Jenn's Lenz
Sometimes I have a thought to share… sometimes a photo to accompany that thought. More often than not, images will stand alone. If I'm silent for too long–please send coffee!A birthday reflection…
Life is short and I honestly believe we have a choice in how we live it. If we’re able to comprehend a negative resulting in a positive, I believe we are a product of our environments. If we’re able to learn from others mistakes, I believe we’re surrounded by valuable lessons. If we’re able to own our choices, I believe we’re stronger for it, even if they’re not the best.
I’ve resigned myself not to dwell on the memories I don’t have, or the dozens of birthdays I didn’t celebrate with her.
She taught me at a young age (without any specific words) that my brother was the most important person in my small world. I still look up to him. She taught me to read the year Eric started school. I never stopped. She taught me to write while he was away at kindergarten too, and much like her, I take comfort in letting my words fill the pages.
It used to annoy me to read her letters because her script was so much like my own. When I outgrew the anger I realized it was my script which emulated hers.
It embarrassed me when she’d strike up a conversation with a complete stranger or speak to the waitress like they were old friends–then I realized I do that too and damn it all if we didn’t both get that from Grandma. Don’t tell Eric, but he does the same thing.
She loved plants and had the ability to make anything grow–and here I am in Afghanistan thinking the only thing I’d like to add to my work space… is a plant.
I could go on but it would read like a dissertation on nurture vs nature.
Some of the greatest lessons I learned in life were from my mom, sadly, because of her absence. Some of the angriest thoughts I ever had were about my mom, even in her absence. Some of the greatest love I’ve ever experienced was from my mom, even in her absence.
She should have turned 55 today.
Happy Birthday, Mom.
We love you.
John 14:1-5
The music only I can hear…
One of the best things about the ‘Ville is the commute. To anything. Be it the dining facility (which I’ve developed a love hate relationship with), the office—steps away from my bedroom door, or the gym.
I’ve developed the habit of working out at lunch time. The problem with that is I end up skipping the meal and by dinner I’m so hungry I give in to the DFAC’s charms. Then, even if I’m selective about what I choose, I’m often tortured by it sometime around midnight. (they, um, they have different hygiene standards at the DFAC than I’m used to.)
That’s not what I’m writing about though.
Today Staff Sergeant X and Staff Sergeant F pointed out if I went to the gym earlier I could work out and recover in time to make it to lunch.
Perfect.
So I changed over, skipped to the gym and found an open treadmill. All but one were available because SURPRISE! No one works out at 11 a.m.
Except for that one dude who keeps looking over and smiling a knowing smile. Seriously? Why is he smiling at me. Determined to ignore him I turned the music louder.
Fast forward and I’m 30 minutes into a hard run and suddenly SSG X is standing next left side of my treadmill just staring at me. Yes, for those of you who know me, I was so startled I almost fell OFF the machine. He stood there cracking up and SSG F tapped my right shoulder. Perplexed, I removed my headphones.
Red-faced and sweating from his own workout he leaned against the treadmill and, in his thick Alabama drawl said, “Ginny, we’re only tellin’ you this because we love you—“ I cut in and said, “Are these pants that bad ?”
“No, Ginny, the pants look fahn—but you need to know that while you’re here singing at the top of your lungs it just doesn’t sound the same to those of us who can’t hear the music. If you look around the gym here you’ll see you’re the only one who can hear the songs you’re singin’ to and all we kin hear is YOU.”
Mortified, I looked over at SSG X who just stood there laughing silently and nodding his head. “Wurd.”
They laughed and went back to their workouts and I suddenly realized why the dude was smiling at me earlier.
I’d been making an absolute fool of myself.
(in a sing song voice)
And I raa-aann, I ran so far awaaaaaay…
I hope something makes you laugh half as hard as I did today.
~jh~
A quiet morning and a grim reminder.
I haven’t written since I left Dubai. Not for lack of things to say; more for a lack of time. That and, well, day to day life here isn’t anything I can photograph. Which is fine since the ‘Ville changed their wireless rules and we can’t upload photos or stream video anymore. (how’s that for a sentence fragment?)
