According to ProPublica, more contractors than soldiers were killed in Iraq and Afghanistan in the first six months of 2010, the first time that has happened since these wars began.
The report mentions the local nationals who work as translators and drivers for the military, but it’s based on Department of Labor statistics so I suspect that the numbers of contractor deaths are actually underreported. For one, most locally-owned PSCs in Afghanistan aren’t required to report their LN losses to the USG, and those are the companies that typically suffer the heaviest casualties. Secondly, there are plenty of LNs (at least in Afghanistan) that work as subcontractors to Western-owned PSCs and those numbers aren’t usually reported either.
If the employee isn’t on file with the USG, or if there are no DBA insurance payments involved, then the casualties don’t get entered into the official statistics. I don’t even want to guess how high the real numbers are.
(h/t to Feral Jundi)
Showing posts with label Company Business. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Company Business. Show all posts
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
Mistakes and Mosquitos
Been a crazy couple of weeks here lately, mostly due to internal company problems rather than external factors (i.e. bad guys). In the past month, we've wrapped up two big projects in Uruzgan and Nangarhar, mostly without incident but I'm still sad to see them go.*
*Closing down a project is almost as much work as starting one up, what with accountability lists for weapons and equipment, arranging transport and replacements and the general admin headaches.
The Uruzgan project was a constant nightmare, a combination of poor pricing and a very tough operating environment. Nevertheless, we had finally got it to the point where it was profitable when The Rug Merchant pulled the plug and opted not to take the six-month extension the client was offering. Despite the problems,* we had finally sorted out the operational issues and amortized out the upfront costs. That was the point to sit back and start making decent coin. Alas, it was not to be.
*More on the peculiar joys of Uruzgan Province in a later post.
No sooner had we pulled our people out of Uruzgan then word came down that we would be doing the same on the Nangarhar project. Unlike Uruzgan, Nangarhar is a reasonably safe place.*
*"Safe" is a relative term, of course.
We had been on the job for twelve months and things were humming along nicely. We had excellent support from the US Army, a good site with LSA constructed and paid for, a well-trained crew of expats and locals who were operating like a finely-tuned machine, and no heavy contact for the last six months (and no casualties for the duration). And to top it off, a decent profit every month.
Apparently, all that wasn't enough for the boss, so he pulled the plug. I fought that decision, but never did get a reasonable explanation. The client was left scratching their head, just as puzzled as I was.
So, yesterday we pulled all our people and gear off the site and conducted a Relief in Place with the outfit who was taking over. The managers from the new outfit were all smug smiles, knowing as they did the gold mine they'd stumbled into. I suspect that in 30 days, when the income stops rolling in, The Rug Merchant will regret that decision, but there's nothing I can do about that now.
Although I can't confirm it, I think the decisions to cut and run from Uruzgan and Nangarhar was a result of Karzai's latest brain cramp in which he announced his intention to close all PSCs by the end of the year. A couple of the big Western outfits have been raided and temporarily shut down, and I suspect that the boss wants to "fly under the radar" until the heat from MoI cools off. Last man standing after the bloodbath kind of thing. We'll see if that works. I have my doubts.
Back in Kabul now, dodging the last of the summer's mosquitos. Normally the flies are the most prevalent and annoying pest, but two of the people in my villa and three of my guards have gone down with malaria in the past few weeks, so I've become somewhat obsessive about the nasty little buggers. Malaria is treatable, but it's still no joke. If not caught in time, it can do serious liver damage, and even kill if it's particularly virulent. And the basic prophylactic treatment is some of the nastiest-tasting pills you'll ever find.
I spend a lot of effort listening for the telltale hum of a hungry mosquito, and keeping a can of industrial-stength bug killer handy.
*Closing down a project is almost as much work as starting one up, what with accountability lists for weapons and equipment, arranging transport and replacements and the general admin headaches.
The Uruzgan project was a constant nightmare, a combination of poor pricing and a very tough operating environment. Nevertheless, we had finally got it to the point where it was profitable when The Rug Merchant pulled the plug and opted not to take the six-month extension the client was offering. Despite the problems,* we had finally sorted out the operational issues and amortized out the upfront costs. That was the point to sit back and start making decent coin. Alas, it was not to be.
*More on the peculiar joys of Uruzgan Province in a later post.
No sooner had we pulled our people out of Uruzgan then word came down that we would be doing the same on the Nangarhar project. Unlike Uruzgan, Nangarhar is a reasonably safe place.*
*"Safe" is a relative term, of course.
We had been on the job for twelve months and things were humming along nicely. We had excellent support from the US Army, a good site with LSA constructed and paid for, a well-trained crew of expats and locals who were operating like a finely-tuned machine, and no heavy contact for the last six months (and no casualties for the duration). And to top it off, a decent profit every month.
Apparently, all that wasn't enough for the boss, so he pulled the plug. I fought that decision, but never did get a reasonable explanation. The client was left scratching their head, just as puzzled as I was.
So, yesterday we pulled all our people and gear off the site and conducted a Relief in Place with the outfit who was taking over. The managers from the new outfit were all smug smiles, knowing as they did the gold mine they'd stumbled into. I suspect that in 30 days, when the income stops rolling in, The Rug Merchant will regret that decision, but there's nothing I can do about that now.
Although I can't confirm it, I think the decisions to cut and run from Uruzgan and Nangarhar was a result of Karzai's latest brain cramp in which he announced his intention to close all PSCs by the end of the year. A couple of the big Western outfits have been raided and temporarily shut down, and I suspect that the boss wants to "fly under the radar" until the heat from MoI cools off. Last man standing after the bloodbath kind of thing. We'll see if that works. I have my doubts.
Back in Kabul now, dodging the last of the summer's mosquitos. Normally the flies are the most prevalent and annoying pest, but two of the people in my villa and three of my guards have gone down with malaria in the past few weeks, so I've become somewhat obsessive about the nasty little buggers. Malaria is treatable, but it's still no joke. If not caught in time, it can do serious liver damage, and even kill if it's particularly virulent. And the basic prophylactic treatment is some of the nastiest-tasting pills you'll ever find.
I spend a lot of effort listening for the telltale hum of a hungry mosquito, and keeping a can of industrial-stength bug killer handy.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Kidnap & Ransom
Last Sunday night I got the sort of text message that everyone one in this business dreads. "Incident in Kabul. One of ours down. Details to follow."
A message like that sets off several hours of frantic activity trying to trace the course of events, determine the casualties and sort out the next step. The Ops Manager, the Duty Officer, myself and the Deputy President all traded calls and texts for the next two hours until we pieced together the story.
A kidnap attempt of a local national in Kabul had resulted in one of our guys being shot, and his protectee snatched by four men in a dark SUV. The puzzling thing was that the name of the protectee was not on our list of clients. WTF? What was our PSD doing with a high-risk target when we didn't even have a contract or an agreement to provide the service? And what exactly is the fallout when someone you are protecting is snatched when you weren't supposed to be protecting him in the first place?
Turns out that one of actual clients, the president of an Afghan construction company, had contracted with us for static security at his office and a PSD team to cover his movements. Nothing unusual there. Where it gets strange is that this client had decided that his brother, the president of another separate Afghan construction company, ought to have protection as well. Rather than recommend that he contact us and write a proper contract, he simply phoned The Rug Merchant and asked if his brother could "borrow" one of our CPOs from time to time.*
*CPO= Close Protection Officer, i.e. a bodyguard; PSD= Personal Security Detail, i.e. a team of bodyguards.
Now the obvious answer to a request like this is "Uhhhhh........no."
Upon reflection, one might say, "Hell no."
But, The Rug Merchant, renowned across two continents for his limited mental capacity, said, "Sure, why not?" And then didn't bother to inform Operations, or anyone else in the chain of command. Just one Afghan doing a favor for another, no reason to make it formal.
The problem arises because a PSD team is calibrated and staffed to account for the anticipated threat and the likely movements of the client. Most importantly, there's more than one guy on a typcial PSD team, both to provide backup and to allow for downtime. In this case, the client's PSD team consisted of three guards, two of whom were with the client whenever he moved outside his office or residence.
Last Sunday, the client decided to stay at home and give two of the CPOs the night off. The third he loaned out to his brother for the night, failing to consider that one CPO is rarely sufficient if there's trouble. And, as I said, he had verbal approval for this from The Rug Merchant himself.*
*It's not the client's job to understand the risks and tactical situation. Our job is to protect them and tell them when they're being stupid. A task that The Rug Merchant failed at spectacularly.
So, the client's brother (whom I suspect is a deeply nefarious character with lots of enemies) goes off for a night on the town. His only protection is a CPO who has been loaned out without notice on his night off, has never met the protectee or his driver before, and has no idea of the destination or the schedule. Pretty much a recipe for disaster.
Plan for disaster, you generally get disaster. On a side street in Sherpur, their car was blocked by a pair of SUVs and four armed men rapidly surrounded the car. One of them smashed the passenger-side window and stuck the barrel of an AK-47 in my guy's face. Unable to bring his own weapon to bear, the CPO simply grabbed the barrel and pushed it down, trying to get the muzzle away from his face.
Generally, kidnap of locals in Kabul is a non-violent affair. The gangs who pull it off are usually experienced criminals and the last thing they want is shots fired in the middle of the night. They're also not used to being resisted and they certainly don't like it when someone grabs their weapon. In this case, I suspect that the kidnapper simply panicked, surprised that anyone would dare to argue with him. Unfortunately, his Kalashnikov was set to full-auto and in his surprise and anger he squeezed the trigger and put a burst into our CPO at a range of about ten inches.
Because the CPO had pushed the muzzle downward away from his face, he took five rounds between the chest and the knees. Needless to say, he stopped resisting at that point (as one does with five bullets embedded in your soft tissue) and the kidnappers bustled the protectee into one of their vehicles and tore out of there before the cops could arrive.
Despite several faults, the AK-47 is an effective weapon. The 7.62 x 39mm round is a powerful one (roughly equivalent to .30 caliber) and usually one is enough to put someone down, two is almost always fatal. Taking five, at point blank range, into the chest, stomach and upper thighs, is an invitation to Allah. Amazingly, not only did the CPO survive, but the doctors at the local hospital tell us that he'll make a full recovery. I've come close to death from a particularly bad hangover, and this guys gets punctured through his vitals by five bullets traveling over 2000 feet per second, and he's going to be fine, albeit after a long recovery. I'm told that his name in English means "strong" or "powerful" and now I don't doubt that it's appropriate.
Now we're stuck with the fallout, including a lot of uncomfortable questions from the Ministry of Interior as to why were providing an armed escort to someone without a contract. As to the fate of the "protectee," I confess that I don't much care. He's not one of my clients, he's obviously a moron and he nearly got one of my people killed. His family will probably pay the ransom, but they better not come to me for donations.
A message like that sets off several hours of frantic activity trying to trace the course of events, determine the casualties and sort out the next step. The Ops Manager, the Duty Officer, myself and the Deputy President all traded calls and texts for the next two hours until we pieced together the story.
A kidnap attempt of a local national in Kabul had resulted in one of our guys being shot, and his protectee snatched by four men in a dark SUV. The puzzling thing was that the name of the protectee was not on our list of clients. WTF? What was our PSD doing with a high-risk target when we didn't even have a contract or an agreement to provide the service? And what exactly is the fallout when someone you are protecting is snatched when you weren't supposed to be protecting him in the first place?
Turns out that one of actual clients, the president of an Afghan construction company, had contracted with us for static security at his office and a PSD team to cover his movements. Nothing unusual there. Where it gets strange is that this client had decided that his brother, the president of another separate Afghan construction company, ought to have protection as well. Rather than recommend that he contact us and write a proper contract, he simply phoned The Rug Merchant and asked if his brother could "borrow" one of our CPOs from time to time.*
*CPO= Close Protection Officer, i.e. a bodyguard; PSD= Personal Security Detail, i.e. a team of bodyguards.
Now the obvious answer to a request like this is "Uhhhhh........no."
Upon reflection, one might say, "Hell no."
But, The Rug Merchant, renowned across two continents for his limited mental capacity, said, "Sure, why not?" And then didn't bother to inform Operations, or anyone else in the chain of command. Just one Afghan doing a favor for another, no reason to make it formal.
The problem arises because a PSD team is calibrated and staffed to account for the anticipated threat and the likely movements of the client. Most importantly, there's more than one guy on a typcial PSD team, both to provide backup and to allow for downtime. In this case, the client's PSD team consisted of three guards, two of whom were with the client whenever he moved outside his office or residence.
Last Sunday, the client decided to stay at home and give two of the CPOs the night off. The third he loaned out to his brother for the night, failing to consider that one CPO is rarely sufficient if there's trouble. And, as I said, he had verbal approval for this from The Rug Merchant himself.*
*It's not the client's job to understand the risks and tactical situation. Our job is to protect them and tell them when they're being stupid. A task that The Rug Merchant failed at spectacularly.
So, the client's brother (whom I suspect is a deeply nefarious character with lots of enemies) goes off for a night on the town. His only protection is a CPO who has been loaned out without notice on his night off, has never met the protectee or his driver before, and has no idea of the destination or the schedule. Pretty much a recipe for disaster.
Plan for disaster, you generally get disaster. On a side street in Sherpur, their car was blocked by a pair of SUVs and four armed men rapidly surrounded the car. One of them smashed the passenger-side window and stuck the barrel of an AK-47 in my guy's face. Unable to bring his own weapon to bear, the CPO simply grabbed the barrel and pushed it down, trying to get the muzzle away from his face.
Generally, kidnap of locals in Kabul is a non-violent affair. The gangs who pull it off are usually experienced criminals and the last thing they want is shots fired in the middle of the night. They're also not used to being resisted and they certainly don't like it when someone grabs their weapon. In this case, I suspect that the kidnapper simply panicked, surprised that anyone would dare to argue with him. Unfortunately, his Kalashnikov was set to full-auto and in his surprise and anger he squeezed the trigger and put a burst into our CPO at a range of about ten inches.
