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.

Black dog days: II

Ghor Mission Jan 2007 - Me with girl students 01, originally uploaded by frida world.

Firstly thanks for your kind and thoughtful (and funny, thanks Wanda) comments. Isolation is part of the problem here, so they really do help. My special thanks to Mary for your incredible emails throughout the day today, filled with poems and kindness and insight and love. You are a treasure.

I know this will pass but yesterday was the day when I realized that it wasn’t going to go away without a little bit of intention and some action on my part.

So, the intention has been formed:
1. I lit a candle (thanks Regina);
2. I made a commitment to do some healing things each day (thanks again Mary for being my witness); and
3. I set a timeframe for assessing whether things are improving (or whether I need to try recovering in a safer, warmer place closer to friends and family and further away from so much conflict, violence and injustice, thanks Maryam).

Along with the more generic steps towards healing (amongst which - I will find a way to go for walks) I also decided to do a few things that are very specific to my situation.

One of the small but significant items on that list was to teach my two human rights assistants how to properly complete a case file. This is a job that I detest at the best of times, but when I’m functioning at an even keel I can always transfer a little reserve energy over from another source and find the motivation to do it anyway. At the moment all those reserves are empty and each task that presents itself to me has to be pulled up by it’s own bootstraps. Some days the reserves dip into negative and my energy and motivation plummet. Resolve: I’m cutting down on unnecessary withdrawals.

So today I sat down for two hours with my assistants and we went through the case file template, the database of types of human rights violations and the step-by-step process for completing the form and creating the file. Then we took a couple of the cases I had pending from my last mission to Ghor and talked through them.

Yes, we had a few hiccups along the way. One of the cases I used for this exercise was about a woman who wanted a divorce from her husband because he had been beating her and because after 15 years of marriage she had not been able to have a child with him. She is complaining to us that the judge in their town will not issue the divorce because he is a friend of her husband – I would categorize this as a case about the right to due process and fair trial.

However, when my lovely (and very new) young female assistant read the case note and I asked her what follow up questions she would ask, she said she would start out with a question about the infertility (who is infertile, the man or the women?) and follow up by asking why the husband beat her: “May be she is abusing his human rights in some way and that is why he is hitting her”.

But we talked our way gently through that, and agreed that these would not be such great opening questions to a victim of domestic violence, and off they went this afternoon with their homework – to write up their case studies in the case file format and we’ll go over them at a meeting tomorrow morning.

Right now I’m going to go for a walk. It will probably have to be on the treadmill in the bunker today, but this weekend I will do my utmost to find a way to go for a walk outside. Keep your fingers crossed that the nasty blighters who keep issuing direct threats of suicide attacks against our vehicles on Thursday (thus condemning us all to lock-down over the weekend) will cut me some slack this week.

Black dog

BAIRES ABRIL 09, originally uploaded by frida world.

Okay, I can’t avoid acknowledging him any longer, there is a little black dog following me around. He’s been hanging about for the past few months. He’s not so big; I’ve seen others much bigger. Years ago one of his kind came and sat on me and I couldn’t get out of bed for six weeks. This little guy has nothing on that monster, but he’s here and I know better than to keep trying to ignore or avoid him. How do I know this is a black dog and not just the shadow from a passing cloud? It’s not just the tears that come out of nowhere, or the sense of being overwhelmed by the smallest thing. It’s also the fact that I no longer find enjoyment in things that I usually love, like running, doing yoga, or even reading. It’s also the ridiculous depths to which my self-esteem has plummeted, poor J only has to wake up a little grouchy and I’m convinced he doesn’t love me any more. The disrupted sleep is a clue, as is my inability to make even the simplest decision (J: “So do you want to watch The West Wing or do you want to check your emails?” Me: “I don’t know, I don’t know, oh god, I just don’t know!”).

To be honest, it’s also the fact that this has been going on for months now. So step one: acknowledging. Then what? I liked what Sue Chance said here:

"Black Dog" was Churchill's name for his depression, and as is true with all metaphors, it speaks volumes. The nickname implies both familiarity and an attempt at mastery, because while that dog may sink his fangs into one's person every now and then, he's still, after all, only a dog, and he can be cajoled sometimes and locked up other times.

Can I cajole this little guy? Tie him up? Show him the door? Last week I think he missed the plane to Ghor and I had a week without him casting his inky shadow over my every hopeful, cheerful thought. But here he was waiting for me when I got back. So it’s time to accept that he is here. I know some tricks that usually work with him. They’ve worked before and even really smart people with degrees in Black Dogs agree with me on these. Like psychologist Dr Carmel Loughland, senior researcher with the The Neuroscience Institute of Schizophrenia and Allied Disorders in Australia, who says people "can go off to their GPs and be assessed very easily for medication, or more specialist treatment". Oh, except not here in Herat they can’t, and the one time I summoned up the courage to talk to the doctor employed by my organization his response was that I was “having psychological problems” and not medical problems, so obviously he couldn’t help, Gee, thanks! But that’s okay; Dr Loughland has some tips for helping yourself:

“We reduce the amount of stress that we’re feeling if we can get out and about and exercise,” she says. “When people are feeling very blue or down they tend to isolate themselves, and in some countries that’s a form of torture; it’s used to break people down. “It’s very important that we get out and talk to people and socialise, even if we don’t feel like it or we don’t have a lot of access to people. Just getting out and taking a walk is really important.”

I agree, completely, especially about the getting out for a walk bit. Hmm, except “getting out” is not so much an option around here, neither to exercise nor to socialize, and certainly not to take a walk. Isolation and containment are characteristics of life here. We are isolated from the communities in which we work by chasms of cultural difference and by extreme security measures, which – if we were to obey them to the letter - prohibit us from even visiting our Afghan colleagues since their homes do not comply with the security guidelines. We are isolated from each other by restrictions on our movement and, in my case at least, by our own black dogs. I found this fantastic little book online today, and I liked what the author/illustrator had to say about his own experience with the black dog.

