I am behind on my blog these days. The demands of Plebe Summer combined with case of Kabul stomach have me trying to catch up..So lets rewind back the 4th of July..
Over the past few years we have developed a family tradition of spending the 4th of July in different cities. Annapolis, Washington DC, and New York City have been highlights. This year was unusual to say the least.We were invite to the American Embassy in Kabul for an old fashioned 4th. So despite the fact that my husband had to fly later in the day we headed over to the Embassy in an armored car with an armed guard. I was swathed in my trying to fit it clothes and head scarf-although it was quite obvious from my face and husbands jeans we were Americans.
After gojng thorugh incredible security we were in . There was a volleyball tournament going on-green grass , no dust. I took off my stuff and had just a short sleeve shirt with no head scarf and could not believe how free I felt. Spending your time wary of those around you and being rushed into vehicles takes a toll on you.But for a few brief hours we were relaxing with other Americans. We had a lovely time talking with troops and staff and buying Duck and Cover T shirts from the American Embassy. Then it was time to cover up and head to the airport.
My husband was flying a trip to Sharjah which is about ten minutes from Dubai. It is a conservative city however and all the passengers were dressed traditionally -that is except me. I was the only western passenger plus the only female. As I started to board they told me to go to the front-the resulting photos my husband took from the cockpit told the story. I was quite the spectacle.
As we took off we headed southeast directly over Helmand Province. I could not help but think of our Marines hard at work below. There was military traffic to our left-a Marine F/18. I wondered what that pilot would think if he knew an American Marine Dad was flying that Safi Airways 737 next to him. The reality is that he could be my son next year when he finishes his F/18 training.
As we landed in Dubai it reminded me of home in Arizona. Wide paved streets, palm trees, street lights-what a contrast to the streets of Kabul Although there were no fireworks there was a lot to remind us of how special the US is and how amazing it is to have the young people of America willing to give their all for freedom. Because there is nothing like being free-ask the women of Afghanistan.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
Into the mountains
We woke up Friday morning to the typical sounds of the street below. Clip, clop of horses pulling wooden carts lashed together combined with cars driving crazily through the streets. The call to prayer rings through the air-some pull out their rugs and bow to Mecca; others continue on their business. Across the street three little boys huddle on the side of the road. They will stay there all day moving in and out of traffic.
It is a big day-we are going on a tour with an airline employee. He and his driver arrive at 9am along with the driver's little boy, age 7. He is dressed in his Afghan best-white suit with green belt and velvet vest inlaid with mirrors and trimmed with gold. He is very excited to be a part of this adventure. We climb into the car and head out of the congested inner city. We drive past the markets filled with all kinds of vegetables, melons, goats and sheep tethered waiting to be slaughtered.
As we continue to head out the road we pass the Teachers College and the Red Crescent Compound. There are security guards everywhere along with trucks of Afghan soldiers. We pass acres of refugee settlements made of mud walls and ceilings made of tarps or scraps of fabric sewn together. The poverty is overwhelming. These are refugees from the southern provinces-including Helmand. They have been here for a while as the stability of their homes has been lost for a long time. Hopefully the new surge will make a difference and they can return home.
Now we are out of the city. Small plots of land no bigger than my garden at home are planted with crops-wheat, alfalfa, and potatoes. The homes are now made with adobe like bricks and as we drive we can see places where they are making them. Along the road there are random mounds of rocks with sticks with scraps of green and red fabric flying. The driver tells me they are tombs. It is Friday-the only day off in the week and many others are traveling to the mountains. Families are picnicking along the roadways and every so often people are pulled into the creek along the road for a car wash.
We pass through Kabul's golf course and reach Lake Quarga. It is beautiful glacial blue green water. We stop and reserve a paddle boat and our host brings us bowls of ice cream. We paddle around the water eating ice cream and gazing at the high mountain peaks. I feel like I am in Colorado, but the scarf on my head reminds me again where I am .
As we return to shore I see a little girl who had been walking up the road with her brother carrying a tray . Underneath the cloth are breads baked to sell. She cannot be more than 6 years old. Another small girl is gathering stems of dry grass to bundle and sell for fuel. Little boys carry sacks to scavenge for plastic bottles. It is obvious that some are lacking food and I feel completely overwhelmed. Everywhere I go see small children working-it makes me feel ashamed of so many spoiled Americans.
