Pushing Pause

I'm in the glorious Kyrgyz Republic right now, and as it appears, I will be here for quite a few more days than I expected. And at first that was infuriating. I am one plane ride away from Germany, there are airplanes that fly to Germany all of the time from here, and because of their (strange) local policies, I have to wait for a specific airplane, But okay, now I'm here. It's not Afghanistan. It's not dangerous. I've turned in all of my Army-issued gear (I am now at least 80 pounds lighter) and now my time is uniquely mine.

I have probably six books I'd like to read. I have a stack of movies I'm not opposed to watching. This is the land of milk and honey (there is free food all over the place...most of which is distinctly unhealthy). And I have plenty of reflecting to do on the past nine months and how it feels to transition from war to absolutely not war.

So maybe these six or so transition days showed up in my life for a reason. Maybe someone out there knew that I was going to have a hard time making that transition when I walked back into a life full of independence and unlimited choices.

My goal is to spend a few hours a day reflecting and writing. And a few more hours creating a memory book for myself where I weave the pictures I've taken while I've been away into the blog posts I've written. Then there's the concept of sleeping, restfully, for more than a few winks at a time.

And a free one-week vacation. Thank you, Uncle Sam. We're just going to pretend that you know best.

I'm on my way home

It's strange to be inside of an 8 x 10 foot shipping container and to be sad that tonight might be the last time I fall asleep under these "stars." It's also strange to think that there will be so many things I miss about living here, about Afghanistan and about the people I've met here. I almost feel guilty for admitting that, since returning home is suppose to be the joyous part of the deployment.

But what people don't tell you is that returning home is the hard part. Even though I know that there are people at home who love and have missed me, it's still hard to walk away from a job that's this meaningful. It's hard to know that starting this weekend, Catalina Wine Mixer becomes Silver Bullet. It's hard to know that in a few days, someone else will be living in my Afghan Sanctuary. And it's really hard to know that I'm coming back to a job where the most dangerous aspect is, well, there really isn't one. At all. And after nine months of training for and preparing for the worst, it will be a hard transition to think that my real world problems will include the heat not working in our house (again) or my car battery that's currently dead. That seems to trivial compared to, say, the bomb that lit up downtown Kabul a few days ago.

This deployment started and ended in almost the same way...with no time to think about or reflect on what's going on around me. I had two full days to get myself ready to leave Germany and head to Louisiana for training. Today the Army gave me my letter that authorizes my departure from theater, and the Air Force told me that they can't get me home until January. There is absolutely no way I'm hanging out in this shipping container (in all of it's Afghan glory) for another three weeks, so tomorrow morning, I will take matters into my own hands.

At 6:30am I'll be sitting at the rotary terminal at our base awaiting a helicopter to take me to another Afghan base, to take me back to Wrong-a-stan to get me back to Germany. So what I need from all of you praying-type people is more travel luck than any one girl ever deserved.

I've had the absolute most incredible experience since I've been out here. I can't believe I was paid to do the incredible things and live the incredible experiences I've lived while I've been in Afghanistan. To think that tomorrow that will all be a memory is a bit overwhelming.

Think about me for the next 48 hours or so, please, and send me really good travel vibes. Though my adventure in Afghanistan is almost over, I think that there are some post-deployment changes that will be noteworthy enough to mention, so my intention is to keep writing. This has been my outlet while I've been in Kabul, and all of you have been the people who have kept me going. Knowing that there are some 70 people who read each of my entries has really made me appreciate the fact that people back home are interested in what we're doing out here and how we're doing it. And I hope that my experiences here have inspired others to seek out their passions as well.

Travel updates forthcoming. And home, after 239 days on the road, is just around the corner.

Stuck in the Middle

Sometimes deployments are waiting games. We wait for the enemy to strike...and they do. Lately, in full force. Yesterday a suicide bomber killed at least 56 in downtown Kabul, though when Julia came to visit me one last time today, she said that the number appears to be closer to 300. No doubt that there were some really bad people in this country who do really terrible things to each other.

