Thirty-six hours ago (Saturday morning), one of Operations Officers mentioned that there was fighting up north in Baghlan Province.
Yeah? And your point would be? There's hardly a province in Afghanistan that doesn't see some level of violence on a daily basis. Baghlan is by no means immune to that.
Except, here's the thing: the fighting was not between the Taliban and ISAF, or the Taliban and ANSF. So, was it Hezb-i-Islami Gulbuddin (HiG) fighting the government, or international forces? Nope.
Instead, Hezb-i-Islami Gulbuddin (HiG) had decided to duke it out with the Taliban, apparently over the rights to tax some isolated villages. (BBC story here).
When the bad guys start killing the bad guys, I make a point to stop whatever I'm doing and smile for a minute or two.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
Death Valley
Back in the States, Death Valley refers to the desert on the border of California and Nevada, the lowest point in the U.S. Here, when people refer to Death Valley, they usually mean either the Tagab or Alasay Valleys, or the Arghandab down south.**
*Full disclosure, we have recruited in the Tagab and Alasay valleys. They can become no-go areas for ISAF forces, but with the right contacts they can yield some very tough people willing to work in extremely dicey areas.
**Although, in a nod to a certain conflict in Southeast Asia, all of those are also sometimes referred to by local American forces as "Happy Valley."
However, it does have another meaning, Death Valley Magazine, an online repository for useful information, reviews of the latest gear and the occasional bit of humor or commentary. The homepage is here. Chock full of good advice (check out this bit on the Greyman). Written by a consortium of guys, so they are able to to post something every damn day. Something I haven't been able to manage (yet).
Perhaps too esoteric for people not actually involved in this business,* but worth a look if you spend time in the shitty bits of the world, or enjoy reading about those who do.
*How many people outside of the PSC world really need a review of the latest in tactical gear? Or knives?
*Full disclosure, we have recruited in the Tagab and Alasay valleys. They can become no-go areas for ISAF forces, but with the right contacts they can yield some very tough people willing to work in extremely dicey areas.
**Although, in a nod to a certain conflict in Southeast Asia, all of those are also sometimes referred to by local American forces as "Happy Valley."
However, it does have another meaning, Death Valley Magazine, an online repository for useful information, reviews of the latest gear and the occasional bit of humor or commentary. The homepage is here. Chock full of good advice (check out this bit on the Greyman). Written by a consortium of guys, so they are able to to post something every damn day. Something I haven't been able to manage (yet).
Perhaps too esoteric for people not actually involved in this business,* but worth a look if you spend time in the shitty bits of the world, or enjoy reading about those who do.
*How many people outside of the PSC world really need a review of the latest in tactical gear? Or knives?
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Hope Springs Eternal
In addition to being the one-year anniversary of my arrival in Kabul, Thursday the 4th of March is also an important day for reasons that have nothing to do with Afghanistan, COIN, Islamic fundamentalism or American foreign policy.
Yep, that's right, it's the first game of Spring Training for the Chicago Cubs!
At 1405 (that's 2:05 PM Central Time for those of you in the civilized world) today the Cubs take on the Oakland A's in glorious HoHoKam Stadium.*
*A fine stadium that I actually visited once, due to the over-indulgence of the former girlfriend** who was wise enough not to expect me to skip a visit to HoHoKam on a trip to Phoenix. It was August, so the Cubs weren't even in town then, but it was fabulous to go nonetheless. Somewhere, there are still some pictures of that day.
**I prefer the term "former girlfriend" as opposed to "ex-girlfriend" simply because of the negative connotations of the latter term. She, on the other hand, would probably prefer the "ex-" for reasons which should be obvious to anyone who knows me well.
Courtesy of the Daver over at View From the Bleachers, here's the projected starting line-up (for those who care):
h/t to VFTB.
Yep, that's right, it's the first game of Spring Training for the Chicago Cubs!
