Precerpt from In with the East Wind: A Mary Poppins Kind of Life - Afghanistan, Part 2: Camp Julien
Precerpt (excerpt prior to publication from the forthcoming memoir, In with the East: A Mary Poppins Kind of Life by Dr. Betty Lou Leaver
Camp Julien: Barren Beauty and Blunt Reality
When I arrived at Camp Julien, I was surprised at how barren it was. The surrounding mountains looked more than arid—they looked as if the “green” had been bombed out of them. It probably had.
Facilities and Perspective
The facilities, from what I could see, were pretty good—though everyone has their own comfort level with roughing it. Mine is fairly high. Life in Acton had been just barely on the grid. We grew our own food, milked our own cows, and butchered our own animals for meat. (I hated that part, so it’s pretty amazing that I ended up serving in the Army and then spent much of my civilian career working for the Army.)
All the structures at Camp Julien were tents—large and small. The teachers worked in the same tent they slept in. They complained about it, but I couldn’t fully understand their dissatisfaction. They had board flooring (not dirt!), air conditioning (I was astounded this was even possible), and even internet capability. What more did they need? Well, they had a long list—but nothing on it was appropriate or feasible in that setting.
As for “my” tent, I didn’t really have one of my own. I worked in both the teachers’ space and with the leadership in their areas. But I did have a place to sleep: a massive Quonset hut designated for women. It was the same size as the ones for men, which typically held 40 cots crammed together. But at that time, there was only one woman assigned to Camp Julien. She and I made two. I had my pick of 39 identical cots.
Mortar Attacks (and Deep Sleep)
Camp Julien experienced frequent mortar attacks, so no one was surprised when one took place on my second night there. Still, it dominated breakfast conversation the next morning. Unfortunately, I had nothing to contribute—because I had slept through it.
My hut was right next to the fortified bunker where everyone was supposed to scramble during attacks. It would’ve been easy to roll out of bed and tumble in. But I am a notoriously deep sleeper. Once I’m out, I don’t wake until the sun does it for me. The other woman in camp had gone to Kabul and stayed overnight in the barracks, so I was alone in the tent. No light sleeper was there to shake me awake.
My husband always said I could sleep through anything. Well, I did. I slept through a freaking mortar attack.
The Queen’s Palace (Tajbeg Palace)
Right next to Camp Julien was Camp Dibbs. The only thing I remember about it is that we walked there three times a day for chow. (At night, we could get delicious Afghan food at a “restaurant” in Camp Julien—a small tent with a couple of long tables. Nothing beats Afghan cuisine.)
Just beyond Camp Dibbs was what we called the Queen’s Palace—though its actual name is Tajbeg Palace. Nestled in the hills southwest of Kabul in the Darulaman area, it was only a short walk from our camps. It had once been a majestic structure:
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Built in the 1920s during King Amanullah Khan’s modernization efforts
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Intended as a royal residence for Queen Soraya Tarzi (hence the nickname)
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Located atop Tapa-e-Tajbeg, where an earlier Timurid queen’s palace had once stood
A few comrades and I made the trek up the hill for a quick visit. I was not prepared for what I saw.
The palace was completely destroyed. Bombed into fragments. Appropriately framed by those stark, sparsely vegetated hills. It’s amazing anything was still standing—first the Soviets had used it as military headquarters, then President Amin was killed there, then the civil war battered what remained.
Walking through the skeletal columns and roofless rooms was sobering. Any romantic idea of “palace” vanished. (I’ve heard the Germans later helped restore it. Maybe someday I’ll see it in its full grandeur.) The site symbolizes Afghanistan’s layered past—royal ambition, foreign occupation, and cultural resilience, all etched into broken stone.
The Great Escape (in Pajamas)
At the end of my time at Camp Julien, I was scheduled to travel with a small group into Kabul. Our armored personnel carrier—the “rhino,” as it was called—was set to depart at 0600.
At 0500, I was fast asleep when the major who had accompanied me to Afghanistan burst into my tent.
“Doktora, Doktora! They are leaving!”
US intelligence had just discovered that Taliban intelligence had learned our travel plans. The rhino is tough, but not invincible. So they decided to leave early.
Only… no one had told the only woman in camp.
Sheesh. When you’re the only one, you are definitely alone.
God bless that major. He never would have left without me. But the others were already loading up and preparing to roll out. And there I was, in my pajamas.
No time to change properly. I threw my clothes on over my pajamas, grabbed my gear, and sprinted. We made it.
Shades of running through Terminal D at Dulles.
Book Description:
From the barefoot freedom of rural Maine to the diplomatic halls of Central Asia, from rescuing a dying child in Siberia to training astronauts in Houston and Star City, In with the East Wind traces an extraordinary life lived in service, not strategy.
Unlike those who chase opportunity, the author responded to it—boarding planes, crossing borders, and stepping into urgent roles she never sought but never declined. Over 75 years and 26 countries, she worked as a teacher, soldier, linguist, professor, diplomat, and cultural ambassador. Whether guiding Turkmen diplomats, mentoring Russian scholars, or founding academic programs in unlikely places, her journey unfolded through a steady stream of voices asking: Can you come help us?
Told through an alphabetical journey across places that shaped her—from Acton, Maine to Uzbekistan—this memoir is rich with insight, adventure, and deep humanity. At its heart lies the quiet power of answering the call to serve, wherever it may lead.
Like Mary Poppins, she drifted in with the East Wind—bringing what was needed, staying just long enough, and leaving behind transformation. Then she returned home, until the next wind called.
From the forthcoming book:
In with the East Wind...A Mary Poppins Kind of Life
Volume 1: ABC Lands
by Dr. Betty Lou Leaver
For most posts about this book, click HERE.
for more posts by and about Betty Lou Leaver, click HERE.
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