Incredible shrinking world

So my life was not terribly expansive to begin with. When not traveling to a field office, I rotated between the office and the guesthouse with occasional excursions to the ooooh grocery store or aaaaah restaurant. And lately there has been some necessary Christmas shopping - where you are followed by small boys asking you to buy a map, or a pack of chewing gum and they keep saying "madame, madame, I am your bodyguard". Not sure if it's amusing for them or if there is a monetary game at play.

Anyway, life is small. It seemed inconceivable that it could get smaller. But it has. The Kabul office is bursting at the seams - a good thing in terms of program growth but bad in that our office can't grow. We needed a temporary solution to the desk deficit. The answer took shape in the form of the Asmara satellite office. The first floor of my guesthouse has a large room which, until last week, contained a rather nice, but lonely pool table. Now, it contains my program's office. Essentially I can wake up, roll down the stairs and be sitting at my desk. And I have to say, I really like this arrangement for a variety of reasons, namely INTERNET! Because we are an office, we are the only guesthouse with internet. So, on second thought, my Kabul world may have closed in but my connection to the outside world has cracked wide open.

(Photo: Rare clear view from the top of the guesthouse over Kabul at sunset)

PLK field trip

The reason for adventurous travels through the Salang Pass was to visit our program office in Pulikhumri (PLK) which oversees operations for projects in Baghlan Province. Because of security concerns, we could only visit project sites within the city limits even though most of our infrastructure, livestock and agriculture projects take place in rural communities.

Still, it was very productive trip and a great break from what has become the monotony of Kabul. While in PLK we visited a spillway project and an old textile factory which will be the future site for a cash-for-work project targeting women. They will be trained to "weave" gabions. What is a gabion? Oh the things I get to learn on this job. A gabion is a wire cage that is used in protection wall construction to protect agriculture land and communities from flooding. Stones and cement are packed into the gabions which reinforce the wall structure. I'm sure I'll find a use for that information someday. Construction trivia pursuit? In the meantime, I'll make use of the information to generate some donor interest stories about improving the lives of women. (Photo: a folded up gabion)

Another interesting thing I learned about is devil's dung. A crop grown in the wild on hill-sides. The resin that oozes out of a cut bulb, hardens, is pulverized, cut with flour and used in very small amounts in Indian cooking (the ingredient is called asafoetida). There are also claims for its medicinal qualities. Recent articles claim it could fight H1N1. We met with several farmers to discuss how the crop is cultivated and what they need to be more successful. Devil's dung has earned its name, because the stench is a wretched cross between sulfur and rancid onions. After sitting in a room for two hours with the odor wafting about, I was nauseated and had to leave. Cooking apparently changes the smell and flavor, so I haven't completely sworn it off - how can you with a daring name like devil's dung. (Photo: resins and seeds)

Salang Pass

This past week was spent in Pulikhumri in Baghlan Province. The drive from Kabul goes through the Salang Pass through the Hindu Kush Mountains, normally takes about 5 hours with good weather and favorable traffic conditions. This trip took 8 hours each way. The pass was filled with snow requiring snow chains and slow driving. On the way over we made good time but shortly after passing through the Salang Pass tunnel (2.6 km of darkness and diesel fumes) we ran into a traffic jam of cars and trucks inching their way along the two-lane mountain road. It was a bright, sunny day but that meant ice and vehicles going up to the pass were having trouble gaining traction.

The return home, we started before dawn which combined with an overcast, snowy day meant fewer cars on the road and less ice. It still took 8 hours, but it was slow and steady and rather pretty too. And even though it was just as dark in the tunnel, with oncoming headlights looking like the dragon eyes in a cave, the air was clearer and we were thankfully able to pass through quickly.

2nd Eid

I am not terribly knowledgeable of Islam admittedly, but this weekend is 2^nd Eid, also known in English as Big Eid. It is the time when Muslims, who can, travel to Mecca for the Hajj – one of five actions to be up held as part of following Islam. It is also a five day weekend. And while for me that means life grinds to a near halt, there is a lot more activity around Kabul – many more people out on the street – most specifically, I have seen more women out and about than normal.

From my new guesthouse room, on the second floor facing the street, I can hear the neighborhood boys playing all day outside on the street. And, like boys everywhere, they are setting off celebratory firecracker. While a normal activity elsewhere, when you live in a city where popping or thudding noises give pause, it seems strange.

The good thing about the Eid weekend coinciding with Thanksgiving Day weekend, is it gave us something to do over the five...long…boring…days. Fortunately I attended both a T-day dinner on Thursday and a second “transitional” dinner on Friday. The latter was Thanksgiving themed food followed by a Christmas-y white-elephant gift exchange (I ended up with a bottle of balsamic vinegar in a red sequined zippered wine bag), a viewing of Charlie Brown Christmas special and The Grinch.

As I write, there are two more days-off to go. There is only so much internet (only available at the office), sleeping, reading, exercising and TV watching a person can handle.

Kabul Thanksgiving

I had been invited to my colleagues’ Cathy & Mike’s Thanksgiving day dinner. And since I had successfully made pumpkin pie from scratch in the Maldives, my ego volunteered me to reproduce said accomplishment for this dinner to feed 14 guests.