“One of the simplest tools I’ve learnt is acceptance; acceptance is the one thing that deprives the Black Dog of his power. If Black Dog chooses to make an appearance I no longer take flight or burn huge reserves of energy trying to conceal it. I accept the Black Dog is there, I batten down the hatches, I try to unload some responsibilities and I live in the knowledge that it will pass because it always does. Like all bad dogs a Black Dog needs discipline, patience, understanding to bring him into line. Never, ever give up.”

Here’s what I’m figuring out. Doing this here, dealing with the black dog here in Herat, is something new. I have to learn how to do it under these circumstances, with these challenges and restrictions. I have to stop avoiding it and stop complaining that the things that usually work are impossible here. I need to work out what will work here. I need to not give up. I am also going to remember something else. The black dog can also drive me to do great things. Out of this sense of smallness and the fear of not being loved I can find the drive to do things which, hopefully, will earn me some love and admiration. Out of a sense of hopelessness and helplessness I can find the strength to act.

I know I am not alone in this, and although it may seem extraordinarily arrogant (especially for someone who claims to be suffering from such a low self esteem) to compare myself to Tolstoy, Churchill or Luther, I’m going to take this final thought with me into this day and the ones that will follow:

“[Churchill] was in lustrous company - Goethe, Schumann, Luther, and Tolstoy to name but a few - all of them great men who suffered from recurrent depression. Who doesn't have at least a passing familiarity with the notion that depression sometimes acts as a spur to those of a certain temperament and native ability? Aware of how low they will sink at times, they propel themselves into activity and achievements the rest of us regard with awe.” Sue Chance, M.D.

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."

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!

Generosity

Ghor Mission Jan 2007 - Girls at orphange Originally uploaded by frida world.

You are fabulous! Enough of you have told me that you want help these children that I am going to find a way to make it happen. There are two possibilities, one is for me to set up a way to accept donations. I think I can do that through PayPal, hopefully that will be easy for me to track and keep it all transparent. I will find out how to do that today.

Update: I think I figured it out - the button is up and the link seems to work. I've never received payments through PayPal before, but I assume they will be tracked in my account and it should be clear that they were made for the fund for orphans. The other possibility is to send things here. Annieelf has started organising that - so my job is to figure out a secure way to get things here. It could be tricky but I'll give it my best shot. The main thing that would be worth sending is good quality woollens. Everything else is probably easier to buy here. I won't be going back up to Cheghcharan until early March, but I am going to Badghis at the end of this month and the situation there is pretty similar to Ghor (not quite so dire but still many, many people without enough money to provide the basics for their children). Okay - now you've given me my weekend work I had better get on with it! Thanks for your generosity. PS: If you donate money I will spend it on school supplies for the orphanage as well as warm boots and clothes. That's what the children wanted and what the Director of the orphanage also suggested - a black board, some chalk, notebooks, pens and pencils. I'd like to get some crayons as well for art work.

Photo Friday: Peaceful

SA Trip 58
Originally uploaded by frida world.

When I visited the Gustav Vigeland sculpture garden in Oslo, Norway I had an almost overwhelming sense of well-being. His sculptures express warmth, love, passion, humanity and in some cases - like this one - they give me a profound sense of peacefulness.

Gratitude

Space! I barely even realised how much I had been craving it until I got some and felt such an incredible rush of happiness. From the moment the plane took off I felt as though I had been set free from a kind of prison. Space! As we flew over the plains of Herat and then up over the mountains of Ghor, I had this huge, silly grin on my face and my spirit felt lighter than it has in weeks. This week I was grateful for space and the freedom to move through it. Cheghcharan, the provincial capital of Ghor is a small, poor town. I spent some time this week in the bazaar, trying to buy decent clothes and shoes for the orphanage, because I hadn't brought enough with me from Herat for the number of kids that I found when I got there. Here are some images from the market. This week I was grateful for my income and what it enables me to do. Most of these children are not orphans, although many would come from women-headed households. Some even have fathers, but their families are too poor to care for them. On my first visit the Director explained all this to me, and shocked me with his announcement that they had between 250 and 300 children in the orphanage (I suspect some of the children come and go from their family homes, hence the approximate number). I realised that I couldn't possibly give enough for all the children on this visit, so I suggested that most of the clothes and shoes I had brought would fit the youngest children. Next time I visit I'll take something for the older children, probably books and pens, I think. So we agreed that the Director would sort the clothes into approximate sizes and I would return on Thursday morning so we could distribute them together to the smallest children. When I arrived on Thursday it was snowing. The Director brought me into the yard of the orphanage and as I stood there, not quite sure what was going on, all the children filed out of the buildings and stood around the yard, in the snow, looking expectantly at me. I desparately tried to tell the Director that I didn't have enough clothes for all the children, and that in any case they shouldn't be standing out in the snow. Just as I was beginning to feel completely overwhelmed by the terrible situation I had created in my clumsiness a car pulled up and my fabulous colleague/assistant got out, he had finished his meeting with the Governor and decided to come and see how I was doing. As he stepped out of the car I burst into tears, explaining that I had got myself into this horrible situation and begging his help to fix it! He was great, we explained to the Director that it was too cold for the children to wait outside and he explained to the children that this time we only had clothes for the littlest children. He helped me organise for all the children to go inside and then come out in small groups so that we could fit the clothes and shoes properly. My other colleagues arrived - Muna and Harry - and they were fantastic. I watched Muna gently trying to fit the tiny, cold feet and arms into our second-hand boots and jackets. Meanwhile Harry was slipping polar fleece hats onto cold little heads and checking which children didn't have socks so that we could make sure they got the best we had. This week I was grateful for my colleagues, good hearted and hard working people on whom I can rely and with whom I can have fun. This little girl was being helped by an older boy. From what I could make out he was not her brother, but he was beautifully gentle with her and a very good advocate for her, making sure she got everything he could find that would fit her. The little boy on the left has his new hat, boots, jacket and fleecy shirt and pants on as well. In the end, things became a little chaotic again, as the older children all made their way out into the yard and wanted to get somethings for themselves. I had bought six footballs and so we told the teachers to let the children play with them, we also found a box of clothes donated by someone from the Lithuanian PRT which had not been distributed so we were able to give some of the older children clothes, hats, gloves and shoes from that box. This week I was grateful for the chance to give and most of all for the fabulous Commander, whose idea this was in the first place and whose generosity and kind-heartedness help me keep my faith in the good. Another highlight of this mission was my visit to a community-based girls' school in Dowlatyar. The girls were studying mathematics, chemistry and physics when I arrived. When I asked them how many wanted to be doctors, teachers, lawyers and engineers respectively, most of them said they wanted to be doctors. Which means they are aiming to get the highest grades possible in their exams. I told them about Maria Bashir, the women who was recently appointed to be the Provincial Chief Prosecutor in Herat and said I wondered whether the next Director of Public Health for Ghor province was in the room. Perhaps this beautiful girl? This week I was grateful for my education and everything it has brought me, including the chance to work here. And finally, just to prove I was there, here is a photo of me with my fabulous colleague Reza (on the right) without whom I wouldn't be able to do anything useful at all, and our counterpart from the Afghan Independent Human Rights Commission, Mr Hakak. This week, as always, I was grateful for Reza! We stopped for a photo op on our way to Dowlatyar, and I felt free as a bird after these weeks of restricted movement in Herat. I also got to walk from one village to the next through the snow in Dowlatyar - much to the astonishment of the locals who seemed to expect a foreigner like myself to collapse in a heap of helplessness as soon as I stepped away from the 4x4! This week I was grateful that I can walk with ease. One final set of photos - the rest are on flickr if you want to see more. These men bring the wood in from the country-side to Cheghcharan town every morning to sell it for fuel. Their donkeys are piled high with dried scrub and wood. I worry about the environmental impact of this practice, but have no better option to offer them right now so I am grateful for the warmth given off by the wood stoves that I found in every office I visited, and (thank goodness) in every prison cell as well. This week I was grateful for bukhari (stoves) There are some strange loud noises going on this morning, it sounds like explosions somewhere in the city. More often than not these are controlled explosions, getting rid of unexploded ordinanaces found by the demining teams, but it reminds me that I'm back in Herat and won't be able to go out walking as I please until I go home to New Zealand in February or when I return to Ghor, whichever comes first. This week I am grateful for being able to travel.

