Back and puzzled (Sunday Scribblings)

Wow, I've been gone only two weeks and yet it feels like a lifetime. After 36 hours of travel from Auckland to Kabul and then a very slow flight on the ancient Antonov aircraft via Kandahar I finally arrived back to Herat this afternoon. Waiting for me were more than 350 work emails, a meeting set up for an hour after I landed to address a case in which one young man has already died and several other are living in fear, and a staff member in jail after being involved in a car accident in which a young child was injured. So that's the end of the beach holiday then, I guess. I was really reluctant to return this time. For the first time ever in my experience of mission work, of travelling to and from duty stations and of saying all those goodbyes, this time I was uncertain that I really wanted to be leaving. I wept as I embraced my darling younger sister and said goodbye, perhaps this time was just one time too many, or perhaps it was just the knowledge that this place has been a place of sadness and struggle for me in the past few months and a reluctance to come back and face that. I came back with lots of puzzles, and above all with the puzzle of how to do this, how to live in the place and do this work while maintaining my own sense of well-being and inner calm. Looked at from one angle this puzzle seems very complicated, and to require getting lots of little pieces all in the right places, at the right time, in the right balance and for the right amount of time. But from another angle it seems that the puzzle can only be solved by trying less, by letting go more, and by the very simplest of approaches, like breathing and resting and finding joy wherever it is to be found. Along with this puzzle, I've come back with some new insights, some new ideas and new approaches. Perhaps most importantly of all I have come back with a growing sense of emergence from the dark, sad place that I found myself in for much of the past two months. I'm still a bit jetlagged and my home and bed are calling to me - but I wanted to share three things that I found on the plane during my journey back. The first came from a wonderful gift from the gorgeous and thoughtful Alessandra who sent me some of her worry dolls, along with some other lovely treats including a copy of Yoga Journal magazine. I read it from cover to cover on the plane and found all sorts of wonderful reminders and new ideas for how I can continue on my journey to discover how to live this crazy life of movement and conflict and yet remain grounded and at peace within myself. One article by Sally Kempton about surrender and the practice of letting go particularly challenged me. I read and write and talk about letting go, but when I am honest with myself I know that I don't practice it very often. What I found especially helpful in this article was the discussion of the difference between letting go and giving up. I am going to keep thinking about this difference. A fear of giving up, of abdicating my responsiblity to make a difference in the world, is a significant part of my resistance to letting go. So it was helpful to read a story about a yogi who learned that "a true karma yogi is not someone who goes belly-up to higher authority; instead, he's a surrendered activist - a person who does his best to help create a better reality while knowing that he is not in charge of outcomes." That is an insight that I need to remind myself of in my morning meditations, which I am promising myself every morning for the next 21 days (thanks to Meg and Thea for the inspiration to use 21 days as a time frame to let this new habit take root in my life). The second place in which I found some words that my heart and spirit recognised was in a book of poems given to me as a gift by a woman who I am getting to know because she is the partner of my boyfriend's best friend. It is a lovely and unexpected treat to find that she is just the kind of woman with whom I would want to make friends wherever and however I may have met her. She gave me a copy of Mary Oliver's collection of poems "Dream Work" and I found myself drawn immediately to this poem: The Journey One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice - though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles "Mend my life!" each voice cried. But you didn't stop. You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations - though their melancholy was terrible. It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice, which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do - determined to save the only life you could save. The third place was in a booklet that had been left on the UNHAS flight from Dubai to Kabul, it is a little book called "The WFP Field Staff Companion" and it discusses the challenges of field life in a difficult mission like Afghanistan. It includes some very sound practical tips about things like exercising and maintaining close contact with friends and family at home, but it was the section on burn-out and coping after trauma that really resonated for me. Here they explained the symptoms of burnout and of traumatic stress and I felt once again that little shock of recognition, they could have been describing exactly my experience in the months following my experiences during the assassination of Amanullah Khan and the ensuing battles and casualties. There was very little here that I haven't read, or been told on many previous occassions, but now I was reading it with a little bit of distance from the experience and it seemed much easier to see what I had been going through. Again they recommend relaxation and avoiding self-judgement. Which brought me all the way back to the magazine Alessandra sent me, and a article about the importance and health benefits of resotrative yoga. Even further back, it reminded me of the words of a teacher from the Yoga centre in New Zealand where I took some private instruction when I was home for my sister's wedding last year, very soon after the trauma of the fighting. I had asked my teacher Jude for some intensive teaching on the Ashtanga primary series, in the hope of lifting my pratice of the asanas to the next level. She, in her wisdom, gave me some of this, but also insisted on spending some of the sessions focused on restorative yoga and yoga nidra (mediation). She saw my discipline and my drive to achieve and succeed. She acknowledged this as a positive along with my physical and mental strength. However, with kindness and good humour, she also suggested what I needed was not help to push myself harder into the difficult poses, but help to learn to relax and let go. So my 21 day gift to myself (I'm not going to call it a challenge, because somehow that seems too much like the kind of effort I always make, and this time I want to be easy and kind and gentle with myself) is to practice meditation every morning and some restorative poses every night. During my meditation I will practice letting go - not giving up on my commitment to do all that I can to make a better reality, but letting go a (false) sense of responsibility for the outcomes.