So it’s Feb 25 and I’m nearing the end of my second month here in Afghanistan. Haven’t hiked recently, no trips to fancy malls to tell you about and 92.4 percent of my day involves things I can’t talk about.
What to write, what to write… oh, yes. I discovered something about Fridays. If I show up at 8 a.m. when everyone else isn’t in the office, it’s blissfully quiet. Even the few people who showed up this morning about 10:00 seemed to respect the serenity.
I’d forgotten what it was like to work in a calm, quiet environment. Much of the day there are two televisions playing (about 15 feet from my desk.) One is usually BBC, CNN or Al Jazeera and the other is local broadcasting.
For those of you who think American soap operas are bad I challenge you to endure anything created in Bollywood. In addition to the TVs there are many people in one large room with endless cross conversations, a Sergeant who plays the guitar at his desk (which I enjoy, good thing too; he sits next to me) a few Me Monsters who have to join and subsequently one-up every conversation, numerous phone lines and a few sets of desk top speakers. Somehow it all makes sense and a tremendous amount of work gets accomplished but my oh my the noise.
So this morning I took advantage of the quiet, brewed a wicked strong cup (ok, I brewed a pot) of Café Bustelo (thanks, Jim and Tammy) caught up on personal correspondence and finished a project.
If the e-mail weather reports are correct, I’m having better weather here in Kabul than my friends on both Coasts. We had a bit of snow a few weeks ago and I took advantage of the chance to break out my galoshes. They were, well, um, let’s just say no one saw that coming. Here’s a shot of me tromping back from the gym.
That's right, I brought galoshes to Afghanistan. This whole 'blog' thing has forced me to be in FRONT of the camera more than usual.
<insert a monologue about what we DO here>
Wednesday afternoon chaos seemed to break out in our work space as one of the female Soldiers ran down the hall screaming for the Doc. Once things calmed down it was revealed one of the Soldiers fainted. It seems he was reviewing a video from a few years back (open source though I won’t elaborate or include the link) and he actually passed out as a result of the horrific images.
While some of the other guys ribbed him for being ‘weak’ it struck me differently. I’m glad, in today’s environment, with all they’ve been exposed to before they’re 21, these men and women still have a semblance of compassion. If the video hadn’t impacted him, I might have been concerned.
Speaking of video, there was an attack in J’bad recently. The bad guys (I intentionally left the name out of the blog; prefer I don’t show up when someone Googles that) dressed as good guys and massacred people (who happened to be uniformed service members of a local variety) in a bank while they were there to collect their paycheck. Death toll was 40+ and 70 or so more people were injured.
The thing that struck me, yet again, was the ambivalence. Perhaps that’s the wrong word, and maybe apathy doesn’t apply either, but the shooting lasted a long time and no one stopped it. People walked past him, and ran past him, but no one ran AT him. It was preplaced IEDs that finally ended the shooting. I still don’t understand
I spoke to a Soldier last night who was reviewing the footage. I overheard a coworker chastise her for having an emotional response to the imagery. He told her to “not take it personally and not be a girl.” I reminded her if she wasn’t impacted by the imagery something was wrong. I implored her not to be ashamed of her response but to let the emotion fuel her in her tasks so she might make a difference in this grand scheme of things.
And so. Sorry for the gloomy post. Afghanistan is, after all, at war.
It isn’t all bad though, and I feel fortunate to be here contributing in my own small way.
I think I mentioned the Ghurkas who stand post at our gate. They're awesome. Always motivated even when it's 10 at night and snowing. "Namaste, Ma'am." I give them treats from my care packages. Yes, Duarte, I'm wearing a Freebirds t-shirt.
Yesterday was great, by the way. Thanks for that.
Proverbs 1:33
~jh~
Burj Khalifa-because I told Alec I would go to the top of the tallest building in the world.
Back in late December when I had dinner at their house (thanks again, Carole and Roger for the hospitality) I mentioned the possibility of snowboarding in Dubai and Alec dtold me Dubai was also home to the tallest building in the world. It is. You can read about it here. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burj_Khalifa
Just like the sign says. Ironically, I had the taxi drop me off here only to find out I had to buy the ticket to enter from... inside the Dubai Mall. I'm kinda mall'd out at this point.
