Qalat

QALAT

The AMF (Afghan Militia Force) was losing all of its big weapons and direct fire weapons to the DDR program. DDR was the “Disestablishment, Disarmament and Reintegration” program the Afghan government established to disarm the militias and reintegrate them into society after decades of fighting. One of the locations where there were lots of ordnance stored was a town called Qalat. Qalat is located in the Zabul Province, between Qandahar and Gazni provinces.  The province has long been a hot bed of Taliban/Al-Qaeda resistance, so it was not a friendly town…it was bandit country for sure.

Our job was to go up there destroy everything they had short of 7.62mm (AK-47) rounds. On a previous visit one of my mates had found 6 AGS-17 grenade launchers, similar to our MK-19 40mm grenade launcher, except in the 30mm version. These were very hard to come by and we found out that some of our “friends” could use them. So we decided to go there and retrieve them before blowing them up. The trick was to get them out without the garrison commander messing with us…which meant we had to have a show of force. For us that meant we had to go to the firebase and somehow ‘con’ our way into getting a patrol to provide security. First we went to an American company providing security for various NGO’s (non-government organization-us excluded, of course) and asked to have two security vehicles escort us to Qalat and back. Since the regional manager was a good drinking friend of ours he immediately agreed with us…it is good to have the only bar in town!

As always my teammate and I were loaded for bear, I think we took everything in our arsenal. We then drove up to Qalat, escorted by our “security force” consisting of two vehicles with 4 guards each. These guards we were sure had been Taliban at one time, so of course we didn’t trust them as far as we could throw them. We entered the firebase and immediately started sweet talking the commander into giving us some assistance. He must have thought we were “somebody” since he kept calling us ‘sirs’. All he saw was two Americans looking ragged by any standards, carrying lots of weapons and asking very nicely for his assistance. No only did he agree to it…but he gave us 4 HUMVEES loaded with soldiers, and two gun trucks (HUMVEES with .50 cal mounted on top). Now we were in business!!!

The cache of ordnance was located on top of a hill where the AMF had sort of a ‘fortress’. We rolled in there with an impressive show of force and meaning business. We immediately drove to the bunker we knew had the items we wanted, and told this very frightened officer that he had ten minutes to produce the keys or we were cutting the lock. As he scampered off to search for the keys everyone took positions, making sure that instead of keys he didn’t bring armed soldiers. Without much waiting, the individual returned with the keys and proceeded to open several doors. Mike and I just rushed in with flashlights on and started taking everything we wanted, including extra AK-47s.  The entire job lasted approximately 10 minutes, and as soon as we finished we closed the doors and locked them. Now the tricky part was to get a clean get away. We headed for our vehicle in the front of the fortress and got our troopers ready to move out. I started counting vehicles and noticed we were one short. The lieutenant (LT) in charge of the patrol was still in the rear with vehicle problems…not good. I called him on the radio and told him to put a move on it.

At this point the Operations Officer of the camp came out and started acting squarely with us. He was demanding to see authorization, to which my teammate replied that the fact that the soldiers where with us was enough prove that we had it, but he wasn’t buying it. I kept an eye on the situation while telling the LT he needed to get his ass up to our location so we can leave. I was beginning to worry about the operations officer blocking our way out.  Needless to say I was getting a bit antsy.  There weren’t that many AMF soldiers in the fortress, and I was certain that we could have taken them out, but there was only one way out of that place and I was not about to start an international incident.

Time started to pass by very quickly, and with every tick tock of time the AMF soldiers kept growing restless. The operations officer was definitely not buying my buddy’s bullshit. At this point, I got on the radio and told the LT to get up here ASAP. He very unwisely told me to standby. Well, that’s what it took to set me off. I literally pulled the driver out of the HUMMER and jumped in, racing back to where the dumb-ass was at. Now, I am not sure if the LT was used to having civilians yell at him but I came out of that vehicle cursing and yelling. I let him know that he had 5 minutes to get his HUMMER going or I was leaving him behind, whether he was in charge or not. Of course, the sight of an armed, angry, yelling puertorrican must have inspired fear in this young 2^nd Lieutenant, because the next noise I heard was the sound of the HUMMER coming to life.

As we raced to the front of the fortress I noticed the operations officer yelling at Mike, definitely not a good sign. However, as Mike heard the vehicles rolling towards him, he immediately started to run towards the now blocked gates. He quickly removed the barrier and jumped head first into my truck. The rest of the army HUMMERS quickly followed us as we departed the fortress.

The army escorted us out of Zabul province and we made it back to Qandahar without further incidents. But it was close!!!

Afghanistan Color Photos 2007

Abandoned helmet

Afghan mountain north of Kabul

King's Tomb restoration

Afghan ladies walking back from the children's hospital in Kabul

Afghan street urchins

Deminer in action

Old building in Kabul

It gets bitter cold in Afghanistan

Abandoned military hardware east of Kabul

Rocket tubes

Armenia Photos 2003

Mt Ararat. Even though it is located in Turkey, Armenians still consider it theirs 

A herder in the village of Kapan, where I was demeaning 11 minefields

Detail of church door in Norabank

Headstones near Sevan Monastery

April in southern Armenia

Kapan farmer

Kapan housing

Another detail of a church door

Herat, Afghanistan

February 2005. Herat, Afghanistan

After ten hours on the road from Kandahar and I was reaching the limit of my “fun meter”. The road had been hard, bumpy, long, dusty and cold, and my body was definitely feeling it. I was sure we were near the end but could not see it. My driver kept saying ‘next, boss, next’. I just didn’t know exactly what that meant. Descending from a mountain pass I saw a big, green valley in front of me. The first structure I noticed was a gateway; a clean, white granite looking arch welcoming my convoy to my destination…the city of Herat, the crossroad of the Silk Route and cultural center of ancient dynasties and kingdoms; a city torn between culture and wars.

Herat was built before 500 B.C. and was probably known as Artacoana or Aria. Starting with a young man that became king in 336 B.C. at the age of twenty, it has been conquered, destroyed and rebuilt several times. Alexander the Great came through in 330 B.C. and made Herat one his great cities. Alexander built the fort that to this day still stands guard in the middle of the old part of the city.

