Big Brother

I am fairly certain that you haven't lived until you've walked through Kabul, Afghanistan in the middle of a rain storm. To quickly bring you up to speed, the air quality here is less than stellar (at least 10% of the "air" we're breathing is actually fecal matter...it's so bad that we have a special letter added to our medical records documenting the fact that we were here.) Needless to say, when it rains, it's best to avoid being touched by raindrops. I was absolutely convinced my uniform was going to melt to my body, and words can't really describe the smell. At least my words won't do it justice, because, wow, let's just leave it at that.

As I'm sitting here reminiscing about my first rainy afternoon in Kabul I'm overwhelmed by a symphony of noise filling my little sanctuary of a room (okay, so it's not a sanctuary, but let's not go there). My tin hut is surrounded on three sides by would-be grown-ups living their lives on the other side of a wall that's about as thick as a standard piece of aluminum foil. In case you were wondering, it also transfers noise about as well as the biggest amplifier you've ever heard in your life. Right now the guy next door is spraying air freshener, which is infinitely more pleasant than the banging and hollering that was happening about 10 minutes ago. And no, I'm not trying to describe life in the brothel that disguises itself as a living complex for senior officer and enlisted members. It's just, well, turning out that way.

But it is a unique study in what personal freedoms those of us who come to forward operating bases give up. It's a strange existence out here, where walking to the bathroom in a non-Air Force uniform sweatshirt (or while wearing my purple Crocs with the Wonder Woman tag on them) is a huge rebellion. You won't believe this, but sometimes I even dare to sleep in civilian pajamas! (Thought criminal!) We spend every waking moment in a uniform of some variety, with at least one weapon strapped to our body, and personal freedoms are about as rare as a clear day in Afghanistan.

It's interesting to think of just how much control the military has over me right now, and how, for the most part, I'm really okay with that. Practically every bit of food I ingest has been provided by Uncle Sam. My luxurious sleeping quarters came courtesy of the U.S. Government. As did all of my uniforms, my personal protective equipment (like my helmet and flak vest). My access to the outside world is carefully scrutinized by the military - they control the mail, the internet, the on-base shops that sell pieces of home. And it's a very bad week when for three days in a row the military forgets to deliver the mail to your operating location. I think we'd all rather go without food than go without mail. Strange but true.

Big Brother is always watching over the U.S. military in Afghanistan. And I understand why for security reasons it's important for my government to monitor my actions here to help keep me safe. But such constant scrutiny has certainly inspired me to re-read one of my favorite books of all time..1984.

WAR IS PEACE
FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH

 Yes, Big Brother is watching. Please pardon me while I get dressed with my back to the telescreen in an attempt to steal three full seconds of privacy.