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.
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.
Not sure why, but all last Monday and every day since, I have that song "Terror!" by The Rakes in my head:
And my job in the city won't matter no more
When the network is down and my flesh is all torn
Every plane is a missile
Every suitcase a bomb
There's no reason in my head now
Only fear in my bones
So now things are getting back to normal. I am packed into a cramped office with my colleagues, with no air conditioning, bad connectivity and no privacy. Oh yes, and there is lots of B.O. too. I am becoming an involuntary mouth-breather to survive.
There are lots of promises about which agency will pay for all the stuff I lost. But really, I am not that concerned. Every morning we sit out on the lawn and have a meeting (finance took over the conference room) and talk about what is going on. It is what is revealed in these meetings that is foremost in my mind. Some of our staff were tied up and all of their computers taken out of town and set on fire in one of the provinces last night. They were warned not to associate with international organizations (these staff implement an education program). There have been more aid workers killed in the first six months of this year than probably the last three years put together and I can't help but wonder, was this riot an abberration or is something worse on the horizon?
I have been in Afghanistan for over 14 months now. I have dealt with the kidnapping of a colleague, the riots, daily stares and harrassment and yet it has not even occurred to me until now that maybe it is time to pack it up. But packing it up is not that easy. I love what I do. I really feel like I contribute, like I am helping people. I like the Afghans and the foreigners I work with (except for one, but more on that later) and my husband, for once, likes what he does as well.
A few weeks ago I was compiling the results of a survey from our widows' program. One of the beneficiaries wrote, "God bless you people. I pray for you every day". Is it worth it, to have job satisfaction if I have to deal with the potential of having all of my shit looted, my office burned and to be kidnapped? I honestly do not know.
This isn't Iraq--things get done. We are building houses for returnees, digging wells so schoolchildren have clean water, educating little girls and boys, helping widows to live in dignity and trying, generally, to get the people of Afghanistan back on their feet again after all of these conflicts. It's like it doesn't matter anymore who you are or what you do; if you are preceived to be on the wrong side you could get killed. I think that is the part I am having problems with.
Maybe this is just an expected after-effect of all of the "Terror!" I've been through lately. But the good news is that on Sunday the old man and I are off to Bangkok for a conference and then a week on Koh Samet. Hopefully my pallid ass in a bikini will not incite some terror of its own.
Over the past four days, it has snowed in Kabul. This is strange because usually there isn’t snow until after the first of the year and usually it doesn’t snow for more than a few hours at a time. As a result, the airport has closed. The Kabul airport has no radar equipment, and therefore the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF, i.e. Coalition Forces) who runs the airport would not allow planes to land without three miles visibility. My boss (Suka) has been stuck in Dubai for the past three days and there are consultants and various others stuck either here, in Dubai, in Pakistan and in other parts of Afghanistan. Welcome to the 21st century.
Snow is not the only thing accumulating in Kabul. Consider the following, clear indications that it is time to get the hell out of Dodge:
1. My boss (Dutch) has requested that all international staff submit to him, in sealed envelopes, three proof of life questions in case we get kidnapped. (This reminds me of when my coworker was kidnapped last year and the security guy when to her house to “get some DNA” in case she didn’t come back alive.);
2. This article and
3. The Taliban Code which inclues this passage:
Those NGOs that come to the country under the rule of the infidels must be treated as the government is treated. They have come under the guise of helping people but in fact are part of the regime. Thus we tolerate none of their activities, whether it be building of streets, bridges, clinics, schools, madrases (schools for Koran study) or other works. If a school fails to heed a warning to close, it must be burned. But all religious books must be secured beforehand.
(I work for an NGO.)
Next week I am interviewing for jobs in Africa and Southeast Asia. I can't wait until I can file all the "things I worry about" under "not my problem".
I just heard something strange from an Afghan guy I work with and a co-worker who speaks Dari corroborated that she had heard the same thing.
