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International Women's Day

Today, 8 March, is International Women’s Day. The theme for this year is ending impunity for violence against women. Not surprisingly this is an issue about which I am fairly passionate. Here in Afghanistan the levels of violence perpetrated against women and girls is heartbreaking. Worse, the victims are almost entirely without any recourse to justice, protection or even an escape.

But as striking as the problem is here in Afghanistan, the women here are not alone. Women all over the world, including in New Zealand, the United Kingdom and the United States of America, are living with violence.

Some statistics about violence against women and girls:

• Violence against women is the most common but least punished crime in the world.
• Globally, women between the age of fifteen and forty-four are more likely to be maimed or die as a result of male violence than through cancer, malaria, traffic accidents or war combined.
• At least one out of every three women has been beaten, coerced into sex or otherwise abused in her lifetime. Usually, the abuser is a member of her own family or someone known to her.
• Domestic violence is the largest form of abuse of women worldwide, irrespective of region, culture, ethnicity, education, class and religion.
• It is estimated that between 113 million and 200 million women are demographically "missing." They have been the victims of infanticide (boys are preferred to girls) or have not received the same amount of food and medical attention as their brothers and fathers.
• The number of women forced or sold into prostitution is estimated worldwide at anywhere between 700,000 and 4,000,000 per year. Profits from sex slavery are estimated at seven to twelve billion US dollars per year.
• It is estimated that more than two million girls are genitally mutilated per year, a rate of one girl every fifteen seconds.
• Systematic rape is used as a weapon of terror in many of the world's conflicts. It is estimated that between 250,000 and 500,000 women in Rwanda were raped during the 1994 genocide.
• Studies show the increasing links between violence against women and HIV and demonstrate that HIV-infected women are more likely to have experienced violence, and that victims of violence are at higher risk of HIV infection.

I find the thought of it overwhelming, this violence going on all around us all over the world. Violence against women is a crime, whether it is perpetrated by family or strangers, in the public sphere or behind closed doors, in times of peace or conflict. States have an obligation to protect women and girls from violence, to hold accountable perpetrators and provide justice and remedies to the victims. I spend a lot of my working time to assist states to better fulfill this obligation, and holding them accountable when they do not. But ending violence is not just the Government’s responsibility – everyone in society, men and women, has a responsibility to act when confronted with such violence. Today on International Women’s Day I urge you all to take action to prevent this violence going unnoticed, unpunished and unhindered. Find a small step that you feel comfortable taking:

• volunteer to train to be the contact point for women and girls in your office or school who have been bullied or harassed;
• report the domestic violence going on in your apartment building to the police;
• approach a domestic violence victim support organization in your community and ask for their suggestions;
• make a donation to an organization working to help women who are recovering from violence in war-affected countries;
• paint, draw, photograph or write about violence, or about ways to end or recover from violence.

I’m sure you’ll think of a hundred more ways to take action to end violence against women. Share your ideas and inspire others.

What I learned while lying on my yoga mat this morning

One afternoon in Herat, originally uploaded by frida world.

This morning I had a lovely moment – a moment in which I saw how some things which had seemed separate from each other were converging in a wonderful way. I saw that what I am exploring and learning now (through yoga, through meditation and through my new art journal) is not separate from my work here. Instead all these things help face the challenges of this kind of humanitarian work, the challenges of working as a ‘helper’ in the context of conflict and widespread suffering.

Recently I emerged from a period in which I had been running from my own pain, districting myself from my own sadness. One day I realised that this sadness was not going away, instead it was growing. As long as I tried to avoid it I was not allowing myself to accept the feelings. One day I saw that I had to acknowledge it, and from there, with the help of my friends and family and many people who read this blog, I was able to move to a place of sitting with the feelings (as painful as they were). I came to accept my own fear, my sadness, my pain and my confusion. I took the time to learn what those feeling had to teach me.

Out of that process came a renewed commitment to being present in each moment and experience of my life, and a renewed desire to cultivate a practice of letting go of my sense of responsibility for the outcomes of my efforts. I made a promise to myself to put this commitment into practice through 21 days of a morning ritual of 15 minutes of meditation.

But there was something else, something that I hadn’t dared articulate until I was sitting on the couch talking to the Commander yesterday. What I finally admitted to myself was that I had emerged from that painful process with a much greater sense of detachment from my work. What I said to J was that I was no longer sure that my heart was in this job. I know that detachment is a quality to be cultivated, and that part of my letting go would be an increased sense of release from responsibility. But this felt uncomfortable to me – as though the pendulum had swung too far the other way and I was crossing that line between letting go and giving up.

Giving up my responsibility to act rightly, to act in a way that embodies compassion for others and that makes the greatest contribution possible to alleviate suffering and increase equanimity and happiness, is not an option for me. These commitments go to the very core of who I am and what I believe. So what should I make of this new sense of detachment?

Some answers have begun to emerge from an unexpected place, i.e. from my morning rituals of letting go. It is unexpected because I think I still confuse letting go and giving up. But I am learning.

I’m coming to the close of a week of practicing my new morning rituals. This has grown from my first intention, which was to sit quietly for 15 minutes every morning to practice letting go. Those first 15-20 minutes of quietness every morning are opening me up in ways that leave me with more to do with my morning before I am ready to jump in the shower and dress myself for the outside world.

Each morning has been a little bit different. One morning, after breaking my previous ‘time barrier’ and sitting for 20 minutes of stillness and release I was filled with a sense of joy and celebration. I filled pages of my journal with words that celebrated the things that I am joyful about in myself. I put Peaches and Herb on my iPod and for five and a half minutes I ‘shook my groove thing’, dancing gleefully around my bedroom.

