Sunday, August 06, 2006
A Pillow and Peace of Mind
My passport and visa arrived today (had to send the passport off with the Afghanistan visa application) so it would appear I’ll be allowed in.
Unrelated to that piece of mail and what it means for my future, my wife said to me today as we drove to dinner, “We should go to Hawaii for a vacation.”
I’m thinking that sounds like a better idea than going to Afghanistan and Albania.
But I am getting more and more excited about the trip. A bit surprising, frankly, knowing me the way I do. Honestly, my idea of the ideal vacation would probably involve little more than heading to a tropical beach and staying there for a couple weeks. I am not one to go out of my way to rough it. For instance, I don’t camp. I wouldn’t even consider camping. The ground is hard, it can rain, I could run into an angry bear or hungry mountain lion; I could go on and on. I also am embarrassingly picky about the hotels where I stay. I like to be comfortable. I am not particularly proud of this, but I can’t deny it. For me, roughing it is slow room service at the Westin.
Here’s a true story. Last year on our way to Europe to visit our son who was studying overseas we stopped in New York City for a couple days before continuing on to Belgium. It was going to be a long trip with lots of different destinations so we thought taking a couple days to ourselves to see the city and rest up would be a good idea. We checked into the Ritz-Carlton hotel at Battery Park and after the bellman showed us around the room, got his tip and left, I opened one of my bags, took out the pillow from my bed at home and propped it against the six luxurious pillows already on the hotel room bed. My wife looked at me and said questioningly, “You brought your own pillow to the Ritz? You think the pillows here won’t be comfortable?”
It’s not that I don’t think they'll be comfortable. You must admit, there’s something comfortingly personal about one’s own pillow. And yes, I will be taking it with me to Afghanistan. Who knows where I’ll be sleeping? At least my head will be in a familiar place.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
How Big Is God?
It is now exactly one week till it’s wheels up for Afghanistan. The question most often asked is still, why are you going to a place like that?
The other night my wife and I rented the profound and deeply moving film, “Joe Versus the Volcano” (or was it just quirky and silly?). There is this great scene in which Patricia (Meg Ryan) and Joe (Tom Hanks) are sitting together in the twilight on a sailboat somewhere in the South Pacific discussing their lives when Patricia says to Joe, “My father says that almost the whole world is asleep…everybody you know, everybody you see, everybody you talk to. He says that only a few people are awake, and they live in a state of constant, total amazement.”
I don’t feel I’ve been walking around asleep or anything like that. Honestly, I feel, particularly in the past few years, I am more awake than I’ve ever been before; more awake to what is going on around me and the opportunities I have to participate in ways that truly matter. I find it is not about me but for some wonderful reason I get to be a part of it. And I am often amazed.
It should probably be pointed out that in the film, a short time after Meg Ryan speaks those words, the boat is struck by lightning and sinks, leaving them both stranded, floating on an expensive set of luggage for weeks before they finally reach land. That was sort of amazing. Probably not something you’d sign up for. But, wow.
After a few days or weeks adrift, Tom Hanks is in bad shape. He is dehydrated, his skin burned and blistered from the sun. (Meg Ryan has been unconscious since the lightning strike, floating serenely in an unconscious state the entire time they’ve been stranded.) One night, with Meg lying there being unconsciously beautiful and Tom lying next to her looking up at the stars probably wondering whether he will live or die, the moon begins to rise on the distant horizon. It is gigantic, a brilliant white orb rising out of a sparkling, star-lit sea. Tom rolls painfully over onto his side and struggles to stand. As the moon, bigger than life, nearly as big as the earth itself, finally breaks above the horizon Tom stands up on the luggage that has been serving as their life boat. We see him from behind, mesmerized. Silhouetted in the brilliant glow, he raises his arms above his head creating, for a moment, the illusion that he is holding the moon up there above the earth. But it continues its slow rise into the heavens, beyond the reach of his outstretched hands. The camera then switches position and we are looking at Tom’s face as he stares into the brilliant light. He looks awful, but in his eyes we can tell that he is seeing something he’s never really seen before. He’s seeing in a way he’s never seen before. And he is totally amazed. That is when he says these words:
“Dear God, whose name I do not know, thank you for my life. I forgot…how big…how big you are… Thank you for my life. Thank you. Thank you.”