Sunday Scribblings: Goodbye

1995 Goodbye David Goodbye my husband, my love. Nobody else knows the young woman I am today like you do, and no one ever will. You have been my friend, my love, my playmate and my confidant through these crazy, fantastic years of our youth. Through death and loss and grief you have loved me. Through confusion and doubt you have always stayed close. We set out on this adventure of life together. We cast our simple but surprisingly sturdy little boat out into these turbulent waters. You have never failed me, nor betrayed my trust in you. We have tried everything that we could think of, we have tried and then tried again. No, we have not failed each other, but we have come to the end of our trying. We are worn out, exhausted and sad, so sad. Goodbye my lovely philosopher. Goodbye my friend. 1996 Goodbye New Zealand Goodbye my homeland. Goodbye my turangawaewae, my place to stand. As long as I know you are here, I will never be lost. But now I need to leave. I need to be away from here. Suddenly you seem too small to contain the pain that is burning within me and the desire that is bursting out of me. I could drive through one day and a night and come to the edge of your beautiful shoulders. I need to go further. I need to spread out my arms and not touch the edges. I need to get lost in a sea of strangers. I need to stand in the middle of a desert so vast I can sense the majesty of the universe and imagine being lost in it myself. I need to cast myself into the world with no one beside me. I need to discover again what I can do alone. Though I will always return to you, though I belong to you, goodbye Aotearoa. 2001 Goodbye Gaza, Goodbye Israel Goodbye courageous Gaza, do you know that you’ve captured a part of my heart. I will never truly leave you. I will also never again be the girl I was when I landed here and you embraced me in your warm, passionate arms. Goodbye crazy, wonderful Gaza, but how can I leave you like this? Your streets are in flames and your children are fighting again. Goodbye my beloved Gaza, and all my friends here. Goodbye Bassam, you were so kind to this stranger, you and Donia and the girls, there are no words for what you gave me. Goodbye Raji, you pushed me and pulled me and stretched me and tested me, you taught me what I was capable of and yet never managed to toughen me up. Goodbye Ibrahim, I sat in your house three times every week as you taught me Arabic and how hard life can be here. Goodbye Tariq, and Jehan and Ala, you opened your hearts and your homes to me and taught me how to live in this place. Goodbye Sharifa, you came to be my housemate and we discovered we were soul mates. Goodbye Ross, you were with me from the first day and you have always been here, letting me sit in your studio while you work. I have always known that I could rely on you for some sanity when I was losing mine. Goodbye Mehdi, you shared a little of your soul with me and reminded me of my own path. Goodbye Amanda, Eva and Imogen, goodbye Tim, Bahaar, Ludvig and Vincent. You have been my sisters and my brothers here for almost two years, through the disagreements and tensions and laughter and tears I have grown to love you. Goodbye Israel, because I love you too though you drive me almost insane. Though your army in Gaza breaks my heart a hundred times everyday. Though your soldiers and checkpoints have reduced me to tears of anger, desperation, and deep sadness. Goodbye Israel and Aviva, Asaf, and Tamar, you are family to me and your home is my home. Goodbye darling Adomy, my lover and my friend. You have always been ready with a story, a cinnamon roll and a sweet kiss, to nurse me back into wholeness after weeks of the madness of life here. Goodbye Rachel and Assaf, my cousins. Your lives ‘on the other side’ are so very far from mine, but you have still opened you arms to me. Goodbye Jerusalem, goodbye Al Quds. No other city has moved me as you do and I will never recover from this first love of your pinks and greys, your sounds and smells, your soul. Goodbye beloved Gaza, goodbye Israel. Thank you for all that you have taught me, for all you have shared with me and for the grace and good humour you have shown to a young, naïve do-gooder. Goodbye and may you have justice. May you have justice and peace, the blossom of justice. 2001 Goodbye Vaughn Goodbye Vaughn, though those words stick in my throat. I have so many other things to say to you before I am ready to say goodbye. Like “Why?” and “Why?” and “Why?” Like “She loves you” and “We all love you”. So I won’t say goodbye. I can’t say good bye, years from now I will still not be ready to say goodbye to you. I watch my beloved sister grieve for you with an intensity and pain that I cannot bear even from where I sit, once removed. Goodbye Vaughn, though it is not your time. Goodbye sweet Vaughn, because although the words still stick in my throat it is time to let you have things your way. Goodbye. 2002-2005 The frequent flyer mile years. Goodbye Auckland, hello Wellington. Goodbye Wellington, hello Sydney. Goodbye Sydney, hello Darwin. Goodbye Darwin, hello Dili. Goodbye Dili, hello Darwin. Goodbye Darwin, hello Sydney. Goodbye Sydney, hello Wellington. Goodbye Wellington, hello Auckland. Goodbye Auckland, hello Wellington. Goodbye Wellington, hello Sydney. Goodbye Sydney, hello Darwin. Goodbye Darwin, hello Dili. Goodbye Dili, hello Darwin. Goodbye Darwin, hello Sydney. Goodbye Sydney, hello Wellington. Goodbye Wellington, hello Auckland. Goodbye Auckland, hello Bangkok. Goodbye Bangkok, hello Wellington. Goodbye Wellington, hello Christchurch. Goodbye Christchurch, hello Wellington. Goodbye Wellington, hello Santiago. Goodbye Santiago, hello Buenos Aires. Goodbye Buenos Aires, hello Sao Paulo. Goodbye Brazil, hello London. Goodbye London, hello Oslo. Goodbye Oslo, hello Amsterdam. Goodbye Amsterdam, hello Athens. Goodbye Athens, hello Wellington. Goodbye Wellington, hello Bangkok. Goodbye Bangkok, hello Tel Aviv. Goodbye Tel Aviv, hello Jerusalem. Goodbye Jerusalem, hello Ramallah. Goodbye Ramallah, hello Haifa. Goodbye Haifa, hello Tel Aviv. Goodbye Tel Aviv, hello Bangkok. Goodbye Bangkok, hello Wellington. Goodbye Wellington, hello Sydney. Goodbye Sydney, hello Darwin. Goodbye Darwin, hello Dili. Goodbye Dili, hello Darwin. Goodbye Darwin, hello Sydney. Goodbye Sydney, hello Wellington. Goodbye Wellington, hello Denpasar. Goodbye Bali, hello Wellington. Goodbye Wellington, hello Auckland. Goodbye Auckland, hello Wellington. Goodbye Wellington, hello Kabul.

