In Kabul

Very last note

2008-12-04T14:30:00.000-08:00

As you might suspect from all these "last" in my recent updates, I am not intending to continue writing on this blog. I have actually just finalized quite a long piece, a somewhat collection of some final thoughts, which you can find below the pictures. You guess rightly, that I have left Afghanistan, mainly due to some personal reasons which I might share another time. So much far now: they are of entirely positive nature!

Thanks to all of you around the world for following this blog, and stay safe whereever you are :)

Johanna

2008-12-04T14:27:00.000-08:00

Kabul - kids and the kites - this one still has to find its way up into the air

My favorite carpet seller. I don't remember one single time when I left his shop wihtout a carpet

Spring time also brought some rain. Here few of us during a weekend walk around Lake Qarghai

And one of my favorite pics, the girl of a colleague of mine on one of these super funny swans that you can rent on lake Qarghai

Last pictures - spring time

2008-12-04T14:24:00.000-08:00

Something that astonished me in Afghanistan was how harsh winter can be, and yet how surprisingly fast it is forgotten by the millions of flowers that flower everywhere in Kabul from March onwards..

Last pictures - Hirat

2008-12-04T14:21:00.000-08:00

I guess Hirat is the place which I enjoyed most in Afghanistan, for a number of reasons. The above and below picture was taken in a community not far from Hirat.

I guess one reason why I liked Hirat are the many historical sites. Among others the Friday mosque which is a puzzle of millions of hand painted tiles

Last pictures - Jalalabad

2008-12-04T14:17:00.000-08:00

There are two cities in Afghanistan which I visited quite often, and both of which I enjoyed a lot spending time in: Jalalabad and Hirat. They are completely different from each other, one being in the east, the other in the far west of the country. But they both have their individual charm. Above two kids a little bid outside Jalalabad

Afghan men during a closing ceremony of one of the training activities which we implemented

Women and girls during a meeting in a camp close to Jalalabad

My colleagues and I during dinner in the most famous restaurant of Jalalabad, the restaurant next to the river. It serves excellent fish, but be aware of the bones...

Last pictures - the beginning

2008-12-04T14:01:00.000-08:00

My first couple of months in Afghanistan were marked by a urge for discovering the city and the country. Though discovery tours of course were limited from the beginning by security restrictions, I was at least able to visit some places in Kabul such as the old soviet swimming pool above and below...

... a helicopter flight (the first one I ever did!)

... some strools through Babur Gardens...

... and a walk up the old city wall...

Some last thoughts

2008-11-29T09:09:00.001-08:00

Don't worry dear Reader, I have no intention to make this last johannistan update a sentimental review of my 13 months in Afghanistan. In fact, I have left Afghanistan without many tears last week on Monday. The little water that popped up in my eyes when I took off a last time from Kabul International Airport was mainly due to the dry air in the plane, and memories of my friends and all those others who were not as lucky as me to leave Afghanistan in the passanger cabin of a plane.

Yet, even without sentiments, I think everybody who has followed this blog over the past months has some right to know about my departure, to read some conclusions, and to get a glimpse of the adventures I am planning to embark on from now onwards (just as much in advance: they will be of quite a different nature ... ;) Otherwise, people might continue asking "when do you update your blog again", or - as many of you did over the past few months - recommend me to leave Afghanistan as long as I am still able to do so... This entry and some best-of pictures will actually be the last update of johannistan.

As always when getting ready to write, I wonder were to start from. When I was younger, and when computers were still something people had only vaguely heard of, writing would start with staring at a white paper. The result of this staring succeeded to fill an entire bookshelf in my room. Nowadays, writing seems to start with millions of stimulating (but often also creativity-robbing) messages and images from the web, popping up on the screen in front of me. While waiting for an inspirational hub, I tend to check emails, click on refresh to see if there are any new messages, send out some hellos through skype, just to end again at the empty window of my blogger account. Sitting in the dust-free kitchen in my parents home, with the smell of snow from an earlier walk through the forest still in my nose, about to make some pizza, the rough voice of cat power coming out of the speakers, makes it not necessarily easier to gather concluding thoughts on my stay in Afghanistan, and on Afghanistan in general.

What was so real even one week ago suddenly seems to be a tale of another world. But truly, travelling in 12 hours from Kabul to Munich was like travelling between two planets: at the beginning of the 12 hours I am putting on my cloths in darkness, as there is no public power lighting up homes and streets, then I make coffee with purified water from the supermarket, only to say good bye to my watchmen all wrapped up in traditional patto blankets, pass some heavily armed private security guards on the way to the airport, and fly out in a plane where russian security leaflets tell the origin of the plane, and where I am served chicken kebab as breakfast. Twelve hours later I land in Munich, I am blended by all the lights, Christmas songs threaten to burst my ears, my parents' hug smells after persil washing powder, and back home I take a long sip of water straight from the tab. Even though these are by far not the starkest differences between Afghanistan and Europe, these are some of the first differences which I instantly noticed Monday night after arriving back home.

After few days of being outside Afghanistan, the images of Kabul's streets, garnished with heavily armed guards and concrete walls which popped up like champignons all around the city over the past thirteen months, seem absurd, bordering to sick. But more so than the images, it was our own way of refusing to take notice of these signs of insecurity and themselves threats, which makes it feel really sick. During the first few days back home, I would raise my head when small snow avalenges fell off the roof of my house, making a hollow sound when touching the frozen ground. Even now, I still turn my head and tremble slightly when I hear an unusual noise.

But having been home for almost two weeks, with tons of white snow dipping the landscape around me into an ocean of harmony, the fear and tension have calmed down, and only come up in my dreams, when I am suddenly caught in a fire exchange or kidnapping. Even though these dreams tend to seem super-real, I have never in reality been in any situation close to the ones I am dreaming of.

But these are the night dreams.

During the day, my thoughts and memories of Afghanistan are of a more peaceful and positive nature. Indeed, there are many moments when I miss Afghanistan, and many moments in which I only have to close my eyes and I feel like having people I worked with or simply spent time with suddenly very close to me again. Sometimes these day dreams are so real that I feel if I would only reach out my arm I would be able to touch somebodies shoulder. When I close my eyes during these daydreams, the landscapes of the Afghanistan I believed in and the Afghanistan I enjoyed living in appear again.

One such landscape is the IRC office in Kabul where I spent uncounted hours. It's an old building, with some cracks in the walls, and I am afraid that one day it will become a victim of an earthquake (there are indeed many earthquakes in Afghanistan!). In winter, bukharis, old fashioned diesel stoves are our best friends in the offices, in summer it is the fan. Afghanistans' extremes are reflected in all parts of the office. And yet, despite the buildings' age, its my favorite office building in Kabul, with dozens of adorable and hard working people moving through its corridors. Lunch in the garden, enjoying some rays of sun who managed to fight their way through the smog, was another small pleasure which I shared nearly every day with one or more of my colleagues. Some things like the grease-dripping food from the cantina and the smell of the toilets I never quite got used to, but overall, I remember the time in the office with joy.

Another landscape is a visit which I once paid to rural communities in Western Afghanistan. It was at the end of winter, but the wind was freezing cold, so cold that you would only have to run from the car to the house and you would have already lost all feeling in your legs. But once inside the houses, we would all hide our legs under a huge blanket, and cling our hands to a cup of hot green tea, and even though nobody would talk for some time, it was such a warm atmosphere. I always regrettet that towards the end of my stay in Afghanistan, I wasn't any longer able to visit communities where our projects are implemented, due to worsening security.

More an image than a land scape are the millions of kites that decorate the skies above Afghanistan's cities. Sometimes they are so high up that one would think they have gone lost, but than, just in the second when you are about to turn away your gaze, they make a sharp turn into another direction and that's when you know that they are completely under control. Afghan kites are of quite a simple nature, not as these modern stuff that you get in Europe. Few chops, razor-thin paper, and an endless cord. For training, its a normal cord. But for tournaments, this cord is covered with tiny fragments of glass, allowing the competitors to cut the cords of other kites. I know, these sentences must remind you of the book "kite runner", and I wouldn't want to take that book through a careful reality check, but at least the kites in the sky are real.

Another image which I will never forget is young Afghan men posing in front of flowers to take romantic pictures for their beloved ones. Believe me, this is a really common picture in Afghanistan! It's what you see on a nice Friday in spring time happening everywhere where there are at least two roses next to each other. Afghans, which are often portrayed as fierce warriors, just seem to love these romantic pictures. I always thought what a contrast it would be to publish a series of these pictures next to the war-and-destruction pictures which are usually published in conjunction to Afghanistan. A friend of mine, actually one of the best photographers I have met so far, has attempted something like this with his project of 1001 faces of Afghanistan. You should check out his site if you want to see really good pictures of Afghanistan!

Of course, the landscapes of Afghanistan also include the occasional Thursday night party, brunch on Fridays, swimming in the afternoon on weekends, and - as long as security allowed - strolls through the city, walking up the old city walls, looking through thousands of carpets in the numerous carpet shops of Kabul... I know, there are still people out there who blame aidworkers for celebrating too much, for showing disrespect to local cultures during weekend parties, to drink alcohol in islamic countries, and so forth. Not that I would per se disagree with these allegations. But after having worked for over three years in Somaliland and Afghanistan, I also know of the value of having a "normal" social life in a country where working is truly not an easy task. Somehow some people think that all development and humanitarian workers should be angels that only believe and pursue the good in the world. While there are no angels, many do try to improve living conditions and to ensure basic rights for people accross the world. But to cope with all the mess and misery that often surrounds as, and the simple fact that we live in countries which are not ours, yet which often even are 180° different from the countries we grew up in, does require some social life that is at least in its basics similar to the social life we would have at home (which does not necessarily imply excessive drinkin... or are we doing that at home all the time?)

But enough of these landscapes. If I continue, I will defenitely get sentimental at one point. Even though I haven't lived in Afghanistan for long, I could definitely see some changes in the country over the past months, especially in the area of security, which has gotten worse with every week passing by. The UN no-go map is nowadays a nearly complete red dot, red standing for the places that are off limits. Also for us NGO folks, movement got severaly restricted over the past few months: by the time I left, Kabul city had become a golden cage, and cities which we would previously reach by car had been reachabe only by air. Worsening security also affected and still affects my national colleagues, who sometimes for weeks cannot reach out to certain districts and communities as they remain off limits. On certain days, we would receive up to ten security updates on incidents that happened in various parts of the country. Try to do successful development work in such a place! It's a Sisyphus task, and yet I still believe in that it's necessary to try.

Afghanistan has tought me a lot of things, same as my afghan colleagues. For instance, that a successful meeting has to start with a cup of tea. Or that signs of appreciation can be hardly visible and yet mean more than the loudest thank you. Afghanistan has also taken away some things. For the first time in my life I have experienced the loss of people whom I was close too, and who were about my age. It still hurts tremendously when I think of them, and when I think of the few seconds and bullets which it took to take away their lives. I try not to think what would have been if, but sometimes I just can't help it. While that was the greatest loss, there have been losses of other nature, too. For instance a loss in the believe of the development industry. I have mentioned above that I still believe in the necessity to try to change things for the better, but I have lost all trust in that the current set up in Afghanistan will lead to any good outcome. Behind even the smallest project funded by bilateral, multilateral or independent donors there seem to be an agenda that is other than altruistic, clearly visible in the hundreds of conditions and restrictions that are part and parcel of funding opportunities in Afghanistan. And I mean, seriously, look at all the money that has been invested into Afghanistan over the past seven years, and where the country stands today? Something has gone wrong.

But as I am generally more somebody who tries to look at the bright side of life, I don't quite want to end this entry with comments on the state of Afghanistan. While it has taken away a lot, the thirteen months have also given me a lot. Plenty of professional experience, lots of new contacts, and the friendship of wonderful people whom I am sure I will meet again in life, some day. Being able to walk alone, in midst of people I don't know and yet don't fear, feels good, though even that simple act of everyday life in Europe is something I appreciate like a gift after having lived according to rules and borders for 13 months.

Damn, and now I nearly have to cry, even though I was not planning to become sentimental when writing these last toughts! But despite all, or exactly for what it is, Afghanistan is a country which does offer reasons to cry, for both the good and the bad. I herewith correct my statment from the beginning of this entry :)

Language teachings - mirror of society?

2008-11-13T05:03:00.000-08:00

After having been asked several times, I agreed today to join in the English class offered to colleagues from our field office in Hirat. The teacher was a young and enthusiastic guy, who pronounced each word with an English accent that would make many of my non native speaking friends jelous. When I entered the class, they were just about to read words that were written on a white board. The words on the board included among others "protest march, subversion, demiliterization". They also included other words such as "superman, sabotage, knifing and militarize".

It took me some time to see the heading written above these seemingly random words: "political words". Astonished I asked the teacher if these are common political terms in Afghanistan. With a broad smile and perfect English accent he said "yes" and continued to read the words superman, militerazing, knifing, mixed with terms like political party and constitution, explaining to the students how important it is to have sufficient vocabularly in political discussions ... Language teaching, mirror of a society?

I once had a similar experience when I tried to find a language course for Somali. The first one that I found was from the seventies and was written for tourists and business people who plan to visit Mogadishu. I assumed that most of the things mentioned in this language course, such as arrival at the international airport of Mogadishu, or sending a post card from Mogadishu wouldn't be relevant for my work in Somalia, given that it was the year 2005 when I planned to go there. The second one was from the early nineties and was in essence a small pocket guide for UNOSOM soldiers, with useful phrases such as "I am a doctor, I am your friend, don't shoot!". Hoping I would never have to use such expressions in Somali, I decided not to buy it. When I openend the third language course, I only had to read the first two sentences before closing it and giving up on my ambitions to learn Somali: "Where is Ali? He is dead". This guide was from the late nineties.

Islamabad

2008-10-13T10:45:00.001-07:00

Today I travelled from Kabul to Islamabad. The distance in my mind was far bigger than the actual distance between these two cities. It's practically just hopping of the ground with a plane for a lousy half hour, and down you fly into the humidity of Islamabad. Touching ground in Islamabad immediately made me notice that though this city isn't necessarily better off compared to Kabul when it comes to security (remember Mariott?), it does look quite different from the Pashtu areas across the border. It's green, roads lack potholes, traffic lights switch steadily from green to yellow to red and back again, on the edge of the street are public parks where people enjoy a walk; further all streets are clearly signed with numbers (even though the numbers don't really follow much logic - they jump from 30 to 36 and back to 32...). There are even few women walking around (!) that don't wear headscarfs (!!). And yet, once you drive past the signboard that says "diplomatic enclave" you know that the place is actually far from normal. And then you also start noticing the check points. And suddenly you get suspicious when you see people not just walking around in these road side parks, but groups of ten to twenty men in traditional Shalma Kamizes sitting in a circle under a tree, talking about god knows what. It's somehow an artificial place, that has gotten in touch with the reality of the "other" Pakistan in the tough way over the past few years.
I will be here for only two days, starting up a cross border program for Afghan refugees living in Pakistan, jointly with colleagues from IRC Afghanistan. The aim is to identify employment for young qualified afghan refugees in Kabul, and thus creating some pull factors for them to actually go back to Afghanistan. Anyhow, I am sure with the deteriorating security situation on this side of the border, we will have plenty of people interested in returning to Afghanistan...

Back in Kabul

2008-10-12T06:37:00.000-07:00

Over the past few weeks of being back in Kabul, I have received the same question over and over again, from people here and from people back home and from people god knows where in the world: "How is to be back in Kabul?"

I tend to answer with "difficult". Somtimes "weird". Sometimes I even get a bit more positive and get a "not too bad" out of my mouth.

All in all, seriously, it is not too bad to be back, largely because of the fact that I have decided to leave soon, towards the beginning of December. But saying that it feels good to be back would nonetheless be an exaggeration. After all what happened, I don't think that I can ever again travel to streets of Kabul with the same enthusiasm that I had before August 13th. Leave alone travelling through the country side. The simple thought of it makes me shiver.

There are good and bad sides to being back. The good side is that I could see few people again I really care about. The other good side is that I managed to spend a weekend in Hirat, which came close to a mini holiday with some work attached to it. It also feels good to see my staff members again, and to slowly work with them on restarting programs. I am also quite happy about the pomagranat juice which is sold in all coffees and restaurants these days. And to further increase my inner balance, I have resumed my yoga classes. Though not balanced yet entirely, I at least don't have to feel guilty any longer at night for not moving my lazy bones at all...