The next morning I came out of my meditation feeling quiet and gentle, I wanted to draw with my new pencils and I wrote a letter to myself in the future. I told myself about my hopes and dreams for myself, explaining what I was doing now to nurture those dreams and (because this is what I felt) I told myself that I had complete faith in myself to live the life that I dream of i.e. a life that embodies compassion for others and that brings maximum good to others and to the world; a life filled with love, joy and laughter, with friends and family; a life that is healthy and balanced and filled with fun, adventure and creativity. My dance that morning was slow and gentle, stretching out the muscles I had worked so hard with my yoga teacher the night before.

This morning I decided that I was ready to start thinking about what my meditation can be beyond simply (and importantly) letting go of all the things I hold in my body. I dug out some CDs given to me by a yoga teacher in New Zealand. Wow, I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect message for me this morning. The CDs are about bodhicitta – I won’t pretend that I can translate in one sentence the sense of bodhicitta that I got from the teachings I listened to this morning. The message to me was about cultivating a mind of great compassion, of wishing for all sentient beings to be free from suffering, and about cultivating my own enlightenment in order to be of maximum benefit to others.

Specifically for me, this morning, the message was about how we can allow more bodhicitta into our lives. The teacher talked about the need to stop running away from the places and feelings that scare us, the need to resist building walls to protect us from knowledge that is painful. She reminded me that I need to be present in those difficult and scary experiences and to be willing to allow them to renew my “soft spot”, to replenish my compassion.

I still don’t know whether the detachment I am feeling is a healthy equanimity or whether I have built up some less healthy walls to protect myself from the suffering that is all around me here. But at least now I know that this is the question that I want to ask myself.

Technical advice welcome

Okay folks, I've upgraded to the new Blogger template because it lets me do all sorts of nifty and timesaving things. However, as you may have noticed, I can't work out how to put my lovely header image into this template. If anyone knows how I would love your help! In the meantime please excuse the odd visual effect.

Patience is rewarded

Ghor Mission Jan 2007 - little girl before, originally uploaded by frida world.

Annie has been waiting patiently for news about the boxes she has sent to us of woollens for the children in the orphanage in Ghor. Today I got news from Ghor that five of the boxes have arrived, filled with hats and socks and gloves and scarves. We've just had a very cold snap, bringing lot of snow to Ghor (some of my colleagues have been stuck up there for almost a week). So these woollies have arrived in time to make a real difference. If you made a contribution to Annie's boxes then know that they are now in situ and will be ably distributed (no doubt more efficiently than I managed) by Magnea and Julija (of Iceland and Lithuania respectively). For those of you who made financial contributions, I am planning to use that money for school supplies. I think that Annie pulled together nine boxes of woollens, so that ground should be well covered. The Director of the orphanage specifically asked me for notebooks and pencils/pens etc. I feel pretty sure that you would all be happy with that, no? Also on the theme of patience rewarded, I have been patiently popping into Jolissa's blog (Busytown) over recent months waiting for her to decide it is time to return to the screen. This week I found her there in vintage Jolissa form. If you haven't read Busytown before then I recommend a visit. Jolissa is the older sister of a dear friend, and when I met her in person during a visit to New York four years ago (to celebrate my 30th birthday) I discovered a woman of intelligence, warmth, and wit. Her blog covers the many facets of the life of a writer and scholar with two small children, living far from her home country and family. All that with a sense of humour, curiosity and fun. Oh yes, my patience has been rewarded. I've been indulging in lots of blog exploration this morning, it is a little bit like my equivalent of strolling through town, stopping into inspiring independent art galleries and bookstores. Also this morning I started playing with my new pencils, in my new journal. I have never in my life tried drawing, but with the Commander's encouragement and the help of a book from his mother, I'm having a go. So far, so much fun!

