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.