Why I love going to Ghor

Ghor Mission Jan 2007 - little girl after 01 Originally uploaded by frida world.

Okay, so my nails are all broken, my lips are chapped and my feet are blistered but I am happy. I love getting out of the office. I love working in Ghor. I love flying in the little plane, I love the sense of space that I get from leaving the city and heading up into the mountains. I love walking from one village to the next through the snow. I love visiting girls' schools in the middle of nowhere and finding them in the middle of chemistry and physics lessons. I also love getting back to Herat to my lovely man, home cooked dinner, a long hot shower, a bottle of red wine and Scrubs on DVD. Thanks for all your comments, I promise photos and details tomorrow (if the internet is working). PS: Yes, this is one of the little girls at the orphanage, with her new jacket, hat and tights. More about that soon - but I won't deny I was in tears at one point - instead of the 30 children I was expecting I found almost 300!

Off on mission

Airport sign
Originally uploaded by frida world.

Well, enough lounging about here in Herat. Assuming the weather cooperates I'm off to Ghor province tomorrow, back on Thursday.

I'm taking with me the supplies for the orphans - it is really cold up in Ghor and it is also one of the most neglected provinces in the country. Lengthy drought has devastated the economy and the harsh winters are long. People up there are really living it tough.

Nothing makes me feel lucky for everything in my life like a trip to Ghor. Just landing safely in the airstrip is enough to make me feel lucky, actually (did you notice the plane corpse lying just behind the airport welcome sign?).

Anyway, I'll miss visiting your blogs for laughter, beauty and warmth these next few days, but your comments are always very welcome. I can look forward to reading them when I get back!

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

Meme from Jojo

Fernando de Noronha, Brazil, May 2005
Originally uploaded by frida world.

I've seen this on other blogs, then my lovely friend Jolene emailed it to me asking for my answers and I can never say no to her.

A. Four jobs I have had in my life:
Brine bath operator, cheese factory
Fairy/storyteller for children's parties
Selling lotto tickets
Strategic Advisor to the Race Relations Conciliator

B. Four movies I would watch over and over.
I guess I don't really watch movies over and over, there are too many I haven't seen yet.

C. Four places I have lived
Tokoroa (NZ)
Piha (NZ)
Gaza
Kabul

D. Four TV shows I love to watch
The West Wing
Six Feet Under
Scrubs
Arrested Development

E. Four places I have been to on holiday
Brazil (scuba diving in Fernando de Noronha on my 32nd birthday - see photo above)
New York City (photo booths and cocktails at Pharmacy Bar on my 30th birthday)
Egypt (snorkling in Dahab on my 28th birthday)
Turkey (dinner in Istanbul with my parents on my 25th birthday)

F. Four of my favourite foods:
Porridge - comfort food of the highest order
Fresh fish
Mango
Yoghurt (thick, creamy and all natural)

G. Four places I'd rather be right now:
Edinburgh Terrace, Berhampore, Wellington (at my place, Mary's or Rachael and Peter's)
On any beach in New Zealand, with my tent, a novel and a bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc
At Nikau Cafe with any or all of the Brunette Mafia and a bottle of Atarangi Summer Rose
At the Matterhorn with my Book Club ladies and a bottle of Rabbit Ranch Pinot Noir

H. Four things I want to achieve:
Learn to be messier
Meditate for more than 17 minutes without fidgeting
Raise a child
Build a business, alone or with like-minded folks

Yoga, shopping for orphans and sushi - what I did on the weekend.

Afghan school boys in winter, Badghis Originally uploaded by frida world.

This is the "what I did in my weekend" post. Sometimes I forget to simply describe daily life here.