I’m never going to see any of these people again so I had no qualms about asking a stranger to take my photo (and instructing him on HOW to do it. “I’m gonna need you to kind of lay on the ground and shoot up towards the sky… thaaaaaanks. No, down a bit more. Can you see the top of the tower? Uh, ok. There you go.”)
Hardly a flattering shot but you get the picture.
I’d heard someone mention buying tickets in advance but didn’t pay it any mind. Until I arrived and the sign said ‘sold out.’
Of course they're sold out. Lets see what the "limited immediate entry" tickets cost.
I grimaced as I paid four times the price of the NORMAL entry ticket (purchased in advance, of course) so I could ride to the top of the tower. When I entered the queue the sign said ‘Wednesday tickets on sale.’ When I reached the counter they were selling tickets for Friday. I asked her if the trip was worth the inflated cost of an ‘immediate entry’ ticket. Her response? ”It’s cheaper than a return flight to Dubai…”
Thank you. Here are my 400 Dhs. This makes my trip to ‘the top’ the single mot expensive thing (dental aside) I did while I was in Dubai. Hence the numerous photos…
Must say, they made the line for the elevator to the top very interesting and informative.
This hologram kept me engaged for a few minutes while I tried to grab the photo I wanted. Grrr… point and shoot camera. Pfffft!
Click on the picture. The timeline on the left details the construction of the tower.
This shot has NOTHING to do with the tower. Except that it was a picture INSIDE the tower.
I only took a picture of this picture to say the falcon in MY picture the other day was prettier.
This is the line for the elevator ride to the observation deck on the 124th floor.
Ah, yes. Tourism is alive and well in Dubai.
The ride to the top was unbelievably fast. I was deep in conversation with a fellow passenger when she pointed out we’d gone 100 floors and her ears hadn’t popped. Nice! Mine either.
There's the city. Those towers all look huge from the street.
More of the view. Brrr... the wind came up. And I didn't remember until I got into the taxi that I had a jacket in my bag.
The view was astounding. It was prettier as the sun faded and the buildings lit up.
See?
So much different with lights.
See the lights on the fountain? Yeah, I hardly could either. It was getting too cold to hang out up top though...
For a pint sized tourist this kid had a LOT of camera...
I was in awe of the floor. Cedar planks, well oiled and it smelled like cedar. I realize that's redundant but they actually smelled. like. cedar. The whole place (observation tower and Dubai in general) was remarkably clean.
Other than the view I did a bit of people watching. I’m struck, as is often the case, how remarkably similar we all are despite the cultural differences.
This baby started crying as soon as her mama handed her to daddy. Poor guy walked in circles rocking and singing while Jr. seemed to take advantage of the free moments.
She stopped crying when I started talking to her. She looks scared, though. Beautiful eyes.
This is 'At the Top." No, seriously. The sign says, "At the Top."
Please don’t any of you hold your breath… I DID NOT plug $50-$1,000 into this tourist trap to buy a souvenir piece of gold. Shoes for a two year old, maybe. Camels for everyone I know under the age of 12? Sure. But a piece of gold from an ATM? Hunh uh…
Sorry, Dubai. That's over the top. Even for me.
There you have it. I spent my last afternoon/evening in Dubai being a tourist. Dentist is done and I’m headed back to Kabul tomorrow. Insha’Allah, the flight is on time and all goes well.
Thought I'd close with my shoes. Have I mentioned they're awesome?
It’s 0200 here and I’m packed and going to catch a few hours sleep while most of you prep to watch the Superbowl. I hope you eat too much, have a great time with friends and family, stay warm and may the best Pack win! (That’s for you, AnitaRae!)
~jh~
Elevator faux pas…
Had to share…
Dr. Zahl fitted me with a temporary bridge on Thursday. It looks and feels like the final product but it isn’t. Since then, every time I get in the lift (read: elevator) at the hotel I spend a good 45 seconds in the mirror. Like a fool. Smiling, baring my teeth, grinning, sneering, opening my lips as wide as I can like an orangoutang…
You know. Just admiring my new teeth.
Well, this morning when I stopped at the reception desk to drop off my laundry (did I really only bring TWO pairs of pants including the pair I had on?) Ronny, the uber polite kid at the front desk said, “Miss Jennie, come see.”
