Hearts and Minds

J-bad to Kabul

2010-09-12T18:07:00.001+04:30

I woke up at around 6 am, covered with mosquito bites. The heat was just beginning to break, so this was the first night in J-Bad I had been able to sleep with the fan and not the AC.

Fary, in her seemingly bottomless international navigatory prowess, has secured me a spot on a dipolomatic flight. I depart from FOB Fenty. A new friend from the Taj, a security contracter, escorts me at the base. This morning he's rocking what I like to call "Business on the Bottom - Party on the Top" - He's wearing a pakol hat and the jumper of native Kameez over cargo pants and butt-stomping American boots. Lots of the security dudes do this - I assume it's because a) they only need to look afghan while driving and/or b) the Kameez bottoms are too loose to securely jam a pistol in.

There is a terminal for outgoing flights. It has the standard uncomfortable chairs you're used to in airport waiting bays, a big screen TV playing the Red Sox game, and some fascinating posters depicting "ARACHNIDS OF AFGHANISTAN". A leathery woman helms the desk - her tight jeans and rhinestone earrings somehow compliment her camo shirt, which might be how she gets away with it. She welcomes us enthusiastically. However, she explains, it is not possible to catch USAID flighs from the comfort of this terminal's air-conditioned halls.

I have to wait on - you guessed it - the fucking tarmac.

My buddy drops me off with a high five and a promise to visit Cali (everyone but californians call it cali), leaving me to poke around the razor-wire delineated edge of the airfield.

A fascinating feature of the FOB are the Afghan quarters. There are cookie-cutter beige bungalows for military housing, but many natives live here as well. Their homes are small but gaily painted, with rose gardens and shady patios. The patios all feature a chaise or two for lounging, like their homes outside the wire. And now that Ramadan is over, a teapot is always perched beside them. There is even a brightly colored little mosque, with distinctive domes and megaphones. Just such an installment sat tucked beside the airfield. Beside it was a handpainted sign that read, "MOHAMMEDS STORE: RUGS AND JEWELRY."

I humped my bags around the corner to investigate - perhaps i would have an opportunity to do a little shopping after all! But I was stopped in my tracks by a cranky Afghan in western jeans and t-shirt. "Who are you? Where are you going?" I realize I must have looked strange - In my Afghan garb and American sneakers, short hair uncovered, arms full of luggage. However, this is NOT the welcome I have become accustomed to from Afghans.

Allow me to explain - these are the most hospitable people you will ever meet, with the possible exception of Black Rock Citizens. Everyone is very accommodating, happy to see you, eager to share everything they have and make you feel most welcome. Not the case with the FOB Afghans. Hells to the no.

A nearby Afghan policeman observed this exchange. While clearly kind of embarrassed by the first guy's behavior (he shooed him away with the muzzle of an AK), he was intent upon figuring out where I was headed and sending me that way immediately. He brought me around to the rear of MOHAMMEDS STORE (which never did enjoy my patronage), where there was a tiny cafe with a sign that read, "Cinamin Bread, Sugar Bread, Plain Bread." A cook poked his head out, and exchanged words with the officer, and then with me. "Who are you? Where are you going?"

"I'm on the USAID flight." I explained. The cook nodded. "Yes, yes. You must go around, make a right.." Where do you think he directed me? That's right. Back to the fucking tarmac. No Cinamin Bread for me. No Plain Bread either. And sure as hell no RUGS AND JEWELRY. Leave it to Americans to throttle the most fundamental instinct toward kindness out of a people.

So I humped my gear back and found a shady spot near the fence. I ate a power bar. About 50 feet away from me, a plane took off. I turned my back to it. My hair and ears and buttcrack are now full of Afghan soil. In the distance, after a forklift drove away, a small tent office became visible on the opposite end of the airfield. I lugged my crap over and made small talk with the officer there responsible for shipping and receiving. His name was Mike, from MA. He's been here for 5 years. Again, news that I had been living in the city was met with incredulity and apprehension.

When it was time, he packed me onto a sweet little 6-seater bird, piloted by some handsome South African pilots. I dozed for the 30 minute flight to Kabul.

Kabul! How I wish I could spend more time here.

Mohammed was a cat lover.

2010-09-07T22:34:00.004+04:30

Apparently, he cut off the sleeve of one of his robes, rather than rouse the cat sleeping upon it. In Islam, it's totally ok to drink from a vessel after a cat has. Also, you can be condemned to hell for mistreating a cat. But anyone on 4chan could have told you that.

Contrast this with dogs. The angels of Allah will not enter the home of one who owns a dog! Anyone who keeps a dog for any reason other than hunting or farming will lose the benefits of one of his good deeds for the day. And if a dog drinks from one of your utensils, it is necessary to wash that thing *seven times*

Now, dogs are cool. I'd like a dog someday. It's hard to get behind the stringent anti-dog prohibitions. But I'm an avowed cat person. It is very hard for me to find fault with a prophet who, by all historical accounts, loved his kitty very much. Peace be upon him!

Anyway. The whole city is winding down. It's the last few days of Ramadan, and people are preparing for Eid, the festival that will follow. For three days, observants will visit family, attend religious services, and eat a lot of food. Then, effectively, summer vacation is over. Everyone will go back to school.

I don't regret coming, not a bit. However, the combined effects of pregnancy and Ramadan made this trip uncomfortable. I had a hard time keeping up with Fary's busy visiting schedule. I can get along fine in my default state without eating once every couple of hours. Beanface, however, demands frequent and substantial tribute and punishes me with nausea and cramps if I don't comply.

And truth be told, all of our hosts were very accommodating, even if they didn't know about my condition. Frequently we were offered meals or drinks, always with the disclaimer that, "we cannot join you, but you are our guests.." Of course, the polite thing is to turn this down. . So it was hard even to bring small snacks to consume in my bag. I would have had to eat them in front of our hosts. No lunch at the guest house either, unless by special request, and I always feel bad asking the guys to cook while they're fasting.. even though they would. So I stayed home more often than I would have liked. Going out for more than a couple hours was uncomfortable and even worse than the cramps and nausea is the feeling that my pokey ass is compromising our mission somehow. On more than one occasion I was asked by a new Afghan friend, "You look like you're fasting. You don't have to fast. Are you fasting?" No, but I am home to a rapidly growing symbiote who is consuming all of my calories. I might as well be.

At any other time, this would not have been an issue. We would have been obliged to sit and eat lavish meals and drink bladder-bursting quantities of tea for hours over small talk. But then I'd probably be complaining about my bladder. I can hear it now, "OMG, the gallons and gallons of tea! The social and hydrostatic pressure..!" Silly alternative universe Me. You don't know how well you have it.

I will be leaving in the middle of Eid. Hopefully traffic will have died down. In anticipation of the feasting, people have been spilling into the city to buy groceries and new clothes, creating impassible traffic.

I'm looking forward to coming home soon. I feel like I've done well at the hospital, but no school was in session, so there were no opportunities to teach like last time. And while it was delightful to visit the Global Connection Exchange Program participants on various campuses, developing a real relationship with locals was not so much on the menu.

