Over Afghanistan on an Early Winter Day

Flying out of Kabul, there had been just enough snow that the extraordinary texture of the land seemed to just pop out. Maybe it looked special because I don't know when/if I will be back--or maybe it just looks great. You can be the judge. 

Got a little creative with this one.....messing with the editing software......

Kabul Scenes

Woman Selling Eggs

Ditch Cleaners

Donkey Cart

Man

The End is Near

I have been coming to Afghanistan for over 9 years, and living here for the past two. Well, by ‘living here’ I mean I am physically in the country, though I am on a large expat compound with 1,700 of my closest friends—EUPOL police who are doing training, UN personnel who are doing something important I am sure, various other international  expats, and a bunch of Balkan and Nepalese guards that try to keep the bad guys out.

I get to go out each work day, wander around the city, and I try to do a bit of good. But as my time winds down—I only have 6 weeks to go—I have become a bit crazy about capturing some of the scenes and people that I see as I drive through town.

So here is what I saw yesterday. Please forgive the imperfect focus—I am leaning out the window of my old Corolla, doing the best I can….

A different kind of 'pickup band' weaves it way through traffic, following the  wedding  car. 

A man looks for a taxi or one of the many Corollas that are glad to offer a ride for a few Afs. 

A woman looks to cross the street with her daughter and baby.  Behind her is one of Kabul's ubiquitous blast walls. 

Here's the guy next to us in traffic--head on steering wheel, cracked windshield,  TWO rearview  mirrors !!  This traffic gets old....

One thing pedestrians and cars have in common--there are no rules, though every now and then  a lonely cop will be out trying to make a simple traffic jam out of shear chaos--which is a big improvement. 

"Hi Honey, would you please bring home 4 or 5 pieces of bread?' Anyway, Afghan  bread is pretty tasty, but you have only about 30 minutes to eat it until it hardens into a discus. 

A man crosses the street with his baby.

Another man looking for a ride along Jalalabad Road--with a little better vantage point from atop the pile of dirt. 

Virtually all intersections are traffic circles. Most are bare and weedy--but every now and then you get one with some statues!!!  Nice...

We're stuck in traffic--the norm, not the exception--and this guy with the motorcycle is trying to squeeze through the same spot as the young boy cutting through traffic. Anyway, nice 'helmet'.

Dooz!!!

Getting Ready for Some Tree Planting

Chill

One of the things that you have to get used to working in Afghanistan is that planning ahead is not much valued. I don’t think the word ‘schedule’ or ‘appointment’ exists in Dari, and if it does, it must be followed by ‘more or less’ or ‘not binding’.

I make this observation while sitting here, waiting for the Director of the Department to arrive. We have an emergency project—it is nearly Spring, and 60,000 trees must be planted! The Director says he knows where we can buy the trees, and told the Mayor yesterday we would go out at 9:30 to locate the trees. So I have been waiting for him for 45 minutes. He is not in the building.

In fairness, this

Some Roma Picks

 Sunset in Sorrento

Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel

Light, Window, Flower

Bridge Over the River to Something Round and Pretty

Mary, I think

Roma

Old Something (I May Suggest Uplighting Some of the Bombed Buildings in Kabul--would look ancient).

Coliseum 

One More

Ok, another quick Rome story.

We’re getting on to the subway. It’s crowded. At the last minute 3 teenage girls push me from behind, then decide to get off the train.

I got a weird feeling…RAT BASTARDS!! They picked my pocket, taking my wallet. So I force my way through the closing doors, and grab one of them. Meanwhile, Meena pulls away in the train. Buh bye.

So I grab for another girl, and under the blanket is a baby. A baby!!! So I say we are going to visit the police, and miraculously the girls point to the floor, and say ‘you dropped’.

‘You dropped’ my ass, girly. One of the little criminals had dropped my wallet to the floor, and they had not had time to take my stuff.

So I release the 3 girls and a baby back into the wild and get back on the train.  Meena is waiting for me at the next stop with a wtf look on her face. And we go on to spend the day walking around, enjoying a wonderful town.

Oh ya—when we rented a car to go to Pompeii, the guy warned us not to go to Naples—the car would be either broken into or stolen. Dude, what’s up with Italy? Everbody’s a wannabe Don Corleone.   

Taking a Break

Just back from a 5-day trip to Rome. I don’t like to talk much about my personal life, so some of you may not know that I am no longer with Alice—for 4 years now. Nicest woman and best mom in the world, and we had a great life together.  Of course, being who I am, that wasn’t adequate. ‘Nuff said.

