I left the office last night and walked out into a light crystalline snowfall that stung my face with its bitter cold. Night before last I worked a split shift with Ruben to learn the other half of the job, but when I walked in at ten minutes before seven Rita, the dayshift manager, was already gone. I asked Akyl, one of our “K. P.’s” (Kyrgiz Partners), if Rita was still around. “No, I think she already gone,” he answered. I hung my jacket up, took a walk through the building to check on the soldiers and sat down to work the counter and wait for Ruben, who came in about twenty minutes later. Ruben went to his office behind the supply room and came right back out. “Do you know where Rita is,” he asked with his heavy Spanish accent. “Akyl told me that he thought she’d already gone home.” Ruben’s expression narrowed and grew very serious. “Her coat, her purse, her cell phone, her make up—everything, is still back in the office.”
I called the Deputy Site Manager. “It’s past the time for Rita to leave for the city and her things are still in the office, but she’s nowhere to be found. The shuttle driver is calling to find out if she’s going with them tonight.” The Deputy Site Manager’s voice was clearly concerned. “I’ll make some calls. When was the last time anyone there saw her?” After asking the workers we told him that it had been since just a little after two o’clock. His voice was slightly shaking as he tried to maintain calm. “I’ll call the clinic to see if they have record of her.”
A few minutes later Rita walked through the door. Her demeanor was sheepish when we asked if she was all right. “I was at the clinic. They were supposed to call and let you know where I was.” Her eyes began to well up as she walked past and moved to the back office. I gave her a few more minutes to gain her composure before I walked back to see if she was OK. “I have a staph infection and they lanced it at the clinic. It made me sick and they told me to lie down. They were supposed to call.” “But are you OK,” I asked again. “No. I wasn’t supposed to go to the clinic and I knew it. I was supposed to find a doctor in town. I’ve given my notice and I’m going home on the first of February.”
I didn’t know what to say to her. I didn’t know what to think. The Deputy Site Manager came into the office about ten minutes later. “She violated the terms of our contract. Because of her actions, the entire contract could be taken away from our company.” So that was it. People were beginning to fear for their secure jobs.
Yesterday I spent my time learning the operation without any guidance. I had the K. P.’s walk me through some new things that I needed to learn. At noon Brian, my boss, came in for the first time since I’ve been here. “I’m sorry that I haven’t come by to meet with you sooner but I’ve got a million things going on all at once.” His eyes darted around the room as if he was looking for something else to concentrate on and I could see the lie in his eyes.
“Are you happy here,” he inquired. “Yes. So far, so good,” I replied with a smile.
“I want happy employees. If you’re not happy here, I don’t want you here.” I forced my smile out just a little wider. “
Anyway, I need to get the time sheets. They’re due today.” He hurried back to the office and collected the time sheet folder and then whisked by me as he scurried out the door. Interesting first meeting, I thought to myself. Not pleasant at all.
Andy, the Quality Assurance Manager, came in a couple of hours before lunch and sat down in the den to watch a movie that one of the soldiers had put on the big screen TV. I made several rounds of the building and noticed that he didn’t move. After the movie ended he came out to me. His eyes were red, as though he hadn’t found any sleep for days.
“We need to go back to I.T. and get your password so that you can get on the computer and be a happy, productive employee.” There was that happiness thing again. I began to wonder what was going around about me.
“Don’t you mean a healthy, happy, productive employee?” He didn’t seem to grasp the slight sarcasm. “Uh, yeah,” he slurred. There was a hint of last night’s vodka in his speech and gait.
We rode the shuttle bus to I. T. “You go upstairs and get your password. I’ll be in the DFAC.” He turned toward the half-cylinder shaped tent and walked away. I walked up the stairs and down the hall of the old Russian-built edifice.
“What can we do for you?” The man didn’t even raise his face from his computer screen, but continued to stare at the blue light.
“I’m here to get my password. I came in a couple of days ago and took the computer test.” He paused whatever he was doing and looked up for the first time. He stared at me blankly.
“Jed Clark. I came in two days ago to take the test to use the government computers.” There was still no recognition.
“Hang on,” he told me. He shuffled through some papers on his desk. “Oh, yeah, let me get on this other computer and we’ll get you set up.” The process only took a couple of minutes and I was going back down the stairs and toward the DFAC tent, wondering why he hadn’t just given me my password when I took the test.
I found Andy sitting in front of another big screen TV, taking advantage of a free meal. He looked up in surprise, “You done already? Want some lunch?” It was too early for me to eat.
“No, thanks, but you take time to finish.” I looked around the tent at all of the pilots who sat there, quietly eating and sipping their coffee. These guys are just kids, I thought. Andy ruminated his food, taking in the movie that flashed on the screen in front of him.
“How long have you been here,” I asked.
“Five years,” he answered.
“You’ve been on this base for five years?” I could hardly believe that someone could spend that much time away from the States.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“You must enjoy your job here.” Of course he enjoyed his job here. He sat in front of one big screen after another all day long and grazed.
“Yeah, I don’t see any need to go back to the States. I can do everything here that I can do there.” (I thought, “No, because in the States you’d actually have to do some work for your money, but so many contractors are just like him.”)
“So, after five years you must have found ways to spend your time here, right?”
“Yeah, every Monday, Thursday and Saturday I play hockey with the local Russian team.”
“Did you play hockey back in the States?” He continued his rumination. “Yeah. Are you ready to go?” I’d been sitting there watching him eat for ten minutes. “Yes, I’m ready.”
Once I arrived again at Shooter’s I hung my coat up on the wall and sat down on a stool at the counter. Salamaat was sitting there, too. “Sir, you drink tea?” I felt the offer coming. “No, I don’t drink tea or coffee or alcohol and I don’t smoke.” His eyes exposed his disbelief. “You don’t drink vodka?” That was the question that most of the Russians would have. “No. I’ve never tasted alcohol.”