On my first outing in Herat I told my translator and my driver to take me to see the city and tell me all they knew about its history, what a wonderful mistake that was. I quickly found out that Heratis are fiercely proud of their city. They proceeded to bombard me with names, years, and facts. My mind was like a sponge, trying to absorb everything. And since most Afghans are illiterate and haven’t gone to school, it meant that the information I was getting from them was probably obtained by word of mouth. As to the accuracy and veracity….well…needless to say, I checked everything they said, and to my astonishment I found most of it to be accurate.

The first place they took me was to the plains located to the west of the city. The year was 1222 and the Mongol king Genghis Khan had just returned to lay siege and destroy Herat. With him were close to 80,000 warriors. I was told the plains were full of warriors and great battles took place there. The citizens put up a great fight, but after a bloody siege that lasted 6 months, Genghis Khan and his Mongols ravaged the city, leaving behind only 40 Heratis alive, so the story goes. My guides spoke of these things with great enthusiasm, as if they had been there themselves.

With a population of around 800,000 people, Herat is a good size city. The influence of Iran, which is only an hour drive to the west, is very noticeable in the modern looking stores and all the wares you can buy, all imported from the western neighbor. Everything from satellite dishes, to computers, to Tupperware bowls can be found in Herat. New modern buildings are sprouting everywhere, all of them with a green glass façade that must be the latest trend somewhere. From a ceremony hall built by the former governor, Ismael Khan, to a modern apartment complex selling for $30,000 per unit, the green glass is everywhere. Modernism is much more pronounced here than in any other city I have been in Afghanistan.

From where the car was parked I looked to the north east and saw very tall towers that looked like factory smoke stacks looming well above the highest structure in the city and immediately asked my ‘tour guides’ if Herat had any factories. What I was looking at was the remnants of the once great “musalla”.

In 1381 Tamerlane completely destroyed Herat. But it was his son Shah Rukh who rebuilt it, along with his wife Gawhar Shad Begom, the daughter of a Turkish nobleman. Together they constructed universities and started a cultural renaissance in Herat. Gawhar Shad is credited with building, around 1405 A.D., the Meshad Mosque, a college and a mausoleum, together known as the musalla. Only 5 of the glorious minarets remain standing tall and proud, one of them leaning precariously to the east on the verge of toppling over. At the moment efforts are being made to prevent it from collapsing.

Still to this day, Heratis pride themselves in being well educated and cultured. According to them they are the most educated and literate people in the country. One can see this, for example, in the amount of bookstores that dot the city. It seems like you can’t pass a city block without seeing books advertised. And perhaps for this level of culture and knowledge, Herat has been sought after by many conquerors.

Around 1873 the Persians came once more and laid yet another bloody and ruthless siege on the city. The rulers of Herat at that time were advised by a young British major named Eldred Pottinger. Some have stated that if it had not been for Major Pottinger, Herat might have fallen into the hands of the invading Persians. This fact earned Pottinger the nickname of Hero of Herat.

Towards the beginning of the 1980’s, Heratis stood defiantly, once again, against the soviet invaders. To teach the inhabitants of the city a lesson and to capture the city, the Red Army sent 300 tanks to attack Herat. After the smoke cleared an estimated 5,000 citizens lost their lives and the Soviets had the city.

Under the leadership of the powerful Mujaihadeen Ismael Khan, Heratis survived not only soviet aggression but Taliban submission. Ismael Khan, the self-named Emir of Herat, cleaned up the city and maintained order, although sometimes too strictly, prompting locals to admit that there was little difference between Ismael Khan’s authority and the Taliban regime. In 2002, in a faint attempt to promote himself as a forward thinking leader, Ismael Khan declared that women did not have to wear the omni present burka; however, it is always up to the woman’s male relatives as to what she can or can’t do, what she can and can’t wear. So today the women of Herat continue, for the most part, to wear the burka.

And now, in the first decade of the 21^st century, Herat stands to become the most modern city in the country and once again the cultural center of Afghanistan, moving far ahead of other Afghan cities.

Afghan Road Trip

March 2004

I had settled into my routine at our Kandahar house, and I have to say that at times it was a bit boring, so when the request came in to do a reconnaissance to some of the Firebases at a town called Gazni, we all jumped at it. First order of business was to find out exactly what was the job: to recon some weapons’ caches and assess how long it would take to dispose of them, how many people would be needed, gather points of contacts, routes, accommodation, logistical support and lastly but not least, the security situation of the area. It was the usual tasking.

Next came our plan on how to accomplish all of this. First we decided to go to Firebase Gecko to try to arrange an Special Forces patrol to escort us to Gazni. It was a 5 hour drive thru the last stand of Taliban resistance and we didn’t feel like going alone. We then needed to find where to go and who to talk to. After a quick visit at Gecko everything was arranged for the mission to start on the 1^st of March, Monday. On Sunday we went back to Gecko to make sure everything was alright and to our disbelief our ‘escort’ was tasked with doing something else. The guys there started joking that we didn’t have any balls to go up by ourselves. Well, that’s all it took, we were back on again! We quickly decided that we could do it. We gathered all the remaining information we needed. The situation was dicey at best; there were many ‘pockets’ of resistance along the way so we had to be on the look out for roadblocks and ambushes.

We returned to the house to pick a suitable vehicle and prep our gear. We opted on one of the four-wheel drive pick ups and loaded it with water, food and extra diesel. Then next order of business was to decide on weaponry. Going to our ‘armory’ we found everything we needed. For road-block ‘clearing’ we took two LAAW rockets; for possible ambushes we took two M18A1 Claymore directional mines with very, very short fuzes; each one of us carried a Makarov side arm with 3 magazines each; for breaking contacts we took an assortment of grenades… smokes, white phosphorous, stuns and fragmentations…around 40 total; and for our main weapons we took our trusty AK-47’s with a 75 round magazine and 10-30 round mags each. Mike also had his M3A1 Grease Gun…in short, we were loaded for bear.