My grandpa Archie

2005 Goodbye Grandpa Goodbye darling Grandpa, I wish I could have said this to you before you went. But I understand that you have been saying goodbye to me, to all of us, for months now. I knew it even then, when you squeezed me a little bit too hard, held my hand for a little bit too long, and looked me in the eye and told me again and again that you loved me. Goodbye Grandpa, I understand that you were ready. But do you understand that we were not, that we never ever would have been. Grandpa, can you believe that they have made me godmother of your namesake, little Archie? Goodbye beloved Grandpa, but please don’t stray to far from me, if this Archie is to be even a fraction of the man you were then I’m going to need all your wisdom to guide me and all of your love to pass on.

With my godson, Archie

2006 Goodbye Marc Goodbye beloved Marc, yes I’m going on this adventure for the both of us. I’ll be back soon to tell you all about it in person. It’s true, I don’t know if I will be able to bear being away from you while you set out on your journey to beat this cancer, to fight your way to the long, happy life that we both know will be yours. You know that I am only a phone call away and I’ll be on the first plane if those doctors start abusing your human rights again (if they steal your voice again, write me a note!). I’ll write you long and hopefully entertaining messages about life in Kabul to read when you are recovering from chemotherapy. Goodbye Marc, I promise I will even learn to sit still so that I can practice those healing meditations for you. Good bye my friend and my brother, see you soon. 2006 Goodbye Kabul Goodbye Kabul, goodbye new friends, new home, new job and new life. It seems I have barely settled in and yet here it is again, time to say goodbye. Goodbye Horia, my heroine, you have shown me what people mean when they talk about grace under fire. Goodbye brave Shinkai, you trusted me and gave me the chance to discover something new about myself. Goodbye Kate, Sarah, and Rachel. Goodbye Monday night yoga and Thursday night ladies’ drinks. Goodbye to my women of Kabul, you have cried and laughed with me, you have so quickly come to know me. Goodbye Timur, Kai, Tamim, Wagma, and Azma. You have shown me what hospitality should look like and you have taught me a little about growing up Afghan in America. Goodbye Jamie, Sarah, Jeremy and Scott. You have made me laugh when the pipes were frozen over and when it seemed the report would never get written. Goodbye Javier and Herman, you have taken me on as your housemate and made me feel like your star. Goodbye Nellika, you offered me a home away from home. Goodbye Norman and Mala, you offered me your doggy trust and helped me learn to be less afraid of all dogs in the process. Goodbye Mohammedullah, Shapour and Azim, you have endured having this strange and sometimes unpredictable Haraji as your manager with good humour and generosity. Goodbye my Kabul life and, deep breath, hello Herat.