Letting go: Part II

Today I have some happy news and some more reflections. The first news is that I've broken the 17 minute mark! I have had this problem with meditating for more than 15 minute. I'd get to 15, 16 or 17 minutes and suddenly started to fidget and find an excuse to stop. Well, not any more. I have sat quietly and practiced letting go for two mornings in a row as part of establishing a new practice of surrender. I'm doing this for 21 days to give the practice a chance to take root. I'm taking this one step at a time and for now I'm just practicing the art of letting go physically. This morning I set my alarm for 20 minutes after I started, not expecting to go that long but knowing that I needed to be done by then in order to get on with my day. Next thing I knew my alarm was sounding. I've done it! The barrier has been overcome. Who knows how long I will sit tomorrow, but now I feel that anything may be possible. My second piece of happy news is that the wonderful woman who gave me the Mary Oliver poetry compilation that I talked about in my last post has started her own blog. This is really exciting for me and I am looking forward to getting to know her better through her posts and to having the chance to cheer her on from a distance in her incredible work and life (I also hope to learn the secrets of her equanimity). My third piece of happy news is that Laini's book has had it's first review, and it is a very, very good review. If you are a fan of Laini Taylor (I personally am a huge fan, in fact she is my girl-crush of the year, along with the marvelous Alexandra) then read this wonderful review of her book and then see if you can resist going directly to Amazon to pre-order your very own copy. I know I can't. I've also been thinking about my holiday and extracting a few lessons. Some are very simple, like the old and oft-repeated lesson about the pitfalls of trying to fit too much into too little time. I'll probably never be that person who plans to do nothing on their holiday, and then does exactly that. But I will keep trying to remind myself that I actually cannot be in more than one place at a time. Also I'll try to remember that when I want to do three things at once it is unfortunately unlikely that simply throwing them all together to make one event will result in a happy mix. But the deeper lesson is about letting go. When I look back over those two weeks I see so many moments in which I was unable to let go of things that were getting in the way of my own relaxation. Even when the people around me were telling me not to worry about them, even when they were looking me in the eye and saying "you are not responsible for our enjoyment of this holiday", I was unable or unwilling to release myself from that sense of responsibility. I had invited some very special people to join the Commander and I on this holiday - the Commander's best friend C and his partner M. It was such a long way for them to come from Portland, Oregon to New Zealand. It was also going to be their only real holiday for a very long time. They got stuck in LA on the way, and were delayed for two days. It was a horrible start to their holiday and cut their time in New Zealand even shorter. So by the time they arrived I had decided to ditch my plans to combine their tour of New Zealand with visits to see my beloved tribe in Wellington and instead focused completely on the beach holiday that they so deserved. There were other options, I could have let them find their own way around for a few days while I went to visit my lovely ladies in Wellington and then met them again on the way back. I could have taken them to Wellington with me and found some decent surf beaches in that part of the country. But I had an idea of what would be the best holiday for them and I wouldn't let go of that. Nor would I let go of my sense of responsibility to make them happy. I had a wonderful time, we visited some of the most beautiful parts of New Zealand. I had a go at surfing, and we hand-fed stingrays (reviving my long-held dream to be a marine biologist). We ate fish and chips and drank Gisbourne chardonnay in Gisbourne. We swam in lakes and in the ocean. M and I went for several runs along the coast, and for walks through native bush and up to a hilltop lookout with amazing views along the coast. When our muscles were complaining about this sudden burst of activity we went for a delicious massage. We played cards late at night with red wine and chocolate and I introduced them all to my favorite ice cream, the New Zealand classic Hokey Pokey. Yes, I had a wonderful time, and enjoyed their company immensely. But I also had moments of regret that I was in my home country and not hanging out with my own tribe. As wonderful as these guys are I was longing for the company of people who have known me for so long that I don't have to wonder whether they are understanding or misunderstanding me. I also had moments in which I felt resentful that they were not helping me plan, that I seemed to be the one constantly left to make decisions and plans. In retrospect, and to some extent I could see this even as it was happening, I know that the reason they were not planning is because they didn't need to plan. They were very content with simply being on holiday and did not have high expectations of doing or seeing very much. It was me who had the expectations, and so it was me who was making the plans to meet those expectations. Sigh. I keep coming back to this lesson about letting go. I find it so hard, and yet (tempting as it may seem) I don't think that the answer is to let this lesson go. So instead I'll take it one baby step at a time, starting with my 21 days of taking 15 minutes to sit in quietness and practice releasing the tension I hold in my body. By the way, one lovely upside to being off-line for two weeks is the treat of having so many wonderful posts to read on my favorite blogs all at once. I'm glad that my big meeting in Kabul was postponed because it has given me space to ease back into my work gently and time to catch up on the other things that make my life here work (like reading your blogs and doing yoga). In fact I'm off to do a session of yoga with my new-found yoga buddy and teacher now.

Back and puzzled (Sunday Scribblings)

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

When godwits fly

I'm winging my way south for the winter, like the lovely Godwits that nest at Parapara beach in Golden Bay. Right now I'm sitting in the lobby of a cheap hotel in Dubai (a city where a cheap hotel is hard to come by!) waiting for the Commander to arrive. I came on a morning flight and have had time to get a manicure and pedicure, buy some delicious healthy treats at the supermarket and soak in a lovely bath reading my book for an hour or so. I've got my glow back on and I'm ready for a little summer break in Aoteroa/ New Zealand. The Commander was working in Kabul this morning and is flying in on an afternoon flight. I'm expecting him any minute and hope we'll go out for a lovely dinner by Dubai Creek, or to a movie. For the next two weeks I'll be introducing him to my friends, family and homeland. I'm hoping the sun will come out and New Zealand will show itself off at its summery best. But even if it rains everyday we know that we'll have a wonderful time. If the weather won't cooperate with beach plans then we'll sit in cafes and eat dinner in seaside pubs. We'll go for long walks and visit Hobbiton and celebrate my niece's fifth birthday. I won't have much opportunity to write here or to visit any other blogs for the next two weeks, so I'll be looking forward to catching up on your adventures, creations and wise words when I get back. Love, Frida

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.

Sunday Scribblings: Goodbye

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

My grandpa Archie

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

With my godson, Archie

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

One week in Badghis

This week I’ve had the wonderful pleasure of working with a good friend, the lovely, hardworking and very competent Kate. It has been a busy and often challenging week as I simultaneously:

• managed the logistics for the workshop Kate has been teaching on criminal justice, with a focus on gender issues;
• delivered my own 'introduction to human rights' workshop for all the staff of our new Badghis office;
• monitored and supported the Attorney General’s “Campaign Against Torture” as it was carried out in Badghis; and
• followed up on a series of individual human rights cases with police, prosecutors and the Chief Judge.