As luck would have it, the cultures of the world aligned and the Big Eid holiday coincided with the T-day weekend. Therefore, I had a significant amount of time to accomplish my mission. And if the guests could be trusted – many of whom were non-Americans – the pies were successful. But with any recipe from home, success depended upon a certain amount of creativity and intuition. But three hours of pumpkin cooking, followed by pureeing and draining, a rectangular pan as a second pie plate stand-in, cleaning a suspicious blender, estimating eggs, milk, sugar, pumpkin and pretty much every ingredient, the end product was edible and rather tasty – though strangely colored.

However, the biggest adventure during the pie making was navigating the oven. I have little experience with gas ovens, and no experience with lighting them. I had been warned that this one could be volatile, but still was not prepared for the mini-explosion that occurred when I lit it the first night. No injuries were sustained, and the next morning it lit rather gently. The oven was all bark and no bite because although I converted Fahrenheit degrees to Celsius, I’m pretty sure it didn’t matter since the pies required an extra half hour to bake.

Inauguration Day

It's a ghost town in Kabul. If there were tumble weeds to be had, they would be blowing through the streets. The reason for the empty streets is the inauguration imposed city lock down. Hilary and Holbrooke are in town along with a host of other dignitaries and with the heightened threat of violence this brings, they have put up road blocks and made it a national holiday. This means that our national staff have the day off but the expats were supposed to be able to come to the office. As it turns out, two of us made it through the road block searches before the decision was made for everyone to stay in the guesthouses until the road blocks lifted.

Later that morning the radio room guys told us two that they could walk us back to the guest houses when we were ready. On the walk home, I noticed that the road blocks were gone. However, we were still a) not allowed to return to the office until 2p and b) a group of us walked back to the office. Why walking was preferable to driving, I do not understand. At any rate, being able to walk outside twice in one day - which I've only done a few times since I've been here - was a good but strange experience.

In other news, since returning to Kabul from a great R&R in the states, I have moved into a different guest house. I have a much bigger room, on a second floor and I am living with colleagues - a few permanent and some just passing through. It is a vast improvement.

Kabul odds and ends

As life falls into usual patterns, there seems to be fewer events and observations to write about. Unfortunately, the usual pattern of life in Kabul is not always so pleasant. Within the past week there was work discord, the dramatic UN situation and an earthquake - the second earthquake in one week. And there is the daily waiting game to find out what will happen with the election. But the day-to-day life goes on in its perpetual guesthouse to office rotation.

Interspersed, there are some more enjoyable moments. Last week, I sat down with two of our three female staff while they ate lunch and heard about what it's like to be a woman in Kabul. One had had an arranged marriage - though she was given final say. And she was sure to ask her potential husband if he supported her going to school, working and wearing modern clothes. She was very happy that he did. The other, if I understood correctly, has opted to remain at home unmarried because she wants the freedom to have a job.

Also, on Friday, we received a welcomed break from the tension of Kabul by attending the annual pumpkin carving party hosted by the wildlife conservation society guesthouse. Saturday was one more outing to pick up last minute gifts before I head out on R&R. To say I'm looking forward to it, is a mild understatement. Life is Kabul is inexplicably as complex as it is simple.

The 3rd gender (aka expat women)

As an expat female, especially in countries where women have a defined position in society, it is an interesting experience navigating social customs. Actually, I don't think they know what to do with me, which is probably for the best. And so, I float between two worlds with societal etiquette as only a guideline. True, in AFG, outside a building, I wear a headscarf, and keep myself dressed modestly - long tops, high necklines and long sleeves (no sun-related aging here). But I work, travel and eat with the men. I use their restroom, sit at their table, and attend their meetings. Granted, I also have rules about where I can sit in the car (more than one man? Sit in the front seat. One man? I sit in the back). And when greeting a man, I take his lead on whether to shake hands.

When I was last in Faizabad, one of the national staff invited us to his house for dinner. Again, per usual, I was the only woman present. At the end of dinner, our host brought in a gift from his wife for me - a very bright shawl. And then he asked me to step out of the room so I could meet her. Once the dining room door closed, he motioned her upstairs. She was very friendly and asked me to come visit her sometime because she is home alone. And then she hurried downstairs, the door was reopened, and I joined the men again. It was decidedly surreal and a stark reminder of the different worlds inhabited by AFG men and women. And a reminder of how I am able to pass between the two.

The road to Pul-i-Khumri

The past week has flown by. After some significant weekend down time, partly inspired by an unhappy stomach, we have gone head-long into what will be a week and a half of meetings and travel. Our program requires a serious overhaul. In other words, structure. For two very long and tedious days, the program's upper management team duked it out in the Kabul makeshift conference room in order to first figure out how decisions, design and project implementation has worked (or not) up until now. I will spare the reader the gory details, but no lives were lost, though perhaps a bit of sanity.

With a project cycle in place, corresponding forms developed, and a rudimentary training plan at the ready, we headed out Tuesday on the 5 hr long drive to Pul-i-Khumri, Baghlan Province for the first of two trainings. First stop (for the food-minded) was lunch at a road-side shack where we ate giant, flat, deep-fried potato/leek samosas dipped in a thin salsa.

