Afghanistan

I always said this about the Corolla...

2010-08-26T23:05:00.000+04:30

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/08/26/AR2010082604637.html?hpid=topnews

Idiocy

2009-10-29T00:27:00.002+04:30

After the attack on the UN guest house, I've made all my Kabul video private out of fear that folks appearing in them might be made targets. Email me if you'd like to see them...

A note on this blog

2008-11-15T02:42:00.003+04:30

Hello, thanks for having a look at my blog on my trips to Kabul, Afghanistan of January/February and March/April of 2007. Because the posts appear with the most recent first, I recommend you click back to the beginning for first impressions, better narrative (I'd say the final part if my first trip and beginning part of my second trip are probably the best portions), and some interesting video. Thanks again and feel free to drop me a line...especially if you're a filmmaker who wants to collaborate on a screenplay!

Jon

Some Stability

2007-05-24T05:12:00.000+04:30

Thanks for your great comments and attention to the blog. I have been very encouraged by folks who have read and commented or emailed me with their support!

For those who may be interested on the latest developments in my life:

I had a last minute interview last week in DC at the Institute for International Finance (http://www.iif.com/). It’s a research assistant position supporting three economists in the Latin America group. It also includes event planning and it seems as though I will have trips to San Juan, Puerto Rico and Rio de Janeiro, Brasil.

Then, I checked out the job in Cedar Falls, Iowa. The guy I was talking to consults with The VGM Group (www.vgm.com) as well as other companies. I talked to the CFO at VGM. It was very cool all the businesses they are involved with and the entrepreneurial situation there—lots of opportunity to get exposure to basic business planning and execution. My first project would be giving direction to a young political consulting business for Dems. The problem was Cedar Falls. While it is home to the University of Northern Iowa, all reports indicate students leave to go home on the weekends because there isn’t much going on there! It would be great if I had a family already, but the timing right now is not good.

I also made a proposal to Pragma to commit to the last two rounds of the course while being sent to India in between and continuing to receive the 25 perdiem and insurance. They accepted. Cedar Falls would take me after 3 months.

So, yesterday I had to decide what to do. And I decided to take the job in DC. I will go there for a few days next week, then begin in earnest on June 11. I’m going to ask if I can consult with the folks in Cedar Falls somehow, maintaining a relationship with them…

So that’s the latest!

New York air is sweet!

2007-05-10T11:50:00.000+04:30

I'm back in New York and the difference in the air quality is dramatic! The air in Dubai is fine, but it was so humid and heavy that I didn't notice the difference. I had a brief taste of sweet air in Munich as I was shuttling from one terminal to another. I step out of my apartment building now and the air literally smells sweet. How bad does the air have to be in your city that NYC air quality is drastically better by comparison?

Already, I've had crab rangoons from my chinese place, pizza from my pizza place, and tacos from my taco place. It's now 3:30 AM and I'm wide awake. Hopefully I'll adjust soon, though.

Next, I meet with a headhunter tomorrow who has been pumping up my ego about how nice my resume is, though she may not have anything for me--"I just want to meet you," she told me...maybe I'll get a date out of this thing... Tomorrow I also meet with a friend who will be shipping out to Iraq soon. Friday I've invited friends to come to the last beer garden in NYC, then Saturday I have two birthday parties to attend! So I get to have some fun before again pumping out applications for jobs next week before I leave for Iowa next Friday where I will be for 5 days.

As of now, I'm out of my apartment in early June, so decisions must be made in the next month.

I've been invited to go back to Kabul. I like being there OK and am pretty comfortable with the security situation and the job. But the heat is cranking up in Kabul. The temperatures in the KU library were OK, but we didn't have the extreme heat that will come with the end of June/July. The classroom was sometimes so terribly smelly, though, and that will only get worse--and I'm guessing much worse. Our western standards for bathing are not the same as the students in Kabul--not necessarily as a result of cultural differences, they just have limited access to power and water. Mary is not going back for this next round, but another fellow has already been arranged. So, I'm still considering it, but hope to find something else a bit more stable.

Outta Here!

2007-05-07T13:14:00.000+04:30

We leave today on a 5 PM flight. I have an overnight in Dubai, then catch an 8:30 AM flight tomorrow to Frankfurt. Not enough time to get to the beach in Dubai, unfortunately!

We took our trip to Chicken Street for some souveneirs and I cut my 25-Massoud-hat deal once again--this time for $40 instead of $50. Haji Mohammad wasn't there, so I dealt with his (tiny) cousin instead. I also picked up a few wall-hanging items and some necklaces. So be nice and we'll see what you end up with!

Ran into the same kid on Chicken street at the very tail end of our time on Chicken Street today. He claimed he was no longer going to a French school, but was going to an English school. I hope so, but I fear the kid is not going to school at all...

Looking forward to my return to New York--I have a friend that will be in town Thursday who is shipping out for Iraq soon. Then Friday I have invited people to the Bohemian Beer Garden in Queens. It's no pool party, but it will have to do. Saturday there is what sounds like it will be a massive birthday bash for Lauren way uptown. So, be in touch and let's meet up!

See you soon.

Just a few days to go...

2007-05-04T12:55:00.000+04:30

With the final exam tomorrow, our time here is quickly drawing to a close.

I wanted to quickly try and answer “M” who asked about my changed perceptions of the Afghan people compared to my first time round—how has my impression changed from my first? Knowing it’s difficult and maybe unfair to paint with broad strokes, I’ll have a go at it anyway.

My first impression, drawn from interaction with the students, was that the Afghan people were more similar to us than different. Western clothes, hairstyles, English, a sense of humor. I suppose I expected the differences to be more obvious. Only when discussion turned to Allah (with Naqib the first round) was I really confronted with the whole religion issue—which can be divisive and I avoid it. Another characteristic I have noticed (again, with the students) is their seeming inability or unwillingness to try and dig to figure something out, to look something up in their textbook, for example. They get stuck on something and immediately it’s, “Asmar-jan!” calling for the teaching assistant to explain something they could easily find an explanation for in their book. Few express an interest in private sector work except banks—banks and government seem to be the only employers they consider. No one talks about starting their own business. They are also appreciative, but some also seem to have a sense of entitlement—I fear there may be an expectation of a helping hand from outside and reduced performance expectations because “this is Afghanistan.” I maintain, as I have from the beginning, that Afghans are generous and care deeply for their families. Leaving the home at age 18 or living far from elderly parents are pretty much unthinkable for them. They also love to have their photo taken.

I was anxious to get back out of Afghanistan when I first arrived this time round, but after being here a bit I’m more comfortable and could consider returning. Only recently, I discovered an excellent website with reviews on the restaurants in Kabul. Thank you Rosey, whoever you are! The recommendation for Herat Restaurant (“best lamb chops in the world”) took us there last night. I definitely couldn’t say best in the world anything, but it was neat to go to a “locals” place. No armed security or weapons search/pat down here. We did sit in the back “family room” so we couldn’t be seen from the street (the main dining room had glass walls to the outside). A major plus was that our dinner came to $11 for both of us. We left a 100 Afghani ($2) tip for the waiter and the thankful guy made a point of shaking both our hands on the way out!

After, I met with my new friend Ryan at L’Atmosphere. Ryan is here volunteering on a project to set up IT systems at the Kabul U library. He’d been in South Africa previously and we also realized we had both been to La Iguana Perdida in Santa Cruz, Guatemala. I stayed there for the chilled-out atmosphere, Ryan went there to dive. We also both remembered the Australian gal working there, Rebecca (“Becks”). Becks stopped through NYC to visit friends on her way through NYC a few months ago and I ran into her then. It was classic summer camp schtick, she and her friends were all wearing wigs out to the great little dance club where we met up. Anyway, small world.

Ryan and some of his coworkers and friends were seated at a table poolside (yes, I said pool as in swimming pool). I tried to take some photos, but my camera doesn’t do the job in such low light and they didn’t turn out.

There is this kind of gruff gatekeeper guy at the Kabul U library who gives us dirty looks if we’re late leaving at the end of the day. He always wears a white cap (there is probably a more appropriate term for it) and is grumbling at someone. But during this round he’s begun to bring what I think is his son to work and this kid is about the most adorable you’ll ever see. He wears this stripped suit and a baseball cap and he’s cute as a button. I’ve gotten him to slap me five now and again, but he often runs off if I try to approach him. Lots of people here dress in suits or jackets—Chinese knock-offs of expensive brands are everywhere as well as people make lots of clothing by hand.

Just a week to go!

2007-04-30T23:56:00.000+04:30

Sorry I’ve been a bit remiss in updating the blog. And I also realize I’ve been chronicling my own personal goings-on, not really much to do with Kabul and Afghanistan. I’ll try to get back on topic!

We had a couple days off this weekend. Saturday was Afghan Independence Day. So Mary and I were kind of in lockdown. Apparently there is a parade and celebration, but also there have been threats of violence from the bad guys.

Wednesday evening was ANZAC Day, some kind of celebration of the military’s of Australia and New Zealand. Hila (Afghan-American) had just returned from looking at public policy graduate schools in the US (she decided on Tufts) and so we agreed to meet up at the Cantina, where ANZAC festivities would be in progress. The Cantina is a huge indoor space, though the center was grass and everyone was sort of packed into the back area where there was some live music. I met up with Hila and another American, Ryan, who is doing IT for her project. He’s from Seattle and seems like a cool cat. I also met Marco, an Italian working here for a UK NGO.

It was a nice night—relaxing with a few Victoria Bitter’s and we even got on the mini pool table. The entertainment of the night, though, had to be watching guy after guy after guy approach this (admittedly really attractive) blonde Romanian gal. Like flies to the flame. Her friend was playing pool with us and at one point I asked, “Does her father always travel with you?” in reference to a particularly mature fellow with busy hands who was hounding the friend. I definitely wonder what this international development work does to a personal life. Pretty difficult to maintain if your life is here for a year or so, then there for a few months, etc…essentially exactly the way my life has been the past 10 years.

Marco invited me to go to some village outside Kabul for Friday, and I was really keen to get out of the city. He and a group were organizing a picnic of some kind and the village destination is someplace known for pottery, apparently. Well, I floated the idea past Ramin and Daud and they were adamant that Mary and I needed to stay home for the two days off. I didn’t hear about any bad stuff happening and the weather was gorgeous…oh well.

The last couple weeks we wake up to the sound of a dozen or so helicopters roaring over our neighborhood. I have this peacenik streak and a certain skepticism about the whole military-industrial complex and everything…but the (apparently tiny, if recent confrontations with rodents are any indication) macho guy in me thinks “that is so friggin cool” when those choppers are whoop-whoop-whooping by.

It’s spring, of course, so we’ve also had some interesting weather. I suppose because of the mountains all around, we get these interesting cloud formations, whipping winds, thunderstorms and quick rains. And yesterday, we were treated to about the most intensely colored rainbow I’ve ever seen. I remember seeing one that blew me away like this before—but only once before in my life…maybe on the Camino de Santiago.

I noticed the other day that Najib had a chess set in the guards’ room. So I asked if he played and he said yes. “Alright, you and me later—you’re going down,” I told him. “He’s trying to say that he’ll beat you,” Mary added in response to Najib’s blank look. She kept her eyes on him to see if it registered for a minute before giving up. So, later I went out to the guard room and we sat on the floor as Najib beat me three games in a row. And not only that, but the guy points out where you can move during the endgame—“You, can, move, here…here…not there, because this…”—as he touches my pieces and the board. Finally, I kind of lost it: “Dude, don’t do that—if I’m playing the game, let me play…it’s very rude.” “OK, I sorry…sorry.” Covering up my flare-up, I offered, “Do you know what ‘dude’ means in English…? It’s slang…”

I figured I’d pick on someone my own size and asked Wakil if he wanted to play tonight. He beat me far worse than Najib! The third game was seriously about 7 moves—and I thought I had him!

We have only a week left before we fly out! The students took Test 3 today and did terrible. Attendance has been much more of a challenge this time around. Mostly for good reasons, I think—students are finding jobs. But it’s frustrating because the course is so intensive, missing an entire day is just a killer. So we have Tues, Weds, Thurs of class, Friday is off, the final exam is Saturday, and we hand out certificates on Sunday. Monday, we’re on a plane. So, send in your souvenir requests ASAP!

I'm thinking Bavarian Beer Garden for Welcome Home II May 11...

Surprise Animals

2007-04-24T23:47:00.000+04:30

Two episodes the last week have provided conclusive proof that I’m a sissy.

Several days ago, I entered my bathroom. My toiletries bag sits on the window ledge, and I noticed a bit of a white streak on the side of it, punctuated by a little dark spot next to it on the ledge. Looking closer, I suspected it was bird poo. “How on earth could bird poo have gotten through this screen?” I thought to myself as I inspected the screen for holes. “Hm, it’s a mystery…I guess I’ll clean it up.”

I pulled some paper towel from a roll, went to the sink for a dab of water, and began to wipe the dry bird poo off the ledge and off my bag. “You know, maybe a bird was in the house during the day,” I thought to myself, “Boy I wonder when…and how they got the bird-“ *Fwap-fwap-fwap-fwap-fwap!* the beating of wings exploded seemingly right behind my head as an image of a sharp-beaked bird pecking at my luscious Western ear popped into my head. Terrified, I ducked, covered my head with my hands, and let loose with a “Yuuuuueeeeeyeeeaaaahhhhhh!!!!” as I darted passed the door and pulled it closed behind me. In the relative safety of the hallway, I began to process the fleeting vision of my horrible wing-ed predator. Faced with this challenge of man against beast…I went and got Assad. Pointing up toward the second floor, saying “bird,” and interlocking my thumbs to make a bird shape (complete with wing-flapping hand action) didn’t seem to get the story across, so I invited Assad to come upstairs with me. From a safe distance, I directed him to the door, sure of the violent fate awaiting him inside.

Assad turned the latch and pushed the door open—it offered less resistance than he anticipated and it jerked open before he regained control of it. My curious eyes went straight to the area above the shower where the beast had silently, patiently stalked me as I so innocently put together the clues he had pooped me. There, perched on the shower curtain rod was a small, white-and-grey pigeon (please understand nearly all birds are pigeons to me).

Assad, turned and gave me his signature less-than-a-full-head-of-teeth smile before easing inside and closing the door behind him. Immediately, he came back out with the bird in his hand (worth two in the bush, right?), and walked over to me cowering in the doorway of my bedroom. Assad smiled, showing me the bird while petting or poking it with his other hand. He giggled and made some bird noises before heading outside to leash the beast on other unsuspecting pansies.

I weathered the ride down from my adrenaline high by cleaning up the rest of the bird poo in my bathroom, laughing at myself for putting two and two together so slowly. It reminded me of some joke a travel writer told about Iowans—that telling a joke to an Iowan was like watching turtles in a race or something to that effect…

Well, then tonight there was another episode, securing my sally-boy reputation around the Pragma guest house. I was in the kitchen getting ready to heat up our dinner. I was running water on a pan when I heard the plastic bread bag rustle. Initially, I though that maybe it just shifted like plastic bags will sometimes do. But then it happened again and I looked around the back of the chair the bag was on to see that a dark mouse was inside the bag, snacking on the bread. Well, he’s in the bag, I’ll just grab the top of it and he’s trapped, I thought to myself. Then I thought, after blastocystis hominis and dengue fever, rabies I don’t need. Turning back to the sink, I looked around for some implement I could use. If I could just hook one of the loops at the top of the plastic bag, I’d have him. The best I could do was a spoon.

Then in the distance I heard the outside door—one of the guards was coming in. If the mouse spooked, he might jump out of the bag and start trying to gnaw on my ankles. I had to act. Too late—Wakil walked through the door of the kitchen and was immediately confronted with me signaling him to stop and be quiet with a finger to my mouth and my flattened palm. Turning back to face the chair with what I now realized was a really pretty short spoon, I measured up the jab I’d have to make at the loop. After considering it for a moment, I made my move and managed to pull up on the loop, trapping the mouse inside the bag. Then I put the spoon through more securely and picked up the bag, displaying my success to Wakil and thinking, “Now THAT’S how you trap a mouse in a bag it voluntarily walked into.” Nonchalant, Wakil wrapped his hands around the top of the bag. I motioned with an air-sweeping hand gesture that it should all be thrown out. “Nay, *something more in Dari I didn’t understand*,” Wakil said and pointed at himself. “Nay” is no, so I assumed he meant that instead of tossing it, he and the guards would eat the mouse bread. “OK…” I said, my eyebrows raised at how these guys live on the edge.

Later I heard Mary come down, start laughing, and then came to find me. “Boy, you just keep having all these surprise animal stories!” “You got the story already?” I said, wondering how Wakil could have told her in Dari and briefly thinking about how “Dr. Dolittle” with Eddie Murphy was on cable the other night. “I went in the kitchen and Wakil was laughing. Then he said, ‘Jon. Small. Mouse.’” Assad squealed about the pigeon, I’m sure of it! So now the big, bad American has a big wussy reputation at home… "I don't like surprise animals," Mary reassured me.

Here’s some footage of the green KU campus and my interrogation of a few students:

L'Atmosphere

2007-04-20T20:09:00.000+04:30

Last night I returned to L’Atmosphere, the most popular of the western nightlife establishments, this time for dinner with Mary. I’d last been there when snow was on the ground as well as on the pool’s blue plastic cover. Now the place was a bit like a secret garden with greenery, a white-gravel path, and hip or antique lamps scattered around resulting in an undeniably romantic setting. Our one night to go out and get crazy, and we sat upstairs in a dining room among empty tables. I had this great rush of excitement about having a drink and plunged quickly into a beer and a whisky only to soon realize this was dinner, not the “Thirsty Thursday” I often subject myself to in New York.

Dinner was great—French cuisine, which I’m not all that familiar with. Nice bread, nice cheese, nice meats. The place is such a stark escape from Kabul—but some kind of refined, artsy, sophisticated escape, unlike the middle America university campus escape that is the US Embassy compound. I went back to the embassy today—Sean brought the folks from his office there as well to talk law with the State people. All of us had lunch together, then walked past the pool and sand volleyball in action on our way to the embassy store and ATM before saying goodbye. I felt a bit sorry for these Camp Phoenix guys, suddenly aware of just how comparatively poor are their living conditions compared to the pampered inhabitants at the embassy compound...

Good luck charm that I am, we ran across the US Ambassador who is freshly arrived from his previous assignment in Columbia.

