Afghanistan Demystified – End of a chapter

Late 2008. Things changed in Kabul. When I now compare 2006 to 2014, it’s a stark difference. But while living there, the changes were so gradual that they went unnoticed, except for the unfortunate big incidents. One such incident resulted in my move from a thriving private house to a protected Bank residence, though the saving grace was that my cook continued his services in the new place. By then, my cook had become an expert at making South Indian dishes. While the lunches and dinners continued, I stopped hosting revelries to avoid unwanted attention. I don’t remember when we transitioned to a full fleet of bullet proof vehicles or when cars began to wait on me while I did my meetings at the client offices. The local shopping became restricted, and I was thankful to be able to go to Finest and Spinneys for my groceries even if only for 15 minutes, for these had good print DVDs of English and Hindi movies! The restaurant list got shorter. I missed going to Rumi and Sufi for their ambience, but my favorite brunch place, Wakhan Café, remained on the list.

With so many wonderful things said about Afghanistan, I am afraid of giving a skewed impression and suggesting that it was all fun. It certainly was not. It was a ‘work hard, play hard’ routine, where the line between the two blurred quickly. It was a brutal cycle of project preparations, negotiations and supervisions, meetings, report writing, and much awaited breaks. There was a constant sense of urgency - everything had to be done ‘yesterday’. Work peaked to crazy levels sometimes, but I never felt saturated.  The tremendous support from my colleagues and the camaraderie we shared kept me going.  If I was desperate for a coffee or had the irresistible urge to vent out to my colleague, the in-house Flower Street café was the refuge.

As a South Asian lady with no grey hair (then) working in a conservative society, my biggest challenge was to be taken seriously by my clients. I worked very hard to earn their respect and in my tenure, I consider the confidence my clients placed in me in a short span of time as my proudest achievement. I had huge respect for my clients who worked under difficult circumstances to bring positive change to their country. I believed I had the easier job. So even during my breaks, I ensured I was reachable. There were times I amusingly thought to myself that I didn’t work for my orgn, but for my clients. I knew my clients were happy with the service, as conceited I may sound saying so, and that gratification did wonders to my self-esteem. Professionally and personally, I grew.

My family was privy to everything I did in Afghanistan. I excitedly shared with them the little details about my life, work and travels. I was sometimes afraid of boring them with the stories, except that they saw it as being part of my journey. I missed the opportunity to bring them to Kabul while I lived in a private house. But during the breaks, I traveled with them like there was no tomorrow. While in Afghanistan, I sadly lost my dad, but happily welcomed my niece into this world. The media continued to project an inflated picture of the situation in Afghanistan, and with every bombing the pressure from extended family and friends was mounting. I learnt the art of damage control.  But my immediate family remained staunch in its support of my decision to be in Kabul. Without their backing, I would not have lasted so long - I was the second longest serving staff on assignment in Kabul.

I had my distressing moments too, of security incidents with associated lock down and bunker time. And it was miserable when I could put a face to the name. The bad ones are best not described. People remained resilient through the deteriorating security situation and I was no exception. Ironically, I never felt fear, rather I became immune to these incidents and got back to routine quickly. At worst, the insecurity meant not being able to get to scheduled meetings. There was once I had to work out of temporary work premises due to a security incident, and I was amusingly referred to as an IDP – internally displaced person. But then I was already an IDP – internationally displaced person! I had to keep my humor intact to get through these situations. My thinking was simple. Either quit or stay, but don’t fuss. I had to leave Kabul after a terrible incident in January 2014 but continued my work with frequent visits to the city. Personally though, the worst was to happen in May 2015, and sadly it saw the loss of two friends and the end of a beautiful chapter. Nevertheless, I continued working remotely, before saying a final good bye in September 2016.

A friend who left Kabul before me once told me she experienced ‘withdrawal symptoms’, and advised me not to stay long. I thought it must be a joke. But when I moved out of Kabul in March 2014, it hit me. Most expat Kabulians live in a bubble. I had forgotten for some time how it was to live a normal life. I only experienced normalcy when I visited my family. Outside Afghanistan, I missed the high wire environment, and anything less intense felt mundane. I simply missed being in Kabul jaan! Over the years, I came to fall in love with this country and its people; it was my home away from home. The experience will always remain special and some day in the future, I hope to go back as a tourist to a peaceful Afghanistan.

As I conclude, I feel compelled to recollect some experiences from the many field trips I was part of. Visits to potato farms and small businesses were inspiring, seeing how rural initiatives grew from their modest beginnings to revenue generating enterprises. Cherished experiences of meeting village community members, especially women, to hear about the positive impact of projects. Witnessing community treasurers diligently maintaining accounting records. Visits to remote schools that had basic infrastructure. It was a humbling experience to be welcomed by school students standing in line under the blazing sun, holding the Afghan flag and singing the national song. But the one sight that remains etched in my memory is of a young boy of about six years with pink sun-burnt cheeks and a UNICEF bag hanging around his neck. All these children walked quite a distance to the nearest school. Most often I may have taken it for granted, but these were moments that made me realize how privileged I was to be part of my organization – an organization that is partnering with countries like Afghanistan for a better tomorrow. For good reason, I am reminded of the book I was given when I joined in 2001.  It is titled ‘Our Dream – A World Free of Poverty’. It did not make much sense then. But now it does.