This weekend started out with a report that flyers had been distributed in Herat city calling for a demonstration against the execution of Saddam Hussein. Our security officer decided to take no risks that we could get caught up in a demonstration where anti-Western sentiments would be likely to be running high, so we had a movement restriction until further notice. That means we stay in our guesthouse compounds except for "essential movement". This is the third Friday in a row we've been on "essential movement only". It gets tired.

The first time we had this restriction I asked the head of the office whether going to the gym could be considered essential movement if I felt it was essential in order to maintain my mental well-being. He basically laughed me out of the room. I guess it is always possible to skip rope in the compound, or run around in small circles like a caged animal.

I spent the day with the Commander, playing cards, writing emails, reading, and watching The West Wing. In the early evening the restriction was lifted (there had been no demonstration), but there isn't really anywhere to go at night anyway.

This morning I woke excited, I had a date with a woman who teaches yoga back home in the USA, she has agreed to take me through my practice a few times a week (until she goes on leave in two weeks). I got there and realised that the practice room heater wasn't working so we had to start off in the cold, ouch. But once we warmed up it was great - apart from a moment in which I couldn't get into the Crow pose and suddenly, without warning, felt tears welling up in my eyes. Well, maybe that was also a good moment in its own way.

I wanted to get back to the lovely boy's house before too late because today is his birthday. I had a present for him and planned to make him breakfast. But as I walked out to where my driver was waiting I suddenly heard a noise that makes me very nervous here - it was the sound of a crowd of men shouting. I got in the car and asked the driver what was going on, he had no idea but suddenly we saw a large crown of men walking along the street in front of us. I asked him to quickly retreat into the guesthouse where I had been doing the yoga and called my security officer and our radio room.

For the next hour the driver and I sat in the car, snacking on some dried peas and raisins that he found in the glove box and talking about the Iranian pop music on the radio. From time to time I would get a call from the security officer updating me on their progress in identifying the reason for the demonstration (it turned out to be angry motorcyclists protesting some licensing decision by the government but the police initially told him it was the Saddam Hussein protest). As I was sitting there I realised how much more patient I've become since I arrived in Afghanistan. And how much better I am at accepting that my plans are often going to be interrupted or totally changes by circumstances out of my control.

After an hour we got the go ahead to move so I decided to make the most of movement while it was allowed and run some other birthday related errands. The first was to the Italian army base, to purchase some wine and beer. Yes, that's right. If I want to buy alcohol I have to go to an army base and be escorted by an army officer into the PX ( duty-free store). I bought a bit more than I could carry, but none of the charming Italian soldiers could help me carry it out to the car because they are not allowed out the front gate of their compound without their full protective gears on (including helmet, body armour and a big gun).

My next errand was back at my house. Last night I asked the Commander hat he would like me to make for his birthday dinner. He said "sushi" imagining it to be an impossible dream. But it turns out that last time I was in Portland with him I stocked up on all the basic ingredients for making sushi! Of course we don't have any fish, but I'll make it vegetarian, I have everything else. That's next on my to do list.

When I got to his place he opened his present, and I cooked him up some eggs and made coffee (instant, ugh) for brunch. Then we had fun doing silly on-line quizzes like 'Which super-hero are you?" (I'm Wonder Woman, he was either The Hulk, or Cat Woman, an equal tie between unlikely alter-egos). I then made him do "Which super-heroine would you marry?" and he was probably relieved to get the right answer (WW!). It carried on for sometime, (Which famous poet? He is Dylan Thomas, I am e.e. cummings) before we decided to go and have some fun shopping for orphans.

Okay, the pun is bad. But it was fun buying warm clothes, hats, socks, stockings and gloves for the orphans in Chegcharan. If you missed my earlier post, this was one of the Commander's ideas. Our Christmas present to ourselves was to buy as many warm clothes as we could find and give them to the orphanage. Some of our friends also gave money. Thanks!

I was amazed how far the money went. Here are some rough indications:

• warm jacket $4
• fleecy suit (top and pants) $3-4
• fleecy hats $1
• gloves 50c
• socks 50c
• stockings $1

So for $10 we could get a complete outfit for one child. When I get up to Chegcharan I'll go to the market and buy rubber boots, we have limited space on the small plane we'll be flying in so we couldn't get them here. We have money left over, so our next idea is to buy soccer balls and other sports equipment for the orphanage here in Herat. Oh - and we could get art and craft supplies! This is fun!

Well, I'm going to get started on that sushi. But that's what I did on my weekend. Hope yours were fabulous and full of as much fun and love as mine was.

Reasons to stay

Because when the cruelty, selfishness and arrogance of the bad guys make me feel so angry and helpless that I want to escape this country, escape those feeling, I know that there are Afghans who feel so much angrier but who have so much less power to make a difference than I could have if I work out how to use it. Because I'm remembering how miserable it can feel trying to fit my square peg self into a round hole but I'm also remembering that there are better ways of responding than either: raging against the injustice or stupidity of the round hole; or rubbing off my jangly, sparkly edges until I fit in. Because I'm learning about Afghanistan. Because I'm persevering until I figure out how to do a job that doesn't come naturally to me, how to give my best even when I feel a hundred others could do better. Because I'm learning about how hard it can be to translate the rhetoric into reality. Because I have the following essentials for my survival:

• Lovely and long-suffering boyfriend
• iPod filled with NZ music
• iBook and an internet connection
• Moleskine journals
• Pastels and paints (courtesy of the aforementioned lovely boyfriend)
• Digital camera
• Aveda Replenishing body moisturiser
• Hema face cream and oil (100% deliciously NZ organic)
• Bodyshop hemp hand and foot cream (see a pattern? it's dry here!)
• Jarrah Chocolatte hot chocolate
• Lady Grey tea
• Scented candles
• Ugg boots
• 100% NZ made puffy jacket
• Yoga mat (somewhat neglected of late but always there when I'm ready)
• DVDs (The West Wing, Six Feet Under, Northern Exposure and Scrubs)
• Poetry books (Rumi and NZ's Janet Frame)
• Small collection of novels (including Rachael King, Alice Munro, Doris Lessing, Margaret Atwood)

Yearning for justice

This young girl's red hair, bold eyebrows and serious look captivated me.

