PIX- II Rocket

Left: Toshaks below a window in the room next to mine at the men's house. We were awoken from dead sleep at 3:29:54 in the morning - no power, no lights, and no one even cut their feet finding shoes.


















Below: Demonstration of what blast strips do. A wheelbarrow is filled with windows that shattered in place. In the background is my former classroom (pictures of the inside are posted in September) with shattered windows still in place. My new classroom in the High School building had no blast strip protection. The contrast between regular and blast strip protected windows is striking. The frames of my classroom's bay windows were bent so much that replacement glass could not be installed.


















Left: A window with no blast strips on the ISK compound. Many were sleeping directly below windows and the shards were big enough to do serious damage. No one was cut at all.

Pix - VI Rocket

The back of the room in my class had two large windows. When the lights went on, we found that shards covered the floor and nine students desks. If you think that those window frames aren't straight, your've got a good eye. Replacement glass could not be placed in those frames.
















The clock had its battery blown out.


















The front of the High School building. If you go up 1/2 flight of stairs, my room is the only one on the left. Its windows which face front (North), along with the windows directly above on the second floor were blown in. The windows on all floors of this stairway were blown out. Piles of glass left on the roof by workers the previous day were still unmoved,in spite of the fact that the roof is the only part of the building from which you can see the rocket impact sites.

PIX - Rockets VII

Below:  The Dining Room table on the first floor of the men's house.  The generators were turned on to provide light and heating about 1 1/2 hours after the strike, which was about 1 hour before sunrise.

 

 

 

Sideways shot of the front, right corner of the men's house after sunrise.  My room is just above, on the second story.  The blast should have hit the second floor more directly (another building stands in between on the first floor level), yet only one very small window was broken inmy room.

 

 

 

 

Below:  Glass was everywhere; except for camera flashes, there was no light anywhere for one and one half hours.  I cleaned shards for one hour before we found work gloves.  Not one glass cut was reported. 

 

 

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PIX- Rocket V

People file in (from street) past an impact crater that destroyed a car and opened a breach in a bedroom wall. Parts from this car were found around the neighborhood.

Below: ISAF forces in the street in front of ISK, behind them is the impact zone where three explosive rockets fell. To the right, you can see small blue doors that have been blown slightly into the street; they used to lead to the alleyway where the car is.


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Below: Eighteen people were present in the houses that fell - no one was hospitalized. The things seen here were easy to recover. Hours of digging did not unearth all that had bee buried - the homes had basement storage areas. On the top right are houses that, like ISK (behing the cameraman) suffered severe window damage.

PIX - Rocket IV

Above: This home is adjacent to the marble mansion. Besides the broken glass, notice that frames of the door and windows are not straight. I used to criticize the carpenters here because nothing (not even locks) lines up in new buildings. Now I have more of the idea that it does not matter, things will get crooked sooner or later anyway.


Below: You can not use shovels for the dig out - too many bricks. Possessions were buried among brick, dirt and wood. Everything was scavenged, wood was reused or burnt. We recovered everything, including the Teddy.



Below: Pretty good view of about half of what I've been calling "the dig area". Alleyway leads to the front street, where ISK security roams.

First PIX - Flowers from on high

View from inside a home to the car outside. There was an impact crater directly in front of the car, which was driven the day before. Tire and engine parts were scattered in the street (off screen to the left) and to the "dig zone" (off screen to the right).