Rain

2007-04-20T16:05:00.000+04:30

Some people enjoy rain. I’m not really one of those people. I value the option to go outside without getting wet. It has rained a couple times in the past few days and I remember we were at the university the first time. We were just getting out for a fifteen minute break. I noticed people seemed eager to get out from under the entrance to the library—they walked out into the rain with anticipation, like they were entering a room where they knew a friend was waiting.
What is it about rain? Mostly, I think, because it’s so dusty here, the rain settles the air and cleans it for a while. It’s also free (and I suppose clean?) water. Kabul continues to green, as well, and I’m sure it’s not lost on anyone that rain is a major contributor. This was once known as "the garden city," after all.

There seems to be an effort to clean out the sewage gutters at the sides of the roads here—perhaps they do this annually after winter. We see large trucks parked near crews of guys scooping trash and whatever else up out of these ruts and onto the side of the road, then up into the truck. Not a job I’d be too interested in.

Camp Phoenix, Camp Dengue

2007-04-20T11:10:00.000+04:30

I’m a full week behind! I’ll try to be brief.

My sophomore year roommate from BU, John Schroedel, is out in Oregon where he went to law school and recently connected me with his law school friend Sean O’Day who is working as a JAG here in Kabul at Camp Phoenix. This base is out on Jalalabad Road (yes, THAT Jalalabad Road). Last Friday, I went out to pay a visit.

It was a very hot day and Jalalabad Road is awful—major potholes/craters in the road and the pavement is sort of on-again, off-again. So it was very dusty, we were rocking back and forth all the time, and moving at a snail’s pace. It didn’t help that we passed Camp Phoenix and had to double back.

Had a nice lunch with Capt. O’Day, whose job is enforcing and prosecuting Army laws on the base, and was really struck by how much interaction he has with the Afghan people. He’s sat down to tea or meals with tribal/town leaders outside Kabul and he manages a development project dredging a silted waterway. My conversation with him really made me realize the extent to which our military conducts diplomacy—they have interaction with real people and are able to observe projects being done in a way the State people may not. Our military gets ridiculed for lowering entrance requirements or being overly aggressive, etc—and certainly the US military makes plenty of mistakes—but the people I know who are in are really talented and I’m relieved to know there are such high quality individuals serving. Knowing them also reminds me that at the end of the day the Army is people. People who want to do the right thing. And in many cases they have access to more resources and capacity to make a difference right now.

Anyway, after a cone at the Dairy Queen, it was time to head out. On the ride home, Najib started asking me if I could find him a job. I guess because he’d taken me to the embassy and to this military base, he figured I was connected. Misguided fellow—I can’t even connect myself to a job! “Reception, computer…driver,” he added that last one remembering that was his current profession. I note the other jobs require a backside firmly in a seat, which I think is the main thing he’s looking for. In his defense, he has gotten much better with his attitude…and the poor guy has a sprained ankle right now (I guess Daud slide-tackled him while they were playing soccer a few days ago).

The test last Saturday seemed to go well. The averages were slightly better than our last round. I wasn’t too involved with administering the test, though, because I became violently ill. On our way to the university, I told Mary, “There’s about a ten percent chance I’m going to throw up here…” She promptly pulled out a plastic bag, which was exactly what I had in mind. I did make it through the trip, and another thirty minutes or so before I wasn’t really functional anymore. I didn’t throw up, not right away, but started having issues with the other end. And if you could see the bathrooms at Kabul University you’d have a much better appreciation for how unpleasant this whole situation was. I called Najib to come back and take me home, while Dr. Jawad came out of the test to ask me a few questions and write up a suggested course of medicine. He’s quick on the draw with the antibiotics, but ultimately, like last time, I wanted to go to a western doctor.

Najib and Assad arrived and Assad was such a sweetheart about trying to make me comfortable. I was feeling very weak and reclined in the rear seat of the minivan. When we got to the house, I shuffled in, pulled myself up the stairs and went into the bathroom, where Assad insisted on helping me get my shoes and socks off so I could rinse off my feet to coold down. Then I sprawled out on my bed. I felt like I was pressing down so hard into the bed—like there were weights all over me. After a few hours (with occasional trips to the bathroom) I had a drink of water that filled my stomach enough I finally had to throw up. And, here’s a tip—if you can avoid having a beard while throwing up, I recommend it. I did not have such foresight. I did feel quite a bit better after, but still weak.

Finally, I decided I needed to go to the German Clinic. It took two terribly uncomfortable hours to be seen. I was feeling so weak that holding myself up in a chair was a real effort. They took blood, and other stuff, and said see you tomorrow, which was kind of a disappointment. Anyway, to wrap this up, they determined I had Dengue Fever. And Mary has been jealous ever since—“You and your exotic illnesses! Year’s from now, you’ll be able to say, ‘Well, back when I had DENGUE FEVER…’” I've got to figure out a way to work that into my opening line with women.

In an icky aside, I ended up breaking out in lots of cold sores on my lips—I get cold sores usually twice a year, but not like this. They’re everywhere. So I've been slathering on the Abreva and Carmex. Nearly cleared up now, though, thankfully.

DIP-lomatic immunity!

2007-04-19T06:51:00.000+04:30

Well, after our Delhi Darbar dinner debacle, we went to the embassy compound for another Thursday evening “happy hour.” I met my friend Jessica, who works there, because she sent me the original warden message about how dangerous it is in Afghanistan and how one shouldn’t go there. I think I replied that the information was very old and that the contract I was working on was from the US government and REQUIRED an American teaching assistant…so then we started going back and forth. She’s been very welcoming and I’m glad she was able to come out of the compound for dinner with us last time around.

We’d been to the embassy compound before—other ISAF and international buildings are in the same area as well and the roads to it are shut off two or three blocks from the main entrance. So Najib dropped us off and we walked on foot to get to the entrance, guarded by Gurkhas. Once inside, Jessica showed us a big SUV that had been hit by an IED in a convoy on Jalalabad Road (where 80% of all attacks apparently happen). It was all black and charred—and I guess put there to warn people of the dangers of the place.

We stopped at an outdoor bar near a large firepit, then took our drinks up into one of the huge apartment buildings where someone was having people in their apartment. Most of the attendees were (enormous) Marines and private security people. We went back down to the outdoor bar and stayed there the rest of the night, talking with mostly State department people. I, of course, was letting them know how I missed the FSOE by .05. Most didn’t really know what that meant—they’d taken the exam when it was different. There seemed to be a clear line between the older career State people and the younger ones, who mingled with the Marines. Perhaps the younger ones are single and still in it to mingle.

I had a general feeling, there sipping a cocktail inside the heavily fortified Embassy Compound, with the tennis court, swimming pool, and sand volleyball courts a stone’s throw away, that people stationed here were not really “in Afghanistan.” The more tenured State people I talked with seemed to have a decent sense for that dynamic and knew that they relied on people the met with for information on the environment outside. But the younger people who likely have only internal work and no interaction with Afghanis—I wondered what they knew about Afghanistan and if they had any feel for the country. Mostly, I wondered how you can conduct diplomacy across a 30-foot wall. I guess I’d like the State people to be out in the street more—not in their big SUV convoys, but in a regular car, not calling attention to themselves—getting a sense for the people and understanding the country. And I’m not saying I have that understanding, mind you, but I’m also not a diplomatic professional. I was talking about it with Mary, and she raised a good point that if diplomatic people get killed, it sort of ups the ante for everyone and creates an “international incident.”

(It’s Thursday 6:30 AM and about a dozen helicopters have flown overhead in the last 20 minutes. A little respect for late risers, fellas!)

Even so, I left the Embassy feeling the people inside a bit detached from the life of the country, though unsure of how that could be remedied. The issue would be brought to light even further by my trip to US Army Camp Phoenix the next day.

We got back to the minivan and Najib promptly informed us he’d been waiting for us “for three hours!”

Oughtta take a rope and hengue me...

2007-04-17T23:33:00.000+04:30

I think the second half of the Dengue fever has got me today--yesterday I broke out with lots of icky cold sores and I'm quite tired tonight. Najib has been better--perhaps I'm benefitting from illness pity, but also I think he got a talking-to. It's funny, the guy who has replaced Walid kind of orders Najib around.

Today Haris (Vin Deisel) asked me what happened in Virginia. I explained some guy went around shooting people and looks to have killed 33. "We have crazy laws about guns in the US," I said. "Yes, in Afghanistan we also have...Well, my condolences to you..." I thought that was nice--Haris comes up with a deep comment now and again. And I'm thinking, uh, sorry for all the Afghans that have been killed by guns and mines sent to you from the USA (via the CIA through the 80's and 90's).

Too tired--more soon, I hope!

He drives me crazy

2007-04-17T06:43:00.000+04:30

First, regarding my health--I'm doing fine but just struggling with this very icky breakout of cold sores on my lips! I assume because of my reduced immune response... Now, a (perhaps too long) story:

As I believe I have mentioned earlier, my favorite staff member, our driver Wais, was replaced while Mary and I were back in the states. I’m not sure what the deal was, but I think it had something to do with driving a bit too fast and not speaking much English. Anyway, his replacement has proven to be quite a character…and not really in a good way. Najib speaks some English—apparently just enough to complain, make you feel uncomfortable, and ask you if you can find him a job. He doesn’t fit in with the rest of the staff at all and, though I can’t understand Dari, he seems to be making fun of them a lot. I know he tried to once or twice with me in English, but sorry dog—Assad is my boy, Aziz is my boy, I’m not about to be making fun of them!

And his incompetence already has a body count. The convoy overtake episode had an employment consequence, but not for Najib, for Walid the guard sitting in the passenger seat talking to (and supposedly distracting) him. I don't know how they will punish the sandwiches he eats while driving. This is actually a very interesting managerial study in HR, because I think this guy is toxic and will negatively affect the operation of the entire office. I just wonder if I should make a stink about it or let it go, because I have already been agitating about other security issues and don’t want to end up being “that guy.” I did mention a few things about it to Ramin the other day (while feverish and waiting in the doctor’s office for over two hours—more on this later). And I think the result is Najib is now avoiding me. Which I hate to say for me is an improvement.

I don’t think he’s worked as a driver before—he mentioned that he and his family have a clothing shop or something like that. Since the US Army convoy episode, we’ve had a few other incidents. Fore instance, we rubbed up against another car (at 1 mile an hour or something—harmless), which is something that never happened with Wais behind the wheel. But Thursday evening I reached a breaking point where I really decided I didn’t like this guy.

Mary and I decided to go to an Indian restaurant called Delhi Darbar—we’d been there last time around and the food was excellent. I love Indian food. I think we even got the same stuff again—chicken tikka masala, muttar paneer or saag paneer (the spinach one), lamb rogan josh—but that’s not the real story. We left to go to the restaurant and Najib assured us that he had been there before and knew where it was. So we’re rolling along and the trip is taking a bit longer than it did before—this place was close. “Hey, are you sure you know where you’re going, Najib?” “Yes, of course, I have been there many times before,” he assured us as we crawled along at 5 miles an hour through an unlit and extremely uneven road that I knew I didn’t recognize from last time. “I think maybe it moved since you were there before,” I offered as we seemed to draw near a dead end. “No, it’s…I…” and Najib turns off the mini-van, gets out, and walks over to a tiny shop to ask for directions. “Wazir Akbar Khan, Street 2,” or something to that effect he said as he got back in the car, indicating someone had told him the address, and we started making our way back out of this deeply cratered street, rocking back and forth as Najib slowly negotiated the potholes.

We eventually pass (again) Sufi restaurant, an Afghan place Mary and I have been to before. Najib stops the minivan again and goes in to ask for directions. Mary and I briefly consider just staying here to eat, but since he has the address, we decide to stick with it. “OK, it has moved…in the last ten days…the restaurant, it used to be here, but now it is on another street…in the last ten days they moved,” Najib explained as he got back in the minivan. We’d been to Delhi Darbar over a month ago. We roll on, confident in the knowledge that we have the address! Until…we come to a traffic circle and pull off to the right and Najib rolls his window down to ask the guys selling phone cards on the street about the restaurant. I’m about to lose my cool at this point, “Why don’t we call Daud for directions, I’m calling Daud,” I say. “Yeah, yeah, I call him right now,” as he pulls out his cell phone. But at the same time, he gets out of the minivan—engine running, at the side of a moderately busy traffic circle—and walks over to the shop on the corner to ask for more directions. I’m thinking, the guy doesn’t want to get busted by Daud, so he’s pretending to call him while asking directions at that shop. I turn to Mary to complain about this guy and she can only say something to the affect of, “I’m too furious to talk right now.” After a minute, he comes back and hands me his cell phone, it’s Daud. “What’s going on?” Daud asks. Who knows what Najib has told him about the crazy Americans who can’t decide where they want to go, but we resolve to call Ramin for directions to the place.

Again, we move on and I can tell we’re on the right track. We pass the place—in fact, we passed in right out of the blocks a while ago, but the lighting is very different now that winter is over. The signs around the Delhi Darbar’s are brighter, making its sign less noticeable. We’re on a one-way street, so we only need pull over to the right and park, then cross the street to go into the restaurant. No, we continue crawling along until finally, Najib makes a U turn and we head back up the street the wrong way, parking on the right side in front of the restaurant. But we’re there, and I can hardly wait to debrief with Mary and complain over a beer and great Indian food. Story over, right?

“So, Najib, will you wait for us here, or should we give you a call when we’re ready?”
“What?”
“Are you going to wait for us here, or will we call you when we are done eating?”
“Can I just come in with you?”
“…*blink*…uhhhhh, yeah…I guess so…”
This is uncharted driver territory. Wais either waited in the car or went back to the office when we went out. Afghans are routinely denied entrance to Western places that served alcohol, what would happen here?

Well, we walked in social discomfort to the restaurant, went in, and the place was empty. So Mary and I sat down at a table. Najib sat down at a different table, sort of giving off this sad puppy-dog vibe. It worked like a charm—“Najib, why don’t you come sit over here with us.” What was going on? Was he going to eat with us? Are we always going to have to buy dinner for Najib if we want to go out for dinner? Initially, Najib declined offers of water, appetizer…eventually, though, he poured himself water and we ordered enough food for three. We tried to be polite and put everything in the center of the table for him to reach, but he kept declining offers of food. Periodically Najib would jump up and go outside, but once he got up and went into what appeared to be the kitchen area, then returned.

Our main dishes arrived and we offered them to Najib, again he declined, but this time saying, “I have ordered steak and rice.” OK, I’m thinking, it would clearly be downright rude for me to call him on this and ask for money, but there’s some principle being violated here and I’m really feeling offended. Well, Mary and I carry on with our benign conversation (we wanted to complain about you!!!) when Najib’s order finally arrives. “What is this?” Najib asks, holding a dish of steamed white rice. “Steak with rice.” “No, this is not right, I don’t want this…I want kabuli!” “This is an Indian restaurant, we don’t serve kabuli here!” “All right, take it away,” Najib muttered with a wave of his hand and pushed the rice back at the waiter.

This was the most socially uncomfortable meal I have ever had. As soon as he finished, Najib jumped up and went outside, safely out of reach of the battle for the bill, where he enjoyed some tea (according to the check, anyway)…And we were left with extra food since we’d ordered for three…what a mess.

More to come:
Thursday night at the Embassy compound
Friday at US Army Camp Phoenix
Saturday’s first exam for the students
Dengue Fever!

Dengue it!

2007-04-15T23:55:00.000+04:30

Sorry I haven't been posting--I do have stories to tell, including my battle with Dengue Fever. But, we just finished correcting the first exam and it's midnight here, so I'm going to try to update you tomorrow.

TAIT - Thank Allah It's Thursday!

2007-04-12T06:43:00.000+04:30

Since Friday’s are our day off, Thursdays are our Fridays—however you slice it, it’s the end of the week! Things really seem to have gone well this first week—the reconfigured room is spacious, we’ve been keeping the students busy (giving them homework time in class mixed with lecture), and the computers have been working fine.

Having the room set up the way it is now really provides space to think and for the instructor to move around and be a bit more dynamic. One of the students, Haris, told me that one of our assistants (Nazir) who took the previous class said that I was very friendly with the students, but that this time around I was very formal. I got to thinking about how Haris was right and why. Well, last time round I set the tone by building a snowman before class on the first day and getting into snowball fights with the students—so I guess acting like a 12-year-old will shatter any perceptions of formality right away. Anyway, I’ve tried to loosen up and joke around a bit and I think I’ve been successful with that.

Here's a look at the new class setup:

Haris is this sort of slack-jawed short guy with long hair and I realized, sans the long hair, he looked like Vin Diesel. I asked him if he knew who Vin Deisel was and he said something to the effect that his father had done the pilgrimage (the haj) and didn’t really allow movie-watching. Later he asked for time in the afternoon to go pray. We had a break planned and I told him, yes we would have a break around 2:30. The following day he said “Our God tells us to be good to people who help us and I prayed for you.” Allah knows, I can use it.

The computers are going to live much longer, happier lives! During the first round of the course, the University IT people were out of the country doing a training in Germany. So Pragma paid some hack $200 to network the room and he did a terrible job. Now the KU IT staff are back and have done a great job for us. The computers, along with their annoying battery packs, are now on top of the tables instead of on the floor getting kicked and collecting dirt and mud. Also, the process of turning the computers and batteries off at the end of the day is much easier. The computers are networked (or nearly so—IT is still working on it), but not connected to the internet—this is to reduce the risk of viruses. Well, students still bring their portable USB drives to class to save copies of their work or upload their resume for us to review. And we use USB flash memory as well for trading information and distributing the Excel templates for the course. We’ve had issues in the past with Dr. Jawad’s laptop infecting our USB sticks when we try to trade information with him (like when he has to translate a test or quiz). So, something must have happened to my USB stick and I had viruses on it—well I went around saving a folder full of templates to each computer in the class and I’m sure I’ve infected them all. I’ve downloaded AVG Free 7.5 anti-virus software (thanks for the recommendation, Tarek!) and have cleaned up Dr. J’s laptop, all our USB sticks, and will now have to go around the classroom.

It got me thinking that these anti-establishment hackers and virus builders who likely have a chip on their shoulder about Microsoft or something, end up punishing the people who are struggling to catch up in technological development. Who knows how many computers out there in developing countries have been rendered useless because of a virus and no one knew what the heck was going on?

We’ve had visits from a few of our old students and it’s been great to see them. Kanishka is working at a bank and has Saturday’s off, so he said he’d come back and see us again. Zia is teaching English somewhere outside the university (he came in to see the scores from the previous class—he was miffed that he didn’t get selected to be an assistant this time around). Shaiesta is now a junior at Kabul U. And Shaqil stopped by yesterday—he said he’s taking a job in Dubai with this huge tea company. That will be a tremendous step for someone from Afghanistan. Man, I’d take work in Dubai—that place is pretty awesome.