“Why?” The door had been cracked.
“It’s because I’m a Mormon.” I expected more questions, but was surprised by his reply.
“I worked in the DFAC for a while and there were two guys there who were Mormon. They tried to explain to me but I not understand.”
His questions continued about my beliefs. I ended up turning him over to the Church’s web site at mormon.org and showed him the Russian language version of the site. He was impressed. But I was even more impressed when I came back in the morning and he’d been reading on the web site.
“You believe that Mormon was prophet?”
“Yes.”
“You believe that Jesus was son of God?”
“Yes.”
“Then you are Christian?”
“Yes. Are you Muslim?” I asked.
“Yes, I’m Muslim but I like to learn about other religions, too.”
We continued to discuss religion until it was time for him to leave for the day. The snow continued to settle throughout the day, covering the tan buildings and tents with a thick blanket of pure white and the bare Poplar trees braced themselves starkly against a white Kyrgyz sky. My work day was mostly made up of gathering trash from the chairs after the soldiers had left the building, but it was interspersed with interesting and revealing events that cause me to marvel at the plan that God has for me. My part is so small, but it has such great potential that I’m excited to be here. I love you all! Jed (Dad)
Friday, January 29, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
26 January 2010 Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan
I started the day early because I was having difficulty sleeping. I stepped outside into the bitter cold fog and scanned the street. The orange lamps were haloed in the misty ether at 5:30 and the cylindrical tan tents faded to a night time white as I set foot onto the slushy gravel. Soldiers and Marines were already up and moving toward the chow hall, ghosts in the early dim whiteness. “Ey-XHAHT MYED-leen-uh” was written in Russian on a street sign. “Go slowly.” The speed limit on the base is 10 kilometers per hour. “How do you go slower than that,” I wondered. At 7:30 I was still waiting for the day to begin to brighten but the sky remained dark until just a little after eight o’clock which surprised me. I realized that we must be farther north than I’d imagined.
Greg and Bruce were sitting in the DFAC—again. “I’m getting sick of seeing you two still here. Get out!” I chuckled as I pulled up a chair beside the pair. “You guys are never going to get out of this place!” The two of them have been trying to catch a flight for the last two days but there haven’t been any spare seats on any of the flights south. Civilian contractors who fly on military aircraft are given last priority. Greg, an architect from Washougal, Washington, near the mouth of the Columbia River squinted at me. “Don’t say that! You’re putting a curse on our flight!” Bruce is a high voltage electrician, but he’s quiet enough that I haven’t really learned much about him. He remained quiet and watched a football game in progress on the Armed Forces Network. Greg continued, “The guy at the terminal told us to sacrifice a virgin chicken and we’ll be able to get on the flight. And if we don’t get on the flight, well, the chicken wasn’t a virgin after all.” I rolled my eyes.
“So what have you learned since you started to work?” Greg asked. I gave my report. “You know—how to pick up trash after the soldiers how to straighten up books on the shelves, how to tell the difference between an X-Box 360 controller and a Play Station 3 controller, how to run a Texas Hold ‘em tournament. It’s all a learning experience. I’m a baby sitter.” Greg and Bruce both laughed. We sat and ate for a minute before Greg asked, "Do you know what gun control is?” I knew that there was more to Greg’s question by the way he asked it, but I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I opened myself up for the sucker punch. “No.” “It’s two hands on the grip.” I like the man. He’s a potential NRA member. Greg turned out to be a funny guy whose dry sense of humor makes me laugh.
He and Bruce came to Kyrgyzstan with me on the same flight, though separated during our time in the air by several rows. Neither of them had beer spilled on them and neither of them was graced by a red-haired man in underwear. The three of us waited together at the Kyrgyzstan International Airport for the greatly anticipated ride that didn’t ever come, all huddled into a corner and surrounded by taxi drivers, and we checked into our temporary rooms together after we finally arrived on base.
Greg turned to me again. “I haven’t told Bruce yet.” Bruce’s ears twitched slightly as he focused in on the new topic. “But I heard today that when we finally get to Afghanistan we’ll be living in 40-man tents.” I knew where the conversation was headed so I contributed, “I’ve heard that about the place. I’ve heard that the showers are in Con-Ex containers near each row of tents. I’ll bet that’s a cold walk on a January morning!” Greg smiled as he realized that I’d decided to play along and Bruce’s half expression faded as he realized that he was being had. He settled back into his self-appointed role as the strong, silent Clint Eastwood of the group.
They were nearly finished with their dinner by the time I joined them and so they began to get up to leave when Greg turned back. “Send me an email, Jed. I’d like to keep in touch.” I nodded with my farewell wish, “Good luck with tonight’s flight. I don’t want to see you back here in the morning!”
I walked into Shooters a few minutes before the start of the day shift and found Ruben, the night manager, ready to flee. As soon as he saw me come through the door he clawed his coat from the wall and headed for the door. “Goodbye. See you tonight,” he called over his shoulder. He was gone before I could reply. I strolled through the corrugated steel building, picking up trash that had been left by the soldiers during the night—popcorn bags, candy wrappers, Monster cans and empty water bottles. I swept up popcorn that had been strewn across the floor of the larger of the two theater rooms and returned scattered chairs to their places around the game room tables before Rita, the day time manager, came through the door.