In someways it was a very nice drive...for the most part paved, and very scenic. The mountains I had seen from the plane, I was now driving up and through. The road is fairly well traveled especially by the most pimped out Pakistani (I'm told) cargo trucks. I wish our semis in America sported similar flare. Tuk-tuks have nothing on these gaudy art installations on wheels. The downside (figuratively) of driving through the mountains was the winter weather road protection. Really, really long man-made tunnels. Sure they keep the elements off the road, but they also prevent road repair and hold in the diesel fumes from the glamor trucks. On one particularly long stretch of tunnel, with no vents, the fumes were overwhelming. Had there been a breakdown in the tunnel, a) I would have feared for fire, but more concerning b) feared aphyxiation. And since the road condition is particularly bad, and it's pitch dark, you frequently see headlights coming straight at you while cars (fortunately, slowly) navigate around slow trucks, rivets and potholes.

On the brighter side, sort of, there were numerous reminders of the Soviets littered along the way. Abandoned tank hulls, tank tread, and roofless barracks.

Back to Faizabad

Two days after returning to Kabul, I was back on the milk-run plane to Faizabad. We hosted the program quarterly meeting, bringing together national staff from two other agencies who are implementing projects under the same grant in other parts of the country. Many had never been to Badakhshan before. The first day was spent in a very hot, stuffy meeting room in the closest thing to a hotel Faizabad has to offer - and where the other agencies' staff stayed. Though one would think, if you are going to have a conference room in a hotel, public toilets might be a bright idea. As it was, one of our guests kindly let me use his room's bathroom.

The following two days were spent on field trips. We revisited the two canal sites Peter and I went to on our last visit - it was interesting to see the progress. Though we also noted that perhaps some construction site safety training might be in order. OSHA would have a conniption.

On the second day we also visited the calf/lamb farmers participating in a "fattening" project. I was the only visible female over the age of 9 in a crowd of men and starring boys. After the formal meeting, and a visit to a farmer's outhouse - an adventure complete with a guard dog which made a rabies immunization seem like a good idea - we went to watch a calf being weighed. Soon, however, my oddity gathered more attention and a herd of children were peering and giggling at me. Pete helped me say a few things in Dari and then we got a rare group photo - generally you sneak photos because they are camera shy and as it is, don't smile for photos. But they seemed to enjoy looking at themselves in the photo afterwards.

It was a long and tiring week. And to stretch it out, our flight back to Kabul was delayed but we got a glimpse inside the relationship between the Faizabad airport and the German military. The military were working on the the airstrip and because the plane had missed its landing window (during their lunch break), it had to wait in Kunduz until they were done with their work before it could land. The airport operator had to call a man appropriately named "Rolf" to get permission to use the runway. Fortunately, Rolf was cooperative and we got back to Kabul three hours late.

Just Another Travel Week...

The past week went fast. No sooner did I have my new, liberating visa in hand, but I started the long trpi to Barcelona for a quick holiday. It began with an early morning drive to the Kabul Airport. However, they hold you at a gate until the terminal is ready to receive you. Amongst a sea of humanity awaiting incoming Eid flights, and along with many disgruntled German would-be travelers, it was an hour before boarding the 30 sec shuttle ride. By coincidence, the gal I was frisked with in security ended up as my seat-mate on the flight. She was on her way to visit her boyfriend. They work for a contractor that guards military mail and fuel deliveries and he'd just been shot through the shoulder, neck and jaw. Amazingly he survived and was medivaced to Germany. She's the HR mgr and reported they had lost 40, mostly national, staff in the past month. Cookie delivery is a dangerous business.

Barcelona was good! Admittedly I had a bit of Stockholm Syndrome on my way there, as I suddenly missed my Kabul "caged" life and felt that this big, free world was rather scary in comparison. One good night's sleep, amazing hotel room view and morning walk later, and I was cured. Barcelona is rather beautiful. Between the views, the architecture and the history, you can really get lost in it (meeting up with one's fella helps too).

On the flip side of the surrealism coin, I had a bit of a crisis about returning to Kabul. Limbo land of: unsure if I want to go back, but not sure where else to go was not a reassuring of feeling. But fortunately it passed and the trip home was uneventful. The Frankfurt-Kabul flight was just as empty as the one out, so I had three seats at my Ambien-induced sleep disposal. Arriving at 5:30am with a full day at the office was a rough re-entry but it's Kabul life like I left it.

Tomorrow morning we fly north to Faizabad for our quarterly program meeting.

Run for the Border

Murphy has been busy this week spreading his law on thick. Sunday morning I discovered that most of my random assortment of foreign currency (UAE especially) had been lifted from the back of my sock drawer. That was a rather rude awakening and reminded me of how open all my things are when I'm not home. So I put everything of value or interest into the pseudo-closet which has a latch and made use of the lock I brought. But wait, there's more. Upon arriving at work, and checking on my visa, I learned that I still had not received my six-month multiple entry visa which meant that if I left on Friday for Barcelona, I would not be able to get into the country again. Not happy times.

I reported both situations to the powers-that-be. The money will never be returned but it turns out most of the expats here have had money stolen recently (extra financial pressure during Ramadan?). And the visa-waiting game started. Sunday came and went and no progress, the deadline of Monday came and still it wasn't completed. Finally, the decision and arrangements were made for me to get on a flight Tuesday morning for Dubai, where a visa expediter would meet me, take me to the Afghan Embassy and the visa would be procured. I would spend the night and fly back Wednesday. Long story short, the task was completed (in 2 hrs what couldn't be done in three weeks in country) and I returned to Kabul exhausted but triumphant. (Picture from my hotel room)

This morning, Thursday, I called for my usual car pick-up and was told that due to a security concern, we were not to report to work until 9am. Turns out there was concern, due to the election results, and resulting processions (which I didn't hear the night before), that something might happen. Nothing during the morning . But this being Peace Day, at noon, the windows rattled as a suicide attack went off a couple kilometers away.