And I didnt leave the house as much as I would have liked. The elections are coming soon, and violence is lately more frequent and less predictable. I didn't get to go shopping at all. And now, it is nearly Eid. Assuming I could manage to wedge myself into the market, it would be very difficult to do so safely. And everything is marked up by 200%. I should have made arrangements to visit the bazaar weeks ago. Totally screwed the pooch on that one.

One thing different about this trip - I spent a lot of time on military bases. I'll be writing more about this in days to come. There's a lot to process. It was strange. At first, I felt like hanging out on the base was a waste of time in Afghanistan. It's basically like a postage stamp of America plunked down in the middle of a foreign country and surrounded by concrete and barbed wire. Moreover, most on the base are effectively stuck there, or unable to leave without 30 soldiers and a convoy. To these folks, military or state department, the thought of living in the city and moving about freely inspires both fear and envy. But I came to see these qualities as fascinating in and of themselves. It's a culture that is precise and yet inefficient, so organized and yet so ineffectual. And because it has the pleasures and comforts of home, it is desperately at odds with the people and environment it is attempting to control. It became a pleasure to accompany my military colleagues for the fun of sightseeing. Besides, where else in Afghanistan can you get a guacamole cheeseburger?

Now in my last several days in-country, I'll be tying up loose ends at the Taj, ordering parts for the broken ultrasound, floating in the scintillating pool, and counting the kicks and punches of my now mango-sized passenger. The Bean has become a Jumping Bean! Mostly active right after dinner, and right before I drift off to sleep. Woke me up once, with a hearty THWAP to the pelvic region...Mighty Kung Fu Bean!

Pro Tips:

2010-09-06T21:10:00.000+04:30

1. The answer to the question, "What smells like burning plastic?" is almost certainly, "Burning plastic"

2. An Afghani is a unit of currency. Afghans are people.

3. This is not Iraq. Security, military: please leave your preconceptions on the plane. Iraqis are modern urbanites who will fuck with you on purpose. Afghans are ignorant farmers. They have no idea why you're so pissed.

4. You will get sick. Brush your teeth with the local water and git it over with quickly.

5. If you find yourself shitting liquid for 24 hours straight, however, this is probably normal and nothing to worry about.

6. Hand sanitizer is your friend.

7. Afghan National Police are *not* your friends. They will ask for your passport at check points. Do NOT give them your passport. Give them a business card instead.

8. Remember to Smile!

9. Bring your own booze. There is scant to be found here. Dubai is a good place to stock up (duty free!) on the way in. If you don't source your own, expect to pay up to 120$ for a case of beer. Sorry to say, it's not going to be good beer, either.

10. Dont pay anyone to carry your bags. Leave no bags unattended.

11. If you are an infidel, dont bother to come during Ramadan. It's brutally hot, there's nothing to eat, and everyone is in a shit mood.

12. Dont wear black boots. Everything you own will eventually be covered in goatshit.

13. Do not distribute -anything- to people knocking on the windows of your car. A mob will form, rendering you immobilized.

14. Try the goat! It's delicious.

15. In the event that you accidentally hit a kid with your car - first, offer 20$. If the 20$ is insufficient to satisfy his family, offer 100$. If this still doesnt work, drive to the airport as fast as you can. Do not return for at least 1 year.

16. The pharmacies do not require prescriptions. Use caution when self-medicating.

17. Opium and hashish are abundant, easier to get than you'd think, and probably safer than the valium at the pharmacy. But in the name of Most Compassionate Allah, do not take that shit to the airport.

18. Make no promises unless you are fully prepared to satisfy them. All business is conducted on handshakes here. To renege on even a casual agreement will at worst destroy your reputation and make it impossible to get anything done. At best it will result in your Afghan companions ragging on you forever until you follow through.

19. A convenient three syllable loophole exists however: "inshallah" - it means, "If it is the will of god." It's a nice way to explain that the outcome in question is to some degree outside of your control, and your milage may vary.

20. You will hear everyone from dentists to airline pilots bookend their expositions with, "inshallah." At first it's quaint: "The weather will be pleasant for Eid, inshallah." Then it becomes alarming: "This will not hurt a bit, inshallah." Eventually your anxiety will mellow, and the phrase becomes part and parcel of the uncertain experience of living in a country where electricity is still kind of a novelty, donkeys are still kind of a useful vehicle, and Americans are still kind of fucking everything up: "We will be touching down at 2:30 pm local time, inshallah."

BONUS PROTIP: The peaches in Jalalabad are the best in the world, and the mangoes from neighboring Pakistan are exquisite, very special indeed. If you can get your immune system to a point where it will accept local fruits and vegetables, that is. Good luck, and enjoy!

Would you like some cancer with your giardia?

2010-08-28T13:32:00.002+04:30

Me: Good news, Dr. Shakur! I have diagnosed the issue with your Ob/Gyn ultrasound, and it's a much easier fix than I thought. Only the probe needs to be replaced. The CPU and monitor work fine.

Dr. Shakur (Medical Director, Jalalabad Public Health Hospital): That is excellent news! Would you like to take a look at the X-ray machine now? Also it is broken.

Me: Uh...

Dr. Shakur: We have about thirty, forty machines in the hospital that are not working.

Me: ................ok. Let's take a look.

2010-08-24T15:26:00.000+04:30

Womb with a view!

2010-08-24T13:48:00.004+04:30

Fary is an action hero. In the time I've been here, I think she's visited 12 schools. I am still shaking off jet lag, puttering around the guest house, and she is shaking hands and kissing babies, literally.

It's nice to meet native students, and Jenn has championed right alongside her for every outing. but I'm reserving my energy for an actual class I might teach, or that Jenn and I might teach together. There is great interest here in learning how to find scholarships, how to apply to study abroad, and how to improve one's study skills generally. I don't feel qualified to teach about these matters in the way I feel qualified to teach, say, algebra. But if there's sufficient interest and I can be of some help in elucidating matters I'll do my best.

I also learned that UCSD offers a credential program in exactly the course I had planned to teach a workshop in - english for medicine and science. And many of the students and teachers I have met so far have already received their certificate! So, bonus points for accurately identifying a need in the community. Demerits for coming late to the party.

In the meantime, I have been troubleshooting the portable ultrasound device here in the comm room, left by MedWeb. This has been a fun project - I finally feel like my BME education is paying off. I wish I'd discovered earlier in life how much I like computers. At any rate, I was able to diagnose and patch a software issue in Windows XP, and now I'm up and running with the field sonogram... except the resolution is not so good. Meeting planned with the MedWeb honchos for sometime tomorrow, hopefully we'll get this sorted, maybe even in time to loan it out to the Ob/Gyn dept at the National Hospital.

We visited the day before yesterday. One of the ironies round these parts is that healthcare is paradoxically more available in Afghanistan than in the USA. Anyone in Afghanistan can walk into the National Hospital and expect to be treated. No insurance necessary. That is why I actually received my first prenatal exam from the distinguished faculty here.

We started with a quick tour of the sonography department in the main hospital. Two broken machines (old, dusty) which I photographed, kicked the tires, so forth. The main hospital also has one newer machine, a Honda, that works. And a full schedule. I did not wish to embarrass the doctor by asking pressing questions about diagnostics, but Fary has mentioned that her goal is to train a suitable technician.

