Lax, I've been with the blogging of late. I've been a bit overwhelmed with the day to day of Kabul to have the energy to write about it. Much less the wherewithal to actually make sense of my experiences in anyway sufficient to convey them. Truthfully, this place exhausts me. Every little thing is an ordeal, it must be planned for and then plan implemented. Also, everything is so foreign to me that it requires serious focus just to navigate the mundane, not to mention the more complicated. Life here requires far more mental and emotional energy than life back home. I suspect this is true of it's full time residents as well, but it is undoubtably true for me. Please don't mistake these comments for complaints. Far from it. I am having a blast and it's been every bit of the learning experience I hoped for. It's just exhausting. Also, I'm waking up at 0630 to 0700 every morning, and those of you who know me best know this is not my usual modus operandi. Yeah, that might have something to do with it too.
I took a couple of days off last week. One for the national holiday Ashura (a Shia holiday observed by the predominantly Sunni Afghanistan) on Thursday, and one the following day on Friday, which is the Muslim holy day (the usual “weekend” here, is a half day on Thursday and a full day off on Friday, though the clinic is open both days). Last Wed. night I met Aman and his girlfriend Marina for a couple of drinks at a French restaurant named L'Atmosphere, or apparently formerly named, but no one seems to call it by it's new elusive title and therefore I have no idea what it is. Anyway, it's one of the few places in town that serve booze and it has a bar/lounge next to their restaurant. Due to their happy-juice slinging, the place is a frequent haunt for the sizable ex-pat community here. After a couple of beers, the three of us headed to an Italian NGO housing compound where there was music to be played by an assortment of said ex-pats. Let's see, we had an American cello player, a Mexican tabla player, a Aussie guitar player, a French guitar player, and an Afghan harmonium player. The music was purely jam style, and certainly reflected the multicultural nature of the musicians involved. After a bit I worked up the courage to sit in , having been graciously offered the use of the Aussie's guitar. Jamming isn't really my thing, but I gave it a go, and had a blast doing so: fitting in my American country/folk riffs and finger-picking where I could.
What a crazy scene it was. All manner of folks, from all manner of places, blowing off some of the intensely pressured steam created by living and working in such a place. To paraphrase one of the folks I've met here, a Canadian political scientist, “there are a lot of places with significant ex-pat communities, but the one here is so large you're not forced to hang out with the same people, you can actually choose who to spend time with based upon whether you actually like them”. The incredible volume of international aid that has come Afghanistan's way is responsible for this glutton of foreigners, and it seems you have two distinct factions of ex-patriated workers here- those trying to actually do some good, and those just here to slice off a piece of the dough pie for themselves. And apparently, there is a LOT of coin to be made here so you have gaggles of folks doing construction, security, etc... who's primary focus is their own pocketbook and not the actually betterment of Afghanistan. But, as said, of course you have a significant portion of folks here for the “right” reasons as well. Fortunately for me, Aman's friends fall amongst the latter group, and it is these souls whom I mostly am meeting.
So anyway, socializing and music-making fun was had Wednesday night. The next day, after brunch with Aman and Marina, I whiled away the day lounging about nursing a hangover caused by drinking fake Chinese made “Scotch” which tasted a bit like it was made from apples. I really didn't drink very much, but apparently large volumes of it aren't necessary to cause what seemed like an entire college marching band drum line to pound away in my skull.
Friday, Dr. Mojadidi took me sightseeing, starting with the ruins of King Amanullah's palace. I found it an appropriate start to our day, a fitting symbol of just how beautiful and terrible this place is. We then went to an old mountain top tomb for Afghan royalty overlooking the city. The place was closed off and guarded by a police checkpoint, but apparently hanging with Dr. Mojadidi, Special Envoy and Advisor to the Ministry of Public Health, has it's perks. A swath of tangled barbed wire was pulled aside and in we went for a police guided tour. Next, one of Kabul's main bazaars was on the agenda (this town seems to have no shortage of markets). We wandered through what I can only describe as an explosion of humanity and it's wares. Livestock, clothes, food, barbers, jewelry, knives, books, and on, and on, and on lined the streets and sidewalks. The sensory overload was such that I'm amazed I wasn't assaulted by a Chinese “Scotch” style headache. I picked up a few nicknacks and Dr. Mojadidi graciously bought me a “Karzi robe”. You know the one- the brightly colored full body robe Afghanistan's First Dude is always wearing. Now I just need one of those hats he wears and I could be one of his body doubles! Or not. Dr. Mojadidi seemed to think it was a necessity for me to own one, and though I most definitely could make a strong case against such logic, I graciously accepted and am now the proud owner of a keepsake I will long treasure.
On that note, more specifically on the note of a much more profound gift- shortly after arriving I asked Dr. Mojadidi if he could recommend a good English translation of the Koran. Remembering this during our day at the market, he also bought me a Koran which he said was “the best English translation”. I've already begun reading it with the same mindset I take when picking up the Bible from time to time- basically, just to see what all the fuss is about. I in no way mean to diminish the magnitude of his gift. For a Muslim to buy me a copy of the Koran is a great honor, and one I greatly and humbly appreciate. As I told one of the doctors in the clinic when he asked what religion I belong to, “I respect all religion, that is my religion”. As another of the clinic's doctors once said to me, “Muslim, Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Buddhist... what matters the most is our good humanity to each another.” Bravo good doctor, bravo.