Because the CPO had pushed the muzzle downward away from his face, he took five rounds between the chest and the knees. Needless to say, he stopped resisting at that point (as one does with five bullets embedded in your soft tissue) and the kidnappers bustled the protectee into one of their vehicles and tore out of there before the cops could arrive.
Despite several faults, the AK-47 is an effective weapon. The 7.62 x 39mm round is a powerful one (roughly equivalent to .30 caliber) and usually one is enough to put someone down, two is almost always fatal. Taking five, at point blank range, into the chest, stomach and upper thighs, is an invitation to Allah. Amazingly, not only did the CPO survive, but the doctors at the local hospital tell us that he'll make a full recovery. I've come close to death from a particularly bad hangover, and this guys gets punctured through his vitals by five bullets traveling over 2000 feet per second, and he's going to be fine, albeit after a long recovery. I'm told that his name in English means "strong" or "powerful" and now I don't doubt that it's appropriate.
Now we're stuck with the fallout, including a lot of uncomfortable questions from the Ministry of Interior as to why were providing an armed escort to someone without a contract. As to the fate of the "protectee," I confess that I don't much care. He's not one of my clients, he's obviously a moron and he nearly got one of my people killed. His family will probably pay the ransom, but they better not come to me for donations.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Personnel Changes
The Rug Merchant has returned to his roots and is now concentrating on.........well, selling rugs. Which seems fitting. He's still the head of the company, but he spends a lot less time hanging around the compound and screwing things up. Which is nice.
What's not so nice is that he took the Doctor with him to help develop the nascent carpet business. Which means that I've lost the single best employee the company had, a man whom I have depended on for 18 months to hold this outift together. He sticks his head in from time to time, and helps out when he can, but it's not the same as having him around on a daily basis. Needless to say, things are falling through the cracks and some of our supervisors have reverted to their status as useless mouth-breathers.
By way of compensation, I got to pick my new Ops Manager and I think I found a good one. So far, he's professional, focused and competent. Within a couple of days of being hired, he took it upon himself to visit all of our local sites in Kabul and check on the status of the guards and the clients. He didn't need to be told to do this, just assumed (rightly) it was something he should do.
As a former member of the Afghan Air Force (back in the 80s), he was trained by the Soviets (which is always a red flag; no pun intended). However, he spent the last twenty years living in the West and occasionally visiting family here, so he has a good grasp of the proper (i.e. Western) ways of doing business. As a bonus, much of his Western experience was actually in the security business, so I don't need to babysit him and he understands the basic concepts quite well.
Tomorrow we take 40 of our guys to the firing range for basic marksmanship training, so we'll see what the new Ops Manager can do. And I get to take out some stress on innocent pieces of fruit, which is always a good time.*
*If you've never shot a watermelon with an AK-47, I highly recommend it. It's a waste of good food, I admit, but it still makes me laugh a day later. Just remember to save some for the other guys to eat. Fresh fruit is a luxury here, so it's not advisable to use it all for target practice. Good rule of thumb: shoot half the fruit, distribute the rest, buy extra. Have fun, make friends, earn some loyalty.
What's not so nice is that he took the Doctor with him to help develop the nascent carpet business. Which means that I've lost the single best employee the company had, a man whom I have depended on for 18 months to hold this outift together. He sticks his head in from time to time, and helps out when he can, but it's not the same as having him around on a daily basis. Needless to say, things are falling through the cracks and some of our supervisors have reverted to their status as useless mouth-breathers.
By way of compensation, I got to pick my new Ops Manager and I think I found a good one. So far, he's professional, focused and competent. Within a couple of days of being hired, he took it upon himself to visit all of our local sites in Kabul and check on the status of the guards and the clients. He didn't need to be told to do this, just assumed (rightly) it was something he should do.
As a former member of the Afghan Air Force (back in the 80s), he was trained by the Soviets (which is always a red flag; no pun intended). However, he spent the last twenty years living in the West and occasionally visiting family here, so he has a good grasp of the proper (i.e. Western) ways of doing business. As a bonus, much of his Western experience was actually in the security business, so I don't need to babysit him and he understands the basic concepts quite well.
Tomorrow we take 40 of our guys to the firing range for basic marksmanship training, so we'll see what the new Ops Manager can do. And I get to take out some stress on innocent pieces of fruit, which is always a good time.*
*If you've never shot a watermelon with an AK-47, I highly recommend it. It's a waste of good food, I admit, but it still makes me laugh a day later. Just remember to save some for the other guys to eat. Fresh fruit is a luxury here, so it's not advisable to use it all for target practice. Good rule of thumb: shoot half the fruit, distribute the rest, buy extra. Have fun, make friends, earn some loyalty.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Highway One
As a follow-up to yesterday's post about Team Canada down in Kandahar, here's a post from the anonymous expat at Kandahar Diary about the dangers of operating in and around Kandahar.
The PSC that he works for is heavily involved in some of the most difficult work in this country, escorting fuel convoys to ISAF bases. Highway One is dodgy pretty much anywhere, but it's especially bad between Kabul and Helmand, and KD's guys make the run from Kandahar west on a daily basis. Not a road I'd want to drive regularly.
The Rug Merchant has accused me in the past of pricing us out of the lucrative logistics market in Kandahar and Helmand, and in a sense he's right. I won't put my people at risk on that road under those circumstances without a guarantee that we're making enough money to cover our expenses, including the inevitable death benefits we'd have to pay. Can't do it on the cheap, better to not do it at all.*
*The single most annoying trait of Afghan businessmen is to over-promise and under-deliver. Afghans, my boss included, will underbid every job just to get the work and then flounder about trying to find a way to make it work. Ultimately, with that approach, people get dead.
That said, we're looking at a couple of large static jobs in Kandahar and Helmand that might deploy later this summer. Static security is considerably more manageable than mobile logistics security, but any operations down south come with considerable risks. All that remains is to convince the potential clients that their security is perhaps not the best place to cut costs.
The PSC that he works for is heavily involved in some of the most difficult work in this country, escorting fuel convoys to ISAF bases. Highway One is dodgy pretty much anywhere, but it's especially bad between Kabul and Helmand, and KD's guys make the run from Kandahar west on a daily basis. Not a road I'd want to drive regularly.
The Rug Merchant has accused me in the past of pricing us out of the lucrative logistics market in Kandahar and Helmand, and in a sense he's right. I won't put my people at risk on that road under those circumstances without a guarantee that we're making enough money to cover our expenses, including the inevitable death benefits we'd have to pay. Can't do it on the cheap, better to not do it at all.*
*The single most annoying trait of Afghan businessmen is to over-promise and under-deliver. Afghans, my boss included, will underbid every job just to get the work and then flounder about trying to find a way to make it work. Ultimately, with that approach, people get dead.
That said, we're looking at a couple of large static jobs in Kandahar and Helmand that might deploy later this summer. Static security is considerably more manageable than mobile logistics security, but any operations down south come with considerable risks. All that remains is to convince the potential clients that their security is perhaps not the best place to cut costs.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Gender Politics
Kabul is still on lock-down due to the latest international conference going on at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, so we're a bit professionally constrained right now. The usually laughable ANP checkpoints around the city* have been replaced/reinforced by much more serious ANA and NDS guys, under orders to use force if they feel it justified in any way. So, we're spending a lot of time indoors lately.
*Incidentally, I'd like to find out who the genius was at ISAF who decided that the standard ANP checkpoints should be fixed at permanent locations, and then came up with the new slogan. Every ANP checkpoint in Kabul now has a bright blue sign with a dual-language message announcing the "Ring of Steel" and denoting the number of that particular checkpoint. Seriously? That's what the ANP needs? A cheesy slogan? How about more ammunition and a requirement not to shake people down for bribes. The Brits are the "official" mentors to the MoI, but I bet the whole "Ring of Steel" thing is the product of an American mind. Only an American could come up with something so silly.
With the city full of ANA, who are in charge of security after the ANP dropped the ball badly during the last conference, the ANP mostly stand around their blue signs and look sheepish, while the ANA strut around and wave M-16s at anyone who looks at them funny. And the deadly-serious NDS operatives lurk around and scare the shit out of everybody. In short, it's a good time to stay home. The local staff at the villa has been given a couple of days off,* and we're operating on half-staff at company HQ.
*While I don't generally rave about the skills of the locals, the ones we have at the villa are actually quite good. You never miss them until they're gone. After two days of eating meals prepared by South Africans, I'm beginning to appreciate the talents of our local cook. Plus, you'd think grown men would be able to clean up after themselves for a couple of days, but apparently not. Two days without the local cleaners and this place looks like a fraternity house after a particularly taxing weekend (minus the beer cans, of course).
Anyway, being stuck inside with lots of downtime has allowed me to catch up on my reading (and the writing that inevitably follows), so I should have a series of posts up over the next week or so highlighting some recent items.
In the meantime, ponder this bit from the NY Times about the governor of Bamiyan Province. Habiba Sorabi is the only female governor in the entire country and said this to Britain's Channel 4:
*Incidentally, I'd like to find out who the genius was at ISAF who decided that the standard ANP checkpoints should be fixed at permanent locations, and then came up with the new slogan. Every ANP checkpoint in Kabul now has a bright blue sign with a dual-language message announcing the "Ring of Steel" and denoting the number of that particular checkpoint. Seriously? That's what the ANP needs? A cheesy slogan? How about more ammunition and a requirement not to shake people down for bribes. The Brits are the "official" mentors to the MoI, but I bet the whole "Ring of Steel" thing is the product of an American mind. Only an American could come up with something so silly.
With the city full of ANA, who are in charge of security after the ANP dropped the ball badly during the last conference, the ANP mostly stand around their blue signs and look sheepish, while the ANA strut around and wave M-16s at anyone who looks at them funny. And the deadly-serious NDS operatives lurk around and scare the shit out of everybody. In short, it's a good time to stay home. The local staff at the villa has been given a couple of days off,* and we're operating on half-staff at company HQ.
*While I don't generally rave about the skills of the locals, the ones we have at the villa are actually quite good. You never miss them until they're gone. After two days of eating meals prepared by South Africans, I'm beginning to appreciate the talents of our local cook. Plus, you'd think grown men would be able to clean up after themselves for a couple of days, but apparently not. Two days without the local cleaners and this place looks like a fraternity house after a particularly taxing weekend (minus the beer cans, of course).
Anyway, being stuck inside with lots of downtime has allowed me to catch up on my reading (and the writing that inevitably follows), so I should have a series of posts up over the next week or so highlighting some recent items.
In the meantime, ponder this bit from the NY Times about the governor of Bamiyan Province. Habiba Sorabi is the only female governor in the entire country and said this to Britain's Channel 4:
Why are they not doing the sacrifice? Always we women should do the sacrifice? Always women during the war and during the conflict, for a long period in Afghanistan, women sacrificed. So this is enough I think.Needless to say, Governor Sorabi was not invited to Kabul to meet with the foreign dignitaries. Methinks that perhaps SecState Clinton could at least have demanded that Sorabi be present at the conference. Even better, HRC could have made a trip out to Bamiyan by chopper to meet with her personally. That would have sent a powerful message to Karzai and his cronies that shit was going to change, or else.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Unity of Effort
Matt over at Feral Jundi draws attention to yesterday's speech by incoming ISAF commander General David Petraeus (aka Super Dave), in which his main theme was 'unity of effort,' within the ISAF hierarchy, their civilian counterparts and the Afghan government.*
*Good luck with those last two elements. The Afghan government can't even manage unity of effort within itself, much less with ISAF and Western diplomats. And as for the civilian side, Ambassador Eikenberry was quoted as telling General Petraeus that he was "welcome at this (U.S.) Embassy 24/7." Well no shit, Eik. Thanks for the hall pass. Petraeus is the theatre commander in charge of 130,000 coalition troops, 100,000 of those American. Did anyone seriously believe that he might not be "welcome" at his own embassy? Exhibit A for why Eikenberry should spend the rest of his diplomatic career stamping visas in Bangladesh. With a supervisor watching him closely.
Unity of effort is one of the cornerstones of successful COIN theory, the idea being that all elements of the COIN-force have to be working from a common plan with clearly defined goals and joint operations to achieve them. Matt suggests that the 100,000+ contractors currently in Afghanistan should be included under this unity of effort umbrella, and wonders how exactly to make that happen.
Leaving aside the near-certainty that Super Dave and his staff don't spend a lot of time thinking about contractors,* there is a fairly simple way for ISAF to create a more effective working relationship with the contractor community.
*Let's face it: the bigwigs at ISAF don't put a lot of effort into thinking about the contractors working for them. Part of the value of contractors (to ISAF and the U.S. military) is that shit gets done without them having to think about it. Need supplies at that remote COP? Call a contractor. Need some extra perimeter security at a FOB? Call a contractor. Need a suck-truck to empty the septic tanks at Camp Phoenix? Call a contractor. Need anything done that won't be reflected on a promotion board evaluation? Yep, call those contractors and throw some cash at them.
There is a venue for Petraeus to meet personally with movers and shakers of the security community here. The PSCAA (Private Security Companies Association of Afghanistan) is the coordinating and lobbying group for all PSCs interested in working here long-term. (They're supported in their efforts by the Union of Private Security Companies, which is limited to Afghan-owned outfits and whose meetings I've had the unfortunate luck to attend.) Mostly it's a talking-shop and a venue for sharing complaints about the ineptitude of the Afghan government and the Ministry of Interior.* The irregular meetings are not particularly well-attended and usually degenerate into a bitch-fest pretty quickly.
*It's also a handy place to pick up tips on which MoI officials are susceptible to "success-guarantee fees." A wonderful euphemism, don't you think?
