Rule no.5: Be like the green green grass

Just before landing in Kabul a couple of months ago, following a long transit night in Dubai, I was desperately thirsty, longing for some water or tea. The feeling was made only stronger by the dryness of everything below, the mountains, the plains, the mud houses. Whatever I seemed to lay my eyes upon was a yellowish brown, with ocre shades. Everything blended in this colour too. The landscape, the houses were all made of the same material and seemed to form a perfect unity. In short, one of the things that made Afghanistan quite unique was that even inhabited locations seemed empty of villages, until the eye was well enough trained to dsitinguish the mud villages from the hills.

After a couple of days, as I drove down to Charikar, in Parwan province, this first impression of very dry landscape was confirmed. All the trees seemed dry. So did the land and the little vegetation. All the vineyards too, apparently dry. In fact, I was even wondering whether they were used at all. In Mir Bacha Kot, one of the trade centers along the way, finally a nice bunch of tall trees. I've been wondering ever since when they were planted and by what miracles they survived the years of drought, war, displaced populations looking for firewood. These tall pine trees are apparently among the 10% of forests that were not devastated in the last 30 years. Lucky ones. As we approached Charikar, every once in a while I could see a small square of green grass, obviously neatly irrigated, which I assume was in fact some kind of crop. Anyhow, a very pleasant sight indeed.

Once I got the opportunity to further drive around Parwan province, it turned out the picture was a little less bleak. Indeed, while I seemed to put my eyes on a few dry river beds between Kabul and Charikar, part of the Shamali plains are irrigated with many little kareze, eg irrigation canals, that run along and under the roads. Sometimes over them too, which makes crossing a bit of an adventure. And you can see indeed bits and pieces of vegetation surrounding them that suggest the land can still produce some green green grass.

Somehow, I always loved the contrast brought by the range of mountain tops covered with some snow and the flat land, deserted by water. In the far, the Hindu Kush was always present with some dignified eternal snow covering its sides, while along the valleys, you could just see the smaller mountains announcing winter. And invariably, day after day the snow progressed down the slope, all the way to the plains. I cannot tell you how much I longed to see the snow finally reaching us, covering everything. Not that I was entirely certain it would happen, but I had my fingers crossed, hoping for a couple of snow fights. And sure enough, in January it happened. On a beautiful night of January, I reckon, it started snowing and in the morning, we woke up with the streets, parks and houses of Kabul covered in a beautiful layer of snow. Cars progressed very slowly on the still pristine white blanket. Not often do you see such careful kabuli drivers and I even heard all businesses selling chains run out of stock and had to close early. For a coupe of days, snow felt every night, sometimes even throughout the day and fair enough it made climbing the stairs to our office a highly hazardous activity. Happy but bruised we survived. Happy mostly because we had a few mean snow fights at night and during the day, and although the sharpness and speed of my snow balls could not compete with some of my colleagues', I still managed to hold myself proud and be only ever touched a couple of times. (While we're at it, though, I would like to specify that our mad Tajik friend taking snow in his hand and proceeding to spread it over my skull does not count in the snow fight...)

Thanks to the below zero temperatures, the snow remained, although it got a little too hard for fights or snowmen, or even walks so the fun was not entirely there. Yet still, the country looked beautiful. My main interrogation concerned what the land would look like once it's all melted. Would there be a proper spring time, with all trees and fields turning green? That seemed unlikely, but one could hope. Without surprise, Kabul turned to its good old muddy style once all the snow and ice had melted, so Im back to wearing trousers that most of the time have too the colour of the earth. Anyway, as I drove back from Parwan to Kabul a couple of days ago, to my astonishment, I put my eyes on some wild patches of grass here and there. It's not the light green I'm longong for. It still looks a little dry and pitiful. But it's grass and 'living' one at that and that's a beginning. Plus there was quite a bit of it, all along the road. And in fact, even some of the hills of Kabul seem to have made the effort to cover themselves with bits and pieces of green carpet.

