The Linguist: A One of a Kind, Untold Story Inside Tall Stone Walls and Barbwires of an American Military Base in Afghanistan

By Ellah Etemadi

The author, born in Afghanistan, escaped his country of origin after the invasion of the red army, to become a US citizen. He had no idea that one day, after three decades, he will go back to Afghanistan. This time to serve the US Army in hopes of
helping both the US and Afghanistan. But was that ever possible?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462895465

Ellah Etemadi

The author, born in Afghanistan, escaped his country of origin after the invasion of the red army, to become a US citizen. He had no idea that one day, after three decades, he will go back to Afghanistan. This time to serve the US Army in hopes of helping both the US and Afghanistan. But was that ever possible?

Book preview

Copyright © 2011 by Ellah Etemadi.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011910867

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4628-9545-8

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4628-9544-1

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4628-9546-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

All names and locations have been changed to protect the identity and privacy of parties involved.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

Cover design by SAL AZIZ.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

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97107

Contents

PREFACE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

ABOUT BAGRAM (BAF)

THE FINAL WORD

A BRIEF HISTORY OF A LAND WITH NO IDENTITY AS AFGHANISTAN

REFRENCES

ADDENDUM TO THE LINGUIST

"OH SOUL OF MINE, DON’T HOPE FOR THE ETERNAL LIFE,

BUT NEVER GIVE UP SEARCHING FOR THE TRUTH ABOUT LIFE"

PINDAR

Man is the enemy of Mankind

Andre Malreau

"Time present and time past

Are both perhaps present in time future,

And time future contained in time past."

T. S. Eliot

"Today will be tomorrow’s yesterday,

when tomorrow becomes today and

Today was yesterday’s tomorrow, when yesterday was today.

Happiness means not to regret yesterday

and not to fear tomorrow."

Ellah

‘To be or not to be’ is not the question; ‘why to be’ is.

Ellah

Gods are dead. Churches are their graveyards.

Frederic Nietzsche

If I Was God

If I was God,

I would descend from the heavens to unfold the eyes of justice that have been blind folded for so long…

I would let her see through my eyes, hear through my ears, speak through my mouth, feel through my fingers and judge through my heart.

If I was God.

Ellah

PREFACE

I DON’T KNOW IF I will be able to finish this. I’m not a writer by profession, but I am passionate about writing and sharing my story with those who are interested in my journey in Afghanistan. It’s hard for me to start, and I know I will have a hard time finishing this memoir. I have to correct myself, the following chapters are not only a memoir (the one-of-a-kind, untold story of a man inside a U.S. military base somewhere in Afghanistan) but they are also the reaction, or should I say the reflection, of a lonely mind in response to the events.

Writing for me is almost like entering a crowded hall full of strangers, being shy and trying to make a good first impression. Maybe I should just start from the beginning. Maybe I should start by introducing myself.

My name is Ellah Etemadi. I was born in Kabul, Afghanistan, and grew up in a comfortable environment. Like most Afghans torn away from their motherland, I carry with me lots of good and bad memories from this amazing ancient land.

I witnessed the end of King Zaher Shah’s long monarchy (1933-1973) by Mohamad Dawood Khan, King’s cousin and brother-in-law who was the founder of Afghanistan’s first republic in 1973. He was overthrown and, with his family, assassinated by the Khalq (people) party headed by Noor Mohamad Taraki, and Parcham (Banner) headed by Babrak Karmal both Soviet backed left-wing parties. Assassination of Taraki by his very close and confident deputy prime minister, a Columbia university-educated Hafizullah Amin (The Butcher of Kabul) a CIA agent? right after Taraki returned from a trip to the Soviet Union. The struggle for the seizure of power between the two parties resulting in The assassination of Hafizullah Amin by Spitsnaz (Soviet Special Forces), which was followed by the direct invasion of the Red Army, and placement of Babrak Karmal the head of the Parcham party as president of PDPA in Afghanistan on December 27-28, 1979.

