I know you all thought that an UXO (unexploded ordinance) had gotten to me, but in reality I was in America ("Amrika") for the past month.
Some disturbing American trends:
-Crocs (you saw that coming): mostly sighted on overweight women who do not comb their hair and, cruelly, small children under the age of six;
-Drivers from Virginia and Ohio taking to the roads;
-Cell phone usage: On at least three occasions women were talking on their phones IN THE TOILET STALL NEXT TO ME. This seemed to happen often at Atlanta Hartsfield Airport. (Why is it so impossible to conjure up disgusting noises when they are most appropriate?);
-Cell phone usage with the cyber head gear: A guy in CVS paced up and down the aisles breaking up with his girlfriend LOUDLY while I was trying to select glitter for my workshop poster session--he was wearing one of this god-awful things;
-Leggings: Need I explain?
-Capri Pants (AKA "Clam Diggers"): Again, do I really need to tell all of the 5'1" women out there that these make you look dowdy and even shorter? Nothing says "granny" like capri knit pants and a matching shirt and cardigan!
Well, at least the disturbing things in America are not this disturbing.
Hey Afghanistan--things are not all bad. In a few months all of those unbought Crocs will turn up over here as American aid.
The last three days of the month are always my least favorite. I am not sure how this happened, but in my previous office (in the building that was torched during the riots) and in my new office on the third floor of another building, I am right next to the fucking cashier. This means that on the last three working days of every month nearly all of the 700 Afghans working for my organization come in to get paid.
So for three solid days, there are at least fifty Afghan men (and sometimes two or three women) crammed into the narrow 3-foot wide hallway in front of my door. They like to stand in front of my office door (which opens outward), essentially blocking anyone from entering or exiting. Often, I try to open the door, only to hit someone, who will then refuse to move. If I have to walk down the hallway to anyone else’s office in the building, the bearded men in their turbans and patus stare at me as if I were naked. Added to this is the smell and the noise. The smell—well, it defies definition. I can best describe it as a mix of sausage pizza, wet dog and used maxi pad. The heat of the summer amplifies the odor.
These people like to talk while they are waiting on their monthly pay. They talk loudly and ceaselessly, forcing Schwig, my Cheesehead officemate, to go out at least three times a day to announce, “Bubakshah (excuse me) shutthefuckup. Tashakour (thank you)”. Telling the crowd to quiet down usually works for only a few minutes as there are soon more people cycling in, getting their cash, and leaving.
This is another aspect of my life in Afghanistan I don’t want to forget about. The bureaucracy, the virtually non-existent banking system, the lack of faith in the existing banking system, the dearth of running water or perceived importance of bathing; the way the men stare at women who are not in burqas, the way this stare makes me feel. I have mixed feelings about Afghanistan. I hate it, especially on days like today when I cannot fly out to Kazakhstan because of snow, but then there is the guilt of having to leave good people behind. Good people who only want to earn a little money, own a house and watch their children grow up. The guilt of being a person who just can’t relate to their situations and their needs because I have never and will never experience such circumstances.
More on that later—got to finish washing clothes.
Man, shit. I posted this then learned about an IED explosion in Wardak province that hit the vehicle of an organization that does humanitarian medical aid. A doctor, two nurses and the driver were killed. Remote controlled IED--hit the car head on and only the transmission is left. In Wardak? What the fuck is going on?
Usually it is only the military that is targeted, I guess that is all changing now. Gee, you might wonder why people are getting so pissed off:
mounts over civilian deaths in Afghanistan
1 hour, 1 minute ago
KANDAHAR, Afghanistan (AFP) - Villagers have insisted that dozens of civilians were killed in a coalition strike in Afghanistan, as rights groups voiced concern about mounting civilian casualties in days of fighting.
The governor of southern Kandahar province, Asadullah Khalid, said Monday that at least 16 civilians were killed early Monday in an air and ground strike in the province's Panjwayi district.
But a teacher in nearby Tulakhan village told AFP by telephone that he saw the bodies of 40 civilians, including children, and that about 50 others had been wounded.
The US-coalition said up to 80 suspected Taliban had died in the raid targeting Azizi village in Panjwayi, adding it was investigating claims of civilian casualties.
The teacher, named Abdullah, said he had assisted in burying 28 people and saw the bodies of 12 others being returned to their home village from other areas.
Eight houses in his village were destroyed in the bombing, several damaged and scores of animals were killed, he said from the area, which was still off-limits to journalists.
Other residents told AFP at the main hospital in Kandahar city on Monday that they had seen scores of dead and wounded.
An elderly man, Attah Mohammad, said he had lost 24 members of his family, including some children.
The strike was the latest incident in nearly a week that has seen some of the heaviest fighting in Afghanistan since the Taliban were removed in 2001 -- clashes that have left around 300 people dead, most of them rebels.
The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) and the United Nations expressed concern about reports of civilians being caught up in the violence.
The ICRC urged "the parties to exercise constant care in the conduct of military operations," describing the situation in the south as "worsening".
"At all times they must take all feasible precautions to protect civilians against the effects of any attacks," it said.
A UN spokesman in Kabul said Monday that "it is clearly important that everything possible is done to ensure the safety of civilians, as well as ensuring safety for UN and other humanitarian workers."
The insecurity was hampering the world body's work in the south, spokesman Adrian Edwards told reporters, but noted there were no plans to evacuate the area.
The coalition said it had targeted only compounds harbouring "extremists".
