Shower Time

The good news is that I have finally taken a shower after nearly 12 days. The bad news is that Dan smells even worse now.

The shower over here at the district center is a stall with a thin black curtain in front of it, and yes it has a tendency to flap in the wind. You have to fill white buckets of water take them into the stall and pour one after the other in another bucket with holes in the bottom. Then you heave that bucket up to a hook, just in your reach, and let the cool, clear water run over your filthy body. There may be some curious Afghan children outside making you nervous as they stand beside the curtain, but luckily you'll have a friend to stand guard for you.

I know I keep saying this is my last post, but really this is it for a while.

Over and out.

Scene from the Street

On our second trip to the Marjah District Center, to use the Internet, a Afghan police officer was washing his car in the canal. There was so much activity on the streets that I had to search to identify the Marines escorting us. It's hot in the upper 90s at least. We are all in full battle rattle - helmets, vests, long sleeve shirts and pants. We have water but because of Ramadan (the ninth month of the Muslim year, during which strict fasting is observed from sunrise to sunset) the commander has told the troops to not drink in front of the locals. As an embedded journalist trying to win over the trust of the Marines I too want to follow this rule, but I feel like I am dying. The walk to the district center in less than a mile, but in the heat in the crowds it feels endless. Once we get to the center we chug water and rest, freakin' civilians.
On other trips into "town" we are met with an onslaught of children who try to steal everything off your body. If you have a pen buried in a pocket they will find it and no one seems to be able to stop them. The first time I tried to film near the town center about 10 - 50 (hard to know how many, it felt like 200) mobbed me. They waved their hands in front of the camera and like some kind of horrible flesh eating bacteria they systematically took their tiny hands and search every pocket and even tried to get in my kevlar. They pulled my hair and laughed at me. I didn't know what to do, I didn't want to disrespect the Afghan elders by beating the children. Eventually a terrifying staff sergeant barked at them to leave me alone, but it was an ongoing problem. I eventually stopped filming because all I was getting was kids' hands, I wish I would have kept some of that footage just to have a laugh and remember that children may be our future, but in packs they can be terrifying.
Another disturbing encounter with three kids was a few days later when Dan and I were using the Internet. There were three kids the base had employed to do chores. One of the kids had brilliant blue eyes (thanks to Alexander the Great) and immediately wanted to shake my hand. He was a cute kid so I thought why not shake this eight-year-old hand but as his finger closed around mine he scratched the inside of my palm with a dirty finger nailed finger. It was unpleasant.
Then he proceeded to ask, "Is he your bitch?" and looking at Dan.
Dan was amused saying, "Yeah, yeah."
It's one thing to bring the English language to isolated part of the desert its another thing to have Marines bring the English language to an isolated part of the world.
I've met numerous Iraqis and Afghans that can't say a single sentence in English without saying fuck about eight times.

Parents and children

I chatted online with my mother last night after sending her an email, admitting that I had been in a firefight. There's no point in hiding the truth from my parents because my dispatches sent out to KVAL, would expose the truth anyways. So online, we talked about this and that and she seemed to be taking things very well. After nearly half an hour of chatting, on and off as the Internet likes to shut down every ten minutes, she asked me, "What is a firefight exactly and where were you during of all of this?"
I responded,"It's when the Taliban shoots at the Marines and the Marines shoot back. And I was with the Marines," I wrote back.
"But where were you exactly?" she asked again.
I tried to explain further. "When the Marines took cover or hit the ground, I took cover or hit the ground, When the Marines ran across an open field, I ran across an open field."
According the Marines when we came to the housing area that I was the first one in, busting down doors myself, which is an exaggeration to say the least. I was at least the third one in.
"I just did what the Marines did," I tell my mom. I stayed as close as I could to the Marines around me because worse that getting shot at is being alone and getting shot at or even worse would be slowing down the patrol because they'd have to wait for me or even worse they'd have to come find me.

There is something about your mom that can make even the toughest break down. I couldn't talk to her during these employments it brought out a side of me that was afraid, afraid for her. I wanted to protect her from the ugliness and I couldn't take her kindness, I had a job to do and the veneer of toughness I had was so thin so fragile that I didn't want anyone to break it.

A full report of my first firefight will appear soon at KVAL.com...

This may be my last post for a while as we're heading to the wilds of the desert again.

Out Where?

Ok so turns out that we are pretty damn near digging foxholes in some remote part of the desert. Just days after we arrived in FOB Marjah, which is located in south central Afghanistan we got the word that a convoy was on its way to pick us up. Within a half hour we found ourselves in Combat Outpost Turbett, where the Marines tell us we'll never want to leave. You may be surprised to hear that after a week of firefights and IEDs that Dan and I didn't want to leave, despite the lack or showers and air-conditioning. There is something special about Turbett. Maybe its the fresh pancakes delivered to us on our first morning by the Explosive Ordinance Disposal team, or the fact that we spent hours on patrol and that every one of us returned safely or maybe it's the general feeling in the air. It's kind of like that saying that you can do any job as long as you work with the right people.
We've sent several dispatches to KVAL.com today, so please check out their website to get the full stories.
In a few days we'll head south to another outpost and the rumor is that we'll be staying in a mansion previously owned by a drug lord. We'll see...

