A Conflict of Interest

By MJ Greene

In 2007, Australian-born MJ Greene reached a crossroad in her career. With a desire to do something new, exciting, and meaningful within another culture, she took the opportunity to work as general manager for one of the largest multinational organizations in Afghanistan. As Greene immersed herself into preparing for her new position, she had no idea that very soon, she would be mustering the courage to reveal the truth and stand up for what was right, regardless of the personal sacrifice.

Greene begins with the details of her journey as she left for Afghanistan as a fresh-faced subcontractor ready to help piece the country back together. But as she arrived in a hostile, ever-changing environment, she soon realized that she would need to rely on her instincts in order to survive. As she encountered daily work challenges that caused her to become suspicious that something was not right, Greene was led down a dangerous path lined with closely guarded secrets that forced her to rely on her moral compass for guidance.

A Conflict of Interest shares a true story of personal discovery as a woman living in war-torn Afghanistan must rely on her inner strength and resilience to challenge corruption, expose human rights violations, and help end discernible wrongdoing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491709313

MJ Greene

MJ Greene was born and raised in Australia. She is an avid supporter of humanitarian projects in Afghanistan and is currently hard at work on the sequel to her memoir about her experience uncovering and resolving corruption in Afghanistan.

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A Conflict of Interest

Copyright © 2013 MJ Greene.

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Photo image on front cover taken by author.

ISBN: 978-1-4917-0929-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-0930-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-0931-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013917649

iUniverse rev. date: 10/29/2013

To my father, who taught me the true meaning of the word courage.

In war, truth is the first casualty.

                                                                —Aeschylus

Contents

Preface

Acknowledgments

Introduction

1   Welcome to Afghanistan

Fateful Encounters

An Ominous Beginning

2   Stepping into the Role of General Manager

Deepening Intrigue about My Predecessor

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

The Slippery Slope of Multinational Presence in Afghanistan

Corporate Bending of Local Laws

Semantics versus Legalities

3   Business as Usual

Taking Inventory

A Cast of Thousands, Each with a Hidden Agenda

Tuning the Moral Compass

Cultivating Resilience

Face-to-Face with Corruption

4   Alcohol

The New Warehouse

Lost Containers in Kabul

The Business of Export: Legitimate Enterprise or Deep, Dark Secret?

No Questions Asked

The General’s Visit

Police District 9

5   It’s Not Just Business, It’s Personal

All-Too-Fragile Peace, All-Too-Frequent Suicide Bombings

Destiny and the Serena Hotel

The Fate of Aazar

The Incident at the Indian Embassy

6   The Turning Point

The Issues with Export Persist

From Heineken to Vodka

The Election Campaign Incident

The Importance of Pet Projects

Zero Hour

Home for Christmas

Ringing in the New Year

Opening a Bakery Is No Piece of Cake

7   Taking Action

Meeting in Dubai, Round Two

The Audit

Rest and Relaxation—Sort Of

Alcohol: The Plot Thickens

The Visa Issue

Return to Police Headquarters

8   Truth and Consequences

Aneni

Mazar-e-Sharif!

Panjshir and the Mujahedeen

Epilogue

End of the Old Road, Start of a New Path

Glossary

About the Author

Preface

A Conflict of Interest is my firsthand account of living and working in Afghanistan. Primarily, it chronicles the day-to-day goings-on of multinational organizations in the region, but it does so from my personal perspective as an Australian woman. My introduction to the Afghan world was quite a culture shock, to say the least. In writing this book, I sought to capture all that and more. I wanted to provide a candid, unvarnished view of my experiences, not just as a Westerner working as the general manager for a NATO subcontractor but also as a woman. Perhaps my most significant intent in writing this book was, is, and always will be to empower all women everywhere to stand up for themselves, to trust their intuition, and to fight for the truth.

When I left for Afghanistan, I knew I was going to a war zone. But I had no idea as to all that war zone implied. I was about to find out. Join me on the journey of discovering what it means to live and work in a conflict zone—and what it means to fight corruption, unearth the truth, speak out against human rights abuses, and realize the depths of our own courage and resilience.

