Bye Bye Kabul (… Islamabad here I come)

As my stay in Kabul is drawing to a close (I am off Saturday to spend my last week in Islamabad in the hope of making some comparisons between the two countries), I feel like I should impart some major words of wisdom. Unsurprisingly, 8 weeks in Afghanistan have not made me an ‘Afghanistan Expert’ and while I was privileged to share and partake in many experiences, as with all travels, I think it important to remain aware of the limited insights that you gain. Nevertheless, a couple of things that I have noted:

Life in (Post-) Conflict: Interesting and recommended. Yes, it’s frightening at times, but in a place like Kabul, the privileges of safety and the knowledge that if things get really bad, you will be taken out, are an immense relief. Something that hardly any of the Afghans can count on... Yes, it’s difficult to find that balance between seeing things and living a life and trying to stick to basic safety rules, but it’s pretty easy to figure things out and everyone is keen to help.

Mixing with Afghans: Hard but possible. I was so lucky to have amazing Afghan co-workers who integrated me very well and always made me feel welcome. It strikes me as slightly odd that there are so many internationals here, who fail to make a true Afghan friend, and I must say, the blame is entirely on them. Yes, it’s hard because it’s difficult to find places where internationals and nationals can actually socialize, but it’s still very possible if you try. All Afghans have been very lovely, hospitable and inviting with me, so anyone who fails to build on this to try and get to know those people whom we are working for, well, such people might wanna go look for a new job.

Being here as a woman: Well, an experience… Never minded the head scarf, though after 8 weeks I guess I wouldn’t mind wearing something that’s not a shapeless sack. What I found hardest is that suddenly you find yourself in a setting where all the rules that you’ve acquired through traveling and living abroad no longer apply. I’ve always been getting along well by trying to be open and nice, but here it’s really hard to know when that is just being misinterpreted as being ‘loose’. Depending on others to get basic things done, is quite horrible – depending on men to escort you to do basic things like walking the streets, going shopping, the zoo, or anywhere, felt interesting at first, and then very quickly turned into a major annoyance. It is nice to have a bunch of protectors around, but fact is, they aren’t there all the time, and then it’s easy to end up feeling pretty helpless or abandoned. And I found myself mistrusting my instincts and losing some of the usual (taken for granted) confidence when walking the streets, for instance. Here, men and boys tend to just stare at you – no smiles, no hello, just a blank, continuous stare (some of the boys will make vulgar gestures). Cars don’t stop for you, guys don’t tend to move out of the way to let you get by… it’s bizarre sometimes. All the more I admire the Afghan women whom I’ve met here. Some of my female colleagues are truly inspirational. They do not only battle the typical sexist structures at work (senior posts covered by men, etc.), but have to fight them with much fewer tools than we tend to have available elsewhere. What qualifies as harassment at home is really hard to take on here, because you always have to watch out for your reputation. So, all the more respect to most of the women I’ve met. It’s ladies like them (and some men – not always the (Western) internationals I must add) who make me hopeful that anything anywhere can be changed for more equality.

Ethnic Stuff: As everywhere in the world, tricky stuff. Seeing how persisting the German East-West divide is, and continuing to be awe-struck that the US after centuries of battling for racial equality continue to be such a racially divided nation, I was not surprised that ethnicity is a major issue here. What did surprise me is that the level of ethnic division seemed to have little to do with whether people had been abroad, or educated. Some of the drivers were more open to mixing than some people who had lived and studied abroad. I was especially struck (and a little saddened) by the fact that these ethnic divisions seem to sometimes survive generations – even for people who were primarily born and raised abroad. Interestingly, the minority groups (some of whom have suffered tremendously) seemed more conciliatory in the talks I’ve had … Still, I have no doubt that a lot of money, time, energy (and sadly life) will be wasted over such questions, but then looking at the US, Germany or really anywhere else in the world, I guess that’s how it always goes. .. I shall remain hopeful.