She is the Deputy President of the Provincial Council, and you just watched as she argued passionately with the President of the Council about the need for human rights and justice in Afghanistan. He had suggested that it was time for people in Afghanistan to accept that there had been no human rights in this country for 30 years, that those who had been responsible for abuses of human rights were still around and are not going to go away. He argued that it was time to simply accept this and let it be. He asked: what would make things better anyway? Did she want to see all those responsible for human rights violations executed? Would that make things better? She argued that it was never too late for justice, that she didn’t want to see those responsible killed, instead she wanted them publicly identified, investigated and tried. She wanted a chance for the victims and their families to have their stories told, to have their pain heard and acknowledged. She wanted people to know that those who were responsible for their suffering were not allowed to get away with it without any accountability or punishment. She talked about war crimes tribunals in other countries, about war criminals who had been held accountable for their crimes in other jurisdictions. She talked about global efforts to have Pinochet tried and about the trial of Milosovic. She is obviously intelligent, well informed and committed to justice. She is, quite simply, a woman who you admire, who you would like to get to know better and to work with. She is the kind of woman who can give you hope for this country and a sense of purpose and optimism in your work. So it is incredibly hard when you have to be so careful about what you say in response to her, when you have to carefully select each word to ensure that you are speaking in accordance with your organisation’s official position on the matter. She is referring to the Human Rights Watch report on human rights abuses committed by the Jehadi leaders and factions in Kabul in the 1990’s. She is furious that President Karzai has rejected the report and refused to act on its recommendations to bring those leaders (now holding powerful positions in Karzai’s cabinet and in the Parliament) to trial. You first have to clarify one point - she has mistakenly attributed the HRW report to the Afghan Independent Human Rights Commission. This confusion is proving to be common across the country and is risky for the Commission, so you are careful to point out that the report she is referring to was not produced by the Commission, but rather by an independent NGO called ‘Human Rights Watch’. You explain that AIHRC was involved in the background research for the Action Plan on Peace, Reconciliation and Justice and they did produce a report based on their consultations with thousands of Afghans, that report was “A Call for Justice”. It has been used as the basis for the development of the Action Plan. You remind her that on 10 December 2006, International Human Rights Day, President Karzai launched the Action Plan. You say that this is a very important development, one that the AIHRC and the international community have been pushing for over the past year. You remind her that the plan is comprehensive (i.e. that it does not only deal with accountability but also with victims needs to tell their stories and to see their experiences reflected in shared histories of Afghanistan) and that it is progressive (i.e. it starts with steps like establishing national memorial days and have a series of phases that should happen consequentially). You feel acutely aware that in the face of genuine passionate feeling you are responding with policy. It is good, sound policy and you have no argument with your superiors in Kabul who have developed the policy. But you feel that this woman deserves more from you. You know that the launch of the plan was completely overshadowed by the reaction to the Human Rights Watch press release calling for the prosecution of a number of key figures involved in human rights abuses in the 1990s. Those named in the HRW report and press release have decided to use this as an opportunity to attack the international community and the AIHRC and to put the President in an extremely difficult situation. You are afraid that if this situation escalates it will endanger the implementation of the Action Plan itself, so you feel that the policy you have been given is correct. But in your heart you want to join with her in her passion. Instead you talk calmly and carefully about the Action Plan and ask for ideas about what you and she can do together in the province to promote greater awareness of the plan. You argue that it is the right of people here in Farah to know about the plan and to understand what the plan proposes should happen in Afghanistan. You look her in the eye and tell her that your mandate is to promote implementation of the Action Plan, so although you understand she may be disappointed in some aspects of the plan this is what you have to offer. You look her in the eye and tell her that you do not work in Kabul, that you work in Farah, so although you do not disagree with her suggestions that more needs to be done at the national level to ensure implementation of the plan you are here, not there, and you can only offer to work with her on initiatives to promote the Action Plan here. You watch her face while your interpreter translates your words to her. You see that although she is passionate and ready to fight about these issues, she is not going to fight you. She is going to be gracious to you, she is going to accept your mandate, and accept what you can do rather than railing against what you cannot do. You hear her say that she will prepare a proposal for some dissemination activities in Farah, using radio, televisions and mobile awareness raising workshops for the remote areas. You let out the breath that you have been holding. You take in another deep breath and feel yourself begin to believe that you can find a small way to make your contribution in this place. Background information: Transitional justice is the term used to describe the full range of processes and mechanisms associated with a society's attempts to address past abuses, ensure accountability, serve justice and achieve reconciliation after a period of war, conflict and/or oppression. These may include a combination of both judicial and non-judicial mechanisms, individual prosecutions, reparations, truth-seeking, institutional reform, vetting and dismissals. In 2002 the Afghanistan Independent Human Rights Commission was given a mandate, through a decree signed by the Chairman to “undertake national consultations and propose a national strategy for transitional justice and for addressing the abuses of the past.” Throughout 2003 and 2004 AIHRC undertook a widespread consultation, comprised of :

1. the application of a survey, designed to capture quantitative data and test for preferences to 4151 respondents; and
2. the convening of over 200 focus group discussions with over 2000 participants, designed to capture qualitative data and test for perceptions.

The consultation took eight months and covered 32 of Afghanistan’s 34 provinces as well as refugee populations in Iran and Pakistan. I highly recommend the resulting report “A Call for Justice” to anyone with an interest in transitional justice in Afghanistan. But I do warn you that it is disturbing to read. A pdf file of the report can be accessed here Based on the findings reported in “A Call for Justice”, the Government of Afghanistan, in cooperation with the AIHRC and UNAMA (the United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan), developed the Action Plan for Peace, Reconciliation and Justice. It was presented and agreed upon at the Hague Conference on Peace, Reconciliation and Justice in Afghanistan on 6-7 June 2005. Although the Government of Afghanistan adopted the plan in early 2006 the President did not formally launch it until 10 December 2006. Where do I fit into this? Part of my job description is to promote and support the implementation of this Action Plan – by raising awareness of the plan amongst the general public, the media, and local authorities. Some of the Afghan people with whom I discuss this plan want more than the plan offers – more immediate judicial action to bring violators to account, for example, where the action plan proposes more progressive actions starting with memorials and the development of shared historical narratives.