It is impossible for me to talk about the reasons for my taking this trip to Afghanistan without talking about my faith. I am always humbled by the stories of the people I have been privileged to know who have left the comforts of home to go into the battered places to show people the love of the Lord and do what they can to help rebuild broken lives. I wonder if they might sometimes get to glimpse the bigness of God in ways the rest of us don’t?
**
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
24 Hours To Takeoff
I woke up this morning to find an article about my upcoming trip in the newspaper. I should have expected it, after all I was interviewed by the Arizona Daily Star’s Erin White last week. She asked me a lot of questions and we had a very good conversation. But after we talked I was pretty sure she would decide not to run a story about me. If you’re like me (and I know I am) after you talk to a reporter you go home re-thinking everything you said and find yourself wishing you had been more articulate, or at least slightly less verbose. But having now read the article I see that she managed to connect the dots of my rambling and sometimes disconnected thoughts.
**
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Time To Go
The packing is nearly finished, the papers are in order, and it is time for me to go. My wife has spent the past few minutes on the internet looking up weather forecasts for my various destinations. Surprisingly, the high temperatures for the areas I will visit in Afghanistan are only in the mid-90s. Tirana, Albania, is forecast for 108 today. Dubai, where I will land late tomorrow en-route to Herat, is supposed to reach 115 today. That should feel lovely. Guess I won’t need to pack a jacket.
My nearing departure to Afghanistan has impacted me in a way I had not anticipated back when I first agreed to take this trip. I find that it has impacted every conversation I have had and every email I have sent in the past couple of days. I find myself making sure to tell people I love how I feel about them. I suppose we all should always think about communicating such things, but I don’t usually. We should not miss an opportunity to express how we feel to those who bless our lives.
I have never been a fan of roller coasters, but when my son was a little younger I did the dad duty and rode with him a few times at Disneyland. We rode Space Mountain, which is basically a rollercoaster in the dark. I feel a little like I’m on that ride, lately. Today I feel we’ve just reached the top of one of the arches and we’re about to go plunging at high speed into the unknown.
I’m hanging on.
A Quick Thought From The Airport
Just enough time to write out a quick thought. Am sitting at the airport waiting for the Lufthansa flight that will take me to Dubai, the last stop before Kabul, Afghanistan. I came across this great quote from Dr. Paul Tournier while reading to pass the time in airports and on airplanes. He said, "There is an astonishing contrast between the heavy perplexity that inhibits before the adventure has begun and the excitement that grips us as soon as it begins. As soon as a person makes up his or her mind to take the plunge into adventure, they are aware of a new strength they did not think they had, which rescues them from all their perplexities."
**
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Notes From The Trip So Far
I’m on the jet, Lufthansa fl 447. The very friendly flight attendants are all German but speak very good accented English. The pilot did the announcements, first in German, then in English. His accent is much heavier but understandable. The jet is huge. I picked up a slick looking magazine on the way onto the jet. A glossy and expensive looking mag. Realized too late it is all in German. At least the pictures are nice to look at. I’m suddenly glad I brought several books to read.
The flight attendant, going down the aisle near me with such efficiency, is checking seatbelts. As she moves from row to row she switches seamlessly back and forth between English and German. She manages to make German almost sound pleasant. Almost. I can imagine someone moving too slowly for her liking and her saying, “Und now you vill buckle zee seatbelt und prepare for takeoff or I vill smack you upside zat head uf yours.”
I love this airline. They offer in-flight internet access. Peter the Australian in the seat across from mine says he uses it all the time. Peter also says that, when I arrive in Kabul, I should not go jogging outside my hotel. And don’t even think about wearing shorts in Afghanistan. I want to ask him why but think I’ll wait a little longer. As my lovely country fades away into the gathering darkness of night it is suddenly very clear, deep down in my stomach, that I will miss my home.