On Monday morning we loaded our ‘toys’ and headed out on the big adventure! The ride up was very uneventful, but we didn’t leave our guard down for a second. One weapon was always pointed outwards, the LAAW rockets close by, and the floors were littered with our grenades ready for action. All the pockets in the vehicle had weapons’ magazines, as well as on our body armor. If any one was stupid enough to attempt to stop they were going to get a big, big surprise.

Around 3:20pm we reached Gazni and the first thing we ran into was a huge demonstration for some Shiite religious holiday. Things started not to look good at all. Everyone was wearing green headbands with some Arabic writing (which probably said kill the first white boy you see), we were stuck in a traffic jam with no way out at all.  We tried but couldn’t turn around and we had no escape route. And to top it all we had no idea were Firebase Catamount was (in actuality we had passed it about 2 kilometers before and didn’t know it) to make it to safety. Mike was driving so I lowered my AK to keep it out of sight but chambered a round and placed the weapon on safe…just in case.  Since there were lots of civilians I decided a stun grenade, followed by smokes and tear gas would be best, he agreed with me and I made the grenades ready.

After about 30 minutes of adrenaline rush we cleared the traffic jam and continued the trip. We drove an extra hour before we realized we were leaving the province we were supposed to work in….only because we saw a sign that said “You are now leaving Gazni”.  We turned the truck around and headed back. By this time, 5:00pm, the sun was beginning to set and again, things began to look dim for us. It was getting harder to find the US flag that would point us to the Firebase and we really didn’t want to be stuck out there in bandit country with nowhere to go. After passing the place where the traffic jam had occurred, Mike noticed a compound that had all the makings of our destination. The closer we got the better it looked until we spotted the flag…safety at last! We turned off the road and made a “B-Line” to the main gate. By this point we had been driving around 6 hours and were a bit tired and dusty.

We immediately linked up with our point of contact, who had no idea we were coming and was very amazed, as was everyone else, that we had decided to do the mission on our own without military escort. Next order of business was to find a place to lay up for the night. Captain Grant, our POC gave us some cots in one of the tents and we dropped our gear. As luck would have it we came in just in time for dinner and after stuffing our faces we headed for the tactical operations center, TOC. At the TOC we started our mission brief for the next day with the battalion executive officer, XO. He informed us that the ASP we had come all the way to investigate was gone and disposed of already; however, there were other ones they had discovered in the previous weeks, good, we were back in business. There was a company sized patrol going there the next day and he gave us authorization to tag along. Now, having a company sized patrol was usually not a good sign, and we were to find out the next day why.

The night was just miserable, probably one of the worse nights I had ever spent on a mission. It got terribly cold that night and since we forgot our sleeping bags, we were hating life. The only thing we were wearing was a sweatshirt each. Some of the soldiers there took pity of the two old men and gave us some poncho liners to keep us warm….and they helped, but not much. Better than nothing I guess. Around 0600 I just couldn’t take it anymore and got out for a piss and a smoke. It was bitterly cold and our truck was covered in ice, so it must have definitely dropped below 32 degrees.

After breakfast, the XO came out and told us our escort would be there around 9am and invited us to back to the TOC to warm up with a ton of freshly made hot coffee, now who can turn down an invitation like that? We then received a complete debrief on the prior two weeks operations in the area. A week prior, the firebase we were headed to had send a patrol and they got ambushed and a huge firefight ensued, that lasted about 20 minutes…a huge amount of time, there were some injuries but no deaths. The weapons caches were all commanded, or owned, by the provincial governor who didn’t want anyone to touch them or see them. Some of the other factions also wanted them and had been fighting the governor’s guards for them. So here we are going to tell his guards that we have directives from the Afghani National Army that we were to go in and take pictures and assess the disposal of their ordnance, it all spelled disaster to me. Mike and I just kept giving each other some really worrisome glances.

At exactly 9am the company arrived, the XO made the introductions and we headed out to their firebase to drop off some equipment. There we met with the firebase commander, Lt Cruz. He again verified everything that was said at the TOC and let us know in no uncertain terms that we were in some bad, really bad territory. He could not believe that we had traveled alone; he then glanced in our truck and understood why. We explained our background and he was happy that if the shit hit the fan while on patrol, and it probably will, he wouldn’t have to protect us too much. I joked with him telling him that we probably had more fire power in our truck than he did on the patrol. He was not amused at that since he didn’t have any LAAW rockets…ooops!

And so the patrol started, leaving the safety of the firebase was scary yet exciting at the same time. Everyone locked and loaded their weapons and the gates opened, and we were off to look for trouble. The drive to the sites took us through three villages, all with very narrow streets and high walls…ambush city! I could see the soldiers in front looking a bit tense, these guys had been here before and knew what to expect. Their eyes were scanning the walls, looking into every ally-way, looking for the first sign of trouble. We followed the patrol to the first site where they had told us there mines along the side of the road. If there had been mines before we couldn’t tell, but there were none now. We continued to the next site, an abandoned Russian training site. Garbage was everywhere and now we started to see ordnance laying about…lots of ordnance. But again, no weapons caches nor mines. At around 300 meters from the third and last site, we saw soldiers jumping out in front of the gates and meaning business, not a good sign.

The lieutenant in charge of the patrol got out with his interpreter and started the negotiations to get us access thru. Things didn’t seem to be going well, but we couldn’t hear much from our position next to the last vehicle. The next thing I hear is my teammate saying “Oh shit, here we go!” I looked up expecting to see the gates opening but what I saw was the entire patrol jumping out and taking defensive positions, we followed suit, with Mike retrieving the LAAW and me the entire bag of grenades. I hit the ground ready for whatever happened. We had them seriously outgunned and when they realized it, they waved us thru with smiles on their faces. Touch and go there for a minute, but I guess cooler heads prevailed on their side and quick reaction on ours to save a seriously bad situation.