A bit alarmed, I followed him behind the desk to the office spaces. I’d had them scan a copy of my CAC card yesterday so I could email it to my HRO manager back in Kabul and my first thought was, “Tell me no one did anything untoward with my ID…”
Ah, no.
Ronny proudly showed me a wall of flat screen monitors displaying what appeared to be closed circuit television. To include the one with the feed from the lift.
With several other employees standing there he said, with a serious face, “Miss Jennie, we think you are a very nice lady and Miss Jennie, we too think you have very pretty teeth…”
If ever I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me away, this was it.
Just had my almost final appointment. Tomorrow is the day.
No pictures. Yet.
~jh~
A semblance of adventure in the Sahara
A coworker suggested I look into a desert adventure while I’m here in Dubai. I looked online. They seemed kind of cheesy. So I promptly booked one. I mean, what’s NOT to love about four wheeling in the desert, riding a camel, eating outside and watching fire throwers and belly dancers?
I’d forgotten what happens when you book a trip or anything for “1.” You typically get lumped in with an existing crowd. In this case, there were 15 extended family members. The driver picked me up first and at their hotel the father (I think) said, “No English? Noooo problem!”
I rode with an excitable family. They made the four wheeling entertaining with their sound effects. I think they also fueled the driver's attempts to scare them.
The driver, Sam (pronounced sOm) stopped to release some of the air pressure and opened the Landcruiser doors and said, “Take Pictures” before we ventured out into our corner of the 3,630,000 sq miles that make up the Sahara Desert.
- Cracked up (and joined in) as everyone scrambled to take as many pictures as possible.
I snapped a few shots for one of the couples and she obliged when I asked her to do the same for me. In fact, she choreographed the shots.
I stood there and smiled while trying to keep my scarf under control. She said, "You stand boring. Move arms like this."
And so I did.
And, funny enough, I like this shot better!
We spent about 45 minutes with Sam trying to kill us (or at least trying to scare the wits out of the teenagers in the back.)
This was the first hill we climbed. And then slid down sideways at a less than comfortable yet somehow exhilarating rate of descent.
This next shot is pretty… unsettling. This is a close up of the sand. I had the chance to snap this shot because we came so close to rolling. On my side. Ahem. Not nearly as fun as it was when I was 21.
Just a bit too close for comfort.
He was actually a skilled driver and I enjoyed it.
That is right until we caught air going over this ridge line and then scraped the undercarriage on the next one.
We stopped again for more photos.
I crawled around on my stomach for these next few shots. Totally worth it.
Hard to capture it in a photo but it was simply beautiful.
We made our way over to the ‘camp’ (along with the other 1,000 people who’d apparently signed up for the tour) and, in the true spirit of tourism, I waited in line to ride a camel. (I’ve ridden one once before; Gram and I did. At the Albuquerque Zoo. This wasn’t much different. Except it was in the Sahara Desert.
He stood up before I was fully in the saddle. Thanks, Romeo. What? Oh, I named him.
Doesn’t he LOOK like a sweetheart?
Like the muzzle? It's to prevent them from spitting. Gram, if you're bored, I can get the measurements and you can start a side business. Ellie's Camel Muzzles...
We rode in a circle. Like complete tourists. Here’s proof.
I handed my camera to someone from my group and she was like a personal paparazzi!
Can’t post without a shot of a ‘local’ so here’s one more of Romeo and his handler.
I'm not trying to sit on him. Dang camel threw his shoulder into my, um, behind as I stood there for a photo.
Next it was a trip into the village with souvenirs (no thanks) henna body painting (huh uh) a few dance routines and then dinner.
It was curious (to me, anyhow) the dancer was a man and he was wearing a skirt. Several layers of skirts, actually. They were part of the routine. Eh...
And there was a falcon.
Remember, I'm a T-O-U-R-I-S-T. So I paid 10 Dhs to hold the falcon. Don't his feathers compliment my scarf, um, I mean, isn't it a beautiful bird?
Dinner was… good. It was an outdoor buffet but I enjoyed the hummus and rice… because they were soft and I was hungry. I’m in no danger of starving but it still hurts to chew.