At eleven o’clock I was sitting in an Air Force conference room for a class on escorting “K. P.’s” around the base. K. P.’s are “Kyrgyz Partners” in military acronym speak. “You’re not here to be their friends,” the Tech Sergeant told us. “So don’t get too friendly with them.” The presentation took about an hour and I was on to my next station, Computer Security, where I took a short lesson and test to be sure that I could use a computer. It consisted of pushing the mouse around the desk and clicking on a few boxes on the screen. “We actually had one American fail this test,” the man from the Help Desk told me. “She was a cook.” That explains it, I thought with my tongue firmly tucked into my cheek.
I rode the shuttle bus from one part of the base to another, listening to Russian music on the radio and looking at the neatly trimmed trees that lined the sidewalks. Each tree touched its neighbor and was trimmed into a near-perfect cone. They lined well planned and beautifully built sidewalks that ambled past unpainted, roughly finished brick and steel buildings. An old man in a black overcoat and an large, brown, newsboy-style, tweed hat peddled past on a black bicycle with a small package strapped behind the seat. The bus’ route took me past a graveyard for aircraft that had fallen into disrepair. Brick-red block Cyrillic letters spelled the name “Kyrgyzstan” along each dilapidated green and white hull. I thought about how the buildings and the crumbling airplanes were so much like the old Soviet Union and that the beautiful trees were symbols of the strong will and character of a resilient population.
I spent the rest of the afternoon being fingerprinted, scanned, tested, registered and certified. By seven in the evening, just in time to finish my shift, I walked through the door of Shooters feeling just as Ruben had felt earlier. When he walked in for the night shift I pulled my jacket back down from the wall and dashed out the door. “See you tomorrow! Have a good night!” I called over my shoulder. I love you all! Jed (Dad)
Greg and Bruce were sitting in the DFAC—again. “I’m getting sick of seeing you two still here. Get out!” I chuckled as I pulled up a chair beside the pair. “You guys are never going to get out of this place!” The two of them have been trying to catch a flight for the last two days but there haven’t been any spare seats on any of the flights south. Civilian contractors who fly on military aircraft are given last priority. Greg, an architect from Washougal, Washington, near the mouth of the Columbia River squinted at me. “Don’t say that! You’re putting a curse on our flight!” Bruce is a high voltage electrician, but he’s quiet enough that I haven’t really learned much about him. He remained quiet and watched a football game in progress on the Armed Forces Network. Greg continued, “The guy at the terminal told us to sacrifice a virgin chicken and we’ll be able to get on the flight. And if we don’t get on the flight, well, the chicken wasn’t a virgin after all.” I rolled my eyes.
“So what have you learned since you started to work?” Greg asked. I gave my report. “You know—how to pick up trash after the soldiers how to straighten up books on the shelves, how to tell the difference between an X-Box 360 controller and a Play Station 3 controller, how to run a Texas Hold ‘em tournament. It’s all a learning experience. I’m a baby sitter.” Greg and Bruce both laughed. We sat and ate for a minute before Greg asked, "Do you know what gun control is?” I knew that there was more to Greg’s question by the way he asked it, but I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I opened myself up for the sucker punch. “No.” “It’s two hands on the grip.” I like the man. He’s a potential NRA member. Greg turned out to be a funny guy whose dry sense of humor makes me laugh.
He and Bruce came to Kyrgyzstan with me on the same flight, though separated during our time in the air by several rows. Neither of them had beer spilled on them and neither of them was graced by a red-haired man in underwear. The three of us waited together at the Kyrgyzstan International Airport for the greatly anticipated ride that didn’t ever come, all huddled into a corner and surrounded by taxi drivers, and we checked into our temporary rooms together after we finally arrived on base.
Greg turned to me again. “I haven’t told Bruce yet.” Bruce’s ears twitched slightly as he focused in on the new topic. “But I heard today that when we finally get to Afghanistan we’ll be living in 40-man tents.” I knew where the conversation was headed so I contributed, “I’ve heard that about the place. I’ve heard that the showers are in Con-Ex containers near each row of tents. I’ll bet that’s a cold walk on a January morning!” Greg smiled as he realized that I’d decided to play along and Bruce’s half expression faded as he realized that he was being had. He settled back into his self-appointed role as the strong, silent Clint Eastwood of the group.
They were nearly finished with their dinner by the time I joined them and so they began to get up to leave when Greg turned back. “Send me an email, Jed. I’d like to keep in touch.” I nodded with my farewell wish, “Good luck with tonight’s flight. I don’t want to see you back here in the morning!”
I walked into Shooters a few minutes before the start of the day shift and found Ruben, the night manager, ready to flee. As soon as he saw me come through the door he clawed his coat from the wall and headed for the door. “Goodbye. See you tonight,” he called over his shoulder. He was gone before I could reply. I strolled through the corrugated steel building, picking up trash that had been left by the soldiers during the night—popcorn bags, candy wrappers, Monster cans and empty water bottles. I swept up popcorn that had been strewn across the floor of the larger of the two theater rooms and returned scattered chairs to their places around the game room tables before Rita, the day time manager, came through the door.
At eleven o’clock I was sitting in an Air Force conference room for a class on escorting “K. P.’s” around the base. K. P.’s are “Kyrgyz Partners” in military acronym speak. “You’re not here to be their friends,” the Tech Sergeant told us. “So don’t get too friendly with them.” The presentation took about an hour and I was on to my next station, Computer Security, where I took a short lesson and test to be sure that I could use a computer. It consisted of pushing the mouse around the desk and clicking on a few boxes on the screen. “We actually had one American fail this test,” the man from the Help Desk told me. “She was a cook.” That explains it, I thought with my tongue firmly tucked into my cheek.
