31 MAY 2007 – “WELL COME TO AFGHANISTAN”

First off, I’d like to offer a warning to those of you about to read this, especially my Mom, Grandma, and anyone else that has a tendency to worry (which I know is just about everybody): I’m going to try and do my best to paint the picture as I see it. Unfortunately the picture may not be a pretty one, because as you know, Afghanistan is a war zone. It’s scary and it’s dangerous. I hate the thought of people worrying but I know it’s inevitable. I do hope you take comfort though, in the thought that I’m here as a promoter of peace and humanity. There is hope for this country – it won’t happen in the next year while I’m here, and my not even happen in my lifetime. But we have to try and we have to start somewhere…

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31 May 2007 – “Well Come to Afghanistan”

I am absolutely, positively, under no circumstances, without a doubt – not in Kansas anymore.

Dave and I made it to Kabul without incident aboard the Kam Air flight. We waited at customs for about 20 minutes and filled out the entry form titled “WELL COME TO AFGHANISTAN” (hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?). After an evil stare-down from an aged and leather-skinned Afghani customs official in a military uniform and a fresh new stamp in my passport, I was on my way.

We were met at the airport by Jon, the program chief pilot from Atlanta, and Akhtar, one of the Air Serv drivers. The drive to the house is maybe four or five miles and took about 15 minutes. Several of the other pilots and some of the administrative staff were there to greet us when we arrived. Dave and I were shown to our respective rooms and I began both the mental and physical process of getting settled. The house is large – three levels contain the 14 bedrooms, each with its own bathroom and air conditioner. It has two kitchens, two satellite TV’s, wireless internet, pool table, and an above ground inflatable pool on the roof. In the basement are the administrative offices, laundry area, and weight room. There is tile throughout and the ceilings are accented with crown molding and are probably 15 feet high. It looks like it could be a hotel. Within the first five minutes of arriving I was issued a flak jacket, “you’re probably not going to need this, but keep it in your room – just in case.”

The house is fully staffed with cooks, cleaners, and people to do our laundry – daily. I’m not used to someone, much less several people, waiting on me like this so it’s taking some time to get used to. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are all provided and out side of those times the kitchen is well stocked and has a “help yourself” policy. Most of the Air Serv programs you end up losing weight – this one, not so much. Aljazeera television is in the building directly behind our house and they broadcast live from their roof all the time. Unfortunately the cameras are pointed in the opposite direction from our place so my 15 minutes will have to wait.

But as nice as the house is, we’re moving out at the end of June. Our lease is up and the landlord decided to nearly double the rent. I haven’t seen the new place yet but I’m told it’s a little more “homey.” The bright side of course is a legitimate excuse for a house-warming party.

For the most part Kabul is what you might expect. The weather is hot, windy, dry, very dusty, and mountains surround the area – many of which are still covered in snow. The seasonal battle of winter and summer is coming to an end – the days are getting drier and warmer and fewer and fewer clouds hide the sun. Afternoon thunderstorms are still fairly common, but soon there won’t be a drop of moisture until November and the temperature will climb to 110+ in Kabul and 120+ in some of the lower areas. One thing I did not expect though was how green Kabul is – there are green leafy trees everywhere throughout the city. Time difference check: 11.5 hours for the people on the left, 9.5 for the people in the middle.

I’ve been here a little over a week and the initial culture shock has begun to wear off. Getting acclimated has been an interesting, even fun process that’s been aided by tours and soaking up the knowledge of the other pilots and foreigners. I’ve gotten to checkout some of the ex-pat hangouts – restaurants, bars, and there are even a few nice swimming pools. Ex-pats come from nearly every country in Europe, Russia, Australia, and of course America; making for an interesting social scene. A few ex-pat stores provide the basics, from toothpaste to bulletproof vests but are generally ill equipped – one thing that’s in surprisingly short supply is sunscreen and lip balm, kind of a bummer.

Like in Uganda, we have drivers that take us wherever we want to go – a good thing, as the traffic is a general free-for-all and as near as I can tell, totally out of control. Traffic is just as likely to be slowed by a stalled vehicle as it is to be slowed by a flock of sheep crossing the road. There are no lanes to speak of and drivers honk their horns all the time, at everything, for any reason, and sometimes I think they honk just for the sake of honking. Cars and trucks get within inches of each other but I have yet to see an accident. Come to find out that getting into a traffic accident is a criminal offense and is a guaranteed trip to jail. I didn’t find out if they take you to the hospital first if the accident is severe enough.

When I was first asked if I was willing to go to Afghanistan, my first thought was, “well, you don’t hear much about Afghanistan in the news anymore, it’s all about Iraq. Maybe it won’t be so bad.” Shows you what I get for thinking. For whatever reason, the American media has stopped reporting on the situation here, but make no mistake, there is still most definitely a “situation” here. Most of the violence is in the southern region – Kandahar for example, which, according to our UN liaison at the airport, has been averaging three bombings per day. The area of Kabul where I’m staying is called Wazir Akber Khan and is generally considered more secure; although I heard my first ka-boom a few days ago, and when I went to the roof to check things out I could see smoke and dust rising a few blocks away. I don’t know what it was exactly – and I’d rather not think about it. Never underestimate the power of denial.

