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.