Sunday Folies


I woke up feeling a little guilty about bashing Martyr.  I thought about deleting yesterday’s blog because  that reason and because it requires some editing.

This morning, I had to go to the terminal because of badging problems (of course) DC is on the watch list because he missed two interviews. The Pass Office staff, where they issue badges are convinced the Vetting Bureau has fallen deep into folie.

‘’ He’s on the watch list? ’exclaimed the sweet little Romanian clerk. ‘’ Why? They are treating him as if he is he is Ossama Bin Laden. What next time they will put him on the black list and send orders to shoot him on sight? What the fuck is wrong with them?’’

Precisely, I thought. I know what Mitch is doing. He is making sure that next time he goes for his nex interview they will have all the recourse in the world to deny DC access on camp, just because he likes to act as Lord Douche.

‘’I’m surprised I don’t understand. He has 10 tracking warnings in his file,’’ she said.

1-      Failed to appear for screening and interview (lies he was there twice 30 mins in advance)

2-      Failed to appear to two interviews (same lie written twice-fuckheads)

3-      Failed to have his badge on him (it was confiscated by your office February 26th, because you dumb asses decided it was expired when in fact it expired March 2nd. Either your employees are illiterate or incredibly daft)

4-      Had unauthorized electronic device-telephone ( you put on his badge the phone privileges—your office authorized that decree)

5-      Had to confiscate his electronic (because you lot made a mistake)

The list was endless of doucheries.

This was another crazy pills moment. I couldn’t believe the amount of rubbish written in his dossier. Again, I had to convince these twats that DC is not a criminal because he broke some ridiculous rules on KAIA. This is another great reason to quit. It’s getting to a point where I cannot deal with this amount of lunacy. And to top it all off, I just learned they will not allow phone privileges to our pilots. Pilots! How the hell are they supposed to call us when there is an emergency, delays, bad weather etc…

‘’A few days ago,’’ I argued to the Security Officer ‘’our aircraft hit a bird which obstructed the landing gear and dented the aircraft. Our pilots executed an emergency landing in Mazar-i-Sharif, however they were unable to fly our passengers back. Thank God they had their phones and advised us of the situation!’’  He looked at me and said, ‘Yes, it’s true it makes sense. We still change the SOP’s (rules). You think.

Working with the military is no better than working with Afghans. Military personnel follow orders written by an officer and most of the times these servicemen are as dumb as can be and never question orders. Afghans follow the orders from the Koran and the Mullahs and never think outside the box or tries to understand the other side. They will do as they are told. So sad, same thing.

Going back to Martyr, as I stepped out of this long ordeal I saw her walking on KAIA with a lot of determination. I avoided her and went in another direction, but I saw her talk to Hashish and thought she was going back with him. I had my own ride back home with my trustworthy DC and Minni and arrived on camp without her.

When I stepped into my office I noticed across the hall that Giraffe was sitting all alone. She hadn’t come back yet Hashish was there. It was confusing; as I would have thought she’d want to go home asap since she was due to go on leave for one month today. I was so happy to be rid of Jezebel. I asked Hashish if she was dropping her off at the airport today and he retorted ‘’she don’t say to me nothing.’’ I asked if he could call her and inquire as sometimes she gets her own lifts. He did and I heard her say she’d be leaving at 3 o’clock.

I laughed, she hadn’t noticed there was a schedule change and the departure was at 4pm and not 5pm as usual. I wondered if I should say anything. I really didn’t want to help her out, but the thought of being surrounded by her negative, dramatic energy for one more day was quite daunting hence I cringed and called her. Three rings she didn’t answer—I did my best, if she calls back great, if not too bad.