Now it is my husbands turn to get back to his roots. There are horses for hire and so he climbs on an Afghan pony. The children of the owners are fascinated with my camera and want to practice their English. Ok and with a thumbs up they smile at me. He would have ridden forever but there was more to see. We continue to drive higher into the mountains. Now we are passing through a village and the markets are open . There is so much fruit-piles of cherries and plums; sacks of flour with American flags and the ever present Coca cola.
We reach our destination -a mountain stream surrounded by hundreds of people enjoying a holiday picnic. The driver parks in the stream-we take off our shoes and climb out for a snack of Afghan raspberries-white and purple. We notice some high school boys cooling their watermelons in the steam. They see us and pose for us and then present me with one of the melons. They spoke great English and wanted to know all about America. They reminded me of my students at home -hopeful to go to Florida someday.
We head back in the car-and the serenity of the day is disrupted by two truckloads of Afghan soldiers with machine guns. The picnic is over-it is a reality check. Things are not normal yet. It is time to head back t the safety of the hotel and the armed guards. It was an absolutely lovely day while it lasted.
It is a big day-we are going on a tour with an airline employee. He and his driver arrive at 9am along with the driver's little boy, age 7. He is dressed in his Afghan best-white suit with green belt and velvet vest inlaid with mirrors and trimmed with gold. He is very excited to be a part of this adventure. We climb into the car and head out of the congested inner city. We drive past the markets filled with all kinds of vegetables, melons, goats and sheep tethered waiting to be slaughtered.
As we continue to head out the road we pass the Teachers College and the Red Crescent Compound. There are security guards everywhere along with trucks of Afghan soldiers. We pass acres of refugee settlements made of mud walls and ceilings made of tarps or scraps of fabric sewn together. The poverty is overwhelming. These are refugees from the southern provinces-including Helmand. They have been here for a while as the stability of their homes has been lost for a long time. Hopefully the new surge will make a difference and they can return home.
Now we are out of the city. Small plots of land no bigger than my garden at home are planted with crops-wheat, alfalfa, and potatoes. The homes are now made with adobe like bricks and as we drive we can see places where they are making them. Along the road there are random mounds of rocks with sticks with scraps of green and red fabric flying. The driver tells me they are tombs. It is Friday-the only day off in the week and many others are traveling to the mountains. Families are picnicking along the roadways and every so often people are pulled into the creek along the road for a car wash.
We pass through Kabul's golf course and reach Lake Quarga. It is beautiful glacial blue green water. We stop and reserve a paddle boat and our host brings us bowls of ice cream. We paddle around the water eating ice cream and gazing at the high mountain peaks. I feel like I am in Colorado, but the scarf on my head reminds me again where I am .
As we return to shore I see a little girl who had been walking up the road with her brother carrying a tray . Underneath the cloth are breads baked to sell. She cannot be more than 6 years old. Another small girl is gathering stems of dry grass to bundle and sell for fuel. Little boys carry sacks to scavenge for plastic bottles. It is obvious that some are lacking food and I feel completely overwhelmed. Everywhere I go see small children working-it makes me feel ashamed of so many spoiled Americans.
Now it is my husbands turn to get back to his roots. There are horses for hire and so he climbs on an Afghan pony. The children of the owners are fascinated with my camera and want to practice their English. Ok and with a thumbs up they smile at me. He would have ridden forever but there was more to see. We continue to drive higher into the mountains. Now we are passing through a village and the markets are open . There is so much fruit-piles of cherries and plums; sacks of flour with American flags and the ever present Coca cola.
We reach our destination -a mountain stream surrounded by hundreds of people enjoying a holiday picnic. The driver parks in the stream-we take off our shoes and climb out for a snack of Afghan raspberries-white and purple. We notice some high school boys cooling their watermelons in the steam. They see us and pose for us and then present me with one of the melons. They spoke great English and wanted to know all about America. They reminded me of my students at home -hopeful to go to Florida someday.