Now we were in the last compound where we were sure to find ordnance…or trouble. We got out of the vehicles and left one fire team behind to guard them. The rest of us walked to the building compound with the Afghans trailing very close. As we approached the men guarding the buildings, our ‘Terp introduced us and asked permission to enter the first building. This was granted easily enough, maybe too easy. Mike and I entered first. Our fingers were never too far from our triggers. The rest of the guys followed us in. We searched every room looking for ordnance or indications of secret rooms that may be holding a weapons cache. Nothing found in this building or the next four. By now we were getting a bit frustrated with the whole thing, so we decided to check one more building and call it quits. I suggested to Mike we search an outlying building, not the next one they wanted to take us to. Sure enough, the arguing started with the soldier in charge yelling. Things were getting a bit tense now but we were determined to enter the building. I started for it, with or without permission. Sometimes you have to call their bluff and we were frustrated enough that this became one of those times.

I entered first ready for anything, the rest of the patrol tight on my heels, weapons at the ready. We searched thru a maze of rooms… all very dirty, with trash, junk and feces laying about everywhere, needless to say it didn’t smell very pleasant. With one room to go we found what they were hiding from us. I pushed the door very slowly, ever so vigilant about booby-traps and lo and behold there they were: stacks upon stack of pornographic material, I couldn’t believe my eyes! The soldiers looked like they were about to face the shooting squad. We had to calm them down and give them our assurances that we would not turn them in or say anything to anyone. Much to their relief we left the area laughing, but our guard never went down, not until we were out of the area completely and out of sight.

The rest of the patrol went by very uneventful and we returned to the firebase to re-fuel and commence our trip back home to Qandahar. It was getting very late and we wanted to make it home before dark. Two days after returning home, we heard that some road workers had been ambushed and killed on the same road we had just traveled. Forty-eight hours later, the same thing happened again. Guess we got lucky this time.

After two months in country I found out that I was not going back to Armenia to finish the project there, or at least not for the time being. So I decided to combine leave with going to Armenia to gather whatever kit I had left behind.

Upon my return to Qandahar I found out that things had gone ‘south’ and were getting nastier by the minute. It seemed to me that the situation in Afghanistan was mirroring that of Iraq and since things were heating up a lot there, it was just a matter of time until they got real bad here. With Qandahar being the birthplace of the Taliban we were in for some rough times.

The first thing that started to go wrong was that the DDR program has started. DDR is the Disarming, Demobilization and Reintegration for the Afghan Militia Force (AMF) to be conducted by the Afghan National Army (ANA). In theory it is a good program to disarm all of the factional militias roaming the towns but the thing is that these people live by the old saying of “He Who Controls the Weapons Has Power”, so therefore no one wants to give their weapons up to the Army. And on top of all that, DDR is a voluntary program, sort of.

The ANA came into the military area one day and demanded to take all the tanks the AMF had. Of course the AMF told them to shove it up their arses and to fuck off out of there. After the ANA left, some of our team leaders started to report tank rounds disappearing…figure that! So now the AMF has 6-7 fully operational T-72 tanks near us and just itching to use them. The day after this happened, Craig came back to the house saying that someone had fired at him, but thankfully the rounds didn’t hit the target…and that was a big target. Mike also reported taking incoming from the second floor of an AMF building near the tank farm. So I told Mike I wanted to go check out some of the teams near the tank farm and off we went. When we were around 2 klicks from the building where Mike took some rounds we decided to pull over and put on our body armor and load and lock our weapons. We proceeded but I had a feeling like I was acting as bait, to draw fire. If anyone had been stupid enough to shoot at us that day, it probably would have been the last decision he made, because we would have blasted the building with our L.A.A.W.s!

No one fired at us that day and after checking on the teams we looked for the tanks but couldn’t find them. Obviously they had moved them somewhere out of sight, which told us two things: one that the tanks are in working order and two that they intend on keeping them.

A week later we decided to shoot one of our two LAAWs just to have fun. Mike pulled it out, cocked it, pressed the trigger and...nothing.  More trigger pressing, and still nothing. It was a bad LAAW. I pulled the second one out of the car, repeated the process and nothing. Both LAAWS were bad. Mike and I looked at each other thinking the same thing: it was a good thing we never needed them.

Mine Victim

One of the hardest aspects of my profession is dealing with mine victims, both during the accident and the period afterwards.  During the seconds after accident you go into automatic, you don’t have time to think, you DON’T think, you just react. You do what you have to do to get the job done and hopefully save a life. The gruesomeness of the accident normally doesn’t bother you; you look past it and accomplish your job.

After the victim is taken away to a medical facility and you are left behind in the aftermath of the accident, that is when the nerves hit you and your knees start to shake a bit. But you have to learn to deal with it because the work is not over yet. There is still a lot more things to get done, reports to write, clean up, and investigations to get started. These investigations are very crucial to determine the cause of the accident so that it can be prevented again, especially if we are doing a wrong procedural step.

That is the physical part; the emotional part comes later, as was the case for me in February 2007. It was at this time that I was tasked to negotiate a settlement between the company I worked for and a mine victim’s family. The way it is done in Afghanistan is that the company has to meet with victim’s family and village and negotiate a cash settlement. In the International Mine Standards for Mine Action there is a chart that establishes the amount of money to be paid to a victim according to the type of injury. This forms the basis to enter into negotiations.

And so my journey started thru the cold and muddy streets of Kabul towards my meeting with Wali’s family. Four months ago Wali got out of his truck and against the advice of deminers present proceeded into a known, active minefield and stepped on a soviet PMN anti-personnel landmine. Wali was not even contracted by us; he was hired by the company we contracted. So even though the accident was entirely his own fault, here I was going to give him money.

As my driver drove at Mach 3 thru the backstreets of Kabul, weaving in and out of traffic, I was thinking how to tell the grandfather and father of what their kid’s leg was worth…how does one do that? I was going alone with a translator. It was still Kabul so my guard was never down; with my sidearm on my hip I kept my eyes all over the place. I didn’t know what I was to expect, a friendly family or one that was overly hostile and belligerent; were these people former Mujahideen or pro-Taliban sympathizers or worse still…active Taliban.

We turned into an unpaved road and made 4 or 5 more turns, enough to get me disoriented…not good. We pulled over in front of a three story building with eight young men sitting directly across the street and three others right next to the door I was to go into…not good. Was I getting into an ambush? I kept looking at hands and eyes for any overt sign of hostility but found none…paranoia perhaps?