At 1405 (that's 2:05 PM Central Time for those of you in the civilized world) today the Cubs take on the Oakland A's in glorious HoHoKam Stadium.*
*A fine stadium that I actually visited once, due to the over-indulgence of the former girlfriend** who was wise enough not to expect me to skip a visit to HoHoKam on a trip to Phoenix. It was August, so the Cubs weren't even in town then, but it was fabulous to go nonetheless. Somewhere, there are still some pictures of that day.
**I prefer the term "former girlfriend" as opposed to "ex-girlfriend" simply because of the negative connotations of the latter term. She, on the other hand, would probably prefer the "ex-" for reasons which should be obvious to anyone who knows me well.
Courtesy of the Daver over at View From the Bleachers, here's the projected starting line-up (for those who care):
- Theriot SS- Always been a fan of "The Riot." Quick bat, quicker glove, has some trouble with consistency (and no serious power to speak of), but he's a gamer. Supposedly, the young phenom Starlin Castro will platoon at shortstop, which is good because we need to get an idea if this kid can really play.
- Kosuke RF- Still a fan of the "The Fuk" despite the fact that he didn't quite rise to the (unrealistic) expectations placed on him.
- DLee 1B- The old warhorse, somewhat more limited in his range now, with a nagging injury, but still one of the league's best firstbasemen, and a potentially game-changing bat.
- Aramis 3B- Also a little long in the tooth, but also one of the best third basemen in the game. Power, consistency, good range at the hot corner, the whole package. If 'Rami and DLee have the years they're both still capable of, we're going to the playoffs.
- Byrd CF- Don't know much about this guy, mostly 'cause I've been disconnected from the important things in life for more than a year. Good reports, we'll see.
- Colvin LF- Ditto. Colvin who?
- Fontenot 2B- Reminds me of Micky Morandini, the "Dandy Little Glove Man." Font is probably not that good (yet), but he's got talent.
- Soto C- We'll see if he can return to his rookie-of-the-year caliber season of a few years ago. Calls a good game for a young catcher.
- Wells RHP- Which Randy do we get this year? The "ooohh, that was nasty!" Randy, or the "Wow, he hit that really far!" Randy. Time will tell.
h/t to VFTB.
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.
365 Days
After I got back to my place tonight, stoked up the fire and poured my customary cup of days' end coffee, I suddenly realized that today, 4 March, is the one year anniversary of my arrival in Kabul. Since it's Thursday, and therefore tomorrow's on off-day (sort of), I promptly poured out the coffee and went for something stronger.
(Yes, I realize I should write some sort of One Year Retrospective Post or something, but I honestly can't think of what to write. Maybe something later this evening, depending on how fast my typing skills degrade.)
Not that there is any great reason to celebrate, but I thought I should mark the occassion somehow. Not in the mood to try and hit the town tonight, so I guess follow the immortal (and underrated) advice of George Thorogood and the Destroyers and "Drink Alone." After George sets the mood, perhaps some more classic 70's rock (Journey, Styx, Foreigner, maybe a selection of Skynyrd if I'm feeling particularly red-neckish).
Let's see, what do we have in the cigarette-and-liquor storage cabinet?
1) Two cartons of smokes- nice to know I won't run out, but not exactly what I'm looking for.
2) A pint of.........Chivas Regal?!? Really? It was a gift from The Godfather when he was in town recently. What does he think, I'm a pimp? Maybe I should get myself a big hat with a feather and a purple crushed velvet suit.
3) Yet another bottle (full) of Whyte and MacKay's Blended Scotch- Mssrs. Whyte and McKay have obviously not quite perfected the blender's art yet (despite being in business for over a century); not one of Glasgow's finer products.
4) The true prize, a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label- blended Scotch in general is not to my taste, but at least this is high-end blended (and quite hard to get nowadays in Kabul). Save that for later, I think.
So, I guess we start with the Chivas (and maybe some Curtis Mayfield or Barry White tunes to match, just to continue the pimp theme), and then move on the W&M's. If the bad guys blow something up tomorrow morning, I'm sleeping through it this time. Unless it's my front door, in which case I hope I can find my weapon and my pants before they get to the third floor.
