Chicken Street

January 23, 2009 I woke up this morning to blue skies and sunshine. Kabul looked glorious out of my second floor window. Today is my day off and I welcomed the break from work which has kept me busy and has stretched me in good ways. First thing when I woke up, I had a Skype call with my brothers, my sister-in-law, and my Dad who live in Southern California. It was so good to see their faces on the screen and to catch up with them for the first time since I came to Kabul. I think my Dad was a little taken aback to see me full screen! It sure was good to see all of them.

My morning emails brought a card from Louisa from “The Office,” a television show we share a passion for. The card is a photo of Phyllis (aka Mrs. Bob Vance of Bob Vance Refrigeration) on her wedding day. That made me smile. I miss my children. The next email from Alex was brimming with good cheer about his senior thesis film and the Nietzch Factor, his Wesleyan Ultimate Frisbee team. A third email shared the great news that “Trouble the Water,” the extraordinary documentary film about Hurricane Katrina that Alex worked on as an intern two summers ago is nominated for an Academy Award for Best Documentary Film. Big shout-out to Tia Lessin and Carl Deal from Kabul!

After brunch – Fridays we have brunch at 10 AM in the Guest House – of sausage and the most amazing soufflé-like pancake, I went off to Chicken Street with my friend, Belquis.

I had heard about Chicken Street before I came to Kabul. Carpets, furniture, tapestries, hookas, Karzai hats, chapans (vibrant colored Karzai knee-length jackets), lapis lazuli. You name it, Chicken Street has it.

Today was a lark for several reasons, the most exciting of which is that my friend and I were out together in Kabul without a bodyguard. (Shhhhhh!) We were in a safe area and we were in and out of shops. And we had a phalanx of 7-and 8-year old boys tagging along behind and in front of us, beseeching us to buy chewing gum, offering to carry our packages, and finally determining that they were our bodyguards. At one point, my friend noticed that we were the only women on the street.

We made our way in and out of the most extraordinary shops, each one a warren of small rooms offering feasts for the eyes. Carpets stacked floor to ceiling. Tapestries, silks and wool. Kilim saddlebags for camels. Karzai hats made of lambs wool. Karzai jackets --- chapans – of elegant green and purple fabric. (To be worn, I have it on good authority, with arms in sleeves for informal occasions and draped over the shoulders for formal occasions.) Carved walnut chairs, divans, tables, bed frames. (My friend, Belquis, is trying out one of the beautiful carved chairs in the photograph above.) Lapis lazuli carvings, rings, bracelets, and necklaces. Handblown glass in the most exquisite pale aqua.

All this and the small boys were still escorting us, waiting patiently as we entered yet another store, hoping against hope that we would acknowledge their patience with some form of material reward! We relented and purchased chocolate bars. The boys accepted them with smiles and continued to tag along after us.
Every shop keeper in every shop we visited offered us tea and sweets and led us up stairs to upper levels where carpets and saddlebags and chairs and tables and wall hangings are kept. We are invited to select items and pay now or pay next time we come back. Afghans give new meaning to the word “hospitality” by their words and deeds.

The colors, textures, carvings, finishes, threads, and patterns dazzle the eye. After the second carpet shop, the carpets and tapestries became a blur of reds, blues, golds, and creams. Silk and wool. Blankets made of camel hair and beads of lapis lazuli. My heart was set on two tiny tables, one red and one blue, with intricate folk designs painted on them. A multicolored bedspread embroidered in cotton. A woven wall hanging, a painted box, blue glass beads. For this, I paid the sum of $90 US.

The sun was still high in the sky at 2:00 PM when we returned to the Guest House. I was still feeling the freedom of walking down Chicken Street with my friend, not a care in the world other than a growing pack of young boys eager to please, hoping for baksheesh.