Added this mostly because I want credit one day when the whole "you never eat at buffets" argument comes up. See? I did? And it's OUTSIDE. <gulp>
And so, there you have it. Today I rode a camel, held a falcon and ate at an outdoor buffet. (with absolutely no hand washing facilities in sight and I was in line behind 30 people who also rode a camel…) Oh. And I’ve been wearing my Vibrams Five Fingers everywhere. Most comfortable shoes I’ve ever owned.
Had to do it. These shoes are amazing.
There you have it, friends.
I hope you’re well and warm wherever you’re reading this.
Be careful; camels spit.
~jh~
Dubai Mall, dentist day four and time to explore
On Tuesday, after two trips to the dentist and once across town to the lab for (humbling) before and after photos I spent the evening (all of it) at the Dubai Mall. I’ll be honest; my quest for a Starbucks mug (and a macchiatto, since I’m being honest) is what led me to the mall initially. Ironically enough, we passed three Starbucks on the way to the Mall… one was even walking distance from my hotel. Or so it seemed. That’s another story for another day.
And so I made my way to the Dubai Mall and was immediately overwhelmed by the enormity and the grandeur of it all. I’ve learned Dubai does nothing half way. Everything shined like… well gold and silver. There was no trash anywhere. In fact, as I try and picture it now, there were no trash cans in plain view either.
I was struck by how Westernized the mall was despite being filled with Muslims. Make no mistake, there were tourists everywhere. I had to laugh when, while looking down from the third floor terrace of Starbucks I suddenly saw no less than 100 non Arab, mostly blonde shoppers walk into view. At the table next to me the Argentinian woman having coffee with her mother-in-law caught my surprised expression and said, “Si. touristas. They come altogether een a bus.”
Hahah. Made me think of my reluctance to shop at Cabazon… purely because of the tour bus phenomenon.
The difference here is striking. Dubai Mall swallowed up the crowd of one hundred and, while I’m sure there were thousands of shoppers it never actually felt crowded.
I still couldn’t eat properly but I found a cafe at Bloomingdale’s with free wi-fi, a waiter willing to plug my new camera in to the wall to charge for a few hours and there I sat, chatting with friends on FB and Google and watching the world walk by and drinking 30 Dhs worth of bottled water, of course.
Thats actually where I wrote the blog about the dentist. As I write this I’m on my way back to the dentist. Yes, Kamey, I’m writing on my MacBook while riding in the backseat of a speeding Taxi. I LOVE MY SEABANDS, thank you! After the dentist today I’m headed to Burj Khalifa. I told Alec and Max I’d visit the worlds tallest building and, since I’ve marked snowboarding in Dubai off my list for practical reasons, I’m going to ride the elevator to the observation tower on level 124!
The taxi ride, btw, is a result of moving to a less expensive hotel. I’m at the Marriott now… but it’s in the Suburbs of Abu Dahbi. That means it’s a 100 Dhs ride away from the dentist. Not sure it was the wisest choice but it’s done.
All of the adverts include images of Westerners. I tried to capture the local essence to show the contrast; without being obvious of course. (“hey, you in the black thing, will ‘ya smile for mah camera?”)
Can you imagine? It’s THREE STORIES worth of Bloomies! Meg, I understand now why you are in love with (the idea of) Dubai. Whenever I write “Bloomies” I feel like I fell into the pages of a Shopaholic book...
Had to take this shot for Grandma; it’s as close to Bloomingdale's as I’ll be in my lifetime. Did I mention I’m the MOST UNDERDRESSED person in this entire mall? The women in burkas (with their awesome shoes and ornate make-up) look fancier than I do in my jeans and DC Kickball t-shirt.
That’s right, people. The mall has an aquarium. And an ‘underwater zoo.’
They are pretty serious about shoes 'round here. I counted 63 shoe stores (in the mall guide, I din't actually walk through the mall with a pen and paper) and they were ALL quite fancy!
Alright, they weren't ALL fancy shoes, but I couldn't SKIP photographing the Crocs store!
Had to shoot this one. My last trip to Claire's (and first in years) was in November with Kam. Searched forever for the 'right red flower' to wear in my hair at the Marine Corps Ball. I am, after all, my grandmother's granddaughter. Captured local shoppers for the contrast.
