Karzai’s Fortuitous Flu Bug

As the election run-off between Afghan President Hamid Karzai and challenger Abdullah Abdullah approached, tensions were running high, particularly among Abdullah’s Tajik supporters, who thought the election process was fatally flawed. There was widespread talk of anti-government protests—even among the Afghan population opposed to the Taliban.

When Abdullah withdraw from the run-off in early November, saying the process was corrupt, he urged his followers not to take action. But Abdullah thought mistrust could further alienate the disenchanted populace from the Kabul government. Abdullah told Stars and Stripes, “Anything can happen. The reason for the fragility is mainly because the government is not trusted.”

But in the days prior to the cancellation, the Karzai government had already hobbled the protest movement. The day before Abdullah withdrew, the government declared an HINI flu emergency in parts of the country, including Panjshir Province, the fierce Tajik region that has been a hotbed of support for Abdullah. With the run-off looming, the government declared mosques, schools and universities—the traditional gathering places for politically minded Afghans—to be closed for three weeks.

Though Ahmed Abdul Rahman, the UN World Health Organization officer-in-charge in Afghanistan declared the order to be “appropriate and timely,” there was widespread cynicism about the timing. The country had 320 HINI cases by November 3, with two fatalities tied to the disease. An Afghan member of parliament, Kabir Ranjbar, told the IRIN news agency, “The disease was not widespread and cannot justify a state of emergency in which the entire education system is closed.”

 

When I was last reporting in Afghanistan, I learned almost all soldiers carry lucky charms. Soldiers’ faces lit up as they talked about their father’s dogtags that survived Vietnam, their grandma’s Christian crosses, holy medals, auspicious coins, their children’s Crayola-ed art laminated to carry into the field. One soldier pulled out a pacifier, dropped in his duffel bag by his baby son who felt he needed the comfort of one too.

While preparing to return to Afghanistan, it struck me I was definitely charm-deprived— clearly in need of some luck for my second round of reporting in Afghanistan. So I called on friends and family for some auspicious amulets to tote with me. Very small and very light, I requested. I do have to haul this up mountains. But thus equipped, I promise to return in good health.

So I travel through Afghanistan with a mixed bag of talismans: My musician son Dylan’s lucky drum key; youngest son Seth’s Seattle Marathon medal. Both insist they want me to hand-return their cherished mementos. (I imagined the chunks of metal deflecting a bullet.) Grandchildren sent drawings. One sister had a retrograde priest bless a St. Christopher medal. While I thought Chris had been drummed out of the saint corps decades ago, I was happy to learn the priest insisted he’d be recalled.

Friends sent a variety of charms: buckeyes, one in a velvet bag, the other with a particularly large eye; a smooth Lake Michigan rock; a JFK fifty-cent piece; a “Gratitude and Attitude medal; a Thai Buddhist namol amulet; a paladhik Shiva lingam that protects me from dogs and snakes; a Wiccan charm; an all-seeing Eye of Osiris; a Santo Expedito card (token of Brazil’s favorite go-to saint); a small sky-blue bag with a Iemanja Goddess of the Sea traveler’s protection.

Consider me charmed.

This blog is re-posted from Muslim Voices

(Editor’s Note:  Journalist Douglas Wissing is on assignment in Afghanistan and, when he’s able, will be sending along essays on his experience there.  This is the first of those pieces.  In it Wissing explains just how difficult getting to Afghanistan is.)

HOW DO YOU GET TO AFGHANISTAN? What is required these days, when war has once again wracked this central Asian Islamic country? An assignment to cover an Indiana National Guard Agribusiness Development Team (ADT) in Khost Province, a conservative Pashtun tribal region in turbulent eastern Afghanistan, had me asking these questions with considerable focus.

I’d been in Pashtun regions before.  My first experience came in Pakistan after the Russians had withdrawn from neighboring Afghanistan; my hope that I could visit that country as well.  The Afghan civil war was raging and the Pashtuns controlled the border regions—as they had since time immemorial. Waiting in the old cantonment city of Peshawar on the border of Afghanistan, Pakistani officials informed me tribal leaders had barred travel through the Khyber Pass. I wasn’t going to Afghanistan after all. Instead I traveled by local buses north through the tribal regions of Pakistan, in the process learning something about the devout, independent and fierce Pashtuns.

But that was a different time in the Afghanistan-Pakistan border regions, pre-9/11, when there was still a residual glow from the U.S. support of the muhadijinagainst the Soviet army. And it was definitely pre-Taliban. With a full-blown insurgency against the U.S.-led forces now roiling the Pashtun regions on both sides of the border, taking the local bus to Khost just isn’t going to happen.

Getting The Right Gear

The assignment sending me to Afghanistan began with a meeting of the Indiana ADT commanders at Camp Atterbury in the hills of southern Indiana. While we discussed their mission, I could see the commanders assessing me. Was I going to be a liability to their team? A security problem? One of them finally asked, “Can you sprint with forty pounds on you?” Seemed like I was going to Afghanistan, though there was work to do.