But there are also many things that make it difficult to be back here. One of them is the lack of freedom, which I notice much more now than I ever did before. For instance in this very right moment, I am stuck in the office because of an abduction alert, with the consequence that we expats are only allowed to travel in convoy which again means that I have to get three other workaholics away from the internetlifeline in our office (IRC does not grant us internet in the guesthouses...) in order to get moving. I know few internationals here in Kabul who frankly give a sh** about security, and think they are free. Personally, I don't think driving a bike in Kabul or walking through the streets would make me any more free. The bubble we live in doesn't burst just because of that. And we are not less observed or less foreign just because we put on local dresses. But anyhow, that's just my opinion.

Lack of freedom is just one thing that makes it tough staying here. Many other reasons exist as well. Not that I am eager to paint an all to negative picture of my mental state. I still enjoy being here, but, as mentioned earlier on, partly because I know that I am leaving soon. Some might ask, why bother coming back at all? There are simple answers to that: I would hate not being able to say proper good bye to people I care about, I would hate to leave my work unfinished, and it would be extremely difficult for me move back to Italy without any buffer and preparation time in between. Being back here for two more months after all gives me the time to think about what I really want. For the time being, thats many things. Travelling, endless trekking, maybe a bit of studying, maybe working again wiht NGOs, maybe changing career, maybe spending some time in paris, maybe x hundred. I am not really desperate about my future. If there is one thing I have learned over the past few years in Somaliland and Afghanistan, than that there is always a way out and foward, no matter how impossible it seems in the moment :)

My Afghan garden

2008-10-02T08:33:00.000-07:00

Contrary to some western misbeliefs, development workers like me are not living in tiny huts, attempting to go native in their free time. Instead, we live in normal houses. My house here in Afghanistan is from the 60ties or 70ties, painted green, with huge thin windows that let in a lot of sun in the summer and a lot of freezing air in the winter. The inside is covered entirely by carpet floor, and decorated with furniture from the seventies. Some time ago an expatriate, who lived in this house before, most likely in a sudden urge for beautification, decided to paint the living room in terracotta color. Its not quite terracotta, though. In sunshine, during the day, it's bright orange, and at night, when the room is filled with the dim city power light, it has the color of skin.
The house also has few amenities such as a micro wave that only works on generator, as public power is too weak, and a top-loader washing machine. I never quite figured out how to use that one, though, as they don’t seem to be that common anymore in present day Europe.

But what’s best about this house is its garden. It’s not big, but after my half square meter balcony that belonged to my flat in Vienna, it seems like pure luxury. Since spring time I had plans to work on this garden. It started with buying seeds for flowers and spices, at the beginning of the year back home in Italy, when Afghanistan was still covered in deep, grey snow. While it had twenty degree minus outside, the seed sachets got dusty in a shelf in my room. When sun came out again, and snow freed up tiny grass in the garden, and the first dandelion had already stuck their yellow heads into the sky, I remembered my seeds. I was just about to get ready for getting them into Afghan soil, these little messengers from back home, when I was surprised by a watchman who turned out to have a hung on gardening. In his fluent Dari and my broken understanding of Dari he expressed his love for flowers. With a broad smile he continued saying gul! gul!, meaning flower, and pointing towards the ground. Feeling pity that he couldn’t wander around garden shops and get all kinds of exotic seeds, I handed over the packages to him. Since then, while in the garden roses started blossoming, I have been looking out for the remaining of my few Italian seeds. Slowly but steadily they made their appearance, in between the roses and all the other green stuff that grows in the garden. Slowly but steadily, parts of the garden developed into a jungle.

But it was only today that I finally took charge of the garden, being inspired by the English garden of my friend. Though I knew that my garden isn’t quite an English garden, I was still taken by the wild mix of organisms in my garden that opened up in front of my close inspection: while the pepper was twisting itself up the roses, basil and geranium had become best friends; in the meantime, tomato bushes where creeping along the ground. Looking closer, I discovered purple eggplants behind the roses, and could smell rosemary from some distant corner of the garden. What should I say? I guess we should earn a certificate for truly mixed agriculture! Its too dark to take pictures of our little garden Eden tonight, but will post some as soon as it gets daylight again...

What makes me sad

2008-09-30T22:40:00.000-07:00

Now, many of you would not have thought that such a thing like female police officers exist in Afghanistan. They do. With current developments, though, the past tense might soon have to be applied to this wonderful and encouraging species.
Last Sunday, the most high profile female police officer, Malalai Kahar, stationed in Kandahar, has been shot dead by unknown gunmen, on her way to work. Ironically, Malalai was the head of Kandahars department of crimes against women. Her son, who was with her in the car, was wounded as well but survived.
Not much later, a spokesman for an extremist Taliban movement, which targets government officials, claimed responsibility: "We killed Malalai, she was our target and we successfully eliminated our target".
Kandahar is the birthplace of extremist Taliban; during the years Taliban were in power, women in Kandahar were stopped from working outside their homes, and were only allowed onto the street with Burka and male accompanist.
Malalai was the first women to enrol in the Kandahar police force after the fall of the Taliban. To me, seeing persons like her, is a sign of hope in a country where men have been brainwashed of women rights and women continue to be discriminated in almost every sphere of life. Learning about her dead, and knowing that this wasn't the first assassination of brave women like her, simply for the work they are doing, and for the change which they symbolize, brought tears into my eyes.

Realities of life in Afghanistan

2008-09-26T04:15:00.000-07:00

Few days ago I was I talked to my driver about education, on our way home from office. In his village, he mentioned, it is impossible to send girls to school; Taliban are policing at night from house to house, intimidating residents that sending girls to school will have dire consequences for the entire family. Abdul Haq, has several daughters, who have gone to school during their exile in Pakistan. Back in Afghanistan, they cannot continue with their education, despite the fact that overall, the education system has grown from 1 million kids in school back in 2001 to 6 million kids in school today. The Afghan reality, it seems, is two steps in front and one and a half steps back.

Few days after I had talked to him about this, I came across this article that gives details over the status of education in Afghanistan; which is best described as a success with many sacrifices.

Attacks deprive 300,000 students of education KANDAHAR, 22 September 2008 (IRIN) -

Zulaikha, 14, was the top student in her class last year but has been unable to attend school this year because of increased attacks on schools, rampant insecurity and threats to students and their families. "I wanted to become a doctor and treat poor and ill people," she told IRIN at her home in the outskirts of Kandahar city in southern Afghanistan. Taliban insurgents oppose female education and work and have frequently torched schools, killed school employees and circulated letters warning parents not to send their children, particularly girls, to school. "We don't object to our daughter's education but we also don't want her to be killed on the way to school or her family members killed because of her going to school," said Zulaikha's father, Abdul Rahman. Afghanistan has made impressive progress in primary and secondary education since the downfall of the Taliban regime in late 2001. At least 3,500 schools have been built since 2002 and hundreds more are planned. More than six million students, about 30 percent girls, are enrolled in 11,000 schools across the country, compared with about one million boys only in 2000, according to the Ministry of Education (MoE). However, resurgent Taliban and worsening security have put the country's hard-won educational achievements at serious risk. Education denied More than 600 primary, secondary and high schools are closed, mostly in the volatile southern provinces, because of prevalent insecurity and attacks on formal education, the MoE said. "In 45 districts of 12 provinces about 610-620 schools have been closed," Hamid Elmi, a spokesman for the MoE, told IRIN, adding that efforts were under way to re-open some schools through community support. Most of the closures are in the four southern provinces of Helmand, Kandahar, Zabul and Urozgan, where the conflict is having a greater effect than elsewhere. "Up to 80 percent of schools are closed in these four provinces," Elmi said. In the worst-affected Helmand Province, only 54 schools, primarily for boys, are functioning, against 223 schools that were open in 2002, according to MoE statistics. Consequently, more than 300,000 students have been deprived of an education in 12 provinces, according to MoE officials. Punishments The MoE said 99 schools have been attacked, torched and/or destroyed by armed assailants this year and 117 similar cases were reported in 2007. Dozens of students, some as young as seven, and teachers have been killed or injured by armed assailants over the past two years. Armed men associated with Taliban insurgents reportedly cut off the ears of a teacher in Zabul Province on 14 September as a sign of punishment to those who support education. In addition, Taliban insurgents in August reportedly attacked trucks carrying textbooks from Kabul to Kandahar province and burnt tens of thousands of books, the MoE said. Taliban denial A purported Taliban spokesman, Qari Yosuf Ahmadi, denied the insurgents' involvement in attacks on schools and students. "Our Mujahideen have not attacked schools and schoolchildren," Ahmadi told IRIN via telephone from an unidentified location. "Criminals - whom the government cannot stop - are carrying out such attacks," he said. The Taliban imposed a strict ban on females' education and employment and enforced an Islamic curriculum for boys during their reign (1996-2001). IRIN last year received a warning letter ostensibly issued by the Taliban [http://www.irinnews.org/Report.aspx?ReportId=74690] in which attacks on schools and students were supported. The government blamed the Taliban for attacks on educational facilities and school employees. "The Taliban are attacking everything related to education because they need illiterate youths to join their ranks," Elmi of the MoE said. Back to Top

Normality

2008-09-26T03:19:00.001-07:00

I am waking up. It's six o clock in the morning. It's a Friday, which translates to Sunday in non Islamic countries. It's dawn, with the sky still being greyish. Since it's Friday-Sunday, I curl myself back into the warm bedsheets. Sleep for two additional hours. It's eight when I wake up again. I reach my hand out of my bed and open the curtains slightly. From where I lie, I can see trees, moving slow with the morning breeze, in between traces of blue sky and light of rising sun. Fresh air is coming in through the open window. Now my room mate switches on her radio, and I can hear low tones of music through the thin wall. Sometimes she sings in line with the music. From the garden, I notice the watchman moving around. Sometimes a car is driving by. I take my book and start reading, while being still half covered in bedsheets and dreams.
But while I attempt to read, there is only one real thought in my mind. That this is one of the few moments when life in Afghanistan feels normal.

Trekking Mount Stelvia

2008-09-19T04:27:00.000-07:00

Saarstein Gebirge - Trekking in Austria

2008-09-13T06:01:00.000-07:00

Splash

2008-09-13T05:51:00.000-07:00

Nothing feels better than diving into the fresh water of austrian mountain lakes after a long drive!

Similaun Trekking

2008-09-13T05:38:00.000-07:00

Yes, wild animals still exist in the alps!
Trekking towards the place where few years ago a 5300 year old Mummy was found - after being hidden for thousands of years under the ice of the - unfortunately melting - glaciers of this mountain range

Hut at 3000 meters - nice that there ARE huts at this altitudes, but to be frank, the prices took away all my appetite for a warm apple strudel
View over Schnals Tal

Similaun Glacier. How must it feel to be buried under these ice shields for thousands of years???

British Columbia (just pics, text to follow soon....)

2008-09-11T07:24:00.000-07:00

some text to follow...

New York Impressions

2008-09-11T07:20:00.001-07:00

impressions from a recent stop over in New York, on the way to Vancouver. Picture on top shows construction progress on ground Zero. Standing there after one year in Afghanistan and two years in Somaliland made me think over the importance of this place...

interview

2008-09-05T02:14:00.000-07:00

Hey, there is an interview with me on stol.it, a online newspaper from my region. Unfortunately its in german.... And its also VERY LONG (keeping it short has never really been one of my strenghts...) . Anyway, in case you have too much time, or it is a rainy day, or you are simply interested in finding out more about what exactly I am doing in Afghanistan, feel free to look it up! Congrats to all those who actually manage to read it all (it really is LONG!)

on and on

2008-09-05T01:53:00.000-07:00

I guess I have never travelled as many miles as I did over the past few weeks. From Kabul I went to New York, after a couple of days there I went on to Vancouver and from there straight to Kamloops (isn't that an amusing name for a town?), from Kamloops I travelled with my friend Kate by road through the canadian Rockies, discovering plenty of similarities between Taliban and Bears, eventually back to Vancouver, and from there via Toronto back to Milan and then train to Suedtirol, where I am now enjoying time with family and friends. I guess I dont have to mention the reasons for all these travels. The time in North America can best be described as bitter-sweet and sad. Seeing the part of British Columbia where Shirley comes from, made me partly realize why she is such an amazing and inspiring person, during her lifetime and beyond. It's difficult to find words for the beauty of that region. Same as it is still difficult to find the right words to write about happened over the past weeks and to talk about my friends who lost their lifes.

Since I haven't much access to internet currently, I will not be able to add much words and pictures on my blog, until I get back to Kabul by the end of next week. so, don't bother looking for updates every day :) But I promise, by the 14th, you will have plenty of new pics and stuff to look at

Disturbing reality

2008-08-23T21:58:00.000-07:00

I supposed many of you who follow international news in a fairly regular way have noted the upsurge AOG (armed opposition groups) activities in Afghanistan over the past months, and in particular over the past weeks. Working in Afghanistan, and deeply caring for this country, I have been following events over the past ten months, but even more so since the tragic incident on the 13th of August, that involved the death of four IRC staff members and serious injuries of a fifth staff member. There are several things that extremely worry me when looking at the developments that have marked Afghanistan over the past months. Among them are the declining immunity which the aid community used to enjoy during the past decades. It seems that AOG distinguish less and less between aid workers, international military forces, contractors, etc. We all seem to be equally spies and enimies to them. On the other hand, traditioanl mitigation strategies such as ensuring community acceptance dont seem to work any longer. Communities that used to guarantee our safety because the appreciated our work increasinly tell us that the just can't do so any longer. And in Afghanistan, being a foreigner (which includes foreigner to the distrct, i.e. an afghan from another province working in a district he/she has no family relatives in) AND having no local support networks means being wihout protection. More than everything else, what is worrying is the fact that more and more traditionally "safe" provinces have turned into no go zones over the past months. Whereas the surroundings of Kabul used to be fairly safe, Taliban activities in these provinces has increased tremendously over recent months. The fact that Wardak and Logar, two provinces just outside Kabul are nowadays labelled as the new Kandahar and Kunduz speaks for itself.
Although most analyists predict that Taliban could not take over Kabul as they did 13 years ago, due to the strong presence of international and national military forces, there is a question on how long these forces would endure a mere stalemate before retreating. As a friend of mine has pointed out recently, Afghans are good at many things, but one thing they are particularly good in is waiting. Time doesnt seem to count in Afghanistan, which means that AOGs might not mind at all in simply "sitting it out". While IMF might stand against them for some time, NGOs might retreat rather quickly. Already now, I know from several friends of mine who are considering leaving afghanistan before the end of their contracts, or at least not extending their contracts. Recruiting qualified people under the current circumstances will be a mere nightmare for NGOs.

What unsettles me the most is the inability of the world to effectively support change in afghanistan. Opportunities have been missed over and over again. In 2003 for instance, at a point when the afghan population showed a relative strong support for change and a new government, we failed to provide the neccessary support to make things happen. Instead, we turned on Irak. In the meantime, Talibans, who were never really defeated (after all, nobody knew how many taliban there were to begin with) retreated to the border areas along Afghanistan and Pakistan, where they reformed. A come back was not difficult. After all, the communities had been waiting in vain for change, a change and development that the government had not been able to deliver.

Even now, after eyeopening months, the international community is not able to step up. Instead of pulling ressources together for larger interventions, few thousend additional troops are discussed every now and then. What people dont seem to realize is that what could be achieved with a certain amount of ressources and committment today, might take triple, or even more ressources and time tomorrow.

I am not per se supporting military interventions, but in a case like Afghanistan, I know that a complete retreat of military forces is defenitely not the solultion. Trying to distance ourselves (the aid community) from the military forces also does not seem to make sense. After all, we are already regarded as part of them. Instead, I believe that a way forward would have to include a in depth conversation between all actors involved in Afghanistan, in particular local authorities who are still supportive of change. One thing that we should not forget is that we can facilitate, but we cannot determine the actions that will lead to a better Afghanistan. In addition, I dont think that it is the right time to negotiate around ressources. Last but not least, one of the most important aspects of any successful way forward has to look at the region as a whole, in particular Afghaniststan and Pakistan.

If we don't step up now, we will loose out on yet another opportunity.

(there is a very well written article on the guardian on Afghanistans recent developments

In the air

2008-08-19T12:06:00.000-07:00

Life is always a journey.

