Tribute: Imogen

Immy, originally uploaded by frida world.

Imogen has had more reason to hate me, to resent, avoid, and disdain me, than anyone one else (as far as I am aware). Perhaps others have felt they have had reason, but I know that Imogen has had reason. Many years ago I received some information that I should have passed immediately to Imogen and I didn't. I made that decision at the time out of confusion and uncertainty, and believing that it was the best way for me to deal with a very bad situation. I was wrong. My decision compounded the already bad situation and also allowed it to continue. Imogen suffered, terribly. When, years later, I finally found the courage to tell her what I had known all along she was, understandably, furious and hurt and betrayed. By not telling her I had become complicit in the original wrong. For some time I thought that our friendship was over. But instead Imogen did something extraordinary. She forgave me and gave me the chance to earn back her trust.

Since then we have rediscovered the things that attracted us to each other in the first place, our similarities as well as our differences.

We have sometimes frighteningly similar taste. More than once I have bought a new skirt or top only to discover that Immy has something eerily similar. On at least one occassion we have separately purchased the exact same garment. I was given custody of some of Immy's things when she went on mission to Liberia and they fit so beautifully into my home that I could have easily imagined owning them myself.

We also do similar work, in similar kinds of settings, motivated by similar values and driven by similar beliefs. We both find similar aspects of this world (of development and humanitarian work) disturbing and similar aspects incredibly motivating. We've made some of the same mistakes and discovered some of the same truths.

But I have to point out that for all these similarities I think Immy is much more stylish than me, and a much better writer. She is smart in some ways that I would love to be, but have come to accept that I am not. I also find her fabulously funny, which is a quality I value very highly in a friend.

Above all, though, I will never forget what it must have cost Immy to forgive me and to let me back into her life. I will never stop being grateful for this second chance and for the extraordinary friendship that has grown out of it. I have many wonderful friends, but Immy has a very special place in my life and my heart because of the difficult road we trod together to get here.

Tribute: A Banner of Thanks

You almost certainly have noticed my gorgeous new banner. It is very special to me because it represents my own little connection to the beautiful, creative force brought to the blog realm by two of the women whose blogs initially enticed me into this world, and then who inspired me to explore more of the things that make me come alive (including, especially, photography). The banner is designed by the wonderful Denise of Bohemian Girl Designs, whose blog Chronicles of Me first grabbed my attention with it's beauty, its honesty, and emotional and soulful depth and range. Thank you lovely Boho for this gorgeous banner. The photo on the left-hand side of the banner is by Susannah whose photography is one of my very favorite treats and whose blog Ink on my Fingers was the first place I ever dared to leave a comment, so consistently moved and impressed was I by the combination of Susannah's writing, her photography and her insight. Thank you for responding Susannah, you started something! This banner is my tribute not only to these two wonderful women whose examples nudged me out onto the path but also to all the other incredible women whose thoughts, words, images, poems, stories, reflections and adventures have become my quite unexpected and most delightful companions along this journey. Could I ever have imagined, when I started this blog, that I would be communicating regularly with a gorgeous human rights lawyer in Morocco whose wonderful dream is coming to life before our very eyes and whose kindness and understanding has brightened many of my days; or a American writer in Paris whose work in Iraq and other places would enable to her to provide me with much needed words of wisdom and support; or a kindred spirit whose path seems to mirror mine and whose gorgeous words and images seem to put my own thoughts into a more eloquent form than I could ever find; or these special ladies of Portland whose extraordinary talents and passions, and gifts for the marvelous have sustained me and entertained me and inspired me to set my inner-fairy free. Could I have divined that I would met a soulful and worldly wise 16 year old living in Saudi Arabia whose passion for justice and drive to live well would refresh my own sense of possibility for the world; or a fellow traveller whose honesty, wit and intelligence combine with a genuine desire to live right and who though sometimes tough on herself is so very kind to me; or a writer whose words stop me in my tracks, drawing me back in over and over again for more and whose honesty gave me the courage to share my own dark days; or an artist and traveller whose eye for beauty shares with me a little light in my day and whose sense of fun and curiosity leads me on adventures in the Garden State. Would I have guessed that I would join forces with this amazing good soul, whose desire to help moved beyond an impulse and grew into an action that rippled and grew and became a real agent for change; or this angel whose words are so heartfelt, so true that I always feel that if I just reached a little I could touch her and experience the loving kindness of her words in the flesh. Did I ever suspect that just a few hours away in Kabul there were women of this kind of with, who could make me giggle even on days when I had given up on cracking a smile, and whose honesty and frankness about their experiences as Afghan-Americans would give me a whole new perspective on this amazing, maddening, heart-wrenching, beautiful country. No, I could not have imagined, I could not have predicted, I did not suspect, I would not have guessed. I started this adventure only a few short months ago, I knew that I needed to do it. I just thought I needed to do it for completely different reasons. But here I am am, and there you all are and I am enjoying this adventure and all that I am learning from you. There are so many others out there, some new discoveries and some regular treats. I swear there are days when I could stay at the computer from morning til night (or, more likely, from night til morning) simply drinking my fill at the seemingly limitless source of spell-binding blogs. So to Susannah, Denise and Laini - who started it all for me - thank you. The banner is my tribute, along with the Laini's ladies who are flying across the world to join me on my adventure!

