Dadalogue deployed: Eating with the Afghans

Greetings from the other side of the world.

It’s been a good week, although the days seem to run together. I though Friday was Sunday, Saturday was Tuesday. What day it is doesn’t really matter though. Except Sundays. I get to sleep in a little bit and go to work a little later. Then there’s church in the evening. It’s Palm Sunday today, the start of the most holy week, so I’ll be extra sure not to miss it.

On this Palm Sunday I am thinking about my family too. Every year, on Palm Sunday or Easter, for the past 7 years or so, my grandmother has treated our family to a large lunch at this restaurant and Inn near my hometown.

To say the meals are delectable is an understatement. They are simply the best meals I’ve ever eaten. 

This year, I’ll miss the warm popovers with lemon curd and the special Sunday menu the chef 

prepares. Last year it was ostrich tenderloin for me. Other years I’ve had bison steak, duck, and lamb. The lobster bisque has chunks of meat floating in it. I’ve never forgotten a meal we’ve eaten there.

The building is an old historic landmark with fireplaces in every room. When we start going, it was only a handful of us: my grandmother (Mom Mom), my parents, sister, my aunt and uncle, and my great uncle. I’ve brought a friend before, a fellow Marine, and my sister brought a couple people from time to time too. But, the immediate family has certainly grown over the last several years.

My sister got married. Then the next year, her first born was there. Then I got married. Then we had a child. Then my sister had another baby. This year will be our 9-month-old Timothy’s first time. Next year, my sister will have another one. We’ve grown so much as a family, they have to give us a whole room to ourselves. It’s probably better that way too. We like to laugh.

I’ll miss it this year. It may be “Southern cooking day” at the chow hall today – which means some kind of boiled meat slathered in BBQ sauce – but it doesn’t hold a candle to the pheasant my wife says she’s going to have this year. Ohh, and crème brule. They have the best crème brule.

Of course, the time there isn’t just about amazing food. It’s about amazing time with family. The conversations and the time spent with them are just as memorable. I miss them all dearly, and my thoughts and prayers are with them constantly.

But, since this post has become more of a foodie blog today, I’m going to continue that trend to recap the highlight of my week: lunch with Afghans.

Every week at this forward operating base I’m now at we get to break bread with our Afghan National Army counterparts. They host the meal. And it’s authentic.

We walked over their compound where they escorted us into their chow hall – three long rows of benches with a huge spread on the tables. Each place setting had real silverware and plates (the chow hall is paper and plasticware). In the middle were silver platters piled high with spiced rice and baskets of fried potatoes. Little bowls of what I’m almost positive was goat meat were laid out for each person. And there was orange soda. Afghans seem to love their soft drinks.

That lunch was the best food I’ve eaten since getting here.

The conversation with our Afghans was a little difficult, having to speak through interpreters, but the non-verbal communication said it all. They love having us here. They are truly grateful for the attention and help we’re giving them. Yes, our cultures are completely different. Yes, we do things differently. But, there is a mutual connection of making this place better than it was 10 years ago.

The Afghans who serve are extremely patriotic and proud of what they do. They see their service, just like us who wear a U.S. uniform, as a privilege and an honor. Afghans are not bad people. The insurgents who fight us and torment the citizens of this country are. Most Afghans don’t want them around either. And many are proving that by wearing the military uniform of their country.

I’ve known this for a while. I don’t just read the news reports from mainstream media. I seek out the other news, and I see the other side of the story firsthand.

Don’t believe me? Come to Afghanistan and see for yourself.

And have a meal with them.

Whether it’s with family or with complete strangers – nothing unifies a group of people and creates wonderful memories quite like sitting down at a table full of food and eating together.

Deployed. The First Days and Prayer Runs

Well, Dadalogue is now deployed. A couple days down and many more to go.

Impressions so far?

This isn’t my grandfather’s war. Goodness, for one thing, I’m blogging on the Internet several hundred miles away from developed civilization. Not only that, but there’s coffee shops (yes, plural), a barber shop nicer than the one I go to in California, and post exchanges that have variety that rivals Wal-Mart. Well, that last one is an exaggeration, but still you must answer the question, “What flavor Pringles to you want?”

The two chow halls I’ve been to have variety, and most of it is pretty good so far. It’s not home cookin’, but it’ll do. Get this: Yesterday I made my own Panini for lunch. Crazy. A hot pressed roast beef and provolone cheese sandwich in a combat zone. The novelty supposedly wears off soon though. I am told that in a couple weeks I’ll be able to know what day it is based solely on the chow hall menu. Tuesdays, for example, are Bang Bang shrimp nights. Thursdays are Oriental nights. Every. Single. Week.

My initial reaction to this cushy lifestyle is guilt. Two reasons. First, there are servicemembers in this country eating tray rations and MREs (Meals-Ready-to-Eat) every day. They’re lucky to get one decent hot meal or shower once every few months. I’ve had three squares a day and hot showers since I’ve been here. Second, I almost feel as if I’m pulling a fast one on the American public. I think there’s this impression that the conditions here are worse than they really are for most of us. The excessiveness of stuff on this base is a bit embarrassing. Except for those who are beyond the confines of bases like the one I’m at, we have it – dare I say – too well.

On the other hand, maybe there’s a reason for it. It sure is nice to know that there are familiar comforts of home within walking distance. Taxpayer money doesn’t pay for it all which helps ease the guilty mind. And those who have the opportunity to come in briefly from the combat outposts deserve all of this and more.

The wife and kids seem to be doing well. I’ve been able to video chat with them a few times. Grace loves seeing me on Skype, shouting “Daddy!” almost the whole time we chat. I was able to watch as she said “draw kitty” and proceeded to go to her art easel to scribble a “kitty cat” on the butcher paper. I saw Timothy in his highchair, food all over his face, smiling from ear to ear and waving his arms when he saw me. It warms the heart to see those magnificent children God has blessed me and the Wife with.

Speaking for God, final thought – and it involves you:

As I was running today I was praying. That got me to thinking about all the people who are praying for me. The power of prayer is amazing (I’ve seen its effects firsthand too many times to count) and I know there are whole churches that have me on their prayer list (thanks to Grandma, Mom Mom, and our church families back in California and where we lived in Virginia for a while). Well, I want to pray for you too. Send me your requests through e-mail (dadalogue@gmail.com), and every morning I will go on what I’ll call a Prayer Run. I won’t stop running until I’ve brought all the requests before God. Pass the word. If I have to run a marathon every day, I will.

Yes, there’s all this cool stuff: creature comforts, good food, hot showers, but I can’t think of a better way to stay positive and close to home than praying for the people I love.