Apparently, the American forces are supplying the Taliban. The guy I talked to said with food, but my co-worker said munitions. Also, there are stories about Afghans fighting the Taliban who capture Taliban fighters, turn them over to ISAF (the International Security Assistance Force) and then capture the same guys fighting for the Taliban weeks later at which point the Taliban tell their captors, "you guys are stupid--the Americans are supporting us too!"
This could all be bullshit. But why would the Americans be supporting the Taliban? Is it a tactic of spreading these rumors among Afghans so that they will not support Americans and NATO/ISAF troops? I wonder.
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.
This is the account that one of my co-workers wrote who stayed behind the day of the riots. Damn, this makes my stomach turn and just makes me mad all over again.
HRD Manager, account of the Monday, May 29, 2006 (Jawza 8, 1385) incident.
The demonstration that I found out about only a few minutes earlier was becoming more intensified by 11:00 am which is why we decided to send the international staff home.
To find out exactly what was happening, I took a rented car to Taimany where I faced a group of angry demonstrators on the 7th street. I returned to the office and asked Shah Mohammad to evacuate the office completely. Shoaib, Driver, and I accompanied the last two international staff to the International Guesthouse. On our way back to the office, we were caught in the middle of the demonstration in front of the Attorney General’s office. I asked Shoaib to take the car back to the guesthouse and I walked along the demonstrators to the office, pretending to be one of them. The demonstrators dismantled the security box in front of the Attorney General’s office and set it on fire in the middle of the road.
When I came back to the office, I found that a small number of the staff had not left the office, including two female staff, from Admin and an income generation staff and her children (later I found out the two kindergarten teachers and a handful of kids were hiding in the kindergarten). I asked Ramazan, our Admin Assistant, who had also remained behind, to take them to a safe location. He took them through Kolola Pushta to a safe place before returning to the office.
I, along with 14 other staff, stayed at the office during the looting and the fire. Those who had stayed behind did not to hesitate to protect the office. Their courageous actions saved much of the organization’s properties, assets and the entire adjacent building, about 50 rooms, along with furniture and equipments. They rescued more than 20 vehicles, 6 large generators, approximately 90 computers, 55 printers, 9 stores (containers) 2 of which were storage of fuel, oils and vehicle’s spare parts etc. The credit of having all the remaining stuff in our office goes to these people.
We locked all the entrance doors to the office. The crowd was approaching from two sides: Kolola Pushta and Qala-I- Fathullah. I was in front of the transport gate which was locked from inside. I watch as their leader pointed to buildings to be attacked. They damaged the security box in front of WFP office (located next to the office). Next, they tried to attack our gate but the transport gate was too strong for them to break down so they moved on to join the crowd coming from Qala-i– Fathullah toward Shar-I- Naw, all the while breaking our windows around the corner. As this was happening, I managed to move to the other end of the building, in front of the mosque, watching them move away. When they cleared our building, I went back to the office and assured my colleagues that the mob was gone.
At 12:30 the mob returned from Shar-I- Naw, and broke the wooden gates located in north side of the main office. Over 100 people raided the office in looting what they could and destroying the rest. Later, one of my colleagues told me that a gunman was standing next to the finance department, his head wrapped in a handkerchief. I soon realized that, even though we were doing our best, we could not resist them because they were a handful of people with guns among the crowd. I did not want to risk any of our colleagues’ lives. I though that they were a group of thieves, who would leave after they took what they wanted. I never thought that they would finish their action by setting the office on fire.
I could hear the flames but was not able to see them. I kept looking all around to see where it was coming from. And suddenly there it was, all powerful and engulfing everything in its path. The steel bars on the windows, meant for protection, had now become an obstacle against salvaging equipments.
The fire was soon raging out of control and no matter how hard we tried we could not put it out. The staff was looking to me for guidance, but I was concerned for their safety. I had to tell them to back away. Watching the office burn was like watching my own home burn and not be able to do anything about it. This will be one of the worst memories that I will carry through life; the office bunt as I looked on helplessly.
While we were fighting the fire, one of the looters was stealing a laptop and a DVD player but was not able to go through the main gate which was on fire. Assuming we too were looters, he asked us for help over the western wall. We gave him a hand and more before we locked him up in the transport department.