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

Tribute: Amanda

Amanda, originally uploaded by frida world.

Last week I lifted my mood and reminded myself of my many blessings by writing a tribute to my friends Wendie and Cathy. I enjoyed it so much I've decided to make it a regular Saturday treat. I first met Amanda in the Gaza Strip, seven and a half years ago. The first time I saw her she was dancing to Arabic music with amazing abandon and natural rhythm. I saw this young woman radiating sensuality and a wonderful sense of fun and I thought, life here in Gaza is not going to be so bad. Over the almost two years that we lived in Gaza together I saw many more examples of Amanda's willingness and ability to grab the goodness of life where she found it. Together we stood together under a waterfall in north Israel, luxuriating in the feel of water falling after months in the dry desert. Together we danced whenever there was time, space and music to be found or made. When we both ended up back in New Zealand, living in the wild, windy Wellington, Amanda and I found more ways to grasp at life in all it's pulsing, sweating glory. We rode our funny old bikes up hills so steep I thought we might never make it, just so that we could have the thrill of riding down the other side to the coast. We ran together in my first every road race, a 5km charity women's race. She even forgave me for my unplanned spurt of competitiveness at the 4km mark. And still, together we danced whenever there was time, space and music to be found or made. Amanda is willing to try life out, to taste new flavours, kiss new men, venture to new places and tease out new ideas. But over these years I have come to know Amanda as a woman not only of vibrance and fun, but also of integrity and humanity. Amanda has shown me through her life what it really looks like when we honour the inherent dignity of every person. She has taught me what it can mean when we are not unduly impressed by those who hold position, power or popularity, and when we are neither patronising or dismissive of those who lack all three. This in itself would be enough reason to love her. But more than all these things, Amanda understands and embraces all of me. I hope that she would say the same about me. I have never held back from telling Amanda the truth about my fear, my anger, my sadness, my pain, my grief or my jealousy. I have never felt that I needed to. I know that she already knows, and she loves me all the same.

These are the people in my neighbourhood

When you live in a place like this there are some very special types of people that you come across. One of the maddest groups of people I've ever met is also one of the groups I respect the most. There is a particular breed of person, almost all men, whose job it is to look for, find and destroy unexploded land mines (both anti-personnel and anti-tank mines) and other unexploded ordinance (UXOs) like rocket propelled grenades. It's "crazy work" as they say, but it is incredibly important work. This country is riddled with land mines and UXOs. In the western region (covering the four provinces of Herat, Badghis, Farah and Ghor) in 2006 there were 25 fatalities caused by land mines or UXOs, and 113 people were injured. Those injuries can be horrific. The anti-personnel mines are cruelly designed to maim and inflict terrible damage to the human body. The anti-tank mines, not surprising, are designed to inflict damage to a tank, so it is not hard to imagine how dangerous they are to humans. Today I heard from an UNMACA official that he was recently talking to a Mujahadeen fighter in Herat province who told him that he had personally laid 1000 anti-personnel mines in Khosan district of Herat. The United Nations Mine Action Coordination Agency and its predecessors have been working to survey and clear mine fields and battle fields since the collapse of the Soviet regime in 1989. This morning I went to briefing on their work in our region. In that time they have cleared 55 million square metres of mine fields and 18 million square metres of battle fields. They have found and destroyed 802 anti-tank mines, 13,553 anti-personnel mines and nearly 1 million UXOs. In the past year they have conducted mine awareness education for 153,000 people from high risk mine areas and have cleared about 3 million square metres each of mine field and battle field. So, yes, they are doing incredibly important work. But can you imagine what this job must be like? Not only is it dangerous (since 1989 there have been 87 accidents while clearing or destroying mines) but it requires what seems to me to be inhuman levels of concentration and fastidiousness. When they survey mine fields they do it inch by painstaking inch. If they get sloppy or bored for an instant it could result in their death, or a terrible injury. I met these guys from time to time, and I have the feeling that a disproportionate number of them come from New Zealand. But wherever they come from they are likely to be hard-cases. One guy, who I think is decidedly cool, goes by the name Ru - he is Maori, from a town not far from my home town. He is not so big by our standards, but here in Afghanistan his size is pretty impressive. He dresses in a black shalwar chamez (the long shirt and pant suit preferred by most men here), and has a 'fauxhawk' (a la David Beckham, but somehow it looks a little different on a big Polynesian guy in Afghanistan) and a decent sized beard. If his appearance isn't enough to make people nervous then his sense of humour probably will. Of course he makes me laugh uncontrollably, but then I'm a Kiwi girl from Tokoroa and that lets me into the small club of people who understand what Ru is talking about most of the time. He's probably a pretty typical deminer - I think he likes to appear rough around the edges and possibly a little bit mad. He is doing "crazy work". He's one of many who are doing what in my opinion is the work of heroes. This is my tribute to them. PS: Last night I got on the treadmill in the bunker for 40 minutes with my iPod on shuffle to provide the stimulation that was lacking in the scenery, went home and cut lovely pictures and words out of my one and only magazine to use in a collage of positivity (I wanted to do something creative and fun and it worked!), then danced around my room to bad pop music. I slept! Very well, even. This morning I woke with a little bit of energy and so I managed a baby yoga session (15 mins) and a bit of sitting still (my name for meditating, I find this label less intimidating). It has helped, as have all your kind, wise and loving comments. One day at a time. PSS: Just to prove that nothing is completely random, here are some of the songs that my iPod shuffle offered me last night while on the treadmill:

