It's A Beautiful Morning

A few weeks ago I found a bird's egg that had fallen from the nest and splattered on a doorstep. I was happily surprised to find two additional little eggs, still intact, snuggled into a nest above the door.

I didn't want them "relocated" so I watched and waited in secret for them to hatch. When they hatched, they were so ugly they were precious and then I watched them grow up too quickly. It seemed as if one day they had their little baby down feathers and just a few days later they had their driver's licenses. They were finally discovered by others when they left their nest, apparently, without permission because when their mother came back she squawked at them so loudly and for so long that it drew attention. Everyone agreed they were days from leaving the nest to opted against relocation. This morning, nature took its course and the little guys left (i saw them with my own eyes) and haven't been back. They behind nothing but an empty nest and a poop-splattered doorstep.

The cold air has settled some of the dust (we had a nasty dust storm here a few days ago) and the Mountains "came back" this morning. I guess there must be some truth to that old addage, "He doesn't take a baby bird without giving you a mountain" :) I voluntarily stood outside this morning in the cold mountain air sipping coffee and watching the sun rise on creation.

Good Morning, from Afghanistan.

"Posing" for Playboy in Afghanistan

Girls are sort of in short supply over here. So when the yoga teacher advised his wife had sent his Hugh Hefner Halloween costume for his work party and lamented at not having a "bunny" I knew exactly where he was heading.

But I was ready. Armed with my standard, "Unfortunately, due to impossibly low weight restrictions imposed by the airlines, I was unable to bring my playboy bunny halloween costume with me to Afghanistan. Sorry." Had I stopped there, I would have been home scott-free. But I, ever the diplomat, just had to tease the gods and tempt fate by adding, "If I had a costume, I'd be only too happy to attend. Sounds like I'll miss out on a fun time."

I underestimated 3 things: 1. how seriously (dare I say "fanatically") some people take Halloween, 2. the abilities of the little Afghan tailors here on base to create something as loony as a muslim-country-modified playboy bunny costume in 4 days and 3. how funny the little Afghan tailors thought it would be to see me dressed like a bunny for a holiday they don't even celebrate.

As if my being in Afghanistan isn't unlikely enough, I can now add having been in Afghanistan dressed as a playboy bunny and winning second place at a halloween costume party to the list.

Yes, everyone wanted to try on the ears (I was just happy not to have to wear my KBR hat for the night - ha ha!)

Happy Halloween. I hope you end the night with the most candy.

There's Cold in Them Thar Hills

Suddenly, it's freezing up here in my mountains of Afghanistan. So I got to trade in the old, ugly summer hat for a new, ugly winter hat :)

In truth, it's only cold at night and in the mornings. By day, it's still almost a hundred degrees. JUST LIKE St. Louis!

Last night, we got our first snow. It didn't stick down here but the mountain tops are donning their winter coats and the flies are dropping like ... er... flies.

Fortunately, the Taliban tend to hunker down during the winter so hopefully the snow will bring the much-needed "chilling effect" on the death toll.

On a personal note, I was recently advised by a weathered vet (pun intended) of the Afghanistan winters to invest in a one-piece insulated snow suit for those 2am December bunker alerts. Shiver, Shiver. Maybe Iraq wasn't really so bad. Just kidding, Mom.

Women and Children First

Every day I read intelligence reports detailing the bodies of women found after having been stoned "to death" for transgressions such as traveling with a male who is not a relative. Just to explain how a stoning takes place, the accused offender is buried to her waist in sand and then stoned until "death." I place "death" in quotes because it isn't usually the stoning that actually kills them - the stoning breaks their spinal cord and shoulder bones, their forearms, shatters their hand and facial bones, sometimes a stone will hit with enough force and in just the right place to push out an eye, and almost always the teeth are broken - the killers don't have the patience to wait while they die from the wounds inflicted by the stones, so after the stoning they usually bash in their heads with the shovel used to bury them in the sand or back over them with a vehicle. The killers in the reports I receive are always Muslim extremists who claim credit for the stonings because it keeps people terrified. And terrified people are easier to control. When I say "Muslim extremists" I'm talking about the groups collectively known as the Taliban.

I don't get details of the number of orphans, per se, but my daily reports also contain details of the number of men and women who were executed in front of their children yesterday and last night by the Taliban - and, of course when the children are executed with the parents they appear in my reports. The Taliban do other, horrible, things to children including but not limited to dressing young boys in make-up (like little girls) and using them in lieu of women since "relations" with a woman out of wedlock are prohibited - the good, ole "letter of the law not the spirit of the law" defense. These atrocities are well-documented and common knowledge. You can easily find more information about the practices with minimal on-line research if you are so inclined.