But despite the heavy workload, the physical challenges of a mission to Badghis and the mental and emotional strain, it has been a wonderful week. Firstly, and most importantly, I've been doing all this alongside Kate, whio is delightful company and a caring friend. Secondly, I feel this week as though we are achieving something positive, Thirdly, and possibly as a result of the previous two points, I’ve had a week mostly free from the oppressive presence of the black dog. Warning - this is a long post – it has been a long and very full week! The emotional strain noted above comes from dealing with the individual cases. One related to eight men charged with the murders of five health clinic staff but who have now been detained for months and months beyond the legal time limits. These murders sent deep ripples of fear and sadness through the development community in Afghanistan when they took place last year. The victims were Afghan staff of an NGO running health clinics in an otherwise unserved district of Badghis, they were shot and killed by armed men who burst into the clinic compound and opened fire. Eigth months later, after the charges against these suspects were found to be without substance at the primary court, they are still detained and awaiting the hearing of the appeal by the National Security Directorate. I lobbied the NSD Prosecutor and the Chief Judge and received assurances that a trial date will be set this week. My concern is not only for the rights of the detainees (although this is a serious concern especially given their aquittal at the primary court trial) but also for the families of the victims who badly need some sort of resolution. Another difficult case was that of a young women who died after burning herself in desperation after years of domestic violence. Her parents do not want to press charges against the husband. Fortunately in Afghan law they don’t need to, the police and prosecutors have an obligation to investigate wherever there is an indication that a crime has taken place, but sometimes they need a little bit of encouragement. Kate helped me explain to the prosecutors the legal basis on which they could proceed - with charges of assault being relatively easy to make out, and a possibility even of a more complicated but not impossible charge of murder or incitement to suicide. The workshop Kate was teaching has been my pet project for months now – ever since I made my first mission to Badghis. I found that it was difficult to intervene with police and prosecutors on many cases, especially cases involving women, because they were not necessarily familiar with the relevant provisions of Afghan law, including the Constitution. Several misconceptions were particularly widespread – including the belief that article 130 of the Constitution gives police and prosecutors the right to refer to Hanafi fiqh jurisprudence (interpretations of the Quran by some designated experts) if there is no relevant provision in the law. In fact this article gives such a right only to the courts. Another widely held view, and one which is usually based on the article 130 argument, is that it is a crime for women to run away from home and that they can be arrested, detained and prosecuted as such. There is no such crime in the Penal Code, and the so-called “crime” is derived from a widely held interpretation of Hanafi fiqh – relying on article 130 of the Constitution. Okay, I’m writing my way into a fairly complicated legal discussion here which would require me to discuss the different kinds of crimes in Sharia (Islamic) law, and the particular way in which these three different types of crime (ta’zir, qasas, and hadood) are treated in Afghan law. It is an extremely interesting legal discussion, but probably only to criminal lawyers, Sharia scholars and human rights lawyers. So instead I will summarise by saying that the applicable law in Afghanistan (applying as it does key principles of Sharia law) provides protection for women in many of the types of cases that I often encounter in my monitoring work. Many police and to a lesser but still significant extent, prosecutors are not familiar with Afghan law. If they do know some of the key provisions, they have often never had access to a clear legal analysis of how different sections interact with each other. In my regular monitoring work I often try to raise awareness of these provisions on a case-by-case basis. But obviously a more systematic approach would be better. The Attorney General’s office in Kabul is currently developing a national training and professional development strategy, which will hopefully bring a consistent and national approach to all training for prosecutors. But after a year in Afghanistan, approximately half of which I spent in Kabul and the other half working in some of the countries most remote and neglected provinces (like Badghis and Ghor), I’ve realised that waiting for national or centralised programmes to reach us out here is going to be a very long wait. So I decided to make it my goal to bring the best trainers I could find to Badghis and Ghor. Kate is one of the best, and I'm not only saying that because I am so fond of her, I saying that as a lawyer and someone with experience of training. Not only is she qualified in Sharia law, common law and civil law, she is also intimately familiar with Afghan law and she is a skilled teacher, using participatory methods, like roles plays and case studies, to create a really effective learning experience. My organization doesn’t organise workshops of this kind, so I have no budget for it. Kate’s organization has provided her time and the workshop materials, but everything else – including our accommodation and meals here in Badghis, the tea and sweets, the paper, the pens, and the lovely colour-printed certificates were paid for by Kathryn and I personally. I asked my friends at the Spanish PRT to help out by providing a cooked lunch for the participants each day and they did a great job. The Department of Women’s Affairs gave us a room for two days and then the provincial hospital let us use there large meeting room for the rest of the week. The participants all paid for their own transport to travel from the districts into Qala-e-Naw, the provincial centre. I’m not sure how they were accommodated while in town for the week, I hope that the Office of the Prosecutor and the Provincial Chief of Police helped with that. We didn’t pay per diems which is a common practice here since the official salaries are too low for people to actually survive on them. All in all it was a budget workshop and Kate and I would not have been surprised if turn out had been low as a result. Instead we had the provincial head of the CID, as well as District Chiefs of Police and CID Chiefs from almost all the districts in Badghis. We also had District Prosecutors from all districts and a good delegation from the provincial Office of the Prosecutor. We also had one female Provincial Council member, someone I had met on previous visits because she takes on a role in advocating for women in the legal system here in Badghis, and two senior staff from the Department of Women’s Affairs. Put simply, we had everyone we could have hoped for, all the people who have the power to choose whether or not to arrest and prosecute a man alleged to be beating his wife, or a woman who has been accused of farar az manzel or running away from home. They are also the people who will decide how to deal with a case of rape – which does not exist as a separate crime in the Penal Code, but can be prosecuted under zina (sex outside of marriage) provisions – and who will need to decide whether or not to also prosecute the rape victim for zina (not uncommon). So after months of battling some administrative and substantive barriers within my own organization, and then several false starts when bad weather preventing Kate travelling from Kabul to Herat, she finally arrived last week. We had a lovely Friday together in Herat during which I got to play tour guide and we also enjoyed the relatively balmy weather (it seems the “big cold” is over in Herat, Payman who cooks at our guesthouse tell me so). We visited the famous minarets of Herat and Kate took some lovely photos of the guardian, and of the graves in the shrine next to the minarets. The graves are those of the son of Timur and his wife, a godly woman to whom this shrine is dedicated, and their three children. I also took Kate to my personal favorite, this monument to the ordinary people of Afghanistan who fought against the Soviet occupiers. There are, of course, many different views about the different episodes of Afghanstan's history and I try to avoid giving the impression that I understand any of them well enough to have formed my own. I simply love this monument for it's audacity and it's creativity. Whose idea was it, I wonder, to create a monument out of an actual Soviet tank by simply adding these figures with their pitchforks and their determined faces. On Saturday morning, after a great meeting with the Head of the Afghan Independent Human Rights Commission who was so impressed by Kate that I am hoping I get some credit just for being the one who brought her to town, we set out for Badghis. I have often felt when driving out on road missions that this part of my job feels much more like a mini-vacation. Sure the roads are bone-jangling and there are no public toilets along the 6-7 hour journey (hence the photo of me walking off into the empty distance), but check out this scenery!

