Augh!!!

Day 3 with no cell phone service, which, in Afghanistan, means Day 3 with no phone service. There are no landlines in Afghanistan.

The story I've been told, which is just insane enough to be believable, is that there's a new law that all cell phone users must register their passports. Since this is a new law, none of the old cell phone users have done so. So, rather than sending out a text message to everyone telling them to register by a certain date, the cell phone company just shut down everyone's service.

There are only two cell phone companies in Afghanistan, so imagine the chaos this has caused. Again, I'm not 100% sure this is true, though I have it on good authority (our security specialist, who's paid to know these things). But there are massive crowds around the cell phone company's offices.

Fortunately, my company has a logistics department to deal with these things so I don't have to.

Unfortunately, it hasn't been dealt with.

Rebuilding Woes

A Washington Post article (see link, above) recently slammed rebuilding efforts in Afghanistan for general failure and incompetence. USAID and the prime contractor, Louis Berger, took the brunt of it.

Getting anything done here is a tough proposition - particularly when forced to rely upon local labor in the name of "capacity building". That's aid jargon for "training" and after 25 years of war, training and mentoring is rightly a part of the reconstruction process. But it's also time consuming. And when there is little oversight, well, the results are predictable.

What's worse than a security advisor with no sense of humor?

A security advisor with a sense of humor. We're getting radios (hate 'em), and with radios come radio call-signs. Our security advisor was devising call-signs on the one day I decided to wear a ponytail.

Now I'm Pocahontas.

What's scary is that I'm starting to answer to the name.

On a totally unrelated note, I spent Thanksgiving at one of the US bases here. Never have I felt so welcome. Little wonder they were excited to see a fresh face - the base was grim, all concrete and metal. A few days later I visited an ISAF base (the international forces). What a difference! Not only does that place have a beer garden, but it also has beer! That said, if the chips were down, I'd prefer to have the Americans at my back. The international forces may have a cushier life, but they're also the ones targeted for terrorist attacks. I suspect there's a correlation. Who to tangle with... frustrated Americans or relaxed Europeans? Hm...

Of course, I'm being facetious, but it is true that the international forces have been taking some hits recently. The security situation has taken another dip of late, and we're all hoping it's the last blast until winter sets in rather than the beginning of a trend. There's been a report, however, that 100 fighters trained by Zarqawi have snuck across the borders, prepped for suicide bombing.

Acts of Kindness

I caught up with my good friend Ed, one of my all-time favorite human beings. Over the Eid holidays (beginning of October) he'd gone to Pakistani Kashmir to visit a colleague who worked there. He mainly wanted to get out of Kabul for Eid, because the whole country shuts down over the holiday, but he had also decided he would help three families in the earthquake zone.

Ed had been on Phuket, Thailand, when the tsunami struck, and spent the next week first searching for survivors, then searching for bodies, then helping loved ones locate the missing. So even though he knew heading into Kashmir was likely a mad idea, it seemed like a normal thing for him to do.

He and his friend worked their way into the mountains. At several villages their car was mobbed by desperate earthquake victims - any car with a foreigner in it could be bringing relief. They had to drive through the mobs at a crawl - it was too dangerous to stop, too dangerous to get out of the car. Finally they arrived at a camp of journalists, where they stayed in tents. The winter hadn't begun, but it was bitterly cold.

The next morning, Ed's friend took him out to a village where he knew of three widows in need. Between the two of them, they gave each widow and her family $300 - a small amount, but a huge help in this impoverished region. Thinking of his night in the tent, Ed asked how they'd survive the winter.

"Allah will provide," they told him. "Allah sent you."

When Ed returned to the camp he met up with some jaded BBC reporters, angry that the Pakistani government hadn't sent the army in sooner, that people were freezing, that more would die. One derided Ed's mission to help three Pakistani families. What good would it do? What did it solve? "You Americans think you can save the world," he sneered.

Really?

Things to be Grateful For

Over the weekend, I attended a microfinance awards ceremony. Afghan MFIs submitted reports about their best clients to the panel. Twelve winners were selected in various categories: returning refugees, war widows, demobilized soldiers, alternative livelihoods (i.e. people switching from growing opium poppy back to legitimate work), agriculture, and businesses outside of Kabul. At the ceremony, the winners told their stories to the judges and attendees, the former who then voted on first and second place prizes.

Since Thanksgiving is coming up, I thought I'd tell a few of their success stories. They certainly remind me of how fortunate I've been and of how much I take for granted.