13 hours later…
I’m now 36,000 feet aboard Lufthansa flight 630 flying from Frankfurt to Dubai in the United Arab Emirates. Currently on a heading for Turkey, the country not the meat. This flight crosses places I hadn’t thought I would see, but we don’t touch down anywhere between here and Dubai. At least I hope we don’t touch down.
Later…
After clearing Romania and Turkey crossing north of Syria and Lebanon and all that mess down there, we work our way around the north and then east border of Iraq. From the video map on the wall here in the cabin, it appears we are preferring Iran’s airspace to Iraq’s airspace. As darkness falls for the second time on my journey so far, we eventually pass by the eastern edge of Kuwait and out over the Persian Gulf toward Dubai. Back a few hundred miles, when the Iraq border was just outside my window, Peter the Australian leaned over and said, “It’s a good thing those katusha rockets can’t reach this altitude.” I suddenly found myself wishing I knew more about katusha rockets, or that I at least knew whether Peter has any idea what a katusha rocket is capable of doing.
While on the ground switching planes in Frankfurt I managed to find an English language newspaper. On the front page was a story about U.S. and Afghan forces raiding compounds suspected of being al Qaeda sanctuaries in S.E. Afghanistan yesterday, seizing weapons and taking eight prisoners.
The pilot just announced the temperature in Dubai is 44 Celcius. Peter the Australian leans over and does the conversion for me. He says, “that is 120 Fahrenheit.” Lovely. Any other encouraging news you’d like to share?
Have I mentioned already...I managed to get upgraded to business class. You don’t even want to know what that ticket cost. Well maybe you do…but I don’t want to tell you. But I will tell you this. The food is very good. Real silver wear and china. 1st course was Sesame-cured Tuna with marinated vegetables…Avocado Crème and lime olive oil. Or…as the Lufthansa menu stated: In Sesam gebeizter Thunfisch mit mariniertem, Gemuse, Avocadocreme und Limonen-olivenol. (You vill eat ziss und enjoy it or vee vill force you to put und seat in it’s full und upright position. Schnell!)
I am eating while I am still able to identify what is being served. I have no idea what I will get in Afghanistan.
Received an email just before leaving on this trip. Printed it along with some others figuring I would just read them on the plane. It was from the World Advocates Herat team: “Our city has been a bit insecure for the last few weeks. We have been having some people against the government acting up. By acting up I mean setting off flash bang grenades in the night to get some attention and cause insecurity in the city. Here you have to laugh at things otherwise you will not survive.”
About a week ago the team leader, discussing the security question, said Afghanistan is a dangerous country, but “not as dangerous as the media makes it out to be.” He says it is far more dangerous in the southern Afghan provinces than in Herat. He believes that in Herat, with a bit of common sense, you can avoid danger. For example: stay away from large crowds.
Hmm. Okay.
**
Friday, August 18, 2006
7 a.m. – Flight 006, Dubai to Kabul.
I have written this on a notepad I brought along, and will type it into a computer if I can find one to use when we land.
Lufthansa may have brought me here last night – Kam Air is a long way from the efficiency and luxury of last night’s flight. This Kam Air jet is an old, and I mean very old, 737. Kam Air must have purchased the plane used from Mexico or Spain, as the instructions on the seatback are written in Spanish. I don’t know much Spanish but the printed words bring me closer to home than anything else around me. Everything within miles is in Arabic.
A male Arab passenger stops to make goo goo eyes at the little toddler perched on his mom’s lap across the aisle from me. Smiles and laughter as the baby grins and giggles. I am reassured. When we get news at home from this part of the world it is generally about war and hate, grudges held onto and revenge carried out. But I am seeing love surrounding a baby boy. It is easy to feel, reading dispatches from the Middle East, that there will never be peace here. But I see they love their children. This gives me hope.