The Romulan Plot Unfolds

Started 11/17
One of my Afg. students whose family returned from New York City (the one with a makeshift bandage on his arm as he's raising his hand in the September pix) put it something like this: "In the US there was always something to do, karate, soccer, basketball; I was always doing something. Here there is nothing to do. You just go home and sit. It's boring. Could you give me more homework so I won't be so bored?" He spoke, not only for himself, but also for the adults here who were used to life in the USA. People expect us to have so many stories to tell, but in fact not much happens here. The crazier things get in the street, the more people stay home and.... well, do you want to hear about the helicopters you can see flying around the city? How about the power outages? I had to take the shower head off yesterday after I ran because the water pressure was so low (please don't call CNN with the news).
The social event of the fall season, so far, was "Marble Mansion Mamas" putting on a "'tude" party (that's for Attitude of Gratitude) Thursday night (since Fridays are holy days, Thursdays are sort of like Saturdays). Not only did folks from other NGO's (Karte Seh/Char) come, but also some down town people (ISAF) were in attendance. ISK's female teachers, residents of "the marble mansion" (see pix posted in July) really know how to put on an event! Dancing and food galore, space for deeper conversation, it was delightful.
Then back to the (also delightful) grind....The generator was down and my class is the only one with NO WINDOWS on the south side. Weeks ago I had asked for candle stands for just such an eventuality; today word came that that request had been discussed and denied. I complained again, and was offered the option to move to a better lit room for the morning. So when the kids came in, it was time for thinking over (for the first time) what a temporary move would entail. The most important subjects would be reading and math. In reading, the class is on a sixth grade book, which has supporting books with exercises, but those who are struggling with English are on an easier book, which also has its own supporting exercise books and handouts. In Math, I have 14 students ready for lesson 5-6 on changing fractions to decimals (in the Level 1 book, just ahead of where sixth graders are supposed to be) , three students ready for lesson 5-6 in the Level 2 math book and three others had studied to take the test on Chapter 5 in the Level two book. It struck me that I was not running a sixth grade classroom, but rather a one room schoolhouse. Temporary moving is just not an option. The kids made me so proud as they maneuvered around the room, copying things from the board, finding nooks where the light was better for reading, everyone more on task than usual because being on task was such a challenge. Impressive.
Sunday (the 2nd workday of our week) while running, as usual, on the U of K campus around sundown, I saw a plane dropping several loads of lit up devices towards the ground - a strange sight. Monday our cook was out so we went downtown to a restaurant called B's for dinner. Most people enjoyed really good steaks, but I chose the chicken. All of that had made me good and tired. So after a chat back home (we've got new furniture to sit on now at the men's home), it was time to settle in for a good night's slThe explosion happened right next to my bed, a single and simultaneous loud noise, pressure wave and blinding flash. But I woke up, first indication that everything was A-OK. No hole in my floor, no hole on my wall or roof, not even any windows blown out. If I was alright after taking that hit, everyone else must also be safe, but I got up anyway, just to calm the others down. When putting on my pants (the ones I wore yesterday to school and the restaurant), after fastening the belt, there was no need for zipping the zipper nor buckling that pants themselves, since we are all men and I was going right back to sleep. Everyone was up in our (the men's) house, but no one I called on the telephone would answer. We were being quiet, not knowing exactly what had hit where, but slightly afraid that whoever did it might still be wandering around outside the house. Finally, my phone rang; Byron was calling me. We arranged to meet in the street out front. Cell phone said 3:40.
The choquedor (employee) was there before Byron, and he answered my questions by referring to a flower that hit, four flowers that hit the house. Speaking the Dari language between three thirty and four in the morning takes more practice than yours truly has put in. Though our computer teacher and his family had trouble opening their door, everyone at ISK was healthy and accounted for. Glass crunched on the ground wherever you walked. Our security was all over the street. They confirmed to me (in Dari) that three flowers had hit a neighbor's house. As a result, two people were taken to the hospital, but miraculously no one had died. When I repeated all that in English, the correction came immediately - no one had been hospitalized. No one corrected the "flowers"; no one so much as batted an eyebrow at the word all morning long. Candles glowed on the table around which the women were huddled as Mike and I entered the marble mansion. The "secure area" needed some glass clearing before it could be inhabited, but we gave up on that task due to the darkness. The only thing left to say found its way to my lips, "where are the brownies?"
Foolishly following ISAF detectives into the neighbor's yard, two of the three impact craters were evident, one in front of what had been, moments before, a car and one inside of what had been a bedroom. The lights at ISK remained off so that we would not present a target. Not even the little boy who had been sleeping in the bedroom had been hospitalized. A explosion six feet above him blew out windows hundreds of yards (as it turns out- even blocks) away , and not even his eardrums ruptured?
In the past, rebel groups have fired mortars and "dumb" (unguided) missiles from behind the mountains located southeast or from behind those located northeast of our area. They usually launched them at the downtown area. Never have they had the technology to target precisely. After unloading from a car or van, they fire across the mountain and leave. More than an hour after the flowers had hit (perhaps the bright tail that trails rockets makes for the "flower" description - no one has yet explained it to me) ISK put her lights on...
