Despite an explosion
and the fear of being kidnapped, a trip to Uzbekistan became an adventure to
remember.
As Spring Break 2005 quickly approached, I was working
overtime to make sure that each of the twenty or so delegations of officers and
cadets were ready to go out. Every
spring the Office of International Programs at the United States Air Force
Academy would participate in one week exchange programs with foreign military
academies. We would send a delegation of
one officer and four cadets to their academies over Spring Break and they would
then send their delegations to the Academy for our International Week in April.
With time quickly running out to get all the documentation
and logistics in order, I was happy that I wasn’t traveling this time
around. The previous year I had managed
the entire program as well as lead a delegation to the Kazakh Air Force Academy
in Aktobye. By the time I left for the
trip to Kazakhstan, my left eye was twitching non-stop from the unending
stress. My hope was that I could get all
the delegations on the buses to the airport and relax for seven days while they
were all overseas.
A few days before the delegations were scheduled to start
departing one of the escort officers came to my office.
“Jarad, something came up and I won’t be able to take the
cadets to Uzbekistan.”
“But, sir, you’re scheduled to depart in three days. I don’t know if we can find a replacement for
you in time.”
Quickly we ran through the logistics. In order to make the trip work we had to have
a military faculty member, with an official red US Passport, and preferably one
who spoke Russian. It took only a few
minutes to realize I was the only one, other than my colleague who was backing
out, which fit that profile on the entire faculty. My list of things to do had suddenly become
much longer with a call to my wife at the top of the list. I swore a slight twinge was starting in my
left eyelid.
I wasn’t opposed to going to Uzbekistan. The country, like much of the region,
intrigued me. My issue was simply a
matter of workload and responsibility.
A part of me, of course, was excited for the
opportunity. Iranian nomads are the
first known settlers of the region that comprises modern day Uzbekistan. Throughout history the area has been part of
various empires to include the Persian Samanid and Timurid empires. With the development of the silk trade
between China and western cultures, cities along the route became wealthy. The Silk Road was born. Cities with deep historical meaning grew—Bukhara,
Samarqand, and Khiva.
Eventually the area became a part of the Russian Empire and then
the Soviet Union. Since the collapse of Soviet
Union in 1991, Uzbekistan has been an independent nation ruled by an
authoritarian regime. In 2005 Uzbekistan
was an active and serious partner in the prosecution of the Global War on
Terror to include operations in Afghanistan and Iraq. Due to this relationship, we were able to
travel to the country with just an official passport. No visa was required.
Soon I was in contact with the cadets who would travel with
me to Uzbekistan. One of them was a
cadet we sponsored. He was LDS and had
served his mission in Russia about ten years after I was there. The other male cadet was also a returned
missionary who had served in Russia. We
had two female cadets with us, both studying Russian. One was an experienced glider pilot who loved
to regale us with stories of her near calls in the air. Our final female cadet was a young eighteen
year old who was thrilled and scared to be abroad in such a strange land.
Following an early morning bus ride from the Academy to the
Denver International Airport, we were on our way. During a stop at the Frankfurt Airport in
Germany, one of the cadets had his camera stolen out of his backpack. For most of my trips abroad during my time at
the Academy, I used the same travel agency in Colorado Springs. Usually they managed to work magic with
flight schedules. This time,
unfortunately, our itinerary left us with an eight-hour layover in Moscow on
the way in and out of Tashkent.
In Moscow’s Domodedovo Airport, we had to stay in the same
small area of the airport for seven hours while we waited to transfer to the
other terminal for our flight to Tashkent.
After an hour we had seen everything in the stores. Eventually we sat at a table at a café
upstairs to try different dishes. The
entire time we were in the terminal the same CD was played repeatedly. It was a male Russian singer covering
American pop music in heavily accented English.
To this day I continue to hear the words, “Oops! I did it again.”
The transit area to our departing terminal was only manned
as scheduled flights prepared to leave.
We were terrified of missing the transit bus, so we watched the
checkpoint closely. A few times we had
asked the ladies who ran the checkpoint when we should expect to leave.
“When we tell you it’s time.”
“Will you come find us to tell us when it’s time to leave?”
“No, you’ll have to be ready and close by. Now go away and don’t bother us any more.”