I wish I could have taken more pictures of the hospital. People gathered outside to wait on the grass in the courtyard, sometimes hanging IV bags from trees. The interior of the buildings are not air conditioned, and reek of bodies and disease. At home, I find hospitals a little unsettling in their sterility - the bracing, chemical aroma of disinfectants, the threat of the superbugs left after the 99.99% kill rate advertised on their bottles. The opposite is true here. Nothing about this hospital seems even remotely sterile. It is not scary in the abstract - it is concretely the stuff of nightmares. Yes, it's free to visit, but if you end up here the feeling is that it may be your last visit anywhere. I actually wish I had worn the burqa, it might have been possible to stealth some more photos. In my alien western garb, it would have been poor form to just start snapping pics randomly.

Making our way into the Ob/Gyn building was a relief. It didnt smell so bad. Women and children only.

We spoke first with two lady doctors who gave us a sense of their load - 1400 patients per month. They took us to see the dedicated Ob/Gyn ultrasound - broken. Recently. Power here is unreliable, and surges. It's possible this machine was fried.

They took us to meet the department head, a sweet middle aged lady whom her students proudly proclaim to be the best doctor in all of Nangarhar. And the rest of the entire department! About ten doctors, all young women, all married save a single widow. Everyone crowded into one room, tried some english on us, told us about their studies. I sprawled on the exam table as the department head gave me an abdominal exam - the first time a doctor has laid hands on me during this entire process.

"Congratulations," she says. "16 weeks." She prodded me further, checked my eyeballs, and wrote me a presecription for iron and folic acid. And told me to eat. Thank god, she also told me I was completely normal.

This is an enormous relief. I have been haunted by stories of women who show up to their 16 week checkup, only to find a dead 12 week old floater in there. But everything is the right size and all I have to do is make sure I don't become anemic. Excellent! After 4 months it's such a relief to have a doctor look at me and say, "you and your baby are fine"

Fary asked the department head some questions about working during Taliban rule. They were in charge for 12 years, and in that time, she said, it was possible for women to work in medicine, but not to train.

They asked us if we would be able to fix the sonogram - I think it more likely to be replaced than repaired. But no promises. Inshallah.

It was truly an honor to have met and interacted with these women - for sure the smartest in Nangarhar and doubtless among the hardest working. They deserve technology that works. I would like very much to help in any way.

We then visited the school of midwifery, which is where I had assumed I would receive my checkup. This is an amazing progam - young women in rural villages are selected by tribal elders to come to the city and participate in a 4 year midwifery program, promising to return home when their training is complete. This is a very beautiful building, and it even has a kindergarten attached for the girls who have babies of their own.

I am touched and inspired by the professionals I'm meeting here, their dedication and their bravery, men and women alike. The feeling of helplessness is still there.

And I'm anxious to get this portable ultrasound working. How fun, to have one here in my bedroom... a womb with a view!

Storytime

2010-08-22T20:17:00.001+04:30

When I was a little girl, among my favorite books were The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy trilogy. In my visits to Afghanistan, I recall The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, wherein Ford Prefect and Arthur Dent end up stranded on prehistoric Earth with a shipful of exiled middle-management from the planet Golgafrincham. It's not really fair to analogize the proud and storied Afghan people with Adams' pre-lingual native hominids. However, the US occupiers bear more than a passing resemblance to the bureaucratic, preening, incompetent, process-obsessed, blustering Golgafrinchans. The kind of people who will hold a series of meetings about how and when to discover the wheel. Who declare leaves to be currency, then decide to burn down forests to prevent inflation. And then make documentaries about it.
I'm also reminded of another favorite childhood fable - Mark Twain's A Connecticut Yankee at King Arthur's Court. A late 19th century engineer bumps himself on the head, awakens in Camelot, and quickly puts his superior knowledge to work becoming the most powerful man in the country save only the king. Appalled by the (literally) medieval conditions, he makes it his mission to introduce technology and modernize England. His chief opposition? The Church of course. The intersection of ancient and modern is frustrating on both ends. Ultimately, the Yankee ("The Boss" as he is known) is put to sleep by the King's old tutor Merlin - whose magic The Boss mocked, but which is nevertheless the native and reigning technology.
And then, of course, there's Kipling's The Man who Would be King. He wrote about this part of the world a hundred years ago, and even then it was the graveyard of empires. I loved Kim and Just-So Stories as a Tot, but I didn't read this until after my first visit here. There's no satire. Just straightforward, brutal allegory.
So many people live here, have lived here, have passed through on their way somewhere else. And by that token, so many have attempted to conquer, or passed through on their way to conquer somewhere else. The natives routinely dispatch all comers, without even the benefit of shoes. Since the time of Alexander the Great, the world's most ambitious warriors have cut across Afghanistan on their way from Europe to Asia (or vice versa), depositing their genes along the way. These are the toughest people on the planet.
As for our current venture: what will serve to distinguish us from those who have come before? Our president has declared a 2011 pull-out date. I listen to Fary and Dave complaining about the intractability of the government, and I think, good. Let them get out of the way. The ones who remain to do the work of reconstruction will be the private organizations who are truly interested and motivated - not pencil pushers or empire-builders. Ah, but Dave says, if there is no security private groups will not come here. And security is costly.
The president (the Afghan president) has made a declaration that all private security companies should be disbanded in Afghanistan. And this is quite something, because a large percentage of our presence here is contracted out.

What will be our legacy? I have seen entire parking lots of abandoned earth movers, left to rust by the Russians who bailed twenty years ago. Our CIA effectively hand-picked the extremist psychopaths who comprise our chief complaint against the nation, our reason for coming. How much of the current situation is our fault? How much can we fix? Is it any of our business?

Ours as much as any other empire, I guess. There is a long tradition of diversity here. Many nations, many tribes have made this land their home, have left their art and their culture. It is a beautiful city, Jalalabad. It was once a jewel. Best oranges in the world, some say. And gardens built by kings. Buddhists used to run the show here, did you know? The shameful thing is, you can tell where americans have been by the trail of destruction. Not, say, by the trail of clean water and reliable power. We can be such jerks.

I suppose my personal goal is the same here as it is at home: help people, especially young people, to obtain knowledge for themselves. Support people in their endeavor to live healthy and safe lives. To do whatever I can to reinforce the twin values of creativity and curiosity.
These are just rambling thoughts, really. Today was a big day and it will take a minute to organize it all for consumption. And I have a bit of homework, too. I am still feeling the effects of jet lag, barely.

Maybe tomorrow I will swim in the scintillating pool...

Ladies and gentlemen:

2010-08-22T07:09:00.001+04:30

May I direct your attention to my colleage, Jenn Gold? She and I are on this bus together, and you'll find her coverage quite complete. Good write up of the trip we took to the College of Education and Medical School yesterday: Fall Break 2010

The medical situation...

2010-08-20T21:43:00.000+04:30

Is pretty abysmal and awful here.

I had a hard time writing about it last year, mostly because of the glut of information. but also because I was in the company of actual doctors and people working with companies bringing actual telemedicine technology out here (MedWEB). I didnt feel like I had much to add to the conversation, other than a needling sense of injustice. And confusion. And helplessness.

There's the corruption factor: people who are not qualified for jobs are given expensive government grants (your tax dollars hard at work) to accomplish reconstruction that never happens.