Another young looter who was throwing items to his gang from the kindergarten roof , was apprehended by one of our colleagues and joined the other looter at our makeshift jail.
Three invaders entered the car park and tried to steal a Corolla when Yama, our Mechanic, ran after them and told to get out of the car. They found the car first and that there are plenty more for him to choose from. At this point Yama reached in through the open window and pulled out of the driver. A group of our staff joined him and rescued the car. Yama ceased another car-thief who told him that he was a staff member. He joined the rest at the transport department.
Nasim, the Head of IT and Communication, did his best to save the finance department’s server from, but despite his heroic act that brought him to a few feet from the fire, he was not able to save the server.
Nasim was fighting the fire off from the generators and three guards were fighting the fire away from the next building. I sent the cars out of the office, we carried the damaged cars away from the wall of the burned building and succeeded to pull out one the generators but we couldn’t take out the second one.
To prevent the spread of the fire to the next building we pulled out all the cloths and furniture from the office’s shop. I asked the staff to take out all remaining materials out of the office. We took out 14 laptops, 2 satellite phones, 1 IT Server, radio sets and computers and put them all in a car which driver Hanif took to Mr. Ebadi’s house who is an employee of the Parwan office; we sent 8 cars to Shir’s house.
I asked Ehsan and Satar, a Guard, to keep a watch from the Kindergarten’s roof and I went outside to stand by the mosque next to the office. I watched as a small group of looters returned back from Haji Yaqoob square and broke into the reception. I followed them and with the help of a group of our staff ceased them. Our staff continued their heroic acts and after throwing the mob out of the reception and removed a couch that they had set on the fire. It was timely act that protected the second building and offices from the fire.
The Fire Department refused to get involved without protection. So we all watched as our dear home burnt.
1. Shir, Driver; took 8 vehicles and some other stuff to his house, resisted the looters on the street and retuned them back to THE OFFICE in good condition.
2. Yama, Assistant Mechanic, beside saving a laptop and a VCD player that he took from the looters, he saved 3 vehicles by taking them out of the office.
3. Humayon, Guard; despite his disability, he acted bravely.
4. Ihsanullah, managed to grab a camera from a looter and take pictures of the office while burning.
5. Shafi, Guard, he acted bravely
6. Satar, Guard, he acted bravely and he was very active and became very tired in that day
7. Abdul Wahab, Guard; he acted bravely.
8. Khoja Sayed Jan, he acted bravely by pushing back the rioters from reception.
9. Baseer, Mechanic, took coaster van full of shop stuff and some other things for safe keeping
10. Shoaib driver; he acted bravely
11. Fazel Guard he acted bravely
12. Nasim, Head of IT and Communications, did his best to save properties and collected about 13 laptops, sat phones, radio sets and a few desktops and put them in a car and took to Mr. Ebadi’s house, we received it back in good condition
13. Wahab Mechanic; he acted bravely and saved a vehicle by taking it for safe keeping during the riot
14. Ramazan; he took Samira, Misha and Ferozan with her children from the office to their houses in very bad condition. Also he assisted others in pushing back the rioters from reception.
1. Sayed Khalil
2. Fazel Haq
3. Musharaf driver
4. Hanif driver
5. Abdul Sabor
6. Karim,
7. Hafiz
8. Eng Sulaiman
Dear Oprah,
I will preface this letter by saying that I appreciate your attention to what is going on in Afghanistan and I understand that you would like to squeeze every last drop of tear-jerking sympathy from the American people over 9/11 to increase your ratings. After all, you are a businesswoman; I appreciate that.
But the purpose of this letter is to inform you of what your staff has been doing to my staff over the past week. Approximately five days ago someone from Harpo contacted one of my employees--who happens to speak Persian--and asked her to go out and videotape some Afghan widows for a "surprise" story for some 9/11 widows who support said Afghan widows. My employee, being a nice person (although somewhat of a milquetoast at times), kindly agreed and loaded up her video camera and one of our public relations staff and went out into one of the futher districts of the capital to get the "story" for your show.