At times I feel as if I’ve been dropped into any given Hollywood movie about the Middle East. Azan, the Islamic call to prayer, pours into the streets from the mosques several times daily, and more then once I’ve walked into a room to find a housekeeper on his knees on a brightly colored rug praying. Local women of course wear burqas, and depending on how traditional the woman is depends on how much she chooses to cover herself. Destroyed vehicles are a common scene – everything from burned out taxi’s to armored personnel carriers that have been reduced to twisted scraps of metal. Military equipment, some surplus, some scrap, are common at several of the airports, all rusting and rotting away. Daily UN briefing reports summarize the latest suicide bombings, armed robbery, and kidnappings throughout the country. Eventually however reality catches up with me and I realize this is no movie. There are no cameras, no 2nd takes, and no one to yell, “that’s a wrap!” when it’s time to pack up the devastation and return the place to “normal.”

Poverty is rampant. What infrastructure there was has been completely destroyed by war. Children can be seen rummaging through garbage. Men with one leg on crutches, probably a landmine victim, are common. There is a general distrust of everyone. It’s as about as depressing and horrible and sad as anything I’ve ever experienced. Keeping an open mind and trying to remain positive may prove to be a challenge.

Changing gears, a little more shop-talk…

It has been over two months since I’ve driven a KingAir and last week I took my first flight to Kandahar and back. It felt great to get back on the saddle again. The airplane is nicely equipped with an EFIS and an FMS (for the non-pilots, a lot of nice electronic gadgets) and both planes are in reasonable shape considering the operating conditions, but in all honesty, could use some work. The typical corporate-style seating has been removed and 9 small forward-facing seats have been installed. I was under the impression both airplanes were painted white with no makings on them at all, but the UN logo and UNOPS logo are plainly visible. I was a little nervous about this at first, but without a doubt I’m far more nervous sitting in a UN vehicle (which doesn’t happen very often), stuck in traffic on Jalalabad Road (which happens all the time).

The contracts for the two current captains are up and they’re both leaving at the beginning of July, so the push is on to get Dave and I up to speed within the next month. Dave is the first priority as he has been with the company longer and I’m a close second. The first officers are guys from South Africa, here to build multi-engine turbine time and are typically on a six-week rotation. They’re not exactly thrilled with Dave and I showing up as we’re all of a sudden taking their flights, but they don’t seem to be upset with us specifically. But then again, I don’t speak Afrikaans.

The scenery is breathtaking. Snow capped mountains, lakes, sand dunes… it’s all here. One of the neatest places I’ve been into is Bamyan, a gravel strip tucked away in a valley, yet still sitting at 8,300 feet above sea level. We didn’t have time to go explore but it’s high on my to-do list. This is one of the places where the Taliban destroyed Buddhist statues a few years ago.

About 45 minutes north of Kabul is Fizabad, another neat little town at the western edge of the Hindukush mountain range. It’s got a 6,500′ man-made corrugated steel runway that feels like it could vibrate the fillings out of your teeth. East from Fizabad the minimum en-route altitude exceeds 25,000 feet, and as you get closer to China, a grim yet eye-catching notice printed on the chart reads: WARNING: Aircraft infringing on the Non-Free Flying Territory may be fired upon without warning. Two very good reasons to enjoy the view from a distance.

Air Traffic Control has been setup and is operated by Americans, so it’s almost like flying in the US. Much of the area is radar controlled and many of the airports have published approaches. IFR altitudes start at 24,000 feet but that’s more of a guideline then a rule. If you need something, like say, VFR at 25,500 feet to avoid some weather, just ask – they’ll probably give it to you. In fact everything seems to be more of a guideline then a rule – I’m not sure there are too many “rules” to follow, bend, or break anyway. The only exception I’ve found so far is where a Restricted Area has been setup – permission to transit is granted or denied via a British military AWACS airplane circling overhead. Otherwise the system is setup like the US and most of the pilots seem to have a clue. With that said (and I hate to pick on any one group), the Russian pilots tend to be worst (sorry fellas). The pilots don’t speak English and radio communication is via a non-pilot translator. Position reports and altitudes are consistently incorrect, and a simple ATC request such as “say squawk” can lead to a 15-minute dialogue. Rumor has it they are occasionally arrested for being drunk and, unfortunately, this theory can be reasonably proven by discarded heaps of Antinov aircraft stacked on top of each other – the remnants of a slight miscalculation upon takeoff or landing.

But so far I am safe and sound. I’m making friends and absorbing the different but rich culture of the Afghani people and country. The locals are friendly and in my opinion, not at all bad people. A little side story: Jon and I were at the Herat airport with some time to kill and were invited by one of the Dawi Oil executives to join him for tea. We spent about an hour with him and his translator – they were very curious about what we thought about Afghanistan. At one point the man asked “what gifts can we bring you on your next visit?” Neither one of us knew exactly how to answer that question, my humble reply was, “how about peace in your country?” The man’s eyes got big and a smile graced his face and through the translator said, “in the Qur’an, nothing is more important than peace.” I’m certainly no Qur’an expert and cannot comment either way on that one but it was a nice moment nonetheless. When I told the story to one of the other pilots he said I probably made a friend for life.

Well, I suppose I’ve rambled on long enough. No photos to share this time – I have plenty, I just haven’t had an opportunity to get them uploaded. I will soon, though.

~dj