There's the "ick" factor: jobs aren't completed properly, and there is no oversight, and so sewage systems arent built properly and babies end up playing in untreated bloody, needle-filled runoff from hospitals

There's the brain drain factor: anyone who obtains enough training to bring up more people behind him/her is almost certainly too smart NOT to bail

There's the technology factor: So many modern machines are donated, without the donors understanding that the limiting factor is f*cking electricity

There's the "reach-back" factor: Even when machines are usable, there is often insufficient training to use them properly - let alone fix them when they break.

Here's a horror story for you: Fary told me about a time she visited the teaching hospital, after the Rotarians/Sister Cities had made some equipment available to the medical students. Including, as it happens, an autoclave. Neither faculty nor students were able to operate the (totally functional, undamaged) autoclave, and so sterilized their surgical tools in boiling water. Next to the unplugged autoclave.

...

Medieval.

More horror: Mehrab's son came down with a condition. Kid wasn't feeling too hot. So he takes the boy to a specialist here in Jalalabad. The doctor listens, palpates, strokes his beard. Then he tells Mehrab that his son has a deadly serious lung infection, and will require surgery.

"Whoa. Easy there, distinguished sir." Says Mehrab, and hightails it across the border to obtain a second opinion in Pakistan (several hours journey, on deadly roads, through a border that's tighter than a hymennorrhaphy). The doctor they visit (a lady, Mehrab doesn't hesitate to interject), orders things like an X ray and blood work because this is Pakistan and they can do that here. She is pleased to inform him that his son has Pneumonia only, that it can be cured with antibiotics and rest, and no surgical intervention will be required. "If I could not visit her, my son would be dead." He is certain of this, the way only a father can be.

So... the ultrasound. What I thought was going to be a technological fix (i.e., it's not working, see if we can make it work) is actually a more subtle problem. Fary, who is a nurse, claims she jumped the "is it working" hurdle last time - in part by removing sensors from their original pacakging and firing the thing up for the first time after it had been there for godknows how long. A year? Two years? The thing works. The challenge will be to find someone suitable to train in its use.

Again, there are many programs in place bringing up new young doctors who would be willing to put in the time investment necessary to become proficient in this sort of diagnostic tech. And I have a few ideas up my sleeve.

Tomorrow, we visit a school. And a hospital. Not sure which ones. I'll keep you posted.

This aint no party. This aint no disco.

2010-08-20T10:54:00.001+04:30

Basically, I got here in time to tag out Dr. Dave and Todd on their way to the playa. They are taking the trip I wanted to take - arrive in Afghanistan mid-july, depart around this time for Reno, have someone waiting for me in BRC with my stuff. Like a rockstar.

Fortunately, I found gainful employment (in the nick of time, truly) at one of my favorite institutions in the world, and I am very fortunate that I could even be here, that my PI is so very flexible. Jbad-to-playa-to-first-day-of-work would have been kind of hard on the brain and bod, even without a passenger. Perhaps it is good fortune that my flights of folly were not so entertained. Still. BRC. Home...

"I can't believe you guys are leaving for the Burn. I'm so jealous."

"I'm jealous you get to STAY."

"Bullshit."

I am really going to miss these guys. Not only for their good company, but for their experience and their tentacles in the social network here. With Todd and Dave gone, it's like half of my network going dark.

I awaken this morning to sounds of rain, and flashes of thunderstorms. Its lovely, and I'm tempted to kill the fan to get the full audio-visual suite of effects - the wind and patter and lightshow and booms. But I decide against it. It's still hotter than hell and my windows dont open.

Within a few hours, Todd is knocking to say his goodbyes. I offer to make a pot of coffee from my Peet's stash to see them off, and to check out my new digs. We have an agreement - that when Todd bugs out I get the comm room.

It's upstairs next to the leaseholder's suite - directly beneath the satellites and home to the sat modem and routers - basically the nerve center of the Taj. It's where Ken the IT Genius stays when he is here, and was Todd the Supernerd's in his absence. Now that the Synergy Strike Force fulltimers are playa bound, the comm room is mine. Reason being, in the remaining company of rotarians, USAID treehuggers, their security, afghan houskeepers, and National Guardswoman, I may be the one best qualified to troubleshoot if the internet shits the bed. This is not a comforting thought. At all.

Mehrab, the manager, is surprised that I am moving to this room voluntarily. "The noise!" he says.

I am heartened to find, upon arriving upstairs, that Dave and Todd are migrating the modest Taj arsenal from the leaseholders suite to the comm room. Yes. Yes yes yes. The amount of radiation in to which we are exposed in here might not be great for the baby, but hey. If there is actually anything resembling a real problem, having a closet full of AKs will be AWESOME for the baby, I'll tell you what.

I can't wait for Tim, our security specialist, to get here.

Maybe I'll go for a swim in the scintillating pool downstairs. Possibly the cleanest water for miles. Not potable with all that chlorine but germ free, you betcha.

The real danger is the bread.

2010-08-19T08:37:00.000+04:30

Do I edit down the details of my trip? Downplay the danger to provide comfort to family members who think I'm batshit insane for undertaking these voages in any condition? Or do I tell the truth? That the situation on the ground here is worse than it has been in four years, according to my esteemed mentor and employer, Dave Warner MD, PhD? That if Fary the Super-Rotarian were not here to provide her considerable social sway and 7 years of in-country expertise, that I would not have been hired to come? Lo siento, mi familia. If you want candy-coated optimism about the sitation here, I'm sure our president can provide you with plenty. It is not my job to provide you with this.

In a certain sense, Dr. Warner explained, Fary and will be insulated from danger specifically because we are women. Anybody (anybody) could fall prey to an IED or a suicide bomber. But only the men in our company might be targeted for any kind of violence. Women will be left alone. The doctors who got plugged out in the sticks? Well, first of all - they were out in the sticks. Second - their execution (that's really what it was) is considered an atrocity even by the most conservative of locals. And the women? Well, they died because they were with the men.

We're not anywhere close to there. And our objective will not be to head out into remote villages and make new friends, or even to provide (nearby, relatively stable) villages we know with the medical care and technology they sorely need. Instead, our plan for the rest of the year will be to shore up existing networks (the hospitals, the university, local officials), and stand shoulder to shoulder with the local people who are the first victims of the Taliban, and of creeping bereaucratic incompetence.

More later - I'm going to be out of the field for at least another day. Right now the biggest threat to my person is not militant islamic extremism - it's the food and waterborne pathogens that got me within 24 hours. What I like to call the "Jalalabad Fire Drill" - total GI evacuation. Everybody out of the pool. Motherfucker. I was really careful not to eat the uncooked produce at dinnertime. I think it might have been the naan - it's purchased in town and carried here. Probably on the back of a motorcycle. This isn't as bad as last time though, and The Bean has raised no complaints at all.

Tonight is Thursday, the night before the Sabbath, and I'm hoping to be well enough to tend bar.

Dubai.