We are somewhere over the Persian Gulf heading north toward Iran and eventually Afghanistan. There is cloud cover below so I can’t see the Earth. Looking up I notice a bunch of wires hanging down from between big cracks in the ceiling of the cabin. Yes, this is a very old plane. This does not give me hope.
A thought races through my mind before I can stop it… “What in the world ever made me decide to come here?”
Just before I left the U.S. a friend reminded me to read Psalm 121. She calls it “the Travelers Psalm .”
I am, at this moment, nearing Iranian airspace at 500 miles per hour.
**
Saturday, August 19, 2006
3:45 a.m. – Relief worker guest house, Kabul.
I wake to the sound of Imams in the distance calling people to prayer at mosques around the city. In a way the sound is beautiful, poetic. Haunting, too. As I listen I realize there is a mournful quality to the sound as well; voices calling out from the darkness.
Most of Kabul has been without electricity since I have been here. The lights and a fan here in the guest house came on for a couple of hours in the middle of the night but went off again about 3 a.m. It is uncomfortably hot in here. I am at the moment writing on a notepad by the beam of a small flashlight Lucy insisted I bring with me in my backpack. Glad she insisted. The guesthouse actually has a generator but they only run it for an hour or so a day, long enough to charge the batteries for their cell phones (yes, some cells work here) and to turn on a computer long enough to write and send some emails (yes, somehow they can access the Internet). They don’t run it long, though, as it costs money and they don’t seem to have much in the way of funding. I’ll ask to use the computer a little later so I can send these words back home.
Because access to a computer has been difficult I haven’t had much time to describe Kabul, yet. The city, at least the parts I have visited, show clear evidence of all the war it has seen; building after building shot full of holes, walls and rooftops blown away or caving in. I have never seen anything like it. Most of the houses are surrounded by walls. The poorer residents live in mud-brick dwellings. Some of the westerners here, the few I have met so far, have hired what they call chowkidors (guards or watchmen). They hang out by the locked gates in the walls bordering the streets. There is a chowkidor watching this house where I am spending the night. We have to ring a bell to get inside the wall. Pull the cord, a bell rings inside, and he lets us in a minute later. He is not armed so I don’t imagine he would be much help if anyone armed and determined wanted in. But the westerners who hire the chowkidors apparently feel they are a deterrent. Our chowkidor is tall and thin, very dark with a thick black beard. He’s draped in a robe, of course, and never smiles. Guards at two other homes I have visited were more friendly, quick to smile, and have kindly eyes.
A few of the larger homes I have seen have armed guards patrolling their perimeters. R. says the wealthier Afghans may have enemies so they hire armed protection. An armed guard is apparently also a status symbol in some circles.
LATER…
I am now sitting in seat 18c on a commercial flight that is to take me to Herat. I am sitting with two female relief workers from the U.S. C. and M. The jet has not moved since we boarded an hour ago. It is very hot inside with very little air circulating. It is stifling. I don’t know how all the robed people around me can stand it. The only two I can speak with in English are the two American women I am traveling with. They, like the local women, are required to cover themselves. They first said the heat was not bothering them too much but now they admit they are uncomfortable. My beard is growing in, which doesn’t help much. I am covered with sweat from head to toe. Seriously. I’m wearing sandals so I can actually see the sweat on my toes. I didn’t know toes could sweat.
On the drive from the guest house to the airport I mentioned to my driver, D. (an American relief worker stationed in Kabul) that I thought I heard gunfire during the night. He said it was probably fireworks. Today is Independence Day in Afghanistan, a national holiday, and he says there were fireworks set off after midnight to celebrate.
I noticed even more armed Afghan patrols in the streets on the drive to the airfield this morning than I saw yesterday. D says they are out in force to discourage any anti-government violence on the holiday. As we neared the gate at the airport entrance some soldiers (or police, I am not sure which) approached with what appeared to be Russian-made Kalishnikov rifles. That’s what I’ve seen most around here. Even the occasional armed guard carries the same weapon. It has some sort of modified metal stock so it looks shorter than what I’ve seen in news photos from various war zones over the years. These guns appear very beat up, like someone bought them all at some garage sale. The way they handle them gives me the feeling they haven’t been through proper firearms training.