The ISK math teacher and I toured the grounds to document the damage. As we did, we tried to describe the explosion phenomenon based on the evidence found. In the end, it was inexplicable. Every ISK building had suffered window damage and many doors and windows would not open or close properly. Where installed, blast paper held together windows that had shattered in place. In the High School building, the windows at the rear of my class (1st floor north side) and those directly above on the second floor had been blown in. In the stairway, four large pains were blown out. On the directly exposed roof (from which I later viewed the blast area -read on), three foot long pieces of glass that had been left neatly stacked as trash by the employees the day before were still stacked neatly, unmoved. My classroom clock had been blown off the windowsill, losing its battery at 3:29:54. In the men's living quarters my room was the most exposed. One small window (which I had not noticed at 3:30) had indeed been blown in. All of the other (less exposed) rooms suffered far greater window damage - go figure. (I reckoned that the bomb impact must have caused me to exhale quickly. Since I am in such superb physical condition, that equalized the pressure on most of my window panes. The Math teacher isn't buying it.)
Different people have different ways of reacting to stress. Our director prepared the script to be read over the telephone to parents canceling school today (Tuesday) and tomorrow. Thursday starts the weekend (besides being Thanksgiving). Six teachers made 20 calls each to our students' families, and the secretary sent out e-mails. The music teacher and I cleaned the glass from the basement of the marble mansion, getting the TV room ready, "so that, as the day wears on, the others can forget about the blast". Afterwards, we returned to the High School building and cleaned up more glass. At 8:00 there was to be a briefing, so we decided to knock off at 7:30, for a shower and breakfast, respectively.
At the briefing, it was agreed that we were on lock down (no running for me - and that is my #1 defense against stress!) and would meet again at 10:00 to begin cleaning up glass. I took a cup of coffee to my classroom and relaxed by continuing a previously started journal entry (this one) up to the word slThe. I also did an internet search for news on K-Town and came up with an article that started (editing mine):
"Attacks On K-Town Resume
U.S. Makes Progress In Key Strategic Location
POSTED: 11:39 a.m. EDT October 12, 2001
UPDATED: 7:42 p.m. EDT October 12, 2001
K-Town, Afgh. -- According to CNN, the U.S.-led air campaign has commenced on the Afgh. capital of K-Town early Saturday morning, Afghanistan time.
Several planes streaked over K-Town and large explosions were heard in northern areas of the city early Saturday, rattling buildings in the heart of the capital..."
My mind raced in several directions, one towards the plane I'd seen while running the other day, dropping the lit up devices, two towards why the US would be bombing the city when ISAF controlled the ground, and three towards how many days a Tuesday here (that, being the fourth day in the work week, still seems more like a Thursday) would come after a Saturday in America. Fourthly, the date posted came to mind, reintroducing my previously held low opinion of internet news searches. Bombs in K-Town that do not even rupture ear drums do not make international news - 100 to one you would never hear this story unless I told you. But I'll get it out quickly anyway, on the odd chance ISK comes up on someone's news, and because we have the days off and writing is a good way to reflect on, assimilate and come to accept reality.
During the cleanup, we returned to the roof of the High School building (where the picture one of the three undisturbed glass shards and I was taken). From there I could see the neighbors, whose homes had been flowered, digging out. Three minutes later, I was there digging with them.
It was not one family, but several, digging out. Discussions happened as to which direction to pile the rubble; each house had rooms that were buried, full of possessions. There was no space to put rubble that would not block some one's excavation efforts. As we dug into a new room, a chain of people would pass boxes, suitcases, whatever we found towards the remains of one home or another. About a half hour into this, it dawned on me that ISK was on lockdown and that I had left the compound. After an hour's work, it dawned on me that I had not slipped back into bed right after 3:30; my zipper was still down and pants not buckled, a long, untucked shirt was all that stood between me and humiliation. About an hour and a half was enough time for the light to finally dawn that yesterday at this time I had been complaining about the lighting in my classroom. (As I write this, sitting in my windowless classroom at about 4 P.M., there is a slight earthquake, maybe 2 or 3. Remember that Kashmir is not too far away. Though the windows that have shattered in place in the adjacent building are shaking, I have not bothered to stop writing - yet. Assimilating the reality I've been called to is anything but drudgery!) Still digging when lunch time arrived (also, loose jewelry was turning up in the dirt) I was thanked and politely asked to leave. Arriving late at the ISK lunch, Byron had praised my volunteerism (instead of condemning my rule breaking). He later arranged for us to help more significantly tomorrow. I escorted some lady friends around the neighborhood (who needed to check on unoccupied housing - that's when I saw that homes a block away had also suffered window damage), and returned to the High School building. From that vantage point of the roof, no one could be seen digging. Looks like I wore them out. That's when I came here and started writing this again.
The, "little boy in the bedroom" turned out to be the man digging opposite me in the pit - about 18 years old. He's got no hearing problems whatsoever. His hair was still covered with dust as he offered to give several interviews. My Dari (as you may have gathered) is not reliable, but it seems that we (ISK) are being blamed for the explosion - some are convinced that ISK was targeted. But the fact seems to be that the enemy is unable to target anything more than a certain section of the city. We want to respond as neighbors, not setting a bad precedent by taking responsibility for the actions of others. Perhaps a fund will be set up (Ooops, we're shaking again, or should I say still?. We've really been rolling, though lightly, for a long time. I fear that something powerfully awful might be happening, maybe, 200 miles away. By the way - got an e-mail the other day from a relief group and it looks like I might be able to personally help out in Kashmir over the Winter Break.) and a schedule for volunteering help will be put in place so that we, as a group, can offer comprehensive assistance to our neighbors without favoring one family over another, nor promising to always fix damages that others might cause.

