few months here, we’re not blameless either.  We have some seriously screwed-up practices and policies that, at the very least, undercut our efforts at winning the hearts and minds.

Take, for instance, our efforts to protect and reward those Afghanis who work with us in what is, for them, an extremely hostile environment.  They work on base, they serve as interpreters and translators, and a provide host of other functions.  We offer to help some of them get visas to migrate to the States.  And then we drop the ball.

I shuttled around with Doug, my sergeant major, as he tried to track down a visa package for one such individual.  Educated, supportive of the cause, working with our troops for years.  His visa package has been  in the works for five years.  Yes, five years.  It gets so far, then we do the annual RIP/TOA (Relief In Place/Transfer Of Authority) and the paperwork gets misplaced.  So it starts again.  Lucky for him that Doug has been here for years and is able to follow up.  He’s still working as a translator, still keeping the faith, despite our best efforts to make him throw his hands up in frustration.

Okay, I’m off the soapbox.

At breakfast this morning, while working on a Ramadan-wich (bacon and ham muffin breakfast sandwich), I began to feel like I was trapped in a Family Guy episode.  Two of our youngsters were arguing about which sexy female cartoon character would win a mud wrestling match.  After much debate, they settled on She-Ra, Princess of Power (and sister to He-Man), as the presumptive champion mud-wrestler.  The things we do for entertainment here …

As I sit here writing this post, gentle readers, you should know that I have ten days left in country.  TEN!  Then on to Qatar for out-processing, then vacation, then home.  But fear not, I’ll keep writing through the end of my reintegration process back home.

Despicable, Insensitive Me

Today is officially the start of Ramadan.  Muslims worldwide do their total fast during daylight hours for the next month.  The list of proscribed activities is all-encompassing:  no eating, drinking, smoking, sex, nothing.  I once read a letter in an English-language newspaper in Saudi Arabia where the writer worried that a drop of sweat trickling into his mouth caused him to break the daylight fast … was he going to hell for this transgression?  Must have been one of those nut-job Wahabbis (not to be confused with wasabi).

Having worked with Saudi naval officers during my contractor days, I can tell you that they get more sullen, cranky and unproductive as the month progresses.  Not being able to eat or rehydrate during daylight hours of the hottest month of the year is bound to make them especially irritable.  Oh joy, meal time is probably going to get testy as the days go by.

This being the first day of Ramadan, I decided to play my “Ugly American” card.  I got a muffin sandwich with ham (can’t call it an Egg McMuffin™, that’s trademarked) at breakfast, and piled on the bacon.  Actually, I let one of the guys behind the serving line pile on the bacon.  Thank you for the profusion of pork products, Amatullah.  If they had sausage patties instead of links, I’d have added one of those to make the sandwich a Ramadan Trifecta.  I’ve decided to sacrifice my low cholesterol level for a week or two just to be politically incorrect.

I especially feel the need to be politically incorrect after reading a bulletin from Regional Command South in Kandahar.  Eating, drinking and smoking in public during daylight hours have been banned, for fear we might offend our local national hosts.  God forbid we should offend someone in a war zone.  Two in the chest and one in the head for good measure, but we’ll try not to offend your religious sensibilities as we send you to meet Allah and the 72 virgins.

No doubt about it, I’m one insensitive old cuss.