A Refugee Returns to Rebuild Her Life
Nasrin Dost Mohammad

Nasrin Dost Mohammad suffered deeply during the Taliban period. Her husband lost his leg during the factional fighting. Her five year-old son froze to death during the winter, when she was too poor to buy wood for heating fuel. When twenty of her family members were gunned down by the Taliban before her eyes, she and what remained of her family fled on foot over the mountains to Pakistan. There she lived as a refugee, supporting her disabled husband and her children by working as a seamstress.

In 2002 Nasrin returned to Kabul, where borrowed $100 from Parwaz, a local microfinance institution, to make quilts and curtains from her home. Her tiny business grew, and she took out a second, larger loan. After securing contracts with stores to sell her products, she now grosses $600/month in sales and employs five other women in her business. Not only does her microbusiness support her own family, but the income her employees earn supports five other families in Kabul.

GNN

I'm convinced people aren't any worse to each other today than they were 50 years ago. Watching the news, however, it sure seems that way. Someone should start a Good News Network to lift us from the gloom and doom, give us a more balanced perspective. Deepak Chopra as commentator?

And if a GNN did exist, I'd lead with a story like the one about the Afghan cabbie in Southern California yesterday who found $350,000 in diamonds left in the back seat of his cab. He found a cellphone bill in the bag and traced the owner, returning the jewels a few hours later. In a related story that wasn't reported on the AP, an American friend of mine unwittingly dropped a $100 bill in a carpet shop here in Kabul - half way down the block a kid ran up, panting, and gave it to her. She wasn't a regular customer in the shop; the dealers could have kept it and she would have been none the wiser.

Are Afghans more honest than most? I'm not ready to make that claim, but good stuff does happen here on a large and small scale, and sometimes it's nice to reflect on that rather than the bad guys with their car bombs.

Kabul Golf Club

It was a brisk day in Kabul. And as I walked beside my golfing companion, all I could think of was the scene from Blackadder Goes Forth, where the soldier asks what the procedure is if he steps upon a mine.

Answer: You throw yourself 50 feet straight up into the air, and scatter yourself across the battlefield.

The Kabul Golf Club is that kind of place. Some de-miners I'd once had dinner with had expressed reservations about the place – ordinance is still turning up as the ground erodes, and the de-miners were chased off by the local warlord before they could complete their job.

Still, I figured it was a golf course, which meant lawns and grooming and there couldn’t be mines, could there?

Except there was no lawn, no grass, no grooming at all. Just barren land with thorny brown weeds that clung to my trousers. Small mounds of earth had been piled up and flattened at the top to tee off. Around the holes, a charcoal-colored “green” of sand and oil. I putted a ball into a hole, just to say I’d done it, but I’m no golfer. Though it was nice to be out in the open (a rarity for women in Kabul), it wasn’t worth the paranoia, my tiptoeing in the footsteps of those who’d gone before (a dicey mine-avoidance ploy, at best). There probably aren’t any mines out there, but I think about the kid who stepped on one in Kabul last spring. Who knows where the damn things are? The area near the “course” was the site of heavy fighting. Ruined mud brick buildings line the road back into town.

Strange government buildings in Islamabad.

How Not to Get an Afghan Visa

I returned to Islamabad late Wednesday night, and my first order of business was to get an Afghan visa in the hopes I'd be able to fly to Kabul on Monday. Here's how the process went:

1) 10:30 am. Arrive at consulate to get visa application. Breathe sigh of relief: sign says it only takes one day to get a visa. Unfortunately, sign also says I must bring photocopies of the visa application and of my passport, so I'll have to return. Deadline: Noon.

2) Return to consulate, realize I forgot photocopy of passport. Time: 11:50. Race to the nearest market and find a photocopy shop. Cost: 1 rupee. Discover the smallest bill I've got is a 500. The shopkeeper gives me the photocopy for free. Race back to the consulate and turn in documents. Time: 11:59. Hoorah! Afghan official tells me to come back Monday at 9:30 to pay for the visa and then Monday at 4 pm to pick up the passport. One day visa? Sorry, the consulate takes three day weekends. Friday is the Afghan Saturday, and Pakistan takes Saturday and Sunday as a weekend...

Plane leaves Monday at 1 pm. Next flight out: Thursday. ARGH!!!

3) Monday morning. Return to consulate at 9:30 sharp. Cool my heels outside with a gang of Afghan men. Am finally allowed inside. At front of line I wait behind the glass while Afghan bureaucrats take their time drinking tea and sorting out their morning's business, which doesn't appear to have much to do with handing out visas. Pay. At last. Leave. Feel the stress that is Afghanistan reaching across borders to give me aneurism.