Tonight, I went to the Gandamack for dinner with my new friend, Liz, a beautiful Australian woman who has been here for several months and will be leaving on Monday to return to her home in Spain. This is the third restaurant I have been to since I’ve been in Kabul, and the drill is the same with each one. The restaurants we are allowed to go to are the “double door” restaurants. One enters from an institutional grilled and locked door streetside and crosses a dirt courtyard into a set of double doors. The first door is metal and it is locked. Liz has been there before so she knows to knock. We are viewed through a peephole and we pass muster. We are allowed into a tiny holding stall while we are either viewed again – or in the case of other restaurants, searched for firearms – and then the second door opens and we cross another courtyard and enter what is one of the most beautiful restaurants I have ever seen. White linen tablecloths, sterling flatware, bone china. Candlelight and wine glasses! Boo-yah! The menu offers Boston Climb Chowder and Trout Squeegey Style. (Don’t ask; I didn’t!) Liz has grilled chicken breast and I have Spinach Lasagna. The dinner is delicious and the conversation is wonderful. What a great day!

Every day I wish my children were here with me. I make mental notes to tell them about something I saw, heard, ate, even imagined. How to telegraph the colors, sounds, sights, smells, and tastes? This is too much experience for one person.

Images of Kabul

January 23, 2009 It has been two weeks since I have posted on my blog from Kabul. I have struggled to be faithful to my vow to write daily, but when the time comes to put pen to paper – or digits to keyboard – my head starts swimming with images: donkey carts, fruit peddlers, children hawking chewing gum, women in burkas sitting in the middle of the busiest streets in Kabul begging for money, Barack Obama taking the oath of office in Washington, DC, brought to me and thousands of elated Afghans courtesy of CNN.

Today is my day off – my “weekend,” as Kabul operates on a 6-day work week with Friday the designated day of rest – and I aim to catch up. I want to remember everything.

One day off per week is not enough, although at the same time, sitting around in the Guest House watching reruns of "Diagnosis, Murder" (Dick Van Dyke post-The Dick Van Dyke Show as a physician-wannabe-sleuth and an unknown bleached blond actor playing his son, the cop!) and first runs of "Tim Gunn's Guide to Style" is not that enriching. I have watched more TV here than I have ever watched at home. If I could master Hindi in a short time, I would swiftly become addicted to Bollywood serials because that is what plays on 80% of the channels on Kabul TV. These soap operas are marvelous, offering outrageous costumes, dance numbers, and outlandish makeup. I can almost follow the plot without a mastery of Hindi because the gestures are so extreme.

Since my last posting on January 8, I have had 2 weeks of Dari lessons and am now able to offer greetings to our Afghan drivers and bodyguards (who all know English, but I still want to try to converse with them in their language) and to shopkeepers. I realize that for the first week of my lessons, I was answering the “Salam aleikum”/ “How are you?” greeting coming my way with a hearty, “You are well, thank you, and so is your house.” Never mind! My learning curve is accelerating. To the warmly offered “Salam aleikum,” I now offer, “Waleikum salam, chEtor astEn?” And I receive a smile in return!

The images dancing in my head are disorderly and colorful. I have become a camera with a 360 degree lens trying to take it all in as I am always on the move in a vehicle, seldom on foot. Day to day, life between the Guest House and the office is fairly routine – if you consider coming home to Coq au Vin, Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding, and Tiramisu routine. Ali, our young Afghan cook, is a whiz in the kitchen. He cooks to the tastes of the American and Australian ex—pats who live in these quarters. We are provided lunch at the office every day, and that is an Afghan meal, most often a stewed meat, red beans, and the most amazing rice I’ve ever tasted, one day flavored with cardamom and cinnamon, the next day steamed with delicate strips of what I think is mango. Meals are always served with the local bread, Nan, which is a flat bread beyond description. I will miss my daily Nan when I leave Kabul.

