Uruzgan germs

The next few posts will bounce back to Afghanistan, although I am now back in Cairo for a break.

The one and only embed I did in the entire three months was with the Dutch troops down in Tarin Kot, Uruzgan province, and I will forever remember it as the embed that gave me pneumonia. I started to feel under the weather the day Mark Magnier, of the Los Angeles Times, and I traveled to Uruzgan. It took a whole day (starting at around 6 a.m.) to get there via military transport flights.

The story was about how the Dutch are using development to improve security. We spent the following day with the Police Mentoring Team, as they conducted a traffic stop and training with local police. Take a look at Mark's story here: "Dutch troops' method in Afghanistan gains new prominence."

I admit I am a little divided on embeds. Some journalists spend the bulk of their time in Afghanistan embedded. While I think the military is a vital aspect of the story, it is nearly impossible to get to know regular Afghans while embedded. Some places are extremely difficult and dangerous to visit so hooking up with the military is sometimes the only way, and I admit I would not have been able to get to Uruzgan without embedding. I just try to take it as part, but not the whole, story.


I woke up with my throat on fire and feeling like my head was four times too large. Always a bummer when there's work to be done.

We left the base and convoyed through the provincial capital of Tarin Kot in these giant armored vehicles with little slits for windows. I guess they were similar to the U.S. Army's M-RAP (Mine Resistant Ambush Protected vehicle). From a safety standpoint, these are supposed to be more protected than a Humvee if an road-side bomb explodes nearby, which is great, but I couldn't see anything from inside. I asked one of the rear gunners if I could poke my head up for a few shots, but I also didn't particularly want to get in his way or obstruct his vision. Tricky.

The other downside is the vehicle doesn't take bumps well. At all. I could barely hang on to my camera.


Downtown Tarin Kot. Lots of men, kids, even some women out, all good to see. We were just passing through though to the other end of town. No time to stop and chat.


The soldiers parked in formation and got out at an intersection next to a gas station and across from an Afghan National Police station called Sar Sheykhil. Then the soldiers set up an impromptu traffic checkpoint so that the Afghan National Police could practice searching cars and people for weapons and explosives.


The idea was for the soldiers to mentor and supervise the police while they conducted searches, which is good since most of the police seemed to be unarmed.


It was a just another September day in Uruzgan: dusty and hot.


The foreign presence attracted lots of curious onlookers.


I like the eyes on the headlight. Classy.


Some people seemed to find the whole experience entertaining.


The police went inside the station to take part in a training on handcuffing and searching, so the Dutch soldiers continued searching the motorists and pedestrians outside.


These kids and their donkey walked by at least five times. (I have other photos of them.)


Inside Sar Sheykhil police station, Sgt. 1st Class Radjen Rampersad taught procedures for searching and handcuffing suspects. He also asked them basic civics questions, like "Why is it permitted for police to search and handcuff someone?" Most couldn't answer. They attempted the exercises with enthusiasm though.


The police don't have the tools they need to conduct their work, and they don't earn much money. This 40-officer station shares one pair of handcuffs. Most of the officers don't have their own weapons. Some don't even have proper shoes. Because of the complicated politics back home, the Dutch must get special permission to hand out arms. But, it's hard to figure out what part the Afghan government has in equipping and training them.

For their part, the police officers expressed frustration. They are starting from zero and they are putting themselves at risk for what seems like very little in return. Afghanistan is one of those places that needs so much it's hard to know where to begin.


That's the police station behind the HESCOs--the brown bunker-type things in the background. (Pretty sad I talk Army now.)

Almost time to cut out. By now all I can think about is my pounding head, clogged sinuses and the bed in the container back at the base. And I am coated in sweat and dirt.


Go inside, little guy. It's too hot.


Much of Uruzgan is desert, by the way. Mountains, valleys, very harsh terrain. Very little infrastructure. Did I mention it's like an oven?


Yes that is a windmill. It's actually a coffee bar inside of a container at the base in Tarin Kot, FOB Ripley.

And, with that full day's work, I crashed in my bunk. It took three days to get back to Kabul, and by that time all I could do was lie miserably in bed.

Ah yes Uruzgan. I won't forget you, or your dust.

Decompression

I left Afghanistan on Monday, November 9. To help ease my transition back to Cairo, I decided to stay for a bit in Dubai, crashing at a friend's 17th-floor apartment.

Honestly, my main activities were sleeping and eating massive amounts of fresh salad for three days, until my body violently protested the drastic change in diet. I bought a humorous novel, watched T.V. and tried to forget everything. I had thought about visiting a spa for a massage, pedicure or haircut, but nope, nope and nope. Couldn't seem to muster the will power.

I did make it out to Jumeirah Beach Residence one afternoon, where all I could do was gape at the gigantic buildings and half-naked sun bathers. Culture shock, anyone?


The view of the pool, which I did not once visit, from my friend's apartment. I tried to go to the gym once, but the only shoes I had with me were hiking boots and flip flops. (I try to travel light for Afghanistan.)


It was a nice break. I am thankful to have understanding friends.

Backcountry ballots

I recently returned from working in Afghanistan's northern Badakhshan province with New York Times staffer Sabrina Tavernise and Afghan colleague Sangar Rahimi. We worked on several pieces together, the first focusing on preparations for the upcoming Afghan presidential runoff election between Hamid Karzai and Abdullah Abdullah. Please read Sabrina's entertaining story here.