The process of embedding with a military unit in Afghanistan is labyrinth, starting with an application to the unit commanders. The application asked pertinent, though somewhat daunting questions—blood type, next of kin, “Do you have any disabilities that prohibit you from running? Do you have your own Body Armor/Kevlar? (Required).” If approved by the unit commanders, the application goes “through channels,” eventually to the Pentagon and then on to Afghanistan, where it is approved or denied by the Public Affairs Office at Bagram Airbase outside of Kabul. Once I had that approval, I moved on other particulars, including body armor.

A helpful CSR at www.bulletproofme.com walked me through my body armor shopping spree. For Afghanistan, I needed Level IV protection, two ceramic plates about 5/8-inch thick to stop rifle bullets, added to the Kevlar panels already in the vest. Loaded with the plates, it weighs about 35 pounds. This wasn’t cheap, almost $1,500. My two sons kept sending emails that I was not allowed to try to find used body armor on eBay. (I did find a used Kevlar helmet at an Army-Navy surplus store, but don’t tell them.)

Vaccinations are inescapable for a journey to Afghanistan. Ruellen Fessenbecker, the indefatigable nurse at the Indiana University Travel Clinic researched my needs. She recommended shots for Hepatitis A and B, Typhoid and Polio. I purchased doxycycline as a malaria prophylaxis. While rabies shots are suggested, Ruellen thought I should just chance it, and endure the painful shots if a rabid dog attacks.

Working Out With Captain

Those questions about my ability to run with forty pounds on my back were certainly an impetus to my exercise schedule. I signed up for a Boot Camp exercise class with Urban Fitness, led by Allison Chopra, an excellent trainer who clearly harbors some sadistic tendencies. She was a perfect goad. I got fitter. When my Boot Camp class concluded, I sought out the R.O.T.C. fitness instructor, Captain Christopher Hormel, who led the 6:00 AM exercise classes at Indiana University. One run with these buff young officer candidates quickly taught me I needed to do a lot more jogging if I was going to be able to handle the mountains of Afghanistan. So I did. Can run farther and faster than any time in the last fifteen years. But I am still counting on that big hit of adrenaline that gunfire brings to accelerate my speed and sustain my endurance.

Visa application to the Afghanistan embassy went out, and came back in quick time. Medical insurance was a little more complicated. Most medical policies, including mine, have a war-zone exclusion, which means you have to buy a supplemental policy for injuries sustained while in the war zone. While the military commits to providing medical care in the field and back to the U.S., once here the continuing care for war injuries needs to be covered by a supplemental policy. Doug Polifron of the New York International Group Inc. is a war-zone specialist, an agent for Peterson’s of Lloyd’s of London. I skimped a little, only purchasing dismemberment insurance, rather than death-and-dismemberment. The cost for a month’s worth of medical and dismemberment coverage (the paperwork included a gruesome little drawing showing me how much each of my body parts is worth if I lose them) was about $1,600.

Ticket To Ride

The military required that I provide my own transportation to Afghanistan. Not surprisingly, you can’t buy at ticket to Kabul on Travelocity. I located a couple of consolidators who deal with Afghanistan, mainly for expatriates and NGO aid workers. An economy ticket to Kabul from Indianapolis was about $1,800. Flying via Atlanta, I arrive in Dubai about 8:00 PM. Not much point in getting a room, as the flight to Kabul on Pamair Airlines leaves at 3:00 AM. The plane descends into Kabul three hours later. I was told the middle-of-the-night departure allows the plane to land at a decent hour for security, prompting me to surmise rocket-launchers are not early birds.

To begin my embed, the military requires I make my own way from Kabul International Airport, where my flight arrives, to Bagram, about sixty kilometers away. Trying to find secure transport for this leg of the journey was among the most challenging tasks. You can’t just walk out to the taxi stand, for obvious reasons. Kidnapping journalists has become almost a cottage industry in Afghanistan. Indeed, because of tight security, taxis aren’t even allowed on the airport premises. I kept sending emails to a recommended shuttle service, Afghan Logistics, but didn’t receive replies.

As I interviewed Afghan hands for background information, NGO representatives kept emphasizing the danger of being on the ground between the airports. When I told my transport plan to a USDA provincial reconstruction official who works in Afghanistan, he exploded, “I can’t believe the military won’t pick you up at Kabul International! We don’t travel on the ground there. We fly between the airports.” Well, a shuttle flight isn’t available for a journalist.  I eventually heard from Afghan Logistics, and have exchanged a number of confidence-building emails with them. Based on our exchange, I anticipate a driver holding a sign with my name outside the terminal doors. He’ll take me to an interview in Kabul, and then on to Bagram. And then I will be embedded in Afghanistan and my real journey begins.