I rode the shuttle bus from one part of the base to another, listening to Russian music on the radio and looking at the neatly trimmed trees that lined the sidewalks. Each tree touched its neighbor and was trimmed into a near-perfect cone. They lined well planned and beautifully built sidewalks that ambled past unpainted, roughly finished brick and steel buildings. An old man in a black overcoat and an large, brown, newsboy-style, tweed hat peddled past on a black bicycle with a small package strapped behind the seat. The bus’ route took me past a graveyard for aircraft that had fallen into disrepair. Brick-red block Cyrillic letters spelled the name “Kyrgyzstan” along each dilapidated green and white hull. I thought about how the buildings and the crumbling airplanes were so much like the old Soviet Union and that the beautiful trees were symbols of the strong will and character of a resilient population.
I spent the rest of the afternoon being fingerprinted, scanned, tested, registered and certified. By seven in the evening, just in time to finish my shift, I walked through the door of Shooters feeling just as Ruben had felt earlier. When he walked in for the night shift I pulled my jacket back down from the wall and dashed out the door. “See you tomorrow! Have a good night!” I called over my shoulder. I love you all! Jed (Dad)
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan
I'm 13 hours ahead of Utah time here, so I'm a little more than half way around the world. After over 20 hours in the air and one long layover I'm in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan.
The flight to London was very nice. I had an aisle seat and an empty seat at my side. I was able to stretch out and catch a little nap as we flew across the Atlantic. I think I slept for about four hours of the seven hour stretch.
Leaving London on the long LONG flight to Kyrgyzstan I knew that I'd be in trouble. My seat was hard, like the cushion was gone and I was sitting on the steel frame. I sat on my little back pillow for the entire flight. Next to me was a large Russian man and his girlfriend who laughed and drank vodka for the first six hours of the flight. When meal time came around he ordered a beer with his meal and managed to spill the entire can on me.
The red-haired Russian man across the aisle from me started the flight by stripping down to his underwear before pulling the airline blanket over his legs! He looked like he hadn't bathed in days and he had more long hair in his armpits than I've ever seen in my life. He wore a military green wife beater undershirt and a pair of white striped boxers. I have to admit that I was in a little bit of culture shock on the flight. Someone nearby kept unloading his gas, too. There were several times on the flight when I thought I'd blow chunks! I buried my face in my leather jacket and it helped, but the smell was unearthly rotten! (Buddy's gas is nothing compared to this guy's!)
There were three of us in our little group and we had one stop scheduled in Almaty, Kazakhstan before flying to Bishkek, but as we made the approach to the airport there, the visibility was below the minimum so we circled for about a half an hour before flying directly to Bishkek. We landed in Bishkek at 2:30 this morning, an hour ahead of schedule, and had to stand in a long line to wait for someone from the ministry to open the office so we could get our entry visas. We stood for an hour before anyone showed up and then it was a painful process as he looked over our paperwork again and again. We finally got our passports stamped and picked up our luggage.
Our next step was to wait for a ride from the air base. Our ride never showed up. But we were surrounded by local taxi drivers who were relentless in their begging for us to hire them to get a ride to the base. We stood our ground and waited. I looked around at all of the Russian signs and listened to the endless Russian being spoken by the locals. This really is a convergence in my life. Finally, an Air Force sergeant came through and saw us there. He called someone on the base and we were soon on our way. The drive took us about 300 yards, past the guards and through the main gate. Had we known just how close it was, we could have walked!
We checked in at the base inbound center and were sent to billeting for temporary rooms. My two travelling companions are going on to Afghanistan this afternoon, so they had to check in at the passenger terminal, too. We finally arrived at our rooms at 7:00 AM! I set my alarm for 8:00 AM and grabbed a quick nap before walking to the gym where I would find my first IAP employee. He directed me to someone else who, in turn, directed me to the office of the Deputy Site Director. The woman stared at me and said, "I had no idea you were coming!" She made a couple of phone calls, had me fill out some paperwork and said, "What do you know about cash registers?" I told her that I've used them before. Then she asked me, "What do you know about bars?" I said, "I don't know anything about bars. I don't drink at all and I've never been inside a bar." (I guess that was a lie, but I didn't think about it at the time. My dad took me to a bar once when we were rabbit hunting and bought me a stack of pancakes for breakfast. How he knew that the bar served breakfast is still a mystery to me).
The Deputy Director shook her head and added, "I don't have a thing for you to do until tomorrow. Come back at 8:30 in the morning and we'll have something for you to do." This doesn't instill a great deal of confidence in this company, but as long as they pay me a check I guess I'll make the best of the situation.
After checking in with the office I took my first shower in three days. Man, that felt good! Water is a little harder to find here because they keep it all inside the buildings, not like Iraq where you could pick up a bottle of water at hundreds of outside water points, so I had to make a special scouting trip to find a bottle of water just to be able to brush my teeth. (Can't drink the water here.)
I walked by the chapel and learned that the LDS service is at 4:00 this afternoon, so I'm excited to attend church here for the first time.
I talked to another IAP employee this morning and he told me that I should buy a "Magic Jack" for my computer. I can talk on the internet for hours and hours for only $40.00 a year! I thanked him and said that I'd check into it. The problem is that I'm sitting in the only place where I can hook up to the internet and it happens to be the video game room for the military, so there are loud explosive noises of guns and bombs going off, all in surround sound. It's a very noisy place. I don't know yet about other options for making phone calls, but I'm sure that I'll find out over the next few days. For now I'll plan on emails and chats until we can figure out a schedule that works.
There's snow on the ground and the air is white with haze. The base is a very busy place with servicemen moving in formations from building to building as they prepare to fly off to Afghanistan.
I pray that everyone is well back at home. I know that it's the families of the men and women in uniform who suffer the most from deployments because they deal with the everyday problems. All I have to do is concentrate on doing whatever job they're going to have me do. I'm feeling the weight of this deployment. This one feels more like a sacrifice to me than the last one did. It's 11:30 AM and I think I'll go take a short nap before church. I'm whipped! I love you all! Jed
UPDATE: I went to church at 4:00 this afternoon and I was the only one who showed up. I waited until 4:30 but no one else came. I'm either the only member on the base or the schedule was changed without being posted or everyone else was just too busy. I was sorely disappointed.