2010-08-17T23:08:00.003+04:30

Apparently, the winds reverse directions with the seasons because in the summertime it only take 14.5 hours LA to Dubai, whereas in the winter it takes over 16.I am traveling with a Rotarian who has visited Afghanistan 13 times previously - she averages about 2 trips per year. More about Fary and the Magical Jalalabad-San Diego Sister Cities organization forthcoming, but it will be sufficient to say for the moment that traveling in her company is easy, fun, efficient, and drama-free. Even though one member of our company was delayed in Atlanta, Fary deftly manouevered a flight plan change across three airlines in three different countries for our stranded friend, as well as an overnight stay in a Kabul guest house and a driver - in less than 15 minutes on a cell phone in the airport. She didn't even break a sweat. She is a nurse, Persian by way of England, (so both her accents are lovely), gracious, worldly, well tailored, trim and cheerful. When I am "of a certain age", I want to be just like her.

New projects on the horizon. Seems the ultrasound machine is still not operating in the National Teaching Hospital. New Objective: get the damn ultrasound machine operating and train a technician - preferably a recent medical school graduate. Someone with enough training, who is young and excited to make a difference and not too old to be allergic to learning. This is not an entirely selfless project. If I can get this beheamoth functioning, I (and by extension, you) will be rewarded for my efforts with baby pictures.

It is 100 degrees here at night in Dubai. Stepping outside is like stepping into a sauna. Exactly the kind of weather I would love if being mostly naked wouldn't result in immediate arrest and deportation. The airport is gigantic - frightening, opeulent, electric. Designed to awe and intimidate. If you have ever been to the most grandiose hotels in vegas you have a sense of the total fealty to commerce and luxury that permeates this space. Only these are designed to accomodate an order of magnitude more people, the massive halls echo instead of ring, and no booze is available. It's Ramadan.

We were reminded of this as we took a seat in the nearby La Meridian Hotel. "It's a pity," Fary said. "They make the BEST martini here!"

We were ushered to our oasis by a Lady Cab. Because we are two women unescorted, we were directed to a line of pink taxis driven by matronly, hijabed, pink-smocked lady drivers. This detail of local flavor totally escaped me last time, as I was in the company of Dr. Dave. We listened to "Radio Virgin" - a top - 40 club hits station, cranking Kesha's TICK TOCK. Which frankly startled me.

Dubai is a city of extremes and excesses and basically embodies everything I find indefensible and unsustainable about the human species. It scares the living shit out of me. Which is good, because I am a smartmouthed, uppity bitch and fear, genuine fear, is one of the few things guaranteed to keep my hippie ass in line and out of trouble. This is NOT a free country. Please purchase Gucci bikinis to wear on the novelty palm-tree shaped man-made islands, but understand that if you hold hands on one of their startlingly white beaches you will be arrested. I will have 24 hours here (and a hotel room - thanks Fary!) on the return trip. Fary recommends that I take the desert Safari, but I think I will just haunt La Meridian, go to the spa, and sleep in my frosty, air conditioned room until its time to go.

At least in Afghanistan, there is no pretense about how fucking medieval it can all be. It's part of the charm, really. What You See Is What You Get. As opposed to Dubai, where What You See Has Been Engineered To Be The Most Expensive In The World And Is Polished To A Mirror Shine By Imported Slave Labor.

Next up, Kabul. I can't wait to get to the Taj!

Guest Lecturer

2010-08-16T02:58:00.001+04:30

I've recieved an invitation to teach at Jalalabad University! I am humbled and honored by the request. The invitation came from my friend Wahida, who is part of the English faculty. I am thinking that a weeklong intensive in English for Biology/Science might be good. I met many aspiring doctors and engineers last year. My Pashto is poor, but with a translator I am sure I can convey a lot.

I depart tomorrow at 4 pm. LA to Dubai, Dubai to Kabul, Kabul to Jalalabad. Praise be to Allah, I will not change planes in America.

I'm also planning to have my first prenatal checkup at the School of Midwifery at the National Hospital in Jalalabad. Afghanistan has one of the highest infant mortality rates in the world, and so a new women's healthcare education facility was built - i visited last year. Ironic that I should have an opportunity halfway across the world to obtain health care that I would have to wait for in America (my insurance will kick in sometime in September). It will be interesting to see what services are available, what information is prioritized.

Back again, soon enough:

2010-08-11T19:57:00.002+04:30

I'll be returning to Jalalabad and the Taj Mahal guest house on Monday. It's an interesting time. More could be said about how interesting, but if you care enough to read this you've likely been submerged in reports of the Taliban's creeping influence, the butchery of medical volunteers, the malaise of the Afghan people, and the general incompetence of our government.

I'll keep you posted as I travel.

The Continuing Adventures of Females Getting Dicked in Education

2009-04-13T00:17:00.001+04:30

My first encounter with female students came a few days ago, when Wahida arranged for us to visit the local Bagrami school during the hours of women's instruction. Because there are no co-ed classrooms, the females take the school in the early morning, and the males in the afternoon. Despite the division of gender in the seats, coeducational faculty is permissible. Whether this is due to the scarcity of female teachers or patriarchal authoritarianism (or some zesty combination of both) I am not sure.

The first classroom we visited, Wahida talked about the FabLab, why girls especially should come and learn about computers. After she had finished, I also asked the girls what they want to be when they grow up: The responses, in order of popularity:
Doctor
Teacher
Engineer (!)

"Your Colleagues, The Boys, are all coming every day after classes, and they are very smart." I said. "So I am sure you must be even smarter." This got some giggles. Not a fair statement, but sometimes girls need to have some fun at the expense of boys.

One young lady stuck out in my mind. In a class of students ranging in age from (I'm guessing) 11 to 14, she was one of the youngest (People here are a little on the smaller side, so when I estimate a child's age I tack on 2-3 years, depending on how happy they look. sad, stressed out people age faster everywhere on the planet) But she stood at her desk and spoke passionately in a loud and squeaky voice that in the Quaran the prophet Mohammed (peace be upon him) said that women and men were to be equal. But men do not want us to be equal. I had to argue with my dad just to come here. And it's not fair, dammit. There was much applause.

Adriana made a very good point in all of the classes - "Women have always had to work hard for equality. Even in the united states, equality with men is still relatively new. Everyone must work hard to maintain it." We were left with lingering promises - "I will come, but I must get permission from my father" the girls all said. Not just the students - the female teachers also required permission from their families to come to the lab, probably only 5 blocks away.

In our followup with the principal, I had the opportunity to meet some of the male instructors, who filed in for tea when the bell rang. Some of them were religious, old fashioned hardliners, and had pointed questions for us.

"Why should I let my daughter go? How do I know she will be safe?" One old gentleman asked.

I had Wahida translate for me - "Sir, my father is very strict. At first, he did not want me to come here. But I showed him pictures and let him talk to my boss (an embellishment, but whatever), and now he is happy that I am here and is convinced of my safety halfway across the world." This seemed to placate them. There are some closed-minded folks, but these we can work with. It's the zealots and extremists, whom we can never hope to convince of anything, that are the real danger. And you don't find those people teaching sums to fifth grade girls. You find them sending death threats to the girls whose families want them to learn math.

Our visit must have worked because as of a couple days ago, the Fab Lab was packed with a batch of... little girls! And some older girls! This was a heartening development, although it underscored the sore need for parity.

I was frustrated that two of the female instructors who had promised to come were not there. This left us with three rooms of waiting young ladies, without even an instructor in their native tongue. One room occupied itself by appointing a sort of drill instructor, who would shout out the names of computer components as her classmates repeated after her:

"Mouse!" She would shout
"MOUSE!" They all rejoined
"Keyboard!"
"KEYBOARD!"
"Monitor!"
"MONITOR"
"CPU!"
"CPU!"
"Mouse!"... and on and on. For an hour.