Doing it again: Absolutely! The city/country is addictive! I knew I wanted to do post-conflict before this internship and this has been confirmed 100%. The lifestyle is exhausting but (can be) rewarding – at the very least with respect to the insights you gain. Having been here, the importance of security (something we absolutely take for granted – even to a large extent post 9/11) has received a completely new meaning.
And now I’m excited to see what Islamabad (and Dubai) have in store for me. It will be very hard to top the Kabul experience, as weather, food, landscape, atmosphere and most of all the PEOPLE were wonderful.

Bye Bye Kabul (… Islamabad here I come)

As my stay in Kabul is drawing to a close (I am off Saturday to spend my last week in Islamabad in the hope of making some comparisons between the two countries), I feel like I should impart some major words of wisdom. Unsurprisingly, 8 weeks in Afghanistan have not made me an ‘Afghanistan Expert’ and while I was privileged to share and partake in many experiences, as with all travels, I think it important to remain aware of the limited insights that you gain. Nevertheless, a couple of things that I have noted:

Life in (Post-) Conflict: Interesting and recommended. Yes, it’s frightening at times, but in a place like Kabul, the privileges of safety and the knowledge that if things get really bad, you will be taken out, are an immense relief. Something that hardly any of the Afghans can count on... Yes, it’s difficult to find that balance between seeing things and living a life and trying to stick to basic safety rules, but it’s pretty easy to figure things out and everyone is keen to help.

Mixing with Afghans: Hard but possible. I was so lucky to have amazing Afghan co-workers who integrated me very well and always made me feel welcome. It strikes me as slightly odd that there are so many internationals here, who fail to make a true Afghan friend, and I must say, the blame is entirely on them. Yes, it’s hard because it’s difficult to find places where internationals and nationals can actually socialize, but it’s still very possible if you try. All Afghans have been very lovely, hospitable and inviting with me, so anyone who fails to build on this to try and get to know those people whom we are working for, well, such people might wanna go look for a new job.

Being here as a woman: Well, an experience… Never minded the head scarf, though after 8 weeks I guess I wouldn’t mind wearing something that’s not a shapeless sack. What I found hardest is that suddenly you find yourself in a setting where all the rules that you’ve acquired through traveling and living abroad no longer apply. I’ve always been getting along well by trying to be open and nice, but here it’s really hard to know when that is just being misinterpreted as being ‘loose’. Depending on others to get basic things done, is quite horrible – depending on men to escort you to do basic things like walking the streets, going shopping, the zoo, or anywhere, felt interesting at first, and then very quickly turned into a major annoyance. It is nice to have a bunch of protectors around, but fact is, they aren’t there all the time, and then it’s easy to end up feeling pretty helpless or abandoned. And I found myself mistrusting my instincts and losing some of the usual (taken for granted) confidence when walking the streets, for instance. Here, men and boys tend to just stare at you – no smiles, no hello, just a blank, continuous stare (some of the boys will make vulgar gestures). Cars don’t stop for you, guys don’t tend to move out of the way to let you get by… it’s bizarre sometimes. All the more I admire the Afghan women whom I’ve met here. Some of my female colleagues are truly inspirational. They do not only battle the typical sexist structures at work (senior posts covered by men, etc.), but have to fight them with much fewer tools than we tend to have available elsewhere. What qualifies as harassment at home is really hard to take on here, because you always have to watch out for your reputation. So, all the more respect to most of the women I’ve met. It’s ladies like them (and some men – not always the (Western) internationals I must add) who make me hopeful that anything anywhere can be changed for more equality.