Sunday Scribblings: Chronicles of a friendship

Mary_01[1], originally uploaded by frida world.

In the days of haze and smoky bars, in a city pulsing with the excitement of a new kind of music, through the cold nights of a long winter warmed by the flames of mutual passions, a friendship was born. This friendship, though newborn, was lusty and cried out in the joy of recognition. In its infancy the friendship was fueled by the excitement of discovering another, an other, who also thought that Middle Eastern politics, post-modern feminism, modern architecture and Victorian literature were all suitable conversation for 11pm on a Friday night at the bar, over endless bottles of red wine, cigarettes and pizza. Yet for all the moments of recognition, of common pleasure - it was also in the differences that much delight was found. The night owl one day finds herself, exceptionally, awake at 8am on a Saturday, and knows exactly who she can call. One learns about the fun of opening nights (thanks Mary, I think I remember them all) and staying up late. The other learns the mysteries of marathon clubs and that LSD has another meaning (long, slow distance). Years go by. The friendship is offered moment upon moment of love, laughter and quiet companionship to sustain it. Through Sunday afternoon movies, walks in the wind along the coast, gallery visits and cards games it grows into its own skin. Through scrabble and sherry and book club, it spreads its toes wide and breathes deeply. Beneath the skin, the strong muscles of the heart are also growing through many small acts of honesty and trust. They are strong enough now to sustain the friendship through the perils of living, through sadness and self-doubt, through loss and grief, through fear and anger. More years pass, and the friendship builds itself a couple of little houses. Each little house has a perfect little table - just right for endless glasses of red wine, and cups of tea and for reading The New Yorker on a lazy, sunny afternoon. Each has a little kitchen perfect for two to cook in - or for one to cook and the second to provide a suitably appreciative audience. Each has a little front porch just right for two to sit or stand and watch the flax - discovering poems amongst the tuis and the piles of rotting flyers. And still the years go by. There are movements and changes and, in the way of that shaky island, there are shifts in the ground on which the friendship is standing. Yet, with those toes spread wide and breathing deeply, the friendship learns to keep hold and - at the same time - to release. To be open to the new, the wondrous, the possible and at the same time to remain grounded in certainty, solidity, in surety. Note: I wanted so much to write a tribute to the astounding Mary Parker this week, but here I have rather selfishly written about our friendship instead. "The Chronicles of Mary Parker, Who Has Never Looked Bad in a Hat" will have to wait for another day, one with a few more hours in it!

More chronicles here

Sunday Scribblings: Idea

Kho Tao smile Originally uploaded by frida world.

"I have an idea, my dear." She said, with a gleam in her eye. "It has little wings, and I think, That it might be ready to fly."

Sunday Scribblings: Kissing

“Ancient lovers believed a kiss would literally unite their souls,

because the spirit was said to be carried in one's breath.”

">Eve Glicksman

When I started working for the Office of the Race Relations Commissioner in New Zealand I started to spend a lot more time on marae and at hui or meetings hosted by different Maori iwi (tribes) or groups. I had the wonderful chance to learn some Maori language and protocol. I think that I am suited to have a little more ritual in my world than modern, Western life usually provides. As a result, perhaps, of this I loved what I learned - rituals and ceremonies to help provide a pathway through some of lifes most difficult or significant moments. One of the aspects of these rituals that I love is the hongi - a form of kiss - that follows the formal speeches and prayers of a welcome ceremony and completes the coming together as one of the hosts and the visitors. The hongi involves pressing noses, but the significance is in the intermingling of breath, the joining together of that which is most essential in each person, the breath of life. Once you have been fully welcomed on to a marae in this manner (sealed with the hongi) you are no longer a visitor (manuhiri) you are now one of the people of that place. I have never got over the amazing privilege of being accepted and welcomed so completely, but I do understand why it could only happen after a moment as intimate as the kiss of shared breath. PS: My initial thought when I read this prompt was to write about the politics of kissing here in Afghanistan, but then I read Home in Kabul's post and knew that I couldn't put it better, so instead I recommend that you read her post. For more words on kissing see Sunday Scribblings