However, if General Petraeus (or any senior officer from ISAF) made it known that he would like to address the PSCAA, I'm sure that every country manager from all 52 licensed companies would be there, with most of their operations staff, and all on their best behavior. Spread among those 52 companies, there are hundreds of millions of dollars of contracts supporting ISAF and U.S. Army operations. Even the contracts that aren't written with PSCs directly usually involve a security element at some point.
A couple of hours with General Petraeus would give those country managers a better idea of what ISAF requires by way of support, and hopefully give Super Dave a better appreciation of exactly how integral to his efforts we really are. Even if we disagree on tactics and strategy (which we almost certainly would), there would be value in the discussion.
The ops and intel staffs at ISAF might even benefit, because there'd be a decades of Afghanistan experience among the PSC management in that room. Unlike the ten-months-and-rotate-out planning staff at Camp Phoenix and Bagram, most senior staff for private security companies spend years here, and they learn how to operate in Afghanistan very effectively.
So, Super Dave? Whadda ya' think? Want to come have some chai with your backup?
(Just do me a favor and leave Eik and Holbrooke off the invite list. This isn't a photo op, so they shouldn't mind too much.)
*Good luck with those last two elements. The Afghan government can't even manage unity of effort within itself, much less with ISAF and Western diplomats. And as for the civilian side, Ambassador Eikenberry was quoted as telling General Petraeus that he was "welcome at this (U.S.) Embassy 24/7." Well no shit, Eik. Thanks for the hall pass. Petraeus is the theatre commander in charge of 130,000 coalition troops, 100,000 of those American. Did anyone seriously believe that he might not be "welcome" at his own embassy? Exhibit A for why Eikenberry should spend the rest of his diplomatic career stamping visas in Bangladesh. With a supervisor watching him closely.
Unity of effort is one of the cornerstones of successful COIN theory, the idea being that all elements of the COIN-force have to be working from a common plan with clearly defined goals and joint operations to achieve them. Matt suggests that the 100,000+ contractors currently in Afghanistan should be included under this unity of effort umbrella, and wonders how exactly to make that happen.
Leaving aside the near-certainty that Super Dave and his staff don't spend a lot of time thinking about contractors,* there is a fairly simple way for ISAF to create a more effective working relationship with the contractor community.
*Let's face it: the bigwigs at ISAF don't put a lot of effort into thinking about the contractors working for them. Part of the value of contractors (to ISAF and the U.S. military) is that shit gets done without them having to think about it. Need supplies at that remote COP? Call a contractor. Need some extra perimeter security at a FOB? Call a contractor. Need a suck-truck to empty the septic tanks at Camp Phoenix? Call a contractor. Need anything done that won't be reflected on a promotion board evaluation? Yep, call those contractors and throw some cash at them.
There is a venue for Petraeus to meet personally with movers and shakers of the security community here. The PSCAA (Private Security Companies Association of Afghanistan) is the coordinating and lobbying group for all PSCs interested in working here long-term. (They're supported in their efforts by the Union of Private Security Companies, which is limited to Afghan-owned outfits and whose meetings I've had the unfortunate luck to attend.) Mostly it's a talking-shop and a venue for sharing complaints about the ineptitude of the Afghan government and the Ministry of Interior.* The irregular meetings are not particularly well-attended and usually degenerate into a bitch-fest pretty quickly.
*It's also a handy place to pick up tips on which MoI officials are susceptible to "success-guarantee fees." A wonderful euphemism, don't you think?
However, if General Petraeus (or any senior officer from ISAF) made it known that he would like to address the PSCAA, I'm sure that every country manager from all 52 licensed companies would be there, with most of their operations staff, and all on their best behavior. Spread among those 52 companies, there are hundreds of millions of dollars of contracts supporting ISAF and U.S. Army operations. Even the contracts that aren't written with PSCs directly usually involve a security element at some point.
A couple of hours with General Petraeus would give those country managers a better idea of what ISAF requires by way of support, and hopefully give Super Dave a better appreciation of exactly how integral to his efforts we really are. Even if we disagree on tactics and strategy (which we almost certainly would), there would be value in the discussion.
The ops and intel staffs at ISAF might even benefit, because there'd be a decades of Afghanistan experience among the PSC management in that room. Unlike the ten-months-and-rotate-out planning staff at Camp Phoenix and Bagram, most senior staff for private security companies spend years here, and they learn how to operate in Afghanistan very effectively.
So, Super Dave? Whadda ya' think? Want to come have some chai with your backup?
(Just do me a favor and leave Eik and Holbrooke off the invite list. This isn't a photo op, so they shouldn't mind too much.)
Friday, May 28, 2010
Twisting in the Wind
Well, no sooner do I touch down in Kabul than I get an email from the DoD's Joint Contracting Command that the solicitation for the TWSS program has been cancelled. The entire solicitation, a proposal we and our partners have spent six months working on, and the contracting office just up and decides that they're not going to proceed. No explanation given beyond "the U.S. Government has determined the subject Solicitation no longer meets it's needs."
The TWSS program (Theatre-Wide Security Services, pronounced Twist) was intended to be an umbrella program for the provision of static security at U.S. Army facilities throughout Afghanistan.* The idea was that JCC would solicit proposals from all the major PSCs and then elvaluate them based upon techincal/operational capabilities, companies' financial resources, and of course, price. The top six or eight outfits would then be selected as "pre-approved" for future work. When each future job or project went live (what the DoD calls a Task Order), only the qualified companies would have the opportunity to bid on it, and the determining factor would be bid price. Thus, the Joint Contracting Command doesn't need to review the full capabilities every time they need more guards. Since that portion is already done, they simply review a brief pricing proposal and select the one that gives the best value for money.
*A similar program (TWSS I) is already operational in Iraq and has been for some time. I've not worked in Iraq so I can't say if it's works as intended, but I don't recall hearing any systemic complaints.
It was supposed to streamline the contracting procedure by front-loading most of the review and qualification work in the early stages. Nationwide there are at least thirty major U.S. Army Forward Operating Bases (FOBs) currently and perhaps a hundred Combat Outposts (COPs) and more are being built all the time. That's a lot of highly lucrative (albeit difficult) work. Obviously, it would be extremely important to be on the short-list.
We'd previously been deemed "technically acceptable" and "in the competitive range," both of which sound underwhelming, but are actually the DoD's way of saying that the bid was acceptable and we were in the running to be on the short-list.*
*Note that we were hardly the only outfit in the running for this program. Verified information is hard to come by, but there were at least several other outfits or partnerships that had also met the criteria and were simply waiting for the announcement of individual Task Orders.
Now, with little explanation and less warning, the whole program has been shitcanned. I can't even begin to calculate the number of man-hours that went into writing, reviewing, editing and submitting that proposal. Suffice it to say that the final product was over 150 pages long and highly technical. Now it's dead.
The upshot of all this is that I may shortly be out of a job. A large part of the reason I was brought onboard was to facilitate jobs like this. Someone who can speak American to the Americans, so to speak. The same Task Orders will eventually be released, but now it will be on an individual basis with no pre-qualifications and completely open bidding. Might save a few U.S. tax dollars here and there (probably not), but it will also mean that the competition for any particular job will be fierce and the profit margins squeezed. In that fight, we're not exactly the big dog.
I'll have to scramble to find some replacement work pretty fast, or else the Rug Merchant is going to start wondering why he's still paying me.
The TWSS program (Theatre-Wide Security Services, pronounced Twist) was intended to be an umbrella program for the provision of static security at U.S. Army facilities throughout Afghanistan.* The idea was that JCC would solicit proposals from all the major PSCs and then elvaluate them based upon techincal/operational capabilities, companies' financial resources, and of course, price. The top six or eight outfits would then be selected as "pre-approved" for future work. When each future job or project went live (what the DoD calls a Task Order), only the qualified companies would have the opportunity to bid on it, and the determining factor would be bid price. Thus, the Joint Contracting Command doesn't need to review the full capabilities every time they need more guards. Since that portion is already done, they simply review a brief pricing proposal and select the one that gives the best value for money.
*A similar program (TWSS I) is already operational in Iraq and has been for some time. I've not worked in Iraq so I can't say if it's works as intended, but I don't recall hearing any systemic complaints.
It was supposed to streamline the contracting procedure by front-loading most of the review and qualification work in the early stages. Nationwide there are at least thirty major U.S. Army Forward Operating Bases (FOBs) currently and perhaps a hundred Combat Outposts (COPs) and more are being built all the time. That's a lot of highly lucrative (albeit difficult) work. Obviously, it would be extremely important to be on the short-list.
We'd previously been deemed "technically acceptable" and "in the competitive range," both of which sound underwhelming, but are actually the DoD's way of saying that the bid was acceptable and we were in the running to be on the short-list.*
*Note that we were hardly the only outfit in the running for this program. Verified information is hard to come by, but there were at least several other outfits or partnerships that had also met the criteria and were simply waiting for the announcement of individual Task Orders.
Now, with little explanation and less warning, the whole program has been shitcanned. I can't even begin to calculate the number of man-hours that went into writing, reviewing, editing and submitting that proposal. Suffice it to say that the final product was over 150 pages long and highly technical. Now it's dead.
The upshot of all this is that I may shortly be out of a job. A large part of the reason I was brought onboard was to facilitate jobs like this. Someone who can speak American to the Americans, so to speak. The same Task Orders will eventually be released, but now it will be on an individual basis with no pre-qualifications and completely open bidding. Might save a few U.S. tax dollars here and there (probably not), but it will also mean that the competition for any particular job will be fierce and the profit margins squeezed. In that fight, we're not exactly the big dog.
I'll have to scramble to find some replacement work pretty fast, or else the Rug Merchant is going to start wondering why he's still paying me.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Interruptions
Once of the less bizarre but more annoying Afghan traits is their tendency to interrupt any conversation without warning or polite request. Not even a clearing of the throat or a nervous fidget, just launch right into whatever they want to talk about with no recognition of the ongoing conversation.
At least ten times a day, I will be engaged in discussing something important with The Doctor and one of our supervisors (or The Rug Merchant) will barge in and start talking. Leaving aside the fact that the question they wish to discuss is usually something that a retarded platypus could figure out on their own rather than an acutal important issue, the very fact of the interruption is infuriating in itself. They simply have no concept of the idea of waiting until a conversation is finished, or at least attempting to break in in a polite or proper manner.
More annoying is the fact that other Afghans seem to have no problem with this and take no action to stop it. This indicates to me that it's another of those cultural oddities that makes life here ever-so-slightly more difficult. Some of the younger, better educated Afghans seem at least aware that they are interrupting (not that that acts as a prevention in any way), but the older ones are unbelievably rude when it comes to conversational skills. To be clear, they don't know they're being rude, and by Afghan standards perhaps they're not, but it still makes every meeting or discussion take twice as long as it should and makes it extremely difficult to resolve complex issues with a proper discussion. After the third or fourth interruption, most people give up and settle for whatever resolution was last on the table.
I'm pretty sure the Afghan parliament functions under the same rules, which probably explains why the government here is so disfunctional.
At least ten times a day, I will be engaged in discussing something important with The Doctor and one of our supervisors (or The Rug Merchant) will barge in and start talking. Leaving aside the fact that the question they wish to discuss is usually something that a retarded platypus could figure out on their own rather than an acutal important issue, the very fact of the interruption is infuriating in itself. They simply have no concept of the idea of waiting until a conversation is finished, or at least attempting to break in in a polite or proper manner.
More annoying is the fact that other Afghans seem to have no problem with this and take no action to stop it. This indicates to me that it's another of those cultural oddities that makes life here ever-so-slightly more difficult. Some of the younger, better educated Afghans seem at least aware that they are interrupting (not that that acts as a prevention in any way), but the older ones are unbelievably rude when it comes to conversational skills. To be clear, they don't know they're being rude, and by Afghan standards perhaps they're not, but it still makes every meeting or discussion take twice as long as it should and makes it extremely difficult to resolve complex issues with a proper discussion. After the third or fourth interruption, most people give up and settle for whatever resolution was last on the table.
I'm pretty sure the Afghan parliament functions under the same rules, which probably explains why the government here is so disfunctional.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Cast of Characters (Revised)
Note: What follows is the piece I was going to submit for the 100th post on this blog, but in the event I was too tired, too bitter (and too drunk) to get around to it. Here it is, slightly delayed.
Well, after over a year here in Afghanistan, I’ve finally reached 100 posts on this blog. Sometimes that seems like a lot of work, but it’s really only an average of less than one post every three days. Not particularly diligent, as anyone who knows me would attest to.
Anyway, rather than simply mark the occasion with a wasted post,* I thought that I would a retrospective look back at an earlier post, specifically the Cast of Characters that I wrote last March.
*Do you suppose that my aversion to “wasted posts” is part of the reason why I post so infrequently? Duh!
Below is the text of the original post (lightly edited), with additional comments in italics.
It occurs to me that I’m going to be referring to a lot of people repeatedly on this blog, and it would help to have some sort of system for identifying them. Obviously, since this is anonymous for OpSec* and professional reasons, I have to be somewhat circumspect in how I name people. Thus, I’ve devised the following cast of characters to guide readers through the swamp that is the Kabul private security industry. I’ll have to add to this later on as my list of associates and contacts grows, but here it is for now:
*That’s Operational Security for those of you who were wondering. Admittedly not as big a concern for me as it would be for a soldier or Marine out in the field, but better safe than sorry. I'm also doing it this way to protect the essential anonymity for professional reasons.
For those of you who think that using the actual names or pseudonyms instead of entirely fake nicknames would be easier, it might help to realize that there are six or eight very popular male names in Afghanistan, so any list of actual names would be highly redundant. Sometimes it seems that every third guy here is named Massoud. Confusingly, many Afghans go by only one name, which only adds to the difficulty.
The Rug Merchant (aka The Boss): In any other part of the world, this guy would be considered shady. In Afghanistan, he’s connected. Hyperactive to the point of mania, always carries at least three phones, one of which is usually ringing. Has not grasped the concept that talking fast and loud is not synonymous with communicating effectively.