I’ve also had the pleasure of hearing from quite a few people after my recent email blast. It’s great to be able to maintain contact with people over such large gaps in time and distance. The wonders of the internet, I guess. It makes me feel very fortunate about all people I’ve met in various corners of the world.

I thought you might like a taste for what it’s like being in the class—the dynamic of translation and all. So here’s a clip—nice and short because it is accounting, after all:

My friend Arantxa (Professor at University of Hawaii!) emailed to ask about women in the classroom. We had three in our last round of the class and just one this time—though another gal showed up yesterday and we allowed her to begin the course precisely because she is female (but she will have a VERY hard time catching up). I see females on the university campus walking around and going to class—all with headscarves and none with males. The sexes don’t really mix much—men hang with men and women with women. If there are no other women around, a woman sits by herself off to the side. Mary said she notices that the gal we have in class now seems the most “normal” in that she is fine with sitting on a bench with other men. When we arrived at the university yesterday, though, and went over to the bench where this gal was sitting with two other guys, the guys stood up and shook my hand to say good morning—Mehria stepped away from me and just said hello from a distance. This is pretty common, though—there is a horrible fear among women that they will be perceived as flirtatious or loose or something if they have contact with men. Perhaps because the Taliban didn't allow females to go to school and whipped women who showed their ankles... Mary seems to do fine—she doesn’t like wearing a headscarf much but I haven't noticed any issue with respect from the students or anything like that. We do notice that when someone wants to talk to us about our plans, they will typically address me and not her. But she’s pretty laid back about it and I try to include her or defer to her on decisions anyway.

Class Begins Again

2007-04-09T00:00:00.000+04:30

We completed our second day of class today. The classroom itself has improved drastically. A retaining wall that separated the class into a larger and smaller section was removed and everything turned 90 degrees. Now, there is a wide aisle down the center of the class, everyone is facing the same direction, and only three students are on either side. As a result, attention is focused on the instructor in front of class and students are less able to congregate in large groups or easily share their work.

Mary, Dr. Jawad (our translator), and I were noticing a more serious tone to this group of students, but as I write this I realize the classroom setup may have very much to do with this. With everyone facing the same direction and only three to a row, distractions are minimized and there are fewer ways to hide!

There’s tension in Kabul with all the predictions of more violence as summer approaches. There have been a few bombings in the city over the last couple weeks. I feel secure in our guest house and at the university, but the darned commute is what makes me nervous. And we have this new driver, Najib. He speaks some English, which is an improvement over Wais, but he seems less focused. Yesterday we were driving in traffic and a convoy led by and ended by US military HUMVEEs went by. Well, Najib was kind of chatting with Hamid (one of the other guards who was sitting in the passenger seat) and started to overtake the rear HUMVEE in the convoy. This is a major no-no and the guy sitting behind the machine gun on top of the vehicle was none too pleased. He was pointing at us and signaling to stop, but Najib was chatting away not paying attention. Finally the guy pulled out a rubber ball or projectile of some kind and whipped it at our mini-van and finally we slowed down to keep our distance like the rest of the traffic.

I met Vince, the American construction contractor I met in Baku who has been operating here for the last four years, last night for dinner at a new Cajun place set up by two American guys. This is a guy with 25 years in the US Military, Vietnam special boats active combat veteran, central American drug wars experience, etc, etc…and he’s going to relocate his operation to Islamabad, Pakistan for security reasons! Having been here four years, Vince has all kinds of connections and even a distant one to a high-level Taliban (released recently in exchange for the Italian journalist). Apparently this fellow claims he is not in control of his area, but instead Pakistan, Iran, and the Saudis are. Vince is predicting a very messy summer. Maybe he’s a bit melodramatic, but even so I’m looking forward to heading back.

The cable news here is BBC World and CNN International. It’s remarkable how different the coverage is from the news in the US. Not an hour goes by on either channel, it seems, without 10 minutes dedicated to global warming. That and so many other differences signal the drastically different perspective and values we have in the US in contrast to the rest of the world...

In other news, they don’t really celebrate Easter in Afghanistan. And, you know, I didn’t see fit to call attention to the fact.

Also, is anyone else as frightened by this as I am?

NYC-DC-KBL

2007-04-07T00:57:00.000+04:30

I flew from DC on Tuesday evening after a 60-dollar (!) taxi ride to Dulles Airport—don’t worry too much, I get reimbursed. Oh, I was in DC to take the Foreign Service Oral Evaluation. I’d passed the written exam last April and it took that long to schedule the oral. Well, you have to score 5.25 on a scale of 1 to 7 and I scored 5.20. Better than the 5.0 I got last time I did it (2003, I think), but still shy of the mark. They did indicate that 17,000 take the written exam, 20% of whom pass. They then accept about 300 from the Oral Evaluations. The Foreign Service selection process is changing now, however, so that the State Department can weed poor people out of the process earlier (sarcasm!). This new process begins in summer.

The flight from DC to Kuwait was half empty—Economy Plus, which costs $25 or something for 5 inches extra leg room was totally empty but the flight attendants would not let anyone move there! The people on this flight were clearly former military headed back to the Middle East to do contract work. Lots of characters, many of whom seemed to be out of the southland, sporting wild haircuts (short or long), prominent arm tattoos, mustaches and beards, and telltale military-issue duffel bags and backpacks. I imagined this crew could tell some great stories after a few PBR’s.

I immediately skipped from Kuwait to Dubai where I landed in the evening and got to the hotel in time for about four hours sleep before leaving for the airport again to fly on to Kabul. Mary was at the airport and had also apparently been at the hotel the night before—the poor shuttle operator made two trips for us. Minor drama—Mary was separated from her laptop in the security rush in Paris so she was kicking herself about that. So far it hasn’t been a problem, though—there are extra computers here at the office in the evening and there will be extras in our classroom during the day as well.

While we were waiting to board our flight to Kabul, Mary struck up a conversation with a few guys to see if they had a functioning cell phone she could use to call up the airline regarding her laptop. She came back in a bit and explained that these fellows were making a documentary about the West and its interaction with Islam. I have often thought a documentary about the street kids in Kabul would be interesting, so I was thinking about something to say to them later. As we geared up to board the busses that would take us to the plane, I realized I recognized one of the documentary guys. I was vague in my recollection at first, but he seemed to have the relatively good looks of a film personality and carried himself a bit “above the fray,” if you will. Eurika, I thought, and asked one of his compatriots, “Am I on crack or is that the ‘Supersize Me’ guy!? That’s the ‘Supersize Me’ guy, isn’t it?!” They smiled and looked away, “We’re trying to keep that on the downlow.” The main guy seemed like a bit of a jerk, so I honored the DL and didn’t talk to him…though I wanted to for Robert. I was talking to the cameraman, who seemed like a nice guy—I would not want to be prancing around pointing a video camera at people in Afghanistan and I hope he’s careful. I asked him if they had someone picking them up and security because carrying a camera would draw lots of attention. “Yeah, I’m not worried—we’re local,” whatever that means!

Arrival in Kabul was as chaotic as ever. There was a crush of people trying to get through the passport check and somehow the number of people in front of me in line stayed the same while the number behind me shrank until I was one of only about ten left over. The concept of a line, patience, waiting one’s turn, doesn’t exactly work well here.

It was great to see the familiar faces of the staff…but some other dude was driving the van. Yes, Wais was replaced. I guess higher-up for Pragma came to Kabul a couple weeks ago and made some changes. Wais did drive a bit too aggressively and didn’t speak any English, but for some reason I liked that guy. Too bad they couldn’t find him something else to do…

We had lunch yesterday and were quickly homesick for good food! I just couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore after lunch and slept until 11 PM! By that time I was wide awake and went downstairs to discover “The Family Stone” was on one of the movie channels. Then I worked on catching up email…till 5 AM! I was wide awake and finally told myself I had to try to sleep. I did, and somehow got up at 8:30.

Today we made a trip to the bakery nearby, Wakil (one of the guards), Mary, and I. I’d been thinking quite a bit about how I’d like to be a bit more generous with the street kids around, but wasn’t sure how to do it. We were accosted by a few as we made our way to the bakery. While we were shopping for a few things I had the bright idea that I’d buy them milk—a nutritious beverage that surely they didn’t have all that often—much better than a candy bar. So I got a couple small cardboard cartons of milk (and a few candy bars) and off we went. I didn’t want to create a mob scene, so we played it cool most of the way back while several kids were hanging on us. Eventually, most dropped off and only a couple were around. They’d given up trying to sell us anything and were just demanding “bakshish” (gift). I finally reached in my plastic bag and gave a milk to a young girl, then waited while a little boy who’d been with us since the beginning but had dropped off, ran to catch up. I gave him a milk and we walked on. I turned to see the little girl giving the milk to a boy with her, “No, that’s for you to drink,” I motioned with my hand. “Drink that, OK?” He handed it back to her and she smiled at me fakely and said “OK, OK.” Some new kid walked up and proclaimed in English that he was my bodyguard and as we walked he kind of threatened some other kids who were nearby. He and a companion stuck with us all the way to the door of our guesthouse. Jarod, I think he said his name was. I had given away both the milks and two of the four candy bars. Jarod busted out with “I’m hungry” a couple times and I couldn’t hold out—I gave he and his partner the last two.

I’m pretty sure this wasn’t very smart, but I feel so guilty just walking past these kids with my pies and sweets. I was thinking later, what if I opened the milks—then they couldn’t hardly resell them or give them to someone else—they’d almost have to drink them! So I don’t know, maybe I’ll try that. But it’s probably not too smart to create a reputation for myself and get mobbed every time I want to go to the bakery—which is one of the few things we can do on foot.

The new class begins tomorrow and it sounds as though it may not be full. Mary and I are curious to see the new configuration of the class, find out how many students we’ll have, and begin to see if the quality of the students has declined. More news when I’ve got it…

Back into the fray!

2007-03-25T06:32:00.000+04:30

Well, I'll be heading back to Kabul with Mary for the second round of the accounting course. We'll have new students covering the same infomation and we're hoping to implement some ideas we had for improvement. The new students will also be drawn from the ranks of Economics faculty graduates, but these will be the "second best" students since we had the top ones during the first course.

Next Monday, April 2 I take the Foreign Service Oral Exam in DC, then on April 3 I will catch a flight out of DC for Kuwait, on to Dubai, then Kabul. The FSOE I've taken once before and just barely missed passing. You have to score 5.25 on a 7-point scale in order to be put on the list of available candidates. I scored 5. So, hopefully this time around I'll be a bit better prepared--in particular, I need to think through interview questions, especially the dreaded "behavioral" interview question, which I absolutely hate.

Twists and Turns

2007-03-11T01:48:00.000+04:30

By popular demand, I'm posting some photos from Dubai, which is home to the world's only 7-star hotel (pictured). I got as close to it as I could, after putting my feet in the Persian Gulf on a nice beach.

Everything is new in Dubai, and they can't seem to build hotels quickly enough there--hotels commonly have to turn customers away because they're full. And the service orientation I would compare to Minneapolis. Something like 70% of the population is from somewhere else--people from Dubai work in the government, if I understand correctly. They can be identified by their long headgear and robes. Everything else, all the private sector service jobs, are filled by immigrants from central and east asia.

I ended up on my second night at this sprawling indoor mall called Madenat Jumeira (great photo here), kind of patterned on a rustic market you'd imagine inside a castle with small hallways leading all over and four hotels connected to the complex. There were at least a dozen restaurants and the center of the place had an artificial waterway and islands. There was a band playing some soft-rock on an outdoor stage with the water at their backs and a stepped, semi-circular auditorium.

I sat down on a bean-bag chair at a table, ordered a salad (it had been so long since I'd had a good salad!) and a drink, and listened to the band. I could hear some young Americans behind me and figured they were US military. They were being asked to move because they couldn't drink where they were sitting and no tables were available. So I invited them to sit with me and had a nice conversation with them. They were Navy, assigned to an aircraft carrier.

Vince had said in Kabul that the quality of our current military is often questioned unfairly. He maintains that the guys in right now are the finest the US military has ever had. He said, "talk about Greatest Generation..." which I thought was a bit excessive. But these guys were evidence of his opinion--fine fellas. We talked about about politics and politics in the military. It was a good discussion and I was glad to note thier thoughtfulness and awareness.

In personal news, the Fed position slipped through my fingers. I'm considering throwing in the towel on New York. It looks like I will head back to Kabul with Mary for another round then perhaps move on to DC. I feel like there's something for me in New York, but it's not clear to me now. I wonder if this feeling is just pride--my desire to accomplish what I wanted to here. But maybe it's better, as they say, to leave New York before it makes me hard.

Back in New York

2007-03-06T20:23:00.000+04:30

I'm almost a week back in New York. It doesn't usually take me very long to adjust to a new time zone, but I still find myself waking up at 6 AM.

I think the Fed interview went well, though I always think that and don't get offers, so I'm just keeping my fingers crossed for now. They said they'd get back early this week.

The birthday party was a blast. Though I think a few people were scared away by the "pool" portion of the party. Those who did come for the pool really liked it and some have even talked about throwing their own. The Massoud hat party favors also went over well.

If I don't get the Fed job, I suppose I'll be heading back to Kabul. I don't know if I'll strike up another blog or not. But I want to thank everyone for reading the blog and offering your words of support and encouragement.

What's different about being back? I can walk around outside whenever I want unaccompanied and without looking over my shoulder. I don't have to worry about how clean is the food I'm eating. I know people. I do miss having someone do my laundry and cook for me. But maybe the best thing about being back is there aren't street kids...out of sight out of mind, right?

Our last day in Kabul, we stopped in to a place where street kids go for vocational and other training. In fact, we walked through a class of young kids learning the English alphabet. It was a very positive, inspirational scene and the organization running it is called Aschiana. Anyone who has been moved or interested in the plight of the Kabul street kids, you can go to the Aschiana web site (http://www.aschiana.com/) to read about their programs and offer support.

Thanks again everyone and hope to hear from you soon.

Dubai

2007-02-27T16:54:00.000+04:30

Well, the transition from Kabul to Dubai could hardly be more dramatic. I think I've gone from about the dirtiest city in the world to the cleanest! I thought I would be really stoked to go out snooping around here and jump in the sea and look at all the crazy hotels, but mostly I've stuck around the hotel.

I'm about to try and check out the beach and wanted to leave a quick note. Looks like we got out of Kabul before some fireworks!

Departure!

2007-02-26T08:28:00.000+04:30

It's hard to believe, but we're leaving today. There's so little time between having our days filled with the accounting course and taking off. I think the culture shock may get to me...though, I've never been one to suffer terribly from culture shock. Except maybe when I first went to college in Boston from Sioux City, Iowa--then, I suffered from culture shock.

The evite for the pool party was sent Friday and the responses are coming in steadily--I'm really excited to have a nice time, be able to walk and move around freely, and not look over my shoulder every 30 seconds. Hotel QT on Saturday, March 3 at 5PM, in case you somehow didn't receive the invitation...

See you soon!

Pomp, circumstance, foot in mouth

2007-02-26T00:21:00.000+04:30

Did you ever think that the different cleaning products we use are different only in their marketing? Like dish soap, bar soap, and shampoo? I know I’ve washed my hair with bar soap before, showered with only shampoo, and washed my hands with dish soap. Well, today I shaved with Head and Shoulders. Yes, the beard is gone (for now). Despite positive reviews, I decided to play it safe with my interview Thursday. So I figured why not shake things up for the graduation ceremony too?

It was a very nice day, actually. All the students were dressed up and taking photos. Smiles and joking all around. Some expressed sadness at seeing us leave, which was nice as well. We’ve given out our email addresses and I’m curious to see if anyone sends me any email.

Today was my birthday as well. So the students (Shaqil in particular) sang me happy birthday before the ceremony and I got that on video. It’s very funny:

A couple funny stories from today. I was talking to Naqib, the sort of philosophical one in the class. And he was saying, “I know what Jon is going to do when he goes back to USA.” “Oh, yeah, what’s that,” I asked. “I think you are going to get married.” “You are getting married?” someone else asked. I crossed my fingers, looked up at the sky, and said, “I sure hope so,” with only the lightest dash of sincerity. “I hope that you will get married,” Naqib said. “I should have asked the students if they have any sisters!” I said jokingly… Silence. After looking at someone else for some edification and shaking his head, Naqib said, “Uh, what?” He will find this funny, he just didn’t understand me, I though. So I continued, “I said, I SHOULD HAVE ASKED THE STUDENTS IF THEY HAVE ANY SISTERS… So I could…get married…here…” But Naqib had already joined the others in turning away. I blushed and sweated through more solitary silence before Daud whispered, “Afghan people are very sensitive about their sisters…you can see from their reaction…” “Uh, yeah—that was really stupid.” And that’s when Daud is supposed to come back with, “Naw, don’t worry about it.” But out of respect for how stupid it was, he didn’t. “Ask about the family, you know, it is no problem…but the sisters…” Hila (Afghan-American gal who is working on a project here at KU) got a hearty laugh out of the story tonight at dinner.

Later, I was saying goodbye to Shaqil, who is this smart guy with a short attention span—a great student, but just frustrating because he was so high maintenance. I would love the guy as a fellow student, but he was frustrating for the instructors. Anyway, I had given him a hug and then I was shaking his hand for a bit, and finally said, “Son of a bitch…” and the guys nearby started just roaring laughing. Shaqil smiled and said, “Ah, you too.”

Go fly a kite

2007-02-25T23:43:00.000+04:30

I’ve uploaded the video I took when we went to the kite flying hill. I hope it’s not too boring—I found the kites in the air really mesmerizing and calming.

And I had to get some footage of this kid so focused on the kite war going on in the sky above us. It was nice to see kids acting like kids.

Kite runner-into-er

2007-02-24T00:24:00.000+04:30

To my horror, American professional wrestling comes through on cable here. Dr. Jawad was asking me about whether it’s real or not the other day. “Why is it popular in USA?” I have no idea. Though I must have some idea, because I was a fan back in the Captain Lou Albano / Hulk Hogan / George The Animal Steel days. (In my defense, I was 12.) But, really, there should be some kind of barrier preventing that stuff from getting outside our country—it’s a bit embarrassing…

The last day of actual class was Thursday and the students were restless! It got a bit frustrating trying to keep them focused. And, since we lost a day to the last-minute national holiday last week, we were able to hold a review session today (Friday, normally a day off). Driving to the university, though, we noticed a bit of hoopla. Apparently, some are advocating for war-crimes suspects to be granted amnesty—see an article here.

