17 March 2010, Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan

On Thursday, March 11th, we at Liberando’s Lair hosted a visit by General David Petraeus, Commander of the Middle East Theater of Operations. I can honestly say that by the time he actually arrived at our little building I was completely worn out. For the twenty four hour period leading up to his visit here, I had Colonels, Lt. Colonels, Majors, Chief Master Sergeants, Master Sergeants and Tech Sergeants looking, probing and searching for anything that might be out of place during the visit. By Thursday morning I was expecting someone to ask me to drop my drawers for an internal exam, but, thankfully, it never came.

When the hour drew near for his arrival, Chief Liles walked in and announced the visit to the troops who were enjoying the peace and quiet, watching TV or playing a game of Pool. After the Chief’s announcement, though, the atmosphere was changed. It was no longer a peaceful place, but one filled with tension. A few of the soldiers slipped out the back door when the Chief wasn’t watching.

Suddenly, the Chief tensed and called out to everyone in the building, “Troops! Get ready!” That was followed by a gruff, “Atten-HUH!” The troops who were left in the room all snapped to attention as the General strode in. “As you were!” he called out. He shook my hand and turned immediately to the Sergeant Major who stood by the door. They greeted each other like old friends and the General glanced around the room and then disappeared into the empty room that’s about to be converted into a barber shop. A hand-selected group of soldiers and Marines had been taken into the room earlier to meet with General Petraeus. The door closed behind him and the room was silent. It was still tense.
Forty minutes later the door flew opened and the General strode out, looked around again briefly and then left the building.

On Sunday afternoon Staff Sergeant Greer walked in and announced that he was about to do a surprise cash count. I was just getting ready to leave for church, but that was pre-empted by the Finance Department. The count was off by $2.00, so we had to search the inventory until we found out that someone had rung up an extra Red Bull without giving it to anyone. I missed church because of a Red Bull.

My landlady called Salamat the other day to ask him to deliver a message to me. “Sir, when you paid your rent you gave the landlady 300 American dollars. She said that they were wrinkled and would like you, the next time you pay rent, to give her newer money.” I just rolled my eyes at the request. “You’ll have to tell the landlady for me that I don’t have the luxury of choosing new money or wrinkled money. I just take the dollars that they give me. If she wants me to pay her in “Som” then I will pay her each month in Som. But I’m not going to worry about whether or not the money has a few wrinkles in it. Tell her that I can always find another apartment.” Salamat smiled as he said, “I think your landlady is a little crazy. I know my people and she’s a little bit crazy.”

On Monday night I turned on the light in my apartment living room and it popped with a bright blue flash. The room stayed dark. I used my flashlight and a kitchen chair to get to the bulb and when I unscrewed it from the fixture I learned that it had a small, non-standard base. I put my jacket on and went out into the night to find a light bulb, but without any luck. Lots of places had “LAM-poch-kee” but they all had the large bases. I asked one man where I could find a smaller bulb and he told me to go around the corner to a “construction” store called “Comfort.” “But you must go before three in the afternoon,” he added. Great! I don’t get home before eight, and sometimes it’s even later. My apartment remains dark, illuminated only by the small television set that plays one of three Russian channels.

On Tuesday night I tried going in a different direction to find a store where I might find a lampochka, but still I had no luck. As I started back to the apartment I was met by a man who crossed the sidewalk to shake my hand. “Miseur Mamadu Kande from Senegal,” he announced.

I shook his hand and answered “Zdrastye,” in my best Russian accent.

He suddenly looked disappointed, but continued in Russian, “I thought you were an American. I was going to speak to you in English for practice. I’m sorry. I’m Mister Mamadu Kande from Senegal.”

This time I answered in English, “Jed Clark from Houston, Texas.” His face brightened again and he spoke to me again in English. “I am a professor of the French language at the University here. French is my native tongue. I am from Senegal. I have been here for more than twelve years, teaching French language and computer science at the University. I understand that the United States Air Force is in Bishkek.” I could tell where this was headed.

“Yes, they are.”

“Do you have contact with them?” he asked me.

“Yes, I do.” I’d just closed my side of whatever conversation he wanted to have.

“I would like to work for the United States as a translator. I speak several languages well and could do a good job. I would like to help Obama out.” He really didn’t understand how much he had just closed the conversation with me.

“Do you have an email address,” I asked him. “I can give your name to someone I know and have them email you.”

His eyes brightened again. “Yes! Yes! That would be wonderful!”

I took Mr. Kande’s email address and he shook my hand again. I’ll give his name to someone, but the rest is going to be up to the U.S. military. The whole encounter was so symbolic of how the rest of the world feels about the United States. They all want to be a part of our country. They all want to be Americans, or at least be associated with the Americans. They all want something from us. But, of course, mostly they all want a better life for themselves.