Herat!

Some time between 5 and 6 am in the morning, I must have done a poorly executed yoga pose in my sleep because I awoke with a horrible pain radiating from my right shoulder into my neck.
Hoping for some hydro-therapy, I stumbled, bleary-eyed, into the bathroom. There was no water. So I worked myself into an emotional lather instead, preparing biting comments should anyone offend me further. However, it was a morose and grumpy group at the breakfast table as no one else had water either. Perversely, that made me feel better.

Unwashed and with bad hair, and unassured by the Kiwi's comment that I looked the same as ever to him, I threw a scarf over my shoulders and headed to the airport. Once there, I got into a tussle with the UN aircrew, who insisted I wasn't authorized to fly with them (technically I'm not, so I couldn’t get too indignant about it). Eventually however, I did wrangle my way onto the plane and off to Herat.

I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before, but Afghanistan is spectacular from the air. Every color you can imagine ripples through the mountains, from umbers to ochers to even a chalk blue. There’s not much green though.

Herat, however, is another story. It’s got more trees, less traffic, and better (i.e. paved) roads then Kabul. I was soon plugged into my guesthouse, took a shower (hoorah!) and was off to find “success stories” about microfinance borrowers to write about.

We had to drive through a minefield to get to the village of Jetrai. The road was well-traveled and no doubt safe, but the sight of those stacked red and white stones never fails to give me chills. I saw only one tree in the entire village. Jetrai was a picture of desolation, and dust billowed down the dirt roads unimpeded by vegetation, women pulling their long patterned veils tight around their bodies to shield themselves. Hazaras, one of Afghanistan’s ethnic minorities (and brutally kicked around by the majorities), lived in the village, which made my job somewhat easier. The Hazaras are more liberal in their views. Women cover their heads but not their faces, and they are willing to chat.

I met two university students who, with the help of a microloan, had started up a business sewing girls’ clothing. With their first loan they’d bought material, then with their second loan they bought six more sewing machines and began employing other students part-time. Now they plan to hire even more employees. It was terrific to see. Not only were they paying for their studies and helping their own families, but by employing other young women they were spreading the wealth around the community.