Another Day in Paradise

Today is a tough day in Kabul. I'm fine. My team is fine. Others from the base where I am stationed were not so lucky. The attack happened almost directly across the street from the orphanage where we've done two humanitarian aid drops, including one about 10 days ago. Now, I understand this whole matter of fate, and I get that when my number comes up, it's time. A vehicle full of 1,500 pounds of explosives will quickly change a bright sunny day into one we will not soon forget. And it did exactly that yesterday.

But out here it's all too easy to forget that we're at war. I spend my days with a beautiful, brave young Afghan woman talking about problems that could occur anywhere in the world...women's equality, human resources concerns, training agendas, and complicated families. The ride to and from work is harrowing at best. Once we arrive, we walk around with two loaded weapons and pretend, to some avail, for just a few hours to be human.

We're all in some kind of stupor today. The command has turned off our phone and internet services on base, awaiting notification of the families of those we lost yesterday. It's an isolating feeling unlike anything I've experienced since I've been here.

Right now I'm sitting on the Afghan base where I work, using the USB internet stick that one of our interpreters helped me buy a few weeks ago. Sadly that USB stick also doesn't work on the base. I want to hear a familiar voice or see a familiar face. The voice or face of someone who is not in Afghanistan. But right now, that's just not possible.

And I guess it's only fair. Across many oceans, there are more than a dozen families who are receiving the ultimate bad news. And in the grand scheme of things, knowing at least that everyone I love is safe is worth the feeling of isolation out here for a few more days.

I Feel Numb

I am officially in a funk. It's Groundhog Day. Wake up. Brush my teeth. Eat one Fig Newton. Go for a run. Come back to my room. Put on a PT jacket (to hide the fact that I'm sweating, which is prohibited in the DFAC). Grab a weapon. Hustle to the DFAC. Get breakfast to go. Return to my room. Walk to the shower. Eat breakfast while I'm getting ready for work. Walk to the trucks.

Convoy through Kabul. Arrive at work. Drink tea and have meetings. Convoy back to our base. Waste an hour or two wondering when it's time to eat dinner. Eat dinner. Shower. Talk to Rob. Watch one 42-minute TV show. Go to sleep.

Wake up. Repeat. Again. And again. And again. The weather doesn't really change. The meetings don't really change. And the feeling of lack of progress doesn't really change. The only thing that changes is that I tend to watch a different TV show most nights (Parenthood, Grey's Anatomy, The Good Wife and Glee are the current favorites).

It's easy to catch a case of complacency under these circumstances, and complacency is the most lethal disease any of us can contract out here. I'm fighting it. Or trying. But that's harder than it sounds.

Driving to work feels a lot like playing a video game, especially lately. It's easy to imagine that we're safely buckled into an amusement park ride and that nothing can hurt us because, well, nothing has for a very long time. And when things keep going right, it's equally easy not to worry about how we'd respond if things went wrong. I'm about to become wildly unpopular because I'm about to simulate things going wrong...twice a week...at unexpected places and times.

The Army calls this simulated combat phenomenon "Battle Drills." It's a perfect concept...pretend you're reacting to an emergency before you are actually in an emergency. Watch how people respond so that we know how people may act in an actual scenario.

Here's the part that will blow your mind. Out here it's easy to forget we're in a combat zone...we hear the same intelligence reports every day, listen to the same warnings, wake up in the same city, roll along the same roads...and we just have to think that everything will be okay. And we do that because that's the only way to make it through the days...and weeks...and months. And because if we actually thought every day about all of the threats out here, we'd probably never get out of bed.

So starting tomorrow, I'm shaking things up...again. Sure, that's going to be scary for all of us (even me). But in the end, when my job is to get myself and my entire team back to our families safely, it's important to wish for the best and to prepare for anything.

Better When We're Together

I don't fake happiness. It's just not something I'm capable of doing. And I also can't fake the fact that I have very mixed emotions about staying in Afghanistan for a year.

Tough news arrived in my inbox this past week, and yes, I asked for it. Yet, somehow when things fell right into place just as I had imagined them, I just froze. I thought of all of the things I couldn't do for the next nine months instead of embracing the things that are only possible because I am here.