It has been quite a week in Kabul.

Weekend "fun" in Kabul

This has been my first and, for a while, my only full weekend in Kabul. And I feel like I've had a well-rounded experience of what an expat does during the Friday/Saturday weekend.

Thursday night people generally go out, and often go out drinking. In our dull MC way, we stayed in at the "frat" guesthouse, played some pool, had a drink on the upstairs patio and ate apple pie. Yes, wild and crazy we are. The cook at my guesthouse used to work in a bakery in Pakistan and since I had the feeling he was itching to bake, I wrote that morning on the kitchen whiteboard "apple pie" and came home at lunch to fabulous crusty-bakery smells and the most beautiful sugary glazed, double-crusted apple pie. It looked store bought complete with an extra apple shaped piece of crust baked on top. And better yet, it tasted as good as it looked.

Saturday several of us ventured across town to a school to the weekly expat ultimate frisbee game. It was hot with no shade but a nice way to get outside and meet some new people. Very interesting to hear why people are in Kabul: former bureau chief for Washington Post, 1st grade school teacher at the international school, urban-planner in the mayor's office and mine NGO. I tried playing for 10 mins and reconfirmed, yet again, that I don't enjoy team sports.

In the afternoon, two colleagues and I went to the new western grocery store called "Finest". Not one to mince words around here. And it was pretty fine. Amongst other things, I am now the proud owner of a very large, albeit overly fragrant, bottle of lotion. Pretty exciting.

Saturday morning was spent in the office, using the internet to make Skype calls and check email. After which, my coworker Heidi took me to Kabul City Center, a little mini mall of sorts with toiletry, clothing, electronic, appliance and jewelry stores, to look at DVDs. There is an armed guard out front, and a metal detector and a bag check lady at the entrance. As she rifled through my bag she said "No gun? No knife?" And we told her, nope, not today. I don't think I will be going back. It was just a little too much controlled chaos out front for my taste. Though you never know, the need for DVDs may outweigh the hassle but I doubt it. Afterwards, we took refuge and lunch at Cabul Cafe in our quiet neighborhood. And tonight, it looks like I'll be accompanying an acquaintance and coworker as the uninvited guest to a housewarming.

And that is a weekend in the life of a Kabul expat.

Flight "Turbulence"

On Thursday, two program colleagues and I traveled back to Kabul from Faizabad. The UN flight schedule clearly listed the flight at 1p. However, our tickets and a call to the ticket office said to report for check-in at 10:30a. So we did and they said the flight was at 11:30a. At 11a, it was announced that the flight would be an hour late departing at 12:30p. At 12:15p we were told it had just departed Kunduz and would be here in a half hour. Right "on time" we departed Faizabad at 1p. Whether they intentionally try to throw people off schedule to avoid planned "incidents", I don't know. But sitting in a one room airport terminal for 2 1/2 hrs, while not horrible, is still a little frustrating.

On board, the views were again stunning - snow capped peaks this time of the Pamir Mtn range. And the flight was quick and smooth. It was the same flight attendant as Saturday, and since I greeted her by name, she stopped by my seat to ask me where I was from. We spent most of the flight chit-chatting - or rather she talked. The flight is operated by the charter company she works for. Her contract has her working 50 days on, 35 days off. She has been doing the Afghanistan gig and everyday flies all over the country on different looped routes from Kabul. She has also worked in other countries and sometimes she has been contracted on flights for oil and gas moguls. She reports that it is very interesting work and those people have more money than they know what to do with. She is from Alberta, Canada, was only home 3 months in the last year and gave me her tips for surviving Kabul, i.e. pedicures in Kabul and Dubai, buy silk long underwear and get scented candles or room sprays to cut the mustiness in winter. She and I are cut from different cloth, but it's quite possible I'll see her often if she sticks with this job, so it's good to have friends (I so want to say "in high places").

But Leanne showed her tough as nails side all too soon. Upon landing at the Kabul airport, she started into her arrival monologue and no sooner had she started to say "Do not turn on or use your cell phone until you are in the terminal", my Afghan colleague had called our radio room to let them know to have the car there to meet us. Leanne demanded he hang up, and when she opened the flight door she pointed Ayub out to the big, burly, western ground crew member. Ayub was pulled aside and given a talking to. I didn't hear the whole thing, and was of two minds whether to lend assistance or stay out of it (chose the latter), but I guess Ayub, whose English is really good, gave him a bit of lip and it did not go over well. Our office received a call this morning that MC staff will not be permitted on UN flights until we submit a letter of apology. This was his first UN flight and granted, in the US you can use your phone as soon as you are taxing in to the terminal...yes, it is all about security and while you are glad that they are so adamant about security, it is a shame it had to happen.

Bees, Calves & Irrigation

Monday bright and early we fortified ourselves for a long day in the field. Granted, this would have been a bit easier if the guesthouse warden had differentiated between those who get up for the 3am Ramadan meal and those who decidedly do not. (Note, he got mixed up and knocked on my door repeatedly Tuesday morning as well - I'm trying to embrace the cultural experience of disrupted sleep, but really, it's just plain annoying).

