July 31, 2009

Dear friends:

Greetings from Jalalabad, Afghanistan.

My experience in this country started a little shaky, but has turned out all right. My ten page Navy orders recalling me to active duty had all kinds of interesting details, but lacked one important piece of information: for whom would I be working once I arrived in Afghanistan. At each stop along the way-- Port Hueneme, Fort Jackson, and Kuwait-- I have been told that although that particular stop was not able to determine my ultimate duty station, the next one would be able to give me an answer. So the 200 person Navy contingent loaded a C-17 cargo plane at 1:30 in the morning packed like sardines for the four hour flight in full "battle rattle"-- the uniform with 40 pounds of body armor and helmet, while many of us had no idea where we would be working upon arrival.

We arrived on Sunday morning to a scene from a "Mad Max" movie at Bagram Air Base. Bagram is the military's largest airfield in this country, but it is wild terrain. The architecture is something from a Hollywood movie set after a nuclear war. In the middle of a valley surrounded by high mountains are buildings made of converted shipping containers, plywood, and whatever other building materials the military could get its hand on. Bagram had been a major base for the Soviet Union during its occupation of Afghanistan: those Soviet buildings, not destroyed in that war, are also in use. On one side is a ruined Afghani village, and on all sides are old Soviet minefields too dangerous to remove. There are a few small minefields on the base itself to avoid and warnings that undiscovered mines most likely still exist as well. That certainly encourages us all to use the sidewalks!

After a cursory briefing, we were sent to one hundred man tents. These reminded me of a 19th century opium den. In the heat of the day soldiers lied around nearly comatose on cots in darkness, not lethargic due to drugs but by the high heat, cooled only by an inadequate fan on one end of the tent. As there was no lighting other than bits of sunlight poking
through seams in the tent and we were all a jumble of different units, the place was clearly a prime spot for thieves. After us sailors found cots, the smokers went out while some of us tried to make conversation with the soldiers. The news of the day was that the tent farm was rocketed the night before and our own particular tent had been missed by about 50-100 yards. After that cheery news, we sought out the nearest DFAC (dining facility) and were able to have a welcome mid-morning brunch. Then the sailors were herded over to the main side once again on a bus to do administrative work and meet our new units. Along the way, we passed by the bleak site of the ruined Afghani village, destroyed by the Soviets long ago.

After our administrative meeting, a few of the sailors were picked up by their units while two large contingents were shipped back to the "opium den" to pass the night and then fly to their ultimate destinations on the morrow. A handful of us without units were sent to Navy headquarters to determine what to do with us. One by one our units were found until only I was left. At long last the Navy folks figured out my destination: a task force that had been disbanded in 2007! Scrambling around, they found a task force with the same mission and a chaplain's assistant came by and picked me up... to take me to 82nd Airborne Division's Afghanistan headquarters. That's right, besides the incongruity of having to wear an Army uniform, now I wear on my left arm the unit patch of one of the Marine Corps' great rivals, the Army Airborne!

The division chaplain has the responsibility of managing the chaplains spread out throughout the country, and the arrival of a bonus priest was met with good cheer. After a day at Bagram, he decided to send me to eastern Afghanistan, a large region where only one priest was currently assigned to cover several dozen Army camps. So I flew east to the Army's
eastern headquarters of Forward Operating Base (FOB) Fenty in Jalalabad to begin my new life for the next year.
I do appreciate the many emails ([email protected]) sent my way-- I have read all of them, even if I haven't had the time to respond to them all.

God bless,

Fr. Michael