A good friend of ours which she also had a fallout because of a drunken altercation he had with a stranger at the bar on New Year’s Eve (it’s a long story, one day…) was also looking for her.  Sonny is a great guy with a huge heart. He has been there for her through and through and beyond. He listened to her cry, vent, bitch about her dramatic episodes in Afghanistan and the one time he truly needed him because he was going through an extremely traumatic family crisis-she laughed and reverted their conversation back to her id. When I found out about that, it was the point of no return for me. Come after me, torture me, and backstab me. Fine! Don’t go after the innocent and good people who deserve nothing but the best, if you do that we are done.

Sonny is still not giving up on Martyr, I keep telling him he has Stockholm syndrome, but he laughs about it. It’s his life, I can’t judge him I’ve had years of abuse coming from that monster. Anyways, he was looking for her and she wasn’t responding to his calls. I cheekily said that maybe she was getting laid and retold him last night’s events. He was cracking up. But he wouldn’t take no for answer hence he decided to go knock on her door. He returned to my office semi-defeated saying he could hear someone in the room, but no one answered.

I shaked my head in disdain, as the past two month she’s been avoiding his calls and beckoning him only in dire times of crisis to speak about herself and vent against all her co-workers but never when he wants to see her.

As I finished my bitch session against her she texted me that she was on telephone. We were both surprised. She usually ignores me. We walked over to the café and had a lovely discussion about everything and nothing and while enjoying Sonny’s meal, he eating his egg sandwich and I nibbling on his fries I received a call from her Royal Highness.

‘’Sorry, I was on the phone. What’s up?’’ she said.

‘’Well, I just wanted to advise you that your flight is at 1640 not 1705,’’ I said nonchalantly.

‘’What there was a schedule change? I never noticed that. How come?’’

‘’I don’t fucking know,’’ I wanted to say but I was polite. ‘’ I asked Hashish to pick you up at 2pm.’’

‘’Oh, ok. Well I don’t know any more things have changed. Are you alone? Yes, well I was approached by ISAF and there is an investigation going on and they want me to stay and come in for questioning tomorrow.’’ No, no, no, no. Please leave go home, I thought.  ‘’I was on the phone with our boss and trying to explain the situation. I don’t think I’ll be going home as they told me I have to stay since the committee arrives tomorrow to start the investigation.’’

Then she explained she saw our Flight Manager while she was in the IJC building where Chief Air Ops works. We do not want to see her there interacting with him as she feeds him all sort of erroneous information about our company and demands favours from him, which is way above her pay scale. When he saw her there he was furious and freaked out on her as he was sure she went to his office to conspire against one of us. It’s just bad taste to douche on your coworkers with a Colonel.

She was extremely angry at him and Giraffe but very polite with me. I guess telling everyone about her love making session made her a little less hostile towards me.

Damn it I am falling asleep I will continue tomorrow.

Good Old Jezebel

Cancerous Whores, The Year, Today

I am so glad Martyr is getting drilled right now late in the evening well after 10pm. I was not aware her royal skinniness could last that long and go more than one go.

But with who?

I have a hunch…Anyways, he takes deep breaths while entering her, sounds like he’s out of shape. Our beds are back to back so there is a lot of rebound on my side. She ain’t as quiet as she likes to pretend. Well, well, well I guess sex isn’t as icky when you are the one doing it.

Jezebel is twisted.  If the topic of sex, semen, erotic moments, sleeping with prostitutes, threesomes, or anal sex she becomes squeamish acts as if she is a saint and is royally disgusted by anyone else’s sexual acts. However, she has no problem discussing he prowess on a constant basis and divulging that so and so ‘’fucks like a caveman.’’ The worst part is that she dates cavemen’s, who come up with lines such as ”shut your effer or else I’m gonna punch you in your baby maker!’’

What the hell is that?

I mean, when my lover was here apparently I was noisy (although I am loud) and Miss Madame couldn’t take it. She told everybody at work, passers-by, passengers, random nobody’s and our contractors of my lovemaking. She was rude to Polo (the lover), wouldn’t talk to him.

Oh, they are going at it a third time.

How is she no breaking in half? He is a titan and she has the size of a pencil. How she’s still alive I don’t know.

