Reality setting in

I never really knew what to expect coming out here to Afghanistan. I’ve been places with bodyguards, military escorts, or needing armored vehicles. I’ve seen protests turn to chaos, moved fast through areas I shouldn’t have been in at night, and felt the risk, but I’ve not ever been in more than what I would consider an unstable environment. Afghanistan’s numbers are nothing compared to Iraq, or especially Vietnam, but the environment is just as tense as it is considered a high threat environment.

Before anyone starts to worry, I’m not running around too much in the “bad neighborhoods” so just think of it like a big city, which has some elements of danger everywhere, but there are some places you just don’t go unless you are with someone from there that knows it well.

Having said that, Sunday was a hard day for me. I woke up to find out that the base had been “attacked” with small arms fire while I was sleeping. Not very disconcerting though since it couldn’t have had an impact on me. Still, it made me frustrated that we are stuck in such a difficult role and are having to justify that to people here and not doing a good job of it.

We went back to our facilitation with Task Force Duke who oversees the provinces of Nangarhar, Nuristan, Konar, and Laghman. Around lunch, we’d heard a Provincial Reconstruction Team in Nangarhar, where I was supposed to deploy to, was hit with an IED and there were four casualties. Two of them had died. A bit later during a session, a soldier stuck his head in the door and urgently asked if anyone was O+. A few of us responded and he said if we were willing to donate blood, to head to the hospital on base. Not much more was said, but on the way out the door, we were told that two of the guys from Nangarhar were in the hospital and bleeding profusely. We half-ran to the hospital to find many people already there. They thrust forms in our hands and told us to fill them out quick and get hydrated. We were told one of the soldiers had died and the other had lost both legs and a hand and they had gone through all they blood they had. The medical team was dashing back and forth between two low-hanging buildings grabbing supplies, blood, mops, and other personnel, staying totally focused despite what must have been a bad day. Way back when, before my anti-malarial drugs kept me from being able to, I used to give blood, but it was in a very disconnected setting - a nice bloodmobile, or collection center. Here, the purpose seemed clear. I was glad to have the opportunity again. The line was somber with his military police colleagues that were out on patrol with him when the Humvee got his were there watching. It was a time I could look on my fellow citizens and be proud. I’ve been in several places where if the call went out, only a few would appear. Here, there were people laid out on cots in the sun, some even lying in the dirt with other volunteers rocking the blood “bags” to help out. Not much later, we learned the soldier died on the table, that they just couldn’t keep him going. It got 6-8 lines in the back corner of the New York Times and the folks on the base were upset. I looked at everyone around me that day, wondering what they were thinking, if they were scared, angry, hurt. Special ceremonies were held in two places the next day for the 4 men. My itinerary was changed to allow the Nangarhar team to have some down time and collect themselves. One of my colleagues just left as Commander of the Nangarhar Provincial Reconstruction Team a few months ago and despite his cool distance, you could tell he was hurting for what would have been his men.

The war here is nothing like the scale of wars everyone reads about and studies, but loss is still loss, regardless of the scale.

Peace…