Other times deployments are just plain lonely. I'm stuck in the middle now. I'm no longer on the team which has so defined my deployment. Instead, I'm alone, waiting for the Army to officially release me to go home, which may happen in the next 24 hours or so...or it might not. I'm watching the guys prepare for missions, review the intelligence reports, and talk about their jobs, and already I feel a sense of longing to be a part of that mission again. It's strange to think that the most dangerous thing I've ever done was also the most rewarding, and I have no doubt these past five months will be the defining time of my military career.

Today it was time to say goodbye to the single most important person in my life in Afghanistan. Julia came to visit on Monday and cooked me the most delicious lunch, which we shared picnic-style on my floor. Today she came back for one final visit, and we spent the morning talking about our favorite memories and how much we've both changed over the past five months. She has even started to talk like me ("Seriously?" she asked me earlier). But more importantly, she's learning to think like a Western girl, and to demand the respect she so deserves. I could not be more proud.

I left a letter in her bag, because saying goodbye while she was here would have turned into an absolute tear-fest:

Dear Julia,

We both know that I am terrible at saying goodbye, so instead I will say thank you. Thank you for helping me appreciate Afghan culture. Thank you for inspiring the women (our sisters) at Headquarters X.Y. to help each other and to wear their uniforms. And thank you for teaching me that a smart, beautiful woman can have a huge impact in any country. You have certainly done that here, and it has been my pleasure to work with you. One of my friends gave me the best advice when I came here. He said "Be yourself." So I give the same advice to you...be yourself. Get your TOEFL certificate and come to the U.S. with your beautiful daughter. Anything is possible if you want it badly enough. I'll be cheering for you.

Much love,
Lisa

Julia and I agreed that before yesterday, it was sad to think that I would soon leave Afghanistan. Over the past few months, Kabul has become increasingly unsafe, particularly for women, so we now agree that now is the right time for me to leave, if ever such a time existed.

I have so many incredible memories from my time with Julia in Kabul. I can only hope that I've had half the impact on her life as she's had on mine.

The End of the Catalina Wine Mixer

Yesterday was my last convoy. And it was the day that I had to say goodbye to people who have over the past five months literally changed my life...or at least my point of view.

Julia and I started at the Women's Center, where we met with MAJ Nadia to talk about our favorite memories and how proud we are of how much positive change we've seen in the women, who now look forward to wearing their uniforms and who now work together in little ways...finally! The women's meeting started, and though it was smaller than usual, it was full of people we have come to love and respect. We read the "sisters" letter to MAJ Nadia before the meeting, and she told us that hearing that letter made her feel like she was another world. She proudly read the letter to the letter to the women at the meeting, and even the illiterate women clutched the white envelope close to their hearts. Julia shed enough tears for a small army.

We ate lunch with the commander of the security unit on base, who has taken unbelievable care of me and Catalina during my time here. It was this commander, an Afghan Colonel, who volunteered his personal time and 10 of his soldiers to come protect us during our humanitarian missions. He invited me, Julia and John's former interpreter up for lunch which was spicy meat paddies of some sort with the most delicious bread I've ever tasted. We also reminisced about how much progress he's seen at our base over the past few months, and how he's enjoyed my team more than he enjoyed any other team with whom he's worked. Success, and the very best kind, since this incredible officer is a huge part of the reason this deployment (and our many adventures) has been so rewarding.

Julia and I then wandered across the hall to meet with the Education & Training Officer, another of the senior officers I advised. Afghans love certificates, so I presented another appreciation plaque with American and Afghan flags and a certificate. We sat together on the couch, talking about how pleased he's been to share these past few months, just as we are here, talking about similarities between officers in our militaries.

And to end this spectacular day, we visited the G1 officer. This senior officer is the reason I was officially sent to Afghanistan in the first place. He and I share a background in human resources, and I've spent the past five months explaining Western personnel policies to him, while he's shared his experiences in the many militaries of Afghanistan to me. We've shared incredible conversations, he has grown to respect working with women in ways I wish other male Afghan officers would emulate, and he said the most wonderful thing to me as I left. He said that he thinks of me not just as his advisor, but also as his daughter. He bought me te most interesting Afghan costume jewelry, and insisted I model it for him.