I feel deep sympathy for those victims of gross human rights violations who want immediate justice – but I also trust the wisdom of those people who have developed this plan, taking into account the current political and security environment in Afghanistan. Essentially, although my heart longs to meet these cries for justice with the response that they yearn for, my head tells me that people who know so much more than me have so carefully mapped out this path, and that we need to follow it step by step.

An Afghan follows his heart

This story touched me “An Afghan follows his heart” He is the same age as me, leaving a presumably comfortable and apparently successful life in Washington in order to make his contribution here in his homeland, Afghanistan. But unlike me this guy is really brave, he is going to take up a senior government position in Kandahar province. In Kandahar government officials are targeted and not infrequently killed by the anti-government elements. I wish him safety and the chance to help his people.

Happy New Year

Opps. I must have had a few too many glasses of champagne at the ICRC (Red Cross) New Years party last night. I just opened my handbag to find my camera so I could download a photo for this post and found only my empty camera case. That ICRC bar, it's the only one in town and we are invited there about once a month and so its possible that I got a little carried away. Happy New Year! Having no photo doesn't leave me much else with which to embellish this New Year's day post. I am working on some new goals, dreams, plans and aspirations - but I've decided to go for an extension on the 1 January deadline, they are still cooking in their creative juices and are not ready for general consumption yet. But somewhere in there, swirling around with all the other delicious ingredients, are some ideas about an independent business venture, so this post will be dedicated to inspiring women whose businesses are ready and waiting for you to show a little love this year: The Fairy Shop Bohemian Girl Designs Superhero Designs Letha Sandison Boutique Laini's Ladies Christine Mason Miller Please send me more links to independent businesses, especially but not exclusively women's businesses. I'm especially interested in businesses that have combined poverty-reduction, empowerment for women or development goals with creative endeavours and business plans. Can you see where my thoughts are heading? Update: I had an email from a friend expressing his sorrow that my camera didn't make it home from the party. Perhaps, he suggested, it met someone special? Turns out that was exactly what happened. The Commander found it in his coat pocket this morning. At least my camera has good taste in men!

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

New Year - poem

New Year The midnight moment – we have no wolves to howl the moon but the drab morepork crying with economical greed half its cry, ‘Pork Pork Pork!’ This last night of December the swollen moon-yolk approaches nearer the earth, may drop a bright younker fuming with feather, or, infertile, may waste or break or spill over frying itself across the hotplate of January sky. Janet Frame from The Pocket Mirror, 1967

Eid mubarak!

Today is the first day of Eid Al'Adha. It is a time when all those who can afford it will purchase and slaughter a goat, sheep or cow and share the meat with the poor. Of course, the Eid also brings gifts and new clothes for the children and delicious meals and celebrations with loved ones. But the holiday has also retained this essential element, that it is a time to share what you have with those who don't have enough. It's an inspiring example of generosity in a setting that could lead the best of us to think only of caring for ourselves and our own. It helps me deal with some of the more unpleasant aspects of life that I've been working with this week (like the ex-Taleb member of a Provincial Council who wanted an arrested kidnapper to be handed over to the community for lynching rather than being dealt with by the justice system). I took this photo during Eid Al'Adha last year, I liked to think of these guys as the ones that got away. It is quite amazing to realise that I've been here a year, my Dari certainly doesn't show much progress. Today I had lunch with the family of one of our drivers, and I struggled to converse even with his adorable four year old daughter. But I did manage to convince her to come visit me in New Zealand, I think she thought it was somewhere near Kabul!

Quietness and joy

Perhaps it is the imminence of the New Year, perhaps the inspiration I'm gathering from all the blogs I've been reading, perhaps my rediscovered love of poetry is playing a part. Perhaps it is quite simply the end of one cycle in my life and the beginning of another. In any case I'm spending lots of time reflecting on what I want more of in my life, in myself, and what I want less. I want more fun, more joy, more creativity and more laughter. I want more quiet, reflective, meditative moments. I don't want to lose the gift of seeing injustice, of believing in the possibility of a better, more just world (see the Franciscan blessing posted yesterday) but I want to find the courage and the freedom to live with joy in the face of that injustice. I want to be able to maintain a stillness in my soul in the face of the raging madness of the world out here. I was struck by the words of another Rumi poem this week: Quietness Inside this new love, die. Your way begins on the other side. Become the sky. Take an axe to the prison wall. Escape. Walk out like someone suddenly born into colour. Do it now. You're covered with thick cloud. Slide out the side. Die, and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign that you've died. Your old life was a frantic running from silence. The speechless full moon comes out now. Now some of my lovely, loving friends have gently pointed out to me in the past that my constant movement, my need to be busy and "productive" at all times, my exhaustive lists of tasks and goals, might be a bit too much. I know they are right. So I've been making more time for quietness and rest over the past year. Now I think I need to take this one step further. With the guidance and encouragement of my cousin and dear friend Marc I have been learning about meditation. But I'll tell you right now, this is a real challenge for me. I have a CD, from a book that Marc recommended, with a "practice of meditation" track that is 38 minutes long. I brought this CD back to Afghanistan from New Zealand at the beginning of December. I have tried to go through it on several occasions and the longest I have lasted so far is 18 minutes... But I plan to keep trying. Adding perhaps a minute at a time. At this rate I should be able to sit still and quiet for 38 minutes by sometime in March. What's the rush? In the meantime I am carrying on with my newly acquired yoga practice, struggling with the stiffness of my body, but turning up on my mat more often than not all the same. I am reminding myself that the point is not to get my head to my knees but simply to be there in the moment, focused on breathing my way through each pose, through each struggle, through each thought that "I can't do it", breathing through until I've done it and until I've realised that it was the process and not the end point that really mattered.