When I was having sex, she had a fit and screamed I had no consideration for my neighbours as I was noisy, loud and I could at least have sex before 10pm. ‘‘I have a busy schedule and have to wake up early in the morning! My schedule is not like yours Beige Burka.’’  Again, our beds are wall to wall, so both our head boards are connected together. The architect who designed our building is an idiot, why would you want to sleep with a stranger right next to your head

She’s had sex previously with other men, again married and attached men. I have to emphasise because her way of life cannot be criticized, but others who are involved in their love intrigues are immoral.

Now, they are snoring in bliss.  I just burped some vomit.

I never cared, I told her I didn’t have time to think about her while I was having sex and no I’m not going to schedule it around her time table. Funny, when she was dating one of her several Jason’s, not a complaint came out of my mouth at the amount of noise she made and I never discussed her personal life to anyone.

Not anymore. I sent BBM’s to all our co-workers about her ebas amoureux.  My boss said: ‘’who is the unlucky guy?’’ Another ‘’poor guy!!!,’’ and the last one told her ‘’to keep the noise down.’’ No one likes her at work as she is too disruptive and we put up with her because she will harass all with the most insignificant issues.  I am not as evil as you think. Hey, at Christmas my co-worker bought me a drum at her suggestion. I laughed thought it was funny, I got it everyone knew I was a screamer. I even endure the snarky remarks of our contractors- the South African bible worshipers appalled by my lack of decency. These poor Puritans can barely imagine sex in the missionary position, as I bet you they cringe with one eye opened while stroking their crosses under their pillows in repentance. Seriously, all a bunch of Aunt Sanni’s. Pathetic.

Guess what's coming in.

I bought her stress relief bath soap from Body works and ear plugs. She was furious and extremely insulted. Polo, had begged me not to do it as he believed she’d be upset. I thought she’d laugh. I was wrong. A flaccid penis in her ear would have been better. Ha.

You’ll soon find out why we all want to repeat history and commit a corporate defenestration against Jezebel.

The Baroness

Cancerous Whores

Look all your admirers are here to lend you their dicks. Make no mistake you will never be a queen.

A self entitled skinny grown woman with a teenager attitude and body who refuses to grow up and join adulthood, was once a very close friend of mine.

She encouraged me to apply for this position in Afghanistan and I did because of her convincing self-interested nature. I found out weeks ago, she didn’t really want me there because of my skills and professionalism but rather because my competition was someone she despised (teen spirit). Her back thought was since she knew me she could control me.

You would think a femme fatale with affaible beauty; with the power of any comedian, vivacious, no culture, and knowledge of other tongues would have the genius to get out of trouble and remain loved by her many admirers and co-workers.

Everywhere she walks she is the center of attraction for men of low quality. Like most versatile players, she convinces all that married affairs are fair, but only for her. Others beware judgment comes with a stare.

Least elegant is when she pleads, cry and complains to whoever is in sight a propos her numerous rejections from males who refuses to leave their legal counterparts, blaming the whole world for her tragedy.

Does adventurer mix with closed mindedness? Yes, when you are a Baroness. Entitled to all and self-granting forgiveness, common humans bow to her as an indispensable character.

At work it gets better. Letters and emails are proof of a disturbing sensation left after working a year with a frenzied mediocre human. Deceived for more than two decades now, I understand how her trickery has affected multitudes. She tries to persuade all of her sanity, but poor old Jezebel Martyr you have made too many mistakes to save grace.

No more will we bow to your obsessions, excess, ocd tendencies as we have unmasked the madwoman that you are. All have deserted you because you acted out life in a series of roles that do not exist.

Liar, liar you where never a Baroness! You are only a girl with feet being dragged rundown Huggs, flailing your arms about like a raggedy doll, with Medusa hair swinging from side to side. No grace, no class, so crass.

It’s been more than a year and I should inform you of my utter disgust for the Baroness.

