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10/13/2003: "Kandahar Chronicles #26 - 12/10/2003"

Logistics can be a pain in the ass. It’s one thing when things get screwed up because the Taliban and Al Queda don’t cooperate with my finely tuned plans but something altogether different when my own colleagues in the other departments decide to turn things around 180 degrees. Today was going to be clockwork. I had four minivans lined up to depart at eleven to bring the Elders down from the camp for a three o’clock meeting with the Head of Mission and the Governor in Kandahar. Two other minivan drivers were told not to come in today and they left to find other work. The NGO camp managers had a rendezvous point and time set up and had spread it around to the settlements. Everything, foolishly, had been worked out to the last detail.

“Carlos, we need all six minivans tomorrow to serve as ambulances for the IDPs, they need to be ready to leave here at seven a.m. We’ll have to rent a coaster to bring the Elders down.”



Gee, let me just quickly give them all a ring on their cell phones. Okay, I sent a driver all around town checking out tea shops and other local haunts. After a couple of hours searching he came back to tell me that he could only find five out of the six. Good enough. I talk to one of the guys who has a cousin, whose brothers-friends-uncle knows a guy with a twenty-two seat Coaster. Good enough, just be sure he’s at the office fuelled up and ready to leave by ten-thirty. No problem he assures me.

This morning, nine o’clock. “He is cleaning his vehicle and will be here for sure.” I’m reassured. Ten-thirty, no sign of the Coaster. “No problem, he is just coming.”

Eleven o’clock. “Go find the bastard.” I bark at the fleeing administrator. Half an hour later he returns. “Okay, he just needs a fuel voucher to get diesel and then he is ready to leave!” Grr.

I phone Giacomo, my counterpart at the Italian NGO which manages some of the settlements. “Ciao Carlos, tell me everything!” he greets me in a rich Italian voice that exudes confidence and style. I tell him we’re running late, is it possible to set back the meeting time a bit. “Carlos bello, I love you but you kill me here! It is not possible now.”

Shit. I thank him and start watching the clock. “Carlos, I want to have the Elders here half an hour early to have tea before going to the Governors.” The HoM says idly in passing. Yeah sure, that’ll happen.

Two-thirty, where the hell are they? No answer on the VHF. Finally, a call from a vehicle I sent looking for them. “The American soldiers have two checkpoints along the road!” gasps the driver. That’s enough about military actions on the open airwaves. “They are looking for the forty Taliban prisoners that escaped from the jail last night. There is much traffic problems.”

Great, twenty one Elders sitting in a stuffy vehicle getting ID’d by the Coalition. That should put them in a friendly mood. “We are looking for some men with turbans and beards!” I heard about the jailbreak last night. I should have considered this. In every movie ever made about jail breaks there are always roadblocks out the next day. Not smart on my part.

“Will they be here soon?” I’m asked. I explain the situation, she understands but is pissed off. “If this ever happens again just have our vehicle call me and I’ll speak to the soldiers.” She says all too calmly. She’s like Pocket Rambo when she gets fired up. I couldn’t do that to a guy, no amount of combat training can prepare a man for that.

Forty minutes late and the Coaster arrives at the Governors office. They are kept waiting. This is going to be a disaster. I await the news when she gets back. She comes in carrying a tray of cookies, everything went very well. I take one, a day of screwing up turns out okay.