This is my story.

—MJG

MJ Greene lived in Afghanistan while she worked as the general manager of a NATO subcontractor. Drawing upon her inner resilience and courage, she bravely exposed the corruption and human rights violations that she encountered in her organization. She wrote this book in order to share her experiences and empower other women to muster the courage to reveal the truth whenever it is hidden and to stand up for what is right regardless of the potential personal costs.

Acknowledgments

Writing this book was an incredibly cathartic experience. I hope this serves as the perfect medium for offering solace to those who have suffered at the hands of others and to those whose voices were never heard. I hope this book proves that every voice can be heard, even if we never see the face that belongs to it.

To all those who have helped me along the way, this book is a tribute to each of you, and I thank you.

To my dear friends and family, without your ongoing support, I would not have undertaken such an arduous project. My core band of sisters and brothers—you know who you are—thank you for spurring me on to complete this.

My special thanks to my mentor, PP, my very own Obi Wan, protecting us against the dark side of the force.

To LD, whose blood is definitely worth bottling! (as we put it in Aussie speak), thank you for assisting me enormously with the deets and in weaving the pieces together.

And finally, to iUniverse, thank you for making this happen!

Introduction

As described in the preface, this book is a personal account of how I, MJ Greene, an Aussie female with no prior experience of living or working in the Middle East or Central Asia, took on the role of general manager for one of the largest multinational organizations in Afghanistan, TerraTota Suppliers,*¹ a subcontractor to NATO-led International Security Assistance Force (ISAF). It is a story of the daily challenges of being in that war-torn region and the toll it takes on body, mind, and spirit.

But all that is self-evident by living and working in a war zone, especially for a Western woman like me, as yet unaccustomed to such an environment. Other aspects of conflict zones are not that self-evident. This book is about those too. The dark and shadowy corners of the human soul, the personal grit needed to survive in a place where death is always palpable. No one ever knows the moment when death might strike, but in a war zone that moment is constantly at hand for everyone. This book shows how that reality changes a person, blurring the lines of which actions are acceptable because of the environment. But this book also shows what it takes to find within us the core of strength necessary to buck the system and stand up for what is right regardless of where we are.

Entering a zone of conflict has many inherent risks, and only those with innate courage and resilience will survive. There are always conflicts of interest in such circumstances, and that means trouble is never far away. The very term conflict of interest is layered with many nuances. Only by peeling away the layers one at a time can the truth be revealed. And the truth is the key to surviving—with our self-respect intact. The labyrinth of corruption is circuitous indeed, and frequently a conscience and moral compass are the only defenses against utter personal destruction.

This book is about all this and more. It is a story of personal discovery, including finding the valor and fortitude necessary to uncover the truth, challenge the status quo of corruption, fight the all-too-frequent abuses of human rights, and help put an end to discernible wrongdoing.

Consider a few comments about reading this book: The experiences and events I relate happened far earlier than the wisdom and deductions that arose from them, so my descriptions of what I learned or deduced—and subsequently came to understand and appreciate—are not concurrent with the sequence of events. I also emphasize and reemphasize certain things throughout the book in order to show their importance; these are not inadvertent repetitions but intentional underscoring. Please indulge me in all this, as it is the best way I know to relate things accurately while also describing my feelings and the wisdom I gained through hindsight. Similarly, as I progressed through my journey of uncovering the truth and standing up for what I felt was right, the prevailing circumstances became increasingly complex. As a result, the earlier chapters in this book are much shorter than the later chapters, especially where I detail reaching the turning point and taking action. Finally, in order to effectively capture the local atmosphere, regional terminology and supply-chain jargon appear throughout this book, but I did not want to clutter the narrative with parenthetical definitions. Please refer to the glossary for explanations and descriptions of any terms, abbreviations, acronyms, etc., that are unfamiliar.