Hat Party

The Year

I was invited to join this epic party. They managed to create an excellent party ambiance on their lawn you would have never thought you were outside. Their villa is pretty sweet. Yes, if you are not in a compound you live in a villa– sometimes a mansion.

Food, music,  free alcohol and intellectual conversations. It was great. Unfortunately, I did not receive the invite which described the necessity to be dressed up with a traditional hat from the region. The bigger the better.

Hat party. I wanted to steal it. It's awesome although hats such as these can be found in any market. The Afghans always boast they have artifacts dating from the time of Alexander the Great. Lies. True, but you can't buy them in a shop.

If you saw his face you'd recognize him. He is a famous journalist for a successful news channel.

Fun times in front of an antiquity

Antique Camera. I tried to ask him how old it was but I couldn't convert year 1234 to an equivalent of our century. I am messing with you I don't know.

Sure confiscate my Smirnoff but drink all you want. Can you see the snow in the corner?

Litany Against Pain


A morbidly obese woman has been sitting on my chest while savoring her sixth bag of Miss Vickie’s,

It’s been months since she’s been crushing my lungs


The lack of air is painful, but not as much as being drowned under a pile of rotting flesh

The stench on my inanimate body… Is it me?


I’ve been lying in a cage surrounded by clowns, exotic animals, sword eaters, fire throwers, acrobats, musicians, and the ringmaster

Ringmaster ddrr!

He lets them parade and circle the phenomenon in a devil dance where demons sing

The fire, the vivid shades of red and yellow while they rush around us

The crowd’s eyes are darkened by the spectacle

Am I on crazy pills? Is it possible circus freaks have surpassed important issues?

I don’t care anymore about dignity and revenge.  I just need company. Include me.

I was going to tell a story, but now I am using evidence


Sense of decay

Sense of mortality

I write without fear of being vain.


Bloody Smirnoff

Cancerous Whores, The Year

The Culprit

You are still not fully aware of last Saturday’s exasperation and my need for Valiums. You see the night before the laissez-passer A-38 drama. My friend had come over for a visit. We were still on lockdown (can’t leave your house) as the treat level was still high.

I like my freedom and when she told me there was a little gathering for a birthday party I kind of wanted to go but I was well aware of the fact it could be an issue, since there are many police checkpoints in the city and most people let them invade your privacy by opening your doors (giving them access-which is a no, no in my world). I fit in the contractor’s category and my friend is a tree hugger. Most of my friends are tree huggers- they are more fun and intellectual, but they never believe there is a treat or security issues in Afghanistan or the whole world that is. Everyone is nice and as long as you respect each other nothing bad will ever happen to you.

Before we left my compound on Friday I had a ‘hugh’ moment where I realized I had forgotten my passport in my room, we were at the gate and she said ”who cares just say it’s at the Ministry of Finance because you need to renew your visa. We always provide them with the same bullshit excuse and it’s never caused us problems. Besides we never get stopped at check points.” I had organized to sleep at her villa and thought that during the day you rarely get profiled by the police.

Why did I listen to her?

En route to her place, we were confident that all would go well. First, check point they stop us I tell my friend that she has a bottle of Vodka in her purse, she panics and tries to take it out of her purse. ‘‘It’s too late put it back in your purse. Act normal.’’ I was fuming inside, because three to four scenarios could happen. I could go to jail because I was not carrying a passport with a valid visa or because we had alcohol or they were going to demand a whole lot of back shish money(bribe) or best case scenario they keep the bottle and we go.

They asked for passports, demanded to know why I didn’t have mine. I flashed a military badge I possess (thank you laisser-passez A-38 that worked) and it seemed to calm them. So they let us go. Three minutes later we arrive to another check point where we are stopped again. They were the corrupted ones I could tell and one spoke English and asked me where I was from. I said Jamaica, non-related western country and flashed my badge again. He asked me one thousand questions as to why I didn’t have my passport. He then took my friends passport and contemplated it and saw her purse. Shit! He wanted to look inside. Big mistake. We were told later to say no, we are requesting that a woman look inside our purse as they are not allowed to search women. Sneaky bastard!