To make matters worse, there were some network problems that day - so there was no internet. And I, in my stupidity, had failed as yet to familiarize myself with the Sugar OS. When I walked into a class full of ten year old girls, huddled four to an OLPC, I was ashamed and frustrated to be unable even to help them take pictures with it. So instead I fired up iTunes on my mac book. Because if there is one thing that transcends language it is Roadrunner Cartoons. Sitting on the floor, surrounded by 15 little Afghan girls making "meep meep" noises, instilling in them a simultaneous love of Chuck Jones and technology... this is so deeply gratifying I can't even put it into words. I will treasure this moment until I die.

And then, there's Sadia.

Meeting this young woman was simultaneously inspiring and heartbreaking. The day after the girls came for the first time, Mehrab came to my room to let me know that there was a tenth form girl who wanted to learn algebra. She was accompanied by one younger girl on the first day, and two more younger girls on the second day. What is most disheartening is the difference between Sadia and The Boys. She is widely considered by her peers to be the cleverest girl in her form, yet her skills lag her male counterparts by at least a year. She brought the tenth form book, and wanted help with what I assume was her homework. Yet we couldn't move ahead to manipulating single variable rational equations. She hadn't mastered fractions.

Keep in mind, this is a problem I encounter frequently in American classrooms, boys and girls alike. Students are shuffled ahead into more advanced classes, awarded marginally passing grades for performance that by any reasonable metric would be considered failure, and then expected to keep pace with curricula they're clearly unprepared for. It's unfair to everybody, and this attitude of "preserve the student's ego at any expense" has led to our pathetic national losses in education. If anyone wonders why our infrastructure at home is failing, why our public science programs are languishing and why everyone in the first world has better broadband than we do - look no further than our dismal math and science performance, compared even to developing countries like China and India.

I'm not convinced that this is the fault of dependence on standardized testing, necessarily - though I'm no fan of "teaching to the test." I am, however, convinced that part of our problem is cultural. At home, when I ask a class full of regular kids (i.e., not gifted, not accelerated in any way) what they want to be when they grow up, I get

Professional Athlete
Singer

Regular kids are informed by the media - and our media is the shallowest, most vapid media on the planet. It's purposefully designed to shorten attention spans and make people want to buy shit they don't need - and the best way to do this is with images of sex and violence. Film and television - really, advertising - have elevated the art of materialism to a science. And it has made our children very stupid indeed. This combined with the comforts of industrialization have also made them lazy. No wonder we are considered "the great satan."

Our cultural differences are reflected in the marvelous performance of the boys' math class. The boys are dynamic, focused, anxious to participate, eager to succeed. I am led to understand that their normal coursework is very rote, which is not how I do things. I talk for a while, then we all participate - the students come to the board to solve problems, and the ones who get stuck are assisted by peers. It is often difficult to get kids to come to the board in the US (depending on the class) but here the kids eat it up. They do their homework. They bring questions from their other class. They correct me when I forget an exponent. These are fantastic students, because they value the opportunity to learn more. I wish kids back in the states did as well.

What's interesting is, the boys seem to have no problem learning from me because I am female. It could be because the impression of competence endowed by my American-ness overrides gender biases. I also talk and act with confidence, not deference - it's amazing how simple postural cues can be used to manipulate teenage boys - in any language. I'm sure some portion of them are coming for the simple novelty of interacting with a girl of any nationality who is smart and looks them in the eye.

In talking to some of the NGO workers, I have learned more about the achievement disparity here. Even men who are college-educated professionals often marry women who are pig-ignorant: illiterate, uncurious, unable even to identify their own country on a map. One of the guests here at the Taj is a woman named Cecelia - she has worked with many local families and expressed some frustration that the husbands do not hire tutors for their wives. But in my opinion it is too late for tutors once a woman becomes a wife and mother. Not that tutoring for these (nominally) grown women would be bad - education is my short answer for everything. But those resources would be far better invested in the daughters of these worldly men - as much as they are willing to provide, and the earlier the better.

Sadia has the same drive and desire to learn as the boys, but if other girls have it they are slow in coming. Perhaps their families are unwilling to let them consort with us - perhaps they are shy. I suspect that the critical period has passed for many, and that they will never have this desire. After all, many girls are married by the time they are 18 or 19 here (some as young as menarche). I know I didn't really focus on what I wanted to do with my brain until I was 17, and I grew up with every advantage in the world. But then, I can expect to live about twice as long as the average Afghan. Which makes the need for education so very urgent.

So even if they can't remember how to find the roots of an nth degree polynomial, I would still like to leave "my" young men with higher expectations of the women in their life. I want them to think that intelligence is a virtue in girls. Even if there is a tragic shortage of educated women for their mothers to select for them, when they are fathers in a few short years I hope my students will encourage their daughters the same way they will their sons.

What is pleasing is the knowledge that the people we are turning out at the Fab Lab will be the Best and Brightest of tomorrow. These are the kids who are going to rebuild this country. We've already got them on the internet, sending out feelers, talking to people all over the world, learning that there is more to life than the way things have always been done here at home. The promise of technolgy and freedom is tangible to them.

And never doubt it, kids. Freedom IS our primary export. For good or for ill.

Like a suit and tie, except if you don't wear it they kill you.

2009-04-08T13:24:00.001+04:30

Wahida is the coordinator of the Fab Lab. She's an extremely competent english speaker, and has been teaching me the Pashto alphabet. On the third or fourth day we were here, she invited Adriana and me to come to her home and meet her family.

Adriana and I, hijabed to the nines, waited inside the gate of the Fab Lab for a taxi to arrive. Wahida herself arrived on foot, wearing a burka (what I have taken to referring to as "The Blue Blankie"). She was escorted by a much younger cousin or brother, who rode on her lap in the taxi.

Once inside the densely carpeted cab, she threw back the veil and greeted us with three kisses each. "I am so happy today that you are coming to my home." she said. She looked sideways at Adriana, and asked "Are you angry?"

"No! Of course not. I'm happy." Adriana is observant and sometimes reserved (though far from shy). Not what we'd think of as angry, but her pensive demeanor is sometimes off-putting to Afghans. People would spend the rest of the day asking, "Sister - why are you so upset?"

Wahida's father is the head of the Veterinary faculty at the local university. Their entire family lives in a sort of condo complex attached to the campus. We headed upstairs, through a courtyard with chickens and children, into a room lined with the pinkest curtains imaginable and comfy low cushions on the floor. This, Wahida explained, was the study where she and her sisters do their homework.

"Why are you so angry today?" She asked us both. "Please, this is my home and you are my sisters. You must be comfortable here." I guess we must have been a little high-strung, in our eagerness not to be rude. I got the message and explained, "It's an honor to be invited to your house, and we don't want to embarrass you. We're still learning how not to be jerky americans. We'll try to relax."

We first met her father, who had been translating English textbooks into Pashto for his students. He came and sat with us, welcomed us to his home, and asked about our mission.

"We are not bad people," He told us, apologetically. "We have had much fighting here, but only some Afghans are bad. They ruin things for everyone. There is so much destruction here, but we are not all bad." It's funny - I wanted to tell him the same thing about Americans.