Anyway, I met up with Meena. No, I ain’t telling folks about my feelings for a woman in a blog. For that, you have to buy me several beers.  

So Rome is nice. Great food, great wine, old historic stuff…dang near perfect.  Italian is a great language--Hell, after a few glasses of wine I think everyone can speak Italian. ‘Train Arrival’ is ‘Treno Arrivi’. Or maybe it is ‘Treni Arrivo’.  Either way, you add a vowel to the end of any word, and it seems you are very close to speaking Italian-o.

It also helps that I am a big Dean Martin fan. So we took the open top tour bus around town, and I was able to share an earbud with Meena so that she, too, could enjoy a Deano medley of Mambo Italiano, Volare, and Amore.  Unfortunately, I only know a few lyrics, which I sang loudly, repeatedly, and off-key. Yes, I know how to test a relationship.  

Mmmmm....Tiramesu 

The Japanese tourists on the bus heard me bellowing ‘When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, it’s Amore’ and started posing for pictures with me, convinced that I was a famous Italian singer.  I turned my back to sign an autograph, and Meena took the opportunity to slip away to shop for shoes.  I was able to track her 2 hours later to a place serving Tiramesù, where she was complimenting the house wine and hitting on the 20-something waiter with a gold chain and wearing a pair of $300 sunglasses.  Cougaro. Cougarini. Something.

Anyway, that was my trip to Rome. And Pompei. Delightful break.

Oh ya--there was a full moon last night, and with ‘Amore’ still in my head, I started signing outside about 10 pm and damn near got shot by a Nepalese guard.  Dude, the Taliban ain’t going to attack singing Amore. Of course, maybe he didn’t appreciate my musical talent. Just as the French like Jerry Lewis for no apparent reason, it seems I am loved only by Japanese tourists in Rome. I am sure the world will catch up one day!!  


Or not.

Donations to the City Welcome

I just got back from dinner with Karim (name changed to protect the guilty), a guy/company that sells a lot of equipment to the City of Kabul. Things like trucks and bulldozers and front end loaders—pretty serious stuff—Tonka on steroids.

Anyway, Karim is representing a big company so Tom, who is with me, says ‘do you ever do any CSR—you know, Corporate Social Responsibility?”  

“What do you mean?” Karim says. He speaks broken English but fluent Dari and Russian, so it seems he didn’t understand.

“Well, like donations,” Tom says.

“Oh yes, I made a donation of a Mercedes 380 E to one official,” Karim says.

Ok, so we may have a ways to go to get folks to understand the difference between and bribe and a donation.

Karim was pretty straight all night. He negotiates deals directly with the Municipality—no bids needed. He tells them the kind of equipment they need. It is all negotiated personally with Municipal officials. Bribes are rolled up into the purchase price. Often times it isn’t money, but trips out of the country that are most attractive. When it is money, it is around 5% of net—which is better than the guys in Kunduz, who get more like 7%. And the Director (Department Head) that we are dealing with most?  “He is my friend”, says Karim, “but he is greedy”.

He says he will be happy to provide the equipment we need—but warns that we should stay away from the Department Head, as things will get expensive.

Some Pics from Herat

Bourka shop in Herat

My friend Aqa and me with the Minarets in Herat

Minarets in Herat

Family in Herat--Man with Prosthetic Leg

The Friday Mosque, also known as the Jumah Mosque, was built by the Timurids and extended by several rulers swapping hands down the centuries between the Timurids,Safavids and Ghaznavids. For a brief time the Mughals supported the mosque before switching hands. Though many of the glazed tiles have been replaced during subsequent periods, the Friday Mosque in Herat was given its present form during the closing years of the fifteenth century.

Friday Mosque in Herat

Friday Mosque in Herat

DFIs

I just got out of a meeting with the Mayor. It is a group meeting, when some of the donors get together with the Mayor and his staff so that he can figure out wtf everyone is doing. Since we started work here, and since we have several former (not old, damn it) city managers on the project, we are getting the Mayor organized, and starting to ask people to tell him what plans they have for the town for which he is responsible.

Sadly, this has become the equivalent of a city council meaning, with a bunch of lunatics showing up. Only the lunatics aren’t crazy citizens, but international donors/programs with some damn fool ideas (DFIs). the Mayor doesn’t have a lot of experience so he gets sucked into some of these ideas—which is not to say that he is a victim, for like any mayor in the world, damn fool ideas (DFIs) seem to spring from his mind with frightening regularity. I sometimes feel like I am

I’m Back

I haven’t blogged for a long time. I don’t know why. Part of it is that I have been really busy. Also, I find life in Afghanistan the past couple of months to be like ‘Groundhog Day’ (the movie) in its monotony. Each day is the same, over and over. I live in a compound with 1,700 of my closest friends. I live in a dorm room (with a bathroom—step up!!) I go to a cafeteria for dinner. I sit in traffic. Don’t get me wrong—the job is great, but the monotony of the life here is excruciating.