So I'm aware the springtime renewal should not be equated to Afghanistan finally standing proud, with no more development problems. The last UN development report sufficiently shows that. And it does not mean the underground water levels have substantially changed. Nor is the Kabul river running wild again, as a friend once wished. But I've decided anyhow that to me the patches of green are a positive sign. That the country will be spared droughts for a few years and that it will go on progressing - I let you decide for yourself in what direction it should progress. Plus today is a bueatiful sunny day, clear blue sky, just a few clouds, and surely that is sufficient to be optimistic. So let's see, nowroz is coming at the end of March and the new year will start then. I'll put my bet on this being a good year for Afghanistan.

So when once in a while you're not certain the country's moving on, try to look at the grass. In fact be the grass. Visualise the proud growth of your little green arms. OK I'm only kidding here. But who knows, maybe that too can turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy?

Rule no. 4: Although I Walk in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I Shalt not Fear, for my Handset is with Me. Or Shall I?

You do not know what loneliness is until you have found yourself spending three hours in a party carrying around a massively cumbersome handset. I read recently a joke about relief workers feeling an urge to display their handset at all times. And I have to say this joke is absolute blasphemy. Find me one single relief worker who doesn't feel an absolute fool carrying around the said handset and I pay you dinner in Atmosphere.

Now, there is two reasons why people would carry a handset at night, and in parties specifically. First, they are forced to. Second, it's the only way they'll ever get hold of a car to go home - obviously, walking home is not exactly an option, if only because should mobs of gangsters not attack you on the way, you're likely to die falling in some pothole. As far as people I work with are concerned, the first factor is definitely determining. Note, by the way, that our security officer has lately decided to take his job so much at heart that the radio now runs random checks on people. At any time. Even when we are in the office. Go and have a reasonable argument with a guy who reproaches you not to have your handset on when you are in office... Wonderful. The irony is when you do carry it around, you're likely not to be reachable once the radio could become useful. Naturally that shields you from radio checks in the middle of a party - amazing how radio waves are stopped by big fat concrete walls. - but it's likely to mean you'll need to go out in the pouring rain to request a car. In the middle of the night, not necessarily in the most recommendable areas - well surely you can't attend parties in Wazir Akbar Khan every night-, I'm not exactly certain how that is meant to increase your safety. Anyway.

Imagine you're some lonely worker in Afghanistan, victimised by a sadistic security officer who allows you to attend parties in only three locations (including your own organisation's compound) and frequent only two restaurants, who imposes a 9.30 pm curfew upon you and does every night a radio check to ensure you've brushed your teeth before going to bed. Naturally, in the circumstances, you do not take any chance and carry your handset around at alll times. Should you find yourself in a party with it, you're faced with a difficult decision: Where on earth can you put it? Obviously, let it lie around and you're unlikely to ever find it back. I myself made the mistake of leaving it with a trusted friend, and got it back with the antenna half melted. Still wondering how this ever happened. So a few options: in your pockets, attached to your trousers, in your bag or in your hand. If you're the unlikely bearer of two X chromosomes, I expect your pockets are not large enough for this deposit. Remains the handbag, but it's probably too small. Plus you'd ruin it and don't expect to find such a lovely black leather bag - a beautiful product of Belgian handicraft - anywhere around. Attached to your trousers seems a little rustic so you resolve to hold it in your hand. Now I do expect the previous paragraphs sufficiently highlight that you are not doing this of your own will. In fact you're close to feeling like the oppressed member of a minority forced to display the shame of its roots in the handset it carries around. So for f# sake, could people please stop asking me why I seem to cherish the handset I carry around so much?!? I don't, ok? So now leave me alone or I think I'll cry. Gee, it's not even like there is some support group or anything. And of course, dancing is absolutely excluded. You're far too self conscious. Instead, you resolve to stand next to the bar, possibly drink yourself drunk to forget, though unfortunately it's now 11 pm and the bar is probably empty.

After a nonetheless enjoyable evening - well sure, nothing like Kabul decadence to cheer you up. - you will usually proceed to the entrance door, where reception seems better and you find yourself holding in front of witnesses a dialogue resembling the following:
'Me: Huh Delta Alpha Base, this is Romeo Papa 33 sending.
Resp: Chhhrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrkkkk.
Me: Delta Alpha Base, this is Romeo Papa 33 sending.
Resp: Chhhhrrrrrrrrrkkkkkkk Romeo Papa chhhhhhhhhrrkkkkkkk

Me: Huh Sorry Delta Alpha Base, bad copy, can you repeat, over?