It said Monday it had called in warplanes after troops who were trying to capture insurgents in the area came under fire, while the governor said some of the militants had hidden in local people's houses.
There have been several major battles with insurgents during the past week, including a clash in Panjwayi last Wednesday and Thursday which Khalid said left 100 Taliban dead and netted some senior Taliban commanders.
The fighting has also claimed the lives of about 50 Afghans, besides those killed in the latest coalition raid, most of them from the fledgling police and army.
Five foreign nationals have been killed: two French special forces soldiers, a Canadian female soldier, an American soldier and one US civilian killed in a suicide bombing in the western city of Herat on Thursday.
The good news: I am leaving Afghanistan (Praise be to Allah).
The bad news: I am going here.
How come war gotta be declared less than ten days after I get my new job?
So over the next few weeks, I am going to wrap up my time here in Afghanistan and wrap up this blog with all the things I meant to mention about this country, but haven't yet.
I was reading Christina Lamb's blog and came across this.
My favorite quote is about the Ariana Airlines hijacking: A few years ago when a group of Afghans hijacked an Ariana plane and flew it to Stansted to demand asylum, I called the Ariana head office in Kabul for a reaction. The man I spoke to was stunned. “I didn’t think any of our planes could fly that far”, he said.
True.
If you don't know much about Afghanistan, especially under the Taliban, I suggest you pick up Lamb's book The Sewing Circles of Herat.
Dear Applicant,
Thank you for submitting your resume for the Gender Officer position in Afghanistan. There were several moderately qualified candidates and therefore, the selection was slightly difficult. I regret to inform you that you were not selected for the position due to one, or a combination of, the following:
1. You mentioned your “mental state” on your CV as “rural, urban, cosmopolitan”;
2. You sent me a long email after the phone interview explaining what you really meant to say during the interview, but just couldn’t;
3. Your writing sample included the phrase: “poverty has a women face” and/or “empowering the powerless through concretization”;
4. Your references told me how you “did not dress appropriately” when you worked in Kabul two years ago;
5. Your writing sample was 32 pages long, written in 2002, had eight annexes (including an ORGANOGRAM) and was over 1.5 MB;
6. Your writing sample had several misspellings and grammatical mistakes;
7. During the interview, you described your management style as “authoritative”.
Due to some, or all, of these reasons, we cannot extend an offer of employment to you at this time. Thank you for your interest.
Sincerely,
Confection
Today is the one-year anniversary of when it all happened.
At 8:30 pm on Monday, May 16, 2005 I got the call. Mark, a guy who works for me, phoned crying and said, “there’s been a kidnapping. It was C”. C was the manager of a program for vulnerable women and widows at my organization. I didn’t know what to do. I felt helpless and distraught and phoned a friend I’ve had for years who is also living in Kabul. I was screaming and shouting and my friend, and having heard that someone from my organization had been abducted, she thought it was me. I calmed down enough to let her know what was really going on and to let her know the details: C was traveling back from yoga class. Mark and another woman had been dropped off when two white Corollas blocked the road, men with Kalashnikovs broke the passenger side window and dragged her out. They went in the direction of the British Cemetery—that’s all we knew.
Although there had been warnings and at least three prior attempts, we were not sure who had taken her or what they wanted. Was it the Taliban? Was it a gang? I sat on the patio in the Qalala Pushta house and drank wine and smoked cigarettes all night, waiting for the phone to ring. My husband came out and put his arms around me. “It’s going to get worse, so prepare yourself”, he said.
I thought back to the staff meeting we had had that morning. I remember seeing her there, all of us crowded around the table in my cramped office. She looked great; wearing a new black blouse that she got from my favorite shop, Crystal Light. I wondered what would happen to her. Would they rape her or kill her? What did they want? I kept saying to myself that she was such a nice person, how could this happen? The ironic thing was, she was supposed to leave Afghanistan three weeks earlier but had decided to extend her contract. The morning that it happened I went to Chicken Street to buy her a silver bracelet for her birthday party on Wednesday night. We were going to have a cookout for her 33rd birthday.
The next day at work was useless. All of the international staff walked in, zombie-like and feigned being busy. I went out on the back stoop to sit with the guys while they chain smoked. The Director called a staff meeting at 9 to tell everyone what he knew. He had been up all night—in contact with the Embassy, with ISAF (International Security Assistance Force), with C’s family and with our headquarters in the states. No one had any idea what was happening. We filed into the conference room and the Director explained the situation: no demands have been made; we do not know where she is or who has her; two groups are claiming responsibility. While the Afghans in the room were threatening to find the people responsible and do all kinds of nasty things to them the Director’s phone rang. It was the kidnappers. The negotiations began.
I felt like I was in an action movie or a documentary: sitting around the table in the dining room at the office talking about what had happened and what we were going to do. The head of security for our organization came out from the states and took over my office; two people from International Risk arrived to develop a strategy; there were reporters. Different groups started making demands: remove international troops from Afghanistan, shut down Arman Radio (a progressive radio station that plays heathen music such as Britney Spears); but soon we were able to determine that Timur Shah had her. He was calling from her cell phone.
Timur Shah was a murderer. He had killed and been found guilty, but since the police could not find him and put him away they had incarcerated his mother instead, hoping that this measure would force him to turn himself in. However, he did not turn himself in, but decided to kidnap a foreigner instead to secure his mother’s release.