This part of my journey will be the last journey for Shirley. We (two friends from IRC and I) didn't succeed to get on the same plane that takes Shirley home to Canada, but at least we are able to be in the air at the same time, accompanying her in spirit and mind on this long journey half way around the globe. I have reached Dubai few hours ago, and will soon continue to New York, where we will stay for a couple of days before moving on to Vancouver.

Flying out of Kabul was never as difficult and as relieving as it was today. Difficult, because it brought once again to my consciousness that the happenings are real, not a dream as I tried to make myself believe over the last days. Relief, because every corner in Kabul and around Kabul reflects the memories of Shirley, Nic, Jackie, and Ajmal, making it painful to keep my eyes open when driving through the city, when sitting in the office, when having coffee in one of Kabuls coffee shops.

The why-did-it-happen is still unanswered.

Wishing I could turn back the clock and make the happenings unhappen

2008-08-19T12:02:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends,
I assume that most of you (or at least those of you who follow news) have heard about the tragedy which occurred here in Afghanistan last week. Four staff members of the organisation I am working for, IRC (three international program staff and one national driver) were brutally killed in an ambush just one hour south of Kabul. A fifth person, the driver of the second convoy, was injured but luckily survived and is well of.

I was on the same road the same day ( I was heading south, they were heading north, we swapped cars in between half an hour before it happened), and was eventually evacuated back to Kabul. It is still extremely difficult to grasp what happened, and why it happened. I wish I would have the energy to write down all the thoughts which have been going through my head since it happened, as well as my feelings (which cover the whole range from anger, sadness, disbelieve, shock, and relief to be alive), but at the moment, I am just not yet able to do so. I might put up some few notes on my blog over hte coming days.

This email is to let you all know that I am ok, as ok as one can be after such a tragedy occures. I also would like to thank all those of you who have contacted me either by telephone, email or skype over the past days, expressing your condolence, but also your anger and shock over what happened. Even though I didnt respond to many emails, it meant a lot to me reading your notes, and in some cases, for those of you who are here in KAbul, even talking to you last night during the memorial serviceRegarding my future, I am currently completely unsure where I will head to. As much as I still adore Afghanistan for its history, its people, its great landscapes, I am desillusioned by what happened. These three courageous women have done nothing wrong, instead, they have tried to reach out to communities, wiht education programs and programs for children with disabilities. Given my current feelings, as well as the level of scare (yes, for one of the first times in my life, I am truly scared; security really deteriorated over the past months, the entire country seems to be completely out of balance; it doesnt help to know about all these sick guys out there, who are able to kill unarmed women, claiming they are spies), i dont think that I can stay much longer in this country if I want to keep a glimpse of sanity.

Tomorrow or aftertomorrow I will head to Vancouver, to accompany (together with another good friend) the remainings of my friend and colleague Shirley on her last journey. After that I will head home to italy, spend some time with my family, with close friends, learning again to walk on the street without being immediately alerted by anything that is slighlty different from the normal. After that I might come back to Afghanistan, for few more months, supporting my organisation in transitioning into a new phase. After that, I am not sure what I will do. Maybe continuing a similar work in more secure countries. Maybe escaping into the alps and working as a trekking guide (something I have been dreaming of since I was a kid); maybe just some travels for a while; or maybe settling down, taking on a normal job and getting some kids on my own. As said, I am quite undecided on what to do next.All what I know for now is that I am happy to be here, happy to be able to write you these lines, and knowing that I might at least see some of you again one day. And more than everything else, I am happy that I have had opportunity to get to know three great and inspiring people, Nicole D, Shirley C and Jackie K.

Peace
Johanna

A cup to fold

2008-08-02T18:42:00.000-07:00

To all camping and trekking gear and gudget addicts out there: I have discovered a "new exciting - you must have it - ultralight and small" gudget: foldable camping cups, presented above by my brother. They are also available as plates and bowls. Definitely a must for all those who care about the weight of their Rucksack and the innovatism of their equipment :)

Crazy days

2008-08-02T18:08:00.000-07:00

Do you know the feeling of being in the wrong film? This feeling that something is wrong with the world around you? That it can't be your own doings alone that got you into the situation you are in?

I am just returning from a conference in Oxford, and though the conference was great, with interesting people, exciting topics and inspiring discussions, the last two days were a pure disaster.

It all started on Friday morning. Or no, let me wind back. It actually already started on Sunday evening when I tried to plug in my laptop and realized that the power cable burned once again (thanks to the irregular and unpredictable power supply in Kabul). That not enough, I realized that my pts (outlook) file iwas full, but the only way I could access it and delete files from it is by opening my outlook on my computer. Which I couldn't, until Wednesday, when I finally managed to get a power supply cable.

But since computer problems aren't really anything new to me (they are the only constant parameter during all my work related travels), the last two days had some disasters of new scale ready for me. Lets wind forward to Friday morning again, when I woke up with a slight headache and a blurred memory of our previous nights' discussions around life saving and threatening issues, which were pured down with just a bit too much of cheap wine. Because I had a slight headache, I didn't particularly worry when my colleague from Afghanistan who joined me for the conference didn't appear at breakfast. Even once the sessions started and she still wasn't around, I didn't worry too much but rather let myself induldge by a presentation about indicators (don't we all love them?)

But when it got cloase to eleven am, and she was still not seen, I did get a bit concerned. Somehow I managed to cleaner to open the door of her room, and what I found was deeply troubling. Her keys left on the table, her travel bag with few cloths of little value underneath the table, but other than that, void. At lunch time I had to leave for Heathrow, trying to catch my plane to dubai. Still no trace of her. I winded back the last few days, and slowly the consciousness creeped into me that she might have decided to "dive under", realizing a dream that many Afghans dream: to leave Afghanistan forever, for good. But why choose a free ride on the back of my organization (and my own hard work to get her the visa for this conference?). I travelled to the airport, disappointed and desillusioned with everything. Could I blame her for taking what many Afghans are longing for? For a life elsewhere? I stared out of the window, thinking that I might see her somewhere. But I didnt. There were just faces of strangers passing by the windows of our bus. Her departure did not make sense as much as it did make sense. I imagined her walking down the stairs of our Hotel, early in the morning, before everybody left for breakfast. Did she smile? Feel guilty? Did she wonder what I would think once I realize that she is gone?

Completely trapped in thoughts around living here or there, I didnt immediately notice when the girl at the check in counter took a strange look at the two pieces of my pass port. Blame on me, it had fallen apart just few days before I left for Oxford, and since I had managed to talk my way through the immigration in Dubai on my way to the conference, I had expected the same thing to happen on my way back. But no, not so this time. The girl, without even asking me (bitch!) called her supervisor, who again called Dubai, to confirm that they would not accept me with a passport that is broken into two pieces. And Dubai confirmed! So there I was, suddenly without valid travel documents! I felt like crying (I actually did cry) hoping that my tears would be felt by the immigration officers in Dubai. At nine pm, when the last plane for Dubai had left, my hopes had vanished. But realizing that tears wont get me out of this mess, a plan in my head had taken shape: Superglue! I got myself booked on a plane for Saturday (for free, at least the tears weren't completely vasted...) and spend the night at a colleagues house. Today I made it again to the airport. With a different outfit, hoping that they wouldn't recognize me. And somehow, it worked out. I succesfully hided my trembling hands when handing over the pass port to the guy at Heathrow immigration. I relaxed for five hours on the plane. Before, when passing through the Dubai immigration, I got nervous when the girl kind of looked one second too long at my passport. Superglue is great, but it does have limits and if somebody would add a bit of force to my pass port, it would certainly fall apart again. But I managed to get throug. Now I am in the arrivals hall, waiting for few hours before moving on to the next terminal to check in on my Kabul flight.

I am tired, but the happenings of the last two days make it difficult for me to sleep. It's these moments when I am just wondering about my life. I recently listened to the beatles song "a long and winding road" and exactly that's what it seems to be. Long and winding. Winding it forward and backward, it often doesn't make sense to me, but I guess at the end of the day, everything has a meaning in life. For one thing is sure, getting over the fact that my colleague has left without a trace, but with with our - unknowing - support, will take me some time to get over with, and finding the right meaning in it will take me a very long time.

Coast of Wales - more beautiful than you would expect

2008-07-31T10:04:00.000-07:00

Pictures from a recent trip to Wales with my brother and his girlfriend. I kind off always expected wales to be a rough and tough landscape, and was therefore slightly surprised to find lovely little seaside villages, azure blue coastal lines, and a stone beach similar to Nice! Definitely a good hint to everybody who likes surfing, swimming, biking, climbing, or simply relaxing in the sun!

Walking up the wall

2008-07-19T05:15:00.000-07:00

Today was not the first time that I had climbed the old city wall of Kabul, but the first time that I did the entire transcend from one side of the hill to the other. And, finally, I got to know the story behind the wall, thanks to my friend Wendy. Apparently, in the 12th century, the place what is modern day Kabul had two kings. A good one and a bad one. One day, the bad king decided to build a wall. He forced all people of his kingdom to climb up the hill, everyday, carrying bricks and stones, to slowly slowly build up the wall. One day, a newly married man got sick. But since he was afraid of the king, he insisted to his wife that he will go up the wall and do his duty, to avoid punishment. The wife got worried about his health, and eventually they decided that she would go up, dressed in men's cloths, and carry bricks on behalf of him. While she was up there, the bad king passed by to inspect the progress of the wall. He started shouting at the workers, blaming them for not doing a proper job. The woman got angry, and in her anger, throw a stone at the king and killed him. From that day onwards, the woman was celebrated like a hero, and peace returned to the two sides of the city.

Interestingly enough, nowadays, it's only the female inhabitants of Kabul who seem to remember this story... ask a guy about the wall, and he will just shake his head and pretend not to know where it all started ...

Finally social?

2008-07-19T04:41:00.000-07:00

Guess what? After years of resistance, I have finally joined in the global social virtual network called facebook. A moment of weakness during Friday morning brunch with a friend (who had already tried several times before to seduce me into this endless pool of friends and strangers) and before I even realized WHAT I was doing, I had typed in my email, created a password and send out the news to 50 people from my address book (with the results that I now have over ten new-old friends).

Though I am now part of it, I remain sceptical. For several reasons. First, the big question to me is: do I really want to be connected to the world? I actually feel quite cosy in my own little world, with a few people I really care about. The second big question: do I actually WANT to know whats going on in the life of other people? Personally, I do appreciate a bit of privacy, and try to apply the same to the people I know. It seems that we are voluntarily subscribing ourselves to surveillance. Thirdly, how much real conversation can one actually have on facebook? It allows one to get superficial information about the where and who, but how much real talk do you have? Except the occasional message? The occasional uploading of party pictures? Forth, how much personal can you make your profile? I don't like the idea of presenting myself to the world with the same tools millions of other people are using.

I do respect everybody who is happy with the way facebook allows us to keep up friendships. But I don't think that it is the way I would like to communicate to the ones I care about.

Maybe it's wrong NOT to feel a desire to be connected to all the ones I ever met. In many ways, I am connected to them, or at least those I wish to be conneted to. In my mind. Even if I do not see them, hear them, talk to them, they are there. The ones I met and care about, will always be part of me, even if I never see them again in life. And sometimes, I think, its best to remember people the way you met them, not the way they developed. Remember them and the unique moments when I was with them.

So, concluding, call me antisocial if you want, but I think that facebook is not my way of socializing :)

Kandahar Airport

2008-07-15T20:16:00.000-07:00

Old Citadel of Hirat

2008-07-15T20:11:00.000-07:00

Friday mosque of Hirat

2008-07-14T20:18:00.000-07:00

Just like holiday

2008-07-14T08:26:00.000-07:00

It doesn't always have to be the Italien Riviera, Maldives or Thailand. Sometimes, even the most unlikely place can feel like a perfect holiday destination, if you want it too.

I spend the last seven days in Hirat, and though I worked more hours than I would usually do, it still felt like holiday. What made it a holiday? Mellow evenings by the pool... a sepia coloured sand storm... ancient buildings... endless afternoon teas with colleagues and their families... dinner in thousand and one night restaurant, above the city of Hirat... an occasional glass of wine... fresh morning air (without smog!)... driving incognito (with a long black chadar) through the city and looking at the millions of interesting no-name things...cooking food in a friends place...buying a little souvenir for my little cousin...hearing the click of my camera over and over again...

Sitting in the plane, flying back to Kabul, music in my ears, Afghanistan miles below my tiny window, my head sticked to the screen of the window, I felt happy. Not overwhelmed, simply happy with where I am, what I do, whom I know. Happy for being able to make other people around me happy. For a moment, forgetting about all the bad stuff that goes on in Afghanistan, for a moment forgetting about the syssiphus act that we all perform here in Afghanistan, for a moment, just being happy to have the opportunity to live in this country.

Finally again: flying the "humanitarian way"

2008-07-08T06:51:00.000-07:00

Somehow I missed all of it:

The quick take off
The narrow interior
The lack of on board toilets
The lack of glossy magazins
The constant bumps
The noise from the propellors,
The occasional hazard of a break away door
The every day reality of minor incidents, such as lack of cabin pressure

Somehow I missed the feeling of sitting in a shoebox 20'000 feet above the ground.
Yesterday, I finally had all of it (except the door and the minor incidents) once again. Finally, I was flying again in a small aircraft called "Beechcraft", the one I was flying with hundreds of times during my stay in Somaliland.
Since there wasn't a commercial flight to Hirat, I decided to try out the ICRC airline, which flies a 19 seater Beech craft in Afghanistan. All in all, the deal which they offer is GREAT. It's first of all for free, you are driven all the way to the airport, you don't have to cross the hundreds of security checks, you don't have to pretend you like the dry sandwhich which you would otherwise be offered in commercial airlines. As said, it's great! To top it all up, I got to know five minutes before take off that the plane will visit Kandahar first, then fly on to Hirat. Though I am not very eager to spend real time in Kandahar, I was always curious to at least get a glimpse of this city in the south, where Prison Break is reality and which the winner of "Afghan Star" and one of the bravest female police officers call their home.

Landing in Kandahar is best described with "steep". All of a sudden, peeking out of the window, I saw a tiny landing strip about 5 km below us. Uncountable turns and spirals followed this first view, until we landed - several minutes later - on the very same landing strip.
The airport is actually quite busy; though mainly military planes, there is indeed a constant take off and landing. Besides planes, there are plenty of other curious things to observe in this airport: soldiers keeping fit while running in 50° C up and down at the side of the runway; soldiers trying to keep fit by bycicling close to the run way; soldiers sweating under their heavy uniform, and all what you can see is a child like face; several plastic toilets with "crapanistan" carved into the inside of the door (must have been the soldiers on duty next to the toilet); a real retro styled airport building from the 60ties; a few gardeners removing flowers that have dried out due to lack of water; ... Not taht all that would have encoaurged me to stay longer than half hour in Kandahar, but still, interesting to at least have seen this place once!

I have tried to take few picutres, but unfortunately forgot my USB cabel in Kabul; will post them as soon as I am back.

Just in case...

2008-07-07T19:50:00.000-07:00

Just in case you have heard of the suicide attack yesterday in Kabul, this is to let you know that I am fine. I was actually on my way to Hirat, and had just left Kabul when the attack happend. I only got to know about it when I opened my emails later in the day. Reading about the attack made me extremely sad; I also started worrying about all those colleagues and friends who were in Kabul by then, but as far as I know nobody whom I know has been at the site at that time.

When things like this one happen, I wonder how much longer I can live in Kabul without loosing my enthusiasm to support the rebuilding of this country.

Hirat

2008-06-29T20:06:00.000-07:00

Hirat Airport, the most confusing Airport I have ever been to. It's a ever changing environment, where you can never be quite sure of where to check in, where to get your bags controlled, where to deposit your luggage, where to go to the toilet, where to get your cup of coffee... thanks god at least planes have so far continued to land in the same spot!
Traditional houses along the highway to Iran
And once again, a glimpse of the great landscapes of Afghanistan, this picture taken not far from the border to Iran

What I have been up to lately

2008-06-25T07:43:00.001-07:00

Surely not updating my blog! Apologies to those who keep on looking it up for updates... I haven't been very good in doing so lately. Work has been cracy, as it tends to be here in Afghanistan, with few new projects starting up, some new proposals to write, field trips to Hirat, Gardez (didn't have time to put pictures from that trip on the web yet, but will do so as soon as I get more time) and Jalalabad. Next week I am back to Hirat, thereafter again Jalalabad and then - thanks god - finally again out of the country for a conference in Oxford, few days at the end of July. I feel that I am turning a bit into a jetsetter (humanitarian jetsetter?), but whats good about it all is that my work, though way too much according to my personal preference, is fun, interesting and gives me new things to learn every day.

