We next headed to a house party, where an assortment of NGO workers, journalists, and other ex-pats frolicked around lebanese food and red wine. This seemed to be the high-brow intelligentsia crowd, and indeed some excellent conversations were struck up, e.g. Middle Eastern and Central Asian adventure stories, tales of the inter-workings of giant NGO empires, and Australia's vested interest in keeping the Afghans out of the legal pharmaceutical poppy industry. Good times.
This gathering wrapped itself up, so off we sauntered to a party of a decidedly different vibe. It was hosted by some sorta contracting/security company who's name escapes me. Most everyone there was HAMMERED, as apparently shots of liquor were being consumed at a rate that would have shamed a college frat party. It was an interesting group of drunkards: older gentlemen wise with years of conflict zone exploits and wasted women with trouble in their eyes mixed with ex-military dudes who appeared to have substantial anabolic-steroid habits. I happily confess to “dude-ing” it up with the latter with a healthy dose of bro-bonding over talk of “chicks”, American football, and knee injuries. Though not as cerebrally stimulating as the previous party, I kinda needed that.
After having our fill of that party, one of my companions retired home. I should have followed suit, as it was in the neighborhood of 0200, and I had a decent buzz working by this point. But no, the other of my rabble-rousing cohorts appealed to my late night adventurous side, and my late night adventurous side happily agreed to join him at the British compound lounge The Gandamak. Oh, sweet British self deprecating humor. For those who don't know, the Gandamak is a reference to a massacre of grim proportions. At the end of the first or second Anglo-Afghan war (I forget which at the moment, and don't feel like looking it up thank you very much) the British negotiated a safe retreat out of
Afghanistan, only to have their entire ranks of troops and camp followers killed in a succession of attacks through narrow mountain passes. The popular story is that only one soldier survived out of the whole of their procession. Indeed, only one soldier made it to the destination British base in what was then India (now Pakistan), badly wounded and on a dying horse I might add, but later a few other survivors were found. One last note on this, apparently some British children were sparred and raised as Afghans by the local tribes. Many years later, as old age made it's way upon them, they sought out their British roots making a journey to their ancestor's native land. ANYWAY, yes, this compound named their lounge after said massacre. Again, gotta love the Brits' sense of humor. The place was a bit saturated with the security and contractor set, but I managed to have a great time with my new mate putting our Celtic livers to the test and discussing the finer points of baseball versus cricket/rugby versus American football, before getting into some deep political discussion with the few remaining patrons still there at 0430. For all I know we figured out all the worlds problems right there and then, but alas it's all a bit hazy at that point.
Afghanistan, only to have their entire ranks of troops and camp followers killed in a succession of attacks through narrow mountain passes. The popular story is that only one soldier survived out of the whole of their procession. Indeed, only one soldier made it to the destination British base in what was then India (now Pakistan), badly wounded and on a dying horse I might add, but later a few other survivors were found. One last note on this, apparently some British children were sparred and raised as Afghans by the local tribes. Many years later, as old age made it's way upon them, they sought out their British roots making a journey to their ancestor's native land. ANYWAY, yes, this compound named their lounge after said massacre. Again, gotta love the Brits' sense of humor. The place was a bit saturated with the security and contractor set, but I managed to have a great time with my new mate putting our Celtic livers to the test and discussing the finer points of baseball versus cricket/rugby versus American football, before getting into some deep political discussion with the few remaining patrons still there at 0430. For all I know we figured out all the worlds problems right there and then, but alas it's all a bit hazy at that point.
So yes, it's a hung-over Christmas Eve in Kabul.
Before I leave you for now: It occurred to me that I may have painted an unflattering picture of an entire swath of people when previously talking about the “good” and “bad” development workers here. In no way did I mean to suggest that all people in any specific field are less than respectful. On the contrary. Though I do imagine it so that many of the people here primarily (or solely) for their own gain are indeed in such fields as construction and security, of course that isn't to say that everyone in those fields are. Nor, of course, are all the NGO workers here of saintly constitution. With certainty, this life has shown me very little that is black and white, and for me this World is best seen through grey colored glasses.