We would come to learn that Wahida's family is very erudite and cosmopolitan by Afghan standards. Still, our next destination from the girly study (complete with exactly seventeen stuffed animals, Wahida told us) was the outside oven. Her mother and aunt were baking nan in the mud oven outside - pictures are attached. Her mom embraced us both like we had grown up next door and were coming home for the first time in a decade. We also met some small cousins and Wahida's youngest sister, who is a firecracker. I didn't have a chance to meet any brothers.

Heading back upstairs, we visited a next-door neighbor, the wife of one of the professors. She must have been about our age - What was interesting to me was, after Wahida introduced us, she felt compelled to explain that her neighbor had no children. They were both almost apologetic about it. Her neighbor even gestured to her womb, and made some explanation about possibly being sick. I wasn't sure what to say. She showed us the lovely view of the neighborhood from her patio. Overhead, helicopters buzzed. American? Blackwater? I'm not the expert. "A bird for every ghetto," I thought.

I was struck by the homey, open nature of the complex. Doors were open, neighbors were like family. This is almost impossibly precious and rare in Los Angeles. Here, it's the norm.

We headed back for tea and a sit with Wahida's female relatives. It was a delightful, girly day. One of her cousins, a tenth-grader named Soroyia, came to ply some english on us. Soroyia is an aspiring dentist. As we sat, drank tea, and applied henna, I asked questions about the subjective experience of females. "Wahida, what happens if you don't wear the Blue Blanket?"

"The Burka? People make problems for you. My parents don't want me to wear it."

"No?"

"No. There was a time when I did not, but people sent a letter to my father. He became very afraid. I was sent to Kabul."

Over the course of the afternoon, we heard more of her family's story. There are competing political factions at the local university: old-guard holdovers from the communist days (Wahida's dad and the University chancellor fall into this category) vs. the kind of militant extremists Faux News would have us believe Afghanistan is peopled with exclusively. What few moderates there are suffer the derision of both. Elections are coming at the end of summer, and tensions are high.

All of the girls in Wahida's family are attending school, and this is not easy for them. Their house has been set on fire. While there are surely more nuanced politics at work, the women are an easy target for the aggression of the "narrow minded religious people", many of whom are classmates and professors within the university community. People they know personally, and see on a daily basis. Even when you know exactly who the bad guys are, it's not so easy as just killing them, if they're your neighbors and you know their brothers and maybe their brothers are ok, but if you take out one extremist now his brother has your fucking number and if you have made an enemy of an Afghan, you have made an error.

These are old grudges, complicated by history and an endless parade of would-be colonists. The Greeks, the English, the Germans, the Russians, the Americans... As we sat eating an enormous spread of food, in which Adriana and I felt we barely made enough of a dent to be marginally polite, Wahida's mom talked to us in Pashto. She said many of the same things her husband told us when we arrived: We are not all bad people. We are happy you have come. People try to make trouble with us. They say because we allow our daughters to go out, we are not muslim. They make problems for us. Sixteen of my family gone in one day, to a Taliban bomb. I am so happy you are here today. We have slaughtered a hen for you. Please, you are my daughters now, you must eat more.

Wahida, why are your sisters so upset?

The Hospital

2009-04-05T12:44:00.000+04:30

We visited almost a week ago, but in that time, I feel ill. There are some pictures posted. Unfortunately, I was unable to collect very many, due to the sensitive nature of the location - that and people kind of freak a little when they see women with cameras, or so I'm told.

I've struggled with how to present this experience, because the state of health care is so complex in this region, and in the country at large. There are so many NGOs (Non-Government Organizations), so many government agencies, so many charities, so many conflicting agendas... and the only thing that ties them together is the scarcity of funding.

There are two hospitals in Jalalabad - the National Health Hospital, and the University Hospital. They are 600 yards apart, and run by two different Government agencies - The Ministry of Public Health and the Ministry of Education. Because these are different (one could say competing) agencies, they are unallowed to share resources.

Our visit to the National Health Hospital was occasioned by the arrival of Pete and Kim of MedWeb, a telemedicine company.

MedWeb's telemedicine devices allow practitioners in rural areas to upload biometric data, images and medical files directly to major hospitals via servers. Some of the more clever devices for use in the field include a portable ultrasound that can be run via laptop and an EKG glove - instead of meticulously placing electrodes every time, a patient can be asked to wear the glove and lay it over their chest, which situates the 'trodes in their proper location without fuss.

While at the hospital, Pete gave a quick presentation for the department heads of the hospital. There were two female doctors, both OB/GYN (not a shock), and probably 12 male physicians, trained all over the world. Norway, Korea, Pakistan, Russia, UK.

Really, the thing to do is point you to Kim's Blog for MedWeb. The reality is that I am in many ways ignorant of the delicate political dances that must be performed by and for officials here in order to get anything done, and I don't want to misrepresent MedWeb's fine work. They also ran around and did a lot of stuff while I was down for the count. Kim's blog may be found here:

http://medwebcpo.blogspot.com/

If you're interested in more detailed insights into the health care situation on the ground, I would strongly suggest clicking the above link. Kim's reportage is sometimes inspiring, sometimes appalling, always interesting. I am glad to have had the opportunity to work with Pete and Kim.

I'm 23, I think

2009-03-29T08:05:00.001+04:30

I'm not sure if the hesitance in answering such a simple question, "How old are you?" comes from people genuinely not being sure - or if there is some sort of translational hitch. Dealing with numbers in a nonnative language is notoriously difficult. Be that as it may, none of the visitors to the Fab Lab were able to answer me immediately, and with certainty.

The Fab Lab hosts a cadre of students from the local secondary school every day at 2 pm (except Friday, the sabbath). Today was my first day - as promised, I learned how to use a laser cutter.

The Fab Lab, according to the Wikipedia site, is "a small-scale workshop with an array of computer controlled tools that cover several different length scales and various materials, with the aim to make "almost anything". This includes technology-enabled products generally perceived as limited to mass production."

Wikipedia goes on to mention that the Fab Lab initiative was inspired, at least in part, by a course called "How to Make (Almost) Anything" (MAS.863). Thanks MIT OpencourseWare! I might have to look at your syllabus. I'm sure there are many suitable Fab Lab Projects contained therein. The kids here are already building satellite dishes... but maybe there are other things we could try.

So there is a laser cutter, a 3D wax (plastic?) printer, a vinyl cutter, and a bigass shop-bot that can cut wood - along with several computers. There arent enough chairs, however. I suggested that this might be a fine project for some of the students to take on - let's make chairs with the shop bot! But alas, there is not enough juice to run the shop bot. It's a power whore, and all of the power here comes from diesel. Which means that just to keep the lights on here costs about 9000 USD per month.

Of course, for the cost of a single month's operation a top of the line solar system could be installed - but the up-front funding simply isn't there. There are also local rivers whose potential energy could be hydrodynamically harnessed - but if there is not enough money for chairs, where are we going to get the money for the technology that would entail?

It was interesting to meet and interact with local students. Many do not have any English, but some are quite fluent. I met one young lady - Wahida. She taught me the first several letters of the Pashto alphabet and invited Adriana and myself to visit her home on Friday, which Dr. Dave assures us is a good thing.