We head back in the car-and the serenity of the day is disrupted by two truckloads of Afghan soldiers with machine guns. The picnic is over-it is a reality check. Things are not normal yet. It is time to head back t the safety of the hotel and the armed guards. It was an absolutely lovely day while it lasted.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Toilet Street
I am here in the lobby of a 4 star hotel in Kabul. It is attached to a mall and everything is impeccable. But as I walk out of the front entry things change. The first indication is the amount of armed guards standing around the perimeter of the hotel. There is a traffic circle to the right with a traffic guide vainly trying to control traffic. There are at least five armed policmen at points in the circle. and as you walk down the street, individual businesses and compounds also have armed guards.
When I say armed I mean with AK47s -not just pistols. Yesterday I had my picture taken with one of them and he cavaliarly swung it around bumping my chest-yikes! Every so often a car will pull up with someone special. Out will jump two security people flak vests and all. You can begin to figure out who they are by their muscularbuilds, steely eyed glares, and khaki trousers and vests. Many are former Marines or Special Forces. It can be hard to go home after getting used to these adrenaline surges.
As I stand on the front steps I see Toilet Street in front of me-so named because if you want to buy atoilet in Kabul this is the street. There are rows and rows of tiny shops filled with plumbing equipment and of course toilets. But that is not all you can buy.
Directly across from me there are several tents-in one they are making sandwiches using the bread which is being baked a little further down. The bread is flat like a pita but shaped in an elongated oval. They hang it from the ceiling and when it is time to make a delivery they spear it in stacks on a long pole. A little while ago there was a line forming for the fresh bread and more will be baked over open coals for the afternoon rush. Speaking of hanging-there are several goat carcasses hanging in the shop next door. In front there is a man with a wheeled cart grilling corn. And incongruous as this may seem the next shops are a Lexus Toyota dealer.
I am somewhat of a prisoner here until my husband returns. Despite constant activity on the streets there are no solitary women walking around. I did not realize quite how independent I have become until my wings have been clipped. But logic reigns so I will stay low and try to observe what I can and save my energy for tomorrrow's tour-the security guy is taking me to the market. You can't keep a woman inside forever!
When I say armed I mean with AK47s -not just pistols. Yesterday I had my picture taken with one of them and he cavaliarly swung it around bumping my chest-yikes! Every so often a car will pull up with someone special. Out will jump two security people flak vests and all. You can begin to figure out who they are by their muscularbuilds, steely eyed glares, and khaki trousers and vests. Many are former Marines or Special Forces. It can be hard to go home after getting used to these adrenaline surges.
As I stand on the front steps I see Toilet Street in front of me-so named because if you want to buy atoilet in Kabul this is the street. There are rows and rows of tiny shops filled with plumbing equipment and of course toilets. But that is not all you can buy.
Directly across from me there are several tents-in one they are making sandwiches using the bread which is being baked a little further down. The bread is flat like a pita but shaped in an elongated oval. They hang it from the ceiling and when it is time to make a delivery they spear it in stacks on a long pole. A little while ago there was a line forming for the fresh bread and more will be baked over open coals for the afternoon rush. Speaking of hanging-there are several goat carcasses hanging in the shop next door. In front there is a man with a wheeled cart grilling corn. And incongruous as this may seem the next shops are a Lexus Toyota dealer.
I am somewhat of a prisoner here until my husband returns. Despite constant activity on the streets there are no solitary women walking around. I did not realize quite how independent I have become until my wings have been clipped. But logic reigns so I will stay low and try to observe what I can and save my energy for tomorrrow's tour-the security guy is taking me to the market. You can't keep a woman inside forever!
the Skies of Afghanistan
The day began very early yesterday as I joined my husband on his flight to Kabul-via Kandihar.I was a little uneasy-security was reporting Code Red with significant street fighting. But airport security is good and I woud just be staying on the plane. It was dark as we flew over the Straits of Hormuz and Iran. As the sun rose I could see the arid landscape below. It looks a lot like Arizona and New Mexico.As we got closer to Kandihar it was difficult see in the dust and sand filled air.
The first thing I noticed upon landing was all the military hardware-armored vehicles and rows of military aircraft. As we pulled up to the terminal there was a guard post with machine guns and sandbags. Hmmm-definitely not the TSA.
The passengers who were lined up did not look like the nighbor next door. Many bearded men with long robes and turbans were ready the for the next leg.
