I got up on the wrong side of bed this morning, and I guess it showed as I walked in. One of our senior engineers decided to cheer me up by way of a joke: “There were three men stranded at sea on a lifeboat, a Japanese man, a U.N. worker, and an Afghan. After a whole day at sea, the Japanese man suddenly picked up the radio and threw it overboard. When confronted by the other two, he explained, ‘In my country, we have thousands of radios—when we get home I will get another.’ Not to be outdone, the U.N. worker promptly threw his satellite phone overboard. A similar explanation followed. The Afghan sat for a while, his pride wounded, for he had nothing to throw. Then he grabbed the U.N. worker and threw him overboard. Before the Japanese man had time to respond he said, ‘Oh don’t worry, we have thousands more where I come from.’ “
It seems that the level of resentment against the international community is rising. The frequency of security incidents has crept up, but more worrying, the stories people tell when they come back from the field all have an edge. I was nervous about returning, and perhaps this is just because we’re worried about Iraq, but my internal anxiet-o-meter is running high. To some degree it’s understandable in Kabul—we ride around in our Landcruisers and live in gated compounds, with power and water (most of the time)—which is a far cry from local conditions, but most of the services we deliver, such as schools and roads, are built in the provinces.
It was another big meeting day—again with concern about the ministry and the riots. There is a lot of pressure building for us to deliver quick-impact projects, which will help with short-term stability and address (real and substantial) needs. At the same time, the ministry sees a need for more substantial, long-term programs that will help transform disability from a charity-based to a rights-based approach.
As we sit and brainstorm, I can feel myself being drawn to short-term plans, both because I think the situation is serious, and the ministry needs to establish credibility, but also because I know that I am only here for six more months. I tell myself that I want to do something substantial because I want to ensure that I am useful to the Afghan people, but there’s a strong element of wanting to leave something tangible behind other than a mountain of paper. The guilt associated with the absolute luxury of our living conditions, especially when you go beyond Kabul and see the villages, also plays a part. I feel an urge to justify my wages, which is always a dangerous thing.
There was some fun today; I spent the late afternoon showing off the photographs I had developed in New York. Buzkashi has re-emerged post-Taliban, and our staff are fanatics—some of our drivers have pooled together to buy horses. Before I left, they took me to a match where their horses were on the Panjshir team and asked me to take pictures.
For the uninitiated, Buzkashi is described as calf-carcass polo; the spectators define the playing field—there is a chalk circle at one end and a flag opposite. To score points, a team has to drag the carcass around the flag and then down to the other end, dropping it into the circle without letting the opposition gain control. Whipping, kicking, and everything else is allowed, which leads to unbelievable displays of horsemanship where riders hang on to their horses at 45 degree angles while clutching carcasses and being soundly thrashed. It is considered unsportsmanlike to stab or shoot your opponent, but it is permitted. After leafing through the photographs, we had a long discussion about my holiday in the United States and my family. The driver who speaks the best English paused carefully, then told me that I “need to get married and have children.” In response to my startled “why?” he pointed out that all my photos were of children and I was clearly lonely because I kept jumping from city to city, without a family to keep me somewhere.
I went back into the office slightly perturbed and complained to our office assistant, who promptly ran outside and explained, “All the men are ugly with big hairy beards, so he only takes photos of the children.”