About an hour two before we scheduled to depart we watched
as a female, a Russian national, walked up to ask some similar questions. Unhappy with their answers she pressed them
further, not wanting to miss her connecting flight. The conversation deteriorated to the point
of yelling and then screaming. Finally, a
large and hardened woman in uniform, obviously with some authority approached
the scene of the altercation. Hoping for
some help the lady seeking information turned to the new arrival. Instead of help she received an open-handed
blow to the side of the head, dropping her to the ground. The lady in charge told her colleagues to
carry the lady to the holding room for further processing.
We sat quietly and waited for them to announce our flight.
Our arrival into Tashkent came in the middle of the night
and was uneventful. The next day we were free to explore the capital city so the embassy hired a guide to take us around
the city. Before we left the hotel we
exchanged some US Dollars for the local Uzbek Som. I don’t remember the currency rate, but after
I exchanged $100 I had to put some of the stacks of cash into my backpack in
order to carry it. The highlight of the
day was a visit to the large open market in town.
 |
| Tashkent Bazaar |
In the evening one of the US Air Force officers, a major or
a lieutenant colonel, took us to an amazing restaurant for dinner. He was there to work with the Uzbek
government on military flyover issues in support of operations in Afghanistan. At dinner he told us of another Air Force
officer whom some local thugs beat. Upon
learning of what had happened the landlord, who was shall we say well connected
to those with some clout, arranged to have the thugs taken care of…somehow. Our host also told us about his mission to
buy a nice Persian rug for his wife. What
would have cost him a $5,000 in the US, he was able to purchase for under
$1,000 in Tashkent. He said the scary
part was carrying a backpack and two handbags full of Som to pay for the rug.
_________________________
Prior to our departure from the Air Force Academy we
received a threat and security briefing on what to expect and how to behave in
Uzbekistan. The Office of Special
Investigation was not excited about our location. Militant Islamic groups in the Fergana Valley
combined with the authoritarian methods of the Uzbek government, had created a
touchy situation. We were told we
shouldn’t go anywhere in uniform and should try to hide the fact that we were
Americans. Following the briefing I had
to convince two of our cadets not to back out.
(Two months after our trip, Uzbek police and military forces would shoot and kill over 700 people in Andijan. This action would begin to unravel the partnership with the United States.)
Our second day at the hotel we were met our military escort,
a young captain, from the Uzbek Air Force Academy. As asked, we wore our service dress uniforms. Our driver was an ethnic Russian who had
married an Uzbek and remained behind after the collapse of the Soviet Union.
We drove south out of Tashkent toward Djizzak. The roads were rough but we passed some
beautiful farms. Cows, goats, and horses
were staked along the highway allowing them to feed on the grass. Our conversation with our escort and driver
picked up steam as we got to know one another.
We were informed that as part of our itinerary we would visit the
academy in Djizzak, play a basketball game against their school team, take a
cultural trip to Samarqand, and then visit a tank school and aerodrome in Chita
before returning to Tashkent. The next
five days promised to be exciting.
First, however, we had to get past our fear of being shot,
kidnapped, and/or tortured. In Tashkent
police officers lined all of the main thoroughfares, standing every 30 to 50
yards apart. You could tell, especially
in the capital, that there was significant tension and the expectation that
something could happen at anytime. With
that experience and the memory of our security briefing, we were pulling into a
small town wearing our uniforms. I did
my best to assuage their concerns, reminding them that our escorts would do
their best to keep us out of danger.
Our fears spiked when we entered Djizzak. Luck would have it that we entered on a
holiday, I believe it was the anniversary of the city’s founding. The captain and the driver suggested that we
drive down to the celebration, kind of like a county fair, to walk around and
see the people. We pulled up to the edge
of the celebration. There was a
roadblock to keep vehicles out of the pedestrian and vendor areas. Our escort spoke quickly to the police at the
roadblock to explain who we were and the plan to have us walk around. They excitedly pulled the barricade to the
side to let us through. A couple of the
police officers then followed us to where we parked and continued to walk
around with us, our own, armed escort.
At this point, the cadets were beside themselves with
fear. Here we were in what was
considered a dangerous country, in a public setting, and wearing our
uniforms. Stepping out of the van we
immediately had hundreds of people stop whatever they were doing to take look
at us. One of the female cadets almost
climbed back into the van. Our escorts,
however, weren’t worried at all. In fact
they were excited to show us their city and have us join in the celebration.