Author’s Note: The ISAF provides every subcontractor with a Military Technical Agreement (MTA) for Afghanistan. This document, which details the agreement in place between the ISAF (including any military support personnel, such as subcontractors like TerraTota) and the Interim Administration of Afghanistan stipulates what is deemed appropriate in terms of supply of provisions into and out of Afghanistan, and alcohol is not included as appropriate because of local Afghan laws. Technically alcohol can be supplied if a bonded warehouse exists on a compound (i.e., an embassy, which is therefore exempt from taxes because it is on diplomatic/neutral soil). No such bonded warehouse existed during my tenure. Nor was I provided with any such agreement prior to assuming my role as general manager. Interestingly, the Afghan Senate has sought to terminate the MTAs.*²

1

WELCOME TO AFGHANISTAN

Fateful Encounters

My life in Australia was inadequate preparation for my work as general manager of TerraTota Suppliers, a huge multinational organization and NATO subcontractor in Afghanistan. Let me qualify that by saying that I’m not convinced anything could have sufficiently prepared a Western woman to live and work in Afghanistan. I’m quite certain nothing had prepared me.

The first order of business was learning how to manage fear—not ordinary anxiety or neurosis but true, visceral fear, the kind that paralyzes us and turns our blood cold. I can’t really explain how I learned to manage it. I can only say that I did. Somehow.

In the early days of my tenure in Afghanistan, I struggled to overcome my fear of not knowing whether the car next to me held a suicide bomber. Eventually, as I said, I learned how to do this. But it was a struggle in the beginning. Every day. I had to be constantly aware of who was traveling next to me. Were the number plates original, or were they from Pakistan? It was unnerving to have to be so vigilant, hyperalert at every single moment.

Sometimes the tenseness in the air was palpable. I could just feel it… literally. Energy, perhaps, or just some power in the air that made it seem ready to pop and snap, like the moment before a monstrous summer thunderstorm. Other times it was not really palpable but more like knowledge derived from a deeper sense—intuition warning that a suicide bomber was close by. This uncanny knowing develops quickly. It is a survival skill, natural instincts taking over as a means of self-preservation. I learned to trust my intuition because if I didn’t, I could be dead the next minute. The next second.

This is just the way it is in Afghanistan. Others there also had to learn to trust their instincts and intuition just as I had to. There were also specific things I had to learn about. Convoys were among the first of these. They were always the prime target of the suicide bombers. I quickly learned to keep my distance from the convoys. Not all lessons were quite so handily learned.

Driving along the road, something that is simple and ordinary in Australia, is a complex excursion fraught with danger in Afghanistan. I often found my body bathed in cold sweat as I struggled to breathe; I was that overcome with fear. The raw visceral fear I described. Sheer terror.

Even now, I can still recall isolated moments with vivid clarity. The fear etched them into my memory.

I remember one time when it was so dangerous that I traveled lying on the floor of my vehicle. My driver, Hasib, placed black plastic over the rear passenger windows. We had been warned of several imminent attacks—suicide attacks. Al-Qaeda was looking for soft targets, easy prey traveling in soft skin (that is, unarmored vehicles). That was us. It had become almost a predictable occurrence for a suicide bomber to carry out their attacks between the hours of 6:00 a.m. and 1:30 p.m. We often believed that this was the time when they were most driven, most zealous, and also the time when their targets were most vulnerable.

As I lay on the floor of the vehicle, I felt the sweat pouring out of my body, pooling beneath me where I pressed myself against the rough carpet. It was dark inside the vehicle because of the black plastic on the rear windows. My heart hammered in my chest, and I couldn’t catch my breath, even though I knew a few deep breaths would help calm me. The blood rushed through my veins, throbbing at the base of my jaw and making my head ache.

At last, Hasib said, We’re okay, Boss.

After a few seconds, I was able to breathe again, but it felt like I’d lived through eternity—and not in the serene setting we imagine eternity will be. Sheer relief flooded me, and my body began to return to normal; however, I was shaking like a leaf and was cold and clammy all over.

And that wasn’t even my closest call with a suicide bomber. No, believe it or not, that wasn’t the worst of it. Not by a long shot.