The flight to London was very nice. I had an aisle seat and an empty seat at my side. I was able to stretch out and catch a little nap as we flew across the Atlantic. I think I slept for about four hours of the seven hour stretch.
Leaving London on the long LONG flight to Kyrgyzstan I knew that I'd be in trouble. My seat was hard, like the cushion was gone and I was sitting on the steel frame. I sat on my little back pillow for the entire flight. Next to me was a large Russian man and his girlfriend who laughed and drank vodka for the first six hours of the flight. When meal time came around he ordered a beer with his meal and managed to spill the entire can on me.
The red-haired Russian man across the aisle from me started the flight by stripping down to his underwear before pulling the airline blanket over his legs! He looked like he hadn't bathed in days and he had more long hair in his armpits than I've ever seen in my life. He wore a military green wife beater undershirt and a pair of white striped boxers. I have to admit that I was in a little bit of culture shock on the flight. Someone nearby kept unloading his gas, too. There were several times on the flight when I thought I'd blow chunks! I buried my face in my leather jacket and it helped, but the smell was unearthly rotten! (Buddy's gas is nothing compared to this guy's!)
There were three of us in our little group and we had one stop scheduled in Almaty, Kazakhstan before flying to Bishkek, but as we made the approach to the airport there, the visibility was below the minimum so we circled for about a half an hour before flying directly to Bishkek. We landed in Bishkek at 2:30 this morning, an hour ahead of schedule, and had to stand in a long line to wait for someone from the ministry to open the office so we could get our entry visas. We stood for an hour before anyone showed up and then it was a painful process as he looked over our paperwork again and again. We finally got our passports stamped and picked up our luggage.
Our next step was to wait for a ride from the air base. Our ride never showed up. But we were surrounded by local taxi drivers who were relentless in their begging for us to hire them to get a ride to the base. We stood our ground and waited. I looked around at all of the Russian signs and listened to the endless Russian being spoken by the locals. This really is a convergence in my life. Finally, an Air Force sergeant came through and saw us there. He called someone on the base and we were soon on our way. The drive took us about 300 yards, past the guards and through the main gate. Had we known just how close it was, we could have walked!
We checked in at the base inbound center and were sent to billeting for temporary rooms. My two travelling companions are going on to Afghanistan this afternoon, so they had to check in at the passenger terminal, too. We finally arrived at our rooms at 7:00 AM! I set my alarm for 8:00 AM and grabbed a quick nap before walking to the gym where I would find my first IAP employee. He directed me to someone else who, in turn, directed me to the office of the Deputy Site Director. The woman stared at me and said, "I had no idea you were coming!" She made a couple of phone calls, had me fill out some paperwork and said, "What do you know about cash registers?" I told her that I've used them before. Then she asked me, "What do you know about bars?" I said, "I don't know anything about bars. I don't drink at all and I've never been inside a bar." (I guess that was a lie, but I didn't think about it at the time. My dad took me to a bar once when we were rabbit hunting and bought me a stack of pancakes for breakfast. How he knew that the bar served breakfast is still a mystery to me).
The Deputy Director shook her head and added, "I don't have a thing for you to do until tomorrow. Come back at 8:30 in the morning and we'll have something for you to do." This doesn't instill a great deal of confidence in this company, but as long as they pay me a check I guess I'll make the best of the situation.
After checking in with the office I took my first shower in three days. Man, that felt good! Water is a little harder to find here because they keep it all inside the buildings, not like Iraq where you could pick up a bottle of water at hundreds of outside water points, so I had to make a special scouting trip to find a bottle of water just to be able to brush my teeth. (Can't drink the water here.)
I walked by the chapel and learned that the LDS service is at 4:00 this afternoon, so I'm excited to attend church here for the first time.
I talked to another IAP employee this morning and he told me that I should buy a "Magic Jack" for my computer. I can talk on the internet for hours and hours for only $40.00 a year! I thanked him and said that I'd check into it. The problem is that I'm sitting in the only place where I can hook up to the internet and it happens to be the video game room for the military, so there are loud explosive noises of guns and bombs going off, all in surround sound. It's a very noisy place. I don't know yet about other options for making phone calls, but I'm sure that I'll find out over the next few days. For now I'll plan on emails and chats until we can figure out a schedule that works.
There's snow on the ground and the air is white with haze. The base is a very busy place with servicemen moving in formations from building to building as they prepare to fly off to Afghanistan.
I pray that everyone is well back at home. I know that it's the families of the men and women in uniform who suffer the most from deployments because they deal with the everyday problems. All I have to do is concentrate on doing whatever job they're going to have me do. I'm feeling the weight of this deployment. This one feels more like a sacrifice to me than the last one did. It's 11:30 AM and I think I'll go take a short nap before church. I'm whipped! I love you all! Jed
UPDATE: I went to church at 4:00 this afternoon and I was the only one who showed up. I waited until 4:30 but no one else came. I'm either the only member on the base or the schedule was changed without being posted or everyone else was just too busy. I was sorely disappointed.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Off to Kyrgyzstan! (Finally!)
I came through this airport three weeks ago, planning to travel on to
I passed my physical for the
I was shifted from “Truck Driver” to “Services Specialist” in the company’s effort to hold on to as many of their recruits as they could, especially since they’d already paid several thousand dollars to find and transport each of us to their headquarters in Panama City, Florida. Surprisingly, to become a Services Specialist required me to obtain a “Secret” clearance from the Defense Department as well as to pass several other training and physical hurdles along the path.