After the review session, Daud invited me to go up to a large hill where lots of people go kite flying. Wais drove us and Ramin met us there. I suppose lots of people have heard of the book “The Kite Runner,” so you may be familiar with the long tradition of kite flying in Afghanistan. People actually compete with one another by attempting to cut other kites’ string with your own string. Some string is made with small bits of glass in it to make it more effective.

The view was spectacular from on top of this hill—snowy mountains all around, though the thick air (diesel fumes) limited vision in some directions. I’d never seen so many kites before, though. There must have been 20 or so all at the same time. We were in an area well away from most of the kite flyers, but Daud, who informed me he’d flown kites from when he was very young up until he was eighteen, let our kite out and out and out until it was near the others. He got in a fight with four other kites and sent three of them to the ground, but the fourth got him.

I found watching the kites mesmerizing, calming. Like watching fish in a tank, I suppose. Isn’t that supposed to lower your blood pressure? I supposed that the people there must like watching the kites in the sky, too—looking up means ignoring what’s around them on the ground. There’s a refreshing element of harmless escape there.

Lots of people stared at me—I guess a Westerner sticks out quite a bit here and there weren’t any others. A little kid came up and tried to sell me boxes of mints. I knew if I bought from him, then we’d get mobbed with kids trying to sell something or begging for “bakshish” (gifts). So I was telling him no, but eventually kids started swarming around anyway. One in particular became a bit aggressive and grabbed my hand—he was more or less just shaking it but I was startled and pulled it back, especially when he motioned to his eyes and reached for my camera (hanging around my neck). The kid was also just absolutely covered with dirt. And my unconscious reaction was to look at my hand to see if it was dirty and kind of rub my fingers against the base of my thumb the way you would to get something off them. Then I felt detached—like some aristocrat treating these kids like “untouchables” or something—and ashamed by my privileged position, the weakness of my cleanliness.

We walked to leave the assembled kids behind and to get closer to the larger group of kite fliers. It was muddy, and the soles of my hiking boots ended up caked. There were lots of people, though. Some folks were there just to take in the view, others playing a bit of soccer (you can see a boy tending goal between two rock piles in the photo below), others watching the kites, and a few selling kite materials or snacks. Ramin bought some very tasty roasted peanuts-and-corn mix. I wondered why we don’t have that because it was very good! I’d never ad corn just toasted or roasted or whatever like that before.

There is also a large tomb on this hill—the tomb and memorial of the last Afghan king, apparently. It’s currently being refurbished and so was surrounded by fencing and the building itself by scaffolding and drapes. But you could see the large rusted dome on top with some artillery holes in it. The place had been fortified and used during the fighting. We were walking on top of a portion of the underground fortress, but there were large holes in the ground (what would be the ceiling inside the fortress underground) that I couldn’t figure out the purpose of. Ramin said he’d been inside the fortress and that many people had died in there and he’d seen remains. Daud indicated the slope down one side of the hill and said it had been full of mines and many people had been killed or lost a leg there. So many places here one is reminded of guns, war, and killing.

As we walked back to the mini-van a little girl in a car pointed out the open window at me. I was walking toward their car and saw her father smile as he got into the driver’s seat. I waved to her as I passed by the car and she smiled and waved back as her mother also smiled.

We had to cross a large, muddy opening to get over to the minivan and I was walking along pretty much oblivious when I suddenly felt something on my belly moving up to my chest. I also heard a hissing sound. “Holy sh%# a lizard somehow jumped up and under my shirt,” I thought and frantically started to swat at myself. Then I heard someone yell and it dawned on me as I looked to my right that I’d walked into some kid’s taught, but low-hanging kite string. He and his friend were laughing as I managed to back away from it, then duck under to pass safely as I laughed at my ridiculousness the rest of the way to the van.

Just a phase

2007-02-21T22:33:00.000+04:30

Well, I don't know what was wrong with me on Monday, but I went back to the clinic feeling more or less fine, but wanting to get checked out anyway. Well, this time it was the female doctor that Vince had warned me about. He said, "The woman doctor there has the bedside manner of a grizzly bear with a sore tooth but she knows her stuff." I managed to charm her so I didn't get the grizzly bear treatment, but I also knew better than to let her in the driver's seat of that suppository. (Puns intended.)

Anyway, feeling fine now and concentrating on drinking more water. "Two liters a day?!" this German doctor asked accusingly over her glasses when I told her I drank enough water. I realized I definately wasn't drinking that much! So I focused on that yesterday and today and things are going much better.

We're leaving on Monday! It's hard to believe. Tomorrow is the last day of class, then Friday we're having an optional class for review, Saturday is the exam, and Sunday we hand out the certificates. A bit of controversy seems like it could brew on that front--I don't want the likes of Mumtaz Eqbal receiving a certificate for basically attending the class and drawing pictures. It's not his fault he's out of his element, but it's also really unfair if this guy (and others like him) who gave nothing and learned nothing receives the same recognition as other students who have worked and performed. Right now, we're trying to give out three types of certificates--one for attendance, one for successful completion of the course, and one for superior performance. BUT, our friend Darth Chancellor has to sign the certificates, so we'll see what he'll allow. Already he's trying to insist that the top students stick around for an extra two weeks to teach the poor students...

We had some snow on Sunday morning and it was really pretty. Check out this footage, which includes Mumtaz threatening me with snowballs if he can't figure out where to put his name on the exam. Also Mohammad Nazir mentions that I might lose my cell phone again like I did the last time we had a snowball fight. I didn't know my number so we couldn't call it and listen for the ring. But he managed to find it in the snow anyway--I lucked out! "Mr. Jon, you should know your number."

I have also got some additional info on my trip back. I get two nights in Dubai and will stay at the lovely Hallmark Hotel.

The parasite always rings twice...

2007-02-19T22:04:00.000+04:30

Well, I was fine for nearly a week, but am struggling again with an pretty bad headache, fever, chills, and aches. Looks like I'll have to go back to the clinic and get squared away again. Maybe a different antibiotic cocktail will do the trick!

I've got some additional video to post and will try to do so soon. The impromtu student interviews and also some footage the other morning while it was snowing--a perfect snow that was extremely packable and I really wanted to build a snowman. More soon.

Exam 3 and more commute video

2007-02-17T23:51:00.000+04:30

We have our third exam tomorrow, and we’ve tried to make it shorter. At the end of the last exam, I had to physically take exam papers from some students because the time was up—and we’d even given extra time. So, hopefully they’re prepared to be done when they need to be done this time around. We’ve been blazing through information lately, though, and while Mary and I think the exam is pretty easy, we kind of thought that about the last exam as well.

I was about at the end of my rope this morning—we decided to give an open book quiz on the bond math I’d presented Wednesday, broken down into very digestible steps. Well, during the quiz there was quite a bit of chatting—they love to share information. And some students who were stumped just refused to open their books to find the information. “Open your book and look for the answer!” I implored as they just sat there with a blank space on their quiz. “Why won’t you just open your book and look for the answer—the book explains it!” It was just confounding. I collected the quiz and redistributed it for grading…but there were some shenanigans whereby people were swapping papers and allowing the owner to change answers or just putting answers in for people—so though they were doing an awful job of answering my questions orally, the scores were very high. So we just didn’t record them.

At the end of the day, we did a review for the exam and that’s when it sunk in just how much information we’d covered. Since their last exam (last Saturday), we’ve covered chapters 11 and 14-18. That’s pretty quick, even if these were all native English speakers. After class, Naqib and Kanishka were milling around outside. Kanishka said, “Tonight we study, but you only rest—because tomorrow, we will be cheat, and you will be patrolling us.”

We’re becoming regulars at the bakery a few blocks away near the Iranian restaurant. They make these mini pies I’m quite fond of in apricot, cherry, and apple. I’ve not tried the apple, but the cherry is excellent. I bought four this afternoon, but ended up giving them all away to Wais, Wallid, Rholom, and Daud. But I had one left over in the fridge from the day before. We also bought candy bars for the students—an established a tradition for test days.

I tried to take some “interview” footage of some of the students today. Most kind of gave some pat “thank you USA for your help.” I’m unsure of the extent to which they really feel this sentiment—I mean, I know they’re appreciative of the accounting course and all, but in a larger sense… It is very common here, considered polite, perhaps, to tell people what you think they want to hear. That’s one issue westerners will run into when trying to work with the locals. You come to an agreement about when something will be done, then it doesn’t get done and the person says, “Oh, yes we’re working on that and it will get done soon.” So then you press for a time that it will be done by—and they will tell you “tomorrow” or whatever they think you want to hear.

Regarding IT infrastructure here, there ain’t much. Cell phones are everywhere, that's one thing they do have going. I don’t have the impression that the students are super familiar with using a computer though—of course there are a few who are. But, in a group of 30 university graduates I think there are probably 5 to 10 who own a computer. We’re in the ritzy part of town and Daud (often referred to as “Engineer Daud”) has a buddy at the power company, so that ensures us pretty regularly functioning electricity. I think most people get 2-3 hours of electricity from the grid, so many use diesel generators, which contributes to the awful air quality! I don’t think there is a city sewage system—a nice place will have its own septic tank, otherwise hopefully it rains soon to wash out those deep gutters at the side of the road...but to where? The Kabul River, I suspect.

Check out some additional footage of our commute—this time heading home from the university:

Itinerary for trip home...

2007-02-17T23:50:00.000+04:30

So we’re outta here on the 26th! I’ve got a couple nights in Dubai on the way back, so I’m excited about that—seems like an amazing place with an ambitious government and incredible, modern architecture. Supposedly very expensive as well, so hopefully I can find a cheap slice of pizza somewhere. I connect in Munich.

I’m scheduled to get into JFK at 6PM on the 28th and then I have my Fed interview the next day! I’m torn about whether to shave the beard—could be a good conversation piece, but did I really not have enough time to shave?

Mary

2007-02-17T23:27:00.000+04:30

My Mom brought to my attention that I’ve not posted much information about Mary, the lead instructor for the course. She's originally from Texas, did her BA in biology at Austin College in Sherman, TX and later did a masters in accounting (zzzzzzzz…You hear that, Greg Walker? zzzzzzzzz! Can you exclaim sleeping?) at Northeastern in Boston. She’s 60 and started working internationally in 1993 when she did the Peace Corps Business Advisors program in Hungary. She’s also done accounting instruction contracts in Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Afghanistan, Mongolia, Russia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Ukraine, Macedonia, Uzbekistan, Hungary. Most of her other contracts have been brief update-type training courses for people who are already in the accounting profession—training them on transitioning to international standards or any changes to those standards. She’s had to confront some serious difficulties in her life—her Mom died when she was 19 and she has two sisters, one of whom was in a wheelchair all her life and who has passed away, the other recently overcame a serious illness also. Mary seems to be very in love with her husband (number 3) who is the membership coordinator or other figurehead for some international accounting organization, so both dart around the globe quite a bit. They have a place on the Gulf in northwest Florida (in the Central Time Zone, I couldn’t believe it!). She has one son from her first marriage, some trouble using her inside voice (I actually couldn’t help it and had to exclaim “Inside voice, Mary!” in the minivan the other day), and loves to talk. I think she’s accustomed to companionship where I am not. We have a very good working relationship, though I think it’s safe to assume we’re both getting on the other’s nerves after a month of being around one another 24/7.

She did say something I really related to. She was talking about how she’d done very well in school and had figured out how to succeed in that. But then when it came time to function in the real world, she really struggled—that it was very hard for her. She was an auditor at PWC, I think, and became frustrated by the pace they demanded and the low quality work output that resulted in. It doesn’t sound like it now as I write this, but I really identified with how she put it then. The way I think of it is that school is this clear path where the things you have to do to succeed are laid out plainly and there’s feedback and progress is easily charted. Well, then the doors to “the world” are flung open and these infinite possibilities open up and you have to be a bit more proactive, maybe a bit more crafty or resourceful, certainly more focused. More frustrating, it often seems, you have to know someone.

Requests?

2007-02-16T22:51:00.000+04:30

Please feel free to submit questions or suggestions on material for the blog. I'm running out of ideas a bit, resulting in just recording life, which isn't all that interesting...

Embassy visit

2007-02-16T22:22:00.000+04:30

With two days off this week, there’s been lots of time at the house. We put together the next exam, I napped a bit, watched Revenge of the Sith and later flipped between Total Recall and In Good Company. It’s been a bit boring. Maybe I’ve said it before, but I’m torn between wanting to see as much as possible—take advantage of my time here—and keeping a low profile to stay out of harm’s way. I haven’t heard of anything happening here at all since I’ve been here, so my sense of security is growing. But there is lots of press about anticipated violence in the springtime once the Taliban thaw out. So I think I’m feeling pretty comfortable about making this a one-shot deal. Hopefully the Fed thing is going to work out back in NYC.

I’d been in touch with the Consular person at the Embassy from when I registered with them and she invited Mary and I to the embassy compound for a happy hour on Thursday night (last night). We decided to make a night of it and go out to dinner beforehand. Indian food (my favorite) was suggested so we went to a place called Darbar and it was excellent (saag paneer, lamb rogan josh, and a totally kick ass chicken tikka masala). But we were seated near the door, so it was often cold. While we were eating, Hila (Haroun’s cousin) came in. Hila is also part of a project that is run out of the Kabul University Library, so we see her there occasionally. In fact, on the date of our last exam we were scheduled to take the exam in the space her program occupies. It got a little hairy for a few minutes before we were sent downstairs. Anyway, she was set to meet some people for dinner completely independently from us and joined us to wait for them.

When they arrived, I got up to meet them and one said to me, “Ah, yes, from Al Jazeera!” And I didn’t know what to say, but his friend was whispering in his ear “No, that’s not him.” But apparently there is some correspondent for Al Jazeera that I look like. There was room for everyone, so they sat down with us. Turns out this Swiss fellow who mistook me for someone else works for the World Food Program here and it was interesting to hear what he had to say about the UN system. That basically it is hamstrung by the staff union, so policy people try to implement reforms, but they’re quashed by the staff union. “I worked for the Red Cross before, and I thought that was a lot of bureaucracy,” said the Swiss, “but…” And this is coming not from some US-CEO-market-based-reforms-advocate, but from a Swiss! Anyway, they were nice people and it was good to meet them, though I didn’t catch what the other two fellows were doing there in Kabul. Hila helped us out and talked with Wais on my cell phone to explain to him to pick us up and that we were going to the US embassy.

We had to stop well short of the embassy entrance—the road is extremely wide and there are checkpoints to go through. Well Wais stopped short of the check points and dropped us off to walk to the embassy compound. We walked on the sidewalk off to the side and didn’t have anyone ask us for identification or anything. I think if you look western you get by not having to show ID. I later learned we passed a NATO building or barracks on the way there—it was after dark, so we weren’t able to see much. So we’re walking along on the right hand side and then the embassy compound emerged on our left—20-or-30-foot walls with razor wire at the top. We followed along this wall, all the while getting guidance via cell phone from Jessica, the consular person, from inside. She eventually emerged from around a corner where the entrance was. We had to exchange our passports for necklace ID’s and do a metal detector before going inside. I thought all embassy security was done by Marines, but the security we passed through were gurkhas and then private security (Global). Jessica explained the Marines are responsible for guarding the actual embassy building itself—this was just the compound entrance.

I remembered an experience at the embassy in Venezuela when someone pulled out a camera and one of our fellow students virtually screamed, “Nooooooo!” Mary reminded me about this “no photos” policy so I didn’t even bother bringing my camera—sorry folks! Anyway, we walked along a gravel road on the inside of the wall we’d just followed to get to the entrance until it led to an opening on the right. You could hear popular American music coming from somewhere and soon we saw the open area with a large fire pit in the center and a bar on the far side. I wasn’t prepared for an outdoor affair! I’d worn my shoes, not my boots, and I didn’t put on the extra layer over my sport jacket. So we couldn’t stray too far from the fire. There were maybe 20 to 30 people there while we were there—a mix of state dept and military, it seemed to me. Jessica was good about introducing us around a bit. I met a guy in the economic cone who had 16 years as a Foreign Service officer. His wife and kids stay in the DC area while he’s stationed in Kabul for a year. I met a gal with Treasury whose work sounded really interesting—I’ve tried to get my resume to their Office of International Affairs before—she mentioned issues with funding in HR and asked that I send my resume to her. I met a military guy who is working in information dissemination—getting stories out to the Afghani press. Finally, I met a fellow who works in logistics on contracts with USAID who immediately reminded me of my friend Robby from home who has just finished his Peace Corps assignment (and even extended a year, if I’m not mistaken) in Zambia. This guy was talking about what a great career “fire” is in the Bureau of Land Management or Dept of Agriculture—sounded right up Robby’s alley, so I’m trying to get them in touch.

Near the end of the night, I walked over to say goodbye to Jessica and she introduced me to the fellow she was talking to—the US ambassador to Afghanistan! He’s done some impressive work, but sounds like is being asked to move on now. He seemed every bit the part with a long coat on, an old fashioned hat, and a pipe (which he was actually smoking).

Our visit to the embassy kind of highlighted how detached the people “inside the wire” are from the local populace. I feel like I don’t get out—State dept staff aren’t allowed to leave the compound except for official business. (So we’ll be given an explanation on how we can host Afghan nationals for travel to the US this Sunday over dinner. At Shandiz, the Iranian place, so I’ll try to get photos this time.) The music being played was likely the same as what’s popular in the states right now, the alcohol selection…I don’t know, when you create a piece of your country in the host country, it seems some important element of understanding the local environment suffers. But, then again, maybe that’s not the mission of diplomacy—especially US diplomacy!

The Soviets leave

2007-02-16T19:57:00.000+04:30

Mary was a bit on edge earlier this week I think because of the class time I missed to get my parasite issue sorted out. So she was intent on having me do some of the lecture—on the time value of money and basic bond math. She had been talking about stocks recently and I thought the students still seemed a little confused about them. So I spent Wednesday morning trying to help them develop intuition about what a stock exchange was and what it meant to hold stock and then on to what bonds were and the differences. It went really well. Dr. J even said, “Mr. Jon this morning gives a very interesting lecture—the students are much interested.” Well, then in the afternoon I tried to go into calculating bond discounts and premiums, along with some other time value of money work, and I lost everyone pretty fully. “This is so many new words,” Dr. J whispered, “I think you must slow down.”