This is as close as I got to the Swarovski store. I mean, I fall in the shower; can you imagine the havoc I'd wreak in THIS place? "Hello, ChinaShop, it's Bull calling."
Without the Keffiyeh (the headdress) this could be Tyson's Corner or the South Coast Plaza.
Can you hear it whispering my name?
Jennie… Jennie… Jennie…
At first I thought something was lost in translation in the naming process. Nope. It's a BBQ chain in Australia. Smelled divine, whatever the name. And my sore mouth and I just walked on by...
I wouldn't know a Jimmy Choo shoe (ha) if you stepped on me with it... but the store is awfully pretty!
I have two Coach bags. One I bought in SoHo years ago from a really hurried guy on a street corner and the other is an exquisite clutch Kamey gave me. I'm certain ONE of them is the real thing.
Oh, I'm sorry. Did I already MENTION the shoes? (giggling) It's a good thing I'm in town to buy TEETH and not shoes...
Mrs. Potter should get a kick out of this one!
Same store, different sign.
This is me. At Starbucks. If I look like I spent three hours at the dentist, took a nap and then walked in the humidity and high winds for 20 blocks before hailing a taxi... it’s because I did. Oh, and they confiscated my hair gel at the Kabul airport. “Dude, anything but my gel” didn’t translate well. =)
And so. I’m done with the dentist until Saturday afternoon. Then it’s two more appointments on Sunday and back to Kabul.
My mouth is still somewhat numb but I can feel the dull throb at the injection sites and I’ve stopped drooling. Time to explore Dubai.
Sitting here in the cafe, the only woman without a burka, while the situation in Egypt unfolds on the television in front of me makes me tremendously appreciate of my birthright, my citizenship, my right to vote and above all the ability to worship without persecution.
~jh~
To Dubai, to Dubai to the Dentist I…went.
Did I mention I went to the dentist… in Dubai? No? Right. Sorry then, let’s catch up. What? Ah, yes. The accent. It seems I’m channelling Dr. Zahl; he’s a Dubai born, London schooled, American Dental Association Certified Prosthedontist with an accent straight from Bollywood. And he’s currently the man in my life. Sorry Mike; it’s only temporary. (he’s 64, you’re safe) Let me explain.
The showers at the ‘Ville are treacherous to climb in and out of. The ledge of the tub is about 4 inches higher than my knees. There are handles suction-cupped to the inside of the shower but the suction gives way frequently and they’re placed too high for me to see the 1/4 inch tab that switches from green to red when the suction is gone (or is it red to green?) and , well, yeah.
Those of you who know me know it was only a matter of time until I fell getting in or out of the shower. I considered boycotting the whole process but gave up on the idea after about a week. (kidding, I’m just kidding)
I am pleased with myself for shipping a set of bath rugs from home; I believe it’s what kept me from falling on the way OUT of the shower.
I’ll spare you the details lest I provide a less than suitable visual but I slipped. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t overly painful and the blood loss was minimal but the end result was a cracked molar, a broken bridge and a bruised jaw with matching bruised ego.
When I finally mentioned it at work the response was, “Yeah, people fall in these showers all the time…” Hmmm. Ok.
The suggested course of action was to fly out for dental care while the coworker I’m replacing is still in Kabul. (and can do my job in my absence) I heart Ashlea!
And so after days of research (while waiting for my travel documents to be arranged) I discovered a private clinic in Dubai who responded to my e-mail inquiries in perfect English, answered no less than 16 questions in the span of three days and assured me they had room on their schedule to see me this week AND could complete the entire process inside of seven days.
I flew from Kabul to Dubai Monday; arrived 45 minutes late (because the plane left 45 minutes late because the airport gates OPENED 45 minutes late) and just 45 minutes before my Noon appointment. After an hour consultation (which included me giving an oral history of my cleft repair; they’re always intrigued by the INSIDE of my mouth) we agreed on a treatment plan and I set out to find my hotel, stow my luggage have a quick shower.