Ethnic Stuff: As everywhere in the world, tricky stuff. Seeing how persisting the German East-West divide is, and continuing to be awe-struck that the US after centuries of battling for racial equality continue to be such a racially divided nation, I was not surprised that ethnicity is a major issue here. What did surprise me is that the level of ethnic division seemed to have little to do with whether people had been abroad, or educated. Some of the drivers were more open to mixing than some people who had lived and studied abroad. I was especially struck (and a little saddened) by the fact that these ethnic divisions seem to sometimes survive generations – even for people who were primarily born and raised abroad. Interestingly, the minority groups (some of whom have suffered tremendously) seemed more conciliatory in the talks I’ve had … Still, I have no doubt that a lot of money, time, energy (and sadly life) will be wasted over such questions, but then looking at the US, Germany or really anywhere else in the world, I guess that’s how it always goes. .. I shall remain hopeful.
Doing it again: Absolutely! The city/country is addictive! I knew I wanted to do post-conflict before this internship and this has been confirmed 100%. The lifestyle is exhausting but (can be) rewarding – at the very least with respect to the insights you gain. Having been here, the importance of security (something we absolutely take for granted – even to a large extent post 9/11) has received a completely new meaning.
And now I’m excited to see what Islamabad (and Dubai) have in store for me. It will be very hard to top the Kabul experience, as weather, food, landscape, atmosphere and most of all the PEOPLE were wonderful.

I am not afraid (…… that's obviously a lie)

I guess when writing about Afghanistan you don’t get around a blog about security. The reason why it’s so late is that I didn’t really care to actively delve in all the threats we are surrounded by. Then yesterday we were briefed that, with elections coming up, there have been new concrete threats on our organization. So yesterday we had a security exercise and there’ll be more to come. The fear of something happening is omnipresent, though even an easily frightened individual like myself, learns to blank it out after some time. Here some noticeable things:

Work Rules:
You are taken everywhere by an official work car with a driver. They take you to work, sports, restaurants, everything. For those who like the idea of a chauffeur it rocks, for those who like to cycle and be as independent as possible, it, well, takes some getting used to (and around). As a female staff I am not allowed to walk outside alone. I must be accompanied by either one international or two national staff and can walk maximally 150m (no joke). Shopping is only allowed in certain places and you must be taken there by car. You are only allowed to sleep (or go to) houses which meet security regulations (razor wired security wall, guards, a bunker or safe room). There’s a curfew between 11pm and 6am. The city is divided into parts, and you need permission to leave the area marked the ‘security box’. You are issued a radio and must check in every night (and in theory tell them wherever you go should be recorded) – this is cool in the beginning because you get to say stuff like “alpha kilo 775 to base” and you finally get to use the word “roger” – a life’s ambition).

Play Rules:
Ignore all of the above restrictions and just be cautious is pretty much the first rule everyone teaches you. Depending on the person, some appear to stick to more to the Work rules, many others just try to stay alive while living an acceptably normal life. There are some very good private car services (more reliable than any Western taxi service I’ve seen a million times cheaper) which take you safely wherever you want to go. People figure out very quickly, that you are much more visible (and stared at) when in a UN car, than on foot. I’m usually thought to be Afghan or from Pakistan at work, so the further from internationals, the safer you feel sometimes. But every time you want to do something like go to party (which never end at curfew time), go somewhere fun outside, walk to a shop, buy a mango yourself, or even just walk a street to take in the air --- always a judgment call.

Fear:
The scary stuff is very real here. The first day I arrived my housemate lost a colleague to a road side bomb (it had been his last month on duty in Afghanistan). Last week a Philippine colleague lost a good friend from the UNICEFstaff to the same. The gym I go to (the only one available to women or internationals) is in a hotel that was target of a major attack just a year ago. They bombed themselves through the gate, then the next bunch of them ran into the hotel, its gym and sauna and killed eight people. Two weeks ago there was a memorial service for a Norwegian journalist who was killed there. Each time I sweat away on the treatmill I think of where to run should something happened. Have now reduced my visits there to once a week because as elections are coming up, the risk level of that place is going up (last time I was there, there was a high profile ministerial celebration in the garden—just screamed TARGET to me). Everyday you read or hear of someone or something that reminds you of why this place is not only fascinating, beautiful and inspiring but also downright scary.

