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Exciting travel opportunity is a pretty common problem these days, but one not altogether unexpected, unwarranted or unwanted. Once you get on the Company’s “List”, it’s tough to get off of it so, as projects develop, and a particular skill set is required, the call is received. For most jobs, the skill set enlarges during the tour, so there’s more to sell the next time. This is the natural progression of professional experience, and a requirement for any type of corporate advancement. For me, it’s a personal requirement – work had better get more interesting all of the time or [Robocop Voice] there will be trouble.
Of course, I could always say, “no”. And I do, on probably two out of three requests. Sometimes the timing is completely wrong, there could actually be something going on in my assigned office, or the compensation doesn’t align with the perceived risk. Sometimes it’s just the wrong time and place to go somewhere.
But, considering all of the above, Pakistan for a few weeks in January doesn’t sound all that bad. By and large, the new pieces are the location and the client, although Pakistan is next door to Afghanistan (just another I-stan), and I’m currently working for the Navy, with plenty of Army experience, so how much different can the Air Force be? We’ll see.
For now, I’m just a little bored here.
Since we (you,,.. us,… them) aren’t leaving this patch of desert any time soon, there is a call to transition this camp from Expeditionary to Enduring. Essentially, this will change the focus of construction from less expensive, austere, relatively temporary methodologies (stick built, plywood sided buildings, tents and containerized housing units) to more costly, harder, and permanent facilities (concrete and block buildings, paved streets, and more landscaping).
With this change to Enduring, there will also be a change in the way service-people are assigned here, from the four to six month rotations common throughout this side of the world to the two and three year postings that you’d experience while serving in Western Europe, Korea, or in CONUS. Considering the present Spartan facilities here, most everyone would be hard pressed to survive two or three years on this site without some major changes in the way the camp is configured.
One of the first steps is to develop a comprehensive master plan, outlining the progression from metal CHU’s to large bachelor dormitories, from the stick and plywood DFAC to a steel and glass dining hall (with reusable trays and silverware and everything), from a gym in a foam covered tensile fabric structure to an air conditioned pre-engineered metal building. The master plan was approved last week, which makes me think that Congress will approve AFRICOM’s request to endure this Camp.
The next step will be to change the name of this place to something less French.
The third process is to develop what they call an Installation Appearance Plan, which will govern the look and feel of future improvements. On any well defined campus, you might note that the architecture is complementary. Colors and styles work together. Landscaping is comprehensive and well thought out. Signage is consistent and useful. The overall look and feel and the arrangement of things are coordinated. Long and short term visitors can navigate without undue heartburn and easily arrive at a harmonized sense of place.
This is the report that we’re writing. It will provide a template for future improvements here with regards to styles, colors, materials, shapes, plants, signage, and what have yous.
Unfortunately, there’s not a huge Civil/Transportation/Hydraulics component to this effort, so the bulk of my input has been merely kibitzing with the landscape and regular architects. It’s not completely wasted time, just not full time. Worse though, is that there will be little follow on effort to take home with me so, instead of spending the next month at the office completing my portion of this assignment, I’ll be instead scrounging for chargeable tasks – not my favorite of circumstances.
And it’s in this light that I’ve agreed to head back out in a month or two. Of course, I’m hoping that each time I do one of these, I get closer to another extended assignment on some pleasant tropical island.
It’s a nice thought, regardless.
Read More......
2009-11-07
2009-11-05
Djiboutitown
Driving down the streets and thoroughfares of Djibouti City, and my primary thought was, “I’ve seen all of this before”. I’ve never been in this particular filthy municipality before, but I have been to markedly similar places. Drive down a dusty track in the Third World, and you’ll see bare footed men and women. Some working, some walking, some just hanging out in whatever shade is available. Nobody’s moving too quickly. Along the road, enterprising people vend their wares from carts or ramshackle shacks located against the tall, concrete, broken glass topped walls of the more land-rich locals.
Aging whitewash is the dominant color, with accents of sky blue paint on the walls or doors. Peeling, hand painted signs advertise each small business. The men are in t-shirts – some with slacks, others in sarongs. The women are the most colorful things on the street, wrapped top to ankle in bright prints of all colors – huge flowers, manic patterns – almost a strain on the eyes.