Anyway…I am going to try to break out of writer’s blogger’s block and jot down some thoughts. I don’t guarantee anything profound. Hell, I don’t guarantee anything, period. But I do regret not jotting my notes on ‘life’ here, if nothing else so I could have a record of my experiences that a shrink could later unwrap.

Here's to Dooz and Jack

Dooz and Jack got married on September 25. It was probably the most wonderful event of my life for a million different reasons, but primarily because Dooz was so happy, and I was thilled to see her so joyful. 
I didn't realize that the father of the bride was a big deal--I never watched the Steve Martin movies or got all crazy  about it. But one of the things that I greatly enjoyed was the opportunity to give a toast to the new bride and groom. Here it is, as I want to share the happiness of the day with everyone. 

As some of you know, I get the opportunity to travel around a bit, and meet wonderful people. A guy I met in Senegal told me about the beliefs of his tribe, which I believe are appropriate today….He said that his people believe that when you meet someone for the first time, you are meeting all of those who contributed to his making—his mother and father, his brother and sisters, his ancestors from previous generations. So in greeting, for the first time, or after a long time apart, they use the last name to signify not just you, but all of those who have gone before you.  So in this spirit, on behalf of the Bormets and the Kreisles, the Dievendorfs and the McClains, it is my great joy to be able to welcome you—the Steiners and the Shockets, the the Severins and the Boccis and the Yarboroughs,  and everyone else who have come in love and celebration to share the wedding of Dooz and Jack in this latest chapter of our families’ histories.

Of course, Matt inherently knew of this tradition, and so when Alice and I met him 4 or 5 years ago and I rudely informed him that the name ‘Matt’ had already been taken in our clan, and that he would have to change his name to avoid confusion, he didn’t blink—he said he would be called ‘Jack’—for it was his grandfather’s name, and he thought it would be appropriate to be ‘named’ Jack. I had promised Matt that I would not use ‘Jack’ today, but then last night a friend of mine from out of town asked whatever happened to that wonderful young man Jack that Dooz had gone out with. So to avoid confusion and to honor Jack’s grandfather, and as a term of endearment and love, I hope that is OK if I refer to my new son as ‘Jack’.

As you know, Dooz and Jack are jazz musicians, and I think that this is a wonderful metaphor for their relationship.  You see, as I understand it—and god knows I don’t understand ALL of it—jazz has some rules that you can’t violate. But at the same time, it gives a skilled musician great latitude to improvise and create. But the key to the effort is communication, and if you have ever seen Jack and Dooz play jazz  together, or live their lives together, you will see that they complement each other, they communicate with each other, they look at each other. So what we see is a work in progress, based on the rules of love and respect, but with great room for improvisation and creativity. This wedding is a wonderful event, but I am confident that the best is yet to come

So it is my pleasure to offer this toast to Jack and Dooz, and in so doing, I want ask you to take time to look at Jack and Dooz—take time to actually look at that, for you represent yourself and all who have gone before, and join me in this simple toast: We love you!!

Tourists Don't See

Here are some pics of the things that I see as part of the job that normal people don't--in fact, normal people would try to avoid some of this shit (literally). But it fascinates me, which I guess is good, since this is what I do.

Handy-dandy new sewer bucket  amazes all around.....



"Mobile recycling effort' Rajkot

Pulling the Manhole Cover on the way to cleaning a sewer blockage.

Manual sewer 'snake' in action.



Doesn't everyone love a good waste transfer station? Sweet!!!

Temporary/informal/illegal settlement/squatters (all depending on your view of the world) outside a new apartment complex in Rajkot.

Water time!!! Residents in Rajkot get 20 minutes of water each day--during the monsoon. During the dry spring, it can be as little as every 2nd or 3rd day. They put the hose on the spigot at the street and fill their pails/pots.

Not everyone gets water home delivery--a lot of folks in the slums have to fetch/carry their water from public standposts, where the water is on 20 minutes per day. In some neighborhoods, the water is on at 5 am.



I can't even describe everything that is going on here--Ya gotta cop, a supervisor, an extra woman worker, a woman working to patch a pothole, and the cart-pusher that only delivers the asphalt, doesn't apply it. Oh ya--it's rush hour too. The only picture better than this would include some asshole watching these folks and taking their picture.