George,

It's a warm (mid-80's) brilliantly sunny day in Kabul. But all the days here are brilliantly sunny - it's rained all of 10 minutes in the past 50 days - and dusty. Dust seems to cover everything here, a result of the extreme dryness and of the fact that most everything being built or torn down, and there's lots of both going on, is made of mud brick. While the sky is cloudlessly blue, you often can't see very far in the distance, thanks to the dust. Add to this the occasional dust storm, when the sky turns black and you head for cover, and you quickly realize this is not a good place for people with allergies.

But Kabul is a booming place, thanks mostly to the plethora of international agencies here and the local non-profit organizations (called NGOs) that they spawn. It is estimated that there are between 1,600 and 2,200 NGOs here, and I think it's safe to assume that all of them are funded by foreign governments and organizations.

The People

For the most part, the people here are extremely friendly and smile a lot, which makes them quite likable. They come in all makes and models. Ethnicities abound - no one seems to be "Afghan" but instead we have Tajiks, Uzbeks, Pashtuns and on and on. I can't tell them apart, but most locals can. There are two that are distinct - the Hazara, with Asiatic features, and the red-haired, blue-eyed Nuristani, who believe they are descended from Alexander the Great.

There's also all manner of dress - men in turbans, men in business suits, some women in western dress, and still lots of women in burkas. I just can't get used to burkas. Women walking down the street in burkas look like people on their way to a Halloween party dressed as ghosts. For those unfamiliar, a burka is basically a sheet you put over your head, but it has a little cap-like thing sewn into the top (to keep it on straight) and a 3" by 4" mesh area around the eyes. They can see out (not very well) but you can't see in.

Begging

Many of the street beggars are women in burkas. Sorry, I can't give money to someone I can't see. A friend who regularly gave to them always made a point of checking out the shoes (the only distinguishing feature of a burka-clad woman) so she'd know which ones were trying to "double dip." Other street beggars are crippled old men and young boys. While there's lots of begging, it's never intimidating and usually done with a smile. The young boys know enough English to call you by name and make some funny comments; I'm an easy mark for them. On the main shopping street (Chicken Street, the Haight-Ashbury of Afghanistan back in the 60's), the young kids proudly announce that they will "be your bodyguard." So for a buck or so, you get a four-foot tall 10-year old making sure you're safe from al Qaeda.

The Town

While there are lots of destroyed buildings, it doesn't look as much like a war zone as I had expected. The neighborhoods range from shanty-townish (lots of shops and houses made out of truck carcasses) to rather fancy homes (where the warlords, opium merchants, and foreign ambassadors live). The house/offices of international aid organizations are sprinkled throughout. Virtually all houses, offices, and guesthouses (there's only one real hotel, and it's to be avoided) are surrounded by high walls (and, if government-related, lots of barbed wire) so you don't see much of the street life here except when traveling to or from somewhere.

There are many more cars than I expected and lots of lots of taxis. Most people only understand the rudimentaries of how to drive, so we have some fairly bizarre and extensive traffic jams. These often occur at roundabouts - a concept that the drivers completely fail to grasp. Half go around the left side and half around the right side, and everyone faces off when they meet up on the other side. It's much fun.

I try to avoid the taxis, since most of the drivers don't know where anything is. But I did take one recently to a dinner party given by the chief of the election mission, and I made the horrible mistake of putting on my seatbelt. Once at the dinner, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and was more than a little embarrassed by the large black stripe diagonally across my white shirt. I'm sure the taxi driver was mystified and amused by my behavior with the strange strap of cloth.

My Life Here

The sun sets about 5 pm and it's not considered safe to go wandering around at night. (Thankfully, the shoot-to-kill curfew no longer exists.) Consequently, I have seen very little other than my office, which is in one part of town, and my guesthouse, which is in another. That's unfortunate, but the guesthouse is sufficiently entertaining and enlightening. It's called the Gandamack Lodge and it is temporary home to an ever-changing cast of bureaucrats, journalists, job-seekers, and other interesting folk. It's a bit expensive, but I have a lovely room with a balcony, a shared bath, and a fair amount of stimulating conversation. Since I can't tell you much more about the life outside that I don't see, below is some insight into some of the people here at home.

The Gandamack Characters

Peter: Peter is a celebrity BBC photojournalist who has followed Osama bin Laden for some time, actually interviewing him back in 1997. After the Taliban were bombed into retreat, Peter was one of the first journalists on the ground here in Kabul. He was doing a photo story on Osama's old haunts and found his way to this house where I stay. It had been rented for some time by Osama's fourth wife and her family, and this seems to be where he often stayed while in Kabul. When Peter found it, it was fairly trashed as Mrs. Osama and family apparently fled in the middle of the night, leaving the dirty dishes behind. (Osama still owes the landlord $500 in back rent.)

On one wall, Peter found a poster outlining the steps to be taken in climbing the al Qaeda corporate ladder. There were also several videos. He decided to rent the place and turn it in to lodging for his fellow journalists. One of his first group of guests, a British camera crew, was taking a look one night at one of the videos, and lo and behold, there in the video was Peter. Seems the photojournalist was being filmed behind his back by al Qaeda. Peter was also in Baghdad last spring when the US took the city. As a result, our guesthouse has some nice candelabras and a cappuccino maker. And you thought it was crazed Iraqis doing all the looting. Peter has interesting stories to tell.

