Education Abroad

Brandon M.

To some, an education is something that can be bought, something that can be found in a building, or read in books, something that takes study time and devotion. To me education is something that comes when it is least expected. Education is something gained with experience. Life brings education. Fresh out of high school and green to the world, I traveled overseas to get an education. This education was not found in a school building but in a sandy tent filled with nine other men. What I learned in a year during war in Afghanistan is more valuable than what I learned throughout all of my formal education. I learned the value of a dollar, culture and independence.

My decision to move overseas was fueled by the desire for monetary gain. The week of my high school graduation I applied for a position with Kellog - Brown & Root, a Department of Defense contracting company. I needed to do something with my life and set myself apart from my peers. College would always be there for me and the Army didn't pay the kind of money that would allow me to start my life in high gear. It wasn't long before a recruiter called me and said I was going to Houston for training and processing and then I would be in Bagram, Afghanistan. The process of leaving everything I knew behind for the chance to get rich quick was tough. In August, I packed my bags and headed to Houston. The company put me up in a nice hotel in Greenspoint, a richer neighborhood of Houston. I was one among hundreds applying to go over seas but not all would make it, and fewer would be able to handle it for very long. I did two weeks of testing, both physical and mental. There were seemingly endless mountains of paperwork for me to sign and initial. There were chemical warfare classes and horrific slide-shows of the war that no civilian gets to see on the news.

Then I was on a plane bound for Afghanistan but it would be a long journey. We stopped in Chicago for a six hour layover at O'Hare International and then for thirteen hours in Frankfurt, Germany. After a full day of travel, I ended up in Tashkent, Uzbekistan, also called Old Russia. It's a country of the former Soviet Union and much of the old Soviet lifestyle is still common. I spent a full week there in a fancy hotel and each night partied in a different part of town with my new friends and co-workers. It was a blast and a much needed intermission for me and the rest of the new hires. When the week was finished, we flew to Karshi, Uzbekistan, and spent two full weeks there lounging around and signing paperwork. It was a boring two weeks, but we got used to the military lifestyle on the base and the horrible food served in the dining facility. Then it was off to Afghanistan for my final destination until vacation time came around four months later.

I spent many hard nights alone in a foreign world. I worked hours on end as a labor supervisor, managing labor teams of local nationals. Throughout my year I worked all over the base in every department that needed help. Since I learned quickly and wasn't a potential quitter, I was often asked to substitute or temporarily work in different jobs. I supervised cleaning crews who specialized in maintenance and cleaning. I also escorted tanker trucks of fuel, water, and chemicals. My favorite department was POL or the fuel department, because it allowed me to be on the flight line fueling aircraft. The flight line brought me face to face with several types of aircraft that I had never even heard of. Watching fighter jets take off at mach speeds right in front of me was mesmerizing. I often volunteered for overtime because there wasn't much to do as far as after work activities. I worked until my feet got torn apart inside my tennis shoes, ate only two meals a day, and lived in a "room" that was seven foot by seven foot. It was barely enough space for my bed and two footlockers- but I made it work- and it wasn't long before that room felt like home.

Our work hours were twelve to sixteen hours per day every day. You get used to the long hours after a while, and you stop thinking about it as hard or irregular. For an entire year I had to be an entirely different person all for nontaxable contract work. I couldn't be outspoken as often as I wanted- I might have gotten fired for it- and I had to develop a certain state of alertness that can only come from a war-zone. Every time I thought of giving up, the dollar signs sparkled in my eyes. I always kept a pay stub in my pocket to remind me why I was there incase of hard times that pushed me to quit. For all the hardships I went through to earn my paychecks, I now know the true value of a dollar.

In history classes throughout my life teachers have taught the American culture and very few aspects of any other culture. The sad thing was that I knew the American culture and history. I lived and breathed it. If you asked me about any other part of the world during my high school senior days, I would not have known much. Traveling to Afghanistan showed me a whole new world where not everyone gets to go to school everyday, a world where oil lamps and sunlight replace electricity. The vast majority of Afghani nationals live in hovels sleeping next to sheep and surviving completely off of the land around them. Our military bases offered thousands of high paying jobs to the Afghanis and allowed them the opportunity to work side by side with American soldiers and civilians. The Afghanis I had the privilege of working with taught me about their lifestyle, their leisure activities, and their hardships. Most of them were great people with much to offer in the way of personality and friendship. They work all of their lives, only to give their money to someone else. The men give their paychecks to their fathers even after they are married, until they move out on their own. Their fathers also work and with all the money they must pay a warlord to ensure their false sense of safety. Their fun consists of children's games played in the dirt, or reading their holy book. Despite their harsh way of living, they are happier and more appreciative of life than most Americans I've met. There is no room for dwelling in self pity in a constant state of survival. They make the most of their life and would not trade their dirt floor shacks for our five star electric powered apartments in New York City.

I quickly discovered that no one would be there to guide me through life in Afghanistan. No one would help me when I was confused or lost, and there would be no second chances in a place of constant war. Personal independence is something I had to gain very quickly living on my own in that foreign world. I never truly saw to what extent people hold the hands of young adults through life in high school and even in some jobs. It was up to me to wake up on time for my fourteen hour workday, seven days a week. I couldn't even depend on an alarm clock because the generators that provided us with electricity constantly failed or were destroyed by rockets. The people who didn't pay attention to every little thing that was happening around them suffered serious injury or were killed by a bullet, a landmine, or machinery. We lost good people on a daily basis, people I had just spoken to or eaten dinner with the day before. Some stepped on landmines buried on base that we all walked across daily; it was just they who set it off. I remember specifically an anti personnel mine that was found buried on the sidewalk in front of the dining facility. Thousands of people walked on the mine tens-of-thousands of times and, thankfully, the bomb squad found it before it killed someone. Many friends went down in helicopter crashes or were shot down by rockets. Some people were ambushed during convoys to other bases. On several occasions I helped with the wreckage from blown apart helicopters and hummers. Once I helped compile the remains of a Chinook helicopter, normally a very large aircraft, but I was able to fit the debris in the back of a small truck. It was never easy to deal with and even now over a year later, I still think about the people who lost their lives or were injured, and the war that was constantly around us.

I learned more about life in the year spent abroad than in all of my schooling combined. People of other cultures and countries are interesting teaching tools that not enough people embrace. A lot of the people I worked with despised the Afghanis and even the country itself, creating a wall that hindered their own self-improvement and learning possibilities. Too many people had too little appreciation for the war and the work we were doing. The value of a dollar is more than just what it can buy; it's the work that was put into it and the personal gain from doing that work. I even have a greater appreciation for simple things such as ice cubes and a reading lamp. Gaining personal independence and knowing that I can handle myself under any circumstance was worth the trip alone. Some of the people I grew up with are still unable to live as self-sustaining individuals. I learned much and more from my travels abroad and will continue to seek new opportunities for personal growth in other countries and cultures. A world of opportunity awaits me.