On The Grid Again

Turns out we're not in the far reaches of the desert living off rainwater and digging foxholes in the sand. But as you will soon see on KVAL.com, we are roughing it. Well by the Marine's standards we have rather luxurious facilities. Marines are known for their love of camping out in remote and tough terrain. Even crud showers are looked at as the high life. As I am the only female on the base, I have to shower after hours, with a Marine standing in front of the tent as a guard. So yes I am already a pain in the ass, but the soldiers are gracious hosts.
So far we've been able to track down two Oregon soldiers and we've heard there are more in the surrounding areas. Dan and I are hoping to cover as much ground as possible, so whenever they allow us to go on patrol we are willing.
I have already requested to extend my embed with this unit as well as a female Marine unit focused on working with the local women.
I'm hoping to stay in country at least until mid-October, one can only hope for more time in the desert.
Soldiers keep asking me who I pissed off to get me job, I don't have the heart to tell them I had to beg, steal and borrow to get this job.

Err Final Final Destination

Turns out we are headed to a smaller base, Marja (also spelled Marjah or Marjeh). If you want to know more about it I urge you to google it. I'm fairly certain that in a matter of hours we will be off the grid, without phones or email. Before that I am waiting in my tent, in the sand, in the chow hall for that great unknown. When I told a soldier this morning I was headed to Marja, he shook his head. "No way I want to out there," he said explaining how hot it is there, meaning the amount of fire they are receiving. Of course he then added, "But now that I am here I want to be there." Some of the guys in his unit are down there.
Dan and I are staying on opposite sides of the base right now so I haven't seen him since 6 pm last night. It makes me realize how glad I am to be traveling with someone else. I've spent the better part of the morning wondering where he is, what he's doing, if he's okay, blah, blah.
The last I heard from our contacts here was also last night. So I hope they'll find me when the time comes.
This may be my last post for a while.
Wish me well.

Gotta Go

Well my computer is losing juice and I don't know when I will be able to re-juice. We are in the British Media Center right now, which is a lovely tent equipped with biscuits and coffee. I tried to sleep a full fourteen hours last night, but awoke at 10 pm, confused as to where I was and was it 10 am or 10 pm. I found out the answer pretty quick when I went to the bathroom and it was wither night or the end of the world. Not that the two don't bear similarities here in the desert.
I'd love to finish this post but your PAO just walked in and flight to our final destination is bumped up.
Wish us well.

We Have Arrived

We have arrived safely in Camp Leatherneck, Afghanistan thanks to Major Deon in Kuwait for helping us hitch a ride from desert to desert. We haven't slept in a while and my eyelids feel like rubber, but it feels good to almost reach our destination.
When we first arrived here we were informed that we needed to get to the wire, which I found confusing.
I have been outside the wire, which refers to anything outside of a secure base, but I've never been taken to the wire. I imagined them dropping us off at a checkpoint while a convoy arrived. As usual, nothing that exciting happened. I heard wire instead of Dwyer, the name of our final destination.
So now we are doing more waiting and I am hoping for a nap.

Desert Day Two

Well we've made the usual rounds...
1: Get Kuwaiti visa
2: Cancel Kuwaiti visa (this is required don't ask me why)
3: Find Internet
4: Eat fresh vegetables while we can
5: Send emails
6: Wait
7: Wait
8: Wait
9: Wait
10: TBA

Kuwait, I remember you

Water, is what Dan and I are thinking an hour after arriving in Kuwait.
Oh, Kuwait it's like I never left.
I remember the parched feeling like your blood has turned to mud. I remember the sky, that orange dust sticking to your throat. I remember the heat, only a problem if you move. I remember the sweat drenched shirts and the smell of smoke.
Hopefully we will have a flight out of here in a few days. For Kuwait is a sort of limbo between the heaven of being comfortable at home and the hell I anticipate we will find in Afghanistan.
And yes I am still thinking, "I can't believe I'm here again." As usual there is no one to blame, but myself.
Stay tuned the adventure is just beginning.

Here Again

‎"I can't believe I'm back here again," were the first words I heard from a soldier when I entered Iraq in May of 2009. As I prepare to fly to Kuwait and then Afghanistan early next week the same sentiments are wandering through my mind. Dan Morrison and I will be working as embedded journalist with a Marine infantry unit in the Helmand province.
Dan and I have have spent four months filling out paperwork, purchasing required items including ballistic plates and flight suits,
finding an editor that will actually vouch for us (a big thanks to Mark Furman at KVAL) and basically putting our lives on hold waiting to find out if we would be allowed access to the military.
Just last week we were informed that our initial request to embed was denied and it seemed that all was lost, but just five days ago we received our paperwork and all those familiar feelings of excitement and dread came forth.
Why would anyone want to do this?
I can sum it up best with this story.
I was on the phone with my aunt the other day discussing why, why, why am I doing this? I gave her a lengthy story about historical importance, sacrifice, adventure and so on. Somehow this lead to a conversation about her daughter who is in college and now has very passionate values on big ticket items like poverty and over consumerism. My aunt's response to my cousin's new opinions is, "Ok so what are you gonna do about it?'
Here is where I stopped her and I said, "See that is why I am going, that is exactly it."
I hope that clears it up for some of you, and you can thank me later for not peppering everyone else with the same questions
"Why are you in school, why are you a teacher, why are you a banker, why are you a nurse, why are you a runner, why do you like bacon?"
We are what we are.