As we climbed the stairs to the third floor room, there were plenty of eyes looking thru barely open doors, all the kids wanted to look at the white man in their building. Climbing those dark, cold, dusty steps did not give me a warm and fuzzy feeling. At the top of the steps I was greeted by a warm, smiling grandfather. Ekhrudin invited me into what I guessed was their living room. I removed my boots and entered a very cold room, furnished by pillows, carpets, a table with tea and a pot-belly stove. We started with nice pleasantries, as is the custom, but as pleasant as it seemed I never forgot I was not in a friendly city so I sat on a carpet, facing the door, with the windows on my right side. I had clear escape routes if things turned sour. A few minutes after arrival, Wali entered. I had never met him before and he seemed a very nice young man.

With the room rapidly filling up with relatives I was eager to start, the sooner I had an agreement, the sooner I can get out of “dodge”. So taking the initiative, I started telling Ekhrudin my purpose for the visit. He listened intently. After stating my case to the family, Ekhrudin stood up and pronounced solemnly to all present that he was happy with the cash offer, and immediately brought some food out along with the ever present green tea.  And thus the negotiations ended, as quickly as I started them, he finished them.

Grandfather Ekhrudin started to tell me about his fleeing Paktia province with his family, running from the hold of the Taliban. Now it was my turn to become the listener. The story was fascinating and intriguing leaving anyone listening with the thirst for more. Grandpa stood up and announced that he had prepared a meal for me; I was completely astonished by his hospitality. Unfortunately I had a full day of meetings and didn’t have time to stay. I got up to leave and accorded with Grandpa that we should get together at a later day to talk some more. I thanked him as politely as I could for his understanding, for his hospitality and for accepting my offer. I expressed my sincere feelings over a much unfortunate accident and departed the house.

On the way back I asked my translator why the family had been so quick to accept our offer without bargaining. He stated there were various reasons. The first and most important was that they had accepted that the accident had been Wali’s fault and understood completely that we had no responsibility or obligation to engage into a monetary negotiation with them and that we were doing out of a moral, not legal obligation. The next reason was that Grandpa had taken a liking to me, he liked my honesty. That certainly made me happy.

It was still very hard to sit there and put a price on a human limb, and have to negotiate over it as if it were a piece of meat hanging at the butcher’s shop.

This is certainly one part of my job that I don’t care to repeat. The only thing that made this task bearable was Ekhrudin’s Afghan hospitality.

Attack!

It was time for me to go home. I had been in country now for 5 months and the holidays where fast approaching. The problem was that everyone was in the same boat, and day by day there were fewer of us Security Coordinators left in country. Therefore the few of us staying until the last possible day had to cover for the guys that had already left.

I got sent to the Kajiki Dam site for two reasons: I started that project back in August and because I had a good working relationship with the permanent coordinator, Bill. After a day’s turnover Bill was gone and I was in charge of the project. The first thing that happened was that my boss in Kabul emailed me and told me that they just got information of a threat of attack to the Dam site. Great I thought, I haven’t been here two days and now I am going to get attacked. Not what I wanted to happen a week before going home.

First order of business was to inform all the managers so they can take charge and be accountable for their people. Things were not right though, I could feel something was in the air. After being in country for almost a year, you can read peoples’ behavior, and amongst all the locals working with us there was certainly something wrong. They would not look at me in the face and where otherwise very evasive. Not good I thought. After making my initial notification to all the managers, the next thing I did was to head to my room to check my equipment.

I closed the door and laid out all my kit on the bed. I made sure I had at least 4 fragmentation and 2 smoke grenades and that their safety pins where all in place; I then checked all my AK-47 magazines to make sure they were full; and finally took my rifle and handgun and checked them and gave them a thorough cleaning. There was no way in hell that I was going to lose it in this country due to a faulty weapon, I knew better than that. Having done all that and being satisfied that everything was in order, it was time for the next thing: check all my posts.

I called my assistant Noor Agha and informed him what was happening. I told him that we would be checking all the posts and not to tell anyone. I didn’t want to let anyone know that we knew…they just might hit us harder. We started from my place and I immediately noticed things were not right, the first check point we came to was empty!

This was the check point closest to my house and where all the ex-pats live. After sorting this one we moved to the next one, the one separating us from the village. The funny thing was that all the soldiers from the first check point were at the second one. What was going on? They all knew, that’s what. And once could sense it in the air that they were nervous.

About 100 meters from this check point is Tangin, a known pro-Taliban village. It was  separated from us by a 100 meter long bridge. So what I have in my hands is a threat of an attack by the Taliban, possibly coming from the village that is only 100 meters away, and I am guarded by 150 very nervous and trigger happy soldiers that for all I know could all be Taliban or ex-Taliban (as if that mattered).

It was around 5pm when we returned to our house, after checking all the posts. It was going to be a cold, dark and windy night, not good for us but very good indeed for them. And the darker it got, the more nervous I got. The problem is that since I was responsible for the safety of 10 foreigners, I could not show weakness, I could not show how nervous I was. I needed these guys to trust me. If the shit hit the fan I needed these guys to obey every order I gave, for their safety.

Around 8pm I gave everyone an update on the situation and told them what I had done to ensure their safety. One of the things I did was to move my assistant to the room next to mine so he could help me defend if needed. I also moved the QRF (Quick Reaction Force-8 heavily armed soldiers) next to our building and placed them on standby all night long. Noor Agha and I moved all of our kit to the roof around 10 pm and started taking 2 hour shifts.

It was dark, very, very dark. I only had one set of night vision goggles and not very good at that, they were old, but at least it was something.  I cannot remember being this nervous in a long time. I could feel it in the air, something was very wrong. We spent the rest of the night awake, the hell with the 2 hour shifts, I wanted to be awake and be able to respond immediately.

Every sound, every little something we looked, straining our eyesight, straining our hearing against the noise of the passing river 50 meters in front of us. Every shadow a possible bad guy, every branch an enemy Kalishnikov pointed at us. It was nerve wrecking to say the least. Because of the time of year, darkness was long, very long. The first rays of welcomed light came around 6:30am, and not too soon.  And with the light came relaxation, we didn’t get hit in the dark so that was a blessing, we could relax at the thought that a night attack didn’t come.