(Some believe, being a CIA agent Hafizullah Amin prepared the condition in Afghanistan for the US to intervene, but he was left alone).

It was during this uncertain era that I fled Afghanistan, leaving behind a lifestyle and a world I had known all my life, abandoning my career, my home, my past, my future, and all that I had known. After trying multiple times, via many difficult and dangerous routes, my family (wife, one-year—and three-year-old daughters, my mother, and my sister) and I finally successfully crossed the eastern border, illegally of course, and entered Pakistan. The dangerous journey was long and grueling and, needless to say, scary. After spending several months in Pakistan, we were able to go to Germany (west at that time). Two years went by until we were granted permission to head to America, where we found refuge.

Having left Afghanistan to avoid being dominated by the Soviet Communist leadership of the country, I was not able to see firsthand the withdrawal of the Red Army from the country and the fall of the Soviet Empire, the dark and bloody era of the civil wars for the seizure of power by the so-called warlords in the payroll of the CIA and some other countries to fight the Soviet Army in Afghanistan. Followed by another dark and bloody period of U.S.-sponsored Taliban who opened a new bloody era in Afghanistan, which ended after the Anglo-American invasion of Afghanistan and placement of Hamed Karzai as interim president of Afghanistan by the subject powers, following the staged terrorist attacks of September 11 in New York and Washington, D.C.

I have to admit, not being a historian the subjects and events narrated by me in this memoir may not be suitable or acceptable by certain viewpoints, and this is completely understandable. I also have no intentions of offending anyone whose opinion or idea differs from mine. To me respecting an idea opposed to mine is not acceptable. But to accept an idea opposed to mine is acceptable!

Dedicated to the unfortunate, hopeless, and helpless Afghans, to Afghanistan, to those unfortunate nations who, like Afghanistan, are the victims of the needs and greed of political and religious powers. To all people who ask why, and to my grandchildren (Aaron, Adam, Kamran and- -.)

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CHAPTER ONE

Welcome to Qatar International Airlines

Flight _______ from Atlanta, Georgia to Doha, Qatar.

The flight time will be _______

Weather in Doha is _______

I’M SITTING COMFORTABLY IN MY seat in the coach section of one of the best airlines in the world. Many people who have had this elite flying experience before me had raved about the reputation of this airline.

All I know at this point is that I’m going to Qatar and from there to Bagram Airfield (BAF) in Afghanistan to work for the United States Army as a linguist category 2. I accepted this opportunity after being laid off as a result of the global economic crisis in 2008 under George W. Bush’s presidency. Unable to find another job for two years, in my long time career in the geotechnical engineering field, my destination is yet unknown at this time.

I’m very tired, and to tell you the truth, I’m confused. This is the first time that I’ve been separated from my family. I adore my three little grandsons, and being away from them is a very difficult task that I have to deal with.

I know I won’t be able to sleep in the plane, as comfortable as it is; I close my eyes and try to relax. Relaxation doesn’t come easy. As soon as I close my eyes my mind interferes and together with my memories disturbs me. The more I try to relax, the more I have to struggle with my mind that I know is stronger than my will to relax and rest. No way, I can’t relax. Forced by my mind, I have to think and remember. Yes, I have to remember, I have to think. I cannot concentrate anymore. I give up. I ask my self WHY, why I’m here and where am I going to. What am I going to do there?

After I surrendered to my mind, with closed eyes I remembered:

On November 08, 2009, I left Orange County, California for Baltimore, Maryland.

It was dark when I arrived at Baltimore Airport. After about an hour of waiting, the Embassy Suites Hotel bus arrived. On the bus, there were already four Afghan men and a very young Afghan girl. We were all very tired. The hotel was not too far from the airport; approximately forty-five minutes later, we arrived at our destination.