Just for the case work doesn't keep me busy enough, recent developments in Afghanistan, particularly in terms of security ensure that I am not getting bored. Bad news dripple in on a daily basis, with the spectacular prison break in Kandahar (you must have heard of that) just one of the highlights. Afghanistan is becoming a more and more hostile environment for NGOS to work, and for millions of Afghans to live. Every month it seems more red - no go - dots fill the map of Afghanistan. Security has been tense in Kabul as well, with repeated threat warnings against so called "expat" locations.

Besides worrying worsing security, there are clear signs that this years lack of rain, combined with global food shortage and high food prices will have major impacts on Afghanistan.

I read a quote in an article yesterday, which I somehow agree too, even though it is depressing: "Afghanistan isn't a failed state, because it has never been a successful one". I sometimes stop and wonder how much we can really achieve in a country as fragile as afghanistan

babur garden

2008-06-24T06:31:00.000-07:00

Inside Babur Garden with my friend Jake (who loves jumping into the air and tickling a laugh out of kids) on a Friday morning. Already at eight in the morning, afghan families started flocking into the park, with kids, jars of hot tea, gas cookers, containers with meat, and everything else a real afghan needs for a proper picknick. I think it's great that somebody took care of rehabilitating and maintaning this hundreds of years old recreational site, despite the hardship and destruction this city has gone through, and despite all the other things that have to be fixed.

Sunset

2008-06-16T07:06:00.000-07:00

Courtesy of a friend, who is not just a great photographer, but in addition one of the most creative persons I have met so far when it comes to manipulating pictures posthum :)

Prisonbreak

2008-06-15T20:02:00.000-07:00

From New York times... Prisonbreak is real!

Taliban Free 1,200 in Attack on Prison The New York Times By CARLOTTA GALL June 14, 2008In a brazen attack, Taliban fighters assaulted the main prison in the southern Afghan city of Kandahar on Friday night, blowing up the mud walls, killing 15 guards and freeing around 1,200 inmates. Among the escapees were about 350 Taliban members, including commanders, would-be suicide bombers and assassins, said Ahmed Wali Karzai, the head of Kandahar’s provincial council and a brother of President Hamid Karzai. “It is very dangerous for security. They are the most experienced killers and they all managed to escape,” he said by telephone from Kandahar. A Taliban spokesman, Qari Yousuf Ahmadi, said that the attack was carried out by 30 insurgents on motorbikes and two suicide bombers, and that they had freed about 400 Taliban members, The Associated Press reported.The breakout from Sarposa Prison will present enormous security challenges for Afghan and NATO forces surrounding Kandahar, President Karzai’s home city but also the spiritual capital of the Taliban. Traditionally, Kandahar is home to the rulers of Afghanistan, and control of it is seen as critical to the government’s hold on the entire country.The city has been in a precarious situation since Taliban forces massed in the nearby district of Panjwai in 2006. Since then Canadian forces have struggled to secure the area, and the Taliban have repeatedly sought to gain a foothold in the districts surrounding the town. The prison break is also likely to increase pressure on President Karzai, who is coming under increasing criticism at home and abroad for his faltering leadership and his inability to manage the country. Even as international donors pledged $21 billion in aid for Afghanistan this week, many of them have criticized his failure to tackle the problems of security and corruption. The attack began at 9:20 p.m., when two truck bombs exploded at the prison gates, breaking down a part of the mud walls, Ahmed Karzai said. It seemed to be well planned, officials said. After the bombings, a group of fighters armed with rocket-propelled grenades and assault rifles mounted an attack, said a spokesman for the provincial governor. They then ran through the prison, breaking open the cell doors.The prison lies on the west side of the city. Residents living about a half mile away in the center of town said the explosions broke windows in their street and that they could hear fighting raging for an hour after that. Mr. Karzai said that the attackers focused their efforts on the political section of the prison, where the Taliban suspects were being held. There is also a section for ordinary criminals and one for some 80 female prisoners. Mr. Karzai said that the police and prison guards managed to prevent around 200 prisoners from escaping, but other officials contacted in the town said that every last prisoner had escaped.While there were also ordinary criminals in the jail, families of many of the prisoners have said their relatives were swept up in military operations and wrongly imprisoned. Villagers living near the prison said they saw prisoners running along the roads, and scattering into nearby villages, generally heading north and east to the districts of Dand and Argandab outside the city, a security official in the city, Abdul Haleem, said. He warned that the Taliban could be sheltering very close to the city. Canadian troops, part of the NATO force that is based outside Kandahar, were deployed to the prison but arrived after the prisoners had escaped. Afghan Army, police and intelligence personnel were pursuing the prisoners in the surrounding villages, Mr. Karzai said.The prison was recently the scene of unrest, with some 400 prisoners staging a hunger strike in May to protest their long detention without trial. Some had been held for as long as two years without trial, and some were being refused the right to appeal very harsh sentences, they said. More than 40 of the prisoners stitched their lips together with needle and thread to demonstrate their determination. Some 300 women who came to protest outside the prison at the time said their relatives inside had been picked up by NATO and American military sweeps and were innocent but nevertheless held without trial for months and even years. Local elders and government officials negotiated an end to the protest and promised better conditions and justice. Yet, the jailbreak is likely to prove popular with many local families.Taliban prisoners staged another escape from the prison several years ago by digging a tunnel from a cell. Officials at the time said some of the guards had been bribed to look the other way. Carlotta Gall reported from Islamabad, Pakistan, and Abdul Waheed Wafa contributed reporting from Kabul, Afghanistan

Dust & heat

2008-06-10T06:39:00.000-07:00

Two things take away the joy of sumer in Kabul: Dust & heat.
Dust is basically everywhere: it's deep in the carpet floor that covers 99.9% of all indoor space in Afghanistan; it's stuck in between the keys of my lap top; it's attached to cars (both inside and outside); it's permanently settled on my hands (no matter how often a day I wash them); it materializes itself as a brown stream when I wash my hair; it builds up tiny dunes on my balkony; it is on my food; it is on my books; it is happily swimming at the bottom of my tea cup; and... it drives me crazy! There is simply no single tiny space in Afghanistan where there is no dust. My office these days is more like a sauna that hasn't been cleaned in a while, then a cool and fresh place where inspiration for great ideas can florish ... anyhow, didn't mean to complain... just wanted to share a bit of the hassles I am exposed to :)

Road from J'bad to Kabul

2008-06-03T10:40:00.000-07:00

Few pictures I wanted to share with you from my last trip to Jalalabad. In case you haven't realized it yet: Afghanistan is a GREAT country. Even though it is, in many ways, as sad as it is fascinating.

Lake Qargha, twenty years ago

2008-05-31T06:30:00.000-07:00

During my little research on Lake Qargha, I came across a rather old report about a rainbow trout culture project in lake Qargha. It was the final technical report of the project, written in 1990. I stumbled over the uncountable obstacles, which the project faced, and despite which FAO, the implementing agency, still pushed for the implementation of it.

The project coordinator had visited the place last in 1989, after which it was impossible for him to visit the area again due to the deteriorating security situation around the lake. Still, it was decided to continue the project until 1990, through local staff members. Though the growth of the trouts was better than anticipated, serious problems were already apparent in 1989:

1. An urgently-needed consignment of fish feed was held up at the Afghan border due to closure of the road by military action. Nets for floating cages were delayed for the same reason.
2. The Qargha area itself was experiencing daily military action, posing danger to staff working there. In particular, fire was frequently exchanged across Qargha Lake, making it impossible for fisheries personnel to work on the reservoir.
3. Due to tightening UN security regulations, including evacuation of all non-essential staff, the coordinator's visits were subject to shortening or cancellation.

Despite these difficulties, the project continued to make good progress, thanks to the creative solutions which staff members came up with in response for instance to the lack of imported feed (instead, they used a mix of livers, stomachs, lungs of sheep and goats). In spring, things looked good in the ponds: the fingerlings were big enough to be put into floating cages and moored in lake Qagha for the next few months.

Regrettably, the security situation at Qargha remained serious throughout spring and summer, and it was impossible to moor and work the cages in the lake due to the physical danger to staff. At the same time, the fish unfortunately came to the notice of soliders stationed at Qargha, in particular the militia. Large-scale thefts of trout from all the ponds by soliders continued through the summer, and the fish population of the swimming pool was wiped out by “fishing” with grenades. Senior officials of the Ministry of Agriculture and Land Reform did their best to stop the stealing without success.

In August, they decided to harvest whatever was left from the fish. Not much money could be gained, since the security sotation again didnt allow them to sell the fish in the market as originally planned. Instead, the fish was offered to UN and government employees and the diplomatic community.

As the report goes on, it lists as achievement that the project demonstrated the suitability of lake Qargha for trout culture activities. But since most fish was stolen, it was impossible for the evaluators to determine the economical sustainaiblity of the program. The report ends with the recommendation that the government may continue the project, and once the security situation improves, large scale fish farming should be initiated all over Afghanistan.

Twenty years on, and several governments later, I couldn't see much fish in the lake, instead, lots of Afghan families once again gathering around the lake on Fridays, drinking uncountable cups of tea and roasting goat over small gas cookers. I don't blame it on FAO that they didn't succeed in their big plans to support expand rainbow trout cultivation from Lake Qargha to the entire country; indeed, they didn't have the most conducive environment. But what makes us implement such sophisticated projects in such impossible environments? Is it our own little ego, our belief in saving the world, our trust in peace? Our ideals? Our commitment? Reports like this one make me wonder what will be left of my own efforts twenty years on.

Floating on Lake Qargha

2008-05-31T03:18:00.001-07:00

Because Kabul is in many ways still a village, it isn't hard to coincidentally meet somebody on a popular place like lake Qargha. So I wasn't particularly surprised to meet one of my former colleague with kids, brothers and father during my walk there. Rather, I was pleased to be able to spend part of my friday in a family like setup. After a quick cup of tea (whatever it is, it always starts with a cup of tea in Afghanistan), we decided to try the colorful swan boats. How these made it to lake qargha is a bit of a mystery to me. I wonder whether they are a left over from the times before the war or a donation by aid agencies after the war. In any case, they are colorful, funny to look at and bring joy not just to kids, but also to adults. And whats more welcome after a busy week than some distraction?

Lake Qargha swans

2008-05-30T22:13:00.000-07:00

Don't ask me where these swans are coming from, but they defenitely do add charm to lake Qharga!

Recreation

2008-05-30T10:09:00.000-07:00

Not far from Kabul, still within the city limits, is lake Qargha. Weekends, this recreation spot is packed with Kabulis of all ages, not so much of all sexes. While driving up the few curves to the edge of the lake, we overturned tens of cars, mainly small corollas, each one carrying several men and uncountable kids. Women are rare to see in Afghanistan, even here, not far from Kabul, they are hardly seen in public space.

At the lake, much is going on. Half of Kabul (the make half) seems to have made its way out of the smog layers, to get an idea of the blue color of the sky and dip feet and sometimes entire bodies into the fresh looking waters of the lake. Activities of all sorts seem to be going on. Fishing, swimming, car washing, bicycle polishing, tee boiling, goat roasting, paddle boating, chatting, drumming and dancing, yelling, whistling (especially towards me and my friend, two of the few women around the lake), patrolling, we even saw a bicycle race and footballers running up a hill. Just like around any other big city around the world on a warm summer weekend.. .. to be continued...

Afghan dining

2008-05-27T20:22:00.000-07:00

Dining in Jalalabad ... I had some issues with the bony fish (fish in Jalalabad for one or the other reason seems to consist exclusively of bones and skin!), but other than that, a splendid time with some of my colleagues during my recent trip to Afghanistan.

Little fellow

2008-05-24T20:06:00.000-07:00

Little fellow, seen in my garden, while playing around with my new camera... Amazing how clever these little animals are in camouflaging themselves ...

And on top of it all, children

2008-05-23T21:18:00.000-07:00

It's late morning in Jalalabad, the major city in the east of Afghanistan, not far from the border to Pakistan. I was woken up by the stiff air in my room at six o'clock in the morning, humid bedsheets sticking to my body. Once the generator is switched on, the aircondition had brought some relief to the heat in my room, and cooled down temperatures to a enjoyable 25 degrees celsius. But that has been four hours ago, and I am by now again all dusty and sweaty from the past four hours outside my air conditioned room.

It's my last day in Jalalabad, and I am just about to return to Kabul. I have stayed here few days to support my national colleagues to start up a livelihoods program for returnees in several communities around Jalalabad. Under normal circumstances, I would be able to reach Kabul within three hours. But the tarmacked road is currently closed, and all traffic from Jalalabad to Kabul and further on has to go through Lataband, a road without tarmac that crawls up and down the mountain ridge between Jalalabad and Kabul like a big, dust covered snake.
The first one and a half hours of drive are pleasant. We drive along a river, on a well tarmacked road, past small villages and road side shops. Few times I roll down the window, to take some pictures, but hot air immediately fills the car and the questioning look of my driver tells me to roll up the window again. The villages we pass are dry. Only those fields close enough to the river are green, whereas the remaining ones present themselves in sun dried yellow colors. Few people are working on the field, despite the heat.
After some time we reach Surobi, where I am supposed to change cars. Bad news start tripling in. After driving around Surobi to find a spot where we can find connection for our phone and HF radios, we learn that the two cars which left Kabul this morning to meet us in Surobi are stuck somewhere in Lataband, working their ways slowly down towards Surobi. We decide to wait. Heat immediately fills the cars as soon as we turn off the engine. I am not allowed to leave the car, and soon I get a sensation of how vegetables must feel when they are locked into a bottle to ferment and turn into alcohol. While fermenting inside my car, children stop outside my window, curiously looking at me. Some try to get me into buying eggs, sweeties, cookies, and all the other eatable and non eatable things they present to me. While I am observing the hustling and bustling of Surobi, my driver keeps contact with the two cars we are waiting for. Finally, after two hours, they arrive. Without granting themselves a break, they pack me into their car and decide to immediately drive back to Kabul. The first leg of our trip still follows the tarmacked road, but soon the road ends and we turn start driving on ravel roads. I notice that both sides of the valley are littered with white painted little rocks. Each of them signifies a mine that has been cleared by de mining companies over the past years. The entire mountainsides used to be mine fields, my driver explains. The road gets steeper, and traffic gets dense. Colorful Pakistani trucks are working their way up the Lataband, a slow moving centipede. They carry with them all kind of items: generators, wheat trashers, wheels, oil, bags with potatoes. They are moving slow, and many people walk next to them. Often the centipede comes to a complete still stand, us being part of it. People get out of their cars and trucks, breathing in the dusty, but fresh air. In between it all are ANA soldiers, gesticulating with their guns, trying to get movement into this monster that dwindles itself up the mountain. At the beginning I wonder about the trucks that carry a random collection of wooden poles, bicycles, furniture and on top of it all, children. It takes me some time to realize that these are returnees, returning from years, maybe even decades of refuge in Pakistan. Since the seventies, Afghanistan has seen one of the biggest exoduses a country has ever experienced. While one regime followed the other, there were little reasons for Afghans people to stay inside the country. Many Afghans settled temporarily in Pakistan and Iran, either in camps or in informal urban settlements. Since 2002, they are coming "home". According to statistics, over five millions have made their way back to Afghanistan. Pakistan, though it has been a relatively save refuge for many years, has become increasingly hostile against Afghans, forcing many to "voluntarily" return home. Looking at these trucks, I wonder what the kids, women and men who sit on top of their few belongings are thinking. What they own, is what they sit on. What Afghanistan offers them in this very right moment is a dangerous road, and dust. The grandiose landscape is hidden behind the cloud of dust. Few of them might have relatives they can stay with in urban areas. Few might try to go back to their native villages. Many might soon realize that what they have left many years ago has long disappeared. Although people returning home after decades could be a sign of hope, it is hard for me in that very right moment to see the hope in it all. What future can Afghanistan offer to them? What expectations do they have, and what will they receive in turn for their decision to return home?
After few hours we reach the top point of Lataband. While traffic has been dense up to now, it suddenly clears up, and we travel down the other side of the mountain ridge towards Kabul without problems. From the distance I can see the smog hub that covers Kabul. Soon we are inside of it, and I am thankful to my drivers for their skills and patience to manage a road like Lataband. While I am back in my own little world that I have created for myself here in Kabul over the past few months, part of my thoughts continues to be with these returnees I have seen on my way back from Jalalabad. I know that my work that I do in regard to reintegration support for returnees (one of the main focuses of the organization I work for) has gained a completely new dimension.