Resp: Ccccchhhhhhhrk move to channel 6 Romeo Papa 33, over.

Me: Huh right huh moving. [Ok, now how do you get to channel 6. Oh sure I've got it]

Resp: Romeo Papa 33, this is Delta Alpha Base, over.

Me: Yeah, right, Delta Alpha Base, this is Romeo Papa 33, Could you send a car to huh the guesthouse of huh #?!# ?

Resp: Huh the car cchhhhhhhhrrrrkkkkk.

Me: Sorry, bad copy, can you repeat over?

Resp: The car is not available right now, Romeo Papa 33. The driver is having dinner over.

Me: At 2 in the morning, over?!?!

Resp: Sure, they'll be finished in 20 minutes over.

Me: Ok well could we have a car in 20 minutes then, over?

Resp: Sure, what is your location, over?

Me: Well as I said it's the guesthouse #?!#, over.

Resp: And where is that located exactly, over?

Me: Huh wherever the driver dropped us earlier on, over.

Resp: Ok, car will be there in 30 min, over.

Me: OK, great, thanks. Over and out.

Resp: Out.'

And that's when you turn around, and you find a mixed crowd of international and security staff looking at you bemused, wondering why on earth you can't speak like a literate person when using a handset. Well you can't because you were told not to. In fact you even had a training to be able to say over at the right moments. One very long hour of my existence.

Half an hour later, the highly obedient staff you are makes his/her adieux to the crowd and reaches the gate. A look around and there it is, the beaming white jeep, with reinforced lateral doors. Or possibly a volga, depending on whom you work for. You hear the radio sshhhhhrking again and there you have the radio asking you why your handset wasn't on, the car has been waiting for 20 minutes. Now that would be because there's no signal within the house and you didn't expect the car any earlier anyway. The radio probably responds something like oh well ok then. And you get yourself on the car and back home, feeling a little guilty for the driver who waited all this time.

The interesting point here is I expect the handset is the last life-saving device you will need if you do find yourself in troubles. Really try to figure yourself in a life-threatening situation.

Say on your way to Supreme, you find yourself under a rocket attack (probably following an increase of Jacob's Creek prices). What do you do? Radio your base of course. And I bet that your radio will tell you in his most professional voice that 'you need to evacuate the area immediately.' No kidding. That's one I wouldn't have figured out myself.

Or imagine you find yourself by accident in a demonstration turning sour. The car is stuck and you're not so sure whether demonstrators will remain pacific. You radio. What happens? Does the radio call a friend in ISAF to make sure they get you out? Does he come himself to liberate you in spite of the danger? No, the odds are that the fantastically helpful radio will go 'OK, stay right where you are for now, over.' Well it's not like I have any choice, really, is it?

So maybe all radios do not have the sense of irony the ones I know have, but either way, if you find yourself walking in the valley of the shadow of death, sure, the handset may come handy. But elsewhere, naaaaaa, don't think so.

Rule no. 3: Do not trust your computer.

In the field or elsewhere, there is no such thing as a badly programmed software, a memory shortage or a connection failure. There is only a bloody computer trying to ruin your existence, bring you down to your knees and make you feel sorry you were ever born.

Why is it that I spent the last 15 minutes reformatting a blog, repeating over and over again the same procedure without it having any impact whatsoever on my imaginative yet thought-provoking blog? I wonder.

Anyhow, you ought to know by now, and if not I’d rather be the one to inform you, we are at war. The silicon valley and co. have decided to take over the planet. In this conflict, you are either with them or against them. Their first goal is currently to drive all PC-users mad, to be able to take over the world. Each computing failure, each breakdown while you were just upon to complete this urgent note due 10 minutes ago is no coincidence. They provoked it.

Do not believe your IT technician is one of yours either. He may have been a dedicated employee of your organization for years, yet his solidarity lies elsewhere. Why is it, do you think, that he will fix the same problem 100 times and never be able to find a long-term solution? Incompetence? I don’t think so. The man is part of a greater plan. In the greater scheme of things, the matrix is no fiction. It’s a frightening process that’ll need no more than a couple of months to overtake the planet.