Beyond daily life -- and, really, nothing is routine in Kabul – two days stand out. The first is January 17 when my colleagues and I were gathered at the 9 AM weekly staff meeting in the conference room at our office. Someone was giving a weekly report on his or her project when we heard an explosion. The noise caught everyone by surprise, even though the person speaking did not skip a beat, did not pause for a second. But the room fell silent and all eyes turned to the outside. There was no visible sign of an explosion – no smoke, no fire – but I could see that others were concerned, as was I. It was not long at all before we learned that a 22-year old suicide bomber had driven his car into a fuel tanker near Camp Eggars, the military base that houses the International Security Assistance Forces in Kabul. Casualty estimates varied, but it was reported that at least 6 Afghans and Americans were killed.

This was unbearably sad to me. All day, I thought of the families of those killed receiving the awful news. I tried to imagine living under this kind of daily threat. My Afghan colleagues seem inured to such tragedies. Since January 17, there have been other explosions and such threats loom daily. Afghans take this in stride. I do not worry and I do not feel unsafe. But my heart aches for all who have become accustomed to such violence.

The second day that stands out is Inauguration Day, a day that will forever in my heart and mind entwine Afghanistan and the United States. Inauguration Day was for me, and for my Afghan colleague Mustafa, the day that ‘democracy went to the top’ as he so eloquently put it. Afghans have high hopes that President Obama will turn his sights toward the Hindu Kush and make good on his promise to help Afghanistan. So do I.

January 20, 2009: 'The Day Barack Obama Takes His Responsibility'

January 20, 2009 It's 6:30 PM on Tuesday, January 20, 2009, and I am sitting in my room at the guest house in Kabul. I am about to get dressed to go to the Inaugural Ball at the US Embassy in Kabul. They will have a big screen TV where we will see the swearing-in of Barack Obama as President of the United States. I have been waiting for this day!I am profoundly moved by this day. I turned CNN on the minute I got home from work. Watching the sea of joyful faces on the Mall, talking to my son Alex as he made his way to the Mall with friends, Skyping with my daughter Louisa later, seeing Barack and Michelle Obama depart Blair House for the church service at St. John's Episcopal Church, I was flooded with tears of joy. I am thinking back to the faith and hard work it took to get to this day. I am filled with gratitude for all that so many did to make this day happen. I am happiest of all for Louisa and Alex. This is their history.This morning, I pinned my last Obama '08 button to my jacket as I headed for work. I told my Afghan driver, Qader, and my bodyguard, Massoud that today is a big day in America. They both smiled. Massoud said, "Obama takes his responsibility today, yes?" "Yes," I said, "today is the day. A big day for America." I took off my Obama button to show to them, and before I knew it, Qader had pinned it on his jacket and said, "Thank you. Now Obama will help Afghanistan." When he picked me up at the end of the work day, he pointed to the button and smiled. “Wear it well, Qader,” I thought. Today is a good day.

I have never been prouder of my country.

The Inaugural Ball at the US Embassy is formal, but the invitation issued a caveat: “Formal – but this is Kabul, do your best,” and so I did. I bought a beautiful lavender silk scarf and a bronze beaded shawl to wear to the party. I hope I pass muster!

It’s now 11:00 PM on Tuesday, January 20, and I am just back from the US Embassy. The party was very nice. Afghans and Americans stood side by side cheering for Obama. Women wore jeans and women wore Prom gowns. I staked out a front row spot in front of the big TV and stayed there through the whole ceremony. I was so happy. When the CNN banner on the bottom of the screen said that Obama was officially president at high noon even though he had not yet been sworn in, the entire crowd hollered. At 10:30, our driver and bodyguard came to pick up the 5 of us who went to the party. The bodyguard jumped out of the car and shook my hand. “Congratulations on President Barack Obama,” he said. I will never forget that moment.

Home Away From Home

January 8, 2009 Day Two of this extended holiday that frames my first week in Kabul! Afghans ordinarily work a six-day week with Friday as the weekend. This week, the powers-that-be declared that Wednesday and Thursday of this week would be work holdiays since Ashura, yesterday's Muslim holiday, fell on a Wednesday and Thursday is a half-day for Afghans anyway (but not for ex-pats!). So this is the second day of a three-day work holiday for me, and I have only been here one week! I am trying to hunker down in hopes of gaining some early mastery of my job, but I am tempted by the beautiful day outside and the views in every direction.