Update: The Chivas is gone. Next step is the W&M's.
(Yes, I realize I should write some sort of One Year Retrospective Post or something, but I honestly can't think of what to write. Maybe something later this evening, depending on how fast my typing skills degrade.)
Not that there is any great reason to celebrate, but I thought I should mark the occassion somehow. Not in the mood to try and hit the town tonight, so I guess follow the immortal (and underrated) advice of George Thorogood and the Destroyers and "Drink Alone." After George sets the mood, perhaps some more classic 70's rock (Journey, Styx, Foreigner, maybe a selection of Skynyrd if I'm feeling particularly red-neckish).
Let's see, what do we have in the cigarette-and-liquor storage cabinet?
1) Two cartons of smokes- nice to know I won't run out, but not exactly what I'm looking for.
2) A pint of.........Chivas Regal?!? Really? It was a gift from The Godfather when he was in town recently. What does he think, I'm a pimp? Maybe I should get myself a big hat with a feather and a purple crushed velvet suit.
3) Yet another bottle (full) of Whyte and MacKay's Blended Scotch- Mssrs. Whyte and McKay have obviously not quite perfected the blender's art yet (despite being in business for over a century); not one of Glasgow's finer products.
4) The true prize, a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label- blended Scotch in general is not to my taste, but at least this is high-end blended (and quite hard to get nowadays in Kabul). Save that for later, I think.
So, I guess we start with the Chivas (and maybe some Curtis Mayfield or Barry White tunes to match, just to continue the pimp theme), and then move on the W&M's. If the bad guys blow something up tomorrow morning, I'm sleeping through it this time. Unless it's my front door, in which case I hope I can find my weapon and my pants before they get to the third floor.
Update: The Chivas is gone. Next step is the W&M's.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Dust and Mud
One thing have as yet been unable to figure out about Afghanistan (one among many things) is the atmospheric physics of this place. When it's warm and dry, the dust* is choking and pervasive, and when it rains that same dust turns to cloying, suffocating mud.
*Afghani dust is unlike any dust I have ever encountered. It's not the yellow cake of the Middle East, more wind-blown sand than dust, and it's not the gritty, gravelly dust of the American Southwest.** It's not the stinging, pulverized rock of North Africa, like invisible spirits are throwing tiny fistfulls of gravel in your face. And it's not the white, pulverized limestone of certain Mediterranean islands that coats everything like flour.*** Afghani dust (or khaak-baad in Dari) is a sui generis element, distinct in both form and function from any other type. Geologists should come here just to study the dust.
**The dust of the American Southwest, in my limited experience, is more akin to flying dirt. Admittedly, "my limited experience" consists of having to consume a slice of wedding cake that was positively black with the stuff during a particularly ill-advised and windswept outdoor Western-themed wedding in Arizona.
***And yes I know that paragraph makes me sound like quite the world-traveler, but I can assure you that is not the case. Those four examples constitute the all-too-short and near-comprehensive list of all the interesting places I have ever been. Well, not counting Arizona obviously. Arizona is not all that interesting.
The dichotomy between dust and mud here is perennial and all encompassing. No corner of this country (at least not one I've found thus far) is immune to the twin effects of these two elements, which are really no more than the solid and semi-liquid form of each other. Sort of the yin and yang of the dirt family.
But the thing I can't figure out is the behavior of the crucial element in the dust/mud equation, namely water. Specifically, it never seems to evaporate. It must, or else there wouldn't so much dust in the summer months. And any quick survey will show that, despite Afghan claims to the contrary, this is not a country well-endowed with water resources.* It is largely an arid, dessicated place.
*Afghans living in certain areas will proudly point at their pathetic little mountain streams barely scraping out a channel in the rocks and extol the virtues of "their river" and the bountiful harvest it will bring. Obviously, they have never seen the Mississippi River valley or the rich, black soil of the American Midwest. If you took an Afghan farmer from Helmand to Illinois to see the farms there, he'd probably shit himself, praise Allah and die.