Women in Afghanistan

2008-05-19T09:48:00.000-07:00

Few weeks ago, I developed jointly with another department of the organization I am working for a proposal for an intervention that looks at economic and civic empowerment of women in Afghanistan. Although I was quite pleased with the project idea we came up with (a combination of working with entire communities, in particular men, to create an enabling environment in which women and men can equally participate in economic and civic activities), I somehow doubt how much we are really going to achieve, given the slow pace of change in regard to situation of women in Afghanistan since the fall of the Taliban seven years ago. It was among others the article below that once again made me think of whether we will be able to achieve the targets we set ourselves, or whether our ideas on how to bring change into the lives of women in Afghanistan are mere day dreams of idealists.

"Afghan women still forced to cover upMay 16, 2008 Rosie DiMannoKABUL–Shrouds are meant for burial.But not in Afghanistan, where public life for women is still all about the covering up, the obscuring of femaleness.Six years after the fall of the Taliban, the cocooning burqa hangs on, even in a liberated capital rushing headlong into modernity, as if leaping millennia in one breathless hurdle.Tradition, family pressures, shyness and a sense of personal security without violation – all are given as reasons for clutching still to the metres of billowing fabric that cascade from scalp to ankle.The burqa remains stubbornly ubiquitous, if now worn by a smaller minority of women, at least in the capital. Beyond Kabul, and especially in the ultrafundamentalist Pashtun south, most adult females dare not venture outside without it, wouldn't dream of doing so.In truth, the burqa doesn't make women one bit less provocative – if that's the fear – because what's forbidden is always tantalizing, in the way of human nature. There's a kind of peek-a-boo coquetry just beneath the concealed surface, a flash of skin below the hemline, painted toenails in strappy sandals, bangles jangling at the naked wrist. Even the most conservative women, elderly ladies who wear old-fashioned pantaloons under the dress under the burqa, reveal a fancy frill beneath the voluminous swathing.Emancipation is an incremental thing in Afghanistan, literally measured in centimetres. Those women who tossed off their burqas after the Taliban were routed now wear skirts that cover nearly as much leg and long-sleeved tops no matter how hot the weather. And they always wrap scarves around their heads and shoulders, often lifting an edge to hide the bottom half of their faces. It's a gesture learned in girlhood.But at least they can see and breathe more easily. The burqa – so uncomfortable with all that weight of fabric affixed to the tight skullcap – muffles sensory perceptions, causing women to stumble and fall, never being able to see their own feet, the world dimly viewed through an embroidered slit.There is no religious justification for the burqa. It is entirely a product of paternalism and patriarchy, males asserting their ownership of females – what only they are entitled to see in the privacy of the family home.But the burqa, more than the chador or the veil, is infantilizing as well, like a newborn's swaddling. By wearing it, women are constricted and controlled, and this hindrance is not just symbolic. It's evoked in every burdened step a female takes [...]
Columnist Rosie DiManno is on assignment in Afghanistan, where she covered the Taliban's fall in 2001.

Welcome summer

2008-05-17T01:13:00.000-07:00

Back in Kabul from R&R, I realized one thing pretty quickly: Summer has finally taken over from the cold winter months, with some good and some less good things attached to it.

The good things: it's daylight at 5 am in the morning, and it only gets dark at 7:30 in the evening; I don't have to run around in onion style (the multiple-layers-winter-survival-dress-code) any longer; I dont have to worry about not having enough (matching) socks in my cupboard, since it's too hot for shoes anyway; I can easily sleep without a heavy blanket; restaurants have put tables outside, meaning that I dont have to breath smoke from cigarettes any longer; pools have been filled with sparkling fresh water; there is no fear of frozen pipes anymore.

The down side to it: my office is a sauna (having two walls made purely out of windows is great for winter, but a nightmare in summer!); sandstorms carry dust everywhere; public power is only available few hours a day; I long for the mountains I can see from my office and yet not climb, due to security concerns; I am struggling to find cloths that don't stick to my sweaty skin after five minutes of putting them on.

At the end, I have to admit that both winter and summer here in Kabul seem to have their own unique charm, and their own unique stuggles :)

Bozcaada

2008-05-16T09:38:00.000-07:00

"Once you are there, you will not want to leave anymore". This was the common statement by all people we met on our way to Bozcaada, a little island in the Aegean Sea, west of Turkeys mainland. And they were right. While walking from one side to the other, I endulged in thoughts of a) reasons not to leave the island anymore, b) making a living on it. I am wondering if they might need a german teacher in their one and only school?

Talking about wondering - readers of this blog might wonder why all of a sudden there are entries from Turkey instead of Afghanistan. I am tempted to say that I have transferred myself permanently to Bozcaada, but that wouldn't quite match the truth. Truth is that in countries like Afghanistan, most organizations who employ "expats" have some kind of R&R system - rest and recreation. This means that every three months, I am getting five days off, in addition to my annual leave, to recharge my batteries somewhere outside Afghanistan. What a luxury - some of you might think. But fact is that working for an american organization, my total annual leave is meagre 15 days, combined with R&R every three months, I reach a total of 35 days. Not a lot, but still better than nothing. And even better thanks to the existence of places like Bozcaada

And you see, the good thing is that living in countries like Afghanistan (and please dont misunderstand this, I really like living here!) makes you appreciate and realize the value in the most normal, daily things, such as walking on the street, staying out as long as I want, not having to do radio check at eight pm, not having to cover my head when driving around, ...

Memories from Bozcaada, Turkey

2008-05-16T09:03:00.000-07:00

Feeling the fine sand under my skin, being touched by warm rays of the sun, seeing nothing else than deep blue sky, few clowds in between, a yellow sun, smell from flowers that grow at the edge of the beach, close and at the same time far sounds from waves and seaguls, realizing my own breath. Thoughts being carried away, until nothing specific but happiness remains as the only feeling.

Random Pictures from Turkey

2008-05-15T06:33:00.000-07:00

No time for writing, but at least some nice pictures to share with you... they are pretty random, from various places and moments of my trip to Turkey, so apologies for not explaining them ... Will tell the stories to the pictures another time ...

Hagia Sophia - Istanbul

2008-05-12T09:47:00.000-07:00

Hagia Sophia is really one of the most fascinating pieces of architectural greatness I have seen so far. Despite the flow of tourists that is funnelled through its interior every hour, the way in which the mosque/church/ museum is set up, you can all of a sudden feel completely alone in an extremely peaceful way, for instance by looking up to its ceiling, or by moving behind one of the sheer endless columns. I don't know how such feelings are possible, and wasn't really expecting it, when queueing outside, wrestling with other thousands of tourists to get a ticket to enter the building, but fact is that Hagia Safia has something special, a special something in its atmosphere that is there no matter how many tourists are rolling through. Anyhow, wanted to share this experience as I am usually try to keep myself away from touristy places; walking throug Hagia Safia has brought me a bit at peace with mass tourism.. :)

Sparkled

2008-05-11T20:13:00.000-07:00

I guess the thing that amazed me most about Turkey was the wild flowers that sparkle the landscape in red, yellow, purple, and a million of other colors.

Travels

2008-05-11T20:06:00.000-07:00

There is a reason for my recent quietness: a long longed for Rest and Recreation leave, which I used to hook up with my family and a friend midway between Italy and Kabul.

It's unbelievable how much energy one can gain from few days at the in Turkey :)

Above my favorite capture from my stay in Turkey: Seaguls, who accompanied our ferry for at least two hours, snapping breadcrumbs thrown out into the wind by passangers. More on Turkey to follow...

And another national day

2008-04-23T23:14:00.000-07:00

Sitting in the car yesterday night, travelling home from work, still reflecting on the international book day, I was alerted by BBC that it's actually not just the international book day, but also the German National Day of the Beer that is celebrated on the 23rd of April. Prost.

Yippie! Another International Day

2008-04-23T05:41:00.000-07:00

I am over and over again astonished by the sheer endless amount of international days, and the amazing creativity which is put into the identification of new international days. As I just got to know by flipping through my Alertnet expresso news, today is the World Book Day . As somebody addicted to books (and to rooms with book shelves that touch the ceiling), seeing books as the subject of the day made me actually quite happy. However, seeing yet another international day also made me think a bit...

Some time ago, after stumbling over the international day for the African child, the international day for water and the world AIDS day, I went to the web to look for a complete list with international days. I managed to get a complete list of all days, weeks, and decades, featuring quite exotic days such as the world meteorological day, world no tobacco day, united nations public service day, international day of cooperatives, international day for the preservation of the ozone layer, world space week, and the international mountain day.

From my time in Somaliland I remember that some local NGOS truly specialized in facilitating the celebration of international days on behalf of the international NGOS and UN agencies, who never ever failed to provide the necessary money for these meaningful celebrations. The program was always the same, regardless of whether it was the international women's day, children's day or something else: A march through the city, spearheaded by Hargeisas' only policy band, followed by few kids with pre-fabricated banners (in English, so avoid that messages could penetrate the minds of the public...), some speeches (depending how much you paid, you could also get ministers to contribute their voice to it), a drama group (performing some acrobatics - always managed to attract a huge crowed of street kids) and of course, not to forget, the obligatory T-shirts and posters, which you would then see for a while on the streets (the only lasting effect of the day). Interestingly enough, though it was always exactly the same program, it never ever ever was implemented without delay, problems, something not working out, ...

It seems, that at least one additional international day is declared each year. But than again, who wonders - after all, our world isn't getting that much better, so maybe reminding citizens of the bad and evil in this world and how to fight it is the way to go ahead.

What I am personally really waiting for is the day when the world leaders declare the "day of the international day" ;)

Truly a success story?

2008-04-20T19:56:00.000-07:00

Few days ago a friend of mine has drawn my attention towards an article published in the Washington post recently, talking about the success of the American success story in Khost, a province south of Kabul, on the border to Pakistan. The article, written by Richard Holbrooke, a former Ambassador to the United Nations, starts with the following paragraph:

"KHOST, Afghanistan -- This former Taliban stronghold, where Osama bin Laden spent time planning the Sept. 11 attacks, has become an American success story. The Taliban is being pushed out, and a government presence is extending into previously hostile territory. At NATO headquarters in Kabul, most of Khost has been moved out of the "red" column -- at least for now"

The article continues elaborating on the warfare tactic applied by US troops to win the hearts and the minds of the people of Khost, and concludes that more such success stories will be seen accross Afghanistan once additional Nato troops arrive in the country.

Personally, I am slightly astonished by the article. As the organization I am working for is having interventions in Khost, I know a bit about the difficulties and insecurity that prevails parts of this province, to an extend that it would be worth reconsidering keeping our people down there. Two district offices of non governmental organizations, in charge of facilitating the implementation of the NSP (National Solidarity Program, the flagship program of the Afghanistan Government, aiming at setting up community development councils in villages all accross Afghanistan), have been burned down. Staff members working on the NSP program receive threatening letters because of their support for a government program; in the same week, one school has attacked and one burned down and three guards kidnapped, besides numerous other incidents. The picture that other sources paint of Khost is a slightly different one from Richard Holbrookes glamouros depiction of the success story Khost. As written in a weekly report, "Khost continues to be volatile with most AOG activity centered in Khost Matun and Sabari Districts. For the last six months most attacks have targeted security forces, however, recent incidents and the attacks on the NSP program indicate that AOG may be beginning a campaign against humanitarian projects in the area. NGOs should consider that their acceptance has been generally compromised in these areas, especially those involved in implementing government related programs"

So, how can it be a success to "conquere" a province with foreign troops, while the government of Afghanistan is enjoying hardly any support? How sustainable can that be?

Extreme tourism

2008-04-20T06:32:00.000-07:00

A slightly more crazy way to show the outside world that Afghanistan has many faces ... extreme tourism promo video - check the link, it's worth having a look at it!

Extreme tourism is a project of two friends of mine, featuring the unique experience of a tourist in Afghanistan. Among the highlights: BBQ with Osama (he didn't confirm his attendence yet, but my friends are working hard on convincing him about this unique opportunity of having BBQ with two crazy guys and Arsenal T-shirts for free) and a visit to Tora Bora.

Will keep you updated on the progress of the film project!

Knowing why you are here

2008-04-16T19:54:00.000-07:00

Today I had an interview with a journalist from a local newspaper in Italy, about my stay and work in Afghanistan, my future plans and past adventures. The inevitable question during the interview was: why am I in Afghanistan? Am I here to help? To work? To run from something? To learn something? It’s a question I have been asking myself many times, without a definite answer so far.

Reading today’s news, I don’t seem to be the only one to ask “why am I here?” An interview with Jacob Kellenberger, president of the ICRC, touched on his recent visit to the US military prison in Bagram, not far from Kabul. During his visit, many of the over 600 detainees complained that they are held without knowing why for; “they do not know what the future brings, how long they will be there, and under which conditions they will be released” – he stated in the interview. Recently, an “enemy combat review board” was established, which will meet every six months to review the future of the detainees. But the body does not allow any evidence from outside, nor are hearings open to the public; the list of the detainees in Bagram is kept secret, so are the offences against which they are held in prison. Unlike Guantanamo, the Bagram military base does not allow any journalists to visit the prison. The only window to the outside world is a video conferencing system, with which detainees can communicate with their families. I wonder how that will work? Do they set up temporary video conference centers in the remote villages where these prisoners might come from? Dingle with a mobile cinema through the country?

Why are we here? At least I can choose to leave, if I don’t find the answer to these question. Prisoners, if held innocently, will have to wait for the decision of the enemy combat review board. I wonder on which grounds and evidence this board is basing its decisions.

A busdrivers' contribution to peace in Afghanistan

2008-04-13T20:10:00.000-07:00

Schweizer Deutsch in Afghanistan

2008-04-13T19:58:00.000-07:00

Hardly ever do I meet somebody who actually knows about this tiny place in Italy, where I am originating from, and where people speak German. We are a breed that most people have difficulties to grasp. Somehow, despite globalization and the gradual blur of culture and identities, only few people actually manage to get acquainted to the idea of Italians who speak German as a first language and Italian with a unmistakable German accent; with the result that at least once a day, I turn into a amateur history teacher, explaining in exactly five sentences the history behind my broken Italian and my Italian passport.

Waiting for the glorious moment and question to happen, I yesterday stepped into the reception of the IOM office in Kabul. For one or the other reason, receptionist love asking questions. I was there early; the person I was supposed to meet was still out for lunch. So, I sat down opposite the receptionist and two other guys who seemed to have no specific purpose in being there. So, what do you do if you have no specific task to look after? You ask the one opposite you some innocent questions. First: what’s your name? Easy: Johanna, with the J pronounced like a Y. Second question: Whom do you work for? IRC, the ones with the black arrow on a yellow background. Third question: Where you’re from? Italy. Five seconds pass by; I can feel the three guys opposite me thinking, their faces getting a surprised expression. And than the inevitable forth question: But you’re accent sounds German! Yes, that’s because I am from the German speaking part of Italy. Do you want to hear the whole story? Usually, the answer is a vague nod and a glimmer of disbelief in the eyes. Not so today. Instead of the disbelief, the guy opposite me starts smiling and replies in broad Schweizerdeutsch “Bist von Bozen?” Now it is me whose eyes nearly drop out of my face. There is this Afghan man sitting opposite me, comfortably wrapped into the Shalma Kamiz, smiling and asking in broadest Swiss German if I am from Bolzano. As it turns out, he left Afghanistan seven years ago, traveled to Zuerich, got a job in a hotel as night watchman, moved on to another Hotel and up the ladder, and is now working as night portier in a well known Zuerich Hotel, the Schweizer Hof, making more money than I do here in Afghanistan. Then he embarked in an analysis of the Swiss People. Though he likes the salary and living conditions, he thinks that Swiss people are too tight, proud and angry most of the time. Italians, on the other hand, he thinks are more like the Afghans. A bit relaxed, friendly, sometimes a bit too loud, but at the same time friend with everybody. His recommendation to the Swiss is to loosen up a bit, a message he spreads to clients during his nightshifts at the hotel. Other than that, he points out the beauty of the Zuericher lake, the craziness of the street parade, and the languages he speaks (un poco italiano, a bit of French, the German he picked up in the street, and of course his own language, Dari). With an “Aufwiedersehen”, spiked with up and downs like valleys and mountains of Switzerland, he waves me good bye, as the lady with whom I am supposed to discuss return programs for qualified afghan enters the room to pick me up.

