Today, everybody stopped what they were doing and gathered to clap for some Wounded Warriors passing through. Apparently, they were injured in-theater and had to be medically evacuated, and this was their way to leave “on their own terms,” for closure. I’m not a big fan of closure, maybe because I’ve never had it for my various issues and therefore think it’s overrated. Hey, I’ve lived through a multitude of soul-crushing life experiences and turned out fine! Just fine, dammit! Sometimes the world makes you a shit sandwich, and you have to eat that sandwich and move on, because what else are you going to do? Demand the corned beef you’d originally ordered and refuse to leave until you get it? You’ll be waiting around for the rest of your life, brochacha.
Many people come to the KIV thinking they’ll have so much time on their hands that they’ll exercise like fiends and go home with the body of Channing Tatum/Kate Upton, gender-respectively. Hell, when I first arrived, someone told me, “You’ll definitely lose weight here, either from exercising or dysentery.” The thing is, I’ve been about the same weight my entire adult life (not counting when I was pregnant and post-partem—babies make you fat), so expecting to suddenly become a hard-body because I’ve got slightly more time on my hands is unrealistic, and I’m all about realistic goals.
But still, everyone else has a fitness goal, why not me? So in the spirit of bandwagoning and one-upping, I picked a couple goals: teach myself to do a back walk-over and a handstand! Backflips have always been my dream…literally, it’s a recurring dream I have. Not sure what it means about my psyche.
Someone managed to sneak a bomb onto a base near the KIV, detonating himself and killing four people, and now everyone is freaking the fuck out about security. Understandable, given that getting a bomb onto any base is extremely difficult.
Just another reminder that I am never safe, no matter where I am.
But at times like these, I need to keep in mind the REAL threat…
So there are like a billion dudes on the KIV, compared to a few hundred women. Anyone with boobs gets stared at all the time, especially by the foreign guys (and especially the Georgians and Afghans for whatever reason). At first it’s kinda flattering—hey, people think I’m attractive!—but after a few days it becomes obnoxious, then disturbing, and then infuriating. I hold my head either down or up to ignore the constant staring, to the point I want to stop in the middle of the road and scream, “Stop fucking staring at me!”
For such a small space, the KIV has a lot of poorly-lit areas. It’s a strange sensation walking through these dead zones and fearing, even just a little bit, that someone might jump and rape you despite the gun strapped to your thigh.
The Coalition takes great pains to make absolutely sure everyone is well-hydrated, going so far as to make free bottles of water available basically everywhere. You can just walk up to any cooler and take one, no questions asked! If you get dehydrated, it’s your own damn fault. There is running water, but it’s not potable for some reason having to do with mineral content, not medical concerns. That’s how I justify using the tap water to brush my teeth, anyway. I don’t feel sick yet.
Of course, the result of all this free water is thousands of empty plastic bottles that go in the trash, because Afghanistan doesn’t have any recycling capability. I felt bad throwing bottles in the trash at first, but eventually the inner environmentalist in me shut up. Hey, if all those millions of trashed water bottles breaks your heart, feel free to start a GoFundMe or Kickstarter campaign for Afghanistan’s first recycling plant!
And now I’m in Kabul—specifically, a hard target in the Green Zone! Almost three thousand military and government employees from over a dozen different countries are packed into the space of roughly two square blocks that I call the Kabul International Village, or KIV. The KIV is composed of a few permanent buildings surrounded by large metal boxes fashioned into offices, living quarters, restaurants, coffee shops, and even a spa. It’s got a very thrown-together Bohemian feel to it—you can stroll by the German enclave, through the center of extremely Little Italy (like 20 sq ft), and past the Georgian Smoking Spot, all on your 3-minute walk to the dining facility.
The KIV is a lot like Epcot—if people regularly shot rockets at the giant golf ball thing and it was a legitimate concern that Mickey and his friends might shoot you in the back at any moment. Continue reading “In Kabul”
Three or four or five hours later, I can’t keep track anymore, we finally reached Al Udeid, Qatar!
All I know is I looked at my watch, and it was two days after we left Norfolk, VA. We were officially in theater (CENTCOM). We dragged our sorry asses off the plane, picked up some extra gear—body armor and sleeping bags—then dumped all our crap in a holding area next to the terminal. Finally, we were herded like cattle through a succession of rooms to fill out paperwork and get briefings on terrorism and where the chow halls were, two extremely important things (“This is where the food is, and this is who might shoot you on your way to the food.”). Continue reading “On My Way to Kabul, Part 3”
After the Portsmouth Hero’s Walk, the 300 or so of us got back onto the giant plane and took a loooong-ass flight to Germany!
Except for that whole Nazi business, I’ve heard good things about the country, so I looked forward to really experiencing Deutschland. I’m sad to say that Hahn Air Base was, well, less than exciting. I expected lederhosen and accordions, like, everywhere, but instead we got a sad little airport with a hotdog and a beer stand. The beer stand might not sound too bad, in theory, but the reality is that most people – maybe just me – don’t want beer after they’ve been awake for almost 24 hours, unless you’re on crack or something.
However, one guy I was traveling with did tell me this gem of a story: “Man, last time I was here, people got off the plane and got totally wasted. Like, they were making little forts with beer bottles and puking their guts out in the bathroom. It was so bad the toilets overflowed and the pilot had to cut them off. When we got back on the plane, it was not fun.” Continue reading “On My Way to Kabul, Part 2”
It takes a long-ass time to get to Afghanistan from the US.
First, I flew from Boston to Norfolk, where I hung out waiting for a day.
Maybe one of the flight attendants took pity on my teary-snotty self, because I got bumped or something to a first-class seat, which happened to be the nicest plane seat I’ve ever sat in. There was an option to transform the seat into a bed! Hellz yeah!
This is pink fatigues.
It’s a blog about my experiences while deployed to Kabul, Afghanistan. I’m one of about 200 or so females on a base of about 3,000 people. OPSEC will be maintained at all times.