After four hours of sitting in the sun and prodding these poor, bashful Afghan widows to talk about how they feel about the donation these 9/11 widows gave to them, my employee returned with the tape. We had no problem doing the filming, although it took away from our busy schedules, because it is good publicity for our organization.
However, once we finished taping, your staff realized that it would take too long to DHL the tape, so sending over a satellite feed was the only option--but NO--your staff would not pony up the grand for the uplink. Instead, Harpo asked one of the handful of expatriate staff members of this organization (who supports about 1000 Afghan staff) to take time out of her day to transcribe what the widows said. Your staff had to find out what the widows said first to see if it was "worth" the $1000 to send via satellite!
After the tape was transcribed and your staff read the text, they proposed that my employee fly to fucking PAKISTAN to feed the tape because it would be "cheaper"! I am sorry, Oprah, but we have JOBS that involve helping the poor of Afghanistan to live in dignity and are not your lackeys who can drop everything and fly to Pakistan so you can get your story.
But, no matter: you will get your tape. I almost broke BOTH my legs getting to the Embassy to hand the tape off to some guy going to Washington tonight (Musharaff had the roads blocked so I had to hustle). So the tape will be there by the time you tape on the 12th. You can thank me later. I just hope that the donors for our other $25 million worth of projects do not drop our funding for getting our reports in late.
Sincerely,
Confection
P.S. I expect to be reimbursed for the postage.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
A fitting beginnging to my last full day in Afghanistan: a window-shaking explosion at 6:45am. I had just gotten out of bed when I heard it; 20 minutes later and still no news on whether it was a rocket or an IED. (Actually, in the end, it was a gunpowder storage shop that exploded on accident.)
On a lighter note, something happened that made me laugh until my sides ached yesterday. See, there are these poor kids who hang out by the US Embassy/USAID/ISAF base in Shash Durak trying to sell things. Usually they sell newspapers or copies of the Afghan Scene, or chewing gum. These kids are RELENTLESS, springing into action at the sight of a foreigner, repeating "gum, madam? Gum? Madam, one dollar, gum?" Yesterday, I was running to have a quick beer with my friend Sas who is stuck in the USAID compound when I had to pass ISAF and the throng of kids. One jumped out in front of me with a plastic snake. "Snake, madam?"
So today is my last day. Praise to Allah.
I don't know why, but that old joke always makes me laugh: "A man who walks through the airport turnstile sideways is always going to Bangkok".
And it seems like I am always going to Bangkok (rather than "bang cock"), too, and that I always find out that I am going with less than seven days to prepare. Today my boss came and told me, "you can go to the conference next week if you want, HQ agreed to pay the costs."
Thailand is my favorite country. I go there at least twice a year whether I plan on it or not. I can drink grass jelly as I get on the sky train, head out to get a Thai massage, eat spicy green coconut curry, jump on a marshrutka and go to the beach, shlep around town with a big Chang in my hand wearing nearly no clothes. I can nearly taste the lemon grass and exhaust now.
There are direct flights, the costs are covered, why not?
Yes, indeed: Fuck the World.
I have been really pissy today with due cause: some of the stuff which was not stolen in the riots has since gone missing although we packed it up and brought it to the new house ourselves. My brand spanking new mandolin (no Shaker pie any time soon), brand new frying pan and knives. All imported from the US, of course. Fucking brilliant that I got my shipment from the states exactly four days before the riots. Allowing me time to unpack everything and lay it out in neat little rows for hoodlum Spandi kids to get their grubby mits on after they busted through my front door.
Adding to the irritation is work. There is a certain foreigner with whom I work who is about to find out what time it is. Maybe I am placing all of my frustration on her, but other people I work with are corroborating my assumptions and it is not long before there will be a mutiny. She (being in a position of authority higher than me) hired her friend for a senior expatriate position, takes the credit for every time I bust my ass and turn out something extraordinary, alienates the Afghan staff and talks shit about them when they are not around, and has personally attacked me. What can I do?
So, fuck the world. At least this anger is fueling three mile runs after work.
OK, I try not to talk about domestic issues, because this is a blog about my experiences in Afghanistan, but this is very alarming.