He found what he was looking for the Smirnoff. ” You are not allowed, it is illegal. Where did you get this bottle?’’ he said in Dari. I don’t know how I understood but I told my friend (I’ll call her Jenifer it’s annoying to write friend all the time) ”Dubai, say Dubai,” which she did. He still said it was illegal.

I was going to say it makes no sense, as we just arrived from the airport and the police over there scan your bags as you exit the airport and when they see liquor they steal the alcohol of their choice by stating this is an Islamic country it is against the law crap and leave you with the rest or none. They usually go for whiskey. If they say it is acceptable, why are the police in the streets always trying to confiscate them or send you to jail for not reason? It’s money or personal consumption. They can sell these bottles at a hefty price. Islamic Republic of Afghanistan??! Bullshit! Actually, the law state that you are allowed to bring a reasonable amount of alcohol in the country. But who is going to dispute that with a riffle pointed at your head.

I was seething inside, but my friend kept it cool and told him she would pour the bottle in the street. The malicious cop disagreed he wanted her to walk over by the bush and empty the bottle, here in the middle of the road it would smell. Sure, she’s going to get out of the car so you can shoot her in the back. We know what you guys do. She said ”no” and poured the bottle. They had no recourse, seemed extremely put out they didn’t gain anything from this event, I slammed the car door in their faces and told the drivers to leave.

They left. We just stared at each other knowing we had edged over a precipice. I knew I should have stayed home. I asked her why her afghan drivers didn’t even try to speak or help us. She said that for an Afghan if they are found with alcohol it’s an automatic go to jail card or they get beaten in the street and then thrown in jail. I also later learned one of her friends was caught in the same situation and when she went to pour the alcohol the cop stopped. He preferred someone would enjoy instead of none. Well, that was not our case.

This is why I prefer traveling in armoured vehicles. None of that stopping at check points. When the cops hail you, you just continue. What are they going to do? Shoot, sure. Waste of time and they know it.

The worst part of this story is the Mofo kept her passport. He never handed it back. Jennifer went back to the check point twice where one cop seemed genuinely concerned and the other was smug and arrogant but told her to come back at 8pm that night. I thought she was crazy, she said she came ready with her back shish money. Yes, more reasons for them to throw you in jail. Jennifer is fine, but never received her passport. He did gain something from that evening. Jerk. He did it in spite.

Access, Access, Acess


I was told that my Laissez-Passer A-38 blog had too many military terms ”galore” and it was confusing (it frankly needs to be re-edited), but in the meantime here is a chart of the work structure in Afghanistan.

If you can’t understand it don’t worry as no one does here. It’s a shit fest anyways. My point is that no matter where you work you need a badge to access a UN compound, a guest house, an Embassy, a ministries office, the civilian airport, military airport, a whore house (oh yes), sometimes even hotels. Access, access, access is one of the task I’ve been assigned and quite frankly I hate it. It is a bullshit, least rewarding, non-productive and most ungrateful job of all.

You have to work with village idiots who barely finished high school and are power tripping because they can grant or deny access to you or your employees. It’s as though they are dangling a fishing pole to which is attached a plastic card, where I have to jump to try and grab it. They will keep dangling it just because it’s entertaining until they find another target and decide they are tired of playing with you. I say, ”recite your ABC’s before you reject my people’s entrance. Come on. Do it! O.k. Then basic mathematics? 1+1= ?. I thought so, abruti!”

In addition, this chart shows you the different factions in Afghanistan. None of them particularly like each other but somehow they have to work together.

Military is the funniest as none of them have any directions as to why they are here, most of them don’t understand their governments choice to deploy them here.

Visualize Chaos

Discourse is important, hence I have enclosed someone from the outside (way out-the far west to precise) looking into this blog.