Upon our arrival, we were greeted by the staff from the main company that hired us. They escorted us to the JFK room of the hotel with our luggage. It’s worth mentioning that I was told by the company not to take any bags with wheels. I was instructed that only a large duffle bag and one carry-on were permitted. Considering my history of back and wrist problems, I had a lot of difficulty carrying my heavy duffle bag, especially during my layover at the Phoenix, Arizona airport. To my surprise, in the JFK room I was the only one with the duffle bag. The rest of the linguists who had arrived with or before me that day consisted of Afghan girls, women, and men who all carried different sizes of bags not only with wheels but with handles too. At that time I realized that wheels and handles go together and I had none of them. I was not too happy about that.

Two hours later, all the in-processing procedures and paperwork were completed, and we were finally able to go to our assigned suites, freshen up, and come down to the restaurant for dinner.

The eight-story hotel is beautifully decorated with very high ceilings. A guest standing in the middle of the lobby can see all the white balconies to the top floor and the all-glass ceiling of the lobby at the eighth floor. Going up to my suite on the fourth floor with my luggage, I was able to see through the circular all-glass elevator the elegant dining room and beautiful bar with multicolored umbrellas next to the lobby, adjacent to each other.

I haven’t yet mentioned my very bad sense of direction and letting my mind reverse the number sequences in my head. I got off on the fourth floor pushing the trolley with one hand and with the other looking for the key card, which I thought was in my pocket, while asking myself whether I should go left or right. Suddenly I realized that I forgot the key card on the counter downstairs in the lobby. I knew my room was on the fourth floor, but I couldn’t remember if it was room 423 or 432.

Finally, I decided to take the corridor on the right, thinking I’d push the trolley up to the door of one of the above-mentioned rooms or in between them, then go down to the lobby to pick up the key card. After a while I realized that the room numbers were going much higher than 432, but it was too late; I was too far from the elevator and I was exhausted, so I continued my trajectory until I arrived in front of room 423. I parked the trolley by the door and headed to the elevator. After I passed probably two rooms on my left, I realized that the elevator was on the right. It turned out that I had made a complete circle of the fourth floor without knowing it. In addition, since I forgot to write my room number down, now I’m confused about the number again, was it 423 or 432?

Finally, after retrieving the key at the lobby, taking the elevator back to the fourth floor, I arrived at my room, opened the door, took my bags from the trolley, and entered. Inside, I just dropped my luggage on the floor and dragged myself with my last ounce of energy to the sofa where I sat down, lit a cigarette, inhaled and exhaled a long breath, and closed my eyes.

Two lamps over the tables in both sides of the sofa were distributing a soft, calming light throughout the medium-sized living room, which was connected by a corridor to the bedroom and bath. Right at the opposite side of where I was sitting a big flat screen television was hung on the wall, on the left side of which, next to the window to the balcony, a table with four chairs created a good corner for receiving and entertaining guests.

After I took a shower in a very clean and inviting bathroom, I changed and went to the dining room for dinner.

Besides the restaurant regular menu, which we had to pay for, we could order from the special prepared menu for us. We had the choice to order one of the two main courses, which came with drinks, a salad, dessert, coffee, or tea. To give an Eastern touch to the dining experience, all entrees were served with pita bread.

If I’m not mistaken, that night I had the choice of ordering beef stroganoff with rice or grilled salmon with dill lemon-butter sauce, potatoes, and vegetables. We also had the choice of three dressings for the salad, ranch, Italian, and Caesar. To tell you the truth I don’t remember which dressing I ordered, nor do I remember the dessert, but I think I ordered salmon as my main course, and coffee. It was well prepared.

During the dinner, despite the low lighting of the dining room thanks to the Kendal lights on the tables, I was able to see some Afghans and a few non-Afghans sitting here and there having dinner and chatting. The waiting staffs of the restaurant were mostly coming from what used to be called Eastern Europe, under the control of the Soviet Union but after the fall of Soviet Empire they got their freedom. I wanted to see some Afghans working there, but to my disappointment that was not the case!

We were told that the hotel was serving breakfast and dinner with no charge to us, but not lunch, and the lunch expenses will be reimbursed every Friday for the amount of $150 to $170 for each guest.