Matter of fact, no attack ever came while I was there. The Taliban often likes to play the game of threatening an attack to see what you will do, and we know it. The problem is that we don’t know when the real thing is coming so we have to react every time for the safety of the people we protect.

Why???

One of the questions I get asked the most is why, why do I do the job I do? Why do I spend year after year away in far away countries like Ethiopia and Afghanistan? There are many reasons.

When I first heard of the job, I immediately thought of the adventure, the travels to far off lands, places not too many people get to visit. And the enticement of the money was too much. So adventures, travels and money…off I went!

When I first came overseas I was a demining technical advisor. My job was to teach countries how to establish a self-sustaining mine action program, from establishing the building to evaluating the deminers in the field and final certification as deminers. I liked my job but it was all about one thing: Money! The money was good, very good. But as the years went along and I got more experience (got older), I started seeing the effects of landmines. These objects of destruction attack indiscriminately. I started seeing little girls missing arms because they picked up a nice little object in field to make a toy to play with; little boys with no legs because they were playing soccer in a field; old men with no eyes because they were planting vegetables to feed their families.

As a former military man, I recognize that landmines are a hazard of my previous profession; however, these people are innocent, they are just innocent victims of conflicts they had nothing to do with. Especially children, they get penalized for the actions of adults, it is just not fair.

I was truly blessed to work with good people. I had mentors that taught me that even though it is about the money, we must truly believe in our work in order to do a good job and have an impact in our projects. It is a really important job that needs to get done. We need to get rid of landmines in the world for ever.

Being overseas is difficult, very difficult. The money is enticing, yes, but it is not for everyone. The families take a toll, and personally speaking not everyone has the mental strength to be out here year after year after year. I have seen the best deminers quit after just a few months out here. It gets lonely at times, and psychologically it can take its toll.

What would happen if no one would do my job? Innocent kids will continue to die or lose limbs; families will continue to go hungry because their land is seeded with mines; and old men will continue to suffer in their old age instead of enjoying their “golden years”. Why am I here? The job needs to get done. I believe in my work. 

Kosovo

8/18/01

Landing in Kosovo was quite different than landing in Ethiopia. As soon as I landed I saw military vehicles and personnel, it was like being at war again, the same feeling. Joel Murray, my new boss and Jack Carson, an old friend, picked me up at the airport. I was extremely lucky that my bags were not missing and that they were the first ones to come out. Everyone told me horror stories about losing their baggage for days. We immediately went to Jack’s apartment where I was to stay until we found one for me, and then we went next door to Joel’s for drinks. Jack and I had known each other for a while, so we had some catching up to do. Joel brought me up to date on what had happened to the guy I was relieving here. He confirmed my suspicions that it had been the guy we went through training with RONCO in Texas. Apparently this guy had no common sense, really disliked the locals (but let it known to everyone), and stabbed himself in the foot while playing throw with his knife, amongst many things. But the straw the broke the camel’s back was that he went drinking right after work with some people and after they got really drunk they found out that he was carrying explosives in the back of his truck! That was a major safety violation. So Joel had no choice but to fire his ass.

Today I got up early and went to work with Jack. It was my first day here and didn’t want to spend it in the apartment doing nothing. We went to the office and I met most of the guys in my team. I was getting two teams of guys from Mozambique. Come to find out, they spoke Portuguese and very little English. My job was to be a team leader of UXO teams; I was finally going to do real EOD work instead of teaching. We then departed for an hour’s trip out of Pristina to the work site. It was up on the hills surrounding the city and the view was absolutely gorgeous. I learned quite a bit from Jack but mostly we sat around reminiscing about our days in the Navy and our friends. After being in Ethiopia with Canadians for 5 months, it was very nice to be able to sit and talk to an American about American things. After work Jack and myself went to downtown Pristina to have a few beers at his local hangout, it was right next to the U.N. Headquarters, very nice place.

Coming from Addis, I found Pristina very hot, which was fine by me, I don’t mind the heat. Another nice thing here is the fact that I can actually see the blue skies, instead of the gray, cloudy skies of Addis. Noticeable for me also was the fact that the air was relatively clean and there was no smoke coming out of the cars’ exhausts. Almost immediately my cough was gone. Being here was a breath of fresh air…literally! Everyone had warned me about how dirty the place was but I found it actually cleaner than Addis, but not by much.

My first evening we all went to a Serbian village about 8 kilometers outside Pristina. The village has 2 roads leading in and out and are both guarded by KFOR (Kosovo Force) to prevent attacks by Albanians. Inside the village it was very different than in the city. Everything seemed so peaceful, quite, and clean. We ate in a very quaint little restaurant. As we sat outside and drank a few beers we watched the people stroll by on a very nice warm summer evening. The food was incredibly good, pork chops, veal and ribs. My only disappointment was that they didn’t have any good rum. They had some Croatian rum that tasted like someone mixed kerosene with sugar and added some diesel for taste. So after the first one, it was straight cokes for me. We all sat there for about three hours enjoying the conversation and the evening. It was very nice for me to be able to do that, since in Ethiopia there were no places to do that without being attacked by a mob of beggars, and people staring at you.

One only needs a few weeks in Kosovo to really understand what is going on there. At first one would tend to think of the “poor” Albanians and how they don’t have the resources to run their country. But the longer I spent in Kosovo the more I understand what really happened, and how apparent it becomes that we helped the wrong side. By “we” I mean the US, the UN and NATO.

The country was under Serbian rule under Milosevic. The population was approximately 80% Albanian and 20% Serbian. The Albanians wanted their autonomy but Milosevic would have none of it. It is very obvious that the Serbians took good care of the country, even though it was a communist dictatorship. When the war started 15,000 Serbian soldiers drove out close to 1.5 million Albanians because they didn’t have the intestinal fortitude to stay and fight even though they outnumbered the “enemy”. That was pretty impressive of the Serbians given that the population of the country was estimated at 2 million people. Kosovo is said to have been deserted.