The next few weeks were a nightmare. Timur Shah had said that he had strangled her at one point (which all the media in Afghanistan reported), then took it back. The guys at my work bought time with the local cell phone company to send instant messages to all subscribers asking for information. Stickers and posters were made and distributed. The widows from C’s program rallied. (One funny point was when the widows carried a sign at one of the demonstrations that read, in English, “C made us widows!”) We were on the international news. Consultants came and went. Negotiations dragged on. Two times in the first two weeks we were close to a release and then nothing.
The only reprieve for me was a trip to Bangkok for a conference. I thought that I had gotten away from all of the stress and anxiety until I picked up a Wall Street Journal during a coffee break. There, on the front page, was a short paragraph stating that a video had been released. It was on the news that night, but I refused to watch it. I just couldn’t take it because I knew what the inevitable next step would be. In the video, which I saw later, she was rolled in a carpet with a scarf on her head (which she never wore) and an AK-47 pointed at her. They asked her to state her father’s name and then her brother’s. When she said her brother’s name Timur Shah replied, “I am your brother now”.
After 25 days, she was finally released on June 9. No one called; I saw it on CNN. She was immediately whisked out of the country. We watched Euronews as her plane landed and she was greeted by her Prime Minister. Surrounded by her family as she walked off the plane, she was wearing the black blouse that I had envied at our staff meeting nearly a month before.
Two weeks after her release, we got an email from her telling us what had happened. After being abducted she was taken to a house not far from the spot where the kidnapping took place, in the same neighborhood where many of our staff live. The kidnappers did not hurt her in any way; she had only lost weight and gotten a lot of mosquito bites. There were children in the house who would come and peek at her from time to time and she could hear women’s voices. She tried to time her bathroom visits (the toilet was a latrine across the courtyard) to the sound of passing helicopters, but soon they caught on. Timur Shah would ride his bike far away to use her cell phone so that he could not be tracked. And, most amazingly, she saw on television the rallies the widows were having for her release.
All of us at work signed big banners to be sent to her in Europe wishing her well. Although the worst was over, some of us will always remember what happened on May 16. Mark still feels guilty that he was dropped off first that night (a consultant in Kabul when it happened placed the blame squarely on Mark) and many people from my work feel terrible that it happened and they could not do anything about it. C says she wants to come back to Afghanistan, but her government will not let her, at least in the near term.
Now whenever I go out after dark, I am wary. Kidnappings still happen; one Nepali died in captivity not long ago after being abducted with a colleague at dawn in Kabul, and there have been several kidnappings and murders linked to the Taliban throughout the South since the beginning of the year. There is a fine line between living your life and playing it safe. While you won’t see me at the Coca Cabana [sic], the local “club”, anytime soon, I still have my share of nights getting drunk and playing pool at the Uzbek place or going out for dinner with friends. It’s a risk I have to take.
I knew what had happened when I read the subject line of the email from Stas: “Chon”.
I had met Chon about four years ago when he and Stas began dating. Well-traveled, fluent in English, British educated, funny and sarcastic, we all liked Chon immediately. Witty and vulgar, he never really cared who he offended and we would spend long nights at Stas’s kitchen table or at the local Kazakhstani gay club drinking and stirring up drama. He worked at a law firm and was one of their top attorneys, even though he was only in his mid-twenties. Successful and determined, he moved from Almaty to Astana to further his career and then returned back to Almaty at the beginning of the year.
Upon returning to Almaty he bought an unfinished apartment and moved onto Stas’s couch in the interim. Two weeks turned into months, and when I visited Almaty in February the strain in their now platonic relationship was beginning to show. One night, after being out at the club until 4am, Stas and I dragged our vodka-soaked asses back to his apartment on Masanchi. Stas brought a guy home which clearly displeased Chon. At 8am Chon was up, coughing, singing and strutting around the apartment in his high-cut black bikini briefs and tight black tank top. Chon never was one to let someone else have a good time at his expense.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but Chon was really sick then. He was such a damn queen I thought it was an act. He died yesterday.
I will never meet another friend quite like him. I can just see Chon now, in his bikini briefs and tank top with a set of matching black angel wings.
Alright, Government of Afghanistan: I have turned a blind eye when you allowed one of my co-workers to be kidnapped, let it slide when you stood by as rioters looted my house and burned down my office, but the provision that has recently gone into effect is where I draw the line.
Yeah, I know about it. I found out when I spent 35 minutes in a hot car riding down the IED-prone Jalalabad Road to the PX to pick up some beer. The security guy at the door looked at my passport and pointed out the sign
Effective August 16, 2006, by decree of the Ministry of the Interior, only individuals with ISAF (International Security Assistance Force, aka Coalition), UN or diplomatic identification will be allowed to purchase alcohol.
You thought you had me, right? I know you've got something to prove: regular Afghan shops selling beer and the resurrection of Vice and Virtue Office mean that you have to cut back and show you have power. Plus, your new Minister of the Interior was a runner-up--the Parliament rejected him from the Supreme Court because he is a conservative whack job. Well listen up: nothing keeps me from my Pino Grigio, not a decree from the Ministry nor some South Asian cashier at the PX.
I bought my beer and liquor in open defiance of your decree (with a little flirting with a guy with an ISAF badge) and I will not be deterred. There are few things I am willing to fight for, and my dear friend Ron Bacardi is one of them. It's ON.
Caliente!
The husband and I were reluctantly stuck in Dubai for Christmas Eve and Christmas on our way back to Afghanistan because the Kabul airport was closed due to snow. My husband was recuperating from a nasty bout of food poisoning brought on by some questionable pork fried rice consumed in Thailand, but we decided to venture out to the Diera City Center mall anyway. (Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, I fucking HATE Dubai. There is nothing to do but troll the malls while trying to suppress the DTs brought on by the lack of alcohol, save for the $8 cans of Heineken at the overpriced hotels).