The Beauty Queens: Staying with us for a couple weeks were a beauty salon owner from Alexandria, VA and one from the UK. They are with "Beauty w/out Borders," (the number of organizations named "______ without Borders" grows daily) and they had set up a beauty school to teach young Afghan women how to colorize and do makeovers. After so many years of being banned from any schooling, this is just what Afghan women need to learn (hmmm).

After her first night in Afghanistan, Sheila, the American, was full of opinions about how Afghan women must be willing to die for their rights and about how, at the price she was paying to stay here, she should expect the management to ensure her hot, running water all the time. Sheila was often insufferable. Also staying here was a camera crew that had been filming the beauty school for days on end. (When I asked how much they had filmed, they said they were on Reel #187 of 30-minute reels.) All this for an hour-long documentary on BBC's Discovery Channel. By the time beauty school graduation rolled around, it seemed that half the media corps in Kabul was busy filming the beauty queens and their students.

Mines to Vines: And at the other end of the spectrum, there's Gary from San Francisco. Gary used to be a Silicon Valley whiz-kid--big jobs, lots of money. Upon prodding we find that, in large part, we have Gary to thank for Adobe Acrobat Reader. But he and his wife gave all that up and now he works for "Roots of Peace." This is an organization based in SF that pays people to de-mine agricultural fields and then replants the fields with cash crops.

Demining is an incredibly slow and labor-intensive process. While there are some high-tech methods of finding mines, the old dig-carefully-with-a-trowel method is still the most common. Afghanistan is the most mined country in the world. Signs of it abound. Down the street from my office is the Omar Mine Museum. ("See 57 types of anti-personnel mines!") But I digress. Gary's group is funded in large part by California vintners, so they're particularly keen on replanting with grapes. While it's not exactly kosher to make wine here, grapes and raisins are very popular. And Gary has discovered this green raisin--very sweet--which he thinks would have a market in the U.S. Gary's group is very committed to their mission and does their work without fanfare. There don't seem to be any TV cameras following Gary around.

Noel and Felicity: In the room next to me (we share the bathroom) are a couple in their 70's. Noel and Felicity are Australian but they haven't actually lived in Australia for 30 years or so. They work for the UN until they get tired of it, or the UN gets tired of them, and then they go off somewhere and train horses for a few years. Here they are working for the UNDDR. We live in Acronym City, and I have a hard time keeping my UNICA's straight from my UNOCA's. I'm sure that somewhere in this bureaucracy must be a UNCOLA. But I digress again. UNDDR is the Disarmament, Demobilization, and Reintegration Program. But when asked, Noel usually defines it as the "Demoralization, Destruction, and Retribution" program. I don't think Noel really needs a job, and he probably won't have this one for long. UNDDR is charged with taking all the guns away from the warlords, their soldiers, and various and sundry others. Such a nice idea. But after 24 years of civil war, virtually every adult male in Afghanistan has at least one gun. I honor Noel and Felicity for their lifestyle--and for tilting at windmills when they're not playing with horses.

Matthew: Matthew is a young British fellow who claims to be a journalist for a major London newspaper here to write a travel book about Afghanistan. (Ah yes, the tourists are waiting at the gates.) Matthew is extremely charming and gregarious. He has a free room here by virtue of some barter arrangement between his publisher and Peter the owner. He only has to pay for his food and drink. I often overhear the desk clerk remind Matthew that he hasn't paid for his food and drink, to which Matthew responds, "Oh yes, I'll take care of that tomorrow." Matthew has no laptop (ubiquitous among all internationals here). One night he asked me to review a letter he had written to a potential funder; it was full of grammatical errors, non sequitors, and other flagrant writing mistakes. I think Matthew is a con artist of some sort, but an extremely charming one, as I guess most con artists are. But why would somebody want to con their way in to a free room in Kabul, Afghanistan?

Shireen: Shireen is a hard-edged, quick-witted young Indian Muslim who somehow hails from Albany, Georgia. She came here looking for a job--as if Kabul is the place to come if you're an unemployed Muslim from Georgia. At the dinner table last night, someone asked me where I was from. When I told them, Shireen --who had visited our fair city a couple of times--launched in to a treatise about Shifletts. There's something just a little bit odd about sitting in Osama's former parlor talking about the one F, two T's versus the two F, one T's, etc. Oh, it's a small world out here.

Abi: Abi is the gatekeeper here at the guesthouse. He is somewhat old, mostly toothless and has only one leg -- the other being blown apart by a mine. Abi has a new prosthesis, thanks to a philanthropist-type who happened through, took pity on him and his klunky artificial leg, and bought him a new one. It was a bit uncomfortable at first, but now he seems to like it. Abi busies himself by trying to learn English. He reads the weekly English newspaper and writes down words that he doesn't understand--which he then queries the English speakers about as we go out the gate. I got stuck with trying to explain the meaning of "consultant."

Well, this has gone on a bit long, so I must close. There is much more to tell, but I shall save it for a future missive, if I can put together another one before returning home in late November. In sum, I do like it here, and I hope I can come back. I know that the rest of Afghanistan is much more fragile and unstable than here in Kabul, but I have hope that there's a better future in store for these people who have been in some kind of war almost non-stop since the early 1800's. They deserve a break.

Jim Heilman (electronic mail, November 1, 2003)