And then Julia came to my base to spend the morning with me. We were planning to go out to the Kabul Military Training Center to tour the women's Officer Commissioning School site, and to take a look at the (very limited) facilities available to train Afghan military women. But as often happens here, our mission was cancelled at the last minute. So there we were, wondering what to do with our unexpected free time.

We went shopping in the little stores on base, and she confirmed what we already knew...Afghan treasures here are about 50% more expensive than identical treasures downtown. I brought her to my little oasis of a room and let her pick through the mounds of candy people have sent me to distribute to Afghan children. She filled her purse. And she just sat there, on my bed, looking at me, and told me how much she loves having me here. That was all it took to remind me of why I'm staying, and why I volunteered to extend in the first place.

She and I make an incredible team. This past week we met with about half a dozen Afghan men, all of whom appeared to listen to what we were saying, and in Afghanistan, that's a huge victory for a woman. Julia loves walking around with me because being able to talk for me, an American woman who isn't constrained by the cultural norms of Afghanistan, is empowering for her. Through me, she gets to see what it's like to be a woman whose opinions are heard and respected...and she won't get to experience that freedom in her own country for at least another generation.

It's been lonely out here lately, and it's an emotion that seems to come and go in waves. I know that there are so many people out there thinking about me and the other Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines who serve our country from some of the far ends of the Earth. I understand the lukewarm worldwide support for Operation Enduring Freedom...especially now that we're on our tenth year out here.

But one of the things that's most important to me is that people back home understand the amazing (however small) strides the Afghans are making with and without the help of the Coalition. Just having us here empowers Afghans like Julia to passionately pursue their dreams for Afghanistan's future, and in the end, our mission here is all about helping the Afghans create a better (and safer) Afghanistan.

Julia and I are better when we're together...there's no doubt in my mind. And if there's one thing I know for sure, it's that both of our lives will be changed forever by the end of my 358 days in Afghanistan. And that right there makes the thought of staying here much easier.

You Were Only Waiting for this Moment to Arrive

I am the anomoly in Afghanistan. I'm 32 and don't yet have children, which absolutely baffles basically every single person with whom I speak. But what they don't realize is that I do have people in my life right now who give me what I imagine is a hint of the satisfaction that comes with watching a daughter find her own way in the world. And right now a huge part of that satisfaction comes from watching Julia.

You already know her basic story...married at 16 into an arranged marriage that lasted less than a year but produced a beautiful daughter who is now five. Julia's life now revolves around her daughter and around making choices that will one day lead the two of them out of Afghanistan and to a place where there are more opportunities for women. Julia is the sole provider for her parents, sister and daughter and is the most genuine person I've probably ever met. What I love most about her is that she just "gets it"...and because she has that way about her, I seem to be willing to do just about anything to help her, which I imagine is both a strength and a weakness.

My first project when I arrived in Afghanistan was to assess Julia's English language skills and to brainstorm ways to improve her speaking, reading and writing. Right now she is our least experienced interpreter, and I had a feeling that because she is also the only woman, no one had ever really given her a chance. She has both the heart and the aptitude to be good at whatever she can imagine. Together we found the most widely recognized English language course in Kabul (which doubles as a TOEFL prepratory school) and started dreaming. The tuition is extremely high by Afhgan standards...about $850 for the one year course, which includes two hours of instruction five days a week. I had a feeling that there were more than a few people in my life who would be willing to sponsor this incredible woman as she pursued her education.

Twenty people, primarily my girlfriends all over the world, pledged $50 each to help buy Julia her first-ever laptop computer and to pay for a year of her tuition at the Kardan Institute of Higher Learning. She started English classes earlier this week...and already it's making a huge difference in her confidence alone. Today she explained to me that she needed to approach a conversation with one of the male interpreters with "full confidence." The thought of an Afghan woman approaching anything in this country with confidence is baffling...and to hear Julia say that was extraordinary.

One of the most incredible things about the developing world is that it takes so little (by American standards) to make such a significant impact. By now it should come as no surprise that I love finding ways to make a small difference in the world...and I truly believe that the best way to do that is to find ways to bridge the barriers between people and cultures. Julia now has about 20 new friends in the United States who are cheering her on, plus more than 40 fellow students at the English school who are her newest Afghan peers.