• Keep on Pushing by The Black Seeds;
• Colour Me Life by Katchafire;
• You've Got a Friend by Carole King; and
• I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm by Bille Holiday.

Tributes: Cathy and Wendie

Cathy and Wendie Originally uploaded by frida world.

I've been thinking a lot about some of my amazing ladies today. As a result I've decided to start posting little tributes to these amazing women whom I'm lucky enough to have as friends. Today I'm starting with Cathy and Wendie. Mostly because I had this gorgeous photo of them both from my last trip home... I think I'll post a tribute every Saturday. It will be my treat for myself, a time to savour these wonderful women and remind myself that they are there, a little out of reach but never out of touch. Cathy adds sparkle to my life. She is my joy and my inspiration to turn the Neil Diamond up and dance on the couch. She is one of those very rare people with whom I always feel comfortable, always safe to be myself without fear that I will offend or bore her. Cathy is brilliant, funny, generous and warm. She loves to put up her little dome tent as much as I do mine and we can camp together just for the joy of waking up to see the sea. With Cathy I have dressed up and drunk countless bottles of fejoia bubbly wine. She can crow like a rooster and she is the ultimate "Dancehall Girl". I love Cathy and any day now I'm going to cut my fringe to look just like her. Cathy spreads warmth and a wicked sense of humour, and someone who didn't know better might underestimate her competence and professional skill - she makes it look so easy! When I'm with Cathy I know that it wouldn't matter if there were no-one else in the world - we'd still find reason to dance, and laugh and dream and our own little world would be a place of hopes and good-heartedness. Wendie and I are kindred spirits, so similar that we compete with each other and love each other for the competition. For more mornings than I could count Wendie has been there, waiting for me to pull on my runing shoes and head out into the day, running through our worries, our tears, our joys and our many projects. I've never run as fast as I do when I'm running a race with Wendie by my side. Wendie is the kind of woman who would make me terribly jealous if I didn't love her so much and know her so well. She is not only stunning and full of life, she is also frighteningly competent and hard working. She scares some people with her brilliance, but not me! I know she is as loyal and stubborn as I am and as long as I am me and she is she we'll be there for each other. Wendie shares my dreams and I share hers, we push each other to reach a little higher and then remind each other to sit and have a wee rest and take a long hot bath. I'm a lucky, lucky girl, and there are so many more still to come! This is fun!

More on my sisters...

Just in case you thought I only had one beautiful, smart, strong, talented sister, here is my big sister with her family. Sarah is only 18 months older than me, but on top of her original profession as a teacher she has already had three children, and together with her husband John established themselves in the farming business, with their own herd of cows and management of another large herd. She has an amazing head for business and I am sure that there will be more business ventures to emerge from Sarah's pool of talent. I'm also planning to ask her to raise any children that I am ever lucky enough to have, she has done such an amazing job with her three!

My talented little sister

As if being beautiful, funny, smart, strong and generous isn't enough, my little sister is also a successful independent business owner. Her business, The Fairy Shop, is growing and developing incredibly under her direction and inspiration.

The cake that she designed and decorated herself for her wedding shows the kind of talent she brings to her business, and the fact that she was decorating all those little cup cakes on the morning of her wedding is an example of her professional dedication.

Isn't it gorgeous!

It was also delicious, especially at 2am after hours of crazy dancing at the wedding reception, and it went very well with the lovely Pinot Noir from Mudbrick that we were served.