We’ve been in Badghis almost a week now and since this post is growing far too long, I’ll just give you a few vignettes. The head of the CID from one remote district bumped into an Afghan colleague of mine after two days in the workshop and told him “I have learned so much. I now know that it is not a crime for a woman to run away from home and I swear to God that I will never again arrest a woman for this reason”. After a guest lecture from our friends in the civilian component of the Spanish PRT (a nurse and a lawyer) on forensic medicine (including the unreliability of virginity tests, for which I give up big respect to my fantastic assistant who had to translate this difficult session) several of the prosecutors asked the nurse if he would come back to give them a more comprehensive workshop on these issues. One night I watched as Kate spent several hours, until 10 o’clock at night, perfecting the design of the completion certificates. She understands that these certificates will be treasured by all participants and will become a feature of their curriculum vitae. She also understood that some colour and good quality card would be considered a sign of the importance of the workshop. Every single moment of the 'introduction to human rights' workshops I ran for our new staff was a gift. They were open to everyone, including the security guards, the drivers, the radio operators, and the cleaners. Along with the pleasure of getting to know them all a bit better I was very grateful for a wonderful illustrated version of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights published by our head office in Kabul.

The images are so well conceived and executed that the participants who couldn't read were still able to follow. In fact, one of the my favorite moments was when I directed everyone to the page which set out the right to have an effective remedy for violations of the rights set out in the Declaration and asked the participants what they thought the State was obliged to do based on this right. One of the female cleaners was the first to respond, describing perfectly what she saw in the picture and in doing so giving an excellent answer. Another highlight was when I gave a scenario in which I was monitoring a human rights violation in Qala-e-Naw and asked the participants to tell me everything I was doing wrong. This story caused much amusement, and even the shyest participant (a lovely, gentle security guard who was also illiterate) found the confidence to make a good point about how such monitoring should be conducted. My amazing Human Rights Assistant, R, and I would finish up the two workshops each afternoon and then go off to do our monitoring work – visiting the prison, interviewing victims, meeting with the prosecutors, the Department of Women’s Affairs and eventually the Chief Judge. After one meeting we were walking back to the compound in the falling dusk and I asked R if he was tired. He smiled and told me that he gets tired when he feels we are not making any difference. But if he sees that things have moved forward even one centimetre for one person then he is not tired. I knew exactly what he meant.

Share the love

Thanks to Tara at Paris Parfait for alerting me to the Share the Love Blog Awards - created by Heather at One Woman's World - which are now underway. I am rather stunned and very flattered to learn from Tara that I have been nominated. As she points out, I am in excellent company, including some of the talented folks I was talking about in my last post like: Tara herself; Liz of Be Present Be Here; Alexandra of Marvelous Madness; and Asma of Spelling Tuesday. There is some problem with the site this morning, so I haven't been able to see the nominees myself, but I know that many other bloggers are nominated. So assuming the glitches are soon sorted (which I am sure they will be) then let's all visit One Woman's World to choose our favourites. Update: The news gets even better, I managed to visit the site today and setting aside the trauma of having to vote only once in a category which included Paris Parfait, Marvelous Madness and Spelling Tuesday (Best Writing), I had the pleasure of discovering that Laini of Grow Wings and Alex of Gypsy Girl's Guide are also nominated. Tara says that voting to determine five finalists in each of ten categories concludes at midnight Tuesday, Feb. 6. Voters may vote only once in each category. Finalists will be announced on Wednesday, Feb. 7. Final voting will then continue until midnight on Tuesday, Feb. 13. Winners and runners-up will be announced on Valentine's Day, February 14. So please help "Share the Love" and vote!

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

Off on mission again

Girls group 4, originally uploaded by frida world.

Yay! I'm off on mission again, this time to Badghis province, to the north of Herat. Last time I was there we ran human rights/ child rights workshops for school children, including the adorable girls in this photo.

This time I have two concurrent workshops. During the morning we are running a workshop on women and criminal justice, with the expertise provided by my friend Kathryn Khamsi of the International Development Law Organisation. Kathyrn has been teaching prosecutors and defense lawyers in Afghanistan for 14 months and is fabulously well-versed In Afghan and Islamic law as well as being a gifted trainer.

In the afternoons I'll be running an introductory human rights workshop for all our organisation's staff here in the Badghis office. That will include the cook, cleaner, guards, driver and radio operators as well as the programme staff. I'm looking forward to that, and hope that I can create an environment in which everyone will be willing and able to participate.

Anyway - I will have limited web access so I probably won't be able to update here very often or check in on all of you.

But I will post photos if I can, and look forward to catching up with you all when I get back on Sunday 4th.

Sunday Scribblings: Fantasy

Peace on Earth, Herat, originally uploaded by frida world.

I loved this week's Sunday Scribblings prompt and had thoughts about it floating through my semi-conscious mind throughout the long, white night of insomnia on Friday.