Time will tell how long the Air Force will allow me to stay in Afghanistan. Whether it's three more months or nine, I know now for absolute sure that one absolutely amazing young woman here will never forget me or my friends who reached out to help her. And that right there is why I am willing to do what I do in the United States Air Force. Sure, life in Afghanistan for an American woman can be scary bordering on terrifying, and I often spend my days scratching my head in absolute bewilderment...but in the end, the positive far outweighs the negative.

I met Julia. Our relationship has reminded me of why I've dedicated 10 years of my life to service. She gives me a perspective on the lives of women in developing countries that I could not otherwise experience. And working with her makes me prouder than ever to be an American woman who choses to wear a military uniform.

Mothers be Good to Your Daughters

There are days that I will remember in Afghanistan...and then there are days I will never forget. Yesterday falls distinctly into the category of extraordinary days that will be forever be etched into my memory.

Progress here comes slowly, and responding to very slow progress has taken more patience than I could have ever imagined. But what I failed to take into account was just how magnificent progress feels when I've fought for every inch, side-by-side with the brave Afghan women who serve in their nation's military.

Every Sunday morning we have a women's meeting at the base where I work. The goal is to have this meeting at 9am each week, have many of the women in their uniforms, and to conduct military training together (since the Afghan National Army does not offer any training for women). Yesterday there were 23 women who attended the meeting, including three who wore their military uniforms for the first time in over a year. I invited two American women from another base here to talk about what the Afghan Ministry of Defense is doing to improve working conditions for women across the Afghan National Army.

The most inspiring was the story of Master Gunnery Sergeant Connie (pictured on the right), who has dedicated 25 years of her life to the United States Marine Corps, and is among the 5% of women who proudly serve as American Marines. She told the Afghan women the story of her first deployment to Hondoras...she was the only female on the deployment and her Commanding Officer first refused to take her out with the guys. He was directed to bring her along, only to tell her that although he was directed to take her to Hondoras, no one directed him to bring her back home. That happened in the U.S. military, not long ago in the grand scheme of things, and the Afghan women could clearly relate. It went without saying that things like that happen here every day.

We talked about the value of wearing a uniform and being proud of what we have chosen to do with our lives, regardless of the personal risks. We talked about how serving our countries is an honor that most women will never experience.

Yesterday I finally cracked the code on reaching Afghan military women...it's through their daughters. All of the women who work here are married, and every last one of them has at least one daughter. We talked about how it's our job to blaze the trail for the women who will come after us. I thought of amazing women like my grandmother, now 91, in whose lifetimes the lives and rights of American women were radically improved. She earned a Masters from Temple University in the 40s, watched her husband head to England to fight in World War II, raised four boys and my mother, send a son to war in Vietnam, taught at the School for the Deaf and Blind in Colorado Springs, and yet served as the perfect military spouse at a time when social customs in the U.S. military were highly revered. I often wonder if women here could ever have such incredible opportunities, given the culture and the complicated history.

Afghan women will do anything for their families, and they certainly have that in common with every Western woman I know. And in this case, I hope that mothers in Afghanistan will inspire their daughters to break through the barriers their culture has constructed. No, I don't think that will happen before the Coalition transitions out of Afghanistan in 2014, but days like yesterday make me believe that anything is possible.

Two sides to every story

Today the insurgents started blowing things up in Kabul. They haven't really done that since I've been here, and I'll be the first to admit it was slightly unnerving. Kabul is not a very large city (though it takes 45 minutes to get anywhere), so I've been to all of the places where the attacks have been taking place. As I was reading the article in the New York Times, I could picture the events unfolding...the muzzles flashing, the sounds of rockets and screaming. Riding back to our base in a convoy through a city that's under attack is harrowing. And exhausting. And exhilarating. Today more than ever I was reminded that I do indeed live in a war zone.

On one side of the city, Afghans who hate Americans and other members of the Coalition were trying to blow up people, buildings, and anything else that got in their way. And it is absolutely not lost on me that on the other side of that same city, at the exact same moment, Julia was throwing me the birthday party she's been planning for the past month. It was a birthday party complete with a cake, singing, traditional Afghan dancing, and more presents than I could carry. I shared some incredible memories with 15 or so Afghan women this afternoon, and the timing was absolutely extraordinary.

