The Land of Conexes

Back when I was in the Army, there were these rusted-out hulks of metal containers called Conexes that littered the motor pools.  We stored all kinds of crap in there.  I remember being told that they weren't being made anymore and that we were lucky to have them.

Conexes are a shorter version of Milvans or Seavans.  All of them used to be in high demand since the Army is famous for squirreling away all kinds of stuff, sometimes useful, most of the time not.  Because the Army supply system was sometimes unreliable, every unit Supply Sergeant had a rat's nest of double secret supplies that could be called upon, if necessary.  These supplies also made great trading material for other supplies and materials that a unit needed.

Even in Antarctica, Conexes and Milvans were in high demand, again to store and squirrel away all kinds of stuff where there was no other room for it.  On  the Ice, we stashed away cabling, tires, connectors, antennas, old radios, car parts, basically whatever folks thought they would need in an emergency -- but usually never did.  As a result, all the stuff in these rusted, metal containers usually were covered with dirt, grime, dust, and other filth -- inches deep.

Not until I came to Kabul did I realize that these horrid things had other uses and capabilities.  Here in Afghanistan, people live and work in them!  They provide the raw building blocks for most of the new structures standing up here to meet the coming surge.  When I see how many of these containers have come into country, it makes me wonder why I didn't see this earlier and bought stock in the company.  It's probably not too late to get in on the next wave of profits.

This new barracks is constructed of seven rows of Milvans, two stories high.  There's three guys sleeping in a space of 130 square feet.  Make your buddy smile!!

Here our guards camp out in them.  We plumb them for electricity so there is light and heat.  The Conex next to the guard shack is used for garbage.  The difference between sleeping quarters and garbage receptacles is electricity.

Another Year For Broken Resolutions

I had the best of intentions of doing PT (Army physical training) while I was spending a year of my life here in Kabul.  I bought Army PT uniforms and hauled all that stuff over here.  There’s well equipped gyms at most of the camps and compounds that have both weights and cardio equipment.  All the military folks constantly are running and working out.  I mostly watch and stare, wishing I had the motivation.

My biggest excuse for not running is the uneven roadways, streets, alleys, walkways, and byways that service the camps.  Even Area 10, the location where many of the safe houses are located, has very poor streets full of ruts, holes, trenches, and gravel with various sized rocks.  Not a day goes by where I don’t turn an ankle while walking from one location to another.  I’m saved from injury because of my combat boots.  Those boots have kept me from spraining or breaking an ankle at least once a week (my ankle ligaments and tendons are too stretched from previous injuries).

I have another excuse.  Kabul has some of the worst air pollution in the world.  Because Kabul sits amongst hills and mountains, the smoke from the wood burning and vehicle exhaust hovers stagnantly over the city and obscures what would be wonderful views of the snowy mountains.  Running into pollution is not an option for me.  I never could understand those folks who run on busy streets while sucking up bus and truck exhaust while they gasp for air from the exertion.  Why would anyone pollute their lungs like this and think that this exercise will provide for a healthy life?  Just doesn’t make sense to me. 

There’s times here when the winds blow out the smog and smoke and make for pretty good running conditions.  About the only place I’ve found to run without breaking an ankle is NKC (New Kabul Compound).  This is another US compound in Kabul, newly created, and still undergoing expansion.  NKC has a very nice perimeter road inside the walls.  Because of the construction, there’s too much mud and water on the road to make for safe running -- at least for me.  Others run and that helps to instill in me more remorse for my slacking off. 

NKC is overlooked by one of the hills in Kabul.  Like all the hills here, one-story mud huts populate the landscape.  There’s no utilities servicing these neighborhoods.  No power, no water, no sewage.  The poor and very poor live in these hovels and they’re the ones most prone to radicalization.  To keep NKC safe from snipers, the military has OPs (Observation Posts) out in these neighborhoods.  Military patrols interact with the locals and prevent incidents from happening.  I’ve been told that the Army provides food and medicine to these villagers to help keep them safely on our side -- for now.

The hill can be seen in the background.  Above the blue container on the left is a glimpse of the green mesh curtain that is put up to help prevent snipers from hitting their targets.  These curtains also add a bit of privacy to theUS operations here. 