We turn briefly towards and adjacent to the local market. Greg supposes it’s the flea market. I suppose that there’re plenty of fleas, but that it’s just a market. We pass by big piles of various fruits in crates and pyramidal displays under the ubiquitous blue tarps. From the perimeter, you can smell the rest of the market, a mix of humanity, their waste, and rotting food. This place looks much nicer than it smells.
Most of the streets are paved, and main streets are in much better shape than side roads and backroads. Downtown, building construction is mostly concrete framed with block infill, plastered and painted. Large arches are common, as are shaded, inset balconies. Otherwise, there’s little architectural consistency, unless Colonial/French/Mediterranean/Arabic/African is a consistent architectural style. It looks like maintenance activities stopped upon building occupation, and I can only imagine the broken tiles and fixtures within.
Mature and chaotic street trees line some of the roads downtown, providing more vital shade. Downtown is deserted at this time of day, the siesta period between noon and two or three or so, so we don’t struggle too much with the traffic.
Three dashed white lines, spaced at three or four meters, run the length of most of the major roads. Under light traffic, opposing traffic straddles the outside lines (like 1:1 scale slot cars), saving the inside line for overtaking. When traffic picks up, all bets are off, and you drive anywhere you want.
So we wanted to drive to the Kempinski Hotel, ostensibly to check out their superior landscaping, but mostly to have a cold beer. Even though I’d never been there before, I’d been there before, as the Kempinski is that secure, luxurious Western hotel that locals cannot near afford that exists in most every backwater capital city. Uniformed staff met us at the gate, then later at the door to guide us through their security procedures and we soon found some shaded seats near their infinity pool to suck down a couple of well cold, eight dollar Heinekens.
What’s not to love about this place?
Read More......
Aging whitewash is the dominant color, with accents of sky blue paint on the walls or doors. Peeling, hand painted signs advertise each small business. The men are in t-shirts – some with slacks, others in sarongs. The women are the most colorful things on the street, wrapped top to ankle in bright prints of all colors – huge flowers, manic patterns – almost a strain on the eyes.
We turn briefly towards and adjacent to the local market. Greg supposes it’s the flea market. I suppose that there’re plenty of fleas, but that it’s just a market. We pass by big piles of various fruits in crates and pyramidal displays under the ubiquitous blue tarps. From the perimeter, you can smell the rest of the market, a mix of humanity, their waste, and rotting food. This place looks much nicer than it smells.
Most of the streets are paved, and main streets are in much better shape than side roads and backroads. Downtown, building construction is mostly concrete framed with block infill, plastered and painted. Large arches are common, as are shaded, inset balconies. Otherwise, there’s little architectural consistency, unless Colonial/French/Mediterranean/Arabic/African is a consistent architectural style. It looks like maintenance activities stopped upon building occupation, and I can only imagine the broken tiles and fixtures within.
Mature and chaotic street trees line some of the roads downtown, providing more vital shade. Downtown is deserted at this time of day, the siesta period between noon and two or three or so, so we don’t struggle too much with the traffic.
Three dashed white lines, spaced at three or four meters, run the length of most of the major roads. Under light traffic, opposing traffic straddles the outside lines (like 1:1 scale slot cars), saving the inside line for overtaking. When traffic picks up, all bets are off, and you drive anywhere you want.
So we wanted to drive to the Kempinski Hotel, ostensibly to check out their superior landscaping, but mostly to have a cold beer. Even though I’d never been there before, I’d been there before, as the Kempinski is that secure, luxurious Western hotel that locals cannot near afford that exists in most every backwater capital city. Uniformed staff met us at the gate, then later at the door to guide us through their security procedures and we soon found some shaded seats near their infinity pool to suck down a couple of well cold, eight dollar Heinekens.
What’s not to love about this place?
Read More......
Liberty is Secured
The base Commanding Officer yelled at us yesterday.
We’ve been drinking to excess. We’ve been going to neighborhoods where the bad guys hang out. We’ve been visiting brothels, and tattoo parlors and nightclubs that have been specified as off limits. We’ve been violating curfew, exceeding our three beers a day drinking limit, and not maintaining a designated driver.
Liberty has been secured.