Along with several colleagues, our drivers and our "unmarked" jeeps with conspicuous codan antenna, we drove two hours over an unpaved, sometimes single "laned" road up the sides of mountains and through stunning valleys to Baharak District. From there we embarked on several project visits. First up was meeting with members of the bee keeping cooperative. Two hours were spent discussing the problems of bee keeping - a majority of hives were destroyed by disease, lack of access to markets, poor bee nutrition during the winter and lack of bee keeping inputs. After the meeting we visited the hives on the roof top of the leader of the cooperative. And we bought some honey from him.

Next up was visiting the building of an irrigation canal which diverts water from one of the small rivers coming out of the mountains. Later we visited an enormous canal building effort and from way up on a ridge above a narrow, steep river gorge with a damn holding back the water rushing down from between the imposing mountains. It was really something to behold.

In between the canal visits we stopped to watch calf weighing. Whether a nice coincidence or the calves were brought in for our benefit, who knows, but what seemed to be evident was that the new kind of feed the calves were receiving was positively affecting their health and weight gain, so much so, that there was a great deal of discussion about how to disseminate this information to market the feed to local farmers, improving incomes for both the feed producers and the farmers.

It was a long, bumpy day, sans much food or water as is typical of field visits, regardless of it being Ramadan, but it was good to see the projects, and the people affected by them, "live" versus descriptions and numbers on paper.

Up North

Saturday morning saw Peter and me making our way to the UNHAS flight north to Faizabad. The flight, partially funded through World Food Program, flies three times a week in a circular path and Saturday was clock-wise day. This meant the relatively short distance between Kabul and Faizabad was instead by way of Mazar-i-sharif, Kunduz and then Faizabad. The milk train of flight paths. But the scenery made the extended trip worthwhile.

This is the first time I've had to try to get back in to the airport. Turns out it's more of an ordeal than getting out. Go figure. Fortunately, Peter had done it before. Your car has to get past numerous check points manned by national police, international military, and armored vehicles of various shapes and sizes with pop-out windows that look like they should contain kitchen garden plants. Women essentially get a pass through the check points. Peter had to get out and walk through two frisking stations while at the first stop I stayed in the car and merely told the officer where I was going. At another stop I was told to enter a curtained room where two friendly ladies were sitting gabbing. I got a half-hearted one-handed frontal frisk and they only looked through one of my bags when I suggested. Instead, they advised me that Faizabad is cold.

The UNHAS flight terminal was pretty nondescript, hidden behind a couple gates and a wall set apart from the new main terminal. Our plane was a small double prop complete with a petite, glamorized, yet tough-as-nails flight attendant from North America. It was a little surreal. The trip went smoothly with 30-60 mins hops between airports.

I will be in Faizabad for four days during which time we are getting familiar with our program and staff. We are staying at the office guest house along with three visiting national staff and an Iraqi expat staff member. Because this is Ramadan, the cook prepares lunch for us, and we are welcome to join the iftar (break fast) which fortunately is at 6:15p these days. However, this morning we had to scrounge our breakfast from what was left from the 3am meal.

There isn't anything to do in Faizabad, so that means lots of BBC and Aljezeera in the evening. Tomorrow we have a 6:30a departure to go visit some of our projects including: canal building, lamb fattening, bee keeping and poultry. Stay tuned.

Night Out in Kabul

Last night, most of the Kabul based MC staff hit the town - Kabul style I'm assuming. Because the agreed upon break fast time is 6:15p - 7:30p for the drivers, we decided that would be our "happy hour" pre-dinner. One of our guesthouses is known as the frat house, namely because they have a pool table and a roof-top bar, and also because it's usually where many of the single male staff live. It is located down the street from my guesthouse so I asked a guard to escort me down the street. When you are NEVER on the street it is a strange feeling to suddenly be so out in the open.

I was the first to arrive so I proceeded to do what any guest would do, give myself a tour. What I found was not only the infamous and lovely third-floor terrace but a spiral staircase leading up to the actual fourth-floor rooftop. Up there, even more exposed to the world, I was greeted by the most stunning view. I hadn't realized that Kabul is surrounded by rather majestic mountains - or at least silhouetted at dusk, they seemed that way. Regardless it was impressive to look out over the entire city for a moment, and start to get a sense of the mystic of the place, before I decided to take my conspicuous foreign self back downstairs.

The rest of my colleagues appeared and we began the evening. After visiting over happy hour, we called for a couple cars and went out to the Lebanese restaurant. At the restaurant, we passed through what my boss has told me is called the "kill cage" - two sets of metal, locked doors manned by armed guards, where one door closes before the second opens. It is really surreal to go from the dusty Kabul street, through that room and into a totally normal and familiar western restaurant environment.

It was a great evening, eating some of the best food I've ever had, enjoying good conversation with my new colleagues and further acclimating to this new world.

Breaking out of the rotation

Not much time to write this evening - our drivers break fast between 6:15 and 7:30 for Ramadan so you either stay before or go and tonight will be my second evening in a row of stepping out in the "night life" that is Kabul - this evening with my MC colleagues.

Yesterday evening I accompanied a friend of a friend to a neighborhood bar/cafe to visit. The logistics of doing this was a bit more tricky than I had anticipated. I ended up calling a coworker to ask her "how to I leave the guesthouse?" Because I didn't know how tell this friend how to locate me, explain to the guards who was picking me up and then I needed to tell our radio room where I was going so they could track my movements. And I got practice calling the radio room to send a car to pick me up and take me back to the guesthouse.