So let me get this straight, seven months before September 11 my government decided to start spying on me? I hope a motherfucker gets impeached and thrown out of office on his monkey ass if this is true.
Speaking of "domestic spying", we have moved into a new house (our old house was looted and almost set on fire) and there are guys coming and going to do repairs. Last night about 7:00, one of the neighbors (an old, white-bearded Afghan) came over to talk to my husband (who had been drinking since noon because he had the day off). They were outside talking for at least 45 minutes--in times like these I am glad I am a woman in Afghanistan--and the purpose of the meeting? The neighbor asked my husband to inform him when people will be on our roof because he has daughters and the men could see them!
(Honestly, I was quite relieved because I thought for sure he had come to admonish me for prancing around the house and yard in my underwear.)
Meanwhile, just got a phone call that two improvised explosive devices have blown up at the Ministries of Internal Affairs and Finance.
Nothing left to do but post a little GET YOUR WAR ON:
The funny thing about the latter comic strip is that international donors (UNDP, for example) have poured millions of dollars into programs to disarm former militia members, and now Karzai wants them armed again because apparently the program was a fuck up and a little too premature, no?
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.
They said there were six VBIEDs in the city that the Taliban is just waiting to set off.
This morning's makes number two.
I was sitting at the computer when I heard the explosion (which must have been big because we are across town). Then I got a message from my friend at the Embassy: "Can't make it to dinner tonight--we have been attacked". She thought it was a rocket, but it was a suicide car bomb.
Kabul, you look more like Baghdad every day.
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
This was in the news today. And while all of the ISAF, American and British forces are focused on the Southern Provinces like Helmand, Uruzgan, Zabul and Kandahar, the Taliban has gone and set up it own governmental office in the Southeastern province of Ghazni.
This is a big deal: mostly because Ghazni is not on the front lines. While there have been bombings and assasinations in Ghazni this year, there are no foreign military troops there to keep peace, but this is the new front. Especially when these Southeastern provinces are on no one's radar (no pun intended) and the Taliban can hang out a shingle without anyone stopping them. There are also reports that the Taliban have met with men over 60 in Ghazni center to ask them to become suicide bombers.
What's more, in talking with some of the Afghans I work with, apparently in Peshawar (in Pakistan on the border with Afghanistan), the Taliban is openly recruiting people with storefronts to travel to Afghanistan to carry out bombings, kidnappings, etc.
All of this really saddens me. When I came to Afghanistan in spring 2005, Ghazni was the first place outside of Kabul that I visited. It was gorgeous: the fruit trees were in bloom and the fields were bright green. The mud walls of the buildings and the remnants of the ancient empire that once ruled parts of India made it seem like I was in another time. It bothers me that the little girls I visited in their classroom might not be able to go to school much longer and the peaceful, sleepy town I visited might be irrevocably changed for the worse.
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 hate flying. Don’t get me wrong, I am not afraid of a terrorist attack or mechanical problems or the plane being shot out of the sky; I hate the process of flying. Going to the airport two hours before the flight, checking in bags, going through security, standing in line at passport control and customs, sitting around in the waiting area. And then, once I get on the plane, having to deal with people standing in the aisle putting bags away (unable to move for three seconds for me to pass), sitting next to the middle-aged Indian guy who farts and snores the whole ten hour flight, dealing with the toilets at the end of the flight with pee all over every possible surface and used tissues sticking out of every nook and cranny. The crying babies with the parents who act like I should give a shit that their kid is crying, while I put in earplugs and wait for the Xanax to kick in. Then getting off the plane somewhere in Europe, sitting around an airport for five hours and then doing it all over again.
And while I absolutely hate flying for these reasons, my hatred has suddenly become acute. Why? Ariana Afghan Airlines. Now if these three words do not make your blood run cold, consider the facts: in its 25 years Ariana has had one hijacking (in 2000 five Afghans took an internal flight to London—you probably heard about this on the news recently as all of the hijackers were granted asylum) and five crashes. Since moving to Afghanistan last year, I have been forced, repeatedly, to take Ariana Airlines when I want to get the fuck out of Kabul and each time has been a terrifying, humiliating and life-changing experience.