Where gossip grows like bad weed (and were good work is hard to come by)

2008-04-07T08:52:00.000-07:00

Few months ago, back home in Italy, I sat in a bus, listened to two old ladies talking and chatting about XYZ in our community. Interested in this phenomenon, I was at the same time quite released not to be part of these in-depth reflections on who is who and who is with whom and who is not any longer with whom (not to forget about who was born and who died). How wrong I was thinking that in a town 6000 km away from my home I could successfully dive into a pool of cool, light blue anonymity. My plan to remain a stranger outside the gossip world obviously failed. Though I spend most of my evenings with comparatively little adventeruos activities such as reading, writing or working, my early mornings with sport, and my days with desktop work and meetings, my weekends with some walks and the occasional coffee, I still seem to be unprotected from gossip. Without doing anything, I suddenly found myself dragged into ridicolous stories (will keep the details for myself). Sometimes I wonder how much more boring my life (in terms of social interactions) must get before I am finally out of this swamp of invented stories. I also wonder, if people have nothing better to do than gossip about each other in a country that isn't quite animating (at least not me) for unserious talk. Who knows, maybe its exactly this desperation that surrounds us that creates the temptation to involve in easy gossip about each others lifes, instead of focusing on the much harder task of doing serious work that actually has an impact.

All in all, I am happy that there is no vodoo in Afghanistan. Otherwise I would be really afraid, instaed of just annoyed by what other people think...

Bollywood lunch in Kabul

2008-04-01T06:12:00.000-07:00

I know I should be working in this very moment (its 5:45) instead of writing nonsense on my blog. There is one huge proposal waiting to be polished, printed out and eventually submitted to the donor on Thursday. There are several emails I should reply to. My table is covered with papers I haven't sorted out. There is the departmental strategy I should at least attempt to get down on paper. And then, of course, there is the good old topic of my five year life plan (that one I actually happen to work on almost every night before falling asleep, just to throw it out all again and start a new the next night before falling asleep-maybe the reason why I am frequently tortured by nightmares? ;) . But what am I doing instead? I am finding any excuse not to look into above mentioned issues. For instance my lunch experience today:
Afghanistan is not the most progressive country when it comes to dress code for women, with majority of the female population still walking around behind blue curtains. Fascinatingly enough, what seems to be a tabu in the real life, is totally ok on TV. Regardless of the decades of conflict, elements of indians subcontinental movie scene and pockets of technology have reached out to Afghanistan (or at least Kabul), resulting in a combination of seminaked women and macho looking men dancing and flirting on huge plasma screens in ordinary lunch restaurants in Kabul. I call it the "Bollywood lunch". I am not a particular fan of Bollywood, but having these movies spicing up my lunch in Kabul while watching women in burka walking by the window is bizarre enough to put it on my blog - and successfully distract myself from work. How comes that we add such different standards and rules to real life and what we allow to be screened on TV? Anyhow, back to work....

Dreams about curfew and why I sometimes feel like a pumkin

2008-03-28T04:51:00.000-07:00

Did you ever wonder how life would be if it would have elements of a fairy tale? Did you ever wonder if fairytales can come through? No? Are you curious to find out? Yes? Than you should come to Afghanistan. Every Thursday night, the start of a new weekend in Afghanistan, I and my car are at serious stake of turning into a pumpkin.

For reasons which are still a bit obscure to me (as most security incidents happen during daytime), IRC staff members in Afghanistan have to be at home by midnight. Therefore, we start our weekend as soon as possible, so to say immediately after work (which is, as it happens, often eight in the evening). The usual but pleasent mix of restaurant, party and bar follows, and while initial beers are enjoyed in peace, latest by eleven one joggles betweeen another drink or calling the car to make sure that we are home by twelve. Comes eleven thirty, those who are curfew free start the usual joke: hurry up or your car will turn into a pumpkin! I feel slightly flattered by the fact that people draw parallelities between me and cinderella (does that mean that a prince is somewhere out there?). As it happens, I actually never manage to be home by 00:00. It's always something in the range from 00:01 to 00:10. Last Thursday, I found it particularly challanging to leave the french bar, one of the usual thursday night hang outs. First, I had to say good bye to few people. Then I had to finish my drink. When I was already out, I remembered that I had forgotten my shawl. I went back in, asked few guys in a polite way to get up from the sofa, as they might - unconsciously - rest on my shawl (nice trick ;). As I couldnt find it, I decided to go out again. Mentioning it to my friend Kate (who is also part of the pumpkin gang) insisted that we go back in, look for the shawl and send out some last good byes. So back in, I finally found my shawl and thus had no further excuse not to go home. Though we reached home at 00:20, our car didnt turn into pumpkin (would have been too nice if fairy tales could come true... damn, does that mean that the prince doesn't exist?). Instead, I continued dreaming about staying on in the french bar. In my dreams, I lost first my shoes, then I couldnt get hold of the driver, then I started talking to my ex b'friend (something I try to avoid in real, but as Kabul is a very small town, we bump into each other at least once a week). At one point in my dreams, I decided to walk home (how unresponsible). As far as I remember, my dream ended with me getting fired, instead of turning into a pumpkin. But then again, who would expect a fairytale to come true in a city like Kabul?

What would a psychologists answer to my dreams be? That I am a hopeless believer in fairytales, surrounded by a reality that is just not a fairytale at all?

Whats going on in Afghanistan?

2008-03-24T22:18:00.000-07:00

During my daily sport session this morning I came accross some shocking, yet not surprising news about Afghanistan. It's an article about a research undertaken by OXFAM on aid delivery in Afghanistan.

"Some $10bn (£5bn) in aid promised to Afghanistan has still to be delivered, aid organisation Oxfam has said. It also finds that two-thirds of aid is not spent through the government and 40% goes back to donor countries in consultant fees and expatriate pay... "

The article goes on telling some numbers of development aid versus budget for the military. Guess: its 7 (development):100 (military) Million a day! No wonder the country isn't moving into the direction it should!

What a life

2008-03-24T20:02:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wonder where I got myself into. My current schedule looks like the following:
5:50 am - generator is switched on, waking me up
5:55 am - alarm clock goes off, reminding me that I should get up
6:00 am - start doing sport for half hour (running, sit ups and push ups - basic, but efficient)
6:30 am - quick shower
6:40 am - coffee and a shot of news (todays news: aid to Afghan is short by 10 bn $; 7 million $ a day go into development, whereas 100 million $ a day go into military - its a weird world, really!)
7:00 am - into the car and up for the office
7:30 am - checking personal mails and writing on my blog how difficult life is
8:00 am - getting myself convinced that I should really start looking into the two proposals that have to be submitted by the 31st of March. Its worldbank format, so loads and loads of attachments and other stuff
13:00 pm - quick lunch, afghan food: naan bread and greasy beans (lucky I do sport in the morning, otherwise I would soon look like one of these short round beans as well...)
13:10 pm - continue working
16:00 pm - go for meeting
17:00 pm - relocate for coffee shop, continue working (thanks god there is wireless internet in Afghanistan!)
20:00 pm - home, cook some spinach to get the necessary vitamins to get me through these days
20:20 pm - continue working
00:30 am - decide to put my computer on stand by and go to bad
00:35 am - can't sleep, as my mind is too agitated from all the thinking and writing
5:50 am - wake up - happy that I had managed to fall asleep at least at one point.

I guess once I have these two proposals out of my sight, I will take a day or two off ... to take care of myself, my blog, my friends, my plants and continue working on my plan for the next five years (I can't do without life planning - though of course, these plans never work out :)

Mobile Butchery - only for people with strong stomachs

2008-03-22T20:06:00.000-07:00

Over the past years, I have seen many things being transported on these black universal bikes: chickens, eggs, corn, living goats, hay, metal and wood poles, kids, charcoal, you name it. But yesterday it was actually the first time ever that I saw a slaughtered cow wrapped around a bike. I know I shouldn't put such pictures at my blog, as some of you, especially the vegeterians, might feel offended. However, the sight of this mobile butchery was simply too unique, making it difficult for me not to jump out of the car, take a picture and get it on my blog. At the end, I guess, living abroad for several years has somehow increased my attraction to unusual things and lowered my treshold for slightly disgusting stuff, as long as it has this extraordinary, unusual touch. The good thing is, that you only have to open your eyes a bit wider, overcome your initial culture shock, and places like Kabul which many believe to be not the most beautiful and attractive place on earth suddenly turn into a never ending universe of fascination ... ;)

Kids of Zandajan

2008-03-22T20:01:00.000-07:00

On the Silk Road

2008-03-21T22:44:00.000-07:00

The Silk Road, a ancient network of trade routes between the East and the West, has over thousands of years crossed Afghanistan. Uncounted numbers of traders covered parts of the route, passing on items from one trader to the other, adding value at each stop. The route sprang into life in the first century BC, when China established embassies with Parthia in modern Iran and Ferghana in central Asia.

Afghanistan has both been producer and trader along the route. The desire among Romans to get silk was so huge and the textile so expensive that the Roman Senate even tried to ban it, on moral as well as economic grounds. As the Chinese guarded the secret of silk production, the textile was only produced in the Far East, and remained an expression of luxury and wealth for centuries. Over the coming centuries, other items such as paper, porcelain and tea, gold, horses and ivory were traded along the road as well. The road was also a highway for ideas, and it was the Kushans who send Buddhist ideas from Afghanistan to China and Buddhist Art to India.

The road reached its peak in the first and second century AD. It was the collapse of the roman empire and the Han Chinese empire some centuries later that caused the collapse of the trade network, while the rise of Islam further changed to balance of the trade in the region. Discovery of the sea routes marked the final decline of the road.

Afghanistan has been one of the witnesses of the surge and decline of the Silk Road, hosting both producers and processors. Today, not much is left from this ancient trade. My current task, to develop a proposal on SME (Small and Medium Enterprise) development for a rural silk enterprise gave me a chance to visit and interact with actors along the silk value chain. On a sunny morning we traveled out to Zandajan district in Western Afghanistan, past the Hari Rud river. Along the river, the landscape is green, but behind the first elevation up from the river bed, the fields are dry. I heard predictions for both floods and droughts that are supposed to hit Afghanistan this year – looking at these landscapes, drought looks more likely. The landscape is only interrupted by clay villages and herds of cashmere goats, bushy as they haven’t been combed yet. Once we entered the village, I felt somehow thrown back in history. Wouldn’t there have been a power line that supplies power from nearby Iran, and the occasional car and mobile phone, I would have been unable to say which century we are in. I wouldn’t idealize it – life in these villages is for certain not easy. But they do have a special charm, comparable to forgotten and abandoned villages in rural Italy, where only the old are left, enjoying a unspectacular life day in day out. With the difference that staying in such remote villages is not a luxury in Afghanistan, but business as usual.

As I had never seen silk production before, I was captured by the humid and warm air in the semi dark room where dried cocoons are boiled to unravel the silk. A silent surren filled the second room, where the silk thread is spun, and the third room where thick silk thread for carpets is produced. Once I had been shown the thread production, we sat down and discussed the opportunities and threats that the silk industry is facing nowadays in Zandajan. Though it still gives part time employment to a considerable number of households in the district, the demand for silk has experienced a decline over the last years. On one side, men are not obliged anymore to wear silk turbans as they were under the Taliban; on the other side, many items that were previously made out of silk are now made out of cheaper, synthetic products. I wonder if a heavily supported rural enterprise will save the industry from decline. Though I would love to spend time out in these districts and villages (its just so much better than hanging out in Kabul), I have my doubts about the potential of success.

Cock fighting

2008-03-19T18:51:00.000-07:00

Waiting to compete
Warming up
The twisted dance ...

Showing off
Yahuuuuuuu!
Youngsters getting ready to be part of the adult world
Close capture

What do adult and less adult men do on a sunny friday morning at Babur Garden? They carry around their roosters like little pets to get them compete in cockfights. It's not these bloody cockfights where animals are killed. At least I didnt see any blood or any wounded animals. Each fight takes only about half a minute, until one of the roosters bends down. Evidence that this fights are truly capturing: none of the exclusively male viewers took any notice of me, as I approached the stage in my non-islamic dressing (had forgotten to take on a long t-shirt or Kamiz that would cover my bottom). Usually, you can't get unnoticed as a western woman here in Afghanistan - but not even a western woman seems to be able to compete against the attraction that this game has on Afghan men.

Imagine that

2008-03-18T18:43:00.000-07:00

Imagine that despite the fact that Kabul has gone through centuries of destruction (started long time before the Russian invasion), there are things like this grave behind me that have survived all this and remain up to date a silent reminder of Afghanistans rich history

Imagine that you're in Kabul, and you get a breakfast in a french bistro, with warm, crispy croissants, mild cafe o'lait, fresh orange juice and home made jam; would there be champagne in addition, one could mistakingly believe to be in paradise for a short while :)

If you love the problem...

2008-03-18T05:34:00.000-07:00

If you love it, the problem is beautiful like a sunset.

Says a good friend of mine, and for good reasons I have to say that it's one of the most beautiful - and true - sayings I have ever read. I am going through a time of little hickups, with a donor refusing to give money and a guy I like deciding to exchange me for his ex girl friend. How much worse can it get? That's why I like this saying. Because - alas` - if you look at the problem as a sunset, it suddenly isn't a problem anymore :)

Women in Afghanistan - first part

2008-03-17T19:21:00.001-07:00

This is an article that I came accross in Reuters yesterday. Liked it a lot and thought its worse to share with you, as it demonstrates that there is some progress in Afghanistan (as it is, I see it as my duty to uncover among others the untold stories of Afghanistan)

KABUL, Mar 17 (Reuters) As a young girl living under hardline Islamist Taliban rule, Mahboba Ahdyar could only run around the small courtyard of her house in the Afghan capital. Now she is getting set to race in the Olympic Games.Ahdyar is the only woman among four Afghans due to represent the war-torn country at August's Beijing Olympics and the slightly built 19-year-old 1,500 metre runner stands little chance of a medal.Competing, however, is more about pride and showing the world what Afghan women can do.''When I was small I used to run in my house and watch my brother who was doing body building. I kept my exercising secret even from my neighbours because of the Taliban,'' she told Reuters at the Kabul sports stadium where the Taliban held public executions until they were ousted from power by US-led and Afghan forces in 2001.The Taliban banned women from working or leaving the home without a male relative. Girls could not play outdoors and sport was out of the question.But while some things have improved for women since 2001 and Afghanistan now has female athletes, a women's soccer team, even boxers, many in this deeply conservative society remain hostile.''Some people in our society are against sport for women,'' said Ahdyar. ''They want us only to stay at home, but I disagree with them; God gave the same rights to men and women, that is why I don't care what they say.'' Ahdyar said she was lucky to have the support of her family. ''I'm so proud of my daughter representing Afghanistan at the Beijing Olympics,'' said mother Majan Ahdyar. ''She is so fond of her sport, she even exercises at night outside in the street because our house is not big enough.'' NO FEAR But some neighbours jeer at the athlete as she travels to and from her small mudbrick home in a poor area of Kabul for training.''My father, mother and brother all support and encourage me that is why I am here now,'' said Mahboba. ''The problem is with my neighbours; they are trying to humiliate me, that is the main problem I have.'' The Taliban have now come back to fight an insurgency against the pro-Western government and foreign troops in Afghanistan and many ordinary Afghans have fallen victim to suicide bombs, assassination and kidnapping. But Ahdyar is undaunted.''I'm not scared of anything because God created me one day and I believe that one day I will die,'' she said. ''Whatever is my destiny will happen. I am choosing the right way which is for my benefit and the benefit of all young people.'' Ahdyar trains in a loose tracksuit and headscarf, something she says she will not change to compete in the Olympics.''I am an Afghan and a Muslim girl and wearing a headscarf is an obligation for Muslim girls,'' she said. ''I will not take off my scarf in China when I race because it is symbol of Muslim women.'' Apart from a spell as a refugee in Pakistan, Ahdyar has never travelled abroad, but she and Afghan male sprinter Masood Azizi are soon due to travel to Malaysia for a five-month training camp before going to China.Facilities there will be a world away from those in Afghanistan.There is not a single proper running track in the whole country and the pair of Olympians train on a concrete track circling the dusty soccer pitch inside the main stadium. The more basic problem of lack of a good diet also dogs Afghan athletes.Ahdyar is reluctant to predict how she will perform in Beijing.''I don't want to forecast what will happen to me, but I believe in God and I want God almighty to help me.''