4) 4 pm. Return to collect passport. Discover I've only been given a 15-day visa. Curse at length.

What You've Missed...

A trip to Lahore, a family of five on a motorbike (check the pic at http://adventurersclub.blogspot.com), and now I'm back in Islamabad.

There's a shortage of hotel rooms here. The city is flush with aid workers here for quake relief. While I was in Lahore, my cheap-o guesthouse "lost" my return reservation. I was finally forced to land in the 5-star Serena Hotel. It's an amazing place, and I'm starting to feel guilty. The site of all these do-gooders and diplomats lounging about a luxury hotel while the people they're here to help live in tents strikes an ironic chord. In short, I don't like the company I'm keeping and am returning to my dingy little guesthouse as soon as a room frees up. Realistically, I shouldn't criticize them because there *is* a shortage of hotel rooms here. But I also know that even were there not a shortage, they'd all be clamoring to get in here. Who wouldn't? The Serena is paradise. A guilty paradise. And while I certainly don't advocate the suffering and martyrdom of aid workers, well, I'm feeling conflicted.

At least the owner of the Serena, the Aga Khan, uses the hotel earnings toward charities and programs to develop economies in places like Pakistan and Afghanistan. He seems to do a decent job of it too, if his microfinance programs are any indication.

Weird News

In today's headlines...

Lawyers in Pakistan are ineligible for credit cards and now the bar association is suing. I asked some folks in the industry why, and they guessed it's because lawyers know how to take their debt to court, tie things up, and avoid paying. Hm...

A school in one of the earthquake's worst hit areas has reopened and the new building is supposedly up to earthquake specs (in a month?). As students filed into the courtyard for the opening ceremony, they were met with the sight of a mass grave and stones for 18 students who'd been killed when the building collapsed (over 50 students and teachers died at this school). A local psychologist warned that the daily reminder of the deaths might not be the best thing for the children, still traumatized by the quake and frequent aftershocks.

D'ya think???

Family transport - Lahore

Ridiculous, Horrible, Sublime

4:30 (AM) - Wake up. Thank you, jet lag!
5:00 - Work out – one of this month’s aspirations is to return to my old workout habits, and I’ve got nothing better to do at 5 AM.
7:00 - Wash under-things in hotel sink.
7:20 - Discover only brought two pairs of socks to Lahore, both of which are residing in sink.
7:25 - Call colleague and ask to borrow hair dryer to dry socks, or socks.
8:00 - Leave for appointment at microfinance institution (MFI) wearing NY Subway ankle socks.
8:30 - Lost in Lahore. Drive around aimlessly in smog that hangs like a morning mist over the city.
9:00 - Arrive late at meeting. MFI director tells us that she and her company already know everything we’ve been brought in to research. Wonder why I am here.
9:30 - Meet with marketing department which confirms they already know everything we’ve been asked to do. Feel I’ve been set-up to fail.
10:00 - Drive to branch office, in “suburb” of Lahore. Sort through the data they already have – it’s true, they’ve got pretty much everything they need.
12:00 - Get loaded into back of motorized rickshaw by MFI staff, who take us to visit some nearby clients. Children point and laugh at the sight. Swear never to do this again.
12:30 - Trek past water buffalo and down narrow, muddy, brick roads strewn with garbage. Think this is the best job in the world.
1:00 - Interview clients, two brothers who sell tents, overseen by five employees of MFI who interrupt and intimidate clients. Older brother contradicts younger brother. Younger brother pouts.
1:30 – Another client visit, this time to a family that butchers cows. Pieces of fatty animal flesh cling to the soot-darkened walls of their home's courtyard. Flies buzz aggressively, attracted by the odor. All my vegetarian instincts revolt.
1:45 – Interview a client who sells appliances. Small children press their faces against the window, making faces. I make faces back. They laugh hysterically. At least I've entertained some kids today.
2:00 – Interview a family that makes pickled garlic and ginger. The air is redolent with the odor, as will I be shortly. Circles of dung, each with a single perfect handprint, line a brick wall outside. Curse myself for having forgotten camera. Would have made excellent photo for nephew’s school report on alternative fuel sources. Return to branch office.
3:30 - Flee the scene, refuse offer of lunch back at MFI HQ. Wretched old woman grasps my arm, begging for money. I move to give it to her and am tackled by my Pakistani colleagues, who tell me if I do they’ll never be able to walk this street in peace again. Hang head in shame. Beggar, denied, curses my colleagues.
4:00 - Lunch. Scrub mysterious brown muck from palm of hand (prior to eating). Eyes burn from pollution.
5:00 - Go shopping with colleague, whose sister is about to be married and requires multiple thousand-dollar outfits for the many wedding events.
7:00 – Discover secret of Pakistani fashion sense. Had known that when women purchase clothes, the outfit is sold complete, hence fabulous coordination. Had known most women have their clothes made, however, and wondered how they managed to match the fabrics so perfectly. See fabric also sold in coordinated sets of three (shawl, top, and pants), sewn loosely together like one giant banner. Buy opulently beaded and embroidered shawls instead. Must buy little black dress when get home.
8:30 – Dinner on the rooftop of Cooco’s Den, overlooking the spectacularly lit old fort and mosque. Debate the meaning of the red lights on the buildings around us. Agree that we will look like jerks if we continue with the proposed work. Get approval from boss in Islamabad to renegotiate work agreement.
10:00 - Bed
11:00 – Earplugs prove no match for the buzz and clatter of construction on the floor above. Call management. Fall asleep feeling vindicated.