So I became a nearly permanent resident of the local hotel where I was staying, getting to know the clerks and the maids by name over the course of my three week stay. By the time I was ready to check out they were beginning to believe that I was going to live there with them.
I arrived during an unusually cold time when the windshield of my red Mustang convertible rental was freezing each night. I drove to Tyndall Air Force base through blinding rain a couple of days ago as a front moved through the region, bringing fierce lightning and winds along with it. This morning the sun is shining and the temperature is expected to reach 70. So, of course, I’m sitting in the airport, staring out the windows at a beautiful
Yesterday one of the men in our group surprised me with a question. “Are you a retired Air Force officer?” I looked at him in surprise as I answered, “No. I was an enlisted Marine, though, many years ago.” “That explains it,” he responded. “A couple of us had a bet going that you were a retired Air Force officer because you carry yourself with so much confidence. Being a Marine explains it.” I don’t know what they see in my carriage, but I think it has more to do with my core beliefs than with my military past.
Another member of the group was asking me about my background and I mentioned that I’d been a missionary as a young man. His eyes widened. “I thought LDS people didn’t like sending their members to war, but I guess if you were a Marine that can’t be true.” I explained, “The Mormons believe that the Constitution of the
Last night I found a little Mexican restaurant for dinner because I hadn’t eaten all day long and I was in the mood for a good burrito. I sat down at the table and was greeted by my waiter with, “Buenas noches, señor.” I returned the greeting in Spanish and added, “¿Como está?” We were soon conversing in Spanish as he asked me where I’d learned to speak his language so well. “I was a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when I was much younger.” The questions kept coming and soon, with a slow night at the restaurant, he was seated across the table from me as I ate my burrito and the conversation continued. We talked about family and life and he began calling me “amigo.” I told him where the church is located in
God knows where He needs me. I just need to have enough faith to keep moving in that direction.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Growing Up...
I've spent the last two weeks here now, waiting to get my final airplane ticket and get on my way.
Today I was reminded again that I’m not a young man. I was reading Ashley’s blog about how someone called her “Ma’am” for the first time and it brought back recollections of my own realization that boyhood was gone.
I remember sitting as a teen and staring at my younger brothers playing with their toys. There was something inside of me that wanted to sit down and play with the toys, too, but there was something else that didn’t care about the toys. It was one of my first aging conflicts and I wondered what fine line had been crossed to separate me from my childhood. I remember feeling a sense of sadness at that loss, a sense that I’d never be able to go back again.
I remember lying on my rack one night in Marine boot camp wondering about what it was that would define me as a Marine. There was no room for boys in the Marines. Everyone was expected to be a man. What did that mean exactly? I stood in formation with the others in my platoon and watched them break out the cigarettes during smoke breaks and heard them talking about girlfriends and getting drunk. I watched the immature faces of those kids get harder and harder with each passing day until they all looked like men but I wrestled with the mysterious quality that had crept so slowly into their countenances. What was that transformation that went almost unnoticed? I didn’t feel any older, myself, but I knew that something was different, too.
I view my past transgressions and my heart fills with sorrow. I look back at my poor choices and I feel that same youthful sadness that I’ll never be able to go back again and do things the right way. And then I look at where I am right now and I’m happy. I see the gentle pushes and the subtle persuasion that God has used on me to draw me closer to him. I look at where I might be in another decade and I marvel at the possibilities. Living today as if I only had another month of life forces me to scrutinize my priorities and forces me to realize that relationships are the key to happiness. It all comes down to family for me, which makes my current situation so much more painful. I’m going away again to serve. It feels like a real sacrifice this time because I’m leaving all that I love behind for a few more months, but I know that it will be worth it. I may even make a difference to someone who has no hope.
I still marvel at that gradual transformation as I realize that my own metamorphosis isn’t quite finished. I look back a few days and I don’t see any difference. But when I look back a year, or two, or three the changes are apparent. A decade ago was like an eternity ago and twenty years ago I was still an infant. Those gradual changes continue in my life and give me hope that one day I might actually grow up. I've even learned that it's all right to sit down and play with the toys sometimes. It’s not about where we are, but about where we’re going. That’s the whole thing.
I love you all.
Jed
Today I was reminded again that I’m not a young man. I was reading Ashley’s blog about how someone called her “Ma’am” for the first time and it brought back recollections of my own realization that boyhood was gone.
I remember sitting as a teen and staring at my younger brothers playing with their toys. There was something inside of me that wanted to sit down and play with the toys, too, but there was something else that didn’t care about the toys. It was one of my first aging conflicts and I wondered what fine line had been crossed to separate me from my childhood. I remember feeling a sense of sadness at that loss, a sense that I’d never be able to go back again.
I remember lying on my rack one night in Marine boot camp wondering about what it was that would define me as a Marine. There was no room for boys in the Marines. Everyone was expected to be a man. What did that mean exactly? I stood in formation with the others in my platoon and watched them break out the cigarettes during smoke breaks and heard them talking about girlfriends and getting drunk. I watched the immature faces of those kids get harder and harder with each passing day until they all looked like men but I wrestled with the mysterious quality that had crept so slowly into their countenances. What was that transformation that went almost unnoticed? I didn’t feel any older, myself, but I knew that something was different, too.
I view my past transgressions and my heart fills with sorrow. I look back at my poor choices and I feel that same youthful sadness that I’ll never be able to go back again and do things the right way. And then I look at where I am right now and I’m happy. I see the gentle pushes and the subtle persuasion that God has used on me to draw me closer to him. I look at where I might be in another decade and I marvel at the possibilities. Living today as if I only had another month of life forces me to scrutinize my priorities and forces me to realize that relationships are the key to happiness. It all comes down to family for me, which makes my current situation so much more painful. I’m going away again to serve. It feels like a real sacrifice this time because I’m leaving all that I love behind for a few more months, but I know that it will be worth it. I may even make a difference to someone who has no hope.