Can a phone company reshape our lives?

2008-03-16T20:38:00.000-07:00

Not long ago, I paid a visit to a place called Barik Ab. The place is a land allocation site, north of Kabul, designed to be a home for people who have lost their home across decades of war and flight. It’s a desperate piece of land, stuck against mountains at one side, dry land on the other side. The quietness of the place is frequently cut by rotor blades from black hawks that patrol the sky between Bagram and Kabul, and military tanks that speed on the narrow road between Bagram and Kabul, past Barik Ab. Despite the high tech military equipment that inhabits the air and land around Barik Ab, there is little that reminds of technological invention inside Barik Ab. The place is cut off from power supply, roads are impassable most of the time around the year, and school is held in the open space in the center of the town. Few shops sell sweets and sticky orange juice in dusty packages to those who can afford. Can a mobile phone company reshape the lives of those in Barik Ab? I asked the owner of the shop where he got the sign board from. He didn’t remember. What counts for him is that it protects his shop from wind, sun and rain. So in one way, the mobile phone company does reshape lives. In this case just not through communication, but through a more hands on support.
Note: ROSHAN is one of the biggest mobile phone companies in Afghanistan, owned as far as I am aware by the AGA KHAN network.

What's forever?

2008-03-16T20:35:00.000-07:00

As a child, I remember, one of my teachers explained eternity as the time that a single bird would need to carry away a whole mountain if it flies by every 100 years and picks up one single piece of sand at a time. My answer was disbelief, since one day, even though trillions of years away, the bird would have completed its task, and the mountain would have flown away together with it. So what’s forever? I think it was this story that made me never ever again believe that anything in this world could be forever. Nothing and nobody have since succeeded to convince me of the opposite. Whatever we see, whatever we do, whomever we meet, has an expiry date printed in small letters somewhere, even though sometimes it takes you some time to find it.

At the lake

2008-03-14T07:57:00.000-07:00

Karga - lake, golf course, restaurants: recreational area not far from Kabul and yet so different. Friday afternoon you can see batallions of kabuli families pilgraming out to grasp a bit of sun and breath in some less polluted air. Basically the same what we were doing for the first time this weekend. Escaping from Kabuls traffic chaos and the layer of smog, from the constant noise. A bit of peace? Somehow.

Four months Kabul

2008-03-14T07:51:00.000-07:00

Ignoring the Christmas holidays which I spend at home in Italy, I have been living in Kabul for about four months already. The city hasn’t lost any of its fascination since I arrived here in late October, but many things which were then obscured by the fog of the unknown, are now known and don’t scare or surprise me anymore. The blind map which Kabul was when I first arrived has since been filled with a multitude of spots, standing for people I met, places I visited, things I saw. I drive through the city in a much more relaxed mood than I would have done three months ago, knowing more about security and potential risks. I don’t take much notice of the hundreds of heavily armed security guards along my way to the office. I ignore the awful huge barricades behind which ISAF and diplomats and private contractors are hiding. If there is a bomb blast somewhere, I continue working as if it would be the most normal thing that could happen. I also got used to the ever bigger growing mosques all over the town, whose owners seem to have a silent competition going on of who will build the highest minaret. Over the past four months, I succeeded to develop small habits to make this place more feel like home: plants in my room which I carefully water every morning; some large photographs from mountains on the wall; regular walks on the weekend to Babur Gardens or the lake at the edge of the city; brunch in a French café on Friday morning with croissant and café o lait; occasional bbq’s; and sometimes a drink straight after work in one of Kabul few pubs.

I have learned the basics of Dari, and am now able to correctly say “ma Darira kam kam mefamedum” – “I know a little bit of Dari”. Besides that, I am able to say “mushkel nes” – no problem, and “Roze Kosh” – have a nice day.

I have seen autumn colors, winter cold and the first messengers of spring.

Work wise, much has changed since I arrived: originally meant to coordinate a vocational training program, I have been turned into a proposal writer for rural livelihoods programs and – the newest – I am about to develop a proposal for small and medium enterprise implementation support. Especially this latest proposal makes me feel very much as if I would be back in University. It reminds me of these situations where I had to write a paper about a subject that is so totally out of what I usually write that it takes me weeks and weeks of staring onto a white paper until I finally find the key for how to write a paper about a subject I know nothing about. Unfortunately, the real world is less generous than my university, and so I was only granted few days of staring, knowing that in two weeks the fifty page proposal on how to make enterprises working here in Afghanistan has to be down on paper and on the desk of the donor. ARRG!

Social wise, not much have changed. I basically still enjoy to finally again be in a crowd large enough to keep some level of anonymity, and being able to talk to a guy without half of the town suspecting I am having a fling, as it would have been the case in Somaliland. Nonetheless, I still miss few people from Somaliland, and a very tiny bit of me is playing with the idea of taking up a job that would allow me to go back and forth to Somaliland, Kenya and Ethiopia, without necessarily having to be based there.

Four months Kabul and two years Somaliland have also made me realize that though I like being in places like Afghanistan, I more and more miss those things I crave most in life: ability to take a bike on an early Sunday morning, breathing in fresh cold spring air, and driving without goal, just for the sake of experiencing this unique feel of freedom; climbing up a mountain, leaving behind the dust of everyday life; leaning back in a soft chair inside a cinema and watching films; spending hours and hours in a semi dark second hand book store, smelling this unique scent of old books. But than again, if I would be in a place where I could have all this, I would most probably miss the chaotic, yet charming lifestyle of places like Kabul and take the first opportunity to go back to these places

Sleeping well?

2008-03-08T19:22:00.000-08:00

Must be a cosy place for a little power nap :)

Spring time

2008-03-08T19:06:00.000-08:00

Three weeks ago I was still hovering next to my bukari, trying to stay somewhat warm, and all of a sudden, little flowers, messengers of a new season, are popping up in my garden. It's quite unbelieveable how quick seasons change here in Kabul. Yesterday I still wrapped myself in several layers of cloths, resembling and feeling very much like an onion, to keep myself warm, and today, I am sitting outside my house in short sleaves, dreaming of an icecoffee and swimmingpool.

Its the first time in four years that I experience a real change of seasons, and maybe thats the reason why I am so excited about it all. I haven't missed seasons for the first two years while staying in east and horn of Africa. But towards the end, I really started missing icy winter nights, forests dipped into an endless variety of autumn colors, and chilly, fresh spring mornings. There are many things I liked about staying in Somaliland and Kenya, but I think at the end of the day, I am simply not made for a life in tropical areas. Sun and warm weather is just so much more enjoyable after a harsh winter! In that sense, I think that I am and will always be a child of seasons, for which extreme changes between winter, spring, summer, autumn is enough to feel happy.

Shomali plains

2008-03-07T00:08:00.000-08:00

Apologies that I communicate mainly through pictures these days. Not that there isn't enough to tell - as always, there are hundred of stories and thoughts swirling around in my mind. But I need time to write them down - to concretize them and bring them into a format that other people could make sense out of my toughts, too. So thats why I am posting mainly pictures - but remember, these pictures are in essence showing all these little and great things that capture my attention. So in one or the other way, they are also part of my stories and thoughts.
Above are some of the landscapes of the Shomali plains, just outside Kabul. Wonderful places, which I could drive through and look at for hours and hours without getting bored (walking over these field is unfortunately not possible due to the hazard of occasional mines)

In the middle of no where

2008-03-06T23:07:00.000-08:00

Forty kilometers outside Kabul, I came accross this signboard, an advertisement for a beauty saloon, where women get dressed up for weddings. It's one of these things that shows that defenitely, there has been a change over the past seven years. It's unlikely that any such signboard would have lasted long under the taleban regime.

How you wouldn't name your shop in Europe

2008-03-06T20:53:00.000-08:00

Can you imagine a store called the "calory store" in Europe? Must be one of these cultural differences!

Unknown Kabul

2008-02-26T04:10:00.000-08:00

Kids next to Darulaman, the palace build at the beginning of of the nineteenth century by King Shah Amanullah Khan. It's all destroyed by now, with ruins turned into a perfect playground for kids from the nearby squatters

Riders on the way Buz-kashi, the national sport of Afghanistan. Its basically throwing a killed goat over a football sized field, until one team manages to get it into the goal. Just like foot ball.

Romantic views at Kabul river Here they come: competitors in the buz kashi

Get some vitamins from the shops at the river

Backyard ally
Dresses which you would never see women wearing in everyday Afghanistan...
Shah - e - du shamshera: One of the oldest places in Kabul

Backyard streets in the old city of Kabul - muddy, but charming
Selling whatever is there to be sold

Kabul is not as bad as the news describe it. Last Friday I got invited by a friend for a guided tour through the city. Though the weather wasn't at its best, the fog added some additional charm to the already captivating views into Kabul's undocumented angles and corners. I wouldn't call it a beautiful city, but Kabul defenitely does have some corners that are worth to pass by and have a closer look at.

Finally home?

2008-02-25T19:13:00.000-08:00

Land Allocation Site Taki Naki

Steadily over the past years, Afghan refugees have been flocking back into Afghanistan from neighboring countries. Some return to their ancestral homes, but for many, returning to Afghanistan isn’t anything close to coming home. Instead, for many the return turns into one more passage in their search towards life in a secure and peaceful environment. In 2004, a program has been launched by President Karzai with the aim to allocate land for those who have no option to return to their original homes, after they had lost everything when fleeing to Pakistan or Iran. Over twenty sites have already been announced, with five being used as pilot sites to allow the international community and Afghan government to identify best ways of assisting these artificial communities to stand on their own feet.
The organization I am working for is taking part in all this, too. In an attempt to unite various sectors, such as water, shelter, education, child protection and vocational training we try to contribute our share to the secure and peaceful environment its inhabitants are longing for. But fact is that these communities remain a challenge to live in, despite outside support: they are usually situated on these pieces of land that nobody would want to give a penny for anyway; transport to near commercial centers is typically scarce; agriculture not possible due to lack of water; schooling for kids is another challenge, not to mention the unavailability of training and employment opportunities.
Since its inauguration in 2007, several hundred communities have signed up for Taki Naki, but so far, only five have moved out to the site that is about 40 kilometers outside Hirat. It wasn’t difficult to understand why returnee families prefer living in rented houses in Hirat instead of owning a house in Taki Naki: an icy wind is blowing between the flat roofed houses, turning my feet into pieces of ice on the short distance from the car to the house of our interview partner. Inside the house it is cold too, with hardly any heating material available it is impossible to keep these houses anywhere close to warm during the winter months. It hurts my eyes seeing the kids standing bar footed in the middle of the room. While we discuss with the family what type of support we can offer to them, I have to realize painfully that my vocational trainings and support to livelihoods is just not at all what they need and would like to hear in this very right moment. The things I can offer are long term development, whereas people living in Taki Naki lack the most basic items and services to bear the moment. My visit to Taki Naki lies two weeks ago, but I still carry around in my mind pictures from this visit, joint by the question whether these communities will ever by anything else but an emergency. In all this, my respect goes to these families who decided to move out, despite lack of the most basic things and services.

Returnee family in front of their house in Taki Naki; kids inside the house, observing eagerly my discussion with the head of household; baby cloths produced by two girls who have participated in a tailoring course supported by my organization

Friday Mosque of Hirat

2008-02-22T22:10:00.000-08:00

This is the front side of the Friday Mosque - also known as the Blue Mosque of Hirat, a town in Western Afghanistan

Around 1300 Ritschkas are currently cruising through the streets of Hirat

Blue Mosque

More pictures from the blue mosque and its blue tiles and the blue mosque

Once again: the hassles and beauty of flying in countries like Afghanistan...

2008-02-21T21:20:00.000-08:00

Flying from Mazar to Kabul - I wasn't the only passenger who glued his/her nose to the window to capture the greatness of the mountain range in betweeen the two cities.

Hirat Airport - few huts, waiting area is under the open sky.

Maybe I should change the name of my blog from Johannistan to Flightistan, since every second of my articles seems to be related to flying. But than again, flying truly is an experience in countries like Afghanistan and Somalia. It's quite different from this straightforward flying in Europe and North Amerika where the worst that can happen to you is that your bag is getting lost (according to a recent study, that happens particularly often with British Airways, KLM, and of course, Allitalia) or that they run out of beer during a transatlantic flight.
In Afghanistan, it's different issues that you are faced with. For instance that the airport of the second biggest city in the country consists of few scattered buildings, with the passanger waiting room simply being the large area in between the shags. In order to get your bording pass, one has to wrestle with 200 adult men. Gentlemen ladies first seems a unknown concept to Afghanistan. Once you get your bording pass, you realize that it is simply a piece of paper that bears the name of your airline, but otherwise, no furhter information: neither your name, nor your seatnumber, nor the departure time. Looking at the actual ticket shows you that even there, your only mentioned name is your first name spelled wrongly. Amazingly, you still manage to get on the flight!
During a stop over in another airport, you watch out of the windows and see two fighter jets taking off with an unbelievable speed, and again you wonder if thats really the country you want to live in.
Flying, as much as it is an experience, it also remains a scary business here in Afghanistan.

Working in development isn't easy...

2008-02-20T19:16:00.000-08:00

Numerous conversations with relatives, friends and random people over the past years have demonstrated over and over again that indeed, most inhabitants of the northern sphere still think that development is all about living in a mud hut in a community untouched by the evil of the western world and teaching poorly dressed little children with big bellies how to read and write, preferably under a big cedar tree. One might expect that since development is all about saving the world by assisting and empowering those in need, we all pull on one string, towards a better world.
But no, twenty first century development aid is not quite as romantic as some of you might think. I sometimes tend to call it a business, with losers and winners, with high competition around scarce resources and few good ideas. It’s also a kind of trial and error – constantly, new approaches to save the world are master minded, and if they don’t work out, another approach is released into the humanitarian world. After having worked inside this huge industry called development for almost three years , I have experienced certain frustrations and backlogs that have caused me to give up some of my ideals and beliefs (obviously not all, otherwise I wouldn’t be here in Afghanistan right now). Unexpectedly, Afghanistan is also not free from the usual hassles around development; one of my biggest current hassles is the source that provides funds to my department. This particular donor is actually one of the “National Priority Programs”, special programs launched by president Karzai to bring peace and development to Afghanistan. Working for the government is certainly not easy in any country, leave alone Afghanistan: people inside it are bureaucrats that take ages to review project proposals, screw up on contracts because they don’t know legal meanings of certain terminologies, and have in addition a fable for corruption (they tend to have this "kafkaesk" touch, as we would call it in German...). Being an implementing partner to a Government authority is truly not a pleasure, but more a tragic comedy. What makes me stumble in particular about this specific government program that funds my department are their internal contradictions which they obviously don’t realize themselves: Since my arrival, I have hardly heard anything positive from my donor. Whenever they see the smallest mistake in our program implementation, they stage an official complaint; financial reports have to be re-submitted in average three times until they accept them; they take ages to review project proposals; they cut down the project duration to a minimum number of months, taking away all the fun from program coordination; and last but not least, they constantly remind us on how expensive we are. The contradiction in all this is that whenever they can, they pouch our staff members: today I was told by one member of my team that a representative from my donor not only offered him a job, but at the same time stated that the doors are wide open for staff from my department. Though I feel a bit flattered by the fact that my staff members can easily get other jobs, it bothers me to see that while we have to take in groundless accusations that we lack transparency, the same organization that does these accusations is not only pouching people from other organizations, but taking them in without any formal interview process, leave alone application process. Certainly, that's not what we understand when we talk about transparency

I can tell by your eyebrows...

2008-02-16T07:59:00.000-08:00

How do you tell whether or not somebody is married? Typically, I would peek in a unevasive way at the ring finger and see if there is a ring or at least a sign of a ring.

As I got to know today, that's not the way one would tell the difference between a married woman and a single woman in Afghanistan.