While this party was going on, not one of us had any idea that the city was under attack. We were enjoying a traditional Afghan lunch of rice, eggplant, beans, and fresh bread, and we were talking about how much life has changed for Afghan women over the past 10 years. When the Taliban ruled Afghanistan, all women were required to wear blue burkas that covered their entire face and body, with a small screen in the front that provided limited visibility to the outside world. For many years, military women reported to work in the morning wearing a burka, signed the attendance register, and were immediately sent home. Their professional military skills atrophied, and they were completely isolated from the working world they once knew. Flash forward to now when they wear a small head scarf and can walk freely through the city...and into their workplaces.

We talked about the World Trade Centers, the Pentagon, and how so many of these Afghan women and their families fled to Pakistan during the Taliban regime in order to preserve some sense of normalcy in their lives. Today, 10 years and two days after the events that put Afghanistan on the American radar, I sat in Kabul in a room full of professional military women who welcomed me with open arms. In front of me, they are willing to speak their minds and tell their personal stories. Though we don't share a culture or even a language, we share a love of country and sense of duty, and that somehow transcends our many differences.

There are two sides to every story. It's easy to write off an entire culture as being evil, which is seems to me is what the insurgents have been doing to Americans (and Americans have been doing to all Afghans) for many years. But today was the perfect example of how it is individual people and their unique personalities and perspectives who define a culture. In my mind, Afghanistan will always be defined by the incredible women with whom I work. And the challenge I have with myself is that I can't allow the violence in this country to overshadow the amazing things that happen here every day.

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers

I didn't have this overwhelming urge to wave a flag on September 11th to feel like a patriot. Actions, particularly on a day like that day, speak louder than words, and I think the life choices I've made and that other Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines have made are more than enough to demonstrate patriotism in the truest sense.

Ten years ago, I was working at the Office of Personnel Management in Washington D.C., living in Crystal City just across I-395 from the Pentagon, and beginning my second year of grad school at George Washington University. I had been commissioned as a Second Lieutenant for about four months, but wasn't scheduled to go onto active duty until I finished my Masters later that spring. 

It was a Tuesday morning, and I was moving as slowly as you can possibly imagine. I was suppose to be at work by 9am every day, but that day I didn't even manage to wake up until about 8:30am. I was in such a rush that I didn't watch the news, didn't look at the paper, and was entirely focused on getting to the Metro and getting to work. I got onto the Metro at about 9:15am for my 15 minute commute to work and was in my own little world, oblivious to what people were saying and doing around me. I was scrambling from the Farragut West Metro station south on 19th Street trying to make it to work before anyone realized just how late I was. 

My office was probably three nautical miles from the Pentagon, just on the other side of the Memorial Bridge and a few blocks from the White House. Just as I was approaching the front patio of OPM, there was a loud boom, I took about 25 more steps, pulled open the front door of the building and slid inside. It was sheer pandemonium. People were huddled in clusters all over the front lobby crying and wailing. It was like I walked into a horror movie. The World Trade Centers had been hit. The boom I heard was an airplane crashing into the Pentagon.

I knew that my father worked in the Pentagon, but I had no idea where in the building he worked or how to reach him. It took 20 minutes to get a line to ring through to my mother. Someone from work drove me home to my parents in Springfield...it took about 3 hours to get there instead of the usual 25 minutes. And for a few days, I sat in the basement of my parents' house, watching television, and wondering what bad thing would happen next. When I returned to Crystal City, the Pentagon was still smoldering. I watched the smoke billow from the balcony of my apartment. And the smell...there aren't words to describe the smell...

Yesterday we decided not to leave our base in Afghanistan. It just seemed...well...too scary. My team spent all day doing their own thing...some reminiscing, but most of us just trying to process how dramatically our lives have changed in the past 10 years.

Ten years ago there were no airplanes flying, no contrails across the azure skies. The calm was unnerving. Yesterday I went to bed around 10pm, following a day that was again calm...only to then hear a swarm of helicopters buzzing the tops of the buildings on our base. It went on for at least 10 minutes...maybe more...and rattled me to the bone. But unlike 10 years ago when I felt hopeless against the people who hated Americans enough to kill almost 3,000 people in one day, this year I felt safe.

Strange isn't it? That I would feel safer in Afghanistan on 9/11 that I ever felt at home on this day. Yesterday was special because I shared it silently with the few, the happy few, the band of brothers, who sometimes pretend to be a bunch of jerks...but on 9/11, they were my closest friends. And without even saying a word, we all just knew that everything would be okay.