Meanwhile, if you cannot hinder their expansion, you can at least take advantage of it. So don’t forget, if you haven’t e-mailed some friends in weeks, it’s because the internet was down pretty much 24/7. Not because you spent most of your time drinking pints in Elbow Room. If that long overdue report was not on your boss’ desk yesterday, it’s because a virus has destroyed your entire hard drive and sadly enough you have no backup on the network. It’s a war that we cannot win, but we may at least have some fun during the battle…

So don’t forget, your computer is neither your friend nor your ally. It’s here to destroy you. Therefore Rule no. 3: Never trust your computer.

Rule no. 2: Don't fuck with drivers

As it's become clear to you all by now, in the field, you're alone, so rather make sure you keep the friendship, or at least the respect, of people you see everyday. Could be life-saving.

Therefore never, ever, under any circumstances, fuck with your driver.

Don't forget that the man is likely to have fought among mujahideens for years and thereafter the talibans, or northern alliance, or whichever criminal mob that may have threatened his family. So when you're driving around Kabul at night, desperately searching for a guest house of whichever organisation throwing a party, and he gives you that bad evil stare, smile, try to sound pleasant, make sure fear is not too evident in your voice, and for fuck sake find the bloody house NOW. The man has killed once and he could do it again!

Expect drivers to be a bit of a mum, dad, bodyguard and Dari teacher to you. All this on a salary equivalent to your per diem. If you're a lot out in the field, or even just (God forbid) stuck in the Kabul jams most of the week, the driver may turn out to be your main companion. So start early improving your Dari. Better still start speaking Dari with him. He'll probably be delighted at your appalling attempts to ask him his name, as Afghan people tend to have a rather good sense of humour. Plus he'll probably take on the role of Dari teacher. (Now good luck with that. I find that on average drivers try to teach me about 20 words in a one-hour drive and trust me, my sorry little European brain cannot follow).

As it happens, once you get a little personal with the driver, you're likely to be the recipient of the story of Afghanistan through his own experience. I only wish my Dari were anywhere nearer to his so I could have a clue what on earth we are talking about. (Note that since most of our drivers are used to meetings expats with little Persian language skills, they tend to use a lot of visual illustrations involving naturally their hands. Beware of the driver telling you about the battle of Kabul while driving at 60 mph...)

Remember that until you make other Afghan friends, the driver is also the one who'll tell you about Afghan practices, religion, life, death, mariage, education. He'll open to you the doors to the country and, as it happens, will also make sure you don't pay rip-off prices in stores.

Besides all this, your driver is just that guy who'd probably have the guts if you really pissed him off to just dump you on the side of Jalalabad Rd. at dusk, going in Dari 'Your home's that way. Good luck!' before driving off. Or maybe not, but I do wonder.

So in doubt, remember Rule no. 2: Make sure the driver is your friend and never, ever fuck with him.

Rule no. 1: Follow the path of the buddha

Once in the field, you may want to live life to the fullest, make every experience something intense, jump head first into it all without ever thinking twice. It makes sense to try and seize the day, yet if I have learnt anything in the past couple of months, it's that your rule number 1 should nevertheless be to take some distance from it all every once in a while. It may seem like something obvious to do, yet trust me, I'm seeing a lot of people who cannot handle this. In fact, even I have found it hard in the last couple of weeks to simply step back and think.

So what kind of distance is it exactly that you need to take? I would say that depends on your condition. UN guidelines wisely recommend always taking some time for yourself while in the field, practicing sport, reading, basically doing anything that allows you to put your mind off work and be stimulated in different ways. Trust me, where I work, not following any of this is close to a religion. And because the atmosphere is not ideal in the first place, you end up suffocated by waves of negative vibes. So clearly, if we cannot walk to work nor properly do any outdoor sport, we need to find some proper substitutes that allow us to get some rest and lead a vaguely normal life. In this respect, I guess the dinner for which I cooked my absolutely amazing pasta sauce yesterday was a good example of such an activity. I should mention that the proliferation of blogs started by my colleagues shows just how much some need evasion at this stage, even while in the office.