But on Saturday I had the chance to get out and walk about in Herat for the first ime in many weeks and I chose that over my writing time. It was a very good choice. I had an amazing time enjoying the fresh air and sense of freedom, and through my camera's lens I saw Herat in a new and fresh light.

But I haven't stopped thinking about this prompt, and I've loved reading some other people's responses. SO I decided that, late though I may be, I would write something about fantasy.

When I first read Laini's prompt I thought about all the ways in which fantasy has enriched my life. I thought about reading "The Faraway Tree" by Enid Blighton as a child, and the magical possibilities that I imagined for my own life.

I thought about "The Hobbit" which gave me a new way to imagine my life, as a fantasic quest in which even the smallest player could make a real difference if she was brave and found loyal companions and stayed true to her principles.

I thought about my teen years, during which I read constantly - devouring books as though they were my sustenance, which in many senses they were. I read sci-fi fantasy and epic fantasy and fairy tales and myths. Sometimes I read to escape, sometimes to explore, sometimes to discover new truths. But mostly I read because it kept me sane in the midst of adolescent madness.

I thought about the years when I was at university and I worked as a "fairy storyteller" - dressing up as a sea sprite, a forest nymph or a fairy and concocting fairy tales and magical experiences for groups of children.

But now I finally find time to sit and write about fantasy, and there is a different kind of fantasy on my mind. A fantasy that sustains me right now.

Somedays I turn on the news and I feel that my heart will implode from the sadness and hopelessness I feel at the state of our planet.

Two nights ago I was on the treadmill in the bunker and BBC World news was on the television. There were stories about the massive explosion in Baghdad, and on the millions of Iraqi refugees who have fled to neighbouring countries. There was a story about the world's depleted tuna stocks, and another about the attrocities in Sudan. There was a trailer for an upcoming interview about Bush's plans to send 20,000 more troops into Iraq.

I was in tears on the treadmill. I wanted to shut off the television. I wanted not to know about these stories. I wanted to be ignorant.

But I'm not ignorant. I watch the news like everyone else. I've also seen first hand the impact that conflict and war can have on communities. The faces in those newsreel can never be anonymous to me, they resemble too closely the people I have met in refugee camps in Gaza and here in Afghanistan. They look too much like the people I saw fleeing fighting in Timor Leste.

Here in Afghanistan I have days when I despair at the lack of progress on critical issues like justice sector reform. There are days when it seems that impunity will be allowed to continue and that a whole new generation of victims will have to live with seeing the people who have violated their rights gain wealth, power and privilege while they conitnue to suffer and grieve.

And then, my imagination comes to the rescue. I watch a news item about the Police Ombudsmen in Northern Ireland releasing a report that would have been unimaginable only a few years ago. As I watch this item my imagination allows me to see this happening in Afghanistan one day. I can see Dr Sima Simar holding a press conference just like in the newsreel reading out the findings of a report by the Afghanistan Indpendent Human Rights Commission, knowing that her safety is assured by strong, professional and impartial state security forces.

I can imagine this, and I know that there are a million little steps that can be taken now which can contribute to making this fantasy a reality one day. So I find the strength to go and take one or two of those little steps.

I am also very grateful for my own current favorite fantasy show - The West Wing. I never saw this when it was playng on television, mostly because I didn't have a TV when I lived in New Zealand. But the Commander has introduced me to the show and in the past two months I've watched seasons one through to five.

What a delicious little fantasy this one is - what the world might be like if people like CJ Cregg and Toby Ziegler had influence in the White House. It's a fantasy, but one that I like to indulge in as often as I possibly can. I'll be finished season five just in time to go on leave in New Zealand and stock up on some more!

One afternoon in Herat

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.

4.00am

BAIRES ABRIL 13, originally uploaded by frida world.

It is four in the morning. Part of me wants to write that I'm awake because I've just arrived home from a marvelous adventure. A little fantasy for tomorrow's Sunday Scribblings. But the truth is that I've been lying awake in bed for five hours. Tonight my mind is on a wild taxi ride, speeding through city scapes both familiar and unknown. Oddly, it wasn't until I got out of bed and sat here at the computer that I suddenly thought of the one thing which may be behind the alertness. Tomorrow I will probably be left as Officer in Charge of the Western Region. Last time I was Officer in Charge I had only been in the job a month and when the Head of Office left he said: "You'll be fine, as long as nothing goes wrong in Shindand, you will be fine." Last time, my OiC duty started on a Sunday and at midday that Sunday a successful assassination was carried out in Shindand, killing the most powerful commander in the district, Amanullah Khan, and his son. In retribution for these killings Amanullah's men attacked the villages populated by tribes aligned to the people believed to be responsible for the assassination. I heard about the fighting at about 1pm. By nightfall we were receiving reports of any where between 12 and 70 people killed. This came at a point when our national staff were all on leave for Eid, and all of my more experienced colleagues had taken the opportunity for an short break as well. I was out of my depth and felt as though I was drowning more often than I was floating. This was also the period when I first starting using this blog as an outlet for thoughts and feelings which had nowhere else safe to be expressed. In the midst of the craziest week I've had since I came here I even posted my first attempt at the Self Portrait Challenge.

I drew on every once of self-belief I could find and spent the week punching well above my weight. It began to emerge that a disproportionate number of the dead were children, boys aged between 12 and 18 years. Then, just when I thought it was over, it found a new lease of life and kept me in the hot seat for a few more days.