The Inquisitive Interest of NNL 

Treehuggers [from the verb ‘treehugging’] is catchy moniker- slang that classifies! Sort of like the way we refer to women as ‘chicks’ in the vivid female empowerment motif, ““chicks before dicks.” What an obscure visual the word provokes, one reminiscent of: “Go hug that tree, you hippy.” In this context, the visual is all the more scornful when we think of desert climate, war torn Afghanistan as being filled with many trees to caress… right?

Aside from its catchiness, the pejorative nature of Beige Burka’s group nomenclature has its effects. It is significant to maintain that it should not entirely be viewed with negative connotation. When we contextualize the imagery though, it sure seems silly and harmless but it operates to undermine collective altruism. It is a contemptuous word associated with activists who sought to defend natural environments from the destruction of corporate and economic interest; basically the ideology that led to our modern day political relationship with Environmentalism.

The usage Beige Burka suggests though interestingly is that the environment goes beyond trees, recycling, or our modern day boyfriend Environmentalism. It suggests that environmentalism needs at its infrastructure, stable and unified community. Treehugging does not merely act as hugging trees, but is seen as an extension of affection and sympathy to another living thing, which needs to start in a community. Seeing it from this angle implies that environmentalism is a natural progression in social harmony and creates a parallel with the war efforts being made by (not all but most of) the treehugging triad to the efforts being made by lobbyist and reformers to move towards green institutional practices. Perhaps we should look at treehugging as ideological as well as a job. Treehugger is a more polyvalent term and speaks to a morale or point of view. The single-minded profiteer’s interest in using the land to establish its own corral of economic investment and growth creating an environment of disharmony then works antagonistically to the organization involved in the establishment of stability. They could use a little treehugging in their attitude. Though Beige Burka’s description of the people as stuck in an epoch far before our own which has been verified to various degrees by varying anthropological and sociological observations, it doesn’t help that content workers in the second and third groups do not think that it is possible to engage in the treehugging mentality so their jobs can take on ethical considerations. Is this something we can only strive to bring to ourselves?

Harmony and sympathy are values that extend beyond culture and speak to a human necessity for collective growth. Though the fact is that we cannot create complete harmony anywhere, we can bring the tenets of sympathy up against those who wish to subjugate and dictate, and empower those who have suffered under the weight of these actions. This should be important and perhaps we won’t achieve the same communal ideals in the West but if the people there working under the status of ‘stabilization’ are divided as to whether or not stability is possible, how can we then say we are doing the best we can. After all hope is necessary to overcoming strife and incessant violence. Perhaps there should be more effort on the other two parties part, Beige Burka’s included, to prioritize and put hope into those treehuggers who undoubtedly recognize the difficulty they face but must fight for more than a paycheck at the end of the week. Come on, you know you want too.

But that’s just my say.
What do you think? Have your say. Log in and comment to send us your feedback.

Daft For Sure


Although this is the name of the company I work for, I will involve the whole world who is funding Afghanistan.

As new graduates are struggling to pay their debts in America, Europe, and the Middle East and striking against Wall Street or governments who only self-provide to their Minsters and Generals, organisations such as GPPT fund training centers for the Afghan Police. Precisely, 645 million Euros and that is just one department.

Imagine were the rest of the money goes. German police train new recruits and never see them again. They don’t even stay in the force. It’s just money wasted in the Middle Ages. Afghans do not want to be help with 2012 ideologies, they can’t catch up as they are still in 1391 according to their calendar and we are confusing them with our own century. They are not there yet, so we plunder our own economy bring it into deficit for people who don’t understand what we are trying to achieve. They see cash, not growth. This is why my friend Coolio is wrong. Don’t comment, I am supposed to be anonymous.

You know who this millions are transferred to: Atta. Google him! Governor of the north. I think he might be the next president here. He gained power because of the international community.

Our countries are stupid and allowing some to laugh themselves all the way to the bank.

Are you starving students? Yes you! Residents of the west….

I’m not. I am a war profiteer just like everyone else here.