Funny side story here. The room key didn’t work. The housekeeping staff let me in. (I was too tired to ride 21 floors down and get a new key) For the life of me I couldn’t figure out why the bathroom lights shut off every 90 seconds. After switching it back on twice –while showering– I resigned myself to showering in the dark. I mentioned it to the consigliere on my way back to the dentist and he said, “The lights are activated by the room key, madame.” Ah, yes. I was JUST going to ask for a new key…
Then it was back to the dentist for… well, not torture but something close. It involved eight injections and four drill bits. (he replaced them as he wore them down) It made sense to me to leave Dubai with everything matching and in order so I ended up opting for a bit more work than just replacing the area I damaged in the fall.
I made it back to the hotel despite being so swollen and numb I was unable to speak. (I’d printed the hotel name and address and the dentist’s name and address on 3×5 cards before I left Kabul so, worst case scenario, all I had to do was point when I found a taxi. This served me well Monday night.)
You’ll pardon me if there are no photos; it’s not pretty. Trust me.
It’s Tuesday evening and I’ve had four appointments, a trip to the lab and I tonight I made my way to the Dubai Mall. But that’s a whole ‘nother story…
Make sure you floss before you go to bed tonight.
New teeth aren’t cheap.
~jh~
Total 'loser cam' shot using iPhoto. I'm sitting in the Forty Carrots cafe at Bloomingdale's in the Dubai Mall waiting for my camera to charge.
Nothing new from me. Instead, here is today’s local headline.
It’s disheartening to read the quote from the Afghan policeman who “heard but didn’t go inside to see what was going on.”
I didn’t leave the ‘Ville today. I am safe as are all of the men and women here at the Task Force.
When you’re praying for our men and women in uniform pray the people of Afghanistan will develop the will to help themselves…
I promised not to be political. So I won’t.
~jh~
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-south-asia-12307463 Click here to read the headline.
The range, the rounds and a renewed perspective.
I accepted the invitation to go to the range with the Task Force and I must say; it was a range like no other. TFC (remember him) gave a convoy brief.
I rode with Greg, one of the few contractors I’m comfortable leaving the wire with. He’s a reservist, SOF (special operations forces) guy who is always armed, drives like he’s Mafia and has a family in Florida he’s determined to see again. All of that to say, I’m safe when Greg’s driving.
So we left for the range at 0730. It was out past Ghar Mountain. Once we were aboard Kabul Military Training Center we left the paved road (paved is a subjective term) and headed deep into the training area. I was again struck by how much the place resembled the Combat Center.
Please ignore the dirty window; you can't roll them down in an up armored vehicle. This was one scene on the way to the shooting area.
These structures seem to be left over from a village.
In addition to these we saw actual occupied dwellings, some tents, some mud like these, along the road. Seems KMTC was placed in a less populated area, not an uninhabited area. The packs of feral dogs were a nice touch. We didn’t stop for pictures but part of our safety brief included instructions to shoot any dog that was close enough to pose a threat. Um…
Once we got to the ‘range area’ I understood a bit more. We actually brought wood and paper targets… and commenced to building our own.
Taaaaargets, get all your targets... taped to the board.
As we unloaded the gear for the targets SSG K asked where the ammo was. That set off the TFC with a string of things I won’t repeat here. It was quickly determined no one packed the actual rounds. You know I laughed out loud as I helped unload everything we needed for building targets.
Someone went back to get the ammo (which meant two vehicles and four people made a 70 minute round trip back to where we’d started. I turned to taking photos once the gear was unloaded.
That's TFC wielding the hammer (and swearing at anyone who will listen) as we set up the target line.
A stack of pallets, roll of medical tape, targets, and some patience and viola! we have a target line.
Our safety brief’d included the requirement for Soldiers to stand guard the entire time we were on the range for the sole purpose of keeping children from interfering with the training and or getting hurt. Specifically we needed to keep hem away from the vehicles (they’d steal anything they could carry away) and the firing line (they collect the spent brass casings and sell them.
Before you ask why children were on a range let me remind you of the homes we passed on the way in. In addition to the scattered dwellings there was a village ‘just over that hill and kids’ll come up out of the ground like spiders.’ Sounds bad but it’s an apt description. I didn’t photograph any of the kids because, as SSG K said ‘once they see we have a white woman here with us they won’t go away.’