At the cafe, there were two armed guards patrolling the street out front and you pass through two doors with speak-easy type sliding peek-holes. And the obligatory bag inspection. Then you pass into a very nice garden where numerous expats were relaxing having drinks, eating and visiting. It was a little surreal. We ended up chatting with some folks he knew who worked at UNDP and Oxfam. It was an okay evening but since I've been at the mercy of jet lag, I made my excuses and left early.

Saturday morning my boss and I are taking a UN flight up to Badakhshan to visit our field off. I'm back on Weds and am not sure if I'll have time to post while there. But I will take more pictures for sure.

Meetings, grab bags and emergency burqas

My new boss Peter, a tall, lanky Australian from Sydney with years upon years of development and emergency experience, and I have spent the last few days wrapping our brains around our newly acquired program. The program has been in start-up since March but is fairly new to both of us. This has involved meeting after meeting as we try to flesh out what staff we have, where they are located, how many more are needed, and most importantly, what they are doing. Next week we are scheduled to fly up to Faizabad to see it all first hand and get to know the team and projects in the area. Essentially the program involves agriculture livelihoods (infrastructure and horticulture) and livestock (animal health, poultry) to provide income opportunities other than poppy cultivation.

At the same time, I have been trying to get acclimated including attempting to develop a routine and make sure I have all the necessary paperwork and essential equipment. For the former, it's figuring out when and how to exercise - making friends with the treadmill (ugh) and rediscovering my yoga dvd - what to eat since it's all cooked and shopped for by Ali - and someday I hope to actually sleep through the night - jet lag has been merciless this trip. For the latter, it means getting my work permit and visa extension processed, payroll paperwork filled out, learning how to use a hand-held radio, adding various manuals to my reading list and lastly being commisioned my grab bag. The grab bag is just that, what you would grab should we need to move to a safe location for a while. It has a blanket, pocket knife, flashlight, more medical supplies than one person really needs unless you want to be a mummy for halloween, strawberry biscuits (?) and the all essential emergency burqa which I promptly tried on. It did not fit so well - apparently women's heads here are significantly smaller than mine not to mention they are shorter than me. Hopefully, I will never need to wear it, though speaking of costumes...

Cyclic leaving - office --> guesthouse --> office ---> guesthouse

It has now been two full days in Kabul. And they have been good so far. I am staying at Sierra Base, one of five guesthouses located very close to the MC office, and also home to our country director Christine. She has been a very hospitable host. I'll include a picture at some point but a brief description will have to do. The two-story house sits behind one gate and two sets of walls. We have a full-time guard (basically manning the gate and generator and doing odds and ends around the yard) and a cook and cleaner. The cook Ali can make just about anything you request, does all the shopping and the cleaner does laundry. On Monday morning we asked him for salad, curry and stir fry and when I went home for lunch that day, it was all there. He proceeded to rattle off all the possible things I might like him to make adding "Do you like pies or cakes?" I think he is rather bored and itching to feed people.

Christine and another colleague have set up a small gym room at Sierra Base. This is especially important considering that movement is extremely limited and we are driven everywhere. But before this starts to sound glamorous, it's not. My room is rustic, there isn't much of a closet and no dresser - the desk drawers are standing in for that. The power goes off regularly and when it is on, the lights are dim unless the generator is on. There is currently no internet. But it's comfortable. And hey, I have all the Al Jezeera, BBC and CNN news I could hope for.

Did I mention being driven everywhere? The guests houses are all within a couple minutes drive to the office but we are picked up and dropped off everyday and there are drivers on duty around the clock. The security level has been lowered slightly post-election and today two colleagues and I actually walked the two blocks back from a cafe - a cafe with two gates and an armed guard who checks bags. When you are outside the guesthouse and office gates, wearing a headscarf is actually a nice thing. Not that I don't for an instant think everyone knows I'm a foreigner but it gives you something to feign hiding behind.

It's evening prayer call during Ramadan. The office is quiet and the smells of break fast and the clinking of food preparations are coming through the open windows. But the sounds of helicopters flying low over the city remind you where you are.

The long road to Kabul

It is Monday, most of the staff have taken off already as it is Ramadan and they can leave at 2p to prepare for the break fast, prayer and what-not. So far so good here in Kabul. I arrived Saturday afternoon without much incident. The flight to and the overnight in Dubai went as smooth as I could have hoped. Successful found my hotel and my friend Jeff - a former MC employee in Afghanistan who is currently in Dubai waiting for an India visa. He was able to give me his version of a pre-arrival orientation. And while I arrived successfully in Kabul it was not without an introductory testing of nerves.

My flight was almost entirely expats. Upon deboarding, it was headscarf on for the women. First obstacle was obtaining a registration card which was no big deal - but it was interesting the people who would come up to the desk - say their employer i.e. Blackwater, and be waved on through.

Next hurdle was exiting the baggage claim area where I had to bypass the start of a 40 person airport employee brawl. Exit stage left, and I began the quest to find the ellusive Parking Lot C. Two maps and Jeff's description of how to find it, barely helped. I ran into a dead end in Parking Lot A which was where people such as the Blackwater contractors were being picked up, and upon asking one of their handlers, was directed to go through Parking Lot B and then finally towards what looked like it might be Parking Lot C. Fortunately, there was one other lone foreigner heading that way - a German from my plane. He was greeted by his Afghan colleagues and they offered me their cell phone to call the MC radio room who assured me my driver was there and would have an MC logo'd sign. So I waited a few minutes and sure enough saw the tell-tale unmarked Toyota Corolla drive up with my name and the logo on a placard. For whatever reason he didn't quite know where to take me but after a few transmissions to the radio room and I was on my way to Sierra Base - my guesthouse for the near future. Welcome to Kabul.