How do we measure success in Afghanistan? We measure it through hugs like this one, from a woman who wore her uniform yesterday for the first time ever. We measure it one person at a time. One heart. One mind. And we hope that those hearts and minds we've won will help turn the tide in Afghanistan. And in my time here, I hope that I've inspired a few Afghans (especially the women) to do just that...reach out and pay it forward by changing one point of view.

I'll miss the people in Afghanistan. I'll miss Catalina Wine Mixer. And I'll miss the beautiful traditions...the hand shake and three kisses, the chai, and my new found affection for the most simple things in life. This opportunity was incredible, and I can only hope that those with whom I have worked have learned half as much from me as I have from them.

Please Come Home for Christmas

I consider myself fairly well grounded, well traveled, and relatively stable. Usually. The past few weeks, wow, I've been all over the place to the point that I'm now physically ill.

Loren and I have been sharing some interesting conversations about the transition from war to peace. Until now, quite honestly, I had never really considered it. I mean, every day here I run convoys in combat. The month of November was the first month in quite some time where the bad guys in Kabul didn't mount a spectacular attack on Coalition Forces. I'm now down to an undisclosed amount of days in Kabul, and it's undisclosed because no one (including me) knows when I'll be out of here. But it will be soon...relatively speaking. And the reality of my transition from war to not-war is really sinking in.

I haven't lived in the real world for more than eight months. For the past eight months, I have been focused on my physical safety in combat. I spent almost three months picking the brains of some really smart people as I was preparing, then five more months employing those tactics on the roads of Afghanistan. The last few weeks out here are notoriously dangerous...it's easy to lose focus, start daydreaming about home, and for something bad to happen. I've done my best to take every precaution so that I don't pose a risk to either myself or my team, and I have to believe that after all this time on the road, I can trust my instincts and I'll know when something just doesn't feel right...either with myself or the situation.

But the reality of the situation is that in the next few weeks, my life is going to be drastically different than it is right now, and I will be drastically different than the last time I lived in that house, in that town, and in that country. I'll be able to have a glass of wine by the fire, which is one of the winteresque memories that keeps me sane out here. The thing I fear is being alone.

For eight months, there was always someone physically next to me while I went through a huge spectrum of emotions. And when I get home, it will be just me for about six weeks, working through the freedoms that arise when the U.S. Army releases it's stranglehold on me. I'll still have people "next to me" as this all transpires, but my support system in Germany isn't at all comparable to the one I've had out here.

Just as there were so many firsts while I've been out here, there are now so many lasts...and most of them are liberating. When I get out of the truck later this week, that will be my last ride in a M-ATV. My last time wearing the world's most uncomfortable headset. My last bland meal in the Dining Facility. My last night living in a shipping container.

The thing I am not looking forward to, however, is the feeling of isolation that I think may come with a return back to home where there isn't the rush of daily life-and-death decisions. Where the camaraderie I've grown to love will be gone. And where watching women with endless amounts of potential find a way to start living dreams they never knew they had is no longer a daily event.

Yes, there are things I will actually miss about being at war. In time, my non-war life will again become normal. And for the next few weeks, I'll be riding the tidal wave of transitional emotions, and I'll be thankful for an outlet like this one. And I'll certainly be thankful that I'll be home for Christmas. And by home, I mean back on the Mosel River in Germany with some of my favorite people in the world.

Starting to Say Goodbye

It's been a turbulent past few weeks around here. Perhaps that's the understatement of the deployment. First I was staying here until the end of June. Then I was staying here until the end of December. Now I'm staying here a handful more days and then I'm on my way back to Germany.

As you can imagine, this was less than palatable news for Julia, who now fondly refers to herself as my Afghan sister (which I love, by the way).  It's also been less than joyous news to share with the Afghans with whom I work here, and I haven't even started telling the women.