Remember, it was a live fire range; not a meet and greet with the locals. Sure enough, the soldiers on the perimeter had to stay alert and constantly shoo the kids away. They pushed the limits and I noticed a group of kids standing within reach of one of the younger Soldiers.
They were actually touching the equipment he was wearing… so SSG K approached and told them, in Pashto, to go away. One of the braver boys responded, in Pashto, and told SSG K to go away. (I laughed again but on the inside this time) SSG K used a few strategically placed three round bursts to make his point and, for the rest of the day all he had to do was look in the direction of a crowd who’d moved too close and they immediately dispersed. (We brought a native Pashto speaker with us to help keep the kids at bay but he was less than effective–I realize it’s hard. They’re kids, they’re curious and they wanted the brass.
SSG C after he returned from retrieving the ammo. This is the first time I've seen him without a smile.
The ANA Range Control guys drove out to our site several times to ensure we were in compliance of the regulations. (Does ANYONE else see the irony here?) The second visit included them telling us what time they’d be back to police the brass. Seems they wanted to recycle it for profit instead of letting the kids do it.
A red flag denotes a hot range everywhere, it seems. With a magazine and three rounds, load!
Do I want to shoot the M240? Duh. Actually, I was hesitant because I didn’t want to take rounds from any of the Soldiers. SSG K told me to stop being a girl so of course I rogered up.
Thats me preparing to load a belt of rounds. Over my shoulder is the young Soldier who is about to be overrun with curious 10-year-olds.
Have to love the fact someone else will take MY photo. It was awkward to ask at first (different when it’s a stranger; I have to see these guys every day) but now I realize, without the pics, there is no blog. (that sounds like a me monster I know.) At this point one of the guys just grabs my camera if I’m doing something and not holding/wearing it.
Here I am getting ready to jump into the prone. Had to load and ride the bolt forward from the kneeling; my arms weren’t long enough nor was I incredibly agile with the gear and frozen fingers.
Yes, I'm guilty of posing for the camera sometimes, too.
Completely unaware of the camera here. Just enjoying the rush of 5-7 round bursts.
After I fired I stayed there and wouldn’t you know it. 8 out of 10 of the guys who came to fire the M240 asked if I’d take their picture. I felt like the camera girl at Disneyland except I didn’t try to sell the anything. It was a good chance to get to know some of the people who don’t work in my section and who DOESN’T want a shot of them firing a machine gun?
SSG K was the PMI (primary marksmanship instructor) and responsible for the M240 shoot. Behind them TFC is running everyone through quick reaction drills. At the bottom of the shot is... the shadow of my fat head. Eh, it's been a long day or else I'd edit the photos. You get the picture. Hahahahahah!
Everyone who wanted a picture got something similar to this.
SSG N decided he wanted to “go native” and fire from the hip. After wrapping his head in his scarf, away he went.
And The purpose of the shoot was to familiarize ourselves with the weapon. To each his own, I guess.
In between shooters I took the chance to fire the M4. Must saw, nothing I had issued to me had red laser ‘target finders’ on it.
Sight alignment, sight picture and all that.
Just my attempt at an EMO shot of the M240.
Once we were done with the shoot the ANA Range Control guys showed up to collect the brass. I’d have preferred to let the kids have it but we were on their range and needed to ‘comply’ if you will. We didn’t stand guard on piles of expended shell casings though so the kids managed to score some of it.
I approached one of the ANA about taking his picture and he gestured wildly and spoke loudly enough to make it clear he did not want to be photographed. The guys all laughed at me for trying and then I handed my camera to one of them and then walked over and made it clear I wanted to be photographed WITH the ANA Soldier. He changed his mind.
He changed his tune when he realized I'd be in the photo, too.
Funniest thing was this guy, almost RUNNING up to have HIS photo taken too. After that several of the Soldiers posed for pictures with the ANA guys. (laugh at ME, huh?)
Check out the placement of his arm on my shoulder; I actually had to lift it and slide sideways a bit to feel like I WASNT being hugged. Hearts and minds, buddy. No hugs.
And so, as my first month in Kabul comes to a close, I’ll leave you with this. I look around at the hardscrabble existence they lead, the oft barbaric customs and the wildly oppressive beliefs and I can say with absolute certainty I’m blessed to be an American.
~jh~