Thirteen months of working closely for and with The Rug Merchant has convinced me that he is, beyond a doubt, the single worst business owner and the most despicable individual that I have ever encountered. Without a single redeeming quality, as far as I am able to determine. Dim to the point of retarded, manipulative and domineering, he is incapable of accepting responsibility for anything the company does (or does not do). This despite the fact that he claims sole responsibility for any successes and is sickeningly fond of touting the virtues (real and imagined) of “his” company to any and all. I have contemplated violence against others many times in my life (and followed through on a few rare occasions), but only with him have I truly contemplated homicide. Only fair, as he’s also the only the boss I’ve ever had who actually threatened my life.
The Godfather: One of the Western backers of this venture. A retired banker, experienced in finance and business, and a true gentleman in every sense of the word. Unfortunately only appears in Kabul every few months and only stays for a few days. Also the guy who got me this job, so my opinion of him is dependent on what kind of day I’m having.
My opinion of The Godfather has not diminished in the past year, except in one respect. He is such a gentlemen that he is incapable of discerning the true nature of the person he’s in business with. Constantly hopeful that The Rug Merchant will turn out to be the latent tycoon that he claims to be.
The Doctor: An actual medical doctor and the Deputy President of The Company. Good English skills, lots of experience and very easy to work with. My time here would be a lot more trying if it wasn’t for his patience and dedication.
If my opinion of the The Rug Merchant has deteriorated (from an already minimal level) and my opinion of The Godfather has remained about the same, my opinion of The Doctor has been enhanced considerably by working closely with him for over a year. Without a doubt, the finest Afghan I have met since I’ve been here. A remarkable man in a tough position.
The General: A former Afghan army officer (probably not actually a general), in charge of overseeing the training and deployment of the guards. Not the brightest bulb in the box, and speaks not a word of English, but we get along great after I gave him some of my imported cigarettes. Now we’re blood brothers apparently. Has a staff of three NCOs who conduct the drills and instruct new recruits. Also known as “Saddam” for his eerie resemblance to the former Iraqi dictator.
Actually, he is (or was) a General in the ANA, and a man of vast contacts across Afghanistan. Can arrange nearly anything with a phone call. Constantly at odds with The Rug Merchant, but a quietly indispensible member of the staff.
Smiley: One of the General’s many assistants, apparently his responsibilities are limited to drilling the new recruits in Afghan/Soviet style marching, which is pretty comical to anyone familiar with Western methods of drill. Always cheerful and eager to talk; somewhat hampered by the fact that he only speaks four words of English, which are repeated incessantly with a broad smile.
Smiley is gone, after proving his incompetence to anything more than march around the yard. Good riddance, as I struggled to find anything that he was capable of doing for us.
Hazmat (short for Hazardous Materials): Personal bodyguard and batman to The Rug Merchant. Always wears a cheap three-piece suit with a bright pastel shirt, and carries a slung AK-47 with him everywhere he goes. Earned his nickname because one can see in his eyes that something is broken in his head. Has a nasty streak and is overly impressed with his own importance, but is probably capable of even worse stuff given half a chance.
Hazmat is still hanging around, acting as a batman and personal assistant for The Rug Merchant. After months of clandestine observation, I have discovered why he keeps his job despite his total lack of situational awareness or weapon skills. As it turns out, his primary (perhaps only) ability is having a contact list of a large number of local women of less than total moral purity. In short, he’s a pimp for the boss. Pretty sure that falls outside the realm of proper Muslim behavior.
Frankie Avalon: A dead-ringer for the singer (circa 1962), without the singing voice, but a competent dancer. Works as the “intelligence chief” for The Company, which is a bit of a euphemism. His job consists of sitting in a small room watching three TVs and monitoring the internet for current events. Sends out half a dozen emails a day with morbid announcements like “Two killed by IED in Helmand” or “Aid worker shot in Kunduz.” A real bundle of joy, but his English is better than most so I talk to him a lot.
A lad whose talents are not fully realized, mostly because he is not able to demonstrate his keen intellect and surprising people skills. Never flustered, never angry, just placidly soldiers on, doing a boring job to the best of his ability. Could use more like him.
Mad Max: The best driver in the company, which is an extremely valuable skill in a place like Kabul. Given the option, I always choose him to be my driver. Able to find his way around Kabul traffic with surprising alacrity and is friendly and pleasant to boot. Carries a pistol under his jacket.
The pistol is gone, after a tense incident at a police checkpoint last fall. Still, although we’ve added a few good drivers lately, Max is still my favorite because of his openness and willingness to discuss every aspect of Afghan society and culture without taking or causing offense.
Hound Dog and the Pack: Hound Dog is my personal favorite among the PSDs (Personal Security Detachment, aka bodyguards). He would probably be insulted to be called “dog” but he reminds me of an old hunting dog that has been kicked once too often. Always looks a little downtrodden, but has excellent situational awareness and takes his job very seriously. Like the aforesaid dog, there’s something about him that makes one think he’ll bite back if pressed. The Pack is my generic name for the rest of the PSD team (since I don’t know their real names). Most of them are solicitous and professional, although sometimes a little slow off the mark. Tactical initiative is not a well-developed Afghan trait.
Sadly, Hound Dog is no longer with the company, although he has been replaced by my new favorite PSD. The rest of the Pack is mostly still around, although I travel a lot more now without them as I tend to move fast and low-profile, two things that Afghans are generally not good at.
Mutt and Jeff: Two of The Boss’s assistants, exact job description unknown. They meddle in training, admin, pricing and general business decisions. Since I don’t know what they’re saying, I don’t know if they’re useful or not. Mutt speaks some English, at least enough to ask “How you this day, sir?” Jeff speaks none at all, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to talk to me. Both smoke heavily (my cigarettes if they can get them).
Mutt is pretty scarce these days, having developed a series of family problems that keep him away from the compound. Jeff, on the other hand, is a constant presence and, as a retired ANA officer, has gotten us out of several tight spots with the authorities. Of course, his rather aggressive personality has gotten us into a few tight spots as well. Still smoking my cigarettes.
The Prince: So-called because his real name is the same as a prominent Gulf sheikh, Prince is the designated interpreter for The Company. Unfortunately, he never seems to be around when I need him and not all that much when I don’t.
I’ve found several new people who have better English skills than The Prince (and also speak Urdu and a little Uzbek), so I reassigned him to the Finance Department. Doesn’t have an affinity with numbers, but he does posses a small degree of the boss’ trust, so he’s qualified to handle cash.
Mr. Greensleeves: Unsure as to what he does exactly (or even generally). Most of all he seems to hang around the compound wearing bright pastel jackets (usually green- hence the name), joking with the rest of the staff. The best dancer in The Company, as proven at a traditional Afghan wedding.
As it turns out, Mr. Greensleeves is actually a pretty useful member of the finance staff. Or at least he’s capable of understanding the Ministry of Finance’s reporting requirements and keeping on top of them. Still wearing bad designer knockoffs from Karachi and Delhi, but I’ve managed to adjust his fashion sense to slightly less visually-assaulting clothes.
The Player: Another of the admin staff of indeterminate purpose, he always wears faded designer jeans, colorful T-shirts and RayBans (full disclosure: I wear my Oakleys as often as possible, to project the necessary degree of authority and anonymity).
Not popular with most of the staff (especially The Doctor), but I find him to be useful and efficient, if somewhat annoyingly subservient and sycophantic. It seems that I’m the only one that he makes an effort to work for, but that works just fine for me.
Eli: The finance guy who apparently is still learning how to use Excel (maybe they don’t have Dari language user guides). Good with numbers, but follows The Rug Merchant's lead to closely (i.e. anything to increase gross revenue, regardless of net profit).
Eli and I have come to a workable understanding over the past year. Before a major outlay, I run the numbers for him to prove that I’m right, and he backs me up when I’m trying to convince the boss to spend the money. Doesn’t always work, and he still refuses to have the fights that a Finance Manager should have, but he’s slowly coming around.
Bear: So-named because of his great bulk, hirsute appearance and massive paws. Bear is euphemistically referred to as the Facilities Manager, which means he is in charge of the logistics here, including maintenance and provisions. If the current conditions in the compound are any indication, a man woefully out of his depth.
Thirteen months have proven my initial assessment that Bear is a man of limited capabilities in a demanding job. The food still sucks, the compound is still a dump and we never have spares of anything we might need. Nevertheless, his personality and openness means he’s one of my favorite people to talk to at the company, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t speak any English. I’m told his Pashto poetry is quite good, but of course I can’t read a word of it.
Jeeves: My recently-assigned assistant for all-things-not-covered-by-someone-else, Jeeves is the guy who makes sure I have sufficient tea and food at all hours of the day and night. Pleasant to the point of deferential, has some limited English and is happy to talk politics when we can find the right words.
Jeeves is unfortunately no longer with us. Like most people of talent, he has moved on to bigger and better things, only to be replaced by a series of less competent individuals. Only one stood out from the rest and he’s gone now too. I still keep in touch with him and he is one of those remarkable Afghans that gives me some small measure of hope for this wretched country. Someday I’ll write a post just about him.
The Lion: Doesn't actually look or act like a lion, but he's Tajik, like Ahmad Shah Massoud, the Lion of the Panshijr Valley and one of my personal heroes. (More on Massood here). The Lion joined us after several years with the ANP's elite counter-narcotics commando battalion. He's quiet and reserved, but highly competent and professional. The Lion serves as our senior instructor. I had to personally insist to The Boss that we hire him and for that he is unfailingly loyal. If I had five hundred men like him, I'd own this country.
My initial instincts on the Lion were correct, except in one regard. Instead of five hundred like him, I could probably manage to run the entire country with no more than two hundred. Another of those quiet professionals which gives me hope for the future.
There are some additional personnel that have joined the company in the last year, but this is already too long for a blog post, so I’ll add them later in a separate list.
Well, after over a year here in Afghanistan, I’ve finally reached 100 posts on this blog. Sometimes that seems like a lot of work, but it’s really only an average of less than one post every three days. Not particularly diligent, as anyone who knows me would attest to.
Anyway, rather than simply mark the occasion with a wasted post,* I thought that I would a retrospective look back at an earlier post, specifically the Cast of Characters that I wrote last March.
*Do you suppose that my aversion to “wasted posts” is part of the reason why I post so infrequently? Duh!
Below is the text of the original post (lightly edited), with additional comments in italics.
It occurs to me that I’m going to be referring to a lot of people repeatedly on this blog, and it would help to have some sort of system for identifying them. Obviously, since this is anonymous for OpSec* and professional reasons, I have to be somewhat circumspect in how I name people. Thus, I’ve devised the following cast of characters to guide readers through the swamp that is the Kabul private security industry. I’ll have to add to this later on as my list of associates and contacts grows, but here it is for now:
*That’s Operational Security for those of you who were wondering. Admittedly not as big a concern for me as it would be for a soldier or Marine out in the field, but better safe than sorry. I'm also doing it this way to protect the essential anonymity for professional reasons.
For those of you who think that using the actual names or pseudonyms instead of entirely fake nicknames would be easier, it might help to realize that there are six or eight very popular male names in Afghanistan, so any list of actual names would be highly redundant. Sometimes it seems that every third guy here is named Massoud. Confusingly, many Afghans go by only one name, which only adds to the difficulty.
The Rug Merchant (aka The Boss): In any other part of the world, this guy would be considered shady. In Afghanistan, he’s connected. Hyperactive to the point of mania, always carries at least three phones, one of which is usually ringing. Has not grasped the concept that talking fast and loud is not synonymous with communicating effectively.
Thirteen months of working closely for and with The Rug Merchant has convinced me that he is, beyond a doubt, the single worst business owner and the most despicable individual that I have ever encountered. Without a single redeeming quality, as far as I am able to determine. Dim to the point of retarded, manipulative and domineering, he is incapable of accepting responsibility for anything the company does (or does not do). This despite the fact that he claims sole responsibility for any successes and is sickeningly fond of touting the virtues (real and imagined) of “his” company to any and all. I have contemplated violence against others many times in my life (and followed through on a few rare occasions), but only with him have I truly contemplated homicide. Only fair, as he’s also the only the boss I’ve ever had who actually threatened my life.
The Godfather: One of the Western backers of this venture. A retired banker, experienced in finance and business, and a true gentleman in every sense of the word. Unfortunately only appears in Kabul every few months and only stays for a few days. Also the guy who got me this job, so my opinion of him is dependent on what kind of day I’m having.
My opinion of The Godfather has not diminished in the past year, except in one respect. He is such a gentlemen that he is incapable of discerning the true nature of the person he’s in business with. Constantly hopeful that The Rug Merchant will turn out to be the latent tycoon that he claims to be.
The Doctor: An actual medical doctor and the Deputy President of The Company. Good English skills, lots of experience and very easy to work with. My time here would be a lot more trying if it wasn’t for his patience and dedication.
If my opinion of the The Rug Merchant has deteriorated (from an already minimal level) and my opinion of The Godfather has remained about the same, my opinion of The Doctor has been enhanced considerably by working closely with him for over a year. Without a doubt, the finest Afghan I have met since I’ve been here. A remarkable man in a tough position.
The General: A former Afghan army officer (probably not actually a general), in charge of overseeing the training and deployment of the guards. Not the brightest bulb in the box, and speaks not a word of English, but we get along great after I gave him some of my imported cigarettes. Now we’re blood brothers apparently. Has a staff of three NCOs who conduct the drills and instruct new recruits. Also known as “Saddam” for his eerie resemblance to the former Iraqi dictator.
Actually, he is (or was) a General in the ANA, and a man of vast contacts across Afghanistan. Can arrange nearly anything with a phone call. Constantly at odds with The Rug Merchant, but a quietly indispensible member of the staff.
Smiley: One of the General’s many assistants, apparently his responsibilities are limited to drilling the new recruits in Afghan/Soviet style marching, which is pretty comical to anyone familiar with Western methods of drill. Always cheerful and eager to talk; somewhat hampered by the fact that he only speaks four words of English, which are repeated incessantly with a broad smile.