The problems started for the Serbs when Milosevic went overboard with the killings and atrocities. Apparently he was doing the right thing, he just went about it the wrong way. The Albanians were doing the same atrocities as the Serbians but the media chose to expose Milosevic because he was in power, thus the Albanians became the “oppressed”. Therefore, the U.N. and NATO backed the Albanians.

Consequently, and thanks to NATO intervention, the Albanians won the war and were left with a country without a government or internal infrastructure to accomplish not even the basic city functions. The city now has gone to rubbish. The U.N. is the government and runs every governmental function. Corruption is rampant with the Russian Mafia and drug lords running amok.

There are basically three police forces in country. KFOR is the NATO led military contingency. It is comprised of a multi-national task force and is tasked to keep peace at a national level. They still patrol the whole country, which is divided into five sectors. A major country controls each sector: U.S., U.K., France, Germany and Italy. The next police group is the U.N. International Police Force (CivPol), not to be confused with INTERPOL. Each member nation of the U.N. sends regular police officers on a one-year loan to the U.N. to teach the local police departments the basics of police work. They also patrol the cities, towns and villages. The last group is the Kosovo Police Department. They have been funded, trained and equipped by the United Nations. Other countries through the U.N have donated everything they have.  They patrol the populated sectors of the country, usually accompanied by CivPol personnel. The local police force is the biggest group of crooks in this place. It is comprised of people that up to a few years ago were unemployed farmers with nothing going for them. All of a sudden the UN comes in, gives them uniforms, guns and a bit of authority and they think they are GOD. They have no clue what’s going on.

Things that we commonly we take for granted such as garbage pick-up, road maintenance and good electricity do not exist here. Sometimes we have electricity, sometimes we don’t. The Albanians do not take care of their cities; they throw the trash anywhere and are not proud in taking care of the cities. In every corner there is a pile of trash.

Under the Serbian government the city was in good shape, it was clean and the buildings were taken care of.

Driving in Pristina is a major health hazard. Up to 5 years ago there were very few vehicles here. All of a sudden with the communist regime gone, the floodgates of vehicles are open and everyone owns one. Most are stolen from Germany. All those people that had never driven before are driving now and they have no concept of driving etiquette or road courtesy. To compound the problem the city was not designed for so many cars, the roads are too narrow and there is hardly parking space. The deterioration of the roads is inevitable with the amount of heavy traffic, including tanks and all kinds of military vehicles. Since there is no road maintenance department, the roads are getting worse by the minute, which in turn makes the traffic problem that much worse.

Now the Serbians have been pushed to live in villages called enclaves. They are protected by KFOR. Every entrance and exits to the enclaves have KFOR checkpoints and they check every one coming in the enclave to make sure Albanians don’t go in an plant bombs or whatever.

Even though the “internationals” (as we are known here) keep the city alive, the locals hate us and have a major attitude towards us. It is very apparent in the way they treat us and talk to us. We are basically feeding them and clothing them, yet they despise us being here. It’s like cutting the hand that feeds you. They can’t wait for us to depart, which will cause greater problems because the unemployment will shoot through the roof, since the UN employs a vast majority of the locals and is the economy. Everyone here (internationals) knows that when we leave, if we ever do, the country will go down the tubes. This country has no visible way to support itself or generate income after we leave. There is no tourism, no industries, no major agriculture or foreign investments, so I am not sure how the economy will sustain itself. What will the economy base itself on no one knows. But yet the Kosovars (Albanians) still wants us to get out of their country. As far as I am concerned, I cannot wait to get out of here, the sooner the better.

The Albanians hate the Serbians and internationals alike. However, they seem to forget that we are the government and without us they would not have much. The Albanian attitude has now reached Macedonia, the only Balkan country that had evaded armed conflicts. During the Kosovo war, a lot of the Albanian refugees fled to Macedonia, which opened its borders and took them in to refugee camps. A few years after the war, these Albanians (still living in Macedonia) have opened fire on the Macedonians, demanding rights for living in that country. It just makes no sense at all.

Seems to me like all the countries in the Balkans hate the Albanians, I can definitely see why. It is very obvious to me now that we should have backed the Serbians.

9/25/01

My diary entries have been nil since the terrorists attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Probably for the lack of motivation. I am still in shock over the attacks. It seems so unreal for America to be attacked like that; it is like a bad dream.

10/06/01

Last week I found out that I am going to Zambia, Africa. I am pleased about it since it means I have work until at least December 20. In light of recent world events, any work is good work. I am leaving the 19^th of October. As far as to what I’ll be doing, I don’t know much. I know that I will be training someone on demining. To what extend I will be teaching I don’t know.

Our work is based out of State Department funds, and with the US economy in a downward trend, we really don’t know what’s going to happen to our funds. I would not have any problem if our funds go to fighting terrorism. 

My only disappointment right now is that I was not able to go to my best friend’s wedding in Canada. I was to be the best man and was looking forward to going to Winnipeg and getting out of Europe even if it was for just a few days. But with this new assignment I will not be able to get the time off. I was very frustrated about the whole thing. It hurt me a lot to have to tell Ray that I couldn’t go. I know it was hard for him too; he really wanted me there. I felt like I was letting him down, after all that he has done for me. Ray is like a big brother to me. But I do seek advice from him and he has yet steered me wrong.  

Ethiopia

My first Humanitarian Demining mission was in Ethiopia. What a shocker for me. It was like nothing I had ever been exposed to before. From the very beginning I found Ethiopia a strange place. It was very different to what I was used to. The over population of the city, Addis Ababa, the traffic, the smells, the strange food, the constant begging from kids and handicapped people was overwhelming.

There was so much to learn from my part. I was very familiar with the US military way of demining and this was completely different. This mission was taught in accordance with the United Nations Standards for Demining, which I had never seen in my life. Suffice to say I was lost for the first weeks of being in country. The only way for me to learn everything was to volunteer to write as many lesson plans and to teach as many classes as possible, which is what I did.  I didn’t want to seem like I was kissing ass, but I needed to learn, and that was the best way for me to do it.