This said, in a country with a system and values that put your own to the test - to say the least - , especially when you work for an organisation the structures of which are less than ideal, the concept of R&R comes as something you should not overlook. Surely, if most organisations assume you need frequent holidays to recuperate, then you probably do. Some people make the mistakes of overlooking their need to get back to a more normal life, being able to move around, dress and behave as they wish. However this lack of awareness is likely to strike back. Trust me, it is no coincidence if you frequently comne across this or that person who's taken up drinking and so on. I guess self-awareness is the key in the field because by the time your lack of balance is so obvious that other people advise you to take a break, you probably look like a sad illustration of maniaco-depression.

Finally, R&R is one thing, but as a friend put it, you don't have anything to prove to anyone as far as staying in the country is concerned. When I got my contract, I thought to myself this is my test regarding a field career. It will last a very short 5 months. If after 5 months I wish to leave the country or even to give up on having a field career, fair enough. Being in the field is an opportunity to learn a lot about yourself and that also means accepting your limits. Now that I realise I find the country beautiful, want to get to know and understand Afghans better and see all provinces, I am starting to think that I'd like to stay for another 10 months, until just before Xmas. Maybe I will, maybe I won't, I'll try to set myself goals yet still take life one thing at a time. Too many people I'm seeing seem to stretch themselves to the limit, until they just break down. Clearly nothing justifies it. Not your job, which you won't do properly while a wreck. Not your sense of sacrifice, for the same reason. Basically, the main thing you owe to anyone is honesty to yourself. If you start feeling unhappy about the country and you don't see any way to change your mindset, just leave. Don't force yourself to go through increasingly painful days or to stand colleagues you don't want to see anymore. Just go, go and see your family, rest, do nothing.

I figured out today there's a very basic test to decide whether you need to stay or not. Ask yourself:
- Do I still like the job?
- Do I believe in the organisation?
- Do I like the country?
If you respond no to the three of them, I wonder why you're still here in the first place. Otherwise, I'd imagine the answers are self-explanatory, in that once you've identified the problem, you know what you've got to do.

Finally, to return to my initial point, the only way to be sufficiently alert to your own welfare is to be able to distance yourself spiritually from people and things and look into yourself to determine your feelings. I'm not suggesting we should all embrace buddhism, but I have to admit I half-jokingly did say this to a couple of friends today. There are some arts designed to facilitate distanciation and reflection and undoubtfully you'd be better off leaving to the field armed with one of them. At this moment, believe it or not, I even regret that I only ever attended two yoga classes. Not that I can be bothered having a yoga teacher over here though - why is it that I can't have people teaching me anything, I have no idea. It's like when I was a kid and my mum told me lamb was beef so I'd eat and happily oblivious would decide I loved it: you can teach me things, but only if you make me believe you're not. Tricky. Anyway.- but if only there were yoga books available I reckon I'd give it a go. In fact, what I could possibly really need is a book on yoga in Dari. This way maybe I can improve both my technique and languages skills..?

Finally, and don't laugh here, I realise I may have been loosing it a little because I didn't spend sufficient time laughing lately. I realise the main person who's been making me laugh has been away for a while and Ive been awfully gloomy since. So there we go, back to trying to think positive thoughts to cheer myself up. How pathetic is that? I know, though I have no doubt it must be in loads of 25-USD methods for self-support or whatever you call it. Anyway, one approach I tried the other day was thinking of 10 simple things that make me happy. A nice breakfast in the Pain Quotidien, one dinner at my friend Fran (pasta off course), an evening at my friend Elodie's, chilling out with my sister eating pasta with butter, when my mum is so happy about something she gets all emotional and tell my sister and I how much she loves us, a night with x, and so on. Believe it or not, it works really well. A second thing, a personal favourite, is thinking of happy songs. I mean really happy songs. I assume most of the Sound of Music soundtrack could do, or even Mary Poppins or, say, He needs me from the Popeye and/or Punch Drunk Love soundtrack. Imagine the clouds, the pink sky and the Walt Disney little birds and you're already there.

So no doubt, Rule no. 1 will be: When you feel like breaking down, take some distance, breath in and see if you need a change of atmosphere. There's no self-imposed rule that can't be broken if you're not happy.