Bored, with nothing but a spirit-free hotel room or more mall, we decided to go see a movie. I chose Babel, not because the hottest man in the world is in it, but because I supposed it would be a thought-provoking drama about bridging cultural differences between the “developed” North and “underdeveloped” South. Boy, was I wrong.
Now, I saw the toned-down “Arab version” which left out a lot of nudity, but kept in the scene where the 12-year-old Moroccan boy beats off to his 10-year-old sister and where the estranged couple reunites over a bed pan, and what was the relevance of the deaf Japanese girl trying to have her dentist molest her? It just seemed way too long, too sexualized and too—vapid. The movie just reinforced streotypes. There was no real look at issues, no examination of why the North African police beat suspects or why Americans automatically assume that any act of violence in a Muslim country is assumed to be terrorism, it was just three hours of filler with no point.
(However, I do have a point.)
As we left the theater, I asked my husband, “what did we learn from this?” He replied, “never to let you pick a movie again?” No. The lesson is: brown people get fucked, while white people with the right passports will get their stupid asses saved in any situation.
And being in the Dubai airport brought this all home. While my husband and I could hop in a cab and head to the Sheraton for the night, the Afghans waiting on the same flight had to sleep on the concrete floor of the airport. They had no visas, no money, no food, no family in UAE to help them. The airline (Kam Air, you fucking bitches!) only gave these 150-plus Afghans food coupons on the THIRD DAY after the flight was cancelled. Most of them were being deported for being in the Emirates illegally.
When will the media really look at how the rest of the world lives? When will films examine all the things that we white, privileged folk take for granted? Probably not soon, and Hollywood has just shown us that. While critics rave about the “serious drama” about “real issues” in movies like Babel, I just roll my eyes.
Yes, the restrictions on liquids are relaxed, but how does this affect my Duty Free purchases?!?!?
Ugh, I hate flying to America. I hope they shake me the fuck down like they did in Frankfurt a year ago. Trying to prove that you work in Afghanistan and are not a terrorist is not as easy as it sounds. I was forced to bust out my employer-issued ID with the photo of me looking angelic (and Iranian) in my chador. The old American ladies working the counter finally let me through, but the Azeri American who worked for the State Department (!!!) was not so lucky. Ah, profiling. It really doesn't matter what passport you hold or where you work, they can keep you from your flight if you are not the right color.
So this will be my 22nd time crossing the Atlantic. Crying babies, farting Indians, Xanax and red wine are par for course. I hope this will all be reflected on my frequent flyer miles.
I love these guys. I love their angry, cynical, left-wing diatribes.
Happy New Year and Eid Mubarak everyone--I am off to make fudge, royal icing and a cheese ball.
If you look in my gallery you will see pictures of a co-worker's engagement party. One of people killed in this attack was the brother of the groom.
Road Blast in Afghanistan Kills Three Aid Workers
Anti-Taliban Offensive Launched in 5 Provinces
By Pamela Constable
Washington Post Foreign Service
Sunday, September 17, 2006; Page A18
KABUL, Afghanistan, Sept. 16 -- Three Afghan aid workers were killed Saturday when their vehicle hit a bomb on a highway just south of the capital, while 7,000 Afghan and U.S. troops launched an operation against Taliban insurgents in five eastern and central provinces.
Police said the unidentified aid workers were killed and a fourth was injured when a remote-controlled bomb exploded under their vehicle. The attack was the fourth major bombing in eight days.
A colleague just called, it is 9am here and already three explosions (there were two yesterday). One hit an Afghan Army bus and there were a high number of casualties.
I am at home today, however; I am not sure why, but sometimes I get migraines and I start vomiting for hours. After everything is out of my system I am OK. It doesn't matter what I eat or drink or my stress level, it just happens. Anyone have any ideas what could be causing this?
It's going to be a long summer.
Damn--the rundown as of 1:30 pm:
1. 0725hrs. Location. District 2, Asay Watt area, close to the Ministry of Communication. A Remote-Control Device/bomb (RCIED) in a trash bin beside the road exploded and 39 Afghan National Army (ANA) personnel were wounded. The bus then went out of control crashing into a shop selling gas bottles and fuel, causing an explosion and a fire.
2. 0800hrs.
Incident report: C2606015- 0049, Lab-e-Jar Khair Khana, District 11
Location: Lab-e-Jar Khair Khana , Kabul City, District 11,
Incident type: RCIED attack
Date/Time: 05 July, approximately 0800 hrs
Report status: Confirmed
Information: Reports received indicate that a handcart packed with explosives was detonated via remote control in the above mentioned area. The intended target was a bus belonging to the Ministry of Commerce. As a result of the explosion, 4 passengers were reportedly injured and one killed. No further information at this stage.
Casualties: 4 wounded and 1 killed
Arrest: Nil
Assessment: The exact motive behind this attack is unknown however these types of attacks are usually carried out by Anti-Government Elements (AGE’s). This is the second attack this week which has been targeted at government structures. More attacks of this nature; particularly targeted at Government facets should be expected in the near future.
3. 0840hrs. The US Embassy is allowing official Americans to travel in Kabul only for essential reasons. The Consular Section encourages all Americans to limit their travel in the city as well, and cautions Americans who do move about Kabul, to avoid those neighborhoods and to be particularly vigilant.