Fortress:
Any place that Westerners go to will be somewhat fortress-like. Most have 1-3 rooms (or walled off areas) you have to go through and be searched in before you enter. Only guys get body searched, women just open their bags. All restaurants have signs reminding you not to bring in guns and they always check through a little barred window in the door whether you are a crazy person or a customer.
At work it’s a real fortress. You first drive into a gated area with a huuuugge fat security wall (was recently built due to the heightened threats). The car is searched thoroughly with mirrors etc. for bombs and everyone shows their IDs. Upon leaving they then check all the car doors are locked and that the windows are tightly shut even if it’s burning hot. The compound has several Gurkha and Afghan guards and a watch tower with more armed guards. The glass of all windows of all the buildings in the compound has been removed. Super ugly, but safer I am told… There are signs pointing out the bunkers and security assembly points everywhere.
And as said, we practice the various If-scenarios: suicide attack, intruders, compound evacuation, country evacuation, etc. Still, anyone who’s experienced an attack here –and among the national staff the number is scarily high – tells you there’s not much you can practice… it just comes down to luck.

Sweet Milk and a Kidnapping

Today was a special day at work which, I think, really draws out what my experience in Kabul has been like so far. First, I got to drink the sweetest, most fragrant almond milk that might be known to man (it was the kind of wonderful tasted that every kid’s childhood should’ve tasted like). And then, while I was gulping it down with a sample of delicious cookies, I was standing next to a man who had just been released from a Taliban kidnapping.

To explain: We had a meeting at the deputy ministry of youth affairs today. The meeting room was in the cellar (which seems a popular set-up around here). There were no tables in the room, 2 beautiful carpets though and then just wooden chairs all around the walls. In order to put up the projector two chairs had been pushed together and the machines was balancing on the backs of the two chairs. We were told there were six office laptops, none of which could be found… so someone ran and must’ve convinced a co-worker who had brought in their own laptop (to work on it themselves I would suppose) to lend it to us.

We started with our presentation once the deputy minister was there. He does not speak English, but French (in addition to Dari etc.), so we held the meeting in a mix of English, French and Dari. Half way through he let us know that we would have to take a break because the department was having a celebration in honor of the return of an employee who had just been released after having been taken hostage by the Taliban on a trip of official business.

So we paused, as if this was an expected, average-day occurrence and went to a different room, where about 25 men (I only spotted three female employees) had been waiting. In the middle of the room was a table with tons of cake and cookies (which are both really good here). A small man with a white beard, in the traditional light colored baggy pants, lose shirt and dark vest entered and served everyone a glass of hot, thick milk. First I thought it a little odd. It’s rare that I’ve seen anyone above the age of nine having a glass of hot milk, so I would’ve expected tea or coffee or something. But the moment I had taken a sip of the milk, I was reminded that not only are milk&cookies still a fabulous combo, but also that THIS particular milk put any coffee/tea/whatever to deep shame. Heavenly.

Just when I was about to get comfy in milk-cookie-heaven, the deputy minister began to tell the story of the kidnapped employee. He recounted that the employee had been traveling on official business in the south when his car was stopped and he and two colleagues were pulled out violently. Luckily they had stored all office documentation under their seats, so there was no ‘proof’ of them having done anything ‘wrong’. Still they were blindfolded, hand and feet tied and taken to some unknown location. They were accused of working for the U.S. and they (and their families) were threatened that the kidnapped men would be killed (a very real threat around here). The kidnappers (who may or may not have been ‘real Taliban’, or else ordinary criminals) held the men for several days. We were told they were only released after long negotiations by their families. Whether these were entirely verbal or whether the families had to pay (what sometimes amount to an annual salary of an entire family) was left unsaid…

Another sip of milk and back to our meeting … Bitter, bitter, sweet

She works hard for the money - My typical day at work:

Went back to work, after taking off Sunday (week here is Sunday – Thursday) and thought it might be interesting to give my typical work routine.

6:00 am – wake up to switch on the hot water boiler so that I can take a hot shower, then go back to sleep on my deeply uncomfortable bed. Most of the time there is city power (or the generator). So far there was only one morning without electricity (which also means no water!).