I am living in the elegant foreign workers' Guest House in the photo above while I work with USAID's Afghanistan Rule of Law Project. The house is spacious with three floors and a basement where we eat our meals. The second and third floors of the house are ringed with porches that offer dazzling views of TV Mountain in the near distance and the Hindu Kush in the background. My colleagues and my housemates are one in the same. We live together and work together. It's a nice group.

My office, pictured at right, was formerly a private residence. From what I am told, it is more typical of Afghan homes than our guest house as it (the office) has a spacious courtyard with space for a garden, whereas our Guest House occupies most of the lot it is perched on, with only a very small plot of grass for a yard.

I am the Performance Monitoring and Reporting Specialist for USAID's Afghanistan Rule of Law Project which brings together US lawyers, judges, law professors with their Afghan counterparts to rebuild and restore Afghanistan's Justice Sector. (Details can be found at http://afghanistan.usaid.gov/en/Activity.85.aspx.) I am responsible for preparing scheduled progress reports for USAID on the full scope of work accomplished weekly, bi-weekly, monthly, and quarterly. Our office is in another neighborhood of Kabul. We are driven there and back every day. Most of the staff are Afghan locals and kinder, more professional colleagues one could not ask for.

Elementary Dari

Salaam aleikum!

My friend, Belquis, kindly provided me with a beginner's list of essential phrases in Dari so I can communicate with staff and new friends while I am in Kabul. I share it here, hoping this finds you all khoob!

Salaam aleikum Hi!
Lotfan Please
Tashakor Thank you
Chetor Asti? How are you?
Khoob Well/Good
Khoob Astum I am well
Motar Car/vehicle
Daftar Office
Naan Bread
Chai Tea
Chai-e-Sabz Green tea
Chai-e-Siah Black tea

Ashura

January 7, 2009 I am working from the guest house where I live in Kabul because our security advisor advised against going out on the streets.

Today is Ashura, a day of celebration and mourning marked by both Sunni and Shia Muslims. For Shia Muslims, Ashura is a major religious festival which commemorates the martyrdom at Karbala of Hussein, a grandson of the Prophet Mohammad.

Ashura falls on the 10th of Muharram, the first month of the Islamic lunar calendar. It is marked by Shia and Sunni Muslims with a voluntary day of fasting which commemorates the day Noah left the Ark and the day that Moses was saved from the Egyptians by God. For Shia Muslims, Ashura is a solemn day spent mourning the martyrdom of Hussein, grandson of the Prophet Mohammad, in 680 AD at Karbala in modern-day Iraq.

During Ashura, mourning rituals are observed and passion plays re-enact the martyrdom. Shia men and women dressed in black parade through the streets of Kabul slapping their chests and chanting. Some Shia men seek to emulate the suffering of Hussein by flagellating themselves with chains or cutting their foreheads until blood streams from their bodies.

Kabul, Afghanistan

January 6, 2009 In the four days since I arrived in Kabul, we've had snow and two earthquakes which woke me in the night. As my room swayed, I racked my brain to remember my Southern California childhood training. Duck and cover? No. That's in case of a nuclear bomb. Stand in a doorjamb? I think so. It didn't come to that, but it was a moment.

I feel safe. It is a new experience being accompanied everywhere by a bodyguard, but I don't go many places outside of home and work. I spent yesterday, my first day at work, at a conference of law students, law professors, lawyers, judges, government officials. All of the women wear their heads covered. Men wore Armani suits and shalwar kamiz, capes, and turbans.