Honest, it wasn’t me, and most of these problems occurred before we even landed in Africa. However, these several lapses in situational awareness and operational security caused a mandatory training response for all personnel from the camp command element. It opened with the skipper giving a rather stern lecture, then another fifty minutes of slides and further lecture by a collection of chiefs and lieutenants.
Typically, I don’t listen too hard to lieutenants, but this is a Navy facility, so their lieutenants look a lot like captains everywhere else. In fact, the captain looked a lot like a Colonel, so most folks sat up straight when addressed, even if it was for a dressing down. The trouble is that, in the Navy, they have their own set of ranks, but for some reason use the same insignia as the rest of our armed forces. So when you see two bars, you’d think to call him, “Captain”, but that would only be unnecessarily promoting a Lieutenant. Majors are really Lieutenant Commanders. Second Lieutenants are really Ensigns. Brigadier Generals are Rear Admirals, Bottom Half. Of course, when they’re in their dress whites, the insignia change. As a result, they’re all “sir”.
Moving right along.
The bulk of the lecture was an AntiTerrorism refresher. While there’re not active hostilities against the United States in Djibouti, there are plenty of folks here who would prefer that we’d be somewhere else. As such, every excursion off base must be performed with a heightened situational awareness (like driving through Topeka at night). The lecture outlined what current local risks could be expected and how to position oneself to avoid, mitigate, or survive the encounter. Once everyone sits through the training, Liberty may be unsecured.
However, since we were now thoroughly trained, and on Camp business, we commandeered an SUV and interpreter and headed into town on a data collection mission. Although it progressed without incident, there was a great deal of trepidation from one of ours as to the likelihood of us coming back unscathed.
I knew he’d be a sketchy component of the team from the start, having never traveled outside of the States and constantly referring to all the guys with guns. Sure, there are weapons at the gate, but (essentially) no one within the camp is armed, just a bunch of folks, some in civilian clothes, some in camouflage. I suppose it is a matter of exposure, exposure of which I seem to be gathering more and more of in recent years. If you’re not used to seeing them, they stand out. If you’re used to seeing them, the lack can be interesting, but only as a reference point as to the day’s security posture. And here, it’s not that intense, as evidenced by the fact that there’s Liberty at all, even if it’s been recently curtailed.
To most, deepest darkest Africa is still a total unknown. Obviously, the unknown is scary and should be avoided. But what do we know? If you glance at a world map, you’d find this place a mere seventeen miles from Yemen, which is right next to Saudia Arabia, the country (not famous enough as) home to the WTC bombers. That means the Middle East, which means continual car bombs and ululating madmen. Less than ten miles south is Somalia, haven for pirates, training center for terrorist groups, and home of few things really pleasant.
The key is that we’re located at the strait separating the Red Sea from the Gulf of Aden, on the major sea route from the Suez Canal to our oil in the Middle East. Even though we may not have ships at this Navy facility (or even our own port), we’re here, for good or ill, which means anyone who wants to control this strait can only do so through us. We won’t be leaving any time soon.
=====
And for the curious. Hip Kitty was awful. Unless you like that sort of awful thing. Their sort of thing was pretty standard bar band cover fare. Overamped and sloppy. The drums overpowered most of the band. The rockstar pose the guitarist preferred was phallic – body at the crotch, neck mostly vertical, taken from the worst of heavy metal videos. The bassist hid at the edge of the drum kit for the two songs I sat through. Then there’s Kitty – not a great voice, but enthusiastic, although not enthusiastic enough to persuade anyone to thrash, slam, or get much further from furtive head bobbing (and you’d think opening with “Breaking the Law” would get the crowd rocking). I left as they massacred some Soundgarden.
Read More......
We’ve been drinking to excess. We’ve been going to neighborhoods where the bad guys hang out. We’ve been visiting brothels, and tattoo parlors and nightclubs that have been specified as off limits. We’ve been violating curfew, exceeding our three beers a day drinking limit, and not maintaining a designated driver.
Liberty has been secured.
Honest, it wasn’t me, and most of these problems occurred before we even landed in Africa. However, these several lapses in situational awareness and operational security caused a mandatory training response for all personnel from the camp command element. It opened with the skipper giving a rather stern lecture, then another fifty minutes of slides and further lecture by a collection of chiefs and lieutenants.
