SHREDDING

As I begrudgingly tread back to my cube in my soon to be old office through the heat and dust, the only thing on my mind is how quickly I can get back over to the Embassy pool for a swim. Tomorrow is the big move to our new digs, into a real building and away from the egg carton bomb shelter that I have been spending my waking hours for the last two years. Our “offices” will be torn down shortly after the move and with them, the plastic walls that have kept so many secrets and sheltered so many lives. I desperately started flinging drawers open and disposing of half-eaten cliff bars and Easter candy sent by my mom two years ago. Surprised at how quickly I am proceeding, I half-heartedly tear open the last drawer in the last cabinet, only to find dozens of green hanging folders stuffed to the brim with old dusty documents dating back to when the first hallways were hammered into place.

The last thing I want to do is spend the afternoon in front of the shredder, which is already smoking from all the attention it has been getting over the last few days. I saw my dream of the cool water wash away as I sift through document after document. Files dating back to the beginning of time, or at least our recent time in Afghanistan. Contracts, briefings, agreements between partners, old deals that that paved the way for recent accomplishments, testaments to atrocities and acts of bravery, promises that led to losses and victories - all headed for the shredder.

The first thing that caught my eye was an old 2006 memo to Condoleezza Rice explaining a proposed project to receive funding. Over the incessant grid of documents, I pause to read it, at he horror of my colleagues that are pacing the hallways impatiently. I wonder if Condoleezza was ever annoyed by the gurgling sound the shredder makes as it spits documents in reverse is there was one page to many. My mind started to wander to the time when the former Secretary of State actually walked around these very same halls. How different things were and how much they had not changed at all, it would probably seem nostalgic to her.

I find an article titled “Lusting after Riches” from 2005 about parents selling their 20-day old baby daughter to a 25-year old man in exchange for a few carpets. Religious leaders were trying to convince the parents that this was not the way and they should trade the carpets back for their daughter. For people who haven’t worked and lived in Afghanistan, stories like this might seem the norm. These are the kinds of things people Stateside like to ponder over during happy hour drinks in swanky sterile bars or in the kitchens of their seven bedroom homes. After skimming over the first few lines, the usual exhausted remark is – “I just don’t know why we are still over there…”

However, the simple facts are that these are anomalies picked up by mainstream media primarily because they tell the story that people want to hear – one of horror, sadness and lack of humanity. For those of us who have spent enough time here, we know better. We know the changes in attitudes, perceptions, beliefs and mindsets, and yes, to quote the military - “hearts and minds." This is what has changed Afghanistan forever. 

Most Afghans can even fathom an understanding of what would make parents sell their baby, just like most Americans will never understand what makes a teenager walk into an African American church and start shooting people. Yes, atrocities still happen in Afghanistan, and still happen all over the world. But if American’s progress and might was judged by the number of negative news stories fostered and repeated daily, we would realize that our glass ship was close to sinking.

What the average America, and to be honest, the rest of the world hears about is the statistics - number of Taliban attacks, percentage of national GDP increase, increase in exports/imports. And they read the first few lines of recent stories about acid thrown in the faces of three school girls. But the statistics and sensationalized stories don't tell the highlight the everyday people who make up Afghanistan today. Nadia, a 21-year-old Afghan woman, posts pictures on Facebook of herself and fellow teammates from the Afghan Women’s National Cycling team riding through the streets of Kabul practicing for international competitions. And Nasir, a 23-year-old Afghan American, whose family has enough money to send him to university in the US but decided to return to Afghanistan to get a PHD in psychology. And by Zhala, the 30-year-old female entrepreneur, who recently opened her own version of Pinkberry frozen yogurt and tweets about the new Ramadan flavors.

The changes in Afghan popular culture over the past 10-15 years are so dramatic. Half the population has grown up only knowing this Afghanistan. They could never imagine going back because the past only exists as shredded memories now as blurry as the Russian invasion. When I’m back in America, people ask me my opinion about the future of Afghanistan. Maybe I am more hopeful than most of my American colleagues, but like Nadia and Nasir and Zhala, I have only know the new Afghanistan and it is moving in one direction – forward – like the rest of the world. Another frequent question is - So what do the “Afghans” think about the future of the country. Finding one united voice amongst a country with faces, histories and opinions as diverse the whole of New York city would be an interesting feat. Americans - what do we think about slavery? Obama care? Gay marriage? 

My shredding has slowed down dramatically. Should I actually be destroying these documents? They are only copies of course but are testaments to our small piece of history in Afghanistan. To the drama, the sweat, the tears and even blood that American civilians have poured into this country. But shredding may be the best thing we can do with the past. By destroying it physically, it only exists in our memories and the possibility of it coming back seems even less tangible. Can the past actually be shredded away to reveal the future?

So as I shred the past away, I acknowledge that this is my past as well. After 3 ½ years in Afghanistan, I have made my contributions and helped to change lives. Thinking about the Condoleezza strolling down our hallways, past my incredibly messy desk, on the way to the Mission Director's office to hash out solutions to the endless list of imitate crises, I resolve to make two changes. Number 1 – make a point to keep my desk in a somewhat organized fashion by throwing out old editions of Victoria Secrets catalogs and half-eaten candy bars. And Number 2 - acknowledge and appreciate how important my contributions are and will continue to be. 

Even though my days of being able to sit down and drink tea with my Afghan bee farmer friends are long gone. And I'm no longer able to attend a weaving class and sit side-by-side Afghan women perfecting their craft or drive out to the pistachio forests and apricot farms, I am still doing my part to ensure that Afghans are able to enjoy their beautiful country and look forward to a different future which none of us can predict.  