4. 0925hrs. British Military & ISAF have just placed the city Out Of Bounds (OOB) to non-armored vehicles, further emphasizing an increased threat across the city for at least the rest of the day.
5. 1200hrs. According to unconfirmed information received, the Terror Network Al-Quaida has allegedly claimed responsibility for the 2 explosions this morning in Kabul city. As reported the statement included that another 26 explosive attacks would follow today in Kabul city. This report is as unconfirmed as it gets in the moment but already circulating around Kabul city. In order to mitigate risk to our staff in case there is some credibility to this, I have advised our staff to stay clear of all Military/Government vehicles and compounds as they would be the most likely target and restrict movement to essential only for the time being.
6. 1230hrs. ISAF report that to date, 2 x Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs) detonated and 1 x IED was found and controlled detonated in PDs 1/2. A further 3 x IEDs have been found around the city at undisclosed locations. No details of the IEDs have been released.
I just don't fucking learn, now do I?
I got bitten by a monkey.
It was the innocent looking one on the left.
See, I had to do a rapid assessment of a high-risk corridor in Northern Ethiopia last week and the husband and I decided to take some time to see Lalibela and Gondar. (You all know Lalibela--it's home to the rock-hewn churches and has been part of the Amazing Race TV show [the season with the professional wrestlers when Joyce and Uchenna won].) At any rate, in Gondar there is a woman who runs a charity which includes:
1. Primary school for 27 children
2. Donkey rescue
3. Cat and dog rescue
4. Veterinary facilities
5. Income generation for people with disabilities
6. Sponsorship for poor children, young adults and the elderly; and
7. Primate rescue.
It's the last one that was a problem. While the donkeys, cats and dogs were relatively docile, the monkeys are mean. I knew this and I went and tried to get my picture with one anyway. The bastard monkey ran up and bit me on the leg. My husband got it on film.
Someday we will look back on this and laugh about the fact that I just don't understand that monkeys are not cute, they are not pets, and they are not friendly. In the meantime we will be calling the center and checking to make sure none of the monkeys exhibit signs of rabies.
No wonder the people who used to own them got rid of them. Damn monkeys.
First, I want to point out that one cannot listen to text; conversation or dialogue yes, but you can only read text.
Two-way radio training. Since the riots and our office was burned we are all about security. Part of this new initiative is radio training. Yesterday afternoon, my boss came to ask me to come to hand-held radio training. I told her that I had been to radio training last year and that I did not need to sit around for an hour and a half to learn how to hold a walkie talkie upright. “No, this is advanced radio training, you should go.”
On the way up the stairs back to my office, I encountered two colleagues: “I hope y’all brought your crack ‘cause this is going to be the most boring shit you have ever encountered”, I warned.
The training was held in one of the burned out containers that used to house part of the finance department. Hot is not the word, the temperature was at least 98 farenheit, and without air conditioning the container was like a toaster oven. I sat down and our Afghan IT guy launched into his presentation.
The first power point slide was entitled, “What is Communication?”. I just shook my head. This was the same drawn-out remedial bullshit I had to sit through last year. I felt like standing up and saying, “What is communication? I am so happy we are addressing this question. Here I have completed graduate school and worked professionally for five years and I had no idea what the fuck communication was!”, but I restrained myself. It got worse.
While the swarm of flies in the room settled on my face, toes and hands and sweat beaded up, the IT guy took ten minutes to talk about all of the different types of communication and specifically, the types of communication we use in our offices (CODAN, VHF radios, e-mail, cellular phones, smoke signals, carrier pigeons). My boss told him to cut to the chase, and was backed-up by the finance manager.
So we fast forwarded to the section about “How to Speak Over the Radio”. I swear to god, some of the bulleted points included, “do not shout” and “speak in short sentences”. Then, there were definitions of radio lingo that included, “hello: a greeting”, “out: the conversation is finished” and a stern lecture about not using phrases like “roger, over and out” because they are WRONG and anyone who says them will go to hell. Then we talked about the “wolume” (volume) control and were subjected to more slides sprinkled with misspellings and poor grammar.
Finally, my boss put her foot down: “What I need to know is not how to turn on the radio. I need to know if someone breaks into my house at night or if we have another situation like the riots, what do we do?!?” The IT guy sheepishly replied, “I only can give training on how to use the radio. Those systems are to be decided by the Security Specialist.” At that point, I got up and I walked out. Forty minutes of my life lost and two reports to submit. This is my life.
A two hour flight and I am in another universe. Stepping off the plane, I remembered the first time I ever arrived at the Almaty International Airport: June 15, 1999, 4:30am. Getting off the flight from Istanbul, still hung over from my “last night in America” drinking binge with my college friend Dan, I had no idea what I was about to get myself into. I didn’t realize that the two years I had pledged to spend in Kazakhstan would turn into five, that less than 24 hours before I had met my future husband in the elevator of a twenty-storey hotel blocks from the Sears Tower, or that what I was about to do would change the course of my life.
Back in 2006, I am jumping over deported Koreans (see post below) to be first off the bus to Passport Control (I am an expert at this) and then on to baggage claim. Aigul is there to meet us with her new 17-year-old girlfriend. My husband and I hop into her Neva and drive to the city. I was only there last year, but so much has changed. There are new apartment blocks on literally every corner, supermarkets are almost outnumbering the mom-and-pop shops and there are very few kiosks. Soviet and Russian cars are predominated by Lexuses, Hondas and Toyotas; Kazakhstanis are doing well. I couldn’t help but think about how far this sparsely populated country had come since the fall of the Soviet Union and since the first time I came seven years ago.