Knowing our time is winding down, Wednesday night Mary and I decided to do a little socializing. Well, we only ended up talking to each other, albeit in a new environment. Anyway, I heard Samarqand had salsa night on Wednesdays, so we went there to check it out. It’s a restaurant on the first floor with the bar up a spiral staircase on the second. It’s a huge space with all wooden floors, tall wooden chairs and tables, and bamboo around for good measure. It was slow when we arrived and we sat at the bar for a while wondering if the place would pick up. Mary had made clear she wanted to be home by 9:30. The salsa music was blaring, but no one was really dancing. There were probably 20 people there when we walked in (2 of them female). Well, 9 rolled around and I asked Mary if she liked to dance and might want to give it a go. To my surprise, she said yes. I don’t really know what I’m doing when it comes to salsa, but I can usually fake it pretty well with someone who knows nothing or who knows a lot. Mary was accustomed to a jitter-bug step and I’m not really used to taking structured steps. So, it devolved into me just kind of twirling her around a bit--uncomfortable enough so that the song stopped, it was nearly 9:30, and we headed out. By that time, there were probably 60 people there, 8 female. Whenever I go out here, I’m reminded of a quote from the “Kabul After Dark” article I read—some woman who was working here said, in reference to romance here, “The odds are good, but the goods are odd.”

I gave Weiss a few bucks for taking us to the place—he stayed out in the car and waited for us (which would have been an hour and 15 minutes or so) and then stayed overnight in the little room where the guards hang out (pictured). When we got home, I got ready for bed and worked on email a while when my cell phone rang. This is an event, because I don’t really get any calls. It was Ramin—the president declared the next day, Thursday, a national holiday in honor of the anniversary of the day the Soviets left Afghanistan. So once again our class would be cancelled unexpectedly and at the last minute. I informed Mary, who said, “I’m not staying any longer,” crystallizing my thoughts as well. I just hope the students took Thursday to study because we’re giving them yet another test already. We’d planned to give it Saturday after they had Friday to study. Well, now it will be on Sunday and will have material on it that they learned only the day before.

We’ve been going pretty fast in an attempt to get as much information to the students as possible and try to honor the plan set out in the contract. The students seem to be feeling the strain and are struggling to keep up. “It is very difficult,” is a common comment, in keeping with the national pastime of complaining about ones woes (God knows they do have plenty to complain about) but I just try to tell them they’re learning more than they think they are.

BOMBED!

2007-02-13T23:31:00.000+04:30

…is how to describe the performance of the students on exam number two. Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I wrote a question to my travel insurance guy and told him the students had bombed the second exam and he replied, “as long as that means they didn’t do very well…” I hadn’t thought of the double meaning.

Again, for the nerds:

One student, Mumtaz Eqbal, has done his best to pull the curve down. Mumtaz scored a 5 on the first exam--that's out of 100. He got the same score on a quiz the day after the exam--that's out of 6. Thing is, we take quizes in class where it's very easy to cheat but we take exams out in the library with everyone spaced out. Well, this time around ol' Mumtaz did as well as the best student in the course on the multiple-choice portion of the exam--in fact, he missed the very same questions that student missed. This left him with a 24 despite not doing any of the rest of the exam. Not an impressive score, but that he would score above anyone else at all I found unacceptable. Our suspicions raised, we gave Mumtaz the exact same multiple choice portion to do on the very next day. He improved by 20% to 6.

I got it out for Mumtaz because the kid is kind of a pretty boy but mainly, if I understand correctly, his uncle is the chancellor. He hasn't even started university yet. It's highly inappropriate for the kid to be in this course, but he was forced on us by the clumsy power-weilding of Darth Chancellor.

Blastocystis hominis

2007-02-13T23:00:00.000+04:30

Sunday at lunch I started discussing my intestinal discomfort with Dr. Jawad, our translator. He immediately put pen to paper to start writing me a prescription (I think most of his prescriptions are for cipro), but after I told him about one of my symptoms in particular, he said it was a bit more serious and that I should come to his clinic. Now, as much as I like Dr. Jawad, I had more than one person tell me, “Jon, whatever you do, do not go to an Afghani doctor!” So I cut out of class early on Sunday, took Vince’s advice, and headed for the German clinic. Ramin took me there in his car. I thought the place was supposed to be close, but we crawled through traffic for some time before turning onto a muddly, disordered road that I thought could not possibly be home to the image I had of a clean, efficient German clinic. But down the road a bit more, while we rolled through big brown puddles and potholes, the German clinic emerged.

Very clean place, actually. We had to put on these blue plastic shoe prophylactics (with which I had had my first experience in the museum in Moscow) just as we got in, and there was a gal constantly pushing around this flat mop-type thing. So the floor was clean and I felt confident about the hygiene of the place. I saw a German doctor and his female Afghani partner who prodded my belly, drew some blood, and asked me to produce "a sample." “Well, I don’t know about you folks, but I just can’t do that on command—and the fact is, with the *constitution* I’ve had, I don’t know if I’ll be able to at all.” “Yes, some things we cannot do on commant, even if there is a gun to the head, yes?” smiled the German doctor, a narrow guy with white hair, white beard, and glasses—rather like Santa Clause after the South Beach diet. I politely declined the offer of a suppository (I still have a bad memory from right after my appendectomy in third grade), so they sent me home with a laxative and would see me Monday morning.

Well, Sunday night I read up on intestinal parasites and was nearly positive that’s what I had. Monday morning’s trip back to the clinic seems to have confirmed it—my little buddy is blastocystis hominis.

Apparently this little guy is common—easy to get but hard to get rid of. The doctor laughed as he handled the “little breakfast” of pills I would get to take, saying, “we like you to get your money’s worth, yes?” Day one was four tinidazole, which I have to take another four of in twelve days. Days two through eleven I take two cotrimoxazole and a doxycycline in the morning and evening. This intestine ain’t big enough for the both of us, blastocystis hominis, your days are numbered!!!

(Coincidentally, I haven't seen cipro listed anywhere as a treatment.)

I'm eatin' fer two!

2007-02-11T20:04:00.000+04:30

Some lower intestinal discomfort inspired me to cut out of class early today to go to a German medical clinic and after talking to them, and looking online, I’m about 80% sure I’ve got an intestinal parasite. Now, while this is gross, I’m excited because if I’m right, starting tomorrow, my ailments will go away—constitution, bleating, sass, and this funny nose (symptom names have been changed to protect the easily grossed out). Also, surprisingly, one symptom is a cough, which I have had for over a week now.

So, I’ve got to go back tomorrow to find out the results of my blood work and provide a “sample,” which unfortunately I have experience with because this is how I paid for my trip to Guatemala last year.

Thursday I decided to walk down to the bakery next to the Iranian place. So one of the guards accompanied me the three blocks to get there. Yes, passing the Pakistani Embassy en route. There were four US Military guys walking the opposite way down the road, so I said hello to them. They could have been DynaCorp too—the headquarters of this private outfit is down that way. DynaCorp is supposedly the private sector group that is in charge of training the Afghani Police. Anyway, Haroun and I had to be let through their barbed-wire one of those first nights when we went to the Italian place.

Little kids swarmed the bakery when they noticed a foreigner in there. So I looked for something to buy them, but the cookies were for sale by the kilo only and the guy in the store didn’t seem too keen on having me buy anything for them (I guess, naturally, he doesn’t want them swarming his customers all the time). Well, once I left the store two cute, filthy, little girls came up to me to try and sell some boxes of mint gum or something. “10 Afghani.” This is about 20 cents. I only had a 20 Afghani bill, so I held up two fingers. Well, then the other girl pushed out a box of the gum, so I gave her the 20. The first girl started pitching a fit! I guess they weren’t on the same team, so the second girl was getting 20 Afghani for one box and the first girl was losing a box. The guard stepped in and convinced the second girl to give the first girl a box. We walked on. After twenty paces or so I turned to see if the girls were getting along with the arrangement. They were giving the money to an older boy.

Eggplant sh...tuff!

2007-02-09T23:06:00.000+04:30

I’ve gained an unexpected appreciation for underground sewage and drainage systems. At the side of the roads here there are deep ruts that I guess are supposed to guide snow and rain runoff to…somewhere. They don’t really seem to lead anywhere, so moisture and junk just kind of sits there. Now, I haven’t seen (or...sensed?) raw sewage in these ruts, but I don’t really know where that stuff goes, if not there. Could each place have it’s own septic tank? I think not…

Speaking of sewage, what do Wednesday dinner, Thursday lunch, and Thursday dinner have in common? Eggplant stuff! Yes, the moniker originally applied with amused affection is now used with dejected bitterness. Aziz, what must we do with you, our shy, adorable, moderately cleanly cook? Click on the photo to see the pools of oil up close!

Mary and I decided to go out to the nearby kebab place “Shandiz” for dinner on Tuesday. This Iranian restaurant lies just beyond the Pakistani embassy. Great idea, right? Truth is, dinner was great. The restaurant has a neat setup with a huge striped canopy forming the ceiling and against one wall, booth-type tables with u-shaped benches and woven palm canopies. Immediately we were served a small salad, soup, yogurt, pickled garlic, pickles, and olives. Then came a huuuuge platter of rice and then the kebobs which were like two-and-a-half-foot-long skewers with the meat on. A bit unwieldy, but we stumbled through it. Mary had chicken and steak, I ordered lamb chops.

After dinner, we discovered the bakery next door, “La Vie En Rose – The Sweet Life.” So we bought a little apricot pie and a few other items before heading back home. Wais took us to the restaurant, which was about a 45-second drive from our place, then we called him to pick us up when we were done. A nice change of pace from the eggplant stuff and relatively reasonable at 13 bucks each!

The chancellor reigns

2007-02-09T22:11:00.000+04:30

The university assigned us a…person to…help…do…something? Anyway, she’s very nice, her name is Soraya, and get this—she speaks very limited English but excellent SPANISH! So I’m in Kabul, Afghanistan dusting off my Castellano to complain about the state of the bathroom and how we need carpeting. Soraya helps us reserve space in the library for exams, but primarily has spearheaded the 10:30 tea break. Hopefully they’ll wash those teacups before the course is over.

The other day Mary showed the students some actual annual financial statements for international companies we figured they would know: Coca-Cola, Dell, and Starbucks. “Raise your hand if you’ve heard of Starbucks…” Not a one. So for those of you fed up with the Starbucks on every other corner, Kabul is one place where you can escape.

The university again hosted entrance exams on Thursday, but this time we were allowed to have class, but on the condition that we stay in our room so as not to disturb test-takers. Locked in accounting class! But Ramin pulled through and brought us “burgers” for lunch. You don’t say “hamburger” here, maybe in no Muslim country, because they think the “ham” part means pork. Anyway, a “burger” was like a gyro-type wrap filled with fries, some parsley, cabbage, and a small slice of bologna. There were also packets of spicy sauce, which I noticed were made in Georgia (as in the US state).

The chancellor came through the library with an entourage of legislators in tow (so much for not disturbing the test-takers). He stopped in to say hello to us as well. But no sooner did he issue a greeting than students accosted him about carpeting the room in order to protect the computers, which are quickly getting dusty, muddy, dirty—aging rapidly. His response? “It’s not your responsibility to worry about these computers, it’s your responsibility just to learn.” He didn’t buy the equipment, so he doesn’t much care about their upkeep. But he will, of course, hem and haw about giving us space, place his family members in the course, and publicly champion his efforts at making the project happen. As Mary said, the word “odious” comes to mind. We have our second test tomorrow (Saturday), so we’re excited to see how that goes. Mary and I have both gotten frustrated at different points this week because the students come to class without being prepared. We’re supposed to be in class from 9 to 1, then 2 to 6 each day, but we’re doing 8:30 to 12:30, then 1:30 to 3:30—the students flat out refuse to stay beyond 3:30 and the facility staff kick us out by 4 anyway. So I’ve been disappointed to lose my cool a couple times this week, once asking, “How old are you!?” when three students refused to stop talking and yesterday saying, “If you don’t want to be here, leave. I don’t care. If you aren’t interested in learning this information, then just leave. I don’t care.” That stuff sounds horrible, and when you step back from it, that’s obvious. I try to keep things light most of the time so I feel like it’s a weakness or a loss as an instructor when these things slip out. And the thing is, we have no idea what these kids’ lives are like—I’m guessing many have a difficult time studying at home because their families close some rooms in the house to cut down on heating costs and they likely don’t have much electricity for light to read by. There are some students who always come prepared and can contribute, so maybe I’m wrong and they really are lazy…or just not accustomed to being held accountable…

A few words on transport

2007-02-08T23:41:00.000+04:30

A little about our transport process. We ride in a mini-van driven by Wais and usually there is one other guard that comes along with us. They always have us sit in the way back, which I guess is supposed to be safer, but I feel like I have less room to maneuver. (Yeah, like Mr. Four Eyes is going to fend off bandits anyway.)

Traffic is chaotic. I don’t know what rules they’re following exactly, but one seems to be “if I can pull out in front of you, it’s your responsibility to stop.” Passing is a strange affair, with cars pulling out into two lanes of oncoming traffic in order to do so, then somehow easing their way back in before impact. The dividing line is negociable, you might say. And drivers give one another dirty looks, like, "are you nuts, how can you drive like that!?!" but then do the exact same thing or worse just moments later. Mary and I try to concentrate on looking out the windows to the side so we don’t continually offend with our gasps.

I didn’t know what kind of mini-van we were in, turns out it’s a Toyota. Just call me a car enthusiast. It’s a Hiace, which apparently has a rich history you can read about here.

And I got some video of just outside the guest house (which is also the office for Pragma, so Daud, Ramin, and others are there during the day).

Extended!

2007-02-08T20:20:00.000+04:30

Well, because we've been moving a bit slowly in the course, Pragma and the lead instructor have decided to extend the course a few days in hopes of covering as much material as possible to fulfill the contract. We weren't going to touch on management accounting much, but now we'll have time to do so.

This means that the QT Hotel birthday pool party will indeed be postponed one week to the weekend of March 3--put it on your calendar!

This also means we'll be leaving Kabul on Feb. 26 and I'll be cutting it close with my Fed interview on March 1. I've been thinking about it lots and I'm very excited about it, so I hope there aren't any crazy snowstorms or space alien attacks to delay my return!

More soon.

Let's start turning this ship around...

2007-02-05T22:58:00.000+04:30

Well, the main things that have jumped out at me about being here, I’ve written about. I’d like to get a good photo of Wais and the other staff on here. And I was thinking of investigating the make and model of mini-van we drive (I’ve never heard of it), so you can see some desperation begin to work its way into the blog. Maybe you already have. I’ve had the feeling the last couple days that I’m about ready to go back to New York. We shuttle back and forth to the university, and not much outside that—part of me wants to get out more, see more of the city, and another part wonders if that’s irresponsible.

The challenges faced here are profound and will take years to sort out—if indeed they do get sorted out. The conveniences of modern infrastructure sound pretty good right now. I’d like to walk down the street and not think I have to watch my back all the time. This place is just so far removed from the west—and the ideological barriers seem more profound than I ever gave them credit for. I mean, you think about a country being Muslim, and that’s there. But, then we met the students and they’re young, interested, smiling people, and the religion thing sort of didn’t really occur to me until I had a couple of these conversations after class. Islam is so central and fundamental for these people.

There have been three main stories on CNN International and BBC: that Indian gal who won Big Brother in Britain, global warming, and Islam in Europe. You think we’re nervous about Islam, the Europeans are terrified. I’ve gotten a forward on the topic that reminds me of “Japan-bashing” in the 1980’s. Remember when alarmists were saying we’d all be speaking Japanese? I tend to think these immigrants emigrate for a reason—they don’t want to recreate the crappy country they left. And while the children of some—out of place in their new country, out of place in the old—will embrace extremism as a form of belonging, the vast majority will become secular, peaceful consumerists.

I just finished watching the Superbowl on tape delay (9:30 PM Monday)—the live game finished about 7:30 AM today. I asked the students about it this morning and they had no idea what the Superbowl was. I had to explain American Football—“football” here, as everywhere outside the US, is soccer. This is the forth time I’ve watched the Superbowl outside the US. The first time was in South Africa. Every US embassy around the world is guarded by Marines. Well, we managed to get invited to watch the Superbowl at the house where these Marines stayed. It was an enormous house with a full, finished basement including bar and pool table, backyard with barbeque pit, horseshoes (and maybe a pool, I’m not sure). There were some other folks there as well staying up until all hours. I remember also that there was just a barbarous amount of food. In Madrid, several of us met up at the Hard Rock Cafe. American sports in Madrid was pretty fun—you just had to put up with a very Boston-centric view of the world (BU and BC have lots of programs in Madrid). It was particularly fun watching the Red Sox beat the Yankees. As soon as the game was over, we were kicked out of the bar chanting “Yank-ees suck! Yank-ees suck!” I can only imagine the locals’ confusion—they called all Americans “Yankees.”

The food has become a bit of an issue. Aziz is a nice fellow and all, but everything is cooked in just a ton of oil. He made us this “eggplant stuff” the first week, so we told him it was good and now that’s what we’re getting every other day it seems. And it’s starting to affect our guts. I’m silent but deadly (and constant these past two days!) and have come to learn that poor Mary is loud and airy.

I’ve been a bit sick the past few days. Kabul is known for having poor air quality and there’s a signature cough called the “Kabul Krud,” which I’m guessing is what I’ve come down with. I’ve been trying to rest…but I’ve gotta write the blog!

I’ve taken to calling Dr. Jawad, our translator for class, “Dr. J.” He doesn’t get the reference, of course. Mary and I have been getting frustrated with the shortcomings of the students in the effort department and sometimes we dump on Dr. J on accident. At least I do. And the guy is just relentlessly cheerful. Maybe I secretly want to break him.

Naqib keeps trying to pull me into conversations about Islam. We spoke yesterday about how people in the US move away from their parents and don’t take care of them when they grow old. He thought that was very sad—“I get much happy from living with my fathers.” He said that Americans have the highest rate of depression (I don’t know if that’s true, but it wouldn’t surprise me—who’s going to diagnose depression for the people living in shantytowns in Kabul)But he also mentioned “responsibility,” so I got the feeling his sentiments were not as clear as he tried to make them seem. I told him that when I got old, if I had children, I wouldn’t want them to feel responsible for me, but to be able to have the happiest life they could have for themselves. Then he told me how his two brothers live in Europe—one is a doctor in Britain and the other an Engineer in Denmark. So I suppose he does feel responsible for taking care of his parents, and feels the tension of being able to leave. I have to say, if my parents lived in Kabul and I was a doctor or engineer elsewhere, I would do whatever I could to get them the heck outta there…

I haven’t mentioned the females in class. As you may or may not know, relations between the sexes are totally different here. Often, our guards will greet me in the morning or afternoon and not greet Mary—it’s just what they are accustomed to. I wondered how things would work out for the females in our class. There are three and only one seems to be following the class very well—she’s pretty engaged and seems to keep up. The others, well, both started late and I’ve come to learn that the other hasn’t even started university yet—she’s one of the students hand-picked by the Chancellor to be in the course (most if not all these students scored the worst on our first exam). The females sit together, they wear scarves, but not full-on burkha’s or anything. You seen the guys go around greeting one another in the morning and horsing around or talking in large groups during the day. The females sit off in the distance on a bench and don’t mix with the guys socially at all.