It just occurred to me that I have not seen any American military anywhere in the city. I know they are in Afghanistan from the reports I have read over the past few weeks about battles between U.S. forces and rebels in the south and east parts of the country but they don’t seem to be in Kabul. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind seeing some. I have seen an occasional U.N.-marked vehicle, and from the gate before we were allowed to board the jet I could see several armored personnel carriers moving along a taxiway at the far end of the tarmac.
Going through security I was people watching. The women were covered, of course, so there wasn’t much to see. The men wore robes as you would expect Arab men to wear. The security checkpoints don’t seem all that secure. They barely look at the bags and frisk each man quickly. The women are taken into a separate room where a female security official frisks them (“really feels us up,” the female relief workers told me later).
I have only slept a few hours since leaving home so I am wiped out right now. Time for sleep.
**
Sunday, August 20, 2006
JOY AND DUST AND TRAVELING WITH WHAT’S HIS NAME
W.A. Guest House In Herat, Afghanistan
Awake again in the early morning darkness listening to the Mullahs calling people to prayer. (I have been referring to them as Imans but one of the relief team members here told me today that it is the Mullah who calls people to prayer, not the Imam. Peter the Australian gave me bad information. Never trust an Aussie to identify Muslim prayer callers.) I can hear two this morning. One sounds pretty good, the other sounds like a sick cow. Can’t imagine many people responding to that noise. I can also hear cats fighting somewhere nearby. They sound better than the tone deaf Mullah. I’m sure he’s a nice guy and all, but, seriously, he should sleep in. The other one sounds quite good. Because of the heat and the 10 hour time difference I am running on very little sleep. It is not by choice but this has become my morning routine. After maybe two hours sleep, around 3 or 3:30 I give up and roll off my little bedroll on the floor, go outside to cool off and sit on the step in my boxers. There is a wall around the guest house so there’s no real possibility of offending anyone.
The stars are beautiful this morning. I can see a crescent moon low in the sky just over the top of the wall around the guesthouse. I may as well be up there on the moon, so out of this world is this place. This time of day is the only time it is not hot. The wind has finally died down a bit. Several people here have told me Herat has 120 days of wind every year. They didn’t say 4 months. 120 days. In a row. Like someone has counted them.
I feel I have been covered in dirt and sweat since arriving in Afghanistan. There is a coating of dust on everything. The computer I have been borrowing from one of the relief team members is so dirty some of the keys stickkk. Running my fingertip across the touchpad is like drawing a line in the sand.
And here’s a weird development. For some reason, yesterday, Peter began forgetting my name and now calls me Rob about half the time. We fly halfway around the world together and six days into the trip he forgets who I am. So now I call him Larry.
Yesterday the members of the relief team gathered in the upstairs room of the guesthouse to sing and share stories. I knew most of the songs but I don’t believe I’ve ever heard them sung with quite so much energy. The team leader shut the windows and the door about halfway through the first song, clearly concerned the neighbors would hear. I have now had a chance to talk at some length with most of them and am more amazed each day. On the one hand I understand them better now, yet it is still hard for me to really grasp how they have been able to leave their homes, friends and families behind, convinced that they are supposed to be here helping strangers. It is clear they have a burden for the people of Afghanistan. They speak with certainty about the reasons for coming. Their love for God is at the heart of it.
And the joy… L., the director, is an amazing and, to me, perplexing man. He has done relief work in Mauritania, Pakistan, India, Israel, and perhaps a dozen other places. I had thought he had been here in Afghanistan for just a year but it has actually been more than three since he first arrived with his wife and two young daughters. He can be quite serious, but is quick to laugh. And when he laughs he laughs with his whole body, loudly at first, then swallowing the sound for a moment, then slapping his knee and letting it all out. It’s the knee slap I love the most. His joy is transcendent.