Sweat, Soda, Surveys & Sand

Day two in the field. We were off again, picked up our take-away curry and rotis from the local diner, and hit the ground running. I gave an impromptu, and short, speech to the Ampara office staff about HQ, who we are and what we could do for them. The mother-ship is such a far off entity, that it is easy to understand the confusion and sometimes apprehension that surrounds its mystique. A face to my name, assurance that we are there to help the field office get the support it needs, and a bag of dark-chocolate Hershey kisses, all seemed to elicit friendly smiles.

Today we headed north to an area that had been held by the opposition until the last year or so. This seemed especially evident by the increased number of check-points and armed soldiers standing on either side of the road. I had tried to sneak a few pictures of said armed guards, but on this particular drive, it was confirmed that that might not be a bright idea, since one of the staff sitting behind me in the van apologetically said “Madame, you must put your camera away, they might think you are taking pictures of them”. And, well, they would be right. And so away, is where it went.

In the village we visited, we were observing the staff conducting a final survey of participation and knowledge of beneficiaries in particular programs. It was hot, hot, hot, and while we found shade to sit in, and the occasional breeze blessed us, I proceeded to sweat, sweat, sweat. Some kind and hospitable hostesses brought us cream soda and bright orange soda, which tasted so, so good, and much like the coconut yesterday served to get me through to our very late lunch stop, though I had acquired a throbbing headache. However before that, we visited some farmers growing eggplant, peppers and squash in very sandy soil just inland from the beach. So what’s a group of expats to do? We visit the beach of course. This was a tricky business because the military guards the beach. So our poor staff convinced the guards that we were of the harmless, silly foreigner variety and they would keep an eye out for any shenanigans – or else they just said a bunch of NGO staff wanted to visit the beach – and to the ocean we went. It was deserted and beautiful. But no trip to the beach is complete without the requisite sneaker wave which dosed us all, soaking our community leader's front, splashing straight up my skirt, and getting James’ socks (yes, socks with sandels - crazy) and trousers sandy and wet.

Field Day

We are staying at a hotel that wants to be a motel, or a hotel without a shell. And in true S. Asian, style, the construction on upper floors does not get in the way of being fully operational. Which explains the ban-saws at 6:45am. My room is supposedly one of the best, and I guess I just lucked out, because it is opposite the restaurant, the service desk and a sitting area where the staff seems to take its rambunctious breaks late at night. But I don’t mean to complain, just to be descriptive. It’s the best hotel in town, the foyer is rather luxurious, there should be wireless but seems to be on sporatically, and it has good A/C, but only cold water.

Our first full day in Ampara, saw us traveling out to the field to visit a village to pilot a training for farmers to use a record keeping tool. This form will help the staff collect data about how the program is or is not helping the farmers and will also help the farmers keep track of their expenditures to better assess their production needs. Our van got lost trying to find the meeting, and after a hour or two of traversing one-lane dirt roads between rice fields, the staff opted to call together a bunch of other beneficiaries. So with a late start, and a training that took an hour longer than planned, we missed lunch. And just when I thought I was going to become one with my plastic chair, one of the trainees jumped up and started handing out the king coconuts that they had earlier cut down from a larger palm tree nearby and had hacked off the tops with a rustic machete. Oh, that coconut water hit the spot. Then they cleaved it in half and scraped out the meat for us. This kept us going until we could finally get back to town for some snacks.

It was a beautiful day out in the village. A storm was thundering off in the distance and a cool breeze made me feel (albeit without the hunger factor) like I should be sitting on a colonial patio whiling away the day. Instead I tried to stay engaged while farmers calculated how much it costs them to produce a harvest, and since many are illiterate, several of the young women in the community were helping the older men fill out their forms. Once done, away they went, newly acquired pencils, pens, knowledge, and absconded calculator tucked in pockets, on foot and on old bicycles, absorbed back into the nooks and crannies of the community from where they emerged. We got back in our good ship MC – flag to boot – and headed back down the bumpy roads to Ampara, to the internet, a/c, and noisy hotel rooms.

Road to Ampara

Today, the J-team: Jarrod, Ajaz, James & Joanna (and the driver and me), hit the road for day long journey to Ampara on the east side of the country. The drive took us through small but chaotically organized towns, up in elevation in the hill country, through the picturesque cultural town of Kandy, past blue lakes, green fields, and lush jungle. And past security check-points a plenty. The check points sprung up after we left Kandy and headed toward the east, which up until a few years ago was partly controlled by the opposition. Check points consist of several armed, uniformed guards asking our driver where we are going and checking both his and Joanna’s MC id badges. We’d been told they might check our passports but so far (several days later) they have not. Our vehicle is fully marked and while the government is not terribly welcoming of NGOs, they so far are okay with them and the UN remaining in the area, where they have been since the tsunami in 2004.

As we passed through Kandy, they are having a week long exhibition of Buddha's tooth at the Temple of the Tooth. Long, long lines of white clad visitors line the path around the central lake waiting their turn for a viewing. The city was beyond it's usual level of chaos and traffic and slowed our trip, but increased our experience greatly.