Walking away from the van, the captain said, “Let’s have
them ride the Ferris wheel.”
So, we made our way over the back of a very long line to
wait our turn. As we stood there,
wondering if we were going to survive the afternoon, the people at the back of
the line turned and noticed us. Quickly
the word “American” began to trickle through the crowd until all of them,
parents and children, were looking at us, murmuring excitedly to one
another. Suddenly, one of them grabbed
one of the cadets by the arm and made a statement. In abject fear I looked at my escort. He simply smiled and nodded his head.
I thought, “Here it is.
We’re about to be kidnapped and held for ransom and our government
handlers are in on it.”
Quickly, before we could react, we were pulled forward to
the front of the line and pushed into the next open car on the Ferris
wheel. The locals were so excited to
have us celebrating their holiday with them that they honored us by giving up
their places in line. As we rode the Ferris
wheel we all agreed that with that type of hospitality, there was a good chance
we would make it home alive.
 |
| Ferris wheel in Djizzak |
__________________________________________
That night, after a quick tour of the campus and a great
dinner at the mess hall, our group was separated. I was dropped off at the officers’ quarters
just off of the campus. The cadets
stayed on the campus with their Uzbek counterparts.
My quarters was a two-room suite with a basic living space
with a sofa, chair, and desk and a bedroom.
A full-sized fridge, containing some bottled water, stood next to the
bed. Exhaustion overtook me and I went
to sleep on my thin mattress.
From the depths of my sleep, I heard a loud boom, and
explosion. Immediately I came fully
awake convinced that a bomb had just gone off outside of the barracks. I rolled off and under the bed, hoping it
would provide additional protection in the event of a second explosion. Lying there I noticed that the explosion had
thrown the fridge door open. In
terrified anticipation I wondered if there would be another explosion, whether
or not I was the target of the bombing, and if terrorists were on their way up
the stairs to get me.
Five minutes passed.
Ten minutes passed. Fifteen
minutes passed. Nothing else was
happening. I wondered if the attack was
coordinated. How were the cadets? Were they safe or was an attempt made on
their lives as well? Grateful that I
wasn’t injured in what may have been the opening salvo, I thought of having my
body sewn up in the local hospital; of a long flight home with serious
injuries. I tried not to think what it
would be like as a hostage.
The only sound was the water dripping from the bottles in
the fridge onto the floor. I couldn’t
tell how far the explosion had thrown the fridge, but I figured the blast must
have been significant to break open the plastic water bottles in my
fridge. After all, I was on the second
floor.
Finally, I poked my head out from under the bed to look
around, using the faint light from the open refrigerator. It appeared that the fridge hadn’t moved
much. The door was just hanging open
with the water dripping out. I lay there
a few more minutes as it dawned on me what may have occurred. After a few more long minutes, I pulled
myself out from under the bed and crawled to the fridge, not wanting to make
any type of silhouette against the window, you know, in case there was a sniper
waiting for me outside.
Reaching the fridge door, I pushed it shut some so I could
maneuver to peer inside the fridge.
There sat a two-liter plastic water bottle with a hole blown in the
side. Turning the bottle I read the
label, mineral water. There was also a
bottle of regular water. I touched
it. It was frozen. The bottle of mineral water had exploded as
the carbonated water expanded with the dropping temperature. The bomb had exploded inside my room, inside
the fridge. My hosts had planted it
there because they knew, that unlike them, Americans like their drinks
cold. To make sure the water was cold,
they had turned the temperature very low on the fridge. Because they never cooled their mineral
water, they had no idea that it would freeze and explode.
I sat on the bed for several more minutes trying to
relax. Once my heart rate had dropped, I
took a towel from the bathroom, wiped up the mess, and checked my watch. It was around three in the morning. At some point I did manage to fall back
asleep, but it wasn’t restful.
The next morning the escort officer asked me if my quarters
were comfortable. I smiled and said they
were wonderful. The second night there
was a fresh bottle of mineral water in the fridge. I pulled it out and set it on the table.