I still marvel at that gradual transformation as I realize that my own metamorphosis isn’t quite finished. I look back a few days and I don’t see any difference. But when I look back a year, or two, or three the changes are apparent. A decade ago was like an eternity ago and twenty years ago I was still an infant. Those gradual changes continue in my life and give me hope that one day I might actually grow up. I've even learned that it's all right to sit down and play with the toys sometimes. It’s not about where we are, but about where we’re going. That’s the whole thing.
I love you all.
Jed
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Life's way of Diverging & Converging
Life has a way of diverging and converging at the most unexpected points. I'm witnessing one of those points today and marveling at the colorful tapestry that must certainly be taking shape on the other side of this mysterious cloth.
Over the course of my lifetime I've been drawn to certain things without knowing why. I had a desire to learn to speak Russian when the iron curtain was still strong and intact. I was drawn to study the Middle East and the Arabic language when only a handful of people cared about that region of the world. I've always had a sense of adventure and a desire to visit remote corners of the earth. I'm sitting in a hotel room in Panama City, Florida tonight staring into the face of another convergence of my life's areas of focus.
I was flown here last week to be in-briefed as a truck driver in Kuwait, in support of the U. S. military working in the Iraqi theater of operations. I was cleared to fly out on Monday morning, having succeeded in getting past the first barrier for a man my age—passing my physical. But Sunday brought a piece of news that halted my journey cold. The director of Human Resources called me at the hotel with the message. “Mr. Clark, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but the Kuwaiti embassy has notified us that no driver over the age of 59 will be issued a permit to drive in Kuwait.” I felt the air rush out of my chest as my gut caved in from her sentence. “I'd like you to come into the office in the morning to discuss some options. If we can find you a position in one of our other areas we'd like to keep you with our company.”
I spent a sleepless night, thinking about my life's experiences and my lack of education and wondering where they would ever be able to find me a job. I thought about my age and how it's become a factor in the kinds of work that I can be considered for. I spent time on my knees, asking for guidance and help.
There were three of us at the office on Monday morning, all over the Kuwaiti age limit and all wondering the same thing. “Mr. Clark, I'm going to send you in with one of our assistants to go over your skills and see if we can find a good fit for you.” I was escorted into an office down the hall where I met with another woman.
“Now then, Mr. Clark, tell me a little about your life experience and about your skills.” I took a breath to give myself another second to gather my thoughts. “I guess I've done a little bit of a lot of things over the years, but my greatest experience has come from being a corporate manager and a photographer.” Her eyes widened. “How much management experience do you have?” I suddenly felt hopeful for the first time since the night before. “I managed a corporate photo department for 17 years. We produced work for more than 30 magazines each month.
There was a brief pause in the conversation as she shuffled through a few papers on her desk and then pulled a sheet from the stack. “I have a position open for a 'Services Specialist' in Kyrgyzstan at Manas.” I know that my look was blank as I struggled with what she'd just said. “A 'Services Specialist'? Where?” I'd be managing one of the many services on the Manas Air Base near Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan for the military. I'd be living off base and traveling through the city each day to go to work.
“May I take a few minutes to call my wife and get her input?”
Candace and I talked. “This is not random", she said. "There's a reason that things have come together this way.”
Candace's faith was reassuring and I thanked her. But it wasn't until Candace called me a few minutes later after doing a google search that I began to glimpse the convergence. “Do you know that Kyrgyzstan borders Khazakhstan and China? And do you know that one of the three official languages in Kyrgyzstan is Russian?”
So I'm sitting in the hotel room, contemplating one of those mysterious convergences in life while I wait for a flight to another far-off place where, if all goes according to the plan... God seems to have another mission just for me.
Over the course of my lifetime I've been drawn to certain things without knowing why. I had a desire to learn to speak Russian when the iron curtain was still strong and intact. I was drawn to study the Middle East and the Arabic language when only a handful of people cared about that region of the world. I've always had a sense of adventure and a desire to visit remote corners of the earth. I'm sitting in a hotel room in Panama City, Florida tonight staring into the face of another convergence of my life's areas of focus.
I was flown here last week to be in-briefed as a truck driver in Kuwait, in support of the U. S. military working in the Iraqi theater of operations. I was cleared to fly out on Monday morning, having succeeded in getting past the first barrier for a man my age—passing my physical. But Sunday brought a piece of news that halted my journey cold. The director of Human Resources called me at the hotel with the message. “Mr. Clark, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but the Kuwaiti embassy has notified us that no driver over the age of 59 will be issued a permit to drive in Kuwait.” I felt the air rush out of my chest as my gut caved in from her sentence. “I'd like you to come into the office in the morning to discuss some options. If we can find you a position in one of our other areas we'd like to keep you with our company.”
I spent a sleepless night, thinking about my life's experiences and my lack of education and wondering where they would ever be able to find me a job. I thought about my age and how it's become a factor in the kinds of work that I can be considered for. I spent time on my knees, asking for guidance and help.
There were three of us at the office on Monday morning, all over the Kuwaiti age limit and all wondering the same thing. “Mr. Clark, I'm going to send you in with one of our assistants to go over your skills and see if we can find a good fit for you.” I was escorted into an office down the hall where I met with another woman.
“Now then, Mr. Clark, tell me a little about your life experience and about your skills.” I took a breath to give myself another second to gather my thoughts. “I guess I've done a little bit of a lot of things over the years, but my greatest experience has come from being a corporate manager and a photographer.” Her eyes widened. “How much management experience do you have?” I suddenly felt hopeful for the first time since the night before. “I managed a corporate photo department for 17 years. We produced work for more than 30 magazines each month.