Typically, I don’t listen too hard to lieutenants, but this is a Navy facility, so their lieutenants look a lot like captains everywhere else. In fact, the captain looked a lot like a Colonel, so most folks sat up straight when addressed, even if it was for a dressing down. The trouble is that, in the Navy, they have their own set of ranks, but for some reason use the same insignia as the rest of our armed forces. So when you see two bars, you’d think to call him, “Captain”, but that would only be unnecessarily promoting a Lieutenant. Majors are really Lieutenant Commanders. Second Lieutenants are really Ensigns. Brigadier Generals are Rear Admirals, Bottom Half. Of course, when they’re in their dress whites, the insignia change. As a result, they’re all “sir”.
Moving right along.
The bulk of the lecture was an AntiTerrorism refresher. While there’re not active hostilities against the United States in Djibouti, there are plenty of folks here who would prefer that we’d be somewhere else. As such, every excursion off base must be performed with a heightened situational awareness (like driving through Topeka at night). The lecture outlined what current local risks could be expected and how to position oneself to avoid, mitigate, or survive the encounter. Once everyone sits through the training, Liberty may be unsecured.
However, since we were now thoroughly trained, and on Camp business, we commandeered an SUV and interpreter and headed into town on a data collection mission. Although it progressed without incident, there was a great deal of trepidation from one of ours as to the likelihood of us coming back unscathed.
I knew he’d be a sketchy component of the team from the start, having never traveled outside of the States and constantly referring to all the guys with guns. Sure, there are weapons at the gate, but (essentially) no one within the camp is armed, just a bunch of folks, some in civilian clothes, some in camouflage. I suppose it is a matter of exposure, exposure of which I seem to be gathering more and more of in recent years. If you’re not used to seeing them, they stand out. If you’re used to seeing them, the lack can be interesting, but only as a reference point as to the day’s security posture. And here, it’s not that intense, as evidenced by the fact that there’s Liberty at all, even if it’s been recently curtailed.
To most, deepest darkest Africa is still a total unknown. Obviously, the unknown is scary and should be avoided. But what do we know? If you glance at a world map, you’d find this place a mere seventeen miles from Yemen, which is right next to Saudia Arabia, the country (not famous enough as) home to the WTC bombers. That means the Middle East, which means continual car bombs and ululating madmen. Less than ten miles south is Somalia, haven for pirates, training center for terrorist groups, and home of few things really pleasant.
The key is that we’re located at the strait separating the Red Sea from the Gulf of Aden, on the major sea route from the Suez Canal to our oil in the Middle East. Even though we may not have ships at this Navy facility (or even our own port), we’re here, for good or ill, which means anyone who wants to control this strait can only do so through us. We won’t be leaving any time soon.
=====
And for the curious. Hip Kitty was awful. Unless you like that sort of awful thing. Their sort of thing was pretty standard bar band cover fare. Overamped and sloppy. The drums overpowered most of the band. The rockstar pose the guitarist preferred was phallic – body at the crotch, neck mostly vertical, taken from the worst of heavy metal videos. The bassist hid at the edge of the drum kit for the two songs I sat through. Then there’s Kitty – not a great voice, but enthusiastic, although not enthusiastic enough to persuade anyone to thrash, slam, or get much further from furtive head bobbing (and you’d think opening with “Breaking the Law” would get the crowd rocking). I left as they massacred some Soundgarden.
Read More......
2009-11-04
Hip Kitty
Briefly (since the connection here is just as good as Afghanistan), I'm back at Eleven Degrees North (close enough to the latitude), Tusker in hand, awaiting the start of the Armed Forces Entertainment sponsored band - Hip Kitty.
Can't wait. Arctic Monkeys' latest on the juke machine, so it's, like, musical mammal night at Camp Lemonnier.
Probably *can* wait, but can't be anywhere else on base with beer.
Read More......
Can't wait. Arctic Monkeys' latest on the juke machine, so it's, like, musical mammal night at Camp Lemonnier.
Probably *can* wait, but can't be anywhere else on base with beer.
Read More......
2009-11-01
All Hollow
It’s Halloween in Djibouti, and there’re a few costumes of note. Plenty of folks dressed as sailors and army men and marines, and quite a few dressed as the overseas deployment of some Japanese Defense Force. Of course, there’s the last minute a toga or two, an inspired six foot tall whoopee cushion and, being so close to Somalia, there’re a few pirate costumes. I came as a consultant – t-shirt, cargo pants, and combat boots – my usual desert attire.