________________________________________
The remainder of the trip was amazing. Our game of basketball against the school
team was a little lopsided. Out of the
five of us only one had any decent skill at the game. One of our female cadets was extremely
competitive, (she wasn’t the one with skill), and managed to put a three inch
scratch mark on the face of one of the opposing players.
One of their officers had been a helicopter pilot during the
Soviet invasion and occupation of Afghanistan.
He forgave me for the Stinger missiles that were launched at him and for
those that had killed his friends.
For lunch on our second day the deputy commander of their
academy hosted us. He was an ethnic
Uzbek, a lieutenant colonel. At the
close of an amazing lunch, during which he boasted of the service the Uzbeks
were providing to the Americans in Afghanistan, he asked us to drink a toast
with him. He was shocked to learn that
three of us were Mormon and wouldn’t drink the alcohol. Perhaps feeling guilty that he, as a Muslim,
regularly drank alcohol, he pushed us hard to drink with him. He challenged our manhood and insinuated that
we were offending him. I told him I had
no intention of offending him, but that if forced to choose, I would rather
offend him than my God. In all my time
in Russia and other countries, I had never been treated so rudely for not
drinking alcohol.
(A month later I turned the tables on him at the Air Force
Academy in Colorado Springs. I told him
that I would be offended and that our general would be offended if he didn’t
eat a ham sandwich with us at the mess hall.
He didn’t speak English so he couldn’t complain to anyone. Of course, as a good host I had made sure
they had a nice halal alternative for him.)
After two or three days in Djizzak, we loaded back into the
van for a trip to Samarqand. Two of the
Uzbek cadets came with us. Once in
Samarqand we also picked up a female tour guide who spoke excellent
English. We visited the Holy Daniel, a
site that is believed by some to hold some relics of Daniel the prophet of the
Old Testament. Supposedly it contains
his arm bone and some believe that it continues to grow, hence the long
sepulcher. We also visited the mausoleum
of Tamerlane and the Registan, or Public Square of the old city. The Islamic architecture and design of these
buildings is amazing. Again we visited
an open market and purchased round loaves of bread to eat while we walked
around.
 |
| Registan (Public Square) Samarqand |
From Samarqand we stopped by an active Uzbek Air Force
aerodrome, or air base. During our lunch
with some of their helicopter pilots in the Officers’ Club we were invited to
fly with them in their helicopters. When
we tried to decline the offer, they told us that they often fly our special
forces into Afghanistan and that we shouldn’t be so scared. Luckily a storm front moved in before they
could get the helicopters, large Mi-8s, ready to fly. We had to settle for a quick walk through of
the helicopters.
 |
| Mi-8 Helicopter |
|
Our final stop before returning to Tashkent was a tank
school in Chita. When we arrived it was
obvious that they weren’t clear on when we were supposed to arrive. Nothing was ready but they managed to feed us
a late dinner and get us berthed in their barracks. I was put in a room with a bare mattress and
a scratchy wool blanket. The next
morning we played with their tank simulators and then visited their World War
II museum that focused on the epic tank battles against the Wehrmacht.
On the way into Tashkent, our escort officer stopped to feed
us one last meal at a restaurant. All of
us were tired and would have preferred to go straight to our 5-star hotel for a
shower, some sleep, and then maybe some food.
As the gracious host he was thrilled to spend a little more time with
us. He used it as an opportunity to get
very drunk. Our female cadet who was
only 18 years old asked if she could partake of the alcohol since she was of
legal age in Uzbekistan. Since Academy
rules allowed for it and there were going to be three of us with her who
weren’t drinking, I told her I had no problem with it. She said it was her first time ever trying
alcohol and I’m pretty sure she was being honest.
Once we finally arrived back at the hotel in Tashkent our
first stop actually was the business center to send emails to family assuring
them that we were alive. I sat next to
the young girl who had tried alcohol for the first time. I watched as she typed her email:
“Dear mom and dad, I’m in Uzbekistan. I think I’m drunk for the first time ever.”
Then she clicked send.
Immediately I jumped on her computer and sent her parents another email
giving them the details and letting them know that she was safe.
The next day at Domodedovo airport in Moscow I sat watching
snowflakes fall against the big window, and slowly drifted to sleep to the
sound of a Russian man singing, “Oops! I did it again.”