Sunday Scribblings: Destinations

I’ve always loved the expectation of a new destination, that marvelous electrical pulse of excitement as you ride in the bus, plane or car towards a place you have long imagined. I got it as a child heading off with my parents on a road trip from Guatemala to Los Angeles. I had it over and over again in my years of traveling. I can physically recall the amazement of actually arriving in the flesh and bones, concrete and stones versions of cities I had read and dreamed about for years, like Damascus, Istanbul and Jerusalem. I still get it now – last week as I flew down to Farah for work I felt that excitement of the new, of going somewhere that I had never been before. But when I think over my many journeys it is often in the moments in between destinations that I had the experiences that changed me most. In those moments I learned secrets about myself that gave me the courage to pursue the dream I am living now. It was in the six hour wait at a border crossing that I discovered that I could find things to laugh about when others around me were overcome with frustration and impatience. It was in a day trip gone horribly wrong in the Jordanian desert that I learned that I could remain calm and rational in situations of danger and rising panic. The boundary between journey and destination quickly became blurred – even once I had arrived in a wonderful place like Jerusalem it would often be in the little journeys, in the moment-to-moment experiences as I made my way through that magical city that I would find my strongest impressions of the place, and of myself. But this prompt set me thinking about the one dimension of “destinations” and the journey towards them that I do struggle to remember – that coming back to what looks like the same place as you make you way through life may be an opportunity to take a different approach to the familiar challenges, even find a whole new path to follow. “But I’ve been here before!” she complained. “Months, maybe even years ago. I should have covered so much ground since then.” “How can I have ended up back here? Did I take a wrong turn, double back on myself, slide backwards down the hill?” “I know this place, I’ve climbed once already over that wall, fallen into that hole on the other side, and clambered my way back out.” “I’ve already swum once, struggling, across that raging river.” “That time, though, I at least had the advantage of being younger, fitter, more ready for the challenge. Last time I arrived here I hurled myself over the first hurdle without even stopping for a breath.” “So here I am, back again, having walked in some kind of circle, not making progress at all. Worse still, I’m older this time, not so boisterous and energetic and I swear I can’t face that wall quite yet.” “I’ll have to sit here for a moment, gather my strength, gather my wits, before I can think about clambering through those familiar old obstacles.” - Deep sigh – “It is lovely and quiet here under this tree. I guess there is no rush,” she says “no reason I can’t enjoy this for just a few more moments.” - More deep sighs and satisfied sounds – “Strange, I never noticed before that there was another path here under this tree… “

More interpretations of "destination" at Sunday Scribblings

Sunday Scribblings: Change

Sunday Scribblings: Change Originally uploaded by frida world.

Any time I venture into the bazaar here in Afghanistan I'm approached by women asking the equivalent of "Can you spare some change?". I struggle with this request. Given my reputation as a bleeding heart my reluctance to give money may seem strange. The problem is that I want a different kind of change for them. I want real social change. I want a different kind of development aid, an inclusive and effective kind of assistance. I want the hundreds of millions of dollars that flow into this country to bring about noticeable change for these women. I want a radical reorganistion of social and economic structures at a global and local level in order to provide these women with more choices. I want them to have real alternatives to begging. Believe me, I want to given them my spare change. In the past 15 years since I left my parent's home on a farm in small town New Zealand I have changed from single to married, from married to divorced and then back to single again. I have lived in more than twenty different homes (and those are only the ones into which I moved my boxes for long enough to remember them) with more than thirty different housemates. I have lived and worked in four different countries and traveled in more than forty. I have worked for the government, for the private sector, for not-for-profit organisations and for the United Nations. I have been a student, a storyteller, a lawyer, an aid worker, a project manager, a policy advisor, a human rights officer and a fairy. I've changed my religion, and changed my world view. I've often reflected on the apparently limitless possibilities from which I may choose my path. I've sometimes revelled in this freedom and other times felt paralysed by it. Believe me, I have change to spare. So when she takes hold of my sleeve and asks me "Can you spare some change?" I only wish I could give her the kind that she deserves. Inspired by Elspeth