7:00 am – Get up properly, open all windows and doors so that the musty smell of my shed can be replaced by fresh air. Shower and get dressed for work (some wide tunic, long trousers, headscarf). No need to comb my hair as I keep the scarf on all day. Most women (including many nationals) take it off in the work compound, but anyone who’s seen me taming my ‘fro, knows I’ll gladly use any excuse to avoid that ;-)

7:50 am sharp – Be picked up by a work car to be taken to the office.

8:00 am – 12:00pm – Working away. Anything ranging from proof-reading draft documents, doing background research on topics like youth policy, microfinance or civil service policy to taking the minutes at meetings (we meet with donor countries, other departments and we do so a lot), visiting workshops and training courses that we are organizing or allocating money towards. On good days there’ll be a workshop (like on politics and development), on a really good day I get to leave the office to have a meeting in a different office or even accompany someone doing some monitoring and evaluation of a programme and I get to interview trainers or participants. Seeing anything in Kabul is still quite the thrill, since security restricts us so much.

Around Noon – Rush to the Afghan canteen. It gets really crowded from 12:00pm when everyone in the office (around 40 people I’d estimate) comes down into the courtyard to get their lunch. The crowds aren’t really a problem at all though, because one of the upsides of the much talked about status of women here is that we don’t have to queue. It’s really rather fabulous! The majority of workers are men anyways, and my female colleagues and I get to walk to the very front of the line where the gentleman next in line will politely offer you his space. It rocks big! I was lucky to have been taken under the wing of my lovely colleague Homa, who meets up with some of her colleagues for lunch every day. They try and speak English most of the time for me, but I am starting to pick up very little pieces of Dari too. The discussions are always interesting and fun. Though much more sophisticated that my lunch-talk at home… They send each other poetry for instance and will then talk about literature and poetry over lunch. These things are an intrinsic part of the culture I was told. And while I would instantly leave the table if someone dared pestering me with poetry over my pizza back in the US, this is really interesting (and humbling as I read my last poem at age 9 or so;-)
12:30 – Get back to the office. More meetings, more write ups etc.

4:30 pm sharp/ 6:00pm sharp / 7:00pm sharp – Run down to the parking lot, where there’ll be about a dozen cars taking all staff home again. They leave super punctually. I was three minutes late once and that was already too late. Most national staff at the ‘lower ranks’ leaves with the first shuttle and then depending on the work load, the more senior the person the later their shuttle home. Luckily being an intern is pretty much the bottom of the hierarchy, so if I’m still on my desk at 4:31pm someone will come and shush me out of the office. Especially, the national staff is very sweet about this and always worried that I am working too hard.

Post work – Twice a week I spend an unacceptable $30 to go the town’s only gym (per visit that is). It’s at a fancy hotel, but rather badly equipped (6 cardio machines, only 3 of them work) and some weights. Still with the delicious food here there’s really no choice. I spent about 2.5 hours there to make sure I get my money’s worth. The good thing is that the gym’s connected to a spa-area with sauna, steam room, fancy towels etc. I make sure to shampoo and soap myself about three times to really max out those $30. If I don’t gym it up, I usually meet up with friends, go home sit in our Garden Eden trying to teach one of the parrots to say my name or try convince one of the males around me to accompany me somewhere (work rules say I’m only allowed out with male company…). Later we have dinner at my house. Not always all 6 of us living there, but I rarely eat alone. After that I might go out again, read, etc... And then go to bed to be awoken again at 6am…


Ps: just to clear things up, I don’t really work hard for the money, seeing that the internship is unpaid ;-) But didn’t wanna miss out on the title.

Sick...