Actually, my closest call with a suicide bomber happened six weeks after I first arrived in Afghanistan. We had been in the process of moving warehouses, and it was also the start of Eid al-Fitr celebrations. It was a tradition as part of the Muslim culture to celebrate with three days of feasting after thirty days of Ramadan, fasting dawn till dusk. Eid was a time of celebration, when extremists would often sacrifice their lives in return for the keys to the gateway of heaven. Eid and just afterward was renowned for being one of the most dangerous periods.

My assistant, Nicholas, who had already been based in Afghanistan for two years, had decided to drive because Hasib had been given this time off to celebrate. First, here’s a brief description of Nicholas. A native of the Baltics, he was middle-aged, balding, and paunchy. Married twice and the father of five children, he had chosen to work in Afghanistan long-term in order to avoid his responsibilities back home—at least that’s the most diplomatic way I can describe it. He was a first-rate assistant, though, I will say that.

As a result of his prior driving experience in the military, he handled our four-wheel-drive vehicle extremely well. Four-wheel-drive vehicles were mostly driven by internationals and wealthy Afghans. The three most common vehicles driven were Prados, Surfs, and Front Runners. Since it was at the time of public holiday, our choices were limited, which left us with a red Surf vehicle to drive. Suffice it to say this was like driving with a target marked on our backs!

Being in a country where the environment was hostile and vulnerable to change at any moment, we had to ensure that our vehicle had excellent tires and solid brakes and that it could go from zero to sixty in a split second.

Our new warehouse was about a ten-minute drive from the existing one, and the only way we could get from one site to the other was to travel along our favorite road—good old Jalalabad Road (J’bad Road for short). This road was once referred to as the second most dangerous road in the world after Baghdad. Why? It was notorious for suicide attacks.

We had already traveled along this road twice before on this particular day, and as our accommodation was located near the city, we would travel at least twice along J’bad Road daily.

The day had been busy. We were determined to move locations as quickly as possible despite having limited manpower and resources. Nicholas and I had decided to make one last run, which meant traveling once again along J’bad Road.

The road itself was deserted. Usually on a Friday, which was a day of rest, children would be playing outside their houses or alongside the road, and people wearing their Sunday best would be walking about as well. But that day was altogether different. It was as if we were the only car on the road. It was an incredibly eerie feeling. Something was wrong. Very wrong. That peculiar tension in the air was absent. This was intuitive—raw gut instinct heralding danger ahead. It would take a few fateful moments for me to realize that, though.

We had just passed a block of containerized local shops when, on my right-hand side, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that a young man had suddenly appeared out of a side street. He was like any other Afghan man in appearance. He had slightly dark skin and a bedraggled beard, and he wore the local salwar kameez attire. I estimated him to be about three or four car lengths away, and he quickly moved in the direction of our car.

The events that transpired during the few seconds that followed would change the dynamics completely, showing me without equivocation that I would have to trust my intuition in order to survive.

It was so surreal and happened so quickly that I almost felt as if everything had freeze-framed and was now in slow motion. But I will never forget his eyes. They seemed the size of pickled onions, marked with the defiance of unbridled rage.

As he moved closer, I couldn’t help but notice that there was something under his clothing, something that was protruding. I kept staring at him, almost in disbelief, my eyes moving quickly, darting from him to the group of shops to see if perhaps I had been mistaken.

But I had not been mistaken. I felt my stomach churn, and my legs started to shake—all involuntary reactions as my subconscious began to process what was happening. The subliminal message had finally kicked in.

That was the actual moment when I realized that I had no choice but to trust my instincts and intuition. Doing so would likely mean the difference between life and death, between survival and destruction.

These terrifying moments of staring at the man chiseled themselves into my mind, a psychological scar that time will never erase. As I said earlier, these things are etched into my memory, where they will remain for the rest of my life.