 Dealing with new students was a different story altogether. What a chore that was. I have a short temper and a short tolerance for incompetence. I only like to say or show things once or twice. Seemed like with these students you had to say things 15 times before they even understood what you were trying to say or demonstrate, let alone comprehend or be able to perform a task. My blood pressure was always high. My two other colleges, John Payne and Larry Brophy were great. They were able to keep my temper in check. They taught me not to take anything personal. That was very hard for me since I am such a stickler for doing everything right. I am a perfectionist and expect the same from everyone that works for me.

 We were teaching the Ethiopian military engineers how to demine according to UN standards. The problem was that the students didn’t care about shit. They didn’t care because they had all been demining during the war with Eritrea and thought they were the best. Not only that, but being that they all were military, no matter how bad they did during training, they knew that we couldn’t kick them off the course and they would be getting their training certificates regardless. The vast majority of them came from rural areas with a maximum of a third grade education. So it was very hard to comprehend some of the theories we were teaching. There was also a language problem. None of the students spoke any English, except maybe words like “you”, and “give cigarettes”. We had been provided with military translators, who knew enough English to get by. So we had no idea what they were telling the students. We were certain that some ideas were lost in translation. Every evolution or drill had to be explained in detail a few times, along with hands on demonstration by us, step by step. Otherwise, they would not get it.

One day I gave one of the translators two Igloo jugs of water. I told him that it was for the students so that they had drinking water everyday. He was to make sure that they came back every morning full of water. Easy instructions, so I thought. The next day there were no water jugs. The day after there were none either. So I told the translator to send someone to get them. The deminer came back with them 20 minutes later with them…EMPTY! So I had to explain it like this: “take two deminers, each carrying a jug, walk to the water spigot, remove the covers, one at a time, place jug under the spigot, turn spigot on until water starts flowing. Ensure that water is going into jug. Once the jug is full, turn spigot off, remove jug from underneath and replace cover on top tightly, so that no water spills out of it. Then, place the next jug under the spigot and repeat the preceding procedures. Once both jugs were filled with the lids in place, each deminer is to pick a jug and walk back to the training area.” When they returned to my area I almost exploded, they only brought one jug, half filled! It was a great temper-training situation.

 And the smell these people had!!!!! Personal hygiene is not big in these parts of the world, so when you get 84 students in a classroom intended for about 20, the smell can be sickening. What a funk! It was very hard to resist the urge regurgitate breakfast. Especially in warm afternoons. We always insisted in having all windows open during lessons, but these fellows did not believe in that and always closed them. It was a daily struggle with them. I would like to say that sometimes, with time, you get used to smells but I never did. It was nauseating to me.

On June 23 we graduated the first company of deminers. We had preferred to have a small ceremony with us handing out all the certificates of completion and then having a few beers. But that would not be the case. Tom Barnes, our Chief of Party, decided that it would be better public relations for all parties involved to have a formal ceremony. So many VIPs, from the U.S. Ambassador to Ethiopian generals were invited, along with representatives from the U.N. and the World Bank. In addition to these people, the head in charge of the Ethiopian Mine Action Office (EMAO) had invited the local media.  My first tasking was to go to the Embassy and escort the Ambassador to the training area in Holeta. I arrived at exactly 0840, with 5 minutes to spare and proceeded to Sgt Hill’s apartment where I was to meet her and SSgt K from the Defense Attache Office (DAO) office. Then to pick up the Ambassador. It was a miserable morning, cold and raining. Mike and I stood in from the Ambassador’s residence and waited. The Political Officer came out and invited us in. What a “duffus” that guy was. A typical brainy nerd. We stepped into the house and I personally was flabbergasted at the opulence of the residence. The Ambassador came out and turned out to be a very nice fellow. I answered a few smart questions from him and a few stupid ones from the PO (yes, there are stupid questions). The Ambassador made us wait for his family to be ready, they were all going. We left the compound only 10 minutes behind schedule. Even though the reason I was assigned this duty was only because the other trainers were Canadians and I was American, I still didn’t want to fuck it up and put everyone behind schedule. That morning was one of the worst ones as far as weather was concerned, and myself along with the others had serious doubts whether the graduation would actually take place. By the time we got to Holeta, the weather had cleared considerably and all of our doubts dissipated. We even got to the training area in perfect time, thanks to the speedy driving of the Ambassador’s driver and Mike.

 We put on a “dog and pony” show for all the VIPs, where we demonstrated all the capabilities we had taught the students. I was in charge of demolitions. Larry had demining and Don had medical. John gave an overall speech on training. Larry had some deminers working in their lanes and Don was giving his speech on medical; when Don tipped his ball cap (his signal to me), I detonated a couple of blasting caps I had rigged about 5 meters in front of one of the deminers and hidden from the VIPs. To say the least, the explosion caught everyone by surprise, including Tom, who had no idea. Up to this point my mind had been racing with possible scenarios, such as the caps failing to detonate, or having the deminer actually hurt by flying debris and so on. I was sweating bullets as they say. I, as well as the others, didn’t want anything from going wrong at this stage of the game. We knew how important this graduation was to the fate of the Ethiopian Demining Project; we knew there was a lot riding on the next few hours.  As practiced, Don’s medics sprang into action and “saved” their fallen comrade, to the delight of everyone present. We then proceeded up to the base theater for the formal graduation. The Ambassador and Generals all made their speeches and certificates were handed out. We had set up demonstration tables with a sample of the gear given to the deminers. After the graduation, the VIPs toured our tables and we fielded questions from all of them.

 The graduation was a big PR success and everyone was thoroughly impressed with our program, which meant support from the Embassy would increase (and it did) tremendously. The World Bank representative was very impressed and opened his checkbook to our company. The media had a field day with us and we made it into the evening news.

After everyone went home we asked some of the medics to help us bring the demonstration gear into our classroom. We had brought some Ouzo and vodka along with some fine Cuban cigars to celebrate. So we proceeded to give them shots of Ouzo, they took it well but I can see by the expressions on some faces that they will be praying to the porcelain god later on, if not sooner. Tom came in the classroom and we chatted and celebrated our job well done. He informed us about how impressed everyone was and all the great comments he had received through the morning. Tom is a great politician and he played everyone to the greatest advantage.