Iowa movie, Iran could be groovy

2007-02-03T21:56:00.000+04:30

I feel it’s my duty to call everyone’s attention to the movie coming out this summer set in the Iowa Great Lakes Region (where my parents live and where I was a boat salesman in Summer 2005). You can check out the trailer and other information at Arnoldsparkmovie.com.

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Slate.com is my favorite web site. If there's something I’m interested in, almost without fail I click over to Slate and they have an article about it. I’ve been interested in Iran lately, partly because it’s in the news a lot as “meddling” neighbor to Iraq, but also because I’ve been enjoying some of their delightful packaged foodstuffs. Could jam this tasty really be the product of an evil axis? Perhaps these devilishly spicy pickles, but the jam? Really?

I have the feeling we’re really on the wrong track with Iran. I’m no expert, I’ll admit that readily. But the place seems to be about as stable as any country in the Middle East and it’s more democratic than most! I hate to say it, but it looks like Thomas Friedman has made my point for me here. Just kidding, I like Friedman, but I love the harsh critique here—laughed out loud, more than once.

I guess I think that if you believe our ideas and beliefs are better—well, we can trust in them and they can win for us. "Win" being others adopt these ideas and beliefs. I’m not sure I’m expressing that very well, but think about Vietnam. We spent lots of time, money, and 60,000 American lives there. Thirty years later, the country is embracing capitalism, shipping us catfish, joining the WTO, and privatizing formerly state-run industries.

Again, if we think our ideas are better, and as a student of economics I think it’s clear capitalist, market economies are superior to planned ones (though I'm more an advocate for the "Scandinavian-style" capitalism with strong social safetynets), then let’s just let them work! In the case of Iran, the corrupt, out-of-touch government is defeating itself, except that the US continues to provide a convenient scapegoat for the leadership there. Amedinejad is a wack-o, no question, but people didn’t support him because of his extremism on the Israel issue, they supported him because of promises about economic and job growth. And they rebuked him in recent legislative elections where his party was weakened. I say the next president lifts embargoes, gets all kinds of American goods in there, buys lots of Iranian goods, and then we watch a growing Iranian middle class get tired of extremist populism. Slate to the rescue with background information here, here, and here. The last one is best.

It’s interesting the US took out Iran’s two main enemies in the Taliban and Iraq. And now the Iranian influence in Afghanistan is huge. They’re pumping in several cable news channels with plenty of Iranian propaganda--or so I'm told, I can't understand Persian...

Snowball fights, Ethnic clashes

2007-02-02T22:13:00.000+04:30

On Wednesday we returned exams. Everyone was excited to get them back and I have the impression that students seem to better understand the expectations we have for the class. I’m not sure they have had a class like this before where they have to…do stuff. I gave out some chewing gum and playing cards to the students who scored in the 90’s.

At lunchtime, one student has been inciting some serious snowball fights. Ahmad Shakil is one of these naturally bright guys who is also very socially adept. He organized the students to photocopy the English version of our text. Mary thought he was going to flunk the first exam, I think because he’s so suave you think he won’t be bright. Anyway, he is the one who tries to get the snowball fights going. I’m starting to think I created a monster. Other people sometimes go in and out of the library that’s resulted in some collateral damage…

After class one of the students, Naqib, was telling me that his father went to Minnesota to study public administration. He also told me his Dad went to a hockey game that was “room only for standing.” He’d also visited the “provinces” of New York and Washington.

About that time, Daud, the Office Manager for Pragma here, showed up. I introduced him to Naqib and since Naqib had told me soccer was his favorite sport, I told him about how Daud had been on something akin to the Afghan national team for soccer. During the Taliban! Yes, Daud told when I first met him that he loved soccer and had played at a very high level in Afghanistan. I thought that kind of thing was outlawed by the Taliban, but Daud maintains that he has photo proof—someone took a photo of him secretly after a match or something. I couldn’t read Naqib—if he was incredulous, impressed, or kind of scared. Anyway, the conversation moved on and we talked about the future of Afghanistan. Naqib expressed doubts but Daud piped up that things were improving “every day—just look at two years ago compared with today,” he said, “We’re optimistic about the future of Afghanistan…”

That morning on the ride to the university, Asad (the Massoud-hat guard) was trying to explain in hand motions and a few words in English the way the fighting was in one part of the city: “Aziz” and he made like an airgun shooting; “Rholom” and he shifted to indicate the other side also shooting an airgun. Aziz is our cook, who is Hezara. Rholom is sort of our housekeeper, and he is Pashtun, I think. So I asked Daud and Ramin about this on the ride back (they had come to the university to see about fixing a couple things in the classroom). They laughed, so I gathered that Asad had been having some fun with me. But what he had been explaining was that the different ethnic groups had fought—just not Aziz and Rholom specifically.

Ramin left the country for Pakistan during the fighting, but Daud was in Kabul the entire time. They tried to explain a bit about the different factions and the fighting. Calm, helpful, handsome Daud talked about how he’d seen lots of people killed “with my own eyes…they used a special, long nail through the head…” “…” What the hell do you say to that? God willing, I will never see something like that. Are you the same person afterward? How does that change a person? How many people in this country have seen that kind of thing? And how can they live with the people who perpetrated it?

And I just can’t understand how a person could do that to someone else. I can pretty much understand shooting someone. You have a gun, you pull the trigger and over there somewhere the person falls dead. I’m simplifying, but it’s a quick, slight movement. But this stuff coming out of Iraq, bodies found with drill holes, electro burns, fingernails pulled off…how on earth do you build up the hatred to do that? Or is it hatred? Maybe total detachment? I just cannot fathom that kind of darkness existing in someone’s heart…

And you wish you could say it’s just “them.” I remember being so upset about the story of James Byrd, Jr.

Daud went on to say that the people would start killing each other again if the ISAF left the country—only 15 minutes after he had just been expressing optimism about the future of Afghanistan!

Guatemala has the chicken bus, Kabul has Chicken Street

2007-02-02T19:13:00.000+04:30

Since we had the day off Wednesday, we asked to be taken over to Chicken Street, which is a street full of carpet, pashmina, jewelry, and other stores geared toward Westerners. Mysteriously, no chickens. One of the guards came with us and seemed to know several of the store owners. I was a bit on edge—on one hand it felt liberating to be out of the house, on the other it was a bit nerve wracking to be out in the open where it seemed anything could happen. I heard through the grapevine that a fellow alum from Michigan had a colleague captured and killed in Iraq, so that was also on my mind. Truth is, Kabul at the end of the day is pretty secure—the issues in this country are in the south on the Pakistani border. But Al Quaeda/Taliban forces are gathering in Pakistan and as the weather improves they’re planning to try and cause trouble. You can read up on the situation here and here. I thought about taking some video, but when I pulled out the camera I got some looks, so decided against it. I did manage to take a few stills…

Our guard had the impression we were interested in rugs, which wasn’t an unreasonable assumption, so we went into quite a few rug shops. I don’t really know much about rugs, but I was blown away by the sheer quantity of them! Stacks and stacks in each store. Then I was really amazed in one store by these gorgeous silk rugs—beautiful design, sheen, and soft to the touch. The stuff is not cheap, though. I might try to pick up some small rugs (not the silk ones) for $20 or something. I was told to watch out for “made in china” tags, so I have been diligently turning them over to check.

We walked down the street and back up, passing shops with metal stuff, old guns and knives, and pashminas made of wool, silk, or cashmere. Lots of these last items aren’t made here, but imported from India, Pakistan, or Nepal. I bought a couple necklaces, a couple Massoud-style hats, wool booties, and a wool blanket like the men wear as overcoats here.

There were several street kids, of course. I paid a couple to let me take their photo—the one with the knick-knacks to sell seemed puzzled I gave him (or is he a her?) money and didn’t want anything. Later, one kid came up to me and was speaking to me in excellent English. He asked my name and told me, “Jon, I’ll be your bodyguard…only me.” OK, I said, you can protect me. I asked how he knew English so well and he said he goes to a French school and speaks French and German as well. So of course I told him, “Je ne parle pa le Francais.” We kept walking along and saw some more Massoud-style hats—he picked one up and said they were $2 a piece. I held up my bag and told him I felt stupid because I just paid $14 for two of them. “Very expensive,” he said. I needed this bodyguard a little earlier. This kid was really sharp—he seemed to have a good sense of humor too. Some pashmina shopowner led us into his stall off the main street and his little helper (maybe son?) closed the door on my little bodyguard. But the door would sway open slightly and we’d share a smile about the “doorman” keeping him out who must have been about his same age.

We gave the bodyguard a dollar (50 Afghani) just before getting into the van to leave. I asked if I could take his photo and he said yes. So I was fumbling around with the camera and a shopowner nearby must have thought he was bothering me—he came over to tell the kid to get lost. He realized at the last second that I was taking a photo but then it all got rushed and my shot turned out blurry…

I couldn’t believe how smart that kid was. Vince kept trying to tell me in Baku that the Afghan people weren’t too bright because it was common to marry first cousins. I think this argument is intellectually lazy (borderline racist) and not really even scientifically true, as discussed here, here, and here. Yeah, so one day at Smith Barney I read up on cousin marriage, OK? Slate had a thing on it...nothing to do with the family reunion I went to last summer, I promise.

But back to the point--it’s easy to blame people for bad things that happen to them and take credit for good things that happen to onesself. Conversely, it’s easy to attribute someone else’s success to their environment/context and blame our environment/context for our shortcomings. That is, "these people are obviously poor because they’re stupid because they marry their cousins; whereas I am smart not because I was nurtured, nourished, and educated, but because I worked hard. I believe it's called attribution bias--we touched on it briefly in the MBA program--in organizatonal behavior with then-Dean Angel Cabrera.

A surprise day off and video notes

2007-01-31T14:22:00.000+04:30

Program note: I've added video to "Broken Baku" (footage of the cocktail party in the airport) and "Finally Made It" (footage of the Kabul Airport from the parking lot).

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The exams seems to have gone all right, though we did have one student score a 5 (out of 100). There was also a 17 and a 28, but there was a strong cluster at the top of the scale, including a 98, leaving us a mean of 63. For all you (other) nerds out there, here is the distribution:

We took the exam in the upstairs of the library, which is a large, open space. That was good. The trade-off was that we couldn’t really use the heaters, so it was cold enough to see your breath—that gets uncomfortable for a three hour test.

In the afternoon, I sat down with Dr. Jawad, our translator, to deal with those tests written in Dari. I talked him into letting me get a shot of him, but I’m not sure the photo does justice to his amazing eye color.

Then while going through the grading, I was pulled out to talk with the chancellor of the university. Turns out, the next day (today, Wednesday) high school students would take a university entrance exam and thousands would come to KU to sit for the exam. As a result, we would not be allowed to have class the next day and sorry we didn’t let you know earlier. I protested lamely and the chancellor was shaking his head before I could even get my explanations out. So that’s a second day we’ve missed and we’re looking at pushing back our return flights. I can reschedule my Fed interview but really would like to be back for a pool party the weekend of my birthday…I guess I could postpone it and stay 31 an extra week.

They’ve invited Mary and I to come back to teach the next round, which would begin in mid-March. But they’re talking about a half-time course that would last longer. This job is already not that well paid so I’m wondering how it would work if there was only half as much classtime.

I took some video of our commute to KU. The trip has taken up to 1 hour, but typically is 15-20 minutes. I think this video is 7. There are big warning signs about taking video near the US Military Forward Operating Base, so I waited until we were out of the residential areas and into the more market-type areas. I hope it’s not too bumpy:

Since we’ve got the day, we’re going to see about going to Chicken Street, the main sort of touristy spot where you can buy souvenirs and such.

A long day off...

2007-01-29T15:46:00.000+04:30

This extra day off has left me with time to wait out the slow internet connection (and user errors) to post new entries, video, and photos. I've added some images and text to some previous posts as well. I suppose I should begin looking at the next few chapters we'll be teaching in class as well...

One of our guards, Asad, was trained by and fought with Ahmed Shah Massoud, the "Lion of Panjshir." I think, basically, that makes him a badass. So it's a bit weird when he carries Mary's laptop bag for her or clears away our dinner dishes. The poor guy has lost a few teeth so I wasn't surprised he concentrated on not smiling for the photo. He wears the classic Massoud cap, even tilted off to one side in true Massoud fashion. I think I mentioned Haroun got me one of these caps but I've not built up the courage to wear the thing in public.

Daily Life - now with video!

2007-01-29T11:02:00.000+04:30

Well, because of the Shi'ite Muslim religious observances today, we have the day off, but we're also kind of confined to the house--apparently some gatherings became violent last year and even resulted in some deaths. The students have an extra day to prepare for the test as an added bonus. And we have a bit more time to make sure it's OK. It's a long test, so the good students will be stoked to breeze through it, but the struggling students will get really frustrated--being lost for 3 hours is a major drag!

I have finally sorted out how to post video! I was using this web site freevlog.com to learn about how to make it happen. Thing is, they use a video hosting site that is a bit buggy, it seems, so I just decided to use youtube.com--shout out to Brian! Also, you can't edit video with Windows Movie Maker and post to the web--the hosting sites don't support the .msmmp (or whatever it is) format.

In other technical news, after several messages back and forth to customer support, SanDisk have decided that my music player is defective and are giving me a UPS label I can use to send it back in. Unfortunately, it's good for 10 days and I won't be back for another 20, so hopefully they can extend the offer. One thing they can't give me is a player that works while I'm on all these long flights and layovers--I should sue for pain and suffering!

Here's a tour, then, of the place where I'm staying, please forgive the cheesy narration. If I've done this correctly, you should be able to click on the embedded youtube video to activate it. Oh, the second guy you see--I refer to him as a guy who "drives us around," is Wais. I took this video one of the first days here, so we weren't buddies yet...

In the food department, we have a cook at the house, Aziz, who you meet in the video. His range is a bit limited, though, and the food is pretty greasy. Breakfast, however, is delightful. We eat this great Afghan bread with butter, raspberry, cherry, and other jams, as well as honey and this kind of spreadable honey styrofoam (much better than it sounds). But the best is this stuff whose label says "fetta cheese," but it isn't like any feta I've had before--it's spreadable and delicious under a layer of cherry jam (you can see it in the red box in the photo)... I also couldn't resist putting in a photo of the "Ludicrously tasty" cereal I bought last week at the grocery store. That tagline is either ridiculous or brilliant--what ex-pat could resist buying that box? Not this one.

A new week

2007-01-28T07:58:00.002+04:30

I got very frustrated in class today (Saturday). We were trying to work in Excel and different people kept having problems with their keyboards. Turns out, the copies of MS Office need to be registered, which can be done online or over the telephone. Otherwise, the keyboard gets locked out. So we have a dozen computers (of 30) with that problem. Then there are others that can’t connect to the network printer. So I was kind of scrambling to get people squared away (with very limited success) while also trying to walk everyone through printing from Excel. It’s very easy to print a table that spills over to another page or waste several pages when printing, so I wanted to make sure we did each step together. As I’m explaining, I can here the printer start to fire up as people sent their work, improperly formatted and printing one little corner of a sheet of paper. Paper is kind of at a premium here so I really wanted them to stick with me. Anyway, I was getting pretty hot under the collar today. I wonder if I’ve been too playful and that’s why I’m now having trouble… We’ll see how things go in the future…

I was complaining about the state of the bathrooms at the university to Haroun before he left. "It's not that hard to clean the bathroom once a week--I'll buy the bleach and a mop, for heaven's sake. There's a maintenance guy, even if he's not well paid, why wouldn't he do the job passably well--what's the option, sit around and not do it?" Then Haroun told me a story that I thought was pretty insightful. His last time here he'd stayed somewhere else and every day he came home he would see the guy across the street go to have tea next door at the teahouse. And everyday he fought with the broken door leading out of the property to the sidewalk--one or both of the hinges were broken. "He uses that door at least four times a day--why doesn't he fix it?" Haroun said he thought to himself. Well, after a few weeks the man spoke with Haroun asking if he was the nephew of such-and-such (Haroun's family were high up in the government when the Soviets invaded--many were killed or imprisoned). So the man invited Haroun to tea and they had a long talk. Haroun asked, "I'm sorry, but I notice everyday you struggle with that broken door--why don't you have it fixed?" The man told Haroun he'd fixed it many times, but it was continually damaged by the fighting taking place in the city. He also told Haroun about how his wife and daughter had been killed during the course of all the fighting in Afghanistan and how another daughter had lost her legs. Then Haroun (and I) realized how unimportant the door must be in the context of all that heartbreak.

I first learned working as a camp counsellor at YMCA Camp Pepin, but seem to have to learn over and over you've got to appreciate people on their terms, not on yours.

One day when he came to the library, Haroun was looking through the library's English-language card catalogue. "Look at all these books they used to have..." "Used to have, what happened to them?" "They had to burn them..." and I'm thinking because of the Taliban when he concluded, "...for heat." The catalogues on the left of the pillar are/were for the English-language books.

Day off

2007-01-28T07:58:00.001+04:30

Boy, did I sleep in. The bed here is incredibly comfortable and I sleep like a log, it’s been great.

Our driver Wais has emerged as my favorite of the staff. At first I didn’t know if I could trust him—he seems young and a bit rough around the edges. But I’ve come to really like his easy smile and deliberate nature. I’m still terrified by the driving, but I think that’s par for the course in these developing countries where no one obeys the traffic laws—or the dictates of good sense. But now it’s funny. We’re so happy to see one another—he yells “Jon!” and I yell “Wais!”…and then we kind of stand there smiling stupidly because I can’t understand Dari and he can’t understand English. I get fooled every time, too. That spark of recognition in his eye, I just sort of start saying, “Hey what’s going on…etc.” and then it sinks in yet again that he just doesn’t know what I’m saying. We’ve gone through some charades—one in particular where I was noticing how big his hands are and we tried on each others’ shoe. I don’t know if the guy can read. Anyway, I like Wais and I have been giving him several of the fun size snickers I bought at the duty free on the way here. Just ran out, though. I was thinking of leaving him the clothes I’ve brought as well—they’ll be a bit big for him, but it would be worse for anyone else.