Pakistan Quake News

Quake Triggers Massive Displacement

50,000 quake victims have migrated from the quake areas to Islamabad, and it's estimated another 100,000 people will migrate within the next month. Some are in camps, others are renting homes, driving up the rental prices.

Construction Materials Responsible for Quake Deaths

Kashmiris blame their switch from traditional, light-weight wood and straw buildings, to concrete for the massive destruction. "The traditional Kashmiri structures, made of wooden poles, straw and light beams in teh roofs, did the least damage. The largest number of people died when they were trapped under heavy concrete," said Shabbir, 79. "We know the terrain of this area and what our elders said. They had experienced earthquakes before. But the young do not listen."

US Aid Flights Not Dependent on UN Donations

The UN's statement of a shortfall which will impact aid to the stricken areas will not affect US flights and humanitarian activities, which are independent of UN efforts, says the US Central Command. Since the three weeks since the quake, 24 US helicopters have flown more than 930 sorties into the quake-stricken regions, delivering over 4 million lbs. of supplies and evacuating more than 3,000 people. The US plans to increase the number of helicopters carrying out these missions.

Aftershocks

The ground still hasn't settled down here. This morning while I sat at my computer I felt a brief aftershock. It was big enough to startle me out of my chair, but before I could scrape my chair backwards and head for the door it was over. With the October 8th quake in mind I'm no doubt jumpier than usual. The aftershocks have been frequent over the last three weeks, and I expect this won't be the last I'll feel.

Eid Mubarak!

With the October 8th earthquake in mind, the government and mosques have called for a subdued Eid. Normally, I've been told, Islamabad is the scene of wild partying during Eid. But this year, people are staying home and the streets feel deserted.

The earthquake is still very much an on-going crisis. Tens of thousands of people still have not been reached in the mountains, and winter is closing in. And even for those who have been reached, the aid has been limited due to transport and money issues. A crisis is looming.

A Safe Arrival

I arrived in Islamabad on the last day of Ramadan and the day before Eid, the three-day blow-out holiday celebrating Ramadan's end. It was akin to landing in a US airport on Christmas Eve, and I hope to never do it again. Chaos!

Part of me was touched by the familiar holiday scenes. The people may have been wearing shalwars and turbans, but their expressions were the same you'd see anywhere. Relatives eagerly crowded the area where we were disgorged, waving and smiling as their loved ones emerged.

The other part of me wanted to run them all down with my 55 pound suitcase.

Back to Pak

Today I'm leaving for Pakistan. I'd thought I'd spend the next week in Islamabad, the capital, but just learned the work has shifted to Lahore. It might shift back to Islamabad again - who knows? The plan is to continue on to Kabul around Nov. 13th, assuming my Afghan visa arrives on time. I'll be arriving in Pakistan during Eid, the celebration at the end of Ramadan, and it's a good bet the Afghan embassy will be closed for the duration.

My bags are (mostly) packed, stuffed full of bulky winter clothes. I've got my new iPod in hand and a cunning plan to smuggle wine onto the airplane. It's just wrong that American carriers charge $5/bottle for trans-continental flights... even worse that they don't have change. Why not just keep everyone in blissful ignorance, charge an extra $20 a ticket, and give us "free" drinks?