Seven years ago the hotel rooms had communal toilets and hot water for only two hours a day; there were only two supermarkets in town, Rossei and Ramstore; nobody wore deodorant and the only types of buildings were the constructivist Soviet-era blocks. All of the changes—the stylish young people, lack of beggars, consistent electricity and water, availability of every consumer product imaginable—made me think about Afghanistan. I wish that I could travel back in time to that moment in the early 1980’s when the CIA decided to intervene to make Afghanistan “the Soviet Union’s Vietnam”. I wish that I could somehow have convinced the US government to stop arming the Mujahadeen and fomenting the insurgency. Then I think about how things might have been. When the Soviets occupied Kabul there were tramvais. The thought of a tramvai (trolley) on the streets of Kabul, where cars can now barely go, blows my mind. They built apartment blocks, the set up infrastructure; there were hospitals, schools, electricity. I am by no means excusing the horrible atrocities that the Soviets committed against the Afghan people (land mines shaped like dolls, for example), but maybe, just maybe, all of the problems the world is facing with terrorism could have been mitigated if the Soviets had stayed.
I realize that there are a lot of ramifications from this line of thinking--the war in Afghanistan clearly had implications for the fall of the Soviet Union—but looking at a place like Kazakhstan, and more appropriately, Tajikistan, makes me wonder what might have happened. There is something to be said for authoritative development.
There is a place for proselytizing (arguably). Kabul, Afghanistan is not it.
That whistling sound you will hear will be rockets heading for the Kabul Olympic Stadium:
Potential For Riots/Demonstrations - Kabul. Institute of Asian Culture and Development (IACD) intend to despatch up to 2,000 South Korean nationals who have already been granted visas to enter Afghanistan. At least 60+ are already in country and the remainder are expected over the next week.
Their aim is to hold Christian religious gatherings, the first at the Kabul Olympic stadium followed by a 5 km 'peace march' through Kabul on or around 5 Aug 06. They then plan to extend their religious activities to Mazar, Herat, Kandahar and Bamyan 7 Aug onwards. The IACD will initially be 'camping out' at the Kabul Olympic stadium.
• Most security and NGO actors are taking the threat from these marches as potentially extremely serious as they could easily trigger a violent backlash from elements of the local community.
March 8 was International Women’s Day, although few Americans knew it. All over the world, women were dressing up in their best clothes, receiving chocolates and flowers from men, and drinking themselves silly.
In Ethiopia, the day passed with little fanfare—a rally in Meskel Square against gender-based violence, some isolated gatherings celebrating women as “mothers, sisters, daughters” and the usual claptrap which accompanies the day. The events only started to scratch the surface on the hardships women in Ethiopia face. The statistics are alarming and disheartening:
71% of Ethiopian women have, at some point in their lives, experienced sexual or physical violence at the hands of a family member or intimate partner. (Demographic and Health Survey, 2005)
About 80% of Ethiopian women have had their genitals mutilated. Some of the girls are as young as seven days when they have their inner labia and clitoris cut off and sewn shut; some are as old as 15. As a result of this practice, girls experience psychological problems, difficulty giving birth (resulting in fistula), and increased susceptibility to HIV infection. (Demographic and Health Survey, 2000)
Female Genital Mutilation is practiced throughout Africa, and in some parts of Asia and the Middle East.
69% of marriages in Ethiopia are the result of abduction. In parts of Ethiopia, 46% of girls are married under the age of 15; for the country as a whole the average stands at around 31%. (UNICEF/NCTPE 2004).
Ethiopia’s fertility rate is the highest in the world at 5.9 children per woman. (World Bank, 2007)
The maternal mortality rate is 871 for every 100,000 live births; more than one-fifth of all deaths of women aged 15-49 are pregnancy related. (Demographic and Health Survey, 2005)
But aside from the statistics, I can’t tell you how horrible it is to be driving down the road and seeing a woman bent over under the weight of fuel wood; how devastating it is to see women begging while breastfeeding their children, sitting on the side of the road; and how awful I feel when I hear that just last week a four-year-old girl was raped by the guard at her expensive, international preschool.
So although International Women’s Day has passed for another year, be thankful for the women who came before and made all of your freedoms (and my freedoms) possible. Understand there is still a need for feminism in this world, no matter what the media or the Republicans try to tell you. There is still need for action and advocacy and agitation. We have not arrived.
“Enabling Communities Abandon Harmful Traditional Practices”. UNICEF/Ethiopia and the National Committee on Harmful Traditional Practices, 2004.
World Bank, Ethiopia: Accelerating Equitable Growth Country Economic Memorandum, Washington DC, June 2007, pp. 5-6.
Central Statistical Agency [Ethiopia] and ORC Macro, 2006 and Ethiopia Demographic and Health Survey, Addis Ababa, 2005
Why is it no matter where I go I get cat-called? I can be wearing anything, any time of the day in any part of the city and men cannot help but yell something at me! Walking back to my office from lunch with my husband a man pulled up next to me in his car and yelled, “sexy!” And last week, wearing sweats with greasy hair going to play Frisbee a man in a minibus taxi pulled in between me and my husband just to holler at me (I was walking with him and three Ethiopian men, but the driver was undeterred): “Hey baby, how are you?”