Friday night Mary and I walked around the corner to a Chinese place. Really awful Chinese food. I gave our leftovers to one of the guards—an enthusiastic guy who can whistle some English through the spaces of his several missing teeth. On the ride home from the university today, he turned to me and said, “Chinese,” twisted up his face and indicated thumbs down, then, “Aziz,” in reference to our cook, and his eyebrows lifted as he gave a thumbs up. This particular guard fought with Massoud and wears green fatigues and that signature Northern Alliance cap—which I now have one of! Haroun got me one and I was so stoked about it—but I’m not so sure it’s appropriate to wear in public—some ridiculous tourist chic…so I have just been wearing it inside.

Thirsty Thursday, Kabul

2007-01-28T07:56:00.000+04:30

Thursday night I met up with Vince and Scott—back at the Samarqand. We had dinner and Scott enjoyed a t-bone steak while I had the lamb chops. Scott had just returned from a trip down to Kandahar to interview some people working for an NGO that gives food and aid to the local population in exchange for interviews about the security situation and their feelings about the dynamic there. He said everyone at the compound he went to was armed.

Scott and Vince started talking about machine guns and which give the least kick and whatnot. Not a conversation to which I could ably contribute to, but one I would have found engrossing at age 12 or so. Seriously, though, Vince has seen a whole lot—lived an amazing life. He served in Vietnam where he was shot in the belly (“thank God it was cheap Chinese ammo—the good Russian stuff and I’da had ‘em in my spine…”) and then continued the next several years all through Central America fighting the drug wars. He has a few purple hearts and a passionate dislike for John Kerry! He told us in Baku that he and his brother-in-law, who is Russian, sorted out that they were shooting at each other on at least two occasions through the course of their respective military careers. Would you introduce a guy who’d shot at you to your sister? That’s right, Vince met his future brother-in-law through working in Afghanistan and eventually was introduced to the sister—the rest is history. It’s pretty funny that these cold warriors would end up being so close. I was wishing my Dad could talk to Vince--I think he'd find Vince really interesting.

Flashback to Baku--Vince offers sage advice and Scott springs to action when the door of our van pops open:

After dinner we went upstairs for a drink, then Vince had his driver take us to The Four Seasons, which Vince referred to as “the ghurka bar.” I learned on this trip that ghurka’s are British-trained Nepalese soldiers who these days commonly work as security/mercenaries around the world. Apparently very well respected group in military circles. Anyway, this place was dead—a bunch of Nepalese guys, ghurka's, I suppose, were huddled around a furnace and there was an over-friendly cat. Vince claimed the place had “changed a lot—gosh, last time I was here they had music on and it was really fun…” So we managed to twist his arm into going to L’Atmosphere, which is the most famous western place here in Kabul. Apparently it’s particularly popular in the summertime because they have a big pool.

Well, right as we walked in, after getting frisked, of course, which is standard practice here, who should I see but Rory Stewart the author of “The Places In Between,” the book I just finished reading in Baku. It’s a chronicle of his hike from Herat in the west of Afghanistan to Kabul—only weeks after the fall of the Taliban. I mistakenly called him Scott, but he was kind enough to turn around and graciously accept my thanks for writing the book. He expressed some resentment about westerners coming to Afghanistan without understanding the country well. So I suppose he would resent people like me passing through, but he was walking out of the most popular western nightspot in Kabul, so I guess he can’t claim to be too hung up about it.

L’Atmosphere was packed. It was surreal—this easily could have been some place in Manhattan. “And that’s why I don’t like it,” Vince grunted back. Awful guy to girl ratio, as is to be expected, I suppose. As was said in the “Kabul After Dark” article by some gal: “the odds are good, but the goods are odd.” I thought that was funny.

Vince had his driver swing by my place to drop me off. The guard answered and we walked down the outside corridor to the house when he invited me to check out their room. The guards use a little room at the back of the house to hang out through the night. I went in and was greeted with a wall of heat—that place was like a sauna! I watched some Indian music videos with the guard before calling it quits and heading up to bed.

TAIT - Thank allah it's thursday!

2007-01-28T07:55:00.000+04:30

Thursday is the last day of our workweek. Typically, Friday and Saturday are off in Afghanistan, but for the course, we have class every day but Friday. So everyone was feeling pretty excited about a day off. Our interpreter, Dr. Jawad, seemed especially tired on Thursday. The guy is typically so chipper that you definitely notice when he’s running low on fuel.

The students spend a lot of time complaining about the pace of the course—they sidetracked Mary for 20 minutes once and I almost came in (from the partitioned off side of the room where we have a couple computers, printer, and eat our lunch) to get “Coach Clark” on them. But they subsided just as I started to get up to go in. “Don’t make me come in there!” The syllabus for the course calls for us to cover 27 chapters in 24 days! I don’t see how educated people who speak English as their first language could handle that, let alone these students who may or may not know English very well.

All the students are graduates of the faculty of economics, but I wonder if they have had a “real” class like this before. If the professors are at all like their uninspired leader (the sitting chancellor), I assume not. We’ve been collecting homework and giving short quizzes each morning to keep people a bit honest. Our first exam was scheduled for Monday (covering chapters 1 to 4), but suddenly we find out that there is some kind of religious holiday the date of which is only announced a few days beforehand and, of course, it’s on Monday. I just received a warden message from the embassy, actually, that this is the 10th of Maharam holiday, also known as “Ashura”, the major holy day of mourning for Muslim Shi’ites and commemorates the deaths of the Prophet’s grandson and his family/followers at Karbala in present-day Iraq. I’m supposed to stay inside.

We’re wondering how hard it will be to get the test translated and also to get the answers we receive in return translated! Our poor Dr. Jawad may be pushed to the breaking point, I’m afraid! He is also working at a clinic in the evening…

Snow in Kabul

2007-01-28T07:49:00.000+04:30

I’m enjoying teaching, despite suddenly remembering how dull I find accounting. The students are more or less into it and I’m happy to have a captive audience for my stupid jokes. Yes, I am your cheesy high school science teacher! The other day I was encouraging a student to speak up—to say the same thing he was saying, but louder. He finally repeated himself, but in the same timid voice. I don’t know what possessed me, but I worked myself up into a frenzy that crescendoed with my beating my chest and yelling “li-a-bilitieeeees!” They got a kick out of it, and I have to figure accounting is pretty boring for a full day so we’ve got to bring some levity once in a while.

There was a fresh snow on Wednesday (so Haroun’s flight didn’t end up leaving until Thursday), and when we got to the university the doors to the library weren’t yet open. So I did what any grown man would do—started throwing snowballs and made a snowman. No one really helped, so I’m not sure what the students thought of this idiot messing around like a child in the snow. I have to imagine some thought/think I’m pretty ridiculous—some of the things they have seen or had to endure, the difficulty of their lives, I suppose I may have come off as rather spoiled to have the time and energy to occupy myself with this kind of trivial play. I guess I’d like to think they need to be reminded of a simple joy like playing in snow. Some were tossing snowballs later (at my snowman—jerks!) and they’ve asked me to organize a snowball fight a couple times, so maybe they felt some permission to relax a bit.

The racial diversity of the students is remarkable—some of them look like they could be from Jersey or Michigan. The one I think looks like he could be from Jersey I guess gets ribbed because the others think he looks like George W. Bush! I’ll see about posting his photo—we took everyone’s photo today to help us when it comes time to do evaluations for class participation.
One kid, Kanishka, looks a whole lot like my friend Andy in New York. Take a look and see what you think. Andy, send in a photo so we can get the side-by-side… He and a couple other students cornered me to talk about religion. Apparently they had a comparative religion class but never had the chance to talk with someone who wasn’t Muslim! It was interesting how into it they were—I guess I’m used to New Yorkers who tend to steer clear of the topic in conversation, if not in life generally. Kanishka in particular got worked up about proving the existence of God—“look at this computer, it is off until I come to turn it on—if I was not here to turn it on, it would not be turned on!” I go to church with my family and I’m generally comfortable in that context, but in this situation I felt at the razor’s edge of…I don’t know, so much. The Clash of Civilizations, I guess. It hasn’t come up again.

Opening ceremony

2007-01-28T07:48:00.000+04:30

Tuesday was the official opening of the accounting course, though we’d been in session for a few days. The Chancellor of the university and several other university people were to attend a presentation ceremony along with the students, the instructors, and some US government people. Mary and I met with the Chancellor beforehand—he’s actually just occupying the seat for Ashraf Ghani, this really impressive Afghan fellow who was being mentioned as a potential successor to Koffi Annan. Anyway this current fellow is a mountain of a man, not too concerned with his physical appearance (unshaven and poorly dressed—on the day of the ceremony!). His droopy eyes and slow speech seemed to indicate a general lack of effort, though his huge meaty hand seemed like it could crush mine if he cared to be bothered about it.

Mary and I met with him before the ceremony and had ideas about mentioning how we need the classroom carpeted and the bathrooms cleaned. But I think we both ended up being a bit intimidated and could only manage small-talk niceties. Haroun, the Afghan-American fellow with Pragma who had been here with us for a few days, prepared some background information for the Chancellor so he could deliver a speech with some kind of substance during the ceremony. Instead, the Chancellor just read both pages in their entirety—droning on and on as people lined up photos and politely didn’t eat the cookies that had been carefully arranged on plates all around the u-shaped tables. He finished talking, turned the mic over to the minister of education, grabbed a cookie and tea, and leaned back to bask in the glow of the people gathered all around for this ceremony. The fact is that the university created several barriers to the project going forward, but I had the sense that now it was going forward they wanted to stake out as much of the credit as possible.

USTDA is the government body that provided the funds for the program, but they didn’t send a rep to the ceremony. Instead, three USAID guys came and one of them delivered some words about how important accounting is and how all the students would get jobs upon completing the course. Everyone filtered out soon afterward, and it was all I could do to stuff a couple cookies down the pie hole before heading over to the library building where our classroom is located. Someone cut the ribbon and then they got the heck out of there—I can’t really blame them, it’s cold!

That night was scheduled to be Haroun’s last night in Kabul before returning to the US, so we went to dinner at Samarqand, which is a pretty nice place serving western as well as central asian dishes. We also learned from some fliers posted around that they have salsa night on Wednesdays, which are supposedly pretty good. Haroun’s cousins were also at dinner and it was pleasant to relax and have some “normal” conversation that wasn’t about accounting or doing charades in an attempt to express oneself to speakers of other languages.

Below are photos of the classroom. It looks nice, with computers all over--technologically advanced and whatnot. Thing is, the computers and big flat screens are often in the way during lecture or when we're working problems--the keyboards take up desk space when students are trying to take notes and the flat screens block students from seeing the dry-erase board. You also can't see the absolute mess of wires underneath each table--the guy that networked the computers didn't map network drives to the main machine in the other room, didn't install the printer on all machines, and didn't get all the copies of MS Office registered. So in teh end, the computers may be more of a hassle than their worth... You can also see that the students keep their coats on during class because the room is quite cold.

Catching up - some final words on Moscow

2007-01-26T23:34:00.000+04:30

OK, I'm really trying to catch up on some posting--today was our day off and I was out and about a bit last night with Vince and Scott from the Baku misadventure. Scott successfully went down to Kandahar and was wearing some traditional garb he'd had to wear down there. Anyway, today I slept in, had lunch, took a nap, met with Mary about putting together the first exam, we went to dinner at the Chinese place nearby, and I've been working on my portion of the exam. It's already nearly midnight, so we'll see how long I can last...

In Moscow, the women have this phrase, "He doesn't love you if he doesn't hit you," which I thought was a bit disturbing--definately a male-dominated society. Though the idea that success in a relationship is gauged by how angry you can make the other person is twisted, but there's some sense in which I guess I can understand it.

Red Square was neat--this huge space with interesting architecture on each side. There was an ice skating rink in the center while I was there as well. There are these monuments to Russia's past all around--St. Basil's Cathedral, the Kremlin, Lenin's tomb, and the Lobnoye Mesto (pictured) which was supposedly used for public executions...or not. Opposite Lenin's tomb is an enormous shopping mall--one wonders if Lenin rolls over in that tomb at the capitalist consumption occurring all around him! I had to pay 8 rubles to use the bathroom at said mall and it was turkish style--I'll be darned if I'm going to pay good money to poo standing up!

I remember a British friend once poking fun at Americans for going to amazing places only to criticize them for poor service. As in, "the Taj Mahal is pretty and everything, but the service was awful!" Well, we got some pretty poor service generally speaking in Moscow. The food was generally decent but heavy--red cabbage, mayo, fried potatoes, borsht (my first bowl of borsht--I thought it was just something they served to stereotypes in movies).

Ray's apartment is near Ho Chi Minh square and I had to check that out. Again, with the hotdog stand, as well as ads for makeup and beer all around, Ho Chi Mihn definately lost this ideological battle...

It was winter, cold, damp, and grey, so the rainbow-colored bench in front of Ray's apartment building begged to be photographed. I obliged.

Oh, and cabs in Moscow--there are none, really. You stand on the side of the street with your hand up and whoever wants to make a few bucks will pick you up. Just BE SURE to set the place and price before you get in! I really would not have been able to survive in Moscow without constant hand-holding, so thanks again Ray and Rachel!

I just spent over an hour on a post...

2007-01-25T00:07:00.000+04:30

...beautiful prose, photos, insight...and when I hit the "publish" button blogger went down and my post was lost! I'm so annoyed right now I'm actually sweating from the effort to remain calm. Sorry, but I guess I'll have to try again tomorrow...

:

Are you buying cat food!?!?

2007-01-22T22:19:00.000+04:30

The commute was much better today, both ways. We gotta keep that Karzai guy outta town--I'm sure he's eager to do the same (I've not heard many encouraging words from the locals about him). We stopped at a grocery store on the way home to buy some things--Mary missed cereal and some other snacks, and we bought chocolate bars for the guards and driver. She was wearing a long, black coat and had a black scarf wrapped around her neck and head. We had been there for a while when I saw her crouched down and picking out cans of Fancy Feast and putting them in our basket. "She's lost it," I thought, "Either she thinks she's at home right now or she things cat food is some kind of good survival meal in an emergency." So I bend down nearby and say "...are you buying CAT FOOD!?!" "Yes, I am," says a young blonde American woman as she turns to look at this asshole invading her personal space. After a minute of being apologetic, I laughed for about ten.

Everyone seems to be selling something here--besides the street kids selling packs of gum or hard candies, there are shops lining the streets all over. It's so dirty though. The streets here have deep ruts on either side that I'm assuming are the sewer/drainage system. And the kids are just so dirty.

I've been in places with this kind of poverty--South Africa, Venezuela, Guatemala--but what is different right now is the cold. I mean, if push comes to shove you can sleep on the ground anywhere in those other places, but you'd freeze here. And you're very uncomfortable during the day. I was feeling sorry for myself having cold hands in the classroom today and there are kids with little more than fall jackets out in the street. The cold is like a final indignity the world is dealing out to these kids. "Not only are you going to be poor and dirty, but you will also be really uncomfortable 5 months of the year."

I saw a very little boy on the roof of some building, which was kind of the front of his dwelling (there are shanties built into the mountainsides here like in Caracas or other large, poor cities). And he was just standing there, looking around, and my knee-jerk thought, like when you see someone standing near a big drop-off, was "Don't do it, life's worth living." He wasn't looking to jump, or considering it or anything like that, but that thought ran through my head. But then I thought about the future he has to look forward to and I have doubts about this knee-jerk thought. Maybe it's relative--that I know living standards are so much better elsewhere. There are "happiness" surveys out there that seem to indicate wealth and happiness, on a national scale, may not be strictly related.

This is Kabul 1978. It could just as easily be yesterday.

Class went well again today. Tomorrow is the official opening ceremony for the project. So we don't have class in the morning. A classic event--precious class time is disposed of in favor of maintaining the cleanliness of the classroom so important visitors will be as impressed as possible and so that the university can trumpet about a program they seem to have done their best to stand in the way of.

In Dari, "-jahn" is a suffix you would put on someone's name if they are your buddy. Such as "Jeff-jahn" or "Ramin-jahn." My name being Jon, it nearly sounds like this suffix, so a couple of the students were laughing about the idea of "Jon-jahn."

One Day Under Our Belts

2007-01-21T19:27:00.000+04:30

Kabul is a sad place—the views on our drives to and from the university are filled with filthy street kids seemingly old far, far beyond their years. More than once, we’ve seen a group of them talking and someone says, “business meeting,” with a chuckle. They really do look like worn old men, harshly battered by life. And they're just kids. It's just so sad to see.

On the positive side, the first day of class went pretty well. There were lots of loose ends that seemed to fall into place at the last minute. We did some introductions and the students were very graceful and thanking us for coming. I tried to break the ice a bit by telling them about how Iowa has 3 million people and 15 million pigs...I think maybe something got lost in translation because that one usually gets a good laugh. Then we were asking them to say what their favorite color was ("I like all colors") or what animal they'd be if they could ("I'd like to be an accountant"). Speaking of translation, our translator is a doctor. He's a diminutive, polite guy with these amazing green eyes one sees here now and again, made famous by the National Geographic photo of the Afghan girl some years ago.

Mary did some talking about basic accounting concepts and then I did an Excel tutorial for a bit. The levels of knowledge appear to vary greatly. Some people had things done before I started talking about them, others had to have some help from others, and one guy pulled out a fancy (well, big) USB stick and asked if he could save his work on it! I really wished I had a computer projector like my professors have used for this kind of class. We have a dry erase board.

The classroom is cold--the heat in the building doesn't work, like the house where we live (we have big propane gas heaters for each room at our house). The university closes for three months in the winter because of the issues with heat. So we have a couple big electric heaters, but, though the room is kind of small, the ceilings are high so the heat dissipates easily. The students keep their jackets and scarves on... They call me Mr. Jon or "Sir."

The bathroom is really nasty. There's no way I could use the toilet--it seriouly looks like that grody toilet from Trainspotting. And as I was using the urinal, I looked right to notice the huge windows--I guess privacy is not a big concern around here!

We actually arrived a full hour late today--the traffic was awful. The drive got caught in traffic coming back from the university to pick us up in the morning and it took us an hour to get home in the evening. The reason given was that the national assembly met today and Karzai spoke...the commute so far is the worst part about this thing. You kind of feel like a sitting duck when traffic is frozen for such long stretches.

Classes Begin!

2007-01-20T22:54:00.000+04:30

With so many things up in the air, it's hard to believe classes begin tomorrow! I met the lead instructor in person for the first time this morning--she arrived late last night without my knowing because I was dead asleep. We all thought night landings weren't possible at Kabul Airport because it is strictly visual (no radar, etc.), but I guess we were wrong...

We visited the university today and the drive is not short. Went there at 3 or so and returned at 4 and traffic held us up quite a bit. Sitting in traffic kind of makes me nervous. And of course there are street kids all over the place and that's sad. Haroun told me there are 30,000 street kids in Kabul (whose population is about 4 million). And it is darned cold out there these days--this is apparently the coldest winter since the 60's.