Julia and I agreed that I should do something personal for the women who have made this deployment so incredible, so together she and I wrote a letter of thanks (in Dari):

سلام و احترامات خود را خدمت تمام خانمهای قوماندانی تقدیم میدارم

خواهر های عزیزم مه بسیار خوش بودم که میتوانم یک سال باهم همکار باشیم

مگر از طرف فنکس گفته شود در یک هفته باید برم میخواستم بسیارکمک تان کنم

مگر از این که وقت کم دارم باید بورم. مگر از همه شما خواهش دارم که

متوجه یکی دیگر باشید مه از همه شما بسیار خوش هستم میخواهم به یاد

من هر یک شمبه لباس نظامی تان را در جان تان کنین. و تشکر از همه چیز

همرای خود تمام یاد های تان را میبرم مه همیش برای شما و فامیل تان

دعا میکنم که صحت مند باشین

   با احترام خواهر شما

           لیزا باربار

And here's what we said roughly translated into English:

Hello to all of the women who work at Headquarters XY (my sisters),
I would love to keep working with you and helping you, but unfortunately I do not have much time. I have been ordered to return to Germany very soon.
I am very proud of all of you. You are all doing a wonderful job. I have a request for all of you...please take care of each other and if you want to remember me, wear your uniform every Sunday even when I am gone.
Thanks for everything and I will take the great memories we shared together with me forever.
I will pray for your success and for your families.
Your sister,
Lisa

Each woman will receive an envelope with her name on it, and enclosed will be the letter and a picture of me in my American uniform wearing a head scarf, since that is how they all remember me. I will pass out the envelopes on Sunday when I see the women at our last meeting together.

The end crept up on me so fast, and I still have no idea how to process it all. But I'm sure in time I'll sort through it all, and what I've said to the women is so true...I will forever cherish my memories of the beautiful women of Afghanistan and of the Afghan National Army.

Another Saturday Night

Perhaps you're wondering what a Saturday night is like in Afghanistan. I'm more than happy to oblige. And I'll get there. Stick with me.

We affectionately refer to Saturdays in Afghanistan as Afghan Mondays. As the weekend here is Thursday afternoon and Friday (the Muslim holy day), Saturday morning is usually when we see our Afghan counterparts for the first time that week. So already the days are all jumbled. We did that today...headed out to work and tried to have a few meetings, but our counterparts were all scattered elsewhere in the city today (unbeknownst to us, and impossible to predict as we cannot call ahead to schedule meetings since that might jeopardize our security). We ate a very unmemorable lunch (imagine previously frozen lunch meat, sliced cheese, tomatoes, and oops, someone forgot to bring the bread). And finally we were just sick of sitting around, so we left. There really aren't working hours here, so the fact that we left in the very early afternoon was no big deal. Work was done. We left.

We returned to our base and decided that since we had some extra time, we would wash our trucks. I know, lots of people wash cars on the weekends, so this really isn't much of a stretch. Except these trucks are gigantic. And they were caked with inches and inches of mud on the undercarriage, in the wheel wells, and plastered to the sides of the monstrous vehicles That ordeal took about an hour of power washing using non-potable water that kept splattering in our faces. Don't think about that. We didn't. Disgusting.

And even after all of that, it was hardly late afternoon. So I went to the gym for the second time today, because quite frankly I couldn't think of anything else to do. Then I took one of my guys who is celebrating his 40th birthday today "out" to "birthday dinner" which is to say that we sat in the same dining facility where we always sit, ate the same mediocre food, celebrated with dessert, and then about 30 minutes later went back to our own rooms.

Then I started getting creative. What do really crazy people do on a Saturday night in Afghanistan? They bleach their socks and washcloths in their trashcan. In their room. Yes, that's what cool people do. So I did that. And performed decoupage on the new city route map we need to put in our trucks...using contact paper and a straight knife. And printed a bunch of pictures I took of the young cops who work at the main gate at our Afghan base (Julia and I fondly refer to them as the DAWGS). And started writing Christmas cards. And listened to This American Life.

Every day in Afghanistan blends into the next one. Saturday is like Tuesday. Thursday is like Tuesday. Tuesday is like Tuesday. But the silver lining here is that although tonight was just another Saturday night in Afghanistan, I have less than a handful of such evenings left here before my return to spending Saturday nights in various European cities, nursing a glass of wine and enjoying great company. And that's a Saturday night experience I can't wait to relive.