Nicholas, who was no stranger to this environment, had thankfully seen this man move toward us a lot sooner than I had. Keeping a cool head, he immediately swerved and then accelerated without hesitation. Though utterly necessary, these actions were so quick that I could not prevent my body from jerking about, and I slammed my elbow into the panel of the door while I was trying to regain my composure. Nicholas continued to accelerate, and we sped off.

It took a good thirty seconds at least before I was able to turn to face Nicholas so I could ask him what had just happened. I stared at him, and he stared at me. The look on his face said it all. His eyes were wide, and he was as white as a sheet! Even so, my mind was still in shock. I could not believe what had just happened.

My mouth and throat were as dry as dust. Was that a …? I rasped, struggling to form the rest of the question and then pausing for a moment.

He looked away, trying to downplay the incident, and said, I think so, Boss.

We both knew what we had just seen, but even more importantly, we knew how lucky we were to have escaped the potential fateful death of a suicide bomber. We weren’t exactly sure why or how, but somehow we had been miraculously blessed and able to intercept his intention before he had a chance to hit our vehicle and detonate on impact.

I didn’t put it down to just astonishingly good luck but rather to the simple fact that it was just not our time to go. Once instinctive intuition kicks in, such philosophies quickly follow suit. Besides, I’d already learned this—the philosophy part, I mean—growing up. Both my parents subscribed to the wisdom that all things happen for a reason, and I’d long since embraced the idea myself.

*    *    *

That night, after we safely returned to our accommodation, we sat in shock. We simply could not believe what had just transpired. We kept asking ourselves what had really happened, and we had quite a few stiff drinks to settle our nerves. That same night, as we sat drinking and watching the news, we saw how a suicide bomber had exploded that day in the city of Kandahar. Another martyr had struck, sacrificing many innocent lives.

Several days later, I asked Hasib, Why were we spared?

He said, Boss, the day of our death is already written.

I agreed completely. Those events proved to me that not only would I not survive unless I trusted my instincts and intuition but also that it would be pointless to fight fate or try to change it—equally important lessons for living in a war zone. The lens of Afghanistan can provide crystal clarity. Very often frighteningly so.

An Ominous Beginning

Those fateful encounters changed me, fortifying me with resilience and courage, and it’s important to understand their significance. But I should begin at the beginning, not just my arrival in Afghanistan but what brought me there in the first place.

Born and raised in relative privilege in Australia, I was a member of the world’s minority, as opposed to the majority who live in poverty and without freedom and other basic human rights. I always knew how lucky I was, and I also always sensed that somehow I would put my talents and life benefits to better use. I just never knew exactly how or when.

The moment came when I was thirty-seven, and I reached a crossroad in my career. I wanted to do something new and challenging, exciting and meaningful. And then the opportunity to work as general manager for TerraTota arose. I couldn’t pass it up. It seemed like an answered prayer and unimaginable adventure all rolled into one. I threw myself into preparing for my new position body and soul, but as I’ve said, nothing could have prepared me for what I would encounter.

*    *    *

The journey from Australia to Afghanistan had been long, and it was now twenty-four hours since I had last seen my bed. When we landed on the runway, everything seemed surreal. I knew that there was to be no turning back—at least not for the first twelve months, or I would be liable for a percentage of my contract. Fortunately, I did see a certain beauty in the Afghan landscape, in its people, and in its culture. Just as well. It would be my home indefinitely, for there was no telling how long this job might last.

The plane traveled along the runway, and I was glad that we had flown commercial, unlike the first time I visited Afghanistan. That had been the last hurdle of the interview process, and as a trial run, my future boss, Kurtis, had flown me on the company’s own airplane, an old illusion about fifty years old. I mused about that first trip now, letting my mind wander as I settled into the reality that I was in the Afghan theater for the duration.

She was flown by the Russians, who knew every inch of their planes and insisted on doing their own maintenance. As we approached the plane, we saw a man on the wing. He wielded a wrench and appeared to be servicing the aircraft. He was casually dressed, much like men dress on weekends: T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. Despite his casual appearance, he appeared to know exactly what he was doing, and he soon hopped down from the wing where he had