But I digress, my point there was to tell of Dr. Mojaidi's kind gifts, and of his kindness in general. The hospitality I mentioned in prior posts has shown nary a sign of diminishing. Aman swore to me I would gain a minimum of 5 kilos (11 pounds) while here, and it didn't take me long to see why he said so. But, I've been weighing myself daily at the clinic and somehow, despite being fed with a hospitable ferocity just shy of a faux gras goose engorgment, I've yet to gain a pound. Must be all the excitement keeping my metabolism on overdrive. Hmm, do I smell a fad diet enterprise in the works?
In addition to the swarms of fascinating (and some not so fascinating) foreigners I've met, staying with Dr. Mojadidi offers introductions to a wealth of interesting Afghans. In addition to the previously blogged about Professor and member of the Department of Business (who, it turns out, are frequent dinner guests), I've had dinner with the deputy Minister of Health and a poet/philosopher (and former Marxist) Afghan who had ex-patriated to Germany only to return home about 5 years ago. Today I went with Doc Mo to a conference on the genital tuberculosis plague (yeah, I know) primarily affecting Afghan women, and then to the opening ceremonies of a new private hospital. During these events, both media and political circuses by the way, I met the Minister of Health and the Chairman of Parliament. Yeah that's me, hobnobbing with the who's who of Afghanistan. I'm the tall, REALLY white one, with the “what the hell is happening” look in his eyes.
Even though I'm staying in a house quite posh by local standards, and galavanting around to hospital openings and the like, the reality of the third world is always at hand. The power goes off about 3 to 5 times a day, sometimes for hours at a time. Internet access is spotty, at best. The poverty is glaring throughout the city, on it's streets and in the clinic. And, just in case I forget where I am for a moment, there goes a one legged man herding sheep which are feeding on a pile of trash (I would have much less trepidation about my inability to adhere to a vegetarian diet if I was staying out in the country, where the livestock was eating grass).
Last Saturday I went to see an amazing concert at the French Cultural Institute. Two traditional Afghan acts played. One a Pashtun female singer, the other a Tajik male singer. Both were backed by sensational musicians playing a variety of traditional instruments. It was amazing. The evening culminated with the male singer sitting in with the female singer and her band. They didn't speak each other's language (one spoke Dari, the other Pashto), but they made due and it was a spectacular display of cross-cultural (and all the while Afghan) camaraderie, and one that made the Afghans in the audience go wild with excitement. Maybe there is hope for this place.
To report on the clinic. It's been great. I'm starting to settle into a grove of helping with patient care and with teaching my fellow nurses. One thing I'm being tremendously careful with is to not come across like an arrogant American. The clinic workers are well aware that the level of education in the West is superior to what they've had in their Country, but that doesn't mean they don't have their pride. In fact, the educational disparities can have the effect of making some feel threatened, which can lead to being very defensive and closed to what I may be able to contribute. Furthermore, due to their lack of technology they've implemented a much more hands on manner of medical diagnostics and care, which is something I can (and have) learn(ed) from. I think I touched on this in a previous blog, and it definitely seems to be the most effective approach- to recognize the cultural differences and seek ways we can learn from each other. By actively attempting to learn, the ability to teach is augmented and vice versa. Not a real new idea I guess (I do so love to reinvent the wheel), but it's been a process figuring out how to best do this, and thankfully it seems I'm making some progress.
I witnessed, and assisted with, my first circumcision a few days ago. Whoa Nelly. The doctor did a good job, at least from what I could tell it being my first one and all (well, other than one about 39 years ago, which I thankfully have no memory of). But I got to tell you- if ever I have a male child, I am NOT going to put him through that. I'm sorry, there just ain't any reason good enough to subject someone, no matter how young, to genital mutilation. Here, of course, it's a religious issue. And, I will begrudge no parent their choice on this matter, particularly when it's ingrained in their religious and social fabric, but for any boy of mine- NO WAY! Uh-uh, FORGET IT!
My main man Aman has left me for the warm embrace of Paris (or lukewarm embrace as it's reputation might suggest) for about 9 days. So, I'm left to socially fend for myself. But, as I referred to earlier, Aman was great about introducing me to his friends, so I have a few folks with which to network, and network I shall. I'm definitely going to need some social time with people not of the Islamic Republic world. As many beautiful aspects as this place does possess, it is in many ways as crazy as you'd imagine it to be, and one or two nights a week sheltered by more familiar Western sensibilities definitely shall do me some good.
And yes, as posts on other interweb avenues suggested, I've finally procured the use of a guitar. It's a beat up old Indian made knock off that I'm renting from one of my fellow nurses. She ain't pretty, but she'll do the job. Now, got to line me up a gig...
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