My job requires also that I scour about 15 different public news sources for any news relative to Afghanistan. For the past 10 months, the only numbers rivalling those of people killed each night by the Taliban are the number of "women and children" killed as a result of some wedding or another having been bombed by the U.S. and/or Coalition forces.

What really happens is this: The Taliban move weapons and supplies (medical supplies, winter clothing, food, amunition, tanks) to their troops through giant tunnels in the mountains. These tunnels are not the kind you dig with a pick and axe - these tunnels are large enough to put an aircraft inside. I've seen tunnels wherein you can drive two tanks, side by side, with plenty of room for troops on foot to walk on both sides and not even feel claustrophobic - imagine a highway in a tunnel running from one side of Texas to the other. Concrete reinforced tunnels. BETTER than hollywood movie tunnels. I'm talkin' serious, professional tunnels. And, please notice my use of "troops" in reference to the Taliban. Not "groups", not "bands", not "gangs" - well-organized, well-trained troops making trips back and forth through the mountains between Afghanistan and Pakistan for supplies, for weapons, for ammunition, and to train more Taliban fighters.

THESE TUNNELS are quite valuable to the Taliban and their locations are some of the most valuable secrets in the war. SO, they build houses and even small villages to cover the entrances then they fill the houses with women and children to a) blackmail the people in the village into keeping the location secret so they don't lose their families and b) a ploy to keep the entrance from being bombed due to the international and national outrage of so many women and children being killed by US and/or Coalition forces.

Bottom line: When you read about all the innocent people killed by erroneous attacks against wedding parties please remember that most of them are shotgun weddings and the Taliban are holding the Uzis.

Grandma's House Seemed Bigger When I Was Little

When I was a kid, we played hide-and-seek almost every summer evening. We played (what some of you would consider the "sissy" version, I know) with a "home base". If you made it to base before getting tagged you were safe. But, if you got tagged, you were "it".

I was a risk-taker. I always hid close enough to the base that if I were spotted I'd have no chance of making it safely. However, if I weren't spotted and I played my cards just right, the moment the seeker turned to search for someone else I'd make a mad-dash for safety and test my mettle against that of the seeker.

Night after night, I'd hunker in my spot, trying not to breath. I'd wait, certain the sound of my pounding heart and "barely breathing" had revealed my location. I'd watch, certain the seeker was pretending not to see me so I'd be tricked into making my move prematurely.

With eyes wide, to absorb every ounce of available visibility, I'd kick into "fight or flight" mode and run for the base. Arms pumping furiously, legs pushing the limits of physics to gain the most distance and speed from every step, hands out-stretched, reaching for base like an olympic sprinter reaching for the finish line - the seeker would spot me, turn, race me to the base -AND!.

Well, some nights I'd make it safely and some nights I'd feel that fatal tag.

That's how the trip from Baghdad International Airport to the inner wire of Camp Victory felt. Even though I could not see my seeker, until I actually tagged home base I wasn't sure I'd make it. The trip was tense, made more so by the sudden onset of emergency vehicles zooming past with sirens-a-la-1970's-B-movie blaring in the direction of a rising tower of black smoke on the roadside in the distance ahead of me. It did not ease my mind that immediately thereafter my driver and our military escort of Hummers executed an unexpected U-turn without consideration for the concrete median discouraging such manuevers opting to back-track and take an alternate route to the base (the military base, not my hide-and-seek base).

Once inside "the wire" it was an entirely different story. It was like the suburbs: sprawling across so many miles the shuttle system has a gray line that takes you to a green line so you can catch the yellow line to the Cinnabon; no streetlights or sidewalks; traffic, traffic, everywhere and not a ride to hitch. I couldn't wait to get back to my brownstone in the ghetto (a/k/a: my B-hut in Afghanistan). Oh, yeah, the real pisser: The guest quarters in Iraq do NOT have indoor plumbing. Just my luck!

Anyway, the training was fine and, you know, all things considered the base was fine too. It's just that I'm partial to Afghanistan and I'm biased against the suburbs. Iraq and I weren't meant to be. I guess I'll have to nix those plans for my broadway production of "Me and My Baghdad".

The strangest thing about the whole trip - now that I've left and come back, Afghanistan seems smaller.