I must say that I am no light-weight when it comes to traveling. I have flown on Yak-40s, Tupelovs, and planes decommissioned by the Democratic Republic of Congo for christssakes, but nothing prepared me for the deep, irrevocable fear I feel when flying Ariana. This fear emerges when you first get to the gate. When traveling from Dubai to Kabul, you must go to Terminal Two. Terminal Two has none of the restaurants, shops and aesthetic touches of Terminal One. Indeed, Terminal Two is at the gateway to hell; a small hallway that looks like a series of trailers slapped together. The flights that leave from Terminal Two are only to god-forsaken places like Afghanistan: there are flights to Baghdad, Djabouti, and remote areas of Iran from Terminal Two, but never to any place with consistent electricity, running water, or a lack of armed conflict for the past 5 years. While purchasing alcohol at the one duty free shop in Terminal Two, I ALWAYS see the Russian pilot of my plane (he’s wearing an Ariana badge) buying vodka, which I pray he does not consume in-flight, but realize it might not be a bad idea. While checking out with my liquor stash the Phillipina behind the register asks me with wide eyes, “where are you going?” and “is it safe there?”
The atmosphere of Terminal Two is a microcosm of the situation in the Middle East and Central Asia: there are fatties from the Midwest with their “Operation Freedom” shirts, African American men wearing jeans and sneakers, white women who look like they took a flight from Wal-Mart to the UAE, Afghan men in their shalwar kamezes and wool caps, and Arabs in traditional headdresses. I always try to bury my head in a book and distance myself from the Americans, they are so culturally inept and embarrassing. I mean, you are going to the Middle East for fuck’s sake—do you think it is a good idea to wear a “Christ’s Gym” t-shirt?!?!
Once you check in it’s every woman for herself. In the waiting area, you will hear stupid British mercenaries go on and on about what happened recently in Kandahar while the Afghans (all male) sit and stare at everyone in silence. Once the airline worker walks through with a radio you know you’d better jump-the-fuck-up and run hell for leather to the door to be sure that you are the first motherfucker on the bus to the plane. Once on the plane, I notice that I am only one of about three women—all foreign—of the 150 passengers. The plane is hot, it smells like body odor and three-day old dahl. It’s an old Soviet plane, probably built in the 1960’s or 1970’s and it appears to be held together with duct tape. As I walk down the aisle the Afghan men eye me in fear that I will sit down next to them. Invariably, my assigned seat is broken, so I usually park it next to some pasty old Western dude. The Afghan men all stare at me like I am going to jump up and take off my top as we taxi.
Once in the air, I dare not look out the window at the jagged mountain tops mere feet below us. If I do, I start wondering how in the hell we could make an emergency landing if we needed to and every small tremor of turbulence makes me put a death grip on the armrests. I take more Xanax and try to sleep. Soon the food is brought around: a greasy chicken leg, a half a lemon, a hot pepper, some potatoes, and Afghan naan. I eat the hot pepper in naan and wonder, did they prepare this in Dubai? Before realizing that in fact the food had come from Kabul the day before and had been transported across Iran twice before it reached my folding tray.
The decent into Kabul is sharp; there are mountains all around and it is a quick two minutes till the plane is on the ground. As soon as we touch down, five Afghans stand up and open the overhead compartments while the crew yells over the loudspeakers in Dari for them to sit down. After we stop, I put on my head scarf and maneuver as quickly as possible to get off the plane. I have spent two hours in passport control before (a supervisor slapped a border worker, causing a work slow-down) and I wish never to repeat it.
Once I am off the plane, it doesn’t all seem that bad. We made it. But I know it is just a matter of time before the inevitable happens with Ariana; after all, it has happened five times before. So next month, on my way to Bangkok, you can bet your ass I will not be flying Ariana. I will be safe and sound on a UN plane.
I just got a text that someone has left me a voice message on my cell. None of the mobile providers in Afghanistan provide that service, but it was nice for them to let me know that somewhere out there someone has left a message for me.