**
Monday, August 21, 2006
MINE AWARENESS
(Unusual Wisdom From A 6-Year Old)
I had heard that Afghanistan is one of the most heavily mined countries in the world. I’m not talking gold mines. Back when the Russians were here fighting the Mujahaddin, they got in the habit of dropping and planting land mines and other types of mines all over the place. They probably weren’t the only ones, but they can be sure they were near the top of the list. In fact, some of those who are against the current government continue to lay down mines. Russian and other mines litter the landscape from north to south, east to west. Some areas are more heavily mined than others of course, but no place is completely safe. The rule of thumb given to me upon my arrival was: in the city you’ll be fine (both in Herat and also most areas in Kabul), but don’t go for any hikes in the country, and if you are driving in the rural areas (which we don’t advise) don’t pull off anywhere. Between the landmines and the Taliban, some places you just shouldn’t go.
Got that? Okay, now, the other day team leader L. was showing me and a few others around and had driven up a hill on the northern edge of Herat to give me a view of the city. As we rounded a corner there was this old Russian tank just 10 yards off to the side. It had not survived an attack. I asked L. to stop so I could get out and take a picture. I got out, walked up an embankment and snapped a pic and when I returned to the car I heard him telling the others that it was possible there were still some unexploded mines in that area. Well, thanks for the warning.
And listen to this. Today we drove about ten miles into the countryside to a park (there were actual trees, not something you see in much of Afghanistan). I was in the SUV with L, his family, and several members of the relief team.
So I try to ask, as casually as possible, as if I have no personal stake in it, “So…I thought landmines/insurgents/rebels/Taliban/Bogieman were a problem outside the city. But I guess not where we’re going? Right?”
L.: Not in the area where we’re going. There is actually a nice park where they planted trees. We go there fairly often.
ME: So, how can you tell when an area has been cleared of mines?
L: In some places they actually scatter colored rocks or stones around to let you know. For instance, red stones mean there are still mines in an area. Blue stones mean there might be mines, but they are not sure. White stones mean they have de-mined the area.
H: (L’s 6-year-old daughter, piping up from the back seat) No, blue stones mean there are UXOs.
ME: UFOs?
H: No, UXOs.
L: (Explaining his daughter’s words) UXOs are Unexploded Ordinances.
ME: How do you know about those?
H (As if talking about this is the most natural thing in the world for a 6-year-old): I took “Mine Awareness” in school.
ME: Mine Awareness?
L (expanding on his daughter’s surprising statement): They teach all the kids in Afghanistan how to avoid mines and other explosives.
H: We learned all about that.
ME: You know, this is not the sort of conversation I have ever had with anyone, let alone a six-year-old.
H: I think kids are the wisest people.
ME: I think you are probably right about that.
**
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
TRIPLE-A KIDS
(I don’t believe I have explained before, but I have been using initials rather than names for the relief team as a precaution. It probably would not be a problem to identify them, but in a place that has seen so much trouble, and is far from trouble-free today, I have decided to err on the side of caution.)
Team leader L’s two daughters filled me in today on what they think of Afghanistan and the other places they have seen. His older daughter, H, is six. She’s the landmine expert I told you about the other day. Her little sister C is four, so she doesn’t have quite as many opinions, although both of them are delightfully articulate. Blonde and quite fair, they stand out here both because of their looks but also because of their lack of hesitancy to share whatever is on their minds. They say things every day that surprise me.
Their father, L, is American, though he has lived much of his life overseas. Their mom is Australian. When I asked C what sort of passport she had she smiled and shrugged. When I asked H what nationality she considers herself she said she is a “Triple A.” Triple A? “Yes, I’m an Australian/American/Afghan.”
I asked her, "what's your favorite place?" She thought for a few moments before saying, "McDonalds."
They haven't been out of Herat for a long time so I wonder when she's ever had a chance to visit one of those and have a happy meal?
**
Thursday, August 24, 2006
IN THIS WORLD YOU WILL HAVE TROUBLE
(I managed to get out of Afghanistan. Read on.)