The only woman was wearing a burkha-I decided it was time to put my head scarf on.Military aircraft were taking off and I realized that could be my boy next year
We were ready to take off for Kabul but then the unexpected happened. They had been transporting drug dogs-and one escaped from his kennel.
After a few tense moments my husband drew on all his farm experience to catch him. Now dog whisperer is added to his list of duties flying here in this part of the world
Dog duties left behind and now we headed north to Kabul. The terrain rapidly became more rugged and there dozens of peaks.In the river valleys you could see small settlements and a few terraced fields. As we got closer to Kabul high snowy peaks formed a semicircle to the north. In the valley there were many walled homes -five million people live in Kabul.. We descended and it was time to land-and start another adventure. As I climbed into the van with the armed guard I wondered what my dad woud be thinking-probably you go girl!
The drive to the downotwn was quite amazing. I cannot empahsize the poverty combined with commerce. Small huts house people and products to see.
Donkey carts and horses have their own lane in the 4 lane highway. As we got into downtown the roads narrowed and traffic became congested. We arrived at the hotel with multiple armed gaurds out front. It is very nice and located by a roundabout where you can see all manner of activities. Directly across from the hotel is a butcher shop with goat carcasses hanging next to a bread bakery where long flat loaves are baked and hung in the windows.
We are not suppose to wander about-but two passengers had told me of a shop where everything was made by Afghan women. After a couple of wrong turns we found it along a garbage and goat strewn street. You knock at the gate and are allowed to enter a beautiful grassy compound surrounded with roses. The shop was lovely and we found some great things to bring home and my Afghn wardrobe-shirt,pants, scarf for thirty bucks.
Tomorrow when my husband returns from his flight to Dubai we are being taken on a tour of the city. And tonight I am hotel bound-not a place for a woman to wander about alone. So I will head to the lobby and hope there is wireless between the occasional power failures and upload this blog and try to call home.Good night from Kabul.
The first thing I noticed upon landing was all the military hardware-armored vehicles and rows of military aircraft. As we pulled up to the terminal there was a guard post with machine guns and sandbags. Hmmm-definitely not the TSA.
The passengers who were lined up did not look like the nighbor next door. Many bearded men with long robes and turbans were ready the for the next leg.
The only woman was wearing a burkha-I decided it was time to put my head scarf on.Military aircraft were taking off and I realized that could be my boy next year
We were ready to take off for Kabul but then the unexpected happened. They had been transporting drug dogs-and one escaped from his kennel.
After a few tense moments my husband drew on all his farm experience to catch him. Now dog whisperer is added to his list of duties flying here in this part of the world
Dog duties left behind and now we headed north to Kabul. The terrain rapidly became more rugged and there dozens of peaks.In the river valleys you could see small settlements and a few terraced fields. As we got closer to Kabul high snowy peaks formed a semicircle to the north. In the valley there were many walled homes -five million people live in Kabul.. We descended and it was time to land-and start another adventure. As I climbed into the van with the armed guard I wondered what my dad woud be thinking-probably you go girl!
The drive to the downotwn was quite amazing. I cannot empahsize the poverty combined with commerce. Small huts house people and products to see.
Donkey carts and horses have their own lane in the 4 lane highway. As we got into downtown the roads narrowed and traffic became congested. We arrived at the hotel with multiple armed gaurds out front. It is very nice and located by a roundabout where you can see all manner of activities. Directly across from the hotel is a butcher shop with goat carcasses hanging next to a bread bakery where long flat loaves are baked and hung in the windows.
We are not suppose to wander about-but two passengers had told me of a shop where everything was made by Afghan women. After a couple of wrong turns we found it along a garbage and goat strewn street. You knock at the gate and are allowed to enter a beautiful grassy compound surrounded with roses. The shop was lovely and we found some great things to bring home and my Afghn wardrobe-shirt,pants, scarf for thirty bucks.
Tomorrow when my husband returns from his flight to Dubai we are being taken on a tour of the city. And tonight I am hotel bound-not a place for a woman to wander about alone. So I will head to the lobby and hope there is wireless between the occasional power failures and upload this blog and try to call home.Good night from Kabul.
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