Today eight o'clock in the morning, with a slight hang over from Friday-night-social-sceneKabul, but otherwise fully motivated, I embarked on my newest project: learning Dari in one of Kabuls' few language schools. After obligatory question about name, country of origin and organization I work for, the forth question was "are you single"? A bit offensive to start with (though most of the readers might know about my slightly unsuccessful relationship history anyhow), but more than feeling offensive I wondered how she could tell. Do I look that desperate? Or like somebody who enjoyes the advantages of single life? The answer confirmed neither nor: it's my eyebrows who told ... As I got explained, Afghan women don't plug them as long as they are single, but once they are engaged or married, they plug them.... So to all girls who read this, plug your eyebrows if you want to be taken for a married woman! Funnily enough, I actually used to plug my eyebrows, but have to confess that over the past months, I got a bit lazy on that; other things to worry about :)

From Kabul to Hirat

2008-02-05T08:23:00.000-08:00

Mountains close to Hirat
Somewhere in between Hirat and Kabul
Again, somewhere in between Hirat and Kabul

At least at the airport of Hirat he shows presence: Hamid Karzai, President of Afghanistan

Flying to Hirat

2008-02-05T06:41:00.000-08:00

Winter has its impact on everything: not just on the skin of my hands, or the water in the pipes. It also has a huge impact on transport, by road and by air. Many locations are completely cut off by road, and flights are more likely not to materialize than to materialize these days. Despite this gloomy outlook, I decided to test my luck to set off for Hirat today. Frankly to say, I haven't been all that lucky lately, and I thus wouldn't have been surprised if winter magic would have cut my plans to visit Hirat short.

With or without bad weather, each flight is a unique experience in places like Afghanistan or Somaliland. Already I have written plenty of stories on my experiences with lofty planes (roughly a year ago, a plane I flew with lost its door), with russian planes (old Antanovs are not at all a rarity in Somaliland), and with planes that can't take off because their batteries are empty (it's not only cars whose batteries are empty after a night with lights on). The good thing is that flying just never gets boring in places like these. There is always something new to discover, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. You think you know your airline, and then, all of a sudden, your completely thrown off. Forget about reliability and "we bring you home" advertisements...

Today, in good hope and mood, I left my house at five forty five am. Bad news dropped down from the sky in form of innocent white cristalls. While sliding on slippery roads with our old Toyota towards airport, Said Rahman, our driver, kept on shaking his head and wispering "Johanna not going to Hirat today - snow no good for planes!" And he was right. All what welcomed us at the airport was a checkpoint guard outside the airport, telling us to turn back and go home again, no plane. The airport behind him was peacefully covered with snow.

Two hours later I learned that the plane was indeed going to take off, not at seven as indicated on the ticket, but at noon. As told, I went to the airport again at ten, this time I wasn't stopped by the guard at the main gate, but by guards just across the square in front of the airport building. A patient crowd of male Afghans, all dressed in the typical kamiz, wide trousers with a knee long short, and a brown shawel wrapped over their hair and face, covering to some extend the long beards, was already gathering there. An ordinary American might take a crowd like this for a suicide squad... Together we waited for another hour, in the cold, until we were told at eleven thirty that now, Kam air is ready to check in. So on we went, to the main building of the airport, paying our airport fee, handing over our luggage, getting checked ourselves, and finally moving on to terminal one, which is really just a room with a tiny Kiosk that sells nuts and raisins by kg and otherwise pringles and snickers. To my surprise I witnessed that the water for the hot coffee was taken out of the tab from the male toilet, but it actually tasted ok. On the electronic info board above the kiosk it said that the flight would take off at 12:30. At 12:15 the board said "boarding", but nobody moved. For ten minutes it blinked red, before it finally changed to "departed". Anxiously looking around the room, I realized that it was just me and another non Afghan who got nervous. All the rest leaned back and enjoyed nuts and coffee from the tiny Kiosk. As it turned out, it was a mistake from the computer, and at one o clock we were finally asked to board the plane. As boarding was nearly complete, a group of men run towards the plane, rushed into it, as I learned later, it was the governor of Western region, and his entourage.

Finally, we took off, climbing our way up through snow, wind and smog. Not much later, the sky cleared up and I could get a glimpse of the remoteness of Afghan rural life. As far as I could see, snow covered mountain ranges lay like an angry sea below us. In between, tiny villages, and one just wonders how people survive in this "middle of nowhere" places.

The rest of the flight was unspectacular, only getting my luggage was a bit rough. Cutting things short, the luggage was simply carried outside the airport in one of these airport waggons, and everybody started digging and grabbing for his bags. In all this caos I managed to secure my bag and move on to my office, where I spend the rest of the day talking to our field coordinator about programs in Western region.

In the next post, some pics from the Afghan winter...

Winter in Kabul

2008-01-25T22:22:00.000-08:00

Winter in Afghanistan means hardship for many, but it also has it's own charm: the sky turns blue, smog disappeares, the mountain ranges that embrace Kabul all of a sudden appear out of the usual smog, water in the river washes away the usual dirt, children and adults (including my staff members) use free time in between work and school to have a quick snowball fight... It's strange, but winter also seems to bring some normality into town, besides the hardship it brings along for so many.

Freezing

2008-01-25T07:16:00.000-08:00

It wasn't really til mid of January that things got cold over here. But when the winter finally hit Afghanistan, it seemed to hit with full energy. I have already posted some info about snow fall and the sad impact it had on the lives of over 300 people.

My own experiences with winter are less dramatic, but still of rather uncomfortable nature. Coming from the Alps, I am naturally used to cold temperatures. But as much as I am used to minus degrees, I am also used to central heating and insulated houses. None of both seems to be a known concept here in Afghanistan. It seems that people found other ways to cope with temperatures than to build well insulated, warm houses (these alternative coping strategies remained up to date a mystery to me...).

My house, though beautiful from the outlook, has its own dynamic to deal - or not to deal - with cold temperates. To keep out cold temperatures from the gaps in between glass and frame of the windows, I put heavy curtains. Instead of central heating there is one so-called buchari in my room, constantly burning petrol and drying out the air inside my room. To ensure that I will not gently sleep away one night due to carbon monoxide poisoning, I have a carbon monoxide alarm right next to to buchari, joint in by a smog detector. The buchari does it's job fairly well by warming up my room somehow (I still sleep with two covers and a sleeping bag), but stepping outside my room is like jumping into siberia: white breath escapes my mouth on my run (its too cold to walk) from my room to the bathroom. By now I stopped using the shower in the bathroom all-toghether, since pipes are frozen and thus warm water a dream to become true. Instead, I stay over when ever possible at the house of a friend who at least has most of the time warm water and better insulated walls. The fact that my house is indeed a little siberia became once again obvious when cloths, put to dry over the balustrades in the second floor, turned into ice sheets.

Another effect of the cold weather, coupled with dry air of the buchari, are the cracks. Cracks in my hands and lips, which just don't want to go away no matter how much vaseline (the only cream I still believe in) add. When waking up in the morning I am unable to talk or smile, until I put a layer of vaseline on my lips.

Another effect is the onion style that I adapted over the last weeks. Instead of one or two layers, I am by now wrapping my body into at least five layers of cloths, that I only take off to sleep. Even in the office I hardly ever take off my jacket, though I have unfortunately to take off my gloves to be able to type into my computer.

Thats winter in Kabul. So far, nobody could really tell me how long this snow and winter tale will continue. February? March? Who knows. In the meantime I can only hope that work continues to keep me busy and thus away from worrying too much on the cold temperatures and the cracks in my skin and walls of my house... :)

Winter tale?

2008-01-24T07:55:00.000-08:00

Winter finally hit Afghanistan....
(source of map and article: www.alertnet.org)

Afghanistan was one of many countries in southern and central Asia suffering through extreme cold and snow in January 2008. Most of the country was covered with snow when the Moderate Resolution Imaging Spectroradiometer (MODIS) on NASA's Aqua satellite captured this photo-like image on January 20. It is not unusual for snow to blanket the peaks of the Hindu Kush, which run down the center of the country like a spine, nor is it unusual to see snow in the rugged northeastern corner of the country. However, in January 2008, the snow extends south to the Pakistani border and west into Iran. Only the low-lying deserts in the southwest escaped any long-lived snow cover.
The bitter cold and heavy snow left more than 300 dead throughout Afghanistan, said the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) on January 22. Hardest hit were the southern and northwestern provinces where snow and extreme cold are less common. Western regions were experiencing their harshest winter in nearly 30 years, with temperatures that fell below minus 25 degrees Celsius (-13 Fahrenheit) and unusually heavy snow, said OCHA. In addition to causing human fatalities, the extreme cold killed thousands of livestock, the main source of livelihood of many in the region, said OCHA. The heavy snow cut off access to many communities.

More on my personal interaction with the Afghanistan winter tomorrow....

What home means to me

2008-01-16T19:12:00.000-08:00

The visit to Barik Ab made me once again think about the concept of home. A concept that has taken up my thoughts for many years.

When I was a kid, I dreamt that only the whole wide world could be my home. Studying books of Alaska, Africa, and inner Asia, I got obsessed with the idea that the place where I grew up is just too small to be a home. Aching on all real and imagined walls, I tried to break out, to find home. As soon as I reached the right age, I started traveling, in diameters of one hundred kilometers around my home town at the beginning, widening these diameters with every travel and every year. On each of these travels I learned something about myself, and about home. Eventually I wrote my thesis about the relationships that urban migrants in Nairobi had to their hometowns and villages, to their “left behind” relatives. The title of my thesis was “in Nairobi I have my house, upcountry I have my home”. I remember one interview partner telling me that “in life, one can have many houses, but only one home: The home where one has been born and the home where one will eventually return to, either alive or for the final travel”. For a while, I adapted this concept of home, and as a result got closer to my home region and home town than ever before. It seemed that by living far away, I was able to build up a feeling for home. Over the last years, though, I reassessed my concept of home, and if I would be asked again today, I wouldn’t answer anymore that South Tyrol is my home. I would answer that certain elements of that region are, have always been, will always be home: for instance, the lake not far from my house that has its own magic at each day of the year, each hour of the day; few coffee-shops in the next bigger town; the train station where I have arrived so many times, from so many different directions, with so many different memories; the house of my parents, where I still have a room, currently only inhabited by my contrabass and my books. But more than anything else, I came to the conclusion that mountains are my home. I can watch them for hours and hours without getting tired, I can climb them up without getting exhausted. There is something unexplainable that attracts and connects me to everything that is higher than its surroundings; landscapes that display a certain elusiveness and roughness. So, in many ways, I feel more at home here in Kabul than I did in Somaliland or Nairobi, merely for the fact that I am able to see mountains as one of the first things in the morning when driving to the office (given that the sky is not covered with snow or smog). But the fact that I see them also awakens a restlessness in me, knowing that I want be able to follow the routes that I imagine up through the snow covered flanks of these mountains when watching them from the far distance. There are these moments when I simply feel like screaming to break the walls around me, knowing that a city cant offer in the long run the elements that I need to feel home. And so, my plan actually is to work for a while, before taking a time out for an extensive trek in some of the mountains I always wanted to visit: inner Asia, or maybe Patagonia. Who knows where I will end up eventually.
Who couldnt feel home in a place as miracolous as the lake shown on the picture above? :)

Coming home?

2008-01-15T19:17:00.001-08:00

Through the traffic of Kabul, through the grey industrial suburbs, passing endless fields whose only trees are chimneys; chimneys for brick production, leaving no trace of nature, just few meter deep cracks in the brown landscape, from where the clay for the production is taken. Seen through the frozen window of my car, this is the way to Barik Ab, one of roughly thirty “land allocation schemes”, areas allocated to returnees and internally displaced persons, following a presidential decree issued by President Hamid Karzai in 2005 to address the serious problem of landless returnees. Many returnees from Pakistan and Iran as well as persons who got internally displaced during the decades of war and construction had been landless since their return to Afghanistan, living in tents, temporary shelters, public buildings, unable to return to their original homesteads due to a variety of reasons. So, here they come, the land allocation schemes, meant to give a piece of land and future to all those left homeless. Just as many other schemes dedicated to returnees, Barik Ab is reachable on a road that takes away any remaining illusions that this site could be a better place than where refugees and IDP’s had lived during the years of their flight. The site is about 35 kilometers north of Kabul, along the road to Bargram.

Its winter, and the landscape is snow covered, but the little brown islands of clay and mud that break through the white blanket offer a glimpse on what this land looks like when the snow is gone. From the main road, which is asphalted, we turn to the right, towards the mountains. Our car slides from one side of the gravel road to the other, barely making its way to Barik Ab. I wish I could get out of the car and walk the remaining distance, but as it is, that’s not the way expats like me are supposed to approach communities. Once we reach the community, we are welcomed by a group of elders, members of the “Shura”, the local authority of Barik Ab. They welcome us into a house, we sit down along the wall of the room, embracing with our bodies a stove that hasn’t any wood in it. The room warms up by the heat of our bodies, while the stove remains cold. We introduce each other. We listen. To the concerns and needs raised by the community. It doesn’t need many words to explain their needs. A look around is enough. Breathing out into the room, seeing the air of my lungs crystallizing into a small cloud, is enough to know that there are needs. I am here to discuss livelihoods, though. A longer term intervention that should help the community to get self sustained and away from dependency on temporary support that focuses on the immediate needs. But where to start? Listening to them, it seems like listening to a fish that has been thrown on land, in a small bag of water, and told: now, here you have your new aquarium; adapt! It reminds me of a similar project in Guatemala, where I had worked many years ago: refugees and internally displaced people who had originally lived in the highlands where given land in the low lands after their return to Guatemala. The problem was that agriculture in low lands and high lands is something totally different, with different products, different seasonal impact, and different markets. I don’t know how many of these returnee bubbles succeeded. But back to Barik Ab. Together with the Shura members I and my colleague try to brainstorm over possible support that could have a sustainable impact on the livelihoods of the community. It turns out that many have skills, acquired before the war and during their flight. Next to me sits an engineer. A younger member tells me about an English and computer course he had had to interrupt when moving out to Barik Ab. It’s the interruption that strikes me the most. Its like gathering a crowd of people, putting them into a boat and driving them to an island where they are supposed to develop into a well functioning community. But to me it looks more like another displacement, trading off certain vulnerabilities for others. As a result, the sites soon turn into a playground, where government bends down to international pressure by providing land to those landless, and where aid organizations experiment their approaches to community development and reconstruction; where shelters will be branded with logos from UNHCR and schools with emblems of UNICEF. But what does it really need to turn these places into an environment that offers a future to children and a save retreat for older generations? I am thinking about the challenge ahead, of creating livelihoods that offer a future. Looking around the circle, the future seems far. Lack of transport is one of the obstacles that divide the community from the future. Though there are commercial centers not far away, that might offer an opportunity for employment or a market for products produced in the community, they remain out of reach as long as there is no transport that would allow inhabitants of Barik Ab to go there. Lack of integration into the local market is another obstacle. Again, it is this isolation, this artificiality that makes me despair. Is this the home the people of Barik Ab where looking for? Or is it yet another displacement? I know I shouldn’t get emotional; after all, I am here to coordinate a program and not to endure emotional outbreaks. But sometimes it’s hard to stay aloof from the places I work in, the people I work with and for.

"An oasis of luxury in a war ravaged city"

2008-01-15T05:30:00.000-08:00

As most of you might have heard, the Serena hotel in the heart of Kabul was attacked yesterday evening by militants with suicide vests, AK 47 and grenades. In the course of the apparently well planned attack, they succeeded to break through several laywers of security measures at the gate of the hotel and opened fire once inside. Six people have been killed, nationals and internationals. The hotel that used to call itself "an oasis of luxury in a war ravaged city" has proved that the artificial world which Westerners have created for themselves and influential Afghans in Kabul is indeed an artificial, fragile bubble that can easily be hit no matter how much it is secured. It leaves much questionmarks for the numerous other restaurants and bars where I would go to for a drink after work, and which are far less protected and secured.

By the time it happened I was just on my way home from office. I could hear the explosion from inside the car, and not much later got notification by our country director that there has been an attack at the Serena. Again not much later I switched on the TV, and saw the headlines already talking about the attack. You see, while I have read about hundres of suicide attacks on TV and radio while living in other countries like Kenya or Italy, the fact that I now HEAR the attack and not much later READ about it suddenly makes it all so much more real.