You won’t even believe where I am and what I’ve been doing the past 11 hours. Even I can’t believe it. There were two very big surprises. The first was unwelcome but, in the end, unavoidable. The second was one of the great experiences of my life so far. But I need to back up several thousand miles and a couple of days first to get some things that are heavy on my heart out of my thoughts and onto the page here.
First…news flash to all the U.S.-based airlines. A couple days ago, on a Kam Air flight from Heart back to Kabul, I managed to fall asleep and awoke only when the wheels touched down on the runway at Kabul airport. Because I was asleep, I did not return my seatback to its full and upright position before landing. And get this… Nothing bad happened! We didn’t crash or anything. And that’s not all. My tray table was down the entire time. I am not making this up! The flight attendant never woke me to say anything. In Afghanistan they don’t much sweat the small stuff.
Yes, on Tuesday I (along with Peter the Aussie and another friend on this trip, Hal) left the team in Herat after an emotional goodbye and returned to Kabul, hoping to make a connection to Dubai. It didn’t work out, though, so we had to spend another 30 hours in Afghanistan. I managed to find an English language Afghanistan paper to read on the flight. A quick scan of the headlines painted a vivid picture of the situation here:
“15 Militants Killed in Volatile Helmand”
“Sources of Terrorism in Pakistan”
“720 Million Sq Meters of Land Not Cleared of Mines in Afghanistan”
“ISAF Vehicle Patrol Attacked by Suicide Car Bomber”
“Bin Laden Still Deadly Relevant”
“4 ISAF Soldiers Injured, 9 Rebels Killed in Kandahar”
“World not Doing Enough on Afghan Drugs, Karzai”
All that in the current issue of the Daily Outlook Afghanistan.
Later, on the way from Kabul airport to find a hotel (we decided not to stay in the team guest house this time) I saw more amputees begging alongside the road.
I had, before leaving the relief team in Herat, been reading the little Bible I keep with me. Jesus’ words in John 16… “In this world you will have trouble, but take heart! I have overcome the world.” I wonder, had I not come to faith all those years ago, how hopeless I would feel in this dark place? Afghanistan breaks your heart. At the same time, what but the heart of God could compel a person to voluntarily come here and try to make a difference? There is indeed hope in that.
I will never forget the people I have met here. They came before me and they stay after.
**
SURPRISE SURPRISE
The unwelcome surprise… At 2 a.m. in Dubai, Hal and I finally board the Olympic Air flight to Athens. But guess what. It doesn’t go to Athens. Not directly, that is. I asked the flight attendant how long to Athens, and she said, “you do know this flight goes to Kuwait, first?” Umm, no, actually, I didn’t know that. Somehow the travel agent who booked all of this neglected to put Kuwait on the itinerary she printed up and included with my ticket package. We’ll be having a little chat when I finally get home.
The welcome surprise… And this was just unbelievable. We did, eventually, get to Athens, earlier today. I’d never been to Greece before, although I’m not sure landing and taking off again a few hours later really counts for visiting Greece if one doesn’t even get out of the airport. Ahh, but it turns out I did. We had a five-hour layover so we decided to grab a taxi and see what we could see. The taxi driver said it would take about half an hour to get downtown, to Constitution Center. So we said, “well, what are we waiting for?”
Once there he casually mentioned (his English was good) that the Parthenon was only another 10 minutes. Before we knew it we were hiking up the hillside of the Acropolis to the Parthenon. Who ends up at the Parthenon without planning to go there?
Then again, who ends up in Kuwait without planning to go there?
**
Friday, August 25, 2006
ARMED CAMP
A FLASHBACK
I am now in Tirana, Albania and have already met with one of the mission group directors here. We had an espresso at a café in the city. Had not slept at all in two days so was attempting to stay awake until dark and then get a good night’s sleep.
It is morning now and I am feeling a little more rested. We have a very full day of meetings today.
More on all that later. Right now I want to flash back to my extra 30 hours in Kabul, Tuesday-Wednesday.