A blessing for the New Year

I received a comment on my blog from a woman who seems to understand some of the challenges I'm facing here in Afghanistan, and while exploring her blog I found this inspiring post and this wonderful Fransican blessing: May God bless you with discomfort At easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships So that you may live deep within your heart May God bless you with anger At injustice, oppression and exploitation of people, So that you may work for justice, freedom and peace May God bless you with tears To shed for those who suffer pain, rejection, hunger and war, So that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and Turn their pain into joy And may God bless you with enough foolishness To believe that you can make a difference in the world So that you can do what others claim cannot be done To bring justice and kindness to all our children and the poor.

For Darlene and for Marc

Scott, Marc and Marilynn Originally uploaded by frida world.

This photo is of my cousin Marc (centre) with his brother Scott and mother, Marilynn. I have posted it before, but I am posting it again today for Denise and the rest of their family have been in my thoughts constantly over the past week. I have been taking time to sit, with a candle lit, drawing on all the strength and faith I can muster and sending it out for them - out to the healing powers that will help repair Mark's body and that will strengthen their spirits of the whole family through this difficult time. As I have done this I've constantly thought of my own Marc, who a little over a year ago was told that he had a cancerous tumour in his brain. We were told that it was a Grade 4 Glioblastoma Multi-forme, the worst case scenorio, and that only 3% of people diagnosed with this kind of tumour lived more than 12 months. I've thought about that terrible phone call from him, sitting in my office sobbing with Marc on the other end of the line crying as well. I've recalled the shock, the disbelief, and the pain of being distant from him. I felt Denise's pain when she had to wiat those terrible long days before she could travel to be with her Mark. I remember those days, preparing myself to travel to see Marc, my mixed feelings of desparate desire to be with him, to find strength and faith to bolster him. My fear that I would falter in my conviction that he would be well, that I would fail him. I remember the day he went into surgery, when they cut open his brain to remove this invasive growth. We had had been warned that there was always a risk that he would not wake up, or that he would wake up with brain damage. I was again far away, in Timor Leste - thinking of Marc constantly and calling for news. I remember going to see him after I got back, as he was recovering from surgery. I recall being afriad of his frailty, as he slurred his words and struggled to find his way through simple sentence. I was scared of the truth, that my vital, strong cousin was also frail and vulnerable. I felt my certainty that he would beat this cancer falter. I remembered those days, those fears, that intense desire to be strong and unfailing in my belief in Marc's healing. Those moments of weakness, the realisation that Marc also needed me to be with him in those moments. I've though of Denise going through so many similar moments and I have wished I coudl do more than simply send her my thoughts and prayers. I want to share the rest of our story - the year of growth, of learning with Marc about yoga and meditation, about the power of thoughts and of the love and support of a family. I want to share this photo of Marc and his mother and brother, one year later, alive and joyful and celebrating my sister's wedding. But more importantly, one year later Marc is wiser, stronger and in many ways more alive than ever before. And because he has allowed me to join him on this journey I am also more alive, with new knowledge, new insights and new beleif in the wonder and magic of love and faith. My Marc's challenge is far from over. He still must focus his energy on healing his body, on nourishing his spirit and his mind to be joined with his body on this mission. We have a long way to go. When I was home in New Zealand this winter Marc and his wife asked me to be godmother to their precious son Archie. Marc told me that he knew that if he was not around when Archie was growing up that he would be able to rely on my to teach Archie some of the values that Marc and I share. I was almost overcome with the feelings that this request, this honour stirred in me. They were a mix of humility and pride, of love and of fear, of anguish at the thought that Marc was preparing for the possibility of a future in which he was not here, and with the humble realisation that we should all know that there is such a possibility. We are all fragile, but only a few of us realise the full truth of that, people like Marc and many others whose blogs I read and take inspiration from. This realisation can change the way we live, it can make our lives small and fearful or it can lead us on to living fuller more courageous and more truthful lives. I love Marc for many, many reasons. One of those reasons is the new courage and truth that he has brough into my life through the pain of this past year. I wish this kind of courage and truth for Darlene, for Mark, for Denise and for their whole family. From what I already know of them I have fatih they will find it.

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

Crossword: Islamabad, April 2006

Crossword: Islamabad, April 2006
Originally uploaded by frida world.

This morning I asked the Commander if he wanted to pick his own nickname for this blog. He suggested that I just refer to him as "my toyboy", but I was aiming for something that would acknowledge him as a person in his own right, something that would give him a chance to step out of my shadows. So I was thinking of "Mr World" - It has a nice ring to it, no?

Come sit in this circle...