Smiley is gone, after proving his incompetence to anything more than march around the yard. Good riddance, as I struggled to find anything that he was capable of doing for us.
Hazmat (short for Hazardous Materials): Personal bodyguard and batman to The Rug Merchant. Always wears a cheap three-piece suit with a bright pastel shirt, and carries a slung AK-47 with him everywhere he goes. Earned his nickname because one can see in his eyes that something is broken in his head. Has a nasty streak and is overly impressed with his own importance, but is probably capable of even worse stuff given half a chance.
Hazmat is still hanging around, acting as a batman and personal assistant for The Rug Merchant. After months of clandestine observation, I have discovered why he keeps his job despite his total lack of situational awareness or weapon skills. As it turns out, his primary (perhaps only) ability is having a contact list of a large number of local women of less than total moral purity. In short, he’s a pimp for the boss. Pretty sure that falls outside the realm of proper Muslim behavior.
Frankie Avalon: A dead-ringer for the singer (circa 1962), without the singing voice, but a competent dancer. Works as the “intelligence chief” for The Company, which is a bit of a euphemism. His job consists of sitting in a small room watching three TVs and monitoring the internet for current events. Sends out half a dozen emails a day with morbid announcements like “Two killed by IED in Helmand” or “Aid worker shot in Kunduz.” A real bundle of joy, but his English is better than most so I talk to him a lot.
A lad whose talents are not fully realized, mostly because he is not able to demonstrate his keen intellect and surprising people skills. Never flustered, never angry, just placidly soldiers on, doing a boring job to the best of his ability. Could use more like him.
Mad Max: The best driver in the company, which is an extremely valuable skill in a place like Kabul. Given the option, I always choose him to be my driver. Able to find his way around Kabul traffic with surprising alacrity and is friendly and pleasant to boot. Carries a pistol under his jacket.
The pistol is gone, after a tense incident at a police checkpoint last fall. Still, although we’ve added a few good drivers lately, Max is still my favorite because of his openness and willingness to discuss every aspect of Afghan society and culture without taking or causing offense.
Hound Dog and the Pack: Hound Dog is my personal favorite among the PSDs (Personal Security Detachment, aka bodyguards). He would probably be insulted to be called “dog” but he reminds me of an old hunting dog that has been kicked once too often. Always looks a little downtrodden, but has excellent situational awareness and takes his job very seriously. Like the aforesaid dog, there’s something about him that makes one think he’ll bite back if pressed. The Pack is my generic name for the rest of the PSD team (since I don’t know their real names). Most of them are solicitous and professional, although sometimes a little slow off the mark. Tactical initiative is not a well-developed Afghan trait.
Sadly, Hound Dog is no longer with the company, although he has been replaced by my new favorite PSD. The rest of the Pack is mostly still around, although I travel a lot more now without them as I tend to move fast and low-profile, two things that Afghans are generally not good at.
Mutt and Jeff: Two of The Boss’s assistants, exact job description unknown. They meddle in training, admin, pricing and general business decisions. Since I don’t know what they’re saying, I don’t know if they’re useful or not. Mutt speaks some English, at least enough to ask “How you this day, sir?” Jeff speaks none at all, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to talk to me. Both smoke heavily (my cigarettes if they can get them).
Mutt is pretty scarce these days, having developed a series of family problems that keep him away from the compound. Jeff, on the other hand, is a constant presence and, as a retired ANA officer, has gotten us out of several tight spots with the authorities. Of course, his rather aggressive personality has gotten us into a few tight spots as well. Still smoking my cigarettes.
The Prince: So-called because his real name is the same as a prominent Gulf sheikh, Prince is the designated interpreter for The Company. Unfortunately, he never seems to be around when I need him and not all that much when I don’t.
I’ve found several new people who have better English skills than The Prince (and also speak Urdu and a little Uzbek), so I reassigned him to the Finance Department. Doesn’t have an affinity with numbers, but he does posses a small degree of the boss’ trust, so he’s qualified to handle cash.
Mr. Greensleeves: Unsure as to what he does exactly (or even generally). Most of all he seems to hang around the compound wearing bright pastel jackets (usually green- hence the name), joking with the rest of the staff. The best dancer in The Company, as proven at a traditional Afghan wedding.
As it turns out, Mr. Greensleeves is actually a pretty useful member of the finance staff. Or at least he’s capable of understanding the Ministry of Finance’s reporting requirements and keeping on top of them. Still wearing bad designer knockoffs from Karachi and Delhi, but I’ve managed to adjust his fashion sense to slightly less visually-assaulting clothes.
The Player: Another of the admin staff of indeterminate purpose, he always wears faded designer jeans, colorful T-shirts and RayBans (full disclosure: I wear my Oakleys as often as possible, to project the necessary degree of authority and anonymity).
Not popular with most of the staff (especially The Doctor), but I find him to be useful and efficient, if somewhat annoyingly subservient and sycophantic. It seems that I’m the only one that he makes an effort to work for, but that works just fine for me.
Eli: The finance guy who apparently is still learning how to use Excel (maybe they don’t have Dari language user guides). Good with numbers, but follows The Rug Merchant's lead to closely (i.e. anything to increase gross revenue, regardless of net profit).
Eli and I have come to a workable understanding over the past year. Before a major outlay, I run the numbers for him to prove that I’m right, and he backs me up when I’m trying to convince the boss to spend the money. Doesn’t always work, and he still refuses to have the fights that a Finance Manager should have, but he’s slowly coming around.
Bear: So-named because of his great bulk, hirsute appearance and massive paws. Bear is euphemistically referred to as the Facilities Manager, which means he is in charge of the logistics here, including maintenance and provisions. If the current conditions in the compound are any indication, a man woefully out of his depth.
Thirteen months have proven my initial assessment that Bear is a man of limited capabilities in a demanding job. The food still sucks, the compound is still a dump and we never have spares of anything we might need. Nevertheless, his personality and openness means he’s one of my favorite people to talk to at the company, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t speak any English. I’m told his Pashto poetry is quite good, but of course I can’t read a word of it.
Jeeves: My recently-assigned assistant for all-things-not-covered-by-someone-else, Jeeves is the guy who makes sure I have sufficient tea and food at all hours of the day and night. Pleasant to the point of deferential, has some limited English and is happy to talk politics when we can find the right words.
Jeeves is unfortunately no longer with us. Like most people of talent, he has moved on to bigger and better things, only to be replaced by a series of less competent individuals. Only one stood out from the rest and he’s gone now too. I still keep in touch with him and he is one of those remarkable Afghans that gives me some small measure of hope for this wretched country. Someday I’ll write a post just about him.
The Lion: Doesn't actually look or act like a lion, but he's Tajik, like Ahmad Shah Massoud, the Lion of the Panshijr Valley and one of my personal heroes. (More on Massood here). The Lion joined us after several years with the ANP's elite counter-narcotics commando battalion. He's quiet and reserved, but highly competent and professional. The Lion serves as our senior instructor. I had to personally insist to The Boss that we hire him and for that he is unfailingly loyal. If I had five hundred men like him, I'd own this country.
My initial instincts on the Lion were correct, except in one regard. Instead of five hundred like him, I could probably manage to run the entire country with no more than two hundred. Another of those quiet professionals which gives me hope for the future.
There are some additional personnel that have joined the company in the last year, but this is already too long for a blog post, so I’ll add them later in a separate list.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
The Perils of Recruiting
Working for an all-Afghan company (except myself, of course), one of the most common questions I get from clients and potential clients is, “How do you screen your guards so that you’re sure none of them are Taliban?”
The short answer is that we screen them carefully, conduct background checks with the government and insist upon at least three letters of recommendation from reliable sources.*
*Letters of recommendation may not sound like much to Westerners, but Afghans take it very seriously. An example of the power of the written word in a mostly illiterate society, I suppose. That, and the fact that if there is a problem later with a recruit, Afghans will actually track down the people who recommended him and give him a beat-down.
All of that however, doesn't always work perfectly. Sometimes you just have to sit down with someone and get an idea of their personal history.
Recently, one of my supervisors offered his friend for a position as a PSD (i.e. bodyguard). This friend, according to my supervisor, had lots of military experience, was very tough and spoke several languages, including Turkish, Russian, and Arabic. Sounds perfect, right? Except that bit about the languages was setting off alarm bells in my head. Lots of older Afghans speak some Russian, some percentage speak Turkish, and a small few speak some Arabic. But all three? Where did this guy learn all these languages? Certainly not in Afghanistan’s decrepit school system.
Turns out, upon further investigation, that he learned all these languages by traveling extensively as a young man to various parts of the Middle East, Central Asia and Europe. Unusual, but not unheard of. Other than the Afghans who have more or less permanently relocated to Pakistan, there aren’t that many in Western countries, and the proportion of those that can afford to travel freely is pretty small. So initially I was impressed and eager to interview this guy.*
*Which would require a ‘terp, since in all of his travels he hadn’t learned English. Later on I realized that should have been the first indication that not everything was as it seemed.
The kicker came when my supervisor casually mentioned that his friend also spoke some Yugoslavian* and that’s when the picture began to come together. Further investigation was definitely in order.
*Yugoslavian is not actually a language. Serbo-Croatian is the language of the countries of the former Yugoslavia, but since this supervisor wasn’t even completely sure where Yugoslavia was, I figured it was understandable that he didn’t realize his mistake. In fact, he thought Yugoslavia was somewhere near France. Um…….no, not exactly.
Question: What do you have when you find a well-traveled Afghan with “combat experience” who speaks Arabic, Russian, Turkish and a little bit of Serbo-Croatian?
Answer: A very bad guy.
That’s right, you’ve got a full-fledged, card-carrying member of the “international jihadist movement.” In other words, not somebody I want anything to do with. Interview cancelled. Interviewee escorted out. Don’t want to know his name or where he lives (in case the NDS/FBI/CIA come asking about him later).
I learned later that this guy learned his Arabic in a Pakistani madrassa under the tutelage of “foreign instructors”* back in the 1990s, Russian from his time fighting alongside Chechens against the Red Army and the Serbo-Croatia from his stint fighting with the Bosnians in Yugoslavia. The Turkish came from an extended stay as a “guest” of the Turkish state security when he was picked up trying to pass through Istanbul on a fake passport.
*One guess who the “foreign instructors” were. Here’s a hint: some of them were probably business associates of this guy.
Needless to say, he accumulated his combat experience along the way. Basically, he had first-hand experience in most of the conflicts of the 1990s, all of it as a foreign volunteer helping out his Muslim brothers. Bosnia, Chechnya, Kosovo, Uzbekistan, Pakistan, Afghanistan, he was involved in all of them. I think it’s safe to assume that he wasn’t a Red Cross volunteer.
Now I have to wonder about the supervisor who brought me this guy.
Exactly how is he choosing his "friends?"
The short answer is that we screen them carefully, conduct background checks with the government and insist upon at least three letters of recommendation from reliable sources.*
*Letters of recommendation may not sound like much to Westerners, but Afghans take it very seriously. An example of the power of the written word in a mostly illiterate society, I suppose. That, and the fact that if there is a problem later with a recruit, Afghans will actually track down the people who recommended him and give him a beat-down.
All of that however, doesn't always work perfectly. Sometimes you just have to sit down with someone and get an idea of their personal history.
Recently, one of my supervisors offered his friend for a position as a PSD (i.e. bodyguard). This friend, according to my supervisor, had lots of military experience, was very tough and spoke several languages, including Turkish, Russian, and Arabic. Sounds perfect, right? Except that bit about the languages was setting off alarm bells in my head. Lots of older Afghans speak some Russian, some percentage speak Turkish, and a small few speak some Arabic. But all three? Where did this guy learn all these languages? Certainly not in Afghanistan’s decrepit school system.
Turns out, upon further investigation, that he learned all these languages by traveling extensively as a young man to various parts of the Middle East, Central Asia and Europe. Unusual, but not unheard of. Other than the Afghans who have more or less permanently relocated to Pakistan, there aren’t that many in Western countries, and the proportion of those that can afford to travel freely is pretty small. So initially I was impressed and eager to interview this guy.*
*Which would require a ‘terp, since in all of his travels he hadn’t learned English. Later on I realized that should have been the first indication that not everything was as it seemed.
The kicker came when my supervisor casually mentioned that his friend also spoke some Yugoslavian* and that’s when the picture began to come together. Further investigation was definitely in order.
*Yugoslavian is not actually a language. Serbo-Croatian is the language of the countries of the former Yugoslavia, but since this supervisor wasn’t even completely sure where Yugoslavia was, I figured it was understandable that he didn’t realize his mistake. In fact, he thought Yugoslavia was somewhere near France. Um…….no, not exactly.
Question: What do you have when you find a well-traveled Afghan with “combat experience” who speaks Arabic, Russian, Turkish and a little bit of Serbo-Croatian?
Answer: A very bad guy.
That’s right, you’ve got a full-fledged, card-carrying member of the “international jihadist movement.” In other words, not somebody I want anything to do with. Interview cancelled. Interviewee escorted out. Don’t want to know his name or where he lives (in case the NDS/FBI/CIA come asking about him later).
I learned later that this guy learned his Arabic in a Pakistani madrassa under the tutelage of “foreign instructors”* back in the 1990s, Russian from his time fighting alongside Chechens against the Red Army and the Serbo-Croatia from his stint fighting with the Bosnians in Yugoslavia. The Turkish came from an extended stay as a “guest” of the Turkish state security when he was picked up trying to pass through Istanbul on a fake passport.
*One guess who the “foreign instructors” were. Here’s a hint: some of them were probably business associates of this guy.