With the last remaining documents in hands, the shredder grinds on and I smile because I am fortunate enough to be in Afghanistan at a time when it is safe for me to complain about little things like paper shredding and the bathrooms at Kabul Airport, instead of worrying about my personal security. 

The Colors of Badghis

Written August 05, 2013

Qala-e Naw is always a beautiful place in the Spring and it was especially colorful this year as the Badghis Fruit and Vegetable Wholesale market FINALLY opened. After three years of construction, I was so excited to see the place come to life.  No longer a concrete desert and make-shift football field,  an assortment of rich locally harvested crops burst out of the shops. The excited vendors and first-time shoppers bustled around and gave vitality to the already picturesque background of endless rolling hills and bright green valleys. And the variety of products  - Dell Monte bananas from the Philippines, mangos from Bangladesh, and kiwis from South Africa. Not to be outdone by the variety of local Afghan vegetables including spicy green peppers, cilantro, and giant watermelons.

Quite an international market for one of the smallest, most remote provincial capitals in Afghanistan!

Pretty remarkable considering that just the travel from Herat is a rough journey often taking several days.  The 6,050 square meter Market is the largest economic growth and infrastructure project native Badghisees have ever seen.  As I strolled around, I heard a young shopkeeper whisper “Look, it’s the lady who built us the market”. I’ll take some of the credit!!!

After the grand opening, I spent a lot of time meeting and working with the vendors, and of course drinking tea and enjoying the benefits of my site visits included the sampling of the products. It was really encouraging to see the pride the Afghans took in taking care of the market and how the vendor community started to ban today. The once isolated shopper keepers and farmers who had never worked together were now part of something bigger than just selling their products. They were now an associated body working together on something. I helped to facilitate their interaction of everything from finding ways to increase local agricultural production to creating base prices for products to assisting them in finding ways to represent their needs to local government.

I’m looking forward to coming back to Badghis for my ski and hiking tour, and will definitely be frequenting the market as well. 

Kenya Offers You a Cup of Tea (2007)

Oldie but goodie from October 14, 2007!!!!

What do "under-developed" countries have to offer us?

Well, after being back in Kenya for a month now, it feels like home again. I am used to all the differences and similarities to my life back in Cali. Some days are very difficult and some are very good. I think being in an under-developed country has so much to offer anyone. But the definition of third world only accurately describes Africa in terms of current economic conditions, poverty and health. In regards to social conditions and our relationships with each other and the world, I sometimes think that we in America are 2nd to Africa. Our lives are spent driving around (everywhere!), on our cell phones and computers, communicating with the people we know and love; our friends and family, co-workers and anyone else involved with our daily lives. We spend our days full of things we may or may not want to do (work) and are busy having fun. Most of us, even if we refuse to admit it, live in our comfort zones. We are surrounded by the people we choose to be around and it seems like the better our lives get in terms of financial situations and social status, the less we are connected with the world and the millions of people around us that we don't know. Sure we meet new friends all the time, lose friends, have relationships that work and don't work. That's life. We look for new opportunities that will make us happier and that's how we choose to spend our time.

Coming back to Kenya, my intentions where the same as the last time. To help people who haven't had the same opportunities that I have, who have not experienced the wonderful life that I have enjoyed. And again I am humbled by my experiences here and the people that have nothing are again teaching me everything. 

My job with GVN takes me to new areas in Nairobi and all over Kenya. I visit people who live in muddy, fly infested huts, who insist on my having a cup of their Chai Tea while visiting and talking with them, even though they can probably not afford the milk it takes to make it. We talk about life, my life of which they have no possible way of even understanding and about their lives and what's important to them. I visit Kibera, and worlds 2nd largest slum, where 1.5 million people live in shanty, tin houses with no sanitation or clean water. There are no formalities; only a firm handshake is required as a greeting. This is there home they have invited me into. No fronts to be put on, it smells like raw sewage, old newspapers cover the wholes in the walls to keep out the rain and mice scamper across the floors. They are what and who they are and have a sort of calming acceptance of it. There are no barriers or walls put up between people. Living in horrendous conditions brings people together and creates a kind of extended family. The emotional barriers that separate us from each other in our lives are quickly diminished here. Crisis and unfortunate 
events are what bring people together. When our power goes out in my apartment, as it quiet frequently does, we all go sit outside in the moonlight with our neighbors. Most of them don't speak English but we spend time together just the same. Sometimes it starts pouring rain at a moments notice, and we run to doorways and cars of people whom we've never met. Walking home from the store, I was struggling with a huge water jug, and a nun helped me carry my bags!

ONE STORY: 

My roomie, Kat from New Zealand is working at a school in Kibera. A boy, age six, had been hit by a bus and killed shortly after her arrival. The cost to obtain the body from the mortuary, buy a coffin and travel up country to his regional home for burial was 20,000ksh (about $300), which is a lot for anyone here with the monthly salary
(if you are lucky enough to have a job) of about $70 per month. So Kat had mentioned this incident in her blogs to friends back home. Many responded by sending her money, not being able to bare the thought of a six year old boy's body lying in a mortuary, unattended and unburied. Kat went back to school the next day and told the headmaster the good news. Her friends had provided the money for the transport and burial. However, it was soon explained to her that it had already been taken care of. Everyone in the community of Kibera had pitched in $5 - $10 and the expense was paid for. This is the way it works, the community supports themselves, with what little they have to offer. (When was the last time you help your neighbor carry in groceries?)

So what does Kenya have to offer us?
A chance to change ourselves and the way we view the world. 
A chance to appreciate our quality of life and not let trivial things bother us.
A chance to strip away our personal fears. 

We all have the essentials necessary to live productive, healthy and rewarding lives. 

Kenya offers us a smile, a hug, a kiss, and a chance to be different. Even if you feel like you have nothing to offer but a cup of tea, it is always enough.