The hotel we found was quite nice. Given the reality I had already experienced in Kabul, this place belonged in some other world. But here it was, Kabul Serena Hotel. The coalition bigwigs stay there.
As we approached the place in our taxi the number and variety of troops increased. Half a mile or so from the property there were armed soldiers everywhere I looked; lots of Afghan forces, but also American troops in desert camouflage. Heavily armed, very serious-looking American troops. There was a sharp contrast between the American guys and the other troops. The Afghans mostly stood around looking bored. Either that or they were all piled into the backs of pickup trucks going for joy rides like high school kids zooming around the stadium parking lot after a Friday night football game.
The U.S. troops, fewer in number, were all business. I got the feeling something big was going down. When we got to the hotel I found out I was right. The Serena was hosting a bunch of Pakistani generals at something called the “Combined Forces Dinner.” The generals, along with many U.S. officers and a contingent of State Department-types were arriving about the time our taxi pulled up to the hotel gate.
And what a gate it was, 11 or 12 feet high, steel, set in a high wall that surrounded the hotel grounds. Guarding the gate were what appeared to be Afghan and Pakistani troops, but in front of them, clearly the ones in charge, were more American troops, guns very much at the ready, earphones and microphones wrapped around their heads, all communicating with one another as they took a close look at anyone approaching.
We got out of the taxi about 20 yards from the gate. As we approached we were patted down, our luggage was opened and searched, and we were directed to walk through the sort of metal detector you see at airports.
Once through all that we proceeded through the gate and a hotel bellman waiting on the other side loaded our luggage onto a cart and led the way across an inner courtyard crawling with troops to the hotel entrance, where we passed through another metal detector on our way to the lobby and the registration desk. I felt like I was on the set of some sort of Hollywood war movie.
Inside the lobby we saw more soldiers, some with German Shepherd dogs, and a bunch of Pakistani officers. In contrast to the American guys in their desert camouflage the Pakistanis were decked out in dress uniforms with medals and gold braid all over their coats. They looked like marching band directors. Lots of lower-ranking Pakistani soldiers were lounging around, too, looking bored out of their minds. Again, in contrast, half a dozen U.S. troops (I took them to be Special Forces guys but what do I know?) were stationed around looking ready to pounce if provoked. I said hello to a few of them and they acknowledged me respectfully but did not allow themselves to be distracted.
(Their vigilance was understandable and appreciated. I heard the State Department-types talking about a suicide bomber who had blown himself up near a U.N. patrol south of Kabul the day before.)
After nearly a week of sleeping on a floor, the hotel room bed was a welcome change.
**
Monday, August 28, 2006
WHY IT TOOK SO LONG TO GET HOME
WHICH FLIGHT IS MINE?
Some random thoughts and pics.
Finally made it out of Kabul and flew to Dubai where I was to catch the flight to athens. You know, the flight that took an unexpected little detour to Kuwait in the mddle of the night. Nothing about that on my itinerary or tickets. But with this departure board for a reference I should perhaps be thankful I didn't end up in Baghdad.
Not being schooled in reading Arabic script, I can only guess that my flight is the squiggly yellow one five down from the top. Now, which gate do you suppose that is?
UNEXPECTED ROAD HAZARDS
I saw quite a few of these parked outside the airport at Kabul. It may be an American SUV, but with the organization name/logo on the side, it is another sobering reminder you're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.
I'm not sure whether you should follow a truck like that or avoid it at all costs.
PLAN AHEAD
I do know this, when planning the time it takes to get to the airport to make your flight for the escape from Afghanistan, you need to pack early, make sure you don't have anything in your baggage that will slow you down at the security checkpoints, and you need to give yourself extra time to deal with unexpected traffic jams.
Even though I am home now, I do want to have that little follow-up chat with the person who arranged the travel. I'd like to know more about the surprise trip into Kuwait, the 30 extra hours in Kabul, and the propensity to book us on flights that took off at two a.m.
FINALLY ON BOARD FLIGHT FOR HOME SWEET HOME
After this trip, it didn't take long to fall asleep.