After the dinner, I went back to my suite, changed, and went to bed. It was a very big and comfortable bed with lots of crisp white pillows, two side tables with lamps and a telephone, and a dressing table and a chair on the opposite wall where a big flat-screen television invited the guest to turn it on and spend a lot of money ordering all kinds of movies.

Despite my fatigue and a desperate need for a comfortable sleep I wasn’t able to close my eyes for a while. I had a lot on my mind. I did not know where I would be assigned to once in Afghanistan, and whether this decision I made was a good one. I had a lot of questions but not enough answers. I cannot say that I was afraid, but I knew I was very confused. Or maybe I’m mistaken, maybe I was afraid, and the fear of the unknown was so overwhelming that my mind; had to interfere, and through the censorship process replaced the fear of the unknown with the false sentiment of courage and confusion!

Monday, November 09, 2009

It was during breakfast that consisted of omelets, sausages, pastries, fruits, juices, coffee, and tea that I saw new faces of people who had arrived before me.

At nine o’clock we gathered in the JFK Room for the morning roll call, and the first day of training started.

During the morning session we completed language translation tests, English to Farsi, Farsi to English, English to Pashto, and Pashto to English. I have to admit that since high school I haven’t practiced Pashto, and to tell you the truth even then my capacity for reading and writing this language was hardly up to getting even a passing grade!

At the end of the testing session I was sure I had failed the Pashto test, and failed badly. But to my surprise no one gave me the bad news!

It is worth mentioning that sometime ago at my residence in Orange County, California I had to take a Pashto language test over the phone, after which I had a similar felling of failure, but nothing happened and my in-processing procedures continued.

Another thing that came as surprise to me happened during the distribution of the offer letters or the contract between the linguists and the company who hired them.

After everyone was called and handed offer letters and I wasn’t one of them. Disappointed, I went to ask why.

I was told that since I was hired by a subcontractor, I have to request the offer letter from that company.

I’m sure we all are familiar with the feeling of disappointment and rejection in one way or another. It is a very sad feeling. This feeling happens during different circumstances, and the description of it varies with the different situations. Being rejected is the simplest definition. Being rejected by love is maybe the worst kind of rejection and deception, but for me at that particular time, not belonging to the rest of the group was a very painful rejection.

I felt marginalized, as opposed to the rest of the group.

Before that time, being attracted by philosophy, I thought that being lonely was not the same as being alone. And philosophically speaking this statement is correct!

For me being alone means being by myself, without any confrontation between my will and the will of others, being able to do what I wanted to do, and not to do what I didn’t want to do, but doing nothing meant doing something; it meant dreaming, imagining, creating. Or suffering with out anyone noticing.

On the contrary, being lonely, besides its obvious definition of loneliness, has another important meaning for me, and that’s when someone is not alone and is in a crowd, but he senses the strongest feeling of loneliness. This person feels like being a piece of a puzzle that doesn’t fit anywhere because there is no common ground between this person and others, because there is a strong confrontation between his will and the will of others! There is no bonding agent between his opinion and the opinion of others. On the contrary, there is opposition and contradiction between the two.

I have to add that one doesn’t need to be in a crowd to feel lonely. Even the presence of only one person can create that strange feeling of loneliness in someone!

The most important point at that time, which was strange to me, was that in this hotel all of us Afghan-born Americans had so much in common and yet I felt miserable being marginalized, not belonging to the group.

The element of being marginalized, as opposed to being centralized, is always associated with disappointment and deception. And the element of surprise has something to do with it. The element of surprise can be positive or negative; in my case it was negative of course. This kind of surprise means that someone who thinks that the result of his choices and actions or reactions will be to his favor, but on the contrary it turned out to be the opposite.

I gave up analyzing and accepted the fact that I was rejected, and I had to do something about it.

During the lunch break, a group of Afghans went to an Afghan restaurant, a bit far from the hotel; I went to the sandwich shop nearby.

The afternoon session was comprised of filling security forms on the computer and a briefing on the health examination which was happening the next day.