Weekend in Colombo

After one final half-day conference session on Saturday, and the requisite attendee photos, the gates were opened and we were released into the city to do some damage. As it turned out, mine was of the monetary variety. Under the consumerist-wing of my colleague (and predecessor) Rachael, who is now based in Myanmar, she guided, okay, pushed, me through the world of salwar kameez shopping. She may as well have been S. Asian in a previous life because she knew what to ask for, what to look at and better yet, was a fairly decent haggler. Because Afghanistan will probably be a sure bet on my travel destination list this year, we looked for long sleeved plain outfits. Salwar kameez are the long tunic, billowy pants with a scarf thrown backwards over own’s shoulders. In AFG that translates into a head wrap instead. This being Colombo, we found mostly bright and sometime outlandish colors and decoration. In the end bought four – one of which required a tailor since it was only the fabric with the decorated neck line. I’m still in a bit of shock over purchasing so much that I will wear so infrequently.

That night, our crew reconvened at Galle Face Hotel for a lovely sunset and dinner on the ocean. Many were leaving that night and the next day while I few of us were departing Monday for the long drive out to Ampara for a field visit.

Conference with a view

My initial reason for coming to Colombo is to attend the regional design, monitoring & evaluation (DM&E) conference for work. Monday through Saturday we spend the work day in a conference room at the hotel, meeting for breakfast and stopping for morning and afternoon tea/ coffee breaks and lunch. And it's the only time we have internet access so, um, yeah, I'm listening to a presentation right.this.very.minute. Staff are here from Afghanistan, Pakistan, Nepal, Myanmar, India, Kashmir and Sri Lanka. It's very "small world after all" hearing staff from AFG, PAK and India speaking to each other in one native language.

Our evenings are free though we seem to be rather isolated in this part of town. Tuesday evening, my boss Diane, who is based in Bangkok, and I discussed work over a glass of wine on the veranda of the old colonial style Galle Face Hotel, looking out over the Indian Ocean as dusk fell. Yeah, it's tough but someone's gotta do it. Later after a nice Indian meal, on my way back to my hotel, I mused over how much I enjoy humid, night-rides in tuk-tuks weaving through the crazy traffic of South Asian cities.

Wednesday evening was our group dinner with the Colombo office staff where we dined out at a restaurant on the beach. While very nice and full of ambiance, not as romantic as it sounds with stray cats circling your chair for handouts, the occasional rodent making a mad dash, and as one expat staff claimed, the possibility of picking up worms if you go barefoot in the sand. Interestingly, the rail lines run between the main road and the ocean, thus any business that wants to be on the beach requires customers to navigate these busy railroad crossings. It makes you wonder about the casualty rate of inebriated people stumbling across three sets of tracks after a night out. However, well fed and talked out, we all made it home safely.

Colombo city of heat and shopping

Today a city tour had been arranged so that we could have a day to decompress, get to know each other and see something of the city - since the rest of our days we would be housed in the hotel conference room. But it was not the city tour we were expecting. The tour guide took us past non-descript government buildings, the city library, and a few monuments. However we kept zipping by some really cool temples and religious sites. Finally we made the guide stop so we could visit a Buddhist temple that was out on a man-made lake, despite his protests that we would have to pay - we didn't. In the end we really didn't see much, but maybe there isn't much to see in Colombo?

Regardless, our "tour" was side-tracked by everyone's desire to visit the renowned shopping centers where consumer lore tells of finding high end fashion at bargain basement prices. Four years ago my friends and I had spent several hours in these places and had been duly impressed. Not so, this time. Higher prices and chintzy garments had replaced what I remembered. But it was still enjoyable to be in air conditioning and soak up the local consumer flavor.

Our hotel is located across a busy road and railroad tracks from the ocean and, with the luck of facing west, every night we are treated to a sunset over the Indian Ocean. My first evening, after our tour, a few of us decided to head to the beach. No easy task this. We dodged the haphazard traffic, crossed three train tracks to then navigate the garbage dump of a beach to join 200 hundred of our closest local friends (it was Sunday and crowded) to find a semi-clean spot on the sand to watch the great orange ball drop into the haze on the horizon above the sea. Still, it's Sri Lanka, it's the beach, it's warm, and it's the ocean. Very nice.

First Stop Tokyo

As is always the case, no news is good news for a trans-oceanic flight. And in this case there is even less to report because thanks to the synergistic effect of bad movies, an extra seat and Ambien, I was able to sleep for half the flight, albeit in a rather cramped but yet horizontal position. The high point of the flight was discovering the flight attendant had thoughtfully left me my mid-flight ice cream sandwich while I slept, the low point was being subjected to an American talking incessantly across his seat-mate to chat up the Japanese girl sitting behind me, and also behind me, a whining two year old girl who was not enjoying the flight. But such is the price we pay to travel.

Upon arrival in Narita, I followed Stu's very good directions, found my bus, found a taxi and then let the taxi driver figure out how to get to the house - apparently maps orienteering was not his strong point. But find it we did, and I spent a wonderful evening reminiscing and catching up with Stu and getting to know his wife Kayo and six-year old daughter Mana.

Perhaps I had jinxed myself by sleeping on the plane, but jetlag hit hard and with a vengance. Thus I have been awake, and cursing the lack of central heating in Japan, since 4am. It is now 7am and I will be starting the trip back to the airport in a couple hours for the second leg of this trek to Sri Lanka. Here's hoping for better movies or at least an extra seat or two.