Reminders exist that, even with the precautions taken for ensure safety, danger is just around the corner.  These signs below are posted at once section of the perimeter road in NKC for the runners and joggers.  It’s yet another reason that I think I’ll put off my PT program until I come home!

A little motivation to pick up the pace!

Back to a crawl...

The Mongol Hoard, Part II

Yesterday I discovered where the Mongolians are camped out in a sub-complex near Eggars.  Today I invited myself over for a look-see.  After some embarrassing moments where I was trying to explain to the Mongolian guards why this Yankee wanted to enter their premises, they finally understood my intentions.  Who said speaking loudly and adding a vowel to each word didn't work?

The yurt in the middle of the Mongolian Compound.

Entering the yurt.  A portrait of Genghis Khan is the centerpiece.

Another view inside the yurt.

A "candid"shot.

I have a hard time imagining Genghis Khan in this little saddle.  I also doubt it would fit Denver, my mule.  I know it wouldn't fit my ass.

I was told was this instrument was but there were too many consonants for me to comprehend.  It didn't sound very good anyway.

R&R -- playing that hateful, Chinese game.

Anyway, I had a nice visit with the Mongolians.  I'd really like to visit them again when they're serving up some native cuisine.  I have no idea what that would be, but I'm game anyways.

The Mongol Hoard

One of the pleasures of being in Kabul at the various military compounds is being around so many of the allied and coalition forces that are here supporting the war effort and the country building in Afghanistan.  NATO is here in force and a number of other European countries trying to get into NATO.  We've got Macedonia here, Albania, and other countries providing representatives to this effort.  Trying to recognize each country from its camo uniforms is difficult; so many look alike that it's hard to differentiate.

The smaller contingents aren't providing combat soldiers, however.  They're mostly gathered at the headquarters elements and compounds here in the Kabul region.  They're contributing to the war effort, but they're also contributing to the overcrowded conditions here.

One of the countries providing troops is Mongolia.  When they first arrived, small squads of Mongolian Army soldiers marched around in formation with all of their "battle rattle," helmets, weapons, body armor, and new uniforms.  American and British soldiers only armor up if they're going outside the wire, so to speak.  It didn't take long for the Mongolians to get a feel for how Americans fight their wars.  The helmets have come off in favor of soft caps, I have to elbow my way into the chow halls now where Mongolians have discovered good American mess hall food, and now I have to elbow my way into the MWR building where the common use computers are located.

The Mongolians now have discovered Facebook, Yahoo Mail, Skype, and other social networking sites.  Because none of them have their own laptops, unlike every American soldier, airman, sailor, and marine who is here, they use the common use computers here at MWR.  They may not fire their weapons alongside Americans while serving time here in Afghanistan, but these Mongolians certainly will go home better oriented to the American lifestyle and culture than when they first came.  Long live Facebook...

Merry Christmas from Afghanistan!

There's both better and worse places in the world to be right now.  I'd prefer being home with Suzanne and celebrating with friends and family.  But, in a twisted kind of way, the Army is home for me too and if I have to spend it in one of the 'stans, I'd prefer doing it with the US Army.  Hoooaahh...

A Shackleton in Kabul

I was having lunch today at the New Kabul Compound DFAC (Dining Facility) and talking with some work mates.  I looked up and noticed an American NCO walking towards me.  His name tag had Shackleton on it.  It's not a common name but one that carries a lot of weight around the Antarctic business.  I thought there might be a connection to Sir Ernest Shackleton.  I stopped him and asked him if he was related to Sir Ernest.  I didn't even finish my question when he replied that he was.  The young NCO is the great, great nephew of Shackleton.  He seemed pleased that someone in the region had a clue as to who Ernest Shackleton was.  Everyone at the table had no clue as I'm sure few in the Army do.

So, a remotely related piece of Antarctic history lives and breathes in Kabul today.  Small world...

A Death in Kabul

Things have been pretty busy here in Kabul.  They didn't get any better when one of our senior techs, who took a leadership role at the New Kabul Compound (NKC), died two weeks ago.  Gerard was young, experienced, a technical whiz at the communications infrastructure that we support here, and an Air Force veteran.  His sudden death shocked us and reminded us that we all are at risk over here.  We still are trying to fill the void that he left.

Gerard, I didn't know you well or for that long.  But you were a good guy and you will be missed.  Travel well, my friend.