Links
Archives
- 01/01/2003 - 02/01/2003
- 02/01/2003 - 03/01/2003
- 01/01/2004 - 02/01/2004
- 02/01/2004 - 03/01/2004
- 03/01/2004 - 04/01/2004
- 04/01/2004 - 05/01/2004
- 05/01/2004 - 06/01/2004
- 06/01/2004 - 07/01/2004
- 07/01/2004 - 08/01/2004
- 08/01/2004 - 09/01/2004
- 09/01/2004 - 10/01/2004
- 10/01/2004 - 11/01/2004
- 11/01/2004 - 12/01/2004
- 01/01/2005 - 02/01/2005
- 08/01/2007 - 09/01/2007
Time to once again open my life up a little in order to share the plethora of wealth I'm about to absorb. I'm going to be back in Iraq through September, so hop on board and check back every couple of days, I'll do my best to update as much as possible. Questions? dtate38@cox.net And check out the site I'm working with: http://www.billroggio.com Support independent journalism!
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Saturday, October 9th 2004 0430
The night was miserable. Period. No other way to put it. We had broken down the gear the night before, tarped it and rode out the storm. It was a good one. After a while I decided just to get up and take shelter inside until the sun rose, which wasn't far off.
I was told the night before that the stadium would be taking voters, so I had planned to stay at the stadium for the coverage. Well, 0800 rolls around and there's no one around. The polls open at 0700. So I quickly decide that we're going to have to find a polling center. Turns out there's one across thee street about a quarter mile. So I tell Abdullah to get ready to go with me since the BBC feed wasn't until 1100. He flat out refused. He went into a speech about how I told him he didn't have to leave the perimeter (which I did). I reminded him that this was one of the most historic days in his country's history and that he needed to get moving. He didn't budge. "But it's dangerous." For just a second, I couldn't help myself, "Well no shit Abdullah, I'm an American!" as I pulled at the skin on my arm. After 10 minutes of patriotic stuff, I told him that if he didn't come, it was his last paycheck with IHA. A few minutes later he comes up to me with this concerned look and said, "We can go now." "Oh... it's ok with you?" I ask.
So we head out of the perimeter and toward the polling site. The view was amazing. My heart started to race as we looked down the street and saw hundreds of people streaming to the ballot box. The excitement was feverish because as soon as I start shooting the sequence, Abdullah starts hoping around, all excited about what was happening. "Told ya." I said. "This is so great!" You could see he was genuinely excited.
We made our way to the ballot center, but they wouldn't let me in because I didn't have a voting card. It took about five minutes of wrangling, but eventually they let us in and I started shooting. The feeling was such a good feeling. There was an atmosphere of excitement that is hard to explain. We didn't stay long because we wanted to get the first pictures out, to me this was a huge, historic moment and we were going to win.
We make our way back to thee stadium and begin the feed process. Wouldn't you know it that there's trouble in Istanbul or in Kandahar. Regardless, it's somewhere and we miss our feed opportunity before the Reuters booking. I must admit, I was a bit disappointed. The problem was that the guy in Istanbul didn't know how to accept my NTSC format. Of all the feeds they've taken from me, the one day that we've all been waiting for and they have a novice at the helm. Unbelievable. Never have we had this problem.
We had to shake it off and get over to the hospital where the women were designated to vote. Now, if you know anything about Afghan culture, looking at other women, let alone taking their picture, is a big social no-no, so it's like walking on eggshells for this part.
When we get to the high school, like at the other site, there's people streaming in to vote and all of them women. Burkhas of all shapes, sizes and colors heading up the street. Few women wore less than a bhurka. That is completely understandable considering the conservative nature of the region we're in.
Once again we get stopped at the gate and it takes a ton of sweet talking, but they let us in. I have five minutes. I gingerly start shooting, slowly working my way into where I want to be. A few women covered their faces in haste, one asked why I was taking her picture. I just told her that it was a very special day and the world wanted to see.
As quickly as we came, we were gone. No time to spare and none extra given. We hop in a taxi thing (this three wheel covered mini taxi that is colorfully decorated and is an eastern cousin of the go-cart) and make our way back to the stadium where we feed again then get set for the impending breaking news.
We waited, and waited and the news didn't come. The news did come, just not like everyone thought. Very little violence reported in the country except a few small incidents. In Kandahar, a police officer was killed by an IED, but other than that, it was very quiet.
Not only was it quiet in and around Kandahar, but so were the TV stations. A couple of feeds, but no live shots. Some agency's we knew were in town, like Al Jazeera and APTN didn't even feed anything. We come all the way to Kandahaar and no one cares because things went GOOD. That's the news: SECURITY IN AFGHANISTAN CARRIES ELECTIONS FORWARD
It really is too bad to see that correlation, but it's there and there is no other explanation.
Sunday, October 10th 2004 0600
I woke up with the same foul indigestion I had when I got sick at the Bagram Burger King and I knew I was in trouble. Before long, I was losing everything and the sickness was back.
Almost first thing in the morning, this New York Times photographer stopped in to see how things were going. After a second of talking, he says, "You're not Dave are you?" Turns out this is a good friend of my former-partner, Paul, who now resides outside Denver. Wow, what an odd finish to our two emails!!! Hated to do it, but the conversation was cut way short as I made my way to bed.