Looking back, I now notice that it was soon after these events that I started to suffer from the symptoms I described this week. One week after the worst of it all, the insomnia started. Two weeks later I was taking sleeping pills. I'm only now really seeing this. It seems blindingly obvious, of course, in retrospect. So, here I am, awake at 4.00am and it suddenly occurs to me that tomorrow, Sunday, there is a very good chance that I will once again be left in charge. More than that, this past week tensions in Shindand have been at their highest since that outbreak of fighting in October. The situation is considered to be unstable and the risk of further conflict is very real. But I haven't been lying in bed all night thinking about Shindand. I have a pretty strict rule about not lying in bed thinking about human rights cases. I've been lying in bed thinking about Enid Blyton's "The Faraway Tree", thoughts triggered by Laini's prompt for Sunday Scribblings this week: Fantasy.

I'm always up for climbing the Faraway Tree, I always have been. When I was 17 years old I left the small rural town I grew up in and headed off solo to Europe. Since then I've picked up my bags and moved to the Gaza Strip and to Afghanistan. But the thing with the Faraway tree is that you never know whether you are going to get The Land of Birthdays or The Land of Dame Slap. I developed this 'travel rule of thumb' when I was back-packing solo through Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Israel and Egypt about 12 years ago. I decided to always expect the best of people, places and situations, but to always be prepared to deal with the worst if it came.

I don't think I was prepared to deal with children getting killed while I was Officer in Charge. I'm not sure if you can ever be prepared for that. But this time at least I can be a little more prepared for the possibility that events could escalate very quickly to a point where I would no longer have any power to influence or control them. I can also be a little more prepared for the possibility that if this were to happen, it might take a much heavier toll on me than I have previously admitted. A good friend wrote to me this week and told me, amongst other incredibly helpful things, that depression is very prevalent amongst humanitarian workers. Others of you have told me the same thing. Does that mean I should get out of this place? Out of this line of work? Possibly. But first I want to see what difference it makes to be more conscious of the impact that events and experiences here are having on me. I want to see whether that awareness can be used to more intentionally process the thoughts and feelings that arise within me in response. I want to see what happens when I take the time to work through those thoughts and release those feelings, through writing, through creating, through moving my body more and through this business of sitting still every morning (I'm building up to the day when I can say "I meditate" without feeling like I'm faking it). Today is Saturday, I can sleep as much as I need to today. So this sleepless night hasn't made me anxious or distressed. On the contrary, during those five hours somewhere in the space between full consciousness and sleep a new understanding found its way to the surface.

Giving up some love for the body.

Roy Lamberton Half, originally uploaded by frida world.

I am extraordinarily grateful for my body. I agree with Susannah's quote from C.S. Lewis that we don't "have" souls. We are souls and we "have" bodies. But I remain very grateful that we have them. My body gives me a way to interact with the physical world. With my marvelous, miraculous body I can walk though the fields of snow in Ghor, I can taste chocolate and mango, I can stroke my niece's cheek and I can run along the waterfront, smelling the seasalt in the air. I am mostly very happy with my body. It is strong enough to carry my increasingly hefty nephew when his legs get tired. My legs can keep me going for literally hours, even up hills. It is healthy and all my senses work well. Sometimes I get frustrated that my muscles don't have more 'give' in them, more range of movement or flexibility. Some days I avoid the yoga mat because I resent that I struggle to touch my toes. But when I went for a yoga practice session with Vicel, the fabulous Filipino woman I met here in Herat who teaches yoga, she told me that I was very strong, especially in my core, and that I had excellent balance. I remembered to value my strength and balance, and accept that flexibility will come. When I went to the Yoga Centre in New Zealand the teacher commented on my excellent "body awareness" and I realised that this is not something that comes naturally to everyone. This is something to value and appreciate about myself. When I read how some people paint or draw or make things to replenish their soul, I think about dancing, and moving, and dancing, and skipping, and dancing, and running, and dancing, and jumping. And dancing, did I mention dancing. I love to dance, I love music with a drum beat and a deep soulful bass that picks me up and cradles me in its rhythm. I love music that trips and plays and swirls about me so unexpectedly that the only way to dance with it is to let go completely and trust that your body with find its way to follow. I take a secret pride in the fact that my Brazilian ex-boyfriend thought I danced as though I was Brazilian, and that almost every Latin American I have ever danced with insists that I must be a little bit Latin (not at all, unless Irish counts?). I dance in the kitchen when I'm cooking, I dance down the aisles of the supermarket, I dance around my office and I dance along the street. Here in Herat my body is feeling a little bit stifled, but I'm remembering how to dance in my bedroom with the curtains drawn. Anyone for Madonna circa 1984? PS: The photo is of Wendie (in the blue) and me (in the pink) half way through a half marathon. I started out this race almost falling over from the effects of jet lag after flying in from East Timor the day before, but we finished up coming in at 4th (equal, of course) out of the women and 16th overall in this race. We ran in new personal bests at 1hr 54mins for the half marathon. I love that memory and I love this photo.

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.

Off on mission again

I'm off again today, this time to Farah. I haven't been to Farah yet because the security situation there has been a bit unpredictable. So I'm looking forward to seeing something new.

I'll be taking with me a box of illustrated editions of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in Dari and Pashtu, and a big roll of posters with human rights messages. These were actually the materials for our human rights day event in Badghis last Sunday, but they didn't arrive in time (they got here yesterday, a week late). So I'm taking them to Farah. I might try to visit some schools, and give booklets and posters to each classroom.

But the main reason for the mission is to carry on with the monitoring of prisons and detention centres. It will be interesting to see what the situation is in a province which is so isolated, and unlikely to have been very much influenced by changes in the justice system.

The picture is from an earlier mission and is of a police investigator telling one of my associates why he needs to beat and torture all the suspects they arrest...

All going well I'll be back before the weekend, I'm very hopeful that we won't get stuck in Farah for Christmas!