Everyone had warned me, repeating over and over than ‘everyone get’s ill in Kabul’. Having been to and lived in much filthier places, I was pretty sure they must’ve meant ‘the common person (but not Adi) gets sick in Kabul’. Turns out I was wrong and I fell ill this Saturday.
My immune system is certainly not award-winning and I am the master of catching unsightly rashes (preferably in my face) whenever I approach the equator, but I’ve never had to consult a doctor about stuff, so I was really upset (mainly a bruised ego) that I had to degrade myself and go to the German Clinic and beg for a cure this weekend.
The facility is in the middle of Kabul in an inconspicuous looking building, but is surprisingly well equipped, clean and knowledgeable (as far as I could tell). It was started by two German medical workers who had worked at the German Malteser Hospital in Kabul and felt the city needed something more sophisticated in terms of diagnostics. Not surprisingly now everything runs according to German standards (very reassuring I must say ;-) and all equipment and medicine is imported from Germany (again, very welcome seeing that I could actually read what I am taking). The nursing and admin staff are all Afghan and from the names of the doctors I suspect that at least two of them will also be Afghan.
You have to pay USD 100 upfront before they will even look at you, which is more than most Afghans make in a month (the overall country’s average monthly wage has been estimated to be at USD 30, it’s higher for Kabul but people who make $100 or more are few). Still, the waiting room, in which I got to spend a whole three hours, was filled with 90% Afghans. Among the national patients about 85% were men… I tried to come up with all sorts of theories trying to convince myself that there might be an acceptable reason for that, but fact is this country has among the highest maternal death rates in the world – and the waiting room observation is likely to be part of that equation. Even though the doctor was a lady and so were there nurses that were with me in the examination room.
Anyways, the lab was efficient and 24 hours later I had a diagnosis (salmonella and something else with a name too long to remember). Was immediately put on meds, which the clinic’s own pharmacist counts out and then explains to you with pictures (and words of course) to make sure illiterate patients can follow too. So hopefully, I’m done being sick in a week.
All together I thought it reassuring to know that there is a decent facility here, though the question of access to its services remains.

Accidental Apartheid

Since Afghans aren’t allowed to drink alcohol and since expats could probably not be convinced staying anywhere without the occasional/daily drink(s), there are special licenses issued to restaurants and bars here. That means that those places are allowed to serve alcohol, but in turn Afghans aren’t allowed to hang out there. I have been told that if one looks ‘too Afghan’, you are asked for ID and might even be turned away if you had headed to such a location for a work dinner with an international. These tend to be the more expensive restaurants and I imagine that it must be infuriating to any wealthier Afghan living in Kabul to be denied access to such places. Not that there aren’t any other nice places, but if there was anything in my country that I was denied access to I’d be seriously upset! This also makes it doubly hard to maintain normal friendly relations between nationals and internationals as they simply don’t tend to go out to the same venues after work. To make Afghan-non-Afghan friendships still harder, international staff is really limited in their movements as we are confined to a ‘safe box’ (a area of the city, which is considered to be safer) and many Afghan live outside it, so officially you aren’t even allowed to visit each other.
At work there are two canteens – one catering Afghan food (which I have found to be rather delicious). It’s cheap and served outside on a beautiful sun-lit terrace under some trees. It’s really rather lovely. Then there’s the international canteen, which is inside, cooled to temperatures that would even make a Bostonian put on a sweater and heavily overpriced. They serve pork they everyday (don’t ask me why) and some other rather questionable cuisine that is neither Western nor tasty. Quite a few internationals do brave it regularly though (one reason may be that the Afghan canteen’s menu doesn’t ever change) but I haven’t seen a single Afghan eat there yet. Again, probably not the most healthy set-up to encourage friendly relations between Afghans and internationals.