What are these guys thinking? Seriously, is there some myth about white women that I have not heard? Do they think that I am going to talk to them? What gives them the fucking right to walk past me and whisper, “sweet, sweet sister”? What gives them the right to even talk to me at all? I just want to yell “LOOK, I AM WALKING WITH MY HUSBAND, THE ONLY WHITE GUY WITHIN A TEN MILE RADIUS AND I AM WEARING BUSINESS CLOTHES. I AM NOT A PROSTITUTE AND I HAVE NO REASON TO TALK TO YOU. FUCK OFF.”
I really need to invest in a tazer.
I picked the wrong day to wear my sandals with four-inch heels.
Yesterday started out like any other: I went to work at 7:15, had meetings until 10:00 and then left the office to go four blocks to another meeting on gender issues. On the way out of the office, I saw three German ISAF (International Security Assistance Force) tanks moving down the road away from the Hanzalla Mosque in the direction of Taimani street. While an odd sight, I didn’t think anything of it.
I got to my meeting at the Agency Coordinating Body for Afghan Relief and proceeded to totally walk all over the condescending Afghan man holding the meeting (hence the four-inch heels, if you are going to railroad someone you need to wear stylish shoes). Basically, this guy wants to merge meetings on gender in the Afghanistan Development Strategy with meetings on programmatic gender issues which I oppose because in the past he was in charge of the meetings and nothing got done. When I got up to explain my position he acted like I shot his dog and then tried to ignore everything I had to say.
At 10:20 the phone rang, it was my husband but I didn’t answer because I was in the meeting. A few minutes afterward, I got a message from him that read: “I was told to stay inside rogur in streets because of car accident”. I had no idea what “rogur” meant so I sent back the message, “what?” but it didn’t send. I didn’t know it, but the network was overloaded which is what happens in Afghanistan when there is a bombing or kidnapping. At 10:40 someone at the meeting from Counterpart received a call that there were riots (aka "rogur") and that we needed to either leave for our offices or stay there. I called a car.
While waiting for the car I tried to call my husband but kept getting the “network busy” sign. As I got into the car, I asked Fraidoon, the driver, what was going on. He said that there had been a car accident with American troops and some people were killed. On the way back to the office I got a hold of my husband, “Where are you?” he demanded. I told him I was on my way back to the office. He said that there was a mob moving up Taimani street (the street my house is on, by the way) and to stay at the office.
When I arrived at my office, I went to talk to some of the people who were leaving from an earlier meeting I had left to go to ACBAR. I asked what was going on and they said 30 people were dead. The Americans shot at a group of people in Sarai Shomali (a place at the end of Taimani street where I buy plants and flowers) and the group decided to take the demonstration to the Parliament, the Ministries and any international group they could find.
I searched out our security guy—he was a mujahadeen back in the day—he acted totally nonchalant and told me to stay at the office, that it would pass. Besides, the group was far away. I turned on my four-inch heel with a “I am going home, I don’t know about y’all” and walked to my office to get my laptop. My husband called again and told me to get out of my office and come to his office across the street. “There are armed guards,” he reasoned, “you will be safe here”. I gathered my things and left my office for what would be the last time. At the door, a group of staff from Administration asked where I was going and a coworker urged me to go to her house. They told me not to go to my house on Taimani. The protesters were coming that way. I went to my husband’s office to wait.
At about 11:45 the shots started. We heard shouting and it sounded like there was gunfire coming from all directions. I kept searching google news to try to find out what was going on. There was an intense firefight around the corner. We thought it was DynCorp (big security firm with a bad rep among Afghans) but we found out later it was at the German Embassy. I stole looks out the window of my husband’s office. I tried calling everyone I knew, but AWCC, one of the only two mobile service providers in Afghanistan, was down. I tried to call my boss who was at the American Embassy when everything happened, but I found out later he was on “lockdown” in a secure place in the center of the Embassy and could not answer his phone. I called over the radio to let my organization know that I was OK. I heard a barely audible response—something about bombs and fire at my office. I tried to call two of my coworkers who live together to make sure they were safe at home but they both had AWCC phones. I called over the hand-held radio and got a short response from a woman I work with: “radio about to die”. I tried calling again over the next few hours but there was no response.
At 12:30 my husband and I joined his coworkers for lunch at the guesthouse adjoining his office. About ten minutes later we heard shouting and chanting and then loud booms against the side of the building. The crowd, taking advantage of a construction site across the street, was throwing rocks. One of the Afghan women who was there collapsed on the floor and started moaning and screaming. She obviously was terrified by the noise which brought back memories of past conflicts.
Once the group passed, we went upstairs to inspect the damage. A few broken windows, but that was about it. We went back to my husband’s office to wait. During this time, I was emailing my other boss who is in Bangkok at a workshop. Her partner (who is still in Kabul) had sent her an email saying that our office had been breached. I went out on the balcony to see what was happening. There was white smoke coming from the direction of my office building. My husband and I went back inside where it was safe and heard gunshots and explosions and saw people running from that direction.
I called my boss in Kabul and was able to get through. I told him what I knew and he said he would try to get in contact with the people still at the office over the radio. He said that quite a few organizations had their offices burned: IOM, UNOPS and a few guesthouses as well. There was smoke visible in different parts of the city. It seemed like there was shouting, gunfire and smoke everywhere I looked.