I haven’t been in Africa for decades. [Egypt really doesn’t count – just ask any Egyptian.] The place hasn’t changed. Djibouti City is classically Third World, still using up what’s left of the colonial infrastructure while hundreds of thousands live in poverty. Although it looked like some money was spent on the airport after the declaration of the GWOT, the improvements have not been maintained. The reception hall is too small for a 220 person passenger complement, stiflingly hot, with little moving air, exposed electrical reconnections, and scores of missing ceiling tiles and doors that just won’t close.
As expected, what also remains from the French occupation is a bureaucratic entry system, with stacks of ledgers and (count ‘em) *five* individual rubber stamps and one of the adhesive types associated with my sixty dollar entry visa. Bags in hand, I had to work on keeping my bags in hand, as a half dozen “porters” attempted to grab it away from me and haul it the fifty meters to the camp shuttle. Others weren’t so lucky in the shakedown, although the lesson itself had some value. Other, still, were shook down on the bus itself, as a couple of the porters entered the bus and worked over the already seated passengers.
It’s poor here. The main city streets from airfield to camp are barely above dirt, and mostly empty shops compete for the limited pedestrian traffic. Turning off the main road closer to the camp, we drove down a rutted, once asphalt road lined for a time with the hardscrabble zinc and scrap lumber construction that defines this type of economy. A little further, and the verges were paved with discarded plastic bottles and lada bags.
It’s poor here, and I’m hoping that there’s some semblance of an economy somewhere else in town. It’s large, and we haven’t seen much yet. We will, as our work here, among other tasks, is to try and coordinate future projects at the camp with the local, traditional architecture in the area. That probably doesn’t mean that we’ll build the next AfriCom HQ out of pallets and plastic sheeting, but perhaps it will be more reflective of how the rich people live here.
Anyway, it’s Halloween, and at the all persons club, (Eleven Degrees North (which is about our latitude (I think))) was hosting a few games and social events. They also had beer, which was nice.
And the DFAC has bacon at every meal, which is also nice.
Read More......
I haven’t been in Africa for decades. [Egypt really doesn’t count – just ask any Egyptian.] The place hasn’t changed. Djibouti City is classically Third World, still using up what’s left of the colonial infrastructure while hundreds of thousands live in poverty. Although it looked like some money was spent on the airport after the declaration of the GWOT, the improvements have not been maintained. The reception hall is too small for a 220 person passenger complement, stiflingly hot, with little moving air, exposed electrical reconnections, and scores of missing ceiling tiles and doors that just won’t close.
As expected, what also remains from the French occupation is a bureaucratic entry system, with stacks of ledgers and (count ‘em) *five* individual rubber stamps and one of the adhesive types associated with my sixty dollar entry visa. Bags in hand, I had to work on keeping my bags in hand, as a half dozen “porters” attempted to grab it away from me and haul it the fifty meters to the camp shuttle. Others weren’t so lucky in the shakedown, although the lesson itself had some value. Other, still, were shook down on the bus itself, as a couple of the porters entered the bus and worked over the already seated passengers.
It’s poor here. The main city streets from airfield to camp are barely above dirt, and mostly empty shops compete for the limited pedestrian traffic. Turning off the main road closer to the camp, we drove down a rutted, once asphalt road lined for a time with the hardscrabble zinc and scrap lumber construction that defines this type of economy. A little further, and the verges were paved with discarded plastic bottles and lada bags.
It’s poor here, and I’m hoping that there’s some semblance of an economy somewhere else in town. It’s large, and we haven’t seen much yet. We will, as our work here, among other tasks, is to try and coordinate future projects at the camp with the local, traditional architecture in the area. That probably doesn’t mean that we’ll build the next AfriCom HQ out of pallets and plastic sheeting, but perhaps it will be more reflective of how the rich people live here.
Anyway, it’s Halloween, and at the all persons club, (Eleven Degrees North (which is about our latitude (I think))) was hosting a few games and social events. They also had beer, which was nice.
And the DFAC has bacon at every meal, which is also nice.
Read More......
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