Needless to say, he accumulated his combat experience along the way. Basically, he had first-hand experience in most of the conflicts of the 1990s, all of it as a foreign volunteer helping out his Muslim brothers. Bosnia, Chechnya, Kosovo, Uzbekistan, Pakistan, Afghanistan, he was involved in all of them. I think it’s safe to assume that he wasn’t a Red Cross volunteer.
Now I have to wonder about the supervisor who brought me this guy.
Exactly how is he choosing his "friends?"
Saturday, March 13, 2010
The Deep End of the Pool
So, a while back one of the locals comes to me and says, “Sir, we have a problem.” Generally, when one of my guys says that it means that they have been unable to do something that I asked them to do and they’re about to lay the blame off on someone else.
However, this wasn’t one of my guys. He was a local “fixer” that works for a subcontractor of one of our clients. Not normally somebody I’d have a lot of contact with, and before that day not somebody I knew more than in passing.
The tone of his voice and his body language immediately put me on my guard, hushed whisper, glancing nervously around, etc. I thought he was going to say that someone had been stealing, or that he was convinced one of my guys was a Taliban sleeper agent. Afghans love to maneuver themselves into the good graces of Westerners by speaking ill of other Afghans.
Not in this case. The “problem” he described to me really was a problem, not just for him but for our client’s entire operation. It seems that another local, a well-connected subcontractor, was muscling in other peoples’ business, forcing all the local subcontractors to use “his” vehicles, “his” suppliers, “his” security, etc.
This sort of cut-throat competition among Afghans for a slice of a big Western contract is pretty standard stuff. A big construction project is funded at levels that most locals can’t even conceive of. It’s not unusual for a construction job to be valued at $15-20 million USD, and that’s not even the really big ones. A good portion of that goes to the secondary and tertiary aspects of the job, like logistics, life-support and security. Everything from accommodations and food, waste-water treatment, trucks and equipment rental and high-speed internet or even satellite TV on the job site.
Naturally, when money like that is at stake, everyone (especially the locals) scramble all over themselves trying to grab a slice of the pie. Some of them are one step up from incompetent (a good portion are two steps below), many of them are companies that exist solely for the purpose of taking a cut and passing the work on to other locals, and a few are actually proper outfits that provide good service for good fees. And, on virtually every big job, one or two of them are little more than fronts for local criminal elements or ex-warlords.
For these guys, “standard business practices” involve strong arm intimidation of the other local contractors, trying to force them out of the bidding process, or making life difficult for them once they win a subcontract. Of course, the scumbags are always waiting in the wings, ready to capitalize on the “failures” of those subcontractors who fell victim to their tactics. It’s not unheard of for a local warlord to ambush the supply trucks heading to a remote job site, and when that results in a subcontractor unable to provide the items they’ve contracted for, a representative of the warlord shows up and offers to make the problem go away, usually by claiming that his security guys are better at protecting the convoy. Of course, “his” security guys are the same ones ambushing the convoy in the first place, so naturally when they get the job to deliver the supplies, the rate of ambushes drops off dramatically.
Normally, the big Western companies pay as little attention to this sort of local squabbling as possible. They’re here to build stuff (and take a huge chunk of US taxpayer dollars to do so), not get involved in the petty machinations of the locals. As long as stuff gets delivered, and services are provided, they generally don’t want to know who they’re dealing with. Ignorance is bliss, as the saying goes, and Americans are masters of intentional ignorance.
In this particular case however, the scumbag local (let’s call him Qasim, not his real name) was attempting not only to take business away from other local companies, but also insisting that the major US construction company utilize his services, and only his services, for all of their needs. Leaving aside that this is a breach of scumbag etiquette (Rule One: Don’t Involve the Westerners Directly), it also put the US company in a tough spot, since they had already written subcontracts with a variety of local outfits. If they back out on them now, those locals (some of whom are pretty well connected themselves) will scream to the government, which will bitch to the US Embassy about “bad faith” and the State Department-types (or AFCEE or US Army Corps of Engineers) will order a review of the entire contract. Best case: project is delayed by several months. Worst case: the whole project goes back out to tender. Bad news for everybody.
Qasim has been making rather crudely veiled threats to the staff of this US company, phoning them at random times to “casually mention” that he knew that a couple of their guys were on the way to Camp Eggers and what kind of car they were driving. Basically, saying “If I want to, I can hurt you guys. Make my happy or somebody gets snatched (or worse).” This obviously is an unacceptable security risk, so they came to us and sought our help. Mostly, they wanted additional guards and PSDs for their staff, as if throwing more guns into the equation would make the problem go away. Instead, we suggested that we send some people to chat with Qasim and see if there was a way to make him back off. Not by intimidation, ‘cause that generally doesn’t work with guys like that, but by accommodation. Perhaps a small fee, or a guaranteed piece of the next big contract, or maybe just employment for a few of guys as drivers or builders.
We were all set to do that when I walked into the client’s villa last week and found them all smiles and good cheer. “Problem solved,” they said, “no need to worry about Qasim anymore.” Needless to say, I was curious as to how they had managed to make this go away. Turns out, they didn’t have to. Someone did it for them. The official story is that Qasim was electrocuted by a faulty appliance while taking a shower (hey, it could happen). The unofficial story is that he crossed the wrong guy, insulted the wrong criminal, or screwed the wrong warlord out of his cut. Someone meaner and more ruthless than he was, evidently. But hey, you play in the deep end of the pool, you better know how to swim.
Welcome to Afghanistan, where business is a full-contact sport.
However, this wasn’t one of my guys. He was a local “fixer” that works for a subcontractor of one of our clients. Not normally somebody I’d have a lot of contact with, and before that day not somebody I knew more than in passing.
The tone of his voice and his body language immediately put me on my guard, hushed whisper, glancing nervously around, etc. I thought he was going to say that someone had been stealing, or that he was convinced one of my guys was a Taliban sleeper agent. Afghans love to maneuver themselves into the good graces of Westerners by speaking ill of other Afghans.
Not in this case. The “problem” he described to me really was a problem, not just for him but for our client’s entire operation. It seems that another local, a well-connected subcontractor, was muscling in other peoples’ business, forcing all the local subcontractors to use “his” vehicles, “his” suppliers, “his” security, etc.
This sort of cut-throat competition among Afghans for a slice of a big Western contract is pretty standard stuff. A big construction project is funded at levels that most locals can’t even conceive of. It’s not unusual for a construction job to be valued at $15-20 million USD, and that’s not even the really big ones. A good portion of that goes to the secondary and tertiary aspects of the job, like logistics, life-support and security. Everything from accommodations and food, waste-water treatment, trucks and equipment rental and high-speed internet or even satellite TV on the job site.
Naturally, when money like that is at stake, everyone (especially the locals) scramble all over themselves trying to grab a slice of the pie. Some of them are one step up from incompetent (a good portion are two steps below), many of them are companies that exist solely for the purpose of taking a cut and passing the work on to other locals, and a few are actually proper outfits that provide good service for good fees. And, on virtually every big job, one or two of them are little more than fronts for local criminal elements or ex-warlords.
For these guys, “standard business practices” involve strong arm intimidation of the other local contractors, trying to force them out of the bidding process, or making life difficult for them once they win a subcontract. Of course, the scumbags are always waiting in the wings, ready to capitalize on the “failures” of those subcontractors who fell victim to their tactics. It’s not unheard of for a local warlord to ambush the supply trucks heading to a remote job site, and when that results in a subcontractor unable to provide the items they’ve contracted for, a representative of the warlord shows up and offers to make the problem go away, usually by claiming that his security guys are better at protecting the convoy. Of course, “his” security guys are the same ones ambushing the convoy in the first place, so naturally when they get the job to deliver the supplies, the rate of ambushes drops off dramatically.
Normally, the big Western companies pay as little attention to this sort of local squabbling as possible. They’re here to build stuff (and take a huge chunk of US taxpayer dollars to do so), not get involved in the petty machinations of the locals. As long as stuff gets delivered, and services are provided, they generally don’t want to know who they’re dealing with. Ignorance is bliss, as the saying goes, and Americans are masters of intentional ignorance.
In this particular case however, the scumbag local (let’s call him Qasim, not his real name) was attempting not only to take business away from other local companies, but also insisting that the major US construction company utilize his services, and only his services, for all of their needs. Leaving aside that this is a breach of scumbag etiquette (Rule One: Don’t Involve the Westerners Directly), it also put the US company in a tough spot, since they had already written subcontracts with a variety of local outfits. If they back out on them now, those locals (some of whom are pretty well connected themselves) will scream to the government, which will bitch to the US Embassy about “bad faith” and the State Department-types (or AFCEE or US Army Corps of Engineers) will order a review of the entire contract. Best case: project is delayed by several months. Worst case: the whole project goes back out to tender. Bad news for everybody.
Qasim has been making rather crudely veiled threats to the staff of this US company, phoning them at random times to “casually mention” that he knew that a couple of their guys were on the way to Camp Eggers and what kind of car they were driving. Basically, saying “If I want to, I can hurt you guys. Make my happy or somebody gets snatched (or worse).” This obviously is an unacceptable security risk, so they came to us and sought our help. Mostly, they wanted additional guards and PSDs for their staff, as if throwing more guns into the equation would make the problem go away. Instead, we suggested that we send some people to chat with Qasim and see if there was a way to make him back off. Not by intimidation, ‘cause that generally doesn’t work with guys like that, but by accommodation. Perhaps a small fee, or a guaranteed piece of the next big contract, or maybe just employment for a few of guys as drivers or builders.
We were all set to do that when I walked into the client’s villa last week and found them all smiles and good cheer. “Problem solved,” they said, “no need to worry about Qasim anymore.” Needless to say, I was curious as to how they had managed to make this go away. Turns out, they didn’t have to. Someone did it for them. The official story is that Qasim was electrocuted by a faulty appliance while taking a shower (hey, it could happen). The unofficial story is that he crossed the wrong guy, insulted the wrong criminal, or screwed the wrong warlord out of his cut. Someone meaner and more ruthless than he was, evidently. But hey, you play in the deep end of the pool, you better know how to swim.
Welcome to Afghanistan, where business is a full-contact sport.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Road Trip
Almost midnight, and I just got the word that I'm making a run to Jalalabad tomorrow. The curtailment of sleep is a greater concern than any risk from the movement. The run to Jalalabad is pretty secure, with only occasional trouble along the way.
Admittedly, once we did run into a spot of difficulty on the way back, but generally speaking the trip is no big deal. Tangi, Surobi and the Darunta Dam area sometimes see some HiG activity, but not usually until late in the day.
Rule One: Avoid the ISAF convoys- favorite target of the bad guys, and prone to indiscriminate fire when they feel threatened.*
*A Mk 19 40mm AGL can ruin the day for everyone within 200 meters if the gunner has a brain cramp and decides that all Afghans are "hostile."
Rule Two: Avoid fuel trucks- second favorite target. I learned my lesson on this one six months ago.
Rule Three: Keep an eye on the driver, especially on the pass through the mountains. Afghan drivers' testosterone is probably the single greatest risk on this run.
Back tomorrow afternoon with any luck, but my go-bag is packed in case we need to spend the night out at the job-site. Extra ammo and a can of peaches, as always. And this time, I'm taking a bit more firepower than a pistol.
Admittedly, once we did run into a spot of difficulty on the way back, but generally speaking the trip is no big deal. Tangi, Surobi and the Darunta Dam area sometimes see some HiG activity, but not usually until late in the day.
Rule One: Avoid the ISAF convoys- favorite target of the bad guys, and prone to indiscriminate fire when they feel threatened.*
*A Mk 19 40mm AGL can ruin the day for everyone within 200 meters if the gunner has a brain cramp and decides that all Afghans are "hostile."
Rule Two: Avoid fuel trucks- second favorite target. I learned my lesson on this one six months ago.
Rule Three: Keep an eye on the driver, especially on the pass through the mountains. Afghan drivers' testosterone is probably the single greatest risk on this run.
Back tomorrow afternoon with any luck, but my go-bag is packed in case we need to spend the night out at the job-site. Extra ammo and a can of peaches, as always. And this time, I'm taking a bit more firepower than a pistol.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Mis(sed) Communication
One thing I forgot to mention:
Last night (Wednesday), I happened to be awake quite late, until around 0230 or so, and while having a final cigarette on my balcony before I turned in, I noticed that some of our guards at a site about a block away were rotating their positions. Although the guys on this job site are usually mobile through the night, conducting perimeter patrols and such, it’s usually only one or two at a time. Last night, it seemed that at least half a dozen were up and moving. It seemed odd, but I didn’t think it necessary to go check it out. If something was up, the duty officer would let me know, right?
As it turns out, not so much. I got up this morning and went to the office at the customary time, only to discover an email in my inbox from the client at the above-mentioned job site, stating that there was a “credible threat” against the government ministry which is right across the street from the job-site (and, needless to say, right across the street from my residence). This government ministry, so close to my house that I could probably spit over the wall of their compound from my balcony, was alleged to be a possible target of a VBIED/asymmetric attack that evening.
The duty officer, upon receiving this threat, alerted our guards at the adjacent job-site, but apparently it slipped his mind that a phone call my way would be advisable. Nice to know they’re thinking about me.
Fortunately, nothing went boom last night. We’ll see what happens tonight.
Last night (Wednesday), I happened to be awake quite late, until around 0230 or so, and while having a final cigarette on my balcony before I turned in, I noticed that some of our guards at a site about a block away were rotating their positions. Although the guys on this job site are usually mobile through the night, conducting perimeter patrols and such, it’s usually only one or two at a time. Last night, it seemed that at least half a dozen were up and moving. It seemed odd, but I didn’t think it necessary to go check it out. If something was up, the duty officer would let me know, right?
As it turns out, not so much. I got up this morning and went to the office at the customary time, only to discover an email in my inbox from the client at the above-mentioned job site, stating that there was a “credible threat” against the government ministry which is right across the street from the job-site (and, needless to say, right across the street from my residence). This government ministry, so close to my house that I could probably spit over the wall of their compound from my balcony, was alleged to be a possible target of a VBIED/asymmetric attack that evening.
