We'll Meet Again

Today I pulled my weapon out of the holster for the first time. There was a loud bang in a big public space and next thing I knew, I had pushed Julia behind me, drawn my M9, pointed it at the floor and was carefully assessing the commotion about 50 feet in front of me. I knew the sound I'd heard wasn't a gunshot, but a deafening BANG followed by the sheer pandemonium of about 300 Afghans scrambling around trying to figure out what just happened when I was the only American in the room kept me on my toes.

I guess I always thought I'd be terrified when one of my weapons went from accessory to self-protection device, but it wasn't like that at all. Today the Army's 10-week training plan in the armpit of Louisiana paid huge dividends. My body and my brain know how to respond in a dangerous situation without even a second of hesitation. My adrenaline, on the other hand, is still in the early stages of maturation. I was a little more jittery than I would like to admit for the rest of the day.

As it turned out, I pulled my weapon (aimed at the floor and never flipped to fire) on a gigantic tray full of 20-odd metal soup bowls crashing onto a concrete floor, amidst significant yelling (in Dari) in a cafeteria full of about 300 men and maybe 15 women. Given the events of the past week in Kabul, I have zero regrets. I did the right thing. I thought someone might be trying to hurt me (and Julia) and I was mentally and physically prepared to respond if necessary.

A response wasn't necessary today, and thank God for that. I was significantly rattled, I'd already gone running this morning (standard stress relief), it was about 4pm in Afghanistan (best Stateside mentors still sleeping)...and my instinct to seek a human connection comes as a surprise to absolutely no one.

Writing off the entire country of Afghanistan is all too easy this week, but if I did that, I could never forgive myself. So to counter that temptation, I walked to my favorite shop, run by an Afghan man might be 28 years old, just to say hello and remind myself (again) that the East and West have humanity in common.

We sat down together over a cup of tea for at least 45 minutes, and lingering over tea somehow made him feel comfortable enough to share his life story with me. He's been working 7 days a week since he was 8 years old. His family, like so many others, left Afghanistan for 15 years during the Taliban rule. He supports his parents and two younger siblings by selling handicrafts created by widowed women in downtown Kabul. For every $10 in merchandise he sells, he takes home 50 cents. It was the most heartfelt conversation I've had yet - he is just so human. He wanted me to understand what it feels like to be poor in Afghanistan with little hope for his own future, and I wanted to listen.

He sees himself in the children who desperately sell trinkets along the Kabul streets to pay for food for their families...that was him, many years ago...and those memories flooded his eyes with tears as the words tumbled from his mouth in amazingly eloquent English. It was touching, and the perfect peaceful contradiction to the afternoon's chaotic events.

On days like today, it's easy to remember why I'm here, and why my mission here is so important to me that I am willing to put my comfortable American reality on hold for another eight months for people I don't yet know and for a culture I'm just beginning to understand. People talk to me. People trust me. And through my conversations with people, I will leave a mark that to me is worth every dicey cafeteria lunch, every menacing drive down the streets of Kabul, and every remarkable opportunity to share tea and a great conversation with another human being.

I've never been in more danger than I am right now, nor have I ever felt more alive. And in this moment, I cannot imagine my life any other way.

World on Fire

I know that I'm American. There's never a doubt in my mind, nor are there a lack of reminders while I'm out here proudly wearing an American flag on my right shoulder everywhere I go. And even though many days out here feel like Groundhog Day, sometimes the sacrifices we make to support Afghanistan make perfect sense...other days, the sacrifices the insurgents force us to make for our countries feel overwhelming.

I've been working on a blog about the trip I led to the orphanage 10 days ago...the orphanage that is probably 100 meters from where the vehicle-borne IED killed way too many innocent people this past Saturday. I led 13 people (my own team and people from three other teams) to the other side of Kabul where we delivered shoes, blankets, clothes and medical supplies to the 200-odd children who call that place home.

Orphanages here aren't like the ones we know in the States...here they are more like boarding schools. Afghanistan's violent history has created an entire culture of female war widows, whose dead husbands have left behind 6 or 7 children, no money, no home and no viable future. A majority of the Afghan population has no savings, no bank account and no concept of insurance of any type...so places like the orphanage we visited become a form of social insurance for Afghan families (particularly women) in need.

We hyped the kids up on Pixi Stix, Fun Dip and Dum Dums, played a quick game of soccer, drank some tea with the principal of all Kabul-area public orphanages, scooted right out of their home, donned our protective gear and re-entered the city streets. Almost fearlessly, which in retrospect seems insane...but out here, we can't live our lives in the rearview mirror.

It's a strange collection of things that keeps me human out here. Finding similarities that transcend Eastern and Western cultures is certainly one of them. Last week, during our visit to the orphanage, it was easy to bridge the gap between the East and West...we humans have so much in common.

Today, on the first day we've been officially authorized to interact with the world following Saturday's attack, that gap seems insurmountable. I'm trying hard to remind myself of the hundreds of thousands of genuinely good people who live in Afghanistan and of the great dreams they have for their children's future. These parents want to see their country succeed. Independently. But incredibly terrible, wildly dangerous people also live here...and they're lurking, awaiting targets of opportunity, and seeking to do harm to those of us here to help the Afghans rebuild their country.

In a few more days there will be a memorial for the many people from my base who lost their lives this past weekend. And I can only hope that when I stand in the main square to pay my respects, I can imagine the faces of the beautiful children at the orphanage and I can focus on the hopes and dreams of the Afghan parents...and not focus on the very evil people who hope to continue to force the Coalition to make the ultimate, untimely sacrifice.

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.