The day was the worst yet. I could hardly move, making it up just long enough to shot the necessities like trucks and choppers bring in the ballots. The choppers were U.N. white Mi-8s and flown by Russian crews. They would take their time and land on a small slab of concrete just inside the stadium. Quite the sight.
The rest of the day I just tried to sleep. I was seriously ill and could think of nothing but how bad I felt. It's that sickness where you say to yourself, "This can't get worse...". Then the twice an hour trips to the worst bathroom you've ever had to use awaited like clockwork. The worst part was digging through the trash heap and the old rations bags looking for the toilet paper no one uses... except me. Please help me sleep this off.
The night was miserable. Period. No other way to put it. We had broken down the gear the night before, tarped it and rode out the storm. It was a good one. After a while I decided just to get up and take shelter inside until the sun rose, which wasn't far off.
I was told the night before that the stadium would be taking voters, so I had planned to stay at the stadium for the coverage. Well, 0800 rolls around and there's no one around. The polls open at 0700. So I quickly decide that we're going to have to find a polling center. Turns out there's one across thee street about a quarter mile. So I tell Abdullah to get ready to go with me since the BBC feed wasn't until 1100. He flat out refused. He went into a speech about how I told him he didn't have to leave the perimeter (which I did). I reminded him that this was one of the most historic days in his country's history and that he needed to get moving. He didn't budge. "But it's dangerous." For just a second, I couldn't help myself, "Well no shit Abdullah, I'm an American!" as I pulled at the skin on my arm. After 10 minutes of patriotic stuff, I told him that if he didn't come, it was his last paycheck with IHA. A few minutes later he comes up to me with this concerned look and said, "We can go now." "Oh... it's ok with you?" I ask.
So we head out of the perimeter and toward the polling site. The view was amazing. My heart started to race as we looked down the street and saw hundreds of people streaming to the ballot box. The excitement was feverish because as soon as I start shooting the sequence, Abdullah starts hoping around, all excited about what was happening. "Told ya." I said. "This is so great!" You could see he was genuinely excited.
We made our way to the ballot center, but they wouldn't let me in because I didn't have a voting card. It took about five minutes of wrangling, but eventually they let us in and I started shooting. The feeling was such a good feeling. There was an atmosphere of excitement that is hard to explain. We didn't stay long because we wanted to get the first pictures out, to me this was a huge, historic moment and we were going to win.
We make our way back to thee stadium and begin the feed process. Wouldn't you know it that there's trouble in Istanbul or in Kandahar. Regardless, it's somewhere and we miss our feed opportunity before the Reuters booking. I must admit, I was a bit disappointed. The problem was that the guy in Istanbul didn't know how to accept my NTSC format. Of all the feeds they've taken from me, the one day that we've all been waiting for and they have a novice at the helm. Unbelievable. Never have we had this problem.
We had to shake it off and get over to the hospital where the women were designated to vote. Now, if you know anything about Afghan culture, looking at other women, let alone taking their picture, is a big social no-no, so it's like walking on eggshells for this part.
When we get to the high school, like at the other site, there's people streaming in to vote and all of them women. Burkhas of all shapes, sizes and colors heading up the street. Few women wore less than a bhurka. That is completely understandable considering the conservative nature of the region we're in.
Once again we get stopped at the gate and it takes a ton of sweet talking, but they let us in. I have five minutes. I gingerly start shooting, slowly working my way into where I want to be. A few women covered their faces in haste, one asked why I was taking her picture. I just told her that it was a very special day and the world wanted to see.
As quickly as we came, we were gone. No time to spare and none extra given. We hop in a taxi thing (this three wheel covered mini taxi that is colorfully decorated and is an eastern cousin of the go-cart) and make our way back to the stadium where we feed again then get set for the impending breaking news.
We waited, and waited and the news didn't come. The news did come, just not like everyone thought. Very little violence reported in the country except a few small incidents. In Kandahar, a police officer was killed by an IED, but other than that, it was very quiet.
Not only was it quiet in and around Kandahar, but so were the TV stations. A couple of feeds, but no live shots. Some agency's we knew were in town, like Al Jazeera and APTN didn't even feed anything. We come all the way to Kandahaar and no one cares because things went GOOD. That's the news: SECURITY IN AFGHANISTAN CARRIES ELECTIONS FORWARD
It really is too bad to see that correlation, but it's there and there is no other explanation.
Sunday, October 10th 2004 0600
I woke up with the same foul indigestion I had when I got sick at the Bagram Burger King and I knew I was in trouble. Before long, I was losing everything and the sickness was back.
Almost first thing in the morning, this New York Times photographer stopped in to see how things were going. After a second of talking, he says, "You're not Dave are you?" Turns out this is a good friend of my former-partner, Paul, who now resides outside Denver. Wow, what an odd finish to our two emails!!! Hated to do it, but the conversation was cut way short as I made my way to bed.
The day was the worst yet. I could hardly move, making it up just long enough to shot the necessities like trucks and choppers bring in the ballots. The choppers were U.N. white Mi-8s and flown by Russian crews. They would take their time and land on a small slab of concrete just inside the stadium. Quite the sight.
The rest of the day I just tried to sleep. I was seriously ill and could think of nothing but how bad I felt. It's that sickness where you say to yourself, "This can't get worse...". Then the twice an hour trips to the worst bathroom you've ever had to use awaited like clockwork. The worst part was digging through the trash heap and the old rations bags looking for the toilet paper no one uses... except me. Please help me sleep this off.