After the five o’clock roll call I didn’t waste time and went directly to my room to call the subcontractor to ask about the offer letter. I felt better when I was assured that a representative from the company will come and bring the offer letter with him for me to sign.

I was having dinner when a man came to my table and sat across from me like we had known each other a long time. I was sure we haven’t met before.

He started talking and confessed that during his interview with Counter Intelligence (CI) he had an argument with the interviewer and was dismissed but now he was back to start all over again! I was thinking how is it possible for someone to be able to come back after having an argument with the CI interviewer. And why was this man that I haven’t seen before opening his heart to me?

After a while an Afghan lady joined us. From their discussion I found out that they knew each other. I also found out their names. The man was Mr. Rahim, and the lady was Pekay. She was worried about the CI Interview. Usually people are concerned about that interview, and to me being nervous concerning any kind of interview is normal, not to mention this one which is with the U.S. Counter Intelligence Agency.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

After breakfast and the morning roll call, we were divided in two groups for the medical examination. Our group was the first to go. We were about fifteen people, maybe more, who were transported by a bus to the medical examination office.

Once inside, all kinds of medical testing started. I have to emphasize that there were tough restrictions, especially during the collection, sampling, and handling of specimens urine and blood.

We had to drink as much water as we could prior to the sampling. There were bottled waters and cheap plastic cups everywhere. Since it was on a first come, first serve basis, people started to compete with each other, drinking more water in the shortest time possible!

The specimen had to be handled in a specific way, and handed to the nurse following the instruction that no flushing of the toilet was allowed!

While I was drinking my share of water, I couldn’t help observing what was going on around me.

The room was small and there were not enough chairs for everybody. A few people were sitting but most were standing. By looking at them I could see the signs of anxiety, impatience, and fear. The ones with some kind of medical problem known to them were afraid of being rejected and sent back to their home once the medical testing results were revealed. The ones with no known health issues were also thinking anxiously about what if the testing indicated a health problem they had not known about and would resulting in their being deported home.

It was rumored among Afghans that diabetes and dental problems were considered most frequent reasons for someone to be rejected.

After about half an hour, sampling of urine started. A nurse stood behind the door while a person produced the sample in the toilet, and would then accompany the person, along with the specimen, into the next room, where the sample was handed over and the blood sampling and paperwork would be done. After that, everybody came back to the waiting room. By now we knew each other’s names. Somehow we were addressing each other by last names.

Mr. Kaker was a medium-built man with a wide forehead, a rounded nose, and a small mouth. His overall physical appearance and his attitude and behavior indicated that he was a very polite man with a touch of seriousness and maybe a bit of shyness.

During his turn for the urine sample collection, soon after he went to the toilet he came back to the waiting room. He appeared disappointed and somehow embarrassed. Surprised by his sudden return, everyone was curiously looking at him while he took a bottle of water. After he drank the entire bottle in one long drink, he turned to the crowed that was looking at him questioningly. Without anyone asking, he said, I flushed!

Everybody laughed except him. Poor Mr. Kaker had to start all over again!

This event changed the heavy and uncomfortable atmosphere of the waiting room. People started talking to each other with more ease, laughing and joking.

Human emotions are strange. Happiness and sadness, laughter and tears in a

particular situation can be contagious, and sometimes really embarrassing. Usually where you are not supposed to laugh, you cannot help but laugh, and where you have to laugh you cannot. In this case the situation was an icebreaker that had a positive effect inside the waiting room.

I remember another situation that had an embarrassing and negative effect and I was the victim.

It was during a funeral ceremony (fateha) inside a mosque. To those who are not familiar with the Afghani funeral ceremony, after the burial friends and family get together inside a mosque to present their condolences to the mourning family. Unlike in churches where people have the luxury of being seated in chairs, in the mosque everybody sits on the floor Indian-style and barefoot!