The Truth

Teaching critical thought is a high calling. Beginning students believe that the truth is a group of facts that can be known. Later, they perceive that those facts must be applyed, the truth is something that must be done. For those with the inspiration to go on, they discover algorithms or patterns that application of the truth seems to take. If one is willing to put aside his own will for the sake of doing the truth (i.e. abides in His Word), one discovers a personality behind the pattern, walking in the truth leads you to realize that the Truth is a person to be known and enjoyed.

Year of Indecision

Entering a new culture means a passing through a time of disorientation. You think you know what you're doing but do not accurately perceive things as they are. Communication clues are missed - even in your native tongue. So I made a commitment not to make any important decisions for at least one year. Making up my mind to come here, teach sixth grade and learn Dari was enough decisiveness for the whole year. In the summer of 2006 a re-evaluation can occur. That leaves freedom to make mistakes; almost like a year of return to childhood. That is what entry into a new country should be like; not halfway through the year the commitment seems to bring life, not death.
Within 48 hours of arrival there was a temptation to start a romantic relationship. But I did not act on nor even dwell on that, just figured since I've waited this long, I can wait another year (never even gave her the idea). The overseas m field is a great place for a man to marry some one out of his league (when you consider westerners). There are so many sincere and strong western women (they come across as 'Oh, so sweet', and can also fight their way out of dark corners with overwhelming ferocity) who come but so few men. Hence, the immediate temptation (wisely put off). Then, there is also the Persian possibility. It would be an insult worthy of death for me, a Ch. male to wed an Af. woman. Yet an Iranian or a Tajik woman would not provoke the same local ire. I do not have this figured out and will not even try too hard (at least not until June approaches).
Because of my year of indecision, today, our Friday meeting was relaxing freedom for me. In the USA there were so many well defined responsibilities - Sunday was another work day. Here, we sometimes meet in the "big building" as one group. (it's Christy Wilson's old place. I'll get that story out at Christmas time if I'm able. Its a sad story that explains how we got from the Shahs to anarchy in Persia.) Other weeks we break into several small groups around Karte Seh/Karte Char. One time I spoke at a group, and there was a call for me to repeat, but I had not tried my hand any of the other jobs that make things go smoothly. So, today I taught my small group's older kids (not having made a commitment to any of the groups, but having drifted into one). This group is more European in flavor, and our oldest kids are first and second graders, so that was a slight reach for me, but things went pretty well. Afterwards, I offered to do every job once, than thought for a second and added, "except singing". Will you do the toddlers?..... "Well, I'd rather do the older kids again sometime"..... How about refreshments? ...... "Hospitality isn't really my gifting".... I'm signed up to speak again (they were being so polite - we need another speaker like Massachusetts needs another liberal Senator) and also for refreshments. Glad Dad has more patience than me. If our roles were reversed, I'd be singing.