Badakhshan is one of the most remote, unreachable provinces in the country--large, mountainous and rural. There is one paved road in the entire province, in the capital Faizabad. When Afghan election officials talk of winter weather possibly impeding the runoff in some places, they are likely talking about Badakhshan.

Few people have cars: most people travel on foot or by donkey. And it is donkeys that are employed to bring ballots to some of the most tucked-away communities, places deep in the wilderness with no roads at all. Helicopters are used to transport ballot boxes to the district centers, then election workers use donkeys to transport the boxes further in to the backcountry.


We met Ezatullah while working on another story in his district of Baharak. He is a caretaker of a school we visited several times. On one of our visits, he was listening to an election program on the radio. He came out to meet our car, then brought us back to the room where he lives next to the school.


The father of eight children said he planned to vote for Abdullah in the runoff election. In our unscientific poll, Abdullah had a commanding lead in the province. He perhaps owes some of his popularity in the region to his time working with famed Northern Alliance commander Ahmed Shah Massoud--Badakhshan was after all a front-line province during the mujahideen's battle against the Soviets.


A dated election advertisement in Faizabad encourages women to register to vote.

Medic! (Cough, cough)

My bedside table is full of drugs. Antibiotics, steroids (not THOSE kind of steroids) decongestants and expectorants. Yes, that is an inhaler. (Gasp.)

Almost three weeks ago, I went on a short embed in Uruzgan province for an assignment. The day I traveled to Uruzgan, I came down with a cold. No big deal. I wasn't at my best, but just carried on as well as I could, shooting the assignment, then hopping military and commercial planes over the following three days back to Kabul. I was exhausted and sick, but tried to get lots of rest and drink fluids. A cold is not normally something I worry about and I just thought I'd get over it in a couple days. Plus I was hoping to avoid seeking medical treatment in Kabul.

Afghanistan had other plans. It's not a good place to get sick. Dust, air pollution, stress and lack of sleep would be enough to make one ill anywhere, let alone here. I finally went to the nearby German Clinic and learned that I had pneumonia. Awesome.

Two doctor visits and two weeks later, my health is steadily improving. The illness has brought work to a standstill, but I hope to be well enough in a week or two to get back at it. Until then, I'll be sleeping, drinking tea and taking all my drugs.

(More on Uruzgan coming up soon...)

Dushanbe-distracted

Sometimes it's necessary to get out of this place, even if it's just for a couple of days. A couple of friends invited me to come with them to Dushanbe, the capital of Tajikistan, shortly after the Afghan presidential election. It was a nice break. We could walk around or ride local taxis freely, the city was clean and orderly and I didn't have to wear a scarf. We spent the time exploring, eating good food and taking pictures just for fun.

Above, a boy tries to stay warm while drip-drying after a swim in the Varzob River.


My friend Jon sits in the Soviet-esque apartment the three of us rented next to Secret Police headquarters, after one of our long jaunts around town.


At night the streets of the city are nearly empty, except for impromptu police checkpoints, where officers try to shake-down passing motorists for bribes.


The language is Tajik, very similar to Farsi, but they use the Cyrillic alphabet to write. Dushanbe feels like a capital still in transition: a strong Soviet presence and infrastructure with a developing Tajik identity.


A fruit vendor rubs her eyes at the Green Market.


In a park near the Dushanbe Opera.


The Soviet seal at a monument for those who died during World War II.


People know how to drive in Dushanbe. They even stop at red lights.


Tajikistan, a former Soviet Republic, has maintained close ties to Russia culturally, economically and politically, and I sensed a bit of nostalgia for the days of the great empire. Now Tajikistan is just a small under-developed fish in an ocean.


This is the back of the apartment block where we stayed.


I like this picture best. She has an interesting face.


A group of dudes hanging out by the river after a swim.


The saddest bear I have ever seen at the Dushanbe Zoo.


I'm not sure if the billboard photograph of tulips is to help prevent road rage or just to beautify the city, but I like it!

Quick bits

Men's waiting area at Farah airport, western Afghanistan.


The young son of the Farah provincial governor Rahoul Amin hangs out with Asmatullah--security chief, house manager and part-time nanny.


The tin can they tried to pass off as a plane at Farah Airport. Yes, that is a dirt runway.


Above, men unload a truck full of goods in Jalrez Bazaar, Wardak province. The community began to thrive once again after large influx of American soldiers arrived and began patrolling.

See the New York Times story here.


Jalrez Bazaar. I was literally chasing the light on this assignment. Although this village is doing better, one must pass through areas occupied by Taliban to get to it. So I had to rely on a military convoy that almost didn't come to get me. Thankfully they did, but it was late in the day by the time we arrived at Jalrez Bazaar, and the sun was sinking fast.


Sgt. First Class Donald Coleman consults with some of Jalrez's Afghan Public Protection Force guradians.


Squeezing the last light out of Jalrez Bazaar.


A girl peeks at me from a broken window in Kabul.


Women wait tensely for their names to be called during a World Food Program food distribution on International Peace Day, in Charikar, Parwan province.


Shamsuddin, 10, and Mujahid, 12, shine shoes while a customer waits his turn at Barbur's Gardens, a huge park in Kabul.


A boy flies a makeshift kite, a plastic grocery sack, near his home on Television Mountain, Kabul. Kite-flying is a popular activity for children in Kabul, but some families can't afford kites. So kids improvise.