Nevertheless, water seems to evaporate only extremely reluctantly, and over time-spans measured in days for even the smallest puddles. Simple condensation in the bathroom will take the whole day to disappear, and even then leave the bathroom floor slick and wet.*
*I know, 'cause I fall down a lot. And not always because of the whisky.
With so little moisture in the atmosphere, one would think that water would evaporate nearly immediately, sucked greedily into the air to redistribute it's value somewhere else. But no, mostly it just sits in pools in my bathroom, puddles on the kitchen counter, small lakes and trenches in the street. Waiting for an unwary victim to slip, or be splashed with the foul slop that lurks near the curb. If one could gather all that useless, standing water and dump it somewhere, maybe Afghanistan could actually attain that fabled agricultural excellence the locals are always claiming is their birthright.
Yeah, I'm a little obsessive about the water (and the dust, and the mud). Not an healthy obsession, I realize, but if you knew what was in the water here you'd be worried about it too.
*Afghani dust is unlike any dust I have ever encountered. It's not the yellow cake of the Middle East, more wind-blown sand than dust, and it's not the gritty, gravelly dust of the American Southwest.** It's not the stinging, pulverized rock of North Africa, like invisible spirits are throwing tiny fistfulls of gravel in your face. And it's not the white, pulverized limestone of certain Mediterranean islands that coats everything like flour.*** Afghani dust (or khaak-baad in Dari) is a sui generis element, distinct in both form and function from any other type. Geologists should come here just to study the dust.
**The dust of the American Southwest, in my limited experience, is more akin to flying dirt. Admittedly, "my limited experience" consists of having to consume a slice of wedding cake that was positively black with the stuff during a particularly ill-advised and windswept outdoor Western-themed wedding in Arizona.
***And yes I know that paragraph makes me sound like quite the world-traveler, but I can assure you that is not the case. Those four examples constitute the all-too-short and near-comprehensive list of all the interesting places I have ever been. Well, not counting Arizona obviously. Arizona is not all that interesting.
The dichotomy between dust and mud here is perennial and all encompassing. No corner of this country (at least not one I've found thus far) is immune to the twin effects of these two elements, which are really no more than the solid and semi-liquid form of each other. Sort of the yin and yang of the dirt family.
But the thing I can't figure out is the behavior of the crucial element in the dust/mud equation, namely water. Specifically, it never seems to evaporate. It must, or else there wouldn't so much dust in the summer months. And any quick survey will show that, despite Afghan claims to the contrary, this is not a country well-endowed with water resources.* It is largely an arid, dessicated place.
*Afghans living in certain areas will proudly point at their pathetic little mountain streams barely scraping out a channel in the rocks and extol the virtues of "their river" and the bountiful harvest it will bring. Obviously, they have never seen the Mississippi River valley or the rich, black soil of the American Midwest. If you took an Afghan farmer from Helmand to Illinois to see the farms there, he'd probably shit himself, praise Allah and die.
Nevertheless, water seems to evaporate only extremely reluctantly, and over time-spans measured in days for even the smallest puddles. Simple condensation in the bathroom will take the whole day to disappear, and even then leave the bathroom floor slick and wet.*
*I know, 'cause I fall down a lot. And not always because of the whisky.
With so little moisture in the atmosphere, one would think that water would evaporate nearly immediately, sucked greedily into the air to redistribute it's value somewhere else. But no, mostly it just sits in pools in my bathroom, puddles on the kitchen counter, small lakes and trenches in the street. Waiting for an unwary victim to slip, or be splashed with the foul slop that lurks near the curb. If one could gather all that useless, standing water and dump it somewhere, maybe Afghanistan could actually attain that fabled agricultural excellence the locals are always claiming is their birthright.
Yeah, I'm a little obsessive about the water (and the dust, and the mud). Not an healthy obsession, I realize, but if you knew what was in the water here you'd be worried about it too.
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."
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