There was a brief pause in the conversation as she shuffled through a few papers on her desk and then pulled a sheet from the stack. “I have a position open for a 'Services Specialist' in Kyrgyzstan at Manas.” I know that my look was blank as I struggled with what she'd just said. “A 'Services Specialist'? Where?” I'd be managing one of the many services on the Manas Air Base near Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan for the military. I'd be living off base and traveling through the city each day to go to work.
“May I take a few minutes to call my wife and get her input?”
Candace and I talked. “This is not random", she said. "There's a reason that things have come together this way.”
Candace's faith was reassuring and I thanked her. But it wasn't until Candace called me a few minutes later after doing a google search that I began to glimpse the convergence. “Do you know that Kyrgyzstan borders Khazakhstan and China? And do you know that one of the three official languages in Kyrgyzstan is Russian?”
So I'm sitting in the hotel room, contemplating one of those mysterious convergences in life while I wait for a flight to another far-off place where, if all goes according to the plan... God seems to have another mission just for me.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
My New Beard
It was Christmas Eve, a day to begin relaxing and contemplating the birth of Christ more than two millennia ago, when I tucked my razor into a Whataburger French fry box and taped the lid closed. It was not a day of relaxation. We were packing everything that we owned for our move from
The packing and taping continued on Christmas day. It was a difficult holiday for everyone at home.
On Saturday morning I was scheduled to pick up a 16 foot truck at nine o’clock from the local Penske rental facility. I didn’t arrive at the Penske office until 9:30 but the truck hadn’t arrived yet. “The trucks in the yard need periodic maintenance or I’d let you have one of them,” the lady drawled. She opened her cell phone and dialed a familiar number. “Your truck left the other facility about 10 minutes ago. It will be here in 20 minutes.” I was miffed but I also knew that getting upset wasn’t going to get the truck there any earlier. By the time the truck arrived at 11 o’clock I was really miffed. To make the situation worse there were sunflower seed husks all over the floor of the cab where the previous driver had spit them and the steering wheel shimmied and shook as I started down the road. It wasn’t a good start.
A couple of the men from our church had come to help with the move. I pulled up in front of the house and found the sidewalk and driveway covered with furniture and boxes. We got the heaviest of the furniture into the truck, followed by a few of the boxes that were there. One of the men looked at his watch. “Well, we’ve got to go. Is there anything else that you need us for?” It was polite. I don’t blame the members for not showing up in droves, though, because we’ve moved our stuff from storage unit to house to house to house to truck over the last couple of years. I think they were just tired of moving the
By the time church came around on Sunday my face was covered with what looked like fine powdered sugar and I didn’t have any socks to match my trousers. People were kind not to make a lot of comments about my appearance, but they were aware that we were probably packed up and ready to leave. Kari Hubnik commented after I had shown off my mismatched socks, “Like Candace says, ‘It just doesn’t matter.’” She was right.
We managed to get on the road on Monday afternoon with the plan of driving to
We drove from
On Wednesday we continued the trip starting at 4:30 in the morning. The drive across the desert from
We arrived safely in Riverton in the afternoon, several hours later than we had planned, and we were relieved to be at our final destination. Our rest period only lasted a short time, though, as we began pulling boxes from the truck. Thursday brought more unloading as we carried boxes into Candace’s daughter’s basement and unloaded the heavy furniture, finally emptying the truck.
I opened the box that held my razor on Friday, a week after taping it away. Candace surveyed my face as I pulled the razor from the box. “I think you should let your beard grow for a while. I’ll bet it will look very distinguished on you.” I doubt it. I’ve never seen a good beard on an old man. It just makes an old man look older. On the other hand, if I end up in the
I showed up in church that Sunday with a week-old beard. There was just enough to look like a beard, but not enough to look like a smooth beard. It was still a bit rough and it was the first impression that I left with the members of this new congregation. They have a few months to forget it, though, and I might just be lucky enough to have a second chance at a first impression.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
The T. B. Test Results
“Your T. B. test is clearly positive, sir.” I knew that the spot on my arm just didn’t look quite right, but this was a shock. “Does that mean that I have the disease, or does it mean that I’ve been exposed to it?” The answer was reassuring. “It just means that you’ve been exposed to it. Your chest x-ray was completely clear, so you don’t have the disease. But if you notice a cough that just doesn’t seem normal over the next few months, you need to see a doctor and let him know that you’ve had a positive reaction to a T. B. test.”
I thought back over the past year, trying to remember any time when I might have been exposed to the disease. Maxx interrupted my thoughts, “Don’t you remember when Serka had that quarantine in Tal Afar?”
“I do remember, but it was for chicken pox, right?”
“No, sir. A couple of the guys had T. B. and they were sent home immediately.”
This was a startling piece of news that I’d never received and it was then that I remembered Sanjeev. He’d arrived in the fall of 2008, healthy and strong, but by spring he was thin and it was evident that he was very ill. He’d lost weight and his face was drawn and his eyes had begun to sink back. I was worried about him, even when they finally sent him home because I just didn’t know if he was going to make it.
At the office they told me to proceed normally, but that if I became aware of the unusual cough I should seek out medical attention immediately. This is clearly a better company to work for than my last one. The last company seemed anxious to throw people under the bus in order to recruit new ones, something that I never understood. Training an employee takes a lot of time and effort and it seems like a company would be more anxious to hold on to a good employee. It’s all water under the bridge now, though.
I went back to the hotel and checked out. I filled the rental car with fuel for the return at the airport. I checked my voicemail. “Sir, you need to return to the hotel forthwith and check back in. The flights for the day have been cancelled because of weather in
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