Possibly the most heartening experience I had in the Fab Lab today was watching the nephew of M (our guide from the last installment) as he surfed the internet, in the manner of little boys. By little, I mean - he looks 13 or 14... It's hard to tell. One of the things I have noticed is that even the people who estimate themselves in their early twenties look to be in their thirties. In a country where the life expectancy is 41.5, the latest acceptable age for a girl to be married is 24 (I think).

Anyway, so, M's nephew. When I head in to the Laser Cutter room, homeboy is in there playing a first person shooter over the internet. With some other kids, who knows where. And my first thought is, "Hell yeah. THIS is what kids your age should be doing with a fatty internet connection." Unfortunately, I was unable to get a picture of him playing the game, because he saw me and kind of freaked a little and shut it down. I didn't even have a chance to ask him what he was playing.

So, as Jalal taught me the specifics of taking a black and white image into cad and sending it to the laser cutter, M's nephew opens a Yahoo! chat client and starts chatting with... people. Girl people! In English! One of the people he had a window going with was named - wait for it - BIG TITTYS. And I'm thinking, "Attaboy." He must have seen me watching, though, because he signs off with "ok I must go now talk with you leter." And then - like a professional slacker - homeboy opens up an excel spreadsheet and starts clicking around randomly, like he's actually doing shit.

I know that trick, kid. I'm just glad you know it too.

As for me, I'm feeling a little better. Sharp stomach pains still, but no fever and no more puking. Now my tonsils are sore. The bugs are on the move. Was considering heading down to the bar, as there are some interesting guests tonight, but Tim promised to take us out shooting at the range, so I kind of want to make sure I'm 100%. Carbines are the best kind of incentive.

We'll probably make a trip out the the university in a day or two.

Part of me really wants to kick this bug (or, these several bugs) but part of me is also in no hurry. Without arranging for an escort, there is no way to leave the Taj and wander around safely. That's the only real bummer. The accommodations here are world class, but it's not like I can just take to the city on foot, by myself. I'm obliged to spend a lot of time here. Which is a fine experience in and of itself.

Hey, Mister -

2009-03-27T10:12:00.000+04:30

Remember that whole thing about being within 2 lbs of my goal weight? Fuck that. After traveling for 2 straight days, and then landing in a guest house with a full time cook and a lot of delicious nan, let's just say I am glad there is a weight room here.

The house I'm currently staying in was a UN compound, which is interesting because it was built to meet Minimum Operational Security Standards (MOSS). This means that there are some government agencies who are allowed to come visit the Taj (as we affectionately call it), who are not allowed to do things like, f'rinstance, go to the store without an armed escort. Which makes it hard to gather intelligence - cultural, military or otherwise. We have a lot of interesting guests. Thursday night the bar is open. I spent most of the evening chatting with some Blackwater dudes who were perfectly lovely people with wives and dogs, whip smart with a good sense of humor, sick of being in the field.

Unlike a lot of those guys, we can totally go to the store. We went today. Todd wanted to pick up a cellphone. A chinese cellphone. A chinese cellphone that takes two sim cards. And also can record video. Todd is what you would call a "power nerd."

Tim, our badass security detail, advised us that when we go afield we will be stared at. A lot.
I was in the circus, so I assured him that staring is not so much a problem. We were driven by the manager of the guest house, a local named M (I can pronounce, but not spell his name. I don't want to butcher it). So Todd and Adriana and I piled into the SUV with Virginia plates (most of the cars here were stolen. Also, most of them are Toyotas. Make of that what you will) and headed to downtown J-Bad, to the market.

I neglected to bring my camera, but Adriana brought hers. Mea culpa. Pictures later.

We parked on the side of the dirt road, weaved through sidewalk salesmen, buskers, begging children. It's damp and muddy right now. We took a flight of stairs into these catacombs - an electronics market. M led us to a specific booth - I'm guessing one run by his friend.

Now, Todd was in fairly native garb. Adriana and I, while wearing hijab, were also in sweatshirts and jeans. As we waited for the cellphone transaction to complete, we didn't just attract stares, we drew a crowd. In a subterranean space, this can be unnerving. A young guy behind me gave me a jostle - "Hey mister! Hey, mister!" I ignored him - unsure whether he was talking to me (he was) and not wanting to attract more attention. An older guy waiting in line told him off - so he came around the other side of the counter to look us the eye. "Hey mister - why you don't want to talk to me?"

I should mention that while there is a lot of poverty, and a lot of hungry and dirty people, there is a cross section of Afghan men who are wicked handsome. (M is one) And everyone is charming. Hey-Mister was young, maybe around 20 or a little older, and dedicated the next several minutes to giving us dazzling grins and slapping Todd on the back good-naturedly while Todd disassembled and inspected ten different chinese cell phones.

There was a dense crowd of around 30 folks - all men, all ages. Adriana took her camera out and asked M if it would be ok to take some shots. "Sure," he says. "No problem." As soon as she took her camera out, everyone was smiles and handshakes and posing for pictures. There was absolutely zero resentment or hostility. Everyone just wanted to make friends. Turns out Hey-Mister is an english teacher, attending university, and likes Mike Tyson.

We did head from the electronics market to the dressmaker, however. If moving quickly and subtly is of the essence, i want to blend. Adriana and I both got some highly modest native garb - the jeans and sneakers would be a dead giveaway, but with Todd's crazy beard I daresay we might be able to get a little lost in a crowd, if there is a need.

Out in the open streets we got some long stares, sure. But there was none of the claustrophobic mobbing like there had been underground. I guess it was a feature of the architecture but it was a strange place to land in the market.

The in-flight magazine from Dubai to Kabul, poorly translated from Pashto, contained a comic strip depicting the ten different kinds of beggars one is likely to meet in Afghanistan. It was sad, and funny. I'm pretty sure I saw some of them. Hell, I recognized some of them from Hollywood. But when we go back to the market to pick up our dresses from the tailor I won't be nearly so reserved. I am looking forward to shaking more hands, and taking more pictures.

1. Never get involved in a land war in Asia.

2009-03-26T15:56:00.000+04:30

2. Don't make fun of Blackwater on the Dubai-Kabul flight. All those big surly white dudes you see? Not on vacation.

3. Jalalabad Road, which connects Kabul and J-Bad, isn't as deadly for nimble civilian vehicles as it is for armored caravans of military personnel.

4. The nimble part is important, however. You do not want to get stuck behind donkeys. Or armored caravans of military personnel.

5. Taliban may be identified by their style of shoes and pants.

6. For some tribes, illiteracy is considered a virtue. Ironically, these are the ones whose attitude toward women is most egalitarian. The reason being: if you're nomadic sheep farmers, losing half of your work force is not an option.

7. The guest house where I am staying is currently providing the internet access for both the university and the hospital in J-Bad. The satellite dish is INFLATABLE! Pictures soon.

8. We are also the only bar in eastern Afghanistan. The firepit is made of mud. And love.

9. There is a tribe from Nepal who so impressed the British with their mercenary skills (100 years ago) that they have become a de facto race of assassins, and are chosen for security applications by westerners throughout asia still today. They are politically distinct from locals and dedicated professionals, as one would expect.

10. Call to prayer at 4:30 in the morning? Really? Really.