Although I receive “danger pay” (term of art!) for this job, this is far from a hardship post in many respects. My meals are prepared and served to me by skilled cooks. Last night's menu: fried chicken, roast potatoes, corn, bread pudding. Hamburgers and french fries the night before. My laundry is done for me; yesterday, my old frayed flannel nightgown was returned to me IRONED! I

I cover my head when I go out. At first, it seemed novel, but after a few hours of fidgeting again and again to make my scarf stay on my head, it became a great nuisance. At the legal conference I attended at the Safi Landmark Hotel in Kabul on Saturday, January 3, I watched the few women – law students, lawyers, judges – all of them in scarves. Not one of them fussed with her scarf, and it seemed to me that every scarf stayed in place except mine.

The contrasts are enormous. Palatial homes surrounded by high walls, next door to mud homes, both on unpaved dirt streets. After yesterday’s snow, Kabul’s rutted streets were mired in mud. Our skilled drivers traverse those streets like bumper cars, twisting and turning, brushing past daring pedestrians, darting into oncoming traffic which seems to part on cue. At night, Kabul traffic is a game of Chicken, writ large.

Street sights clipping through Kabul in an armored car: butcher stalls with slabs of meat hanging in the air. Bakeries with huge loaves of Naan in the window. Produce stands with stunningly beautiful arrangements of fruits and vegetables, placed with the hand of an artist. Eggplants, okra, oranges, apples, cauliflower, pomegranates, tiny lemons, enormous Clementines, cabbage, lettuce, leeks, onions. Purple, green, red, yellow, orange. Gorgeous. Children sorting through curbside garbage in search of soda cans. Goats nibbling on what is left of the garbage. A local bus with fringed windows and “Elephant of the Road” painted in scrolling letters across the front and side.

I am happy to be here.

To the Hindu Kush

January 1, 2009 Sal-I-naw Mubarak! Happy new year! I arrived in Kabul yesterday and have barely begun to sort through impressions from the last three days traveling from DC to Dubai to Kabul. One could hardly find a greater contrast than one night in Dubai and the next day in Kabul.

Women in Dubai were chic and glamorous, even in their black chiffon hijabs which cover them from head to toe, but do not cover their faces. In Kabul, many women seen on the street are covered in heavy blue burkas with a narrow slit at the eyes; that slit is covered with a net grilling. Young women cover their heads with scarves, but often wear jeans, high heels, and nail polish.

I traveled here with my friend Belquis who was born in Kabul, moved to the US in 2001 with her parents and siblings, and now works in Kabul. We had great plans of celebrating New Year's Eve in Dubai but were told by our hotel that the Government of Dubai had canceled New Year's Eve celebrations because of the strife in Gaza. Our hotel offered several dinner packages in the various restaurants -- all too pricey, even the package that offered a meal and all the soft drinks you could consume in the restaurant and later in the bar until 3:00 AM for $300 US. We settled for room service Mezzeh and a bottle of Chilean wine.

I have only glimpsed Kabul so far on the ride to my guest house from the airport. Early images: military police with Ak-47s; roadside vendors everywhere; huge glitzy Las Vegasy buildings that serve as wedding halls (a big industry in Kabul); donkey carts vying with newish cars for one of three lanes on the highway from the airport.

The guest house I live in is 3 floors plus a basement where we eat meals. The view outside my window is of private residences, one of them enormous and pink. Our meals are prepared to American tastes by Afghan cooks. Last night's dinner was roast beef, mashed potatoes, and green beans. The house is built in an ornate Asian style with many flourishes and curlicues. A terrace on the third floor offers a beautiful view of the snow-capped mountains that surround Kabul and make it the dust bowl it is. I have a big TV in my room with cable and satellite access (yesterday, I watched Indian Idol!).We are driven everywhere in armored cars with armed bodyguards. The guest house is guarded 24/7. But I am not worried. I feel very safe. The Afghanistan Rule of Law Project where I am working has a finely-tuned security operation.

The work week in Kabul is 6 days, Saturday through Thursday. Today, Friday, is the weekend. I am eager to get out and see more of Kabul.