At 3:00, a former colleague of mine who just moved to Kabul called. “Your office is on fire and it’s on Yahoo news!” she yelled, with a little too much glee in her voice. I quickly got online and pulled up the slideshow she was referring to. There it was, my office, in flames. The crowd had looted it and set the computers and files in the middle of the street and set them on fire. The loud explosions we had heard earlier were gas cylinders in the kitchen being set alight. I started to cry. Then I saw something on the slideshow even more upsetting: houses were being looted. I panicked. At 4:00 one of the drivers from my husband’s organization agreed to take an unmarked taxi (all of his organization’s cars are marked with company tags) to the house to see what was going on. 30 minutes later he returned with the bad news: our house had been looted. They took the TVs, DVD players, satellite dishes and our laptop into the street and burned them. Nothing was left but the carpet, he said.
At this point the stress level was so high I was not sure how I could handle it. My husband, trying to find out as much as possible, sent the driver back with a camera because we were not allowed to leave the compound. He brought back the camera and we finally got to see how bad it was. Everything was turned over and smashed. They broke the windows, the dumped out our clothes, they broke dishes; everything was messed up. Then I realized I did not have my passport. It was in the living room at home. There was nothing to do, I got a drink.
I continued to check CNN and BBC to try to find out what was going on. There, on the front page, was a specific reference to my organization’s offices being burned down. I decided to call my parents because if they saw this and didn’t hear from me they would have assumed the worst. I told my mom all about the office and my house but told her not to worry. She laughed sarcastically. She was glad that I called, though, and I promised to keep her posted.
The person at my organization who manages the houses called and told me they would secure the house. I asked him to look for my passport and for my husband’s. He said that the group who looted the house tried to set it on fire but a neighbor intervened. Things could have been worse, I decided.
My husband’s organization gave us a room at the guesthouse for the night. I had a few more gin and tonics, all the while getting phone calls from friends and colleagues to ask if we were OK. Right before falling asleep, the guy at my house called to report that he had found our passports. I went to bed about 9, but woke up at 2 and could not go back to sleep. I kept wondering what had been taken, what did they want, how did this happen, and what could I have done to have prevented it. Without any sleeping pills at my disposal, I went downstairs to try to get my hands on some chamomile tea but the closest thing available was Horlicks (which is really gross and is non-narcotic so I am not really sure about all of those sleep-inducing claims). I went into the kitchen and struck gold: NyQuil. I knocked back a shot and went back upstairs. My husband was in the bathroom puking from all the stress.
The next day (today) was the day of reckoning. Today I had to go and see for myself just what had happened. I choked down some Nescafe and went to my office. It was like a scene out of a war movie. The entire building was burned; the roof had caved in and there was the smell of an electrical fire in the air. I walked around to the side of my office and saw that it was still smoldering. There were papers and parts of computers scattered all over the ground. A few Afghan colleagues came up with sad faces and put their arms around me. I started to cry. It was so sad, all of the things that we do to help people in this country and this is what happens.
After the office visit, it was time to survey the house. A crowd of neighbors watched us drive up and walk through the gate. It was a complete mess. The windows were broken, there were chocolate chips smashed into the carpet, cans thrown around, furniture broken. The pearl necklace my parents gave me for my birthday was gone, but luckily my diamonds were still there. They had taken everything out of the cabinets and closets and turned them over. They stole mine and my husband’s shoes, our DVDs, our laptop, two digital cameras, two DVD players, two TVs, an iron, two satellite receivers and dishes and an external hard drive. I was so mad. It wasn’t as bad as I had imagined, but it was still terrible.
We cleaned up what we could and decided to never stay in that house again. I guess this is what it feels like to be robbed—you just feel so violated. I came back to the guesthouse and that’s where I am writing from now.
This is the official news of what happened:
Police sources have reported the following detail regarding the civil disturbances in Kabul on the 29 May 06.
The initial RTA involved 22 vehicles, several of which were overloaded buses. Six persons were killed as a result of the RTA and a further 5 were killed in SAF that immediately followed.
A total of 300 individuals were detained during the disturbances, of these 92 remain in custody. ANP claim that 12 of these persons were 'ringleaders' and 3 of them were armed at the time of there arrest.
NDS state that they arrested 6 Pakistani males in the Karte Char area (PD3). The individuals are believed to have been rioting in the area and were in possession of combustibles at the time of their arrest.
So far today the city has remained calm, a planned demonstration at the Kabul University has been dispersed through negotiation between ANP and rally leaders. A second demonstration in the vicinity of the Serena hotel has also been dispersed.
The immediate area of Sarae Shamali (RTA location) has been sealed of by a large number of Afghan Security forces in order to prevent any demonstrations in the area.
A curfew will be in place tonight 2200-0400hrs. Any persons stopped after this time will be detained at an ANP station until the reason they have broken the curfew is ascertained.
There are a lot of stories from my ten colleagues who stayed behind to fight. More on those in the next few days.
At 3 am exactly: boom. It sounded like a thunderclap above my house but without the crackling sounds.
“Did you hear that?”, I asked my husband. Before he could answer, boom, boom, again in quick succession. The house shook. “Should we go downstairs?”
I grabbed my laptop (important work information) and we ran down the stairs, afraid to turn on the lights and possibly make our house a target (although strange that the one night we have electricity all night there are rocket attacks). At the bottom, I missed a stair and went flying on to my face and my laptop landed with a smack. We decided to turn on the lights and go back up to bed.
This was the second rocket attack in so many weeks, but this was close. It sounded like it hit district 10, over near Butcher Street. Last week the target was the district 5 police station.
It’s only been about five hours so no news yet on what happened or where the rockets hit.
There are only two fucking hills in Kabul. It looks like the ANA/ANP (Afghan National Police/Army) could get a few guys together for each hill to apprehend the motherfuckers when they shoot these off. You’ve let me down again, GoA!
