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.