The ceremony usually lasts two hours, during which the holy Koran is cited by the mullah. Taking advantage of the pauses during the recital of the Koran to present their personal respects and sympathy, people stand up and go to the mourning family, who usually are seated opposite, facing the guests. It was during such an event, sitting Indian-style for more than one hour that I realized my foot had fallen asleep. I had to do something about it. The only thing that came to my mind was to reach for the damn foot with my right hand and massage it. So I did. Since due to the numbness of the foot I couldn’t feel anything, I continued messaging, even more firmly. Then the person next to me whispered something in my ear. At first I couldn’t understand what he was saying to me because he was trying hard not to laugh, his voice was vibrating and his shoulders were shaking. Finally I heard him say, Sir, this is my foot you are massaging!

I was about to explode with laughter. I took my hand off his foot and used it to help me stand up, and dragging my numb foot behind me, limping and forcing myself not to laugh or fall down, found my way out of the mosque. Once outside, I couldn’t stop laughing.

I tried many times to go back to the mosque, but each time when I approached the door I remembered the incident and the way that the man next to me told me that I was massaging his foot and I could not control my laughter. So I gave up reentering the mosque. I look behind me and to my surprise I saw that the person whose foot I had massaged was laughing with a group of people he had told the incident to. I had no choice but to leave as soon as I could or join them in laughing about me. Finally I decided to go with the second option. Very soon I realized that most of the people coming out of the mosque were with us, laughing, some without even knowing the reason!

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

After breakfast and the morning roll call, we filled out our form SF 86. These forms are very long questionnaires about an individual’s past and present, and required a very good memory to respond to some of the questions!

Computers were very slow, and some questions were confusing.

One of the ladies who worked there, Teresa helped me a lot and I’m grateful to her.

The night, I had dinner with Mr. Maqsood, Mr. Haseq, and Mr. Nyaz

Mr. Maksood a respectable older man with white hair, thin white mustache and white thick eyebrows, was medium built, had a fair-reddish complexion, and wore prescription glasses. According to him, in the past he held a prestigious position somewhere in Afghanistan, and that for political reasons he had suffered a lot during previous regimes.

Mr. Haseq, a medium-built man, had a dark complexion with thin black and white hair. He was a poet. According to Mr. Maqsood, who called him Hakem sahib, was governor of one of Afghanistan’s provinces in the past.

Mr. Nyaz had unique physical characteristics. He was tall, had a clear complexion, and combed his shiny black hair from the front to the back of his head. His wide dark eyes, I believed were his most distinguishable facial marks. Most of the time he wore a colorful scarf around his neck and a fisherman’s hat. He was always shaved and clean and knew a lot about literature. During dinner he complimented me and said I had an attractive voice! I thanked him and added that I didn’t know what he was talking about and that he has to check if maybe he had some kind of hearing problem. We all laughed.

Long after dinner we stayed at our table and discussed mostly literature. Here people don’t like to talk politics. An atmosphere of mistrust is dominating relationships between Afghans. They think that there are spies among them.

I’m familiar with this kind of feeling. During the Soviet domination of Afghanistan, this kind of paranoid atmosphere influenced the social relationships of Afghans. It was rumored that the government had released robotic flies that recorded people’s discussions. KGB propaganda played a major role at that time, and the CIA was watching of course!

So far the only person who talked politic with me in private was Mr. Maqsood.

That night I noticed that Afghans, I mean Afghan-Americans, were gathered in different groups for dinner. I shared my observation with my group. In response, without hesitation, Mr. Maqsood said,

"Konad ham jense ba ham jense parwaz,

kabootar ba kabootar, baz ba baz."

Meaning:

"Birds of a feather flock together,

pigeon with pigeon, and falcon with falcon."

What Mr. Maqsood had said seemed socially true to me. I have to add, without any generalization, that in my opinion human social life is divided in two major groups:

People who are living to eat, and those who are eating to live!

The fundamental basis for the above theory of mine is that the consumption of the food and rejection of it as waste is the most important common ground between humans, being organic mechanisms with intelligence, controlled by the intellect and mind, as opposed to other living beings that are organic mechanisms with