So tomorrow we begin to understand how daunting is the task. The classroom is decent, not great--the students will each be seated at a new computer, so that's a pretty good thing. We don't know how much English they will speak and there is no translator lined up right now. Hopefully things will go OK...

I'm nearly up to speed on sharing video here, so stay tuned. I have updated some old posts, so you might want to review them--I do hope to add some more commentary about Moscow if I get the chance. Please do feel free to leave comments--Claudia (US Mil, 1yr in Afghanistan), Ray (PhD poli sci), Jordan (PhD poli sci), Wyeth (US Mil, 3 tours Iraq), Chris (US Mil, 1 tour Iraq, MA Security Affairs), Nicole (State dept), whomever--if you've got some interesting insight, please don't hesitate.

I've posted some photos to flickr, primarily for the folks who were stuck in Baku with me. You can find them here.

We've had a few meals courtesy of the resident cook. Makes me feel a bit weird having this poor guy serve me--and he gets a bit wound up if you try to take care of things yourself. Aziz is from Afghanistan and is Hazara, which apparently means "thousand" in reference to the thousand men Gengis Khan left in Afghanistan after sweeping through--he looks quite Asian, so that seems to make some sense. Shy fellow and doesn't speak any English, so I'm trying to drop some of my phrases on him...

Last night I walked a couple blocks with Haroun (Afghan American who works for Pragma and is here for a few more days) to an Italian place. I was nervous. But our house is surrounded by World Bank houses, the Pakistani Embassy is nearby, as well as the US Embassy, so the area is really locked down. We walked by the HQ of DynaCorp, which is the private company that is in charge of training the Afghan police force, apparently. The guards there were very nice about pulling the barbed wire away to let us through... The restaurant was fairly busy, though the Croatian staff seemed like maybe they'd been enjoying the local hashish.

Finally made it!

2007-01-19T17:30:00.000+04:30

I am now in the Pragma house in Kabul! Our flight from Baku ended up leaving 50 hours after the originally scheduled time, so when the flight attendant apologized for the "delay" we had a chuckle. I'm lying in my comfy bed with the heater on and the wifi connecting me to the world. I just heard the evening call to prayer faintly through the window. The weather was beautiful today and there is snow on the ground.

The goodbyes to my friends through adversity in Baku were kind of aborted because I spent some time looking for one of my bags (supposedly all the Baku bags were in one pile, but it turned out one of mine was still over on the conveyor belt). Hopefully Vince, Scott, Sergei, Ron, and everyone else made it to their destinations without issue.

The airport is chaotic. I was a bit taken in by the surrounding mountain views while walking from the airplane to the terminal and when I entered, the guys were yelling my name and pulled me in front of some other people in line. "What's up?" I asked. "Just wanted to make sure you're OK..." A minor gesture, but it's nice to have people looking out for you sometimes.

After about 40 minutes in line we moved on to the baggage claim area, which was a pile of luggage. A kid who must have been about 16 came over to me and I figured he was going to try to get me to pay him to help me with my bags, but he muttered, "baggage claim" and it slowly dawned on me he was the guy who verified you took the right luggage. Well, I found my large bag quickly and was rooting around for the other with no luck. The guy sent by Pragma showed up with a "Mr. Jon Clark" sign and helped out. Eventually, I worked my way through the crowd at the stilled conveyor on the other side of the room and there was my bag, along with another from Baku. There were many plastic bags of stuff, which I surmised belonged to the "prisoners." I realize those guys must have been in the Baku airport the entire time--three nights sleeping on the metal benches and eating airplane food!

The lead instructor didn't make it out of Dubai today, so I will meet her in person tomorrow. We thought her flight would come in after mine, so we waited a bit and during that time I went back toward the airport to get some photos and video--in particular I wanted a photo of a huge picture of Massoud on the airport with text something like "National Afghan Hero." I asked one of the Pragma staff about this later and he said if he was in charge, he'd take that down. Massoud was a warlord with the Northern Alliance (who essentially worked as the ground force of the American military and took Kabul) and was killed a few days before 9/11 by a suicide attack. So it's not clear that he is in disputably a national hero.

The drive from the airport was a bit chaotic as well--I really feel sorry for the traffic cops because they are almost completely ignored. And everyone but them appears to be armed. No, it isn't that bad, but there are lots of guys with guns around--all that I noticed seemed to have some kind of uniform on as well, but some were awfully young.

The people have been great--again, I feel like an ugly Amercian for not knowing the language, but I'll try to study up on "please" and "thank you" at the very least...

I thought I would be smart last night and wash my socks and undies in the sink...well, they didn't quite have enough time to air dry so I've been soggy in those areas while travelling. But I've kind of bonded with these clothes--I think I'll wear them to bed for old time's sake. :)

Here is some footage at the airport:

Broken Baku

2007-01-18T06:42:00.000+04:30

Well, I'd been warned that the Baku-Kabul flight is often cancelled and mine was! It's been a frustrating travel adventure the last day or so. From the "better" airport outside Moscow (I'd flown in to the "worse" one), I'd catch my Azerbaijan Airlines flight to Baku. There I'd spend 5 hours and then catch the final flight to Kabul. My flight in Moscow left at 11:25 PM and we arrived in Baku at 3 AM--the Kabul flight was scheduled for 8 AM. So I was anticipating 5 hours of idle time in the airport--these 5 would soon grow to 14!

Because I was already leary of AZAL people after my experience in Moscow, I was on edge when directed to a fellow who was supposed to sort me out at immigration control. He started asking me for my visa--I didn't think I would need a visa since I wouldn't be leaving the airport, only connecting. Then he asked me about whether I paid for having heavy luggage in Moscow. I said yes, and he asked me for the receipt, saying "this is for me." I kept the receipt so that I would get reimbursed for it, not to give it to an immigration official! And why would he care about the weight of my luggage? Looking back, it seems clear that since AZAL is state-owned, he just wanted to make sure that they'd gotten some money out of me one way or another.

So I didn't have to go through immigration control, but instead up in an elevator to the international connections waiting area. This consisted of many red metal benches, two duty free shops, a really insufficient cafe, and a constant, irregular beeping from some broken metal detector.

I sat down and set to finish "The Places In Between" by Rory Stewart about his walk across Afghanistan two weeks after the fall of the Taliban. Several of us were sitting there waiting for this immigration official to come back with our tickets--he'd taken my tickets (all the rest of them) and my overweight baggage receipt and disappeared to who-knows-where. I was a bit uneasy that he had all my tickets and uneasy about losing my receipt and whether he would try to make me pay for a visa... He came back with my boarding pass without issue, except when I asked for a copy of my receipt he said, "There is not time." Right, 3AM to 8AM just isn't enough time to make a photocopy.

So I finished the book and then made my way through the Duty Free shops. I noticed a group of about 20-30 people in uniforms of some kind that said "security" something on the patch. They were raiding the duty free like it was a giveaway and I noticed they had British accents. More on this later.

We're called to board the plane and there are about 25 or so of us who file through the security stuff and then onto a bus to take us to the plane. After a brief false start when we line up to walk up the stairs to the plane, we eventually get on and get seated. Once we're seated, another group starts to board. But you notice that several of the guys are "escorting" the others--walking them along while holding onto their arm. Like prisoners or something--but no one is in cuffs. These guys all file in to fill the seats behind us. OK, so this is CON AIR--there's going to be an uprising and I'll have to beat someone with my accounting text book.

But no. We sit and sit and sit. Finally, they announce the flight is cancelled and we're to go back to the terminal to wait. One of the big security guys indicates to us to remain seated and the "prisoners" or whatever get escorted off the plane first and return to the terminal in their own bus before the rest of us follow.

Back in the terminal, they keep us in the small area that comes after the metal detector--no food, no beverages, no bathroom in this small area. Eventually we're allowed to go out into the larger waiting area so we can have access to the duty free, insufficient cafe, and bathrooms. I notice that the large group I'd seen before sitting together is composed of the "prisoners" who had been escorted onto the plane earlier. We wait. And wait. And wait. Noon...one...two...

In the bus out to the plane I'd met an American guy who was 25 years in the Army and now a construction contractor in Afghanistan. Vince is a real down-to-earth, affable guy splitting his time between Arizona and a Russian wife who lives outside Moscow. Vince is connected--he knows pretty well the guy who speaks both Russian and English and who seems to be spearheading a sort of movement by the jilted passengers to fight for some rights. Sergei is former USSR military (25 years) now working for a telecom in Afghanistan, so his cell phone is being constantly requested by people trying to provide flight updates to their people in Kabul. Finally, Scott is a Canadian journalist who has spent lots of time in Iraq and Azerbaijan--he's looking to go to the south of Afghanistan for an interview--not easy these days!

Later in the afternoon, the AZAL people walk around pretending to do things and the activist passengers fight to get food and shelter paid for. They refuse to pay for us to go to a hotel and there isn't much in the way of food available in the terminal (remember, the cafe is insufficient). I could not believe my eyes when I see some AZAL people roll out a couple big cardboard boxes filled with in-flight meals to serve us! It was surreal--I suppose this food from our airplane was going to go bad, so they thought they'd try to satisfy one demand by giving it to us... I was too late for one of the containers of the hot food, but didn't miss it too much--I'm not sure I want to mess with AZAL meat products! One of the AZAL people also carted off a box of the meals to take to the "prisoners."

Eventually, we discovered the flight was cancelled for the day due to weather in Kabul (but many in our group were calling people in Kabul who said the weather was fine). We suspect there was a mechanical issue with the plane and that's why they cancelled it. Once the flight cancellation was officially announced, we had to wait still more time while the AZAL people sorted out how to handle our checked luggage, immigration process, and etcetera. But the guards for the "prisoners" probably wanted to get back to their homes--so that's what they did! The "prisoners/detanees/taleban/al qaeda/terrorists" were now free to roam the terminal at their leisure! It was pretty amazing how the guards bugged out and now suddenly these guys were just hanging out--several bought some booze and smokes in the duty free and started a little card game!

Finally, we got a deal on a hotel ($50 a night), got through customs (now I had to buy a $40 visa since I was leaving the airport--and don't forget about the $11 for the passport sized photos), and got ourselves collected in a group "outside the wire" at about 4PM. Sergei, the extremely helpful Russian, put together a package deal with a mini-bus taxi driver to get us all to the hotel. So we marched together to go get in the mini-bus, walking right past all the other taxi drivers who were hoping to land some customers. We were paying 5 menat each to get to the hotel and get back to the airport the next morning--lots of the taxi drivers were trying to charge 30 menat just to get to the hotel! So, Sergei had found us a great deal. So great, in fact, that one of the taxi drivers came over to the mini-bus yelling and started opening the back of it like he would take out some of our luggage. Turns out, he was the brother of the guy about to drive us--so our driver hops out of the mini-bus and tries to calm down his brother as well as some official managing the taxi queue. They walk back over to the van and the brother ends up getting into the van to drive us off--but I'm not sure I want this guy driving angry!

Despite the back door of the van flinging open in traffic at one point, we arrived at the hotel fine, paid the lovely Azari hotel staff, and then I crashed hard. I was supposed to meet Vince and Scott to get some dinner, but once my head touched the pillow, it wouldn't come back off. I slept from about 5 PM to about 4 AM when I did some cals, updated email and the blog, then did some serious damage to the hotel's surprisingly good breakfast buffet.

However, that day (yesterday-Thursday) the weather in Kabul was indeed bad (independently confirmed) and so we went to the airport from 7 AM to 2PM before returning to the hotel again. While we were at the airport, some of the Russian businessmen decided they would give up and catch a flight back to Moscow. So they broke out the brandy, champagne, and chocolates they'd bought to bring to Kabul and we had an impromptu party--not at the insufficient cafe in the terminal, but an overpriced one "outside the wire."

There was a Russian woman and her three kids travelling on our flight into Kabul as well. Apparently there is an American school here in Kabul where 300-400 kids go. I spoke in English with the middle girl and later got a shot of her watching Charlie Chaplin (which was on a loop throughout the airport our entire time there).

That night I didn't manage to stay up and go take some photos of Baku, but I did get up to go to dinner, which was a British place. I had chicken curry, the other guys has fish & chips and a meat pie. The oil industry in Azerbaijan is booming--you can see oil wells all over the place on both land and out in the Caspian sea. British Petroleum is big here, and so there are several British bars and restaurants.

On our way, we walked through a street market. I hadn't seen any street markets in Moscow--no cheap, "normal people" stores at all, really. Only high fashion places. So I was keen to find some inexpensive souveniers--I ended up with a flask bearing soviet-era symbols and text. Likely made in China, but Azerbaijan is a former soviet republic, so I thought it was kind of cool.

Is it graft? AZAL Moscow/Baku

2007-01-18T06:06:00.000+04:30

The first frustration that kind of set the stage for everything that's happened in the last 24 hours or so occurred in Moscow. Ray had warned me to get ready to experience Central Asia, saying, "they don't really understand the concept of a line." But what I'm coming to understand is that you've got to watch out for people taking advantage of you and looking for graft opportunities--not that you can do anything about it.

The woman at the ticket counter in Moscow sent my checked luggage away on the conveyor belt to who-knows-where and then began making some calculations. "2090 rubles." What? For what? Of course, I couldn't understand the conversation, and thanks to Ray for having accompanied me all the way to the airport (a 40 minute commuter train ride from Moscow). Apparently, my luggage was overweight. I'd run into this issue at JFK and had to quickly buy a duffle bag to put in the very heavy accounting textbooks and check this bag separately. That way, each piece of checked luggage was under 23 kilos (50 pounds). Well, I was looking at the scale when the gal in Moscow weighed my heavier bag and it was indeed 23 kilos. Apparently, however, the rule for AZAL (Azerbaijan Airlines) is 20 kilos total--my pieces were 23 and 8 for a total of 31 kilos, 11 over.

It get suspicious when they refused to accept a credit card for payment...and when we needed change for the cash paid, one of the people behind the counter made change out of his own pocket--I guess they'll settle up later when they divide up the day's "earnings."

I did get a receipt for payment of this fee and on the reverse of the receipt there was an official-looking explanation of charges for luggage on international flights. However, the immigration official here in Baku took my receipt, would not give it back, and refused to provide a photocopy. "There is no time," he said in a heavy accent--though I was looking at 5 hours layover in Baku! This guy was going to make me buy an Azerbaijan visa for $40 (I shouldn't have had to buy one since I would not be leaving the airport), but I think once he saw I'd been scammed already in Moscow he decided not push me too far. Who knows what he'll do with that receipt, but I just hope I'll be able to get PRagma to reimburse me for the charge...

The more I think about it, the more frustrating it is--this guy is supposedly with immigration, not the airline, so why would he keep my receipt from the airline!? But, on second thought, I think that AZAL is state-owned, so immigration and AZAL employees may be one in the same...

Some details on the trip

2007-01-16T20:29:00.000+04:30

I found this contract through a friend who attended the School of International and Policy Administration at Columbia. She allowed me to sign in to her careers web site account. Thanks Kelly! Anyway, the contract is with Pragma Corporation, who got it from Kabul University, who got it from the US Trade and Development Agency. We'll be teaching for four weeks, concluding on February 19. The schedule calls for us to have class for eight hours a day, six days a week (Friday's off). The syllabus indicates we'll finish all 27 chapters in the 24 days of class, but I'm skeptical. Even with university students fluent in English, this seems ambitious. But we'll see. I am not the lead instructor, but an assistant to a woman who has done some accounting instruction before on contracts like this, but not as much in an academic setting--she's been to lots of the central Asian countries and has been to Afghanistan before as well.

There is the option of going back again to teach another round of the accounting class--there will be a month off and then another class will begin. I'm waiting to see how things go before I decide on whether I would "re-up." There are a couple things standing in the way, one of which is the Foreign Service Oral Exam I have scheduled for April 2, the other is an interview with the Federal Reserve Bank of New York on February 22--if I did get the job at the Fed, it would begin in late March.

I'm scheduled to be back in New York on February 20, and with an interview on February 22 I won't have much time to sleep off the jet lag. Will I have enough time to shave off the beard!?

Moscow sidetrip complete

2007-01-16T20:15:00.000+04:30

Tonight at 11:30 my plane leaves for Baku, Azerbaijan. I arrive sometime around 3 AM and don't leave for Kabul until 8 AM. I'm told the airport in Baku is not that great, so the prospect of five hours there is not pleasant.

Moscow has been interesting. Thought it is winter here and normally very cold, it hasn't been too terrible these few days. Each day has been mostly overcast, however, with spurts of rain that aren't quite freezing. There's lots of mud in Moscow right now--I'm kind of struck by how much dirt and mud there is. I think it's dirtier than New York, though not in a garbage/litter/sewage way--I have yet to see any big piles of garbage in the street. The dirtiness of Moscow is about dirt--earth and since it's been wet, mud. It's more or less understood here to take off one's shoes when entering someone's apartment and it seems clear this is not some asian/Japanese custom, but rather just a practical matter so that mud isn't tracked all over.

Someone in the upstairs apartment is playing piano right now. While entering one of the underground metro stations the other day there were about a dozen people standing in a line each playing a stringed instrument and together they delivered a piece of classical music I recognized. You have a sense that the people here know and understand their culture and history.

I'll have to add more commentary on Moscow later, it's nearly time for us to leave for the airport.

A Stop in Moscow

2007-01-14T14:46:00.000+04:30

Well, I've made it to Moscow via Frankfurt and have been staying here with my friend Ray who was a teammate of mine on the rowing team at Boston U. Ray is completing a PhD in political science at Oxford and lives here in Moscow while conducting research. In classic American fashion, we went to TGI Friday's to initiate Friday night's revelry.

Moscow is awash with oil money and construction abounds--and I'm told the number of coffee shops has shot up dramatically, though as yet no Starbucks. Last night we made it to an expat party full of Brits and Americans, several of whom said they would also miss the cheap pirated DVD's.

I hope to post some photos and video I've taken here, but have some more learning to do before I can get to it...

Farewellistan - thank you!

2007-01-11T09:13:00.000+04:30

Big thanks to those who were able to make it for the farewell get-together last night! I appreciate the support and value the friendships I have been lucky enough to cultivate in New York.

I've definitely got some nerves and butterflies about my Afghanistan trip right now, but hopefully things will be as fun as the description here. Definitely preferable to the harsh State Department bulletins and travel warnings!

I'll do my best to keep posting updates and observations on the trip here. I've also bought a video camera and plan to post some video. Here's to an interesting start to 2007--may it bring success that 2006 withheld!