Early Weekend

The weekend in Afghanistan starts conveniently on Thursday afternoon, but cruelly ends on Sunday morning when I’m gonna have to be back at work at 8am. We ended the week with a happy hour – an idea introduced by some of the national staff to celebrate the achievements of the organization and the country that have been made thus far. It was of course an alcohol-free occasion (alcohol is officially forbidden in Afghanistan) – something which the internationals weren’t thrilled about, but there was surprisingly good instant coffee and a sumptuous collection of biscuits, pastries and cakes. Definitely enough to make a hungry intern happy. All was served in the green gardens of the premises and music was played at a conversation-killing volume. After a national staff had song two songs (Karaoke style) we unfortunately went back to a mixture of US and Euro-trash music (including ‘Where do you go’ from No Mercy – one of the first songs I remember trying to sing along in English when it was in the German charts in the mid-nineties). It was a nice enough occasion and a little disappointing that so few of the internationals attended in the end.
The weekend proceeded with a typical expat procedure of going to an expat restaurant (alcohol and Western food) followed by an expat party. Getting around Kabul past 10:30pm is difficult as internationals tend to have curfews, meaning their drivers won’t take them anywhere and officially they risk a penalty if ignored. However, of course there are ways around this, so that I found myself past midnight in a hot sweaty cellar where a Swedish cover band was playing past hits. The quality was acceptable and it was interesting to see that there were so many internationals around.
I was home late and slept till lunch the next day to then spend a very lazy two days in our garden, feeling slightly fenced in as the only trip outside was a quick escort to the expat shopping centre to purchase some overpriced yoghurt (not even the nice Afghan one, but imported Nestle stuff). At least the rabbit, parrots, tortoise and house mates were good company.

Arrival on Afghan Grounds

So finally, after a couple more finals, I got to go east at last. Taking the least convenient (yet most wallet-friendly) route I left Boston last Friday and flew via Toronto, London, Doha and Dubai to Kabul. I expected the last plane journey, the two and a half hours from Dubai to Kabul, to be taking place in a tiny airplane with propeller drive, filled only with only a handful of run-down, somewhat crazy-looking expat adventurers. So wrong! There were four planes doing the distance from Dubai to Kabul before 7am and none were particularly small nor empty. There were many more Afghans on the flight than expats and the few expats I saw looked pretty sane and average to me. What a disappointment;-)
After the arduous journey I slept through most of the flight which was a real shame because for the 10 minutes that I managed to keep my eyes open, I saw mountains like I had never seen before. Thanks to my Bavarian grandmother I had been forced up a couple of Bavarian mountains as a kid and had quickly discovered they weren’t for me. And sure, the surreal, jagged brown moonscape I saw didn’t make me want to put on my hiking boots either, but they were without question breathtaking.
Once on the ground, passport control was surprisingly smooth and getting my suitcase wasn’t much of a pain either (bar a little fight with a deaf-mute elderly man who had insisted carrying my suitcase where my cross-cultural sign language skills failed me and I had to resort to the strength of my arms). As expected military presence is strong and very visible, but once out of the airport the vast majority seemed to be Afghan, which surprised me (where are those 20,000 troops expected for the elections?). Stuck in traffic in what was an obvious expat vehicle, I was feeling somewhat queasy thinking that such a traffic jam filled with UN cars and the likes would probably be a popular target for a suicide attack. However, I was assured that Kabul was quiet these days (even though alert levels are up overall) and nothing had happened since February. Can’t deny that I didn’t find it that comforting that three quiet months are already reason for joy here.
Then finally arrived at my guesthouse, which bore yet another surprise: garden Eden! You enter from a loud, dusty street (via an armed guard) and then find yourself in a lush, green garden with pink and red roses everywhere, thick juicy grass, a comfy sofa-like area with lots of pillows and rugs, and then… two parrots, a tortoise and a free running rabbit! This definitely makes up for the fact that I will be sleeping in a musty smelling shed for the next two months!!
So overall, I am still reasonably scared and still very excited.

Preparations (Exam and Otherwise)

Only 2 more weeks until I am off to Afghanistan. And 'only' 2 more final exams until then. For the latter I should be revising right now, but couldn't help but think that a starting my blog would be the ideal study break to get me right back on track for some more econometrics...

Travel preparations have been much more successful thus far. Internship arrangements? check. Flight to Kabul (via London, Doha and Dubai to make sure I look as fresh as possible upon arrival)? check. Passport with a fancy visa? check. Guide on Afghanistan (that conveniently weighs about half as my total luggage allowance)? check. A ton of excitement? check, check, check!

So really all that remains is getting through these last two exams and I can be on my way to Kabul where I will be spending 9 weeks of this summer interning with a large international development organization in the field of local governance. Can't wait to get on that plane...