I love this photo of two tribal elders talking at a meeting I went to in Paktia, South East, Afghanistan. I started this blog as a way to tell my friends and family in New Zealand what I was getting up to here in Afghanistan, and to share photos that are sometimes difficult to email from here. But I discovered a whole world of blogs, and amongst that big wide world I discovered some women who inspire me to search for more creative and authentic ways to live my life. I’ve mostly just been visiting them for inspiration and warmth when life here is too lonely, too harsh, or just too constrained. But very recently, inspired by Rumi’s poem “There is a community of the spirit” I started making tentative moves towards these women. I left a comment here and there. Guess what? They responded! I feel like a schoolgirl who shyly asked if she could sit at the table with the girls who were laughing and telling great stories only to find they were ready to slide along and make room for her. Anyway, Susanna - whose photographs are really beautiful and whose interest in my work was humbling and touching - asked me a few questions in an email. She probably had no idea what she was triggering. Her first question was perfectly innocent - How did you get started? But this is a question that has a short and a long answer. I’ve decided to go for the long answer this time. At the moment I’m keeping company with some questions about why I am here and whether this is really the kind of life I want. I am also (with some excitement and anticipation) entering a process of imaging how I might want my life to be different, so this seems as good an opportunity as any to reflect on what brought me here. I always had a strong interest in justice, including in the sense of social justice. My parents are committed Christians who believe in social justice and social service. They were on mission to Papua New Guinea when I was a small child. Back home in New Zealand my father gives a lot of his time to a charitable organisation focused on prisoners and their families. My mother is a teacher specialized in children with learning disabilities, specifically dyslexia. They live their lives with integrity, generosity, kindness and a sense of justice. As a child I sometimes got in trouble at school for confronting teachers if I felt they had dealt with a fellow student unjustly. I think I was on the right track about the injustice, but I had a lot to learn about constructive ways to address that injustice. So I studied law, focusing my honours thesis on international human rights law. But my first job out of law school was with a big corporate firm in New Zealand where I worked on the ‘large scale litigation’ team. One of my first cases was between our client (Coca Cola) and the largest brewery in New Zealand over sale of a bottling plant. I paid off my student debts and learned a lot about legal practice and professional standards, but never planned to make a career in corporate law. I had my first “life crisis” at the ripe age of 24 years. I had married at twenty, to a wonderful man who I still love and admire. Less than four years later my husband and I separated and I was left wondering why following what I thought were the ‘rules’ hadn’t worked. I had a crisis in faith, quit the law firm, packed up and went backpacking around East Africa, Eastern Europe and the Middle East for nearly 10 months. As well as starting over again from the foundations of my belief system and discovering that I could cope on my own with much more difficult situations than I would have predicted, I also saw injustice first-hand. Perhaps the most shocking to me, given the quite different view of Israel I had grown up with, were the injustices I witnessed in the Israeli-occupation in the Palestinian territories. More on this later. Back in New Zealand, several years passed during which I studied again. During this time I also worked as a “story-teller” for The Fairy Shop (now my sister’s business) and rediscovered a sense of fun, magic, intellectual curiosity and creativity. This was a pretty fantastic time in my life, but after a few years I hit another “crisis”. I was working full-time and at the same time trying to get going on my thesis, looking at the human rights impacts of World Bank Structural Adjustment Programmes. I had just broken up with my first post-divorce boyfriend, and had recently been through the harrowing experience of being a friend and housemate to a woman with anorexia. Our other housemate responded by developing her own eating disorder. I had to sit on my bed every night repeating to myself that I wasn’t fat, that food was good and healthy. I can tell you that nothing spoils your appetite like having two excruciatingly thin women stand over you while you cook and eat, exclaiming how good it looks but refusing to eat the food themselves. Eventually even our cat stopped eating! I found my way out of this painful time thanks to the support of some very dear friends and two wonderful advisors. One was a fantastic therapist who, amongst other things, helped me free myself from my fear that ‘quitting’ the master’s programme would mean failing. The other was my academic supervisor, Paul Hunt, who saw my need to get out and do the work that I felt drawn to. He found me a job opportunity in the Gaza Strip. I applied and within a few weeks I was winging my way to York for a job interview with the British NGO who was funding the position, a legal advisor and capacity-building role with a Palestinian human rights organization. I got the job and left almost immediately for Gaza. I lived for an amazing 18 months in Gaza, from May 1999 until the end of 2000. More on this time in future posts. But it is fair to say that my time in Gaza changed my life profoundly and led me to the place I am in now. During the time I lived in Gaza I made the most amazing friends (Palestinian, Israeli and international), witnessed horrors and wonders, cried and raged and laughed and danced. I learned what may be one of the most important lessons of my life, what it feels like to be the ‘outsider’ in a culture which is deeply foreign to your own. I got a taste of how it feels to be mistreated by men in uniform with guns. I will never again be the person I was before I lived in Gaza and I still surprise myself by the strength of my feelings about the Israel-Palestinian conflict. I sometimes wonder whether I’ve responded to the impact that feeling the conflict and injustice so deeply while I was in Gaza seems to have had on me by holding much more of myself back here, and to a lesser degree also when I was in Timor-Leste. Maybe that’s okay, perhaps I’ve learned how to care enough – but not too much… Wow, that sounds very odd to me. What does it mean to care “enough”? I’m going to go away and think about it more. In coming posts: great stories from Gaza, and how I got from Palestine to Afghanistan. Also answers to Susanna’s other questions: What is life like for you in Afghanistan? and What is it like for you as a Western woman in Afghanistan? But one of her questions can be answered in one paragraph – she asked: “Do you get to go home very often?” – the answer is twice this year, the first time in the middle of the Southern winter,

the second time just recently, to my sister’s wedding,

This year I also had a holiday in Thailand with my boyfriend, a visit to my lovely friend Imogen while she was working on the earthquake response in Pakistan,

and a visit to my boyfriend’s hometown, Portland, Oregon – which I absolutely loved and thought was a bit like home (New Zealand).

Yes, I know I get to travel much more than most people and I do know how lucky I am for that. It’s part of the trade-off for not being able to go for my runs outside, wear a skirt in public, read the paper, meet my friends for coffee or go to the cinema.

Maybe we can make a difference

This week, on Monday, UNAMA released a report on the civilian causalities from a recent incident in which British soldiers fired shots after an attack on their convoy. These situations are complex, and the application of international humanitarian law is not always straightforward, but Afghan citizens have been saying recently that they find it a bit rich for Western nations to issue reports on human rights violations in Afghanistan when there are no reports being issued on the civilian casualties caused by the ISAF/NATO forces. So this report is important. It has been welcomed by residents in Kandahar. Credible, impartial monitoring of the impact on civilians of armed conflict in Afghanistan is essential to the success of our shared goal: stabilization and future development of the country. Afghan NGOs and the Afghan Independent Human Rights Commission have reported on these types of incidents in the past and the UN has released statements expressing concern at reports of large civilian casualties but this is the first official UN report on civilian causalities based on investigation of a specific incident It includes findings and recommendations and it is intended to the first of many. Friends of mine, both Afghan and international, worked hard on this report and I’m proud of their work. This report reminds me what good human rights monitoring can do, and it inspires me to do my little part as well as I can. I’ve been discouraged in my work this week, so this was just the motivator I needed.