The duty officer, upon receiving this threat, alerted our guards at the adjacent job-site, but apparently it slipped his mind that a phone call my way would be advisable. Nice to know they’re thinking about me.
Fortunately, nothing went boom last night. We’ll see what happens tonight.
Friday, February 26, 2010
I'm Really Getting Tired of This Shit........
Well, it's been kind of a long day here (longer than usual) and I'm about a third of the way through a bottle of tequila*, so this will be a bit disjointed.
*Even harder to find than decent whisky, but also more difficult to impose "local" substitutes, so therefore generally safer. Still cost me $100 USD.
By now, you've probably seen the reports about the ever-so-annoying events in Kabul this morning. If not, a BBC summary is here.
Why, one may ask, must the Taliban always launch these spectacular attacks so early in the day? Especially on Juma (Friday), which is supposed to be a day of rest. And a day when most Westerners, myself included, are sleeping off absolutely bone-crushing hangovers from the night before. And on the anniversary Prophet's birthday no less. Have these people no decency?
Heedless of my desire for a few more hours of decent (albeit alcohol-fueled) sleep, the bad guys decided to try and blow up a couple of hotels and guest houses in downtown Kabul, kicking off their ill-timed attempt with a massive suicide car bomb at precisely 0645.*
*I know the exact time because, contrary to tactical good sense, the first thing I did when I rolled out of bed was check the clock on my mobile phone. And then say, "Oh for fuck's sake!"
Anyway, the intial blast cracked the glass on my windows, despite being six blocks away.* After checking the time (and cursing about the hour), I found my pants, my weapon and my boots, not necessarily in that order. The image of me with a Kalashnikov, sans pants, is probably not one to make the ladies swoon, but one has to set priorities in such situations.
*That, and the huge mushroom cloud that resulted, are what give lie to the reports that the first blast was a "suicide bomber." No way one man carries enough explosive to make a boom like that. Definately some sort of VBIED. After a year, you get a sense for these things.
After locating and arranging all necessary items (i.e. weapon, pants), and checking the immediate vicinity from my balcony, I legged it over to one of our job sites about a block away. We have 20+ guards on duty at this site and of course they were all up and armed and standing post. For all the faults in management with this outfit, our guys on the line are dedicated and determined.
One of the guards on-site told me that the scene of the attack was the Safi Landmark Hotel, about five blocks away. I confess that I was actually relived to hear that since, to my knowledge, none of our clients had personnel in the Safi. In a prime example of "be careful what you wish for" just then one of our supervisors pulled up in an SUV. I was puzzled since his AoR is ten blocks away, but he informed me that we, in fact, DID have a client staying at the Safi (news to me, which reflects poorly on myself and our management system) and that this guy was on his mobile phone freaking out.**
*Area of Responsibility
**Understandably of course, but at times like this, it doesn't really help to go all ape-shit.
I detail the supervisor and one of our PSDs to see if they can get through the police cordon and pull this guy out. Meanwhile, I call the main office and rather testily suggest that a little back-up might be in order. The only response I get is the question, "Why are you not in your residence?"
Um..........because this is what we get paid to do?
Predictably, the supervisor returns having been unable to get past the police blockade at the traffic circle (I suspect he didn't try all that hard). By this point, I'm talking to the client who is in the Safi, and I'm trying to keep him calm and rational. To his credit, despite being wounded by flying glass, he's reasonably calm, if a little shaken up. Intelligently, he has abandoned his street-facing room for the (relative) security of the the interior of the building. However, there are now bad guys in the hotel and attached shopping center and things are most decidely not looking up.
Much to the dismay of our supervisor*, I jump in the SUV and we head off to try and talk our way past the police again. Occasionally, the presence of a Westerner helps in these situations.
*Who, it should be pointed out, is only a 26-year old kid.
In this case, not so much. I did have several highly-charged shouting matches with various ANP officers, somewhat hampered by the fact that they don't speak English, my Dari is weak, and our supervisor (who speaks both fluently) was unwilling to press the issue. So after standing in the rain for twenty minutes, listening to gunfire up the street and trying to keep the client from totally freaking out (tough to do over the phone), we relocated to another of our job-sites about a block away to await the QRF (Quick Reaction Force) which would bring with it someone with the authority to deal with the ANP.
Three cups of tea and five cigarettes later, still no QRF. By this point, I'm pretty well boiling over into a white-hot rage, against the ignorance of the Taliban who would launch such an attack, the incomptence of the ANSF who failed to prevent it, and the idiocy of my boss who evidently refuses to do what he's been paid to do. What's more, my car, the SUV I came here in, has mysteriously departed for greener pastures, leaving me to walk back to my place in the rain, trying by phone to reassure the client in the Safi that help is on the way. All in all, a top-notch morning.
Eventually, we got him out but not until the whole episode was concluded. That same 26-year old supervisor went back in, by himself, and found this guy and transported him to safety. Three hours after the whole thing started. And for that, The Rug Merchant deducted from him three months pay, for operating "without proper authorization." To his credit, when I asked him about it this afternoon, the kid had no regrets and said, "I did what my duty required. He can keep his money."
So, as I told my brother earlier this evening, "Same shit, different day. It's just that here we have a different definition of 'shit' than most people."
*Even harder to find than decent whisky, but also more difficult to impose "local" substitutes, so therefore generally safer. Still cost me $100 USD.
By now, you've probably seen the reports about the ever-so-annoying events in Kabul this morning. If not, a BBC summary is here.
Why, one may ask, must the Taliban always launch these spectacular attacks so early in the day? Especially on Juma (Friday), which is supposed to be a day of rest. And a day when most Westerners, myself included, are sleeping off absolutely bone-crushing hangovers from the night before. And on the anniversary Prophet's birthday no less. Have these people no decency?
Heedless of my desire for a few more hours of decent (albeit alcohol-fueled) sleep, the bad guys decided to try and blow up a couple of hotels and guest houses in downtown Kabul, kicking off their ill-timed attempt with a massive suicide car bomb at precisely 0645.*
*I know the exact time because, contrary to tactical good sense, the first thing I did when I rolled out of bed was check the clock on my mobile phone. And then say, "Oh for fuck's sake!"
Anyway, the intial blast cracked the glass on my windows, despite being six blocks away.* After checking the time (and cursing about the hour), I found my pants, my weapon and my boots, not necessarily in that order. The image of me with a Kalashnikov, sans pants, is probably not one to make the ladies swoon, but one has to set priorities in such situations.
*That, and the huge mushroom cloud that resulted, are what give lie to the reports that the first blast was a "suicide bomber." No way one man carries enough explosive to make a boom like that. Definately some sort of VBIED. After a year, you get a sense for these things.
After locating and arranging all necessary items (i.e. weapon, pants), and checking the immediate vicinity from my balcony, I legged it over to one of our job sites about a block away. We have 20+ guards on duty at this site and of course they were all up and armed and standing post. For all the faults in management with this outfit, our guys on the line are dedicated and determined.
One of the guards on-site told me that the scene of the attack was the Safi Landmark Hotel, about five blocks away. I confess that I was actually relived to hear that since, to my knowledge, none of our clients had personnel in the Safi. In a prime example of "be careful what you wish for" just then one of our supervisors pulled up in an SUV. I was puzzled since his AoR is ten blocks away, but he informed me that we, in fact, DID have a client staying at the Safi (news to me, which reflects poorly on myself and our management system) and that this guy was on his mobile phone freaking out.**
*Area of Responsibility
**Understandably of course, but at times like this, it doesn't really help to go all ape-shit.
I detail the supervisor and one of our PSDs to see if they can get through the police cordon and pull this guy out. Meanwhile, I call the main office and rather testily suggest that a little back-up might be in order. The only response I get is the question, "Why are you not in your residence?"
Um..........because this is what we get paid to do?
Predictably, the supervisor returns having been unable to get past the police blockade at the traffic circle (I suspect he didn't try all that hard). By this point, I'm talking to the client who is in the Safi, and I'm trying to keep him calm and rational. To his credit, despite being wounded by flying glass, he's reasonably calm, if a little shaken up. Intelligently, he has abandoned his street-facing room for the (relative) security of the the interior of the building. However, there are now bad guys in the hotel and attached shopping center and things are most decidely not looking up.
Much to the dismay of our supervisor*, I jump in the SUV and we head off to try and talk our way past the police again. Occasionally, the presence of a Westerner helps in these situations.
*Who, it should be pointed out, is only a 26-year old kid.
In this case, not so much. I did have several highly-charged shouting matches with various ANP officers, somewhat hampered by the fact that they don't speak English, my Dari is weak, and our supervisor (who speaks both fluently) was unwilling to press the issue. So after standing in the rain for twenty minutes, listening to gunfire up the street and trying to keep the client from totally freaking out (tough to do over the phone), we relocated to another of our job-sites about a block away to await the QRF (Quick Reaction Force) which would bring with it someone with the authority to deal with the ANP.
Three cups of tea and five cigarettes later, still no QRF. By this point, I'm pretty well boiling over into a white-hot rage, against the ignorance of the Taliban who would launch such an attack, the incomptence of the ANSF who failed to prevent it, and the idiocy of my boss who evidently refuses to do what he's been paid to do. What's more, my car, the SUV I came here in, has mysteriously departed for greener pastures, leaving me to walk back to my place in the rain, trying by phone to reassure the client in the Safi that help is on the way. All in all, a top-notch morning.
Eventually, we got him out but not until the whole episode was concluded. That same 26-year old supervisor went back in, by himself, and found this guy and transported him to safety. Three hours after the whole thing started. And for that, The Rug Merchant deducted from him three months pay, for operating "without proper authorization." To his credit, when I asked him about it this afternoon, the kid had no regrets and said, "I did what my duty required. He can keep his money."
So, as I told my brother earlier this evening, "Same shit, different day. It's just that here we have a different definition of 'shit' than most people."
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Things That Go "Boom!"
Another car bomb today in Kabul, this time on the Jalalabad Road out near Camp Phoenix. At least half a dozen wounded, but no word yet on how many killed. Apparently, it was a minivan packed with ammonium nitrate fertilizer.*
*This is the stuff recently banned by the Afghan government, as it is way more useful for making IEDs than it is for actual farming. The same stuff used in the Oklahoma City bombings. New slogan for agribusiness companies: "Ammonium Nitrate! The preferred fertilizer of redneck assholes around the world!" Most farmers here don't use it anyway, preferring more traditional methods. Nevertheless, thousands of tons of the stuff is imported from Pakistan every year. Guess we know where most of it is going.
Two of our clients were in the area, returning to their residential compound after a meeting. Rolled up to the gate a few minutes after it went off (nice timing), and they said the Gurkhas on the ECP were spooked. Must have been a big one if even the Nepalese are spooked. Then again, it's their job to search the cars, so a boom like that would tend to remind one of the occupational hazards.
*This is the stuff recently banned by the Afghan government, as it is way more useful for making IEDs than it is for actual farming. The same stuff used in the Oklahoma City bombings. New slogan for agribusiness companies: "Ammonium Nitrate! The preferred fertilizer of redneck assholes around the world!" Most farmers here don't use it anyway, preferring more traditional methods. Nevertheless, thousands of tons of the stuff is imported from Pakistan every year. Guess we know where most of it is going.
Two of our clients were in the area, returning to their residential compound after a meeting. Rolled up to the gate a few minutes after it went off (nice timing), and they said the Gurkhas on the ECP were spooked. Must have been a big one if even the Nepalese are spooked. Then again, it's their job to search the cars, so a boom like that would tend to remind one of the occupational hazards.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Down South
Yet another trip into the shitty bits of this country last week.* This time it was a flight down to Kandahar and then a tense hour-long ride out to the Pakistani border and a decrepit little town called Spin Boldak.
*And, yes, I realize that "shitty bits" is a relative term. It's not like Kabul is a glorious thriving metropolis full of interesting sites and fun things to do. Unless of course you're a garbage-eating goat, in which case Kabul is probably pretty close to Paradise.
The base that was my destination is a slapdash modern facility built within the walls of a ruined British fort from about 1860. Typical military construction from the British colonial period in Afghanistan, mud-brick walls about three feet thick, complete with a parapet and crumbling battlements. Plywood and sheet metal guard towers added more recently to provide overwatch of the approaches. The contradictions inherent in this country really struck me on the second night there when I was out having a cigarette at about three o'clock in the morning. I'm standing there, puffing away and musing on the manpower needed to build this massive mud wall, and I hear a slight cough from twenty feet above me. One of the wall guards, nearly invisible in the blackness, is up there, scanning the surrounding terrain with night-vision googles. 21st century technology in a 19th century fort.
The purpose of the trip is to rectify a problem we've been having with the site guards at this base. Suffice it to say that we had some very disgruntled employees on a remote job site. Our guards, whom we inherited from the scumbag who had this contract before us, have been at this post since February without a break. As they are Nepalese Gurkhas rather than locals, they can't very well run into to town for a bite to eat and to catch a show. Despite what you might read in the London Times, the Nepalese are no more popular here than Westerners. In fact, in the case of security guards, even less so, since the locals assume that they're taking good jobs away from Afghans. Some truth to that, in my opinion.
Our client down south is a prominent (some might say notorious) U.S. private security company that has a contract to train the Afghan Border Police. Because of their past.....indiscretions (to put it mildly), they're not allowed to provide security at their own training facility, so they subcontract that to us. The problem is that the Gurkhas on-site were royally screwed by both their previous employer and the site management of the U.S. company. As a result, they trust no one anymore, including me. And, it should be pointed out that due to my company's total inability to manage our finances, these guys had not been paid in three months. Obviously, they're not in a happy place, literally or figuratively. So, it falls to me to bring them their back pay and try to convince them to stay on the job.*
*My hand in these negotiations is somewhat strengthened by the fact that they have no where else to go. If they stop working, they have to leave the relative security of the firebase. And since none of them have valid visas or work permits, they run the serious risk of being arrested and imprisoned by the Afghan police. If the Taliban doesn't get them first. Harsh, but true.
Two days of heated discussions, somewhat calmed by the dispensing of large amounts of cash, and we reach a tentative accord. They will go back to work at least until 15 January, and I get to head back to Kabul mission accomplished (sort of).
Now comes the tricky bit. How do I get home again?* That story in the next post.
*And yes I realize that referring to Kabul as "home" is a sign I've been here too long.
*And, yes, I realize that "shitty bits" is a relative term. It's not like Kabul is a glorious thriving metropolis full of interesting sites and fun things to do. Unless of course you're a garbage-eating goat, in which case Kabul is probably pretty close to Paradise.
The base that was my destination is a slapdash modern facility built within the walls of a ruined British fort from about 1860. Typical military construction from the British colonial period in Afghanistan, mud-brick walls about three feet thick, complete with a parapet and crumbling battlements. Plywood and sheet metal guard towers added more recently to provide overwatch of the approaches. The contradictions inherent in this country really struck me on the second night there when I was out having a cigarette at about three o'clock in the morning. I'm standing there, puffing away and musing on the manpower needed to build this massive mud wall, and I hear a slight cough from twenty feet above me. One of the wall guards, nearly invisible in the blackness, is up there, scanning the surrounding terrain with night-vision googles. 21st century technology in a 19th century fort.
The purpose of the trip is to rectify a problem we've been having with the site guards at this base. Suffice it to say that we had some very disgruntled employees on a remote job site. Our guards, whom we inherited from the scumbag who had this contract before us, have been at this post since February without a break. As they are Nepalese Gurkhas rather than locals, they can't very well run into to town for a bite to eat and to catch a show. Despite what you might read in the London Times, the Nepalese are no more popular here than Westerners. In fact, in the case of security guards, even less so, since the locals assume that they're taking good jobs away from Afghans. Some truth to that, in my opinion.
Our client down south is a prominent (some might say notorious) U.S. private security company that has a contract to train the Afghan Border Police. Because of their past.....indiscretions (to put it mildly), they're not allowed to provide security at their own training facility, so they subcontract that to us. The problem is that the Gurkhas on-site were royally screwed by both their previous employer and the site management of the U.S. company. As a result, they trust no one anymore, including me. And, it should be pointed out that due to my company's total inability to manage our finances, these guys had not been paid in three months. Obviously, they're not in a happy place, literally or figuratively. So, it falls to me to bring them their back pay and try to convince them to stay on the job.*
*My hand in these negotiations is somewhat strengthened by the fact that they have no where else to go. If they stop working, they have to leave the relative security of the firebase. And since none of them have valid visas or work permits, they run the serious risk of being arrested and imprisoned by the Afghan police. If the Taliban doesn't get them first. Harsh, but true.
Two days of heated discussions, somewhat calmed by the dispensing of large amounts of cash, and we reach a tentative accord. They will go back to work at least until 15 January, and I get to head back to Kabul mission accomplished (sort of).
Now comes the tricky bit. How do I get home again?* That story in the next post.
*And yes I realize that referring to Kabul as "home" is a sign I've been here too long.
The March Up-Country
This post was supposed to go up back in November, but it's one of those that has been languishing in my Drafts folder. At the time, I thought this trip was pretty interesting, but all the traveling I've done since then makes this seem a little tame.
This is Suleiman and myself on the far side of the Salang Pass, near a place called Saripul. He's actually a very nice guy and not nearly as mean as he looks in this picture. We stopped for gas, and as you do at an Afghan gas station, took the opportunity to have a cigarette.
I realized this evening that I neglected to post the photos from my second trip a couple of weeks ago. The first one, a quick chopper flight down to Uruzgan is detailed here. The very next day, barely recovered from six hours in a somewhat dodgy Russian helicopter, I piled into a LandCruiser with three of my guys and drove up to Sheberghan.*
*For those unfamiliar with Afghanistan, Sheberghan is about an hour west of Mazar-i-Sharif, the major city in northern Afghanistan.
The drive was supposed to take about seven hours, but I knew better than to take a locals word for it. This is still a part of the world in which some people describe the length of a journey by reference to how many cigarettes you can smoke on the way. As in, "the drive to Jalalabad is a six-cigarette trip (i.e about three hours)."
Well, as I expected, we left almost two hours behind schedule and hit the morning traffic trying to get out of Kabul. As a result, we didn't get to the interesting bit of the trip until mid-morning. The interesting bit, specifically, is this:
Apologies for the crappy picture. I'm still trying to get the hang of using my new camera, and truth be told, I'll slightly reluctant to whip it out at every opportunity. Don't want the locals to take me for a tourist.
To be clear, when one drives the Salang Pass through the Hindu Kush, one doesn't really go through the mountains as much as one goes over the mountains. Sure, there are some tunnels* but basically navigating the pass consists of going up one side of the range to a ridiculous altitude and then back down the other side. All the while clinging for life to a narrow road scraped out of the side of the mountain while Afghan drivers compete to see who can be the craziest sonofabitch on the road.
*The tunnels in the Salang Pass (there are about half a dozen) are impressive feats of modern engineering. Sure, they're barely wide enough for one lane of traffic each way, they have no lights other than occasional holes blasted in the rock and they're constantly filled with a choking cloud of dust and diesel fumes, but still impressive nonetheless. Imagine a carnival-style Tunnel of Love, except with eight-ton trucks going both ways, zero visibility and no cheesy romantic music. Oh, and no women.
On the far side of the pass and after losing count of the number of times I cursed myself for not having an updated will, we stopped for lunch at a roadside chaikhana. The looks one gets as a Westerner walking into a place like that, especially with a Kalashnikov under one arm, can be disturbing. A mixture of hospitality, awe, fear and loathing, often in rapid succession on the same face. Fortunately, when you travel with armed guards and a pocketful of US greenbacks, there are few negative emotions that can't be overcome.
I'm pretty sure the kid behind me is trying to convince the kid over my left shoulder to make a grab for my wallet, but he's trying to figure how likely I am to use that Kalashnikov. My PSD insisted on snapping this picture while we waited for the driver to refuel the Land Cruiser. The somewhat pained expression on my face is a result of 1) my general dislike for having my picture taken, and 2) a mind whirling with serious doubts about the provenance of the lunch I just ate. Meat yes, goat probably, age indeterminate but certainly past the prime of his life.
Speaking of PSDs, mine for this trip was Suleiman, one of my best guys. He's a Panjshiri, which means he's a Tajik from the Panjshir Valley, a people with a well-deserved reputation for kicking the crap out of anyone who messes with them. The Panjshiris humiliated the Soviets for ten years, and then slapped the Taliban around for another ten. Not popular with most of the Pashtun Afghans, but utterly reliable fighters and their loyalty, once earned, is undying.*
*In Afghanistan, the concept of permanent loyalty is mostly nonexistent. As the saying goes, "you can never buy an Afghan's loyalty, but you can always rent it." This does not apply to Panjshiris.
This is Suleiman and myself on the far side of the Salang Pass, near a place called Saripul. He's actually a very nice guy and not nearly as mean as he looks in this picture. We stopped for gas, and as you do at an Afghan gas station, took the opportunity to have a cigarette.
After another five hours in the car (and about twenty more cigarettes), we finally pulled into Sheberghan around dinner-time. We had been talking about getting something to eat before we reached our ultimate destination. At one point, I mentioned that I like mantu, which is a sort of Afghan-style ravioli. This, as it turns out, was a bit of a tactical error, since the supervisor who was with us had thoughtfully phoned ahead to his family who lives in Sheberghan and asked them to prepare dinner for us and make sure that mantu was the main course.
Hospitality is very important here, and once the invitation was extended, I couldn't turn it down with causing offense. So, I soon found myself sitting on the floor (as one does here), having dinner with my guys, the entire extended family (males only) and a random collection of neighbors, strangers and a couple of shady characters. I'm pretty sure that at least two of these guys were Taliban who were in town on holiday. The mantu, however, was excellent.
After dinner, we dropped off our guys at the base where they'd be working, had some meetings with the site manager and the guards who were already there, and called it a day. Next morning, we got up and did the whole thing in reverse, without the mantu.
Wait, we have to cross that? Again?
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Flight to Nowhere
I've been fortunate enough to do a fair amount of traveling in the last week or so. It's always good to get out of Kabul (especially after the events of two weeks ago make the city seem considerably less safe), and I enjoy seeing different parts of the country, even if the scenery doesn't really change all that much.
The first trip was a quick, three hour helicopter ride down to Uruzgan Province.* Uruzgan is usually described as part of "southern" Afghanistan, like Helmand or Kandahar, but to my mind it's really part of central Afghanistan. Uruzgan is more mountainous than Helmand or Kandahar**, and it's also more sparsely populated. It's also the birthplace of Mullah Omar, the founder of the Taliban, so that tells you all you need to know about the attitude of the locals.
*At least this time the crew was largely sober. As usual, they were Russian pilots with a mixed Eastern European ground crew, but this group was considerably more professional than last time. Plus, the chopper started on the first try without anyone having to get on top and bang on the engine with a wrench.
**Not that one should make the mistake of thinking that Uruzgan's mountains are lush valleys of pine forests and clear mountain streams. It's basically high desert. Broadly speaking, in most of Afghanistan, there are two types of terrain. There's the desert (rocks on flat ground) and the mountains (rocks on sloped ground). Either way, it's rocks. And dust.
This is what Uruzgan looks like from the air:
I think you'll agree, not exactly inspiring scenery.
Two hours at the KAIA waiting for the bird, three hours flight time down and another three hours back, all for about forty-five minutes on the ground while the construction guys take soil samples and measure the depth of gullys. My job in all this (besides providing cigarettes to those expats who failed to bring their own) is to manage my guys while the pull security on the chopper and keep an eye out for locals.
Of course, as one would expect for a remote valley like the one we went to, the only locals around were the shepherds tending their herds of goats. Down in Uruzgan, just about everyone goes armed, even the shepherds. As long as they keep their distance and don't show too much interest, we don't mess with them. After all, before too long we might need to hire their cousins or sons to work on the project we're in Uruzgan to scout. Fortunately, they seem to take the same attitude. As long as we don't mess with their goats, they don't try to approach closer than about 300 meters. Any closer than that and things get real tense real fast.
The first trip was a quick, three hour helicopter ride down to Uruzgan Province.* Uruzgan is usually described as part of "southern" Afghanistan, like Helmand or Kandahar, but to my mind it's really part of central Afghanistan. Uruzgan is more mountainous than Helmand or Kandahar**, and it's also more sparsely populated. It's also the birthplace of Mullah Omar, the founder of the Taliban, so that tells you all you need to know about the attitude of the locals.
*At least this time the crew was largely sober. As usual, they were Russian pilots with a mixed Eastern European ground crew, but this group was considerably more professional than last time. Plus, the chopper started on the first try without anyone having to get on top and bang on the engine with a wrench.
**Not that one should make the mistake of thinking that Uruzgan's mountains are lush valleys of pine forests and clear mountain streams. It's basically high desert. Broadly speaking, in most of Afghanistan, there are two types of terrain. There's the desert (rocks on flat ground) and the mountains (rocks on sloped ground). Either way, it's rocks. And dust.
This is what Uruzgan looks like from the air:
And this is what it looks like on the ground:
I think you'll agree, not exactly inspiring scenery.Two hours at the KAIA waiting for the bird, three hours flight time down and another three hours back, all for about forty-five minutes on the ground while the construction guys take soil samples and measure the depth of gullys. My job in all this (besides providing cigarettes to those expats who failed to bring their own) is to manage my guys while the pull security on the chopper and keep an eye out for locals.
Of course, as one would expect for a remote valley like the one we went to, the only locals around were the shepherds tending their herds of goats. Down in Uruzgan, just about everyone goes armed, even the shepherds. As long as they keep their distance and don't show too much interest, we don't mess with them. After all, before too long we might need to hire their cousins or sons to work on the project we're in Uruzgan to scout. Fortunately, they seem to take the same attitude. As long as we don't mess with their goats, they don't try to approach closer than about 300 meters. Any closer than that and things get real tense real fast.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Poor Response
I was sitting in my new office this morning (not much better than the old office, but at least it's private) and I got a call from one of our project managers. As usual when they call me, it's to complain about something. In this instance, the complaint was about some salaries that, due to an accounting screw-up, had gone unpaid.
Not get paid is a serious deterrent to effective performance, so I sympathize with the PM and his guys. However, he was all bent out of shape and ranting (mostly in Urdu, which I do not speak), so I began to get frustrated. Eventually, I had to fall back on my time-honored response to this sort of debate, which is to say, "Hey, it's just business. Nobody dies, right?"
Except that.....ummmm.....yeah, people do actually die in this business.* I have a disturbing tendency to be a little too flippant for a place like Afghanistan.
*Just last week one of our competitors lost an entire team of convoy escorts when they ran out of ammo during an ambush down in Khost. That's just poor planning.
So, I guess I'm going to have to find a new catch-phrase response for when things aren't going right. The long, cold silence on the other end of the phone confirmed that for me.
Not get paid is a serious deterrent to effective performance, so I sympathize with the PM and his guys. However, he was all bent out of shape and ranting (mostly in Urdu, which I do not speak), so I began to get frustrated. Eventually, I had to fall back on my time-honored response to this sort of debate, which is to say, "Hey, it's just business. Nobody dies, right?"
Except that.....ummmm.....yeah, people do actually die in this business.* I have a disturbing tendency to be a little too flippant for a place like Afghanistan.
*Just last week one of our competitors lost an entire team of convoy escorts when they ran out of ammo during an ambush down in Khost. That's just poor planning.
So, I guess I'm going to have to find a new catch-phrase response for when things aren't going right. The long, cold silence on the other end of the phone confirmed that for me.
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