Afghan women saving mothers' lives

Last night I was having an after dinner drink with some colleagues and visitors from Kabul and we got onto the topic of midwife projects here in Afghanistan. I raised the subject because of a very cool Icelandic woman who is based up in Chegcharan in Ghor who is a development advisor to the PRT and who has been putting lots of energy into getting midwife training happening up there. This story was in the news yesterday. I found it both disturbing and somewhat encouraging. Nothing really seems very encouraging in this country, but here is a little step that might make a big difference to some women and babies. Afghan women saving mothers' lives Dec 17 - (AFP) In a white coat and with a dark scarf covering her hair, newly graduated midwife Fatema, 20, is just months on the job and still a little nervous. But the determined young woman has no doubts about the importance of her work in a small clinic in rural northern Afghanistan, a country with one of the world's highest maternal mortality rates. Fatema's elder sister bled to death in childbirth when she was 16, having been married at 15. Her baby's shoulder became stuck in her small pelvis and two traditional birth attendants broke its neck trying to pull it out. It was a complicated breech delivery, with the child positioned bottom first, and the untrained birth attendants -- who help 80 percent of Afghan women have their babies -- did not know how else to handle the problem. "Look, if someone had known something at that time, we could have referred them to go to hospital," says Fatema, which is not her real name because like many Afghan women interviewed for this story she did not want her name to be used. Lack of knowledge and superstition amongst the rural community in Takhar province spawned rumours afterwards that the dead teenager must have been "bad" to deserve such a fate. When the British medical charity Merlin came to Takhar in 2004 to look for women to train as midwives, Fatema jumped at the chance. In February she and 20 other women became the first graduates from a USAID-funded 18-month course at the Community Midwife Education centre in the provincial capital Taloqan, returning to their districts with internationally recognised diplomas to improve the chances of women surviving birth. War-shattered Afghanistan is behind only Sierra Leone for the highest number of women to die in childbirth. The maternal mortality rate here is around 1,600 out of 100,000 live births, according to a recent UNICEF survey. This means that one in six women between the ages of 15 and 49 die giving birth. This compares with a rate of about 13 out of 100,000 in Britain, where one in 3,800 women die in childbirth, according to 2000 UN statistics. There are many grim stories to illustrate the problem in Afghanistan: of traditional birth attendants, called dayee, cutting a baby's limbs off with a kitchen knife in a desperate attempt to save a woman's life when something went wrong in delivery; of pregnant women bleeding to death on a days-long donkey ride to find help at a far-away health facility; of husbands beating their pregnant wives' bellies because they can't afford another child. "It is the worst I have ever seen," says Addie Koster, who heads the Taloqan centre and has worked in Afghanistan for the past five years after stints in Africa, Asia and Central America. There are many reasons so many women die, says Koster, most linking back to the 25 years of war that destroyed the country's infrastructure and entrenched a social system that denied women basic rights. Often mothers' pelvises are too small for birth, she says. This can be because they are young -- with nearly two-thirds of girls married before age 16, according to statistics cited by the United Nations -- or malnourished as about two-thirds of pregnant Afghan women are. When complications arise, the difficult terrain and lack of infrastructure can mean clinics are days away although some women are too poor to even afford the donkey ride. Dayees sometimes rely on folklorish techniques -- such has biting on hair to dislodge the placenta -- that may appear to work in simple births but are of little use when things go wrong. More dangerously, they make liberal use of oxytocin -- an injectable hormone that can be bought in the smallest bazaar without a prescription -- to induce labour even when the baby just cannot fit through the pelvis. In a custom entrenched during the 1996-2001 rule of the ultra-conservative Taliban who forced women under the all-covering burqa that most still wear, some men still refuse to allow their wives to go to clinics where only a male nurse or doctor is present. Taloqan's Community Midwife Education centre is a key part of a strategy taking on all these problems. One of its main aims is to boost the number of women in the province giving birth with the help of a skilled attendant from the current eight percent. Province-wide clinics are being built -- although in one case staff operated out of tents for two months before being able to move into a newly constructed building. Female staff are being trained and recruited from other provinces, even other countries; community meetings are explaining the benefits of pre- and ante-natal check-up, having a baby with a trained midwife, and breast feeding. Another of the centre's fresh graduates, 22-year-old Lailuma, is installed in a clinic far from the provincial capital. Since arriving in April, she has helped with 15 deliveries -- up from zero before she arrived because women would not see the then male-only staff. "The area where I live is very remote. There were no midwives," the stylish woman says softly, a black scarf framing her face. "I wanted to become a midwife because I wanted to do something for women." Twenty-two new students have been in place since April, learning to suture on chunks of raw meat and delivering the same dummy baby over and over again before getting down to the real thing. They are not shy about describing the difficulties facing Afghan women. "There are no cars, no road, no transport. And security is not good," says one explaining why most rural women give birth at home. "The dayees know nothing. After 20 years of war, no one knows anything. We have been left behind because of the war," says another. "During the Taliban it was worse," adds one more, recalling the government that refused to let women work which meant there were few female doctors for them to see. The situation is improving in provinces like Takhar which see little of the current Taliban insurgency, which is focussed on the south and east of the country. When the hardline regime fell, Takhar had only five female medical staff, says provincial health chief Hakim Aziz. Today the number is well on the way to the goal of putting at least two women into each of its 52 clinics. And whereas a community health clinic once saw on average five deliveries a month, there are now about 25, Aziz says. The new students at Merlin's centre were selected by their communities for the program and are obliged to return after graduation to work for at least five years. They will go a long way towards filling the 32 vacancies for midwives in Takhar, says Nezamuddin Jalil from the Social and Health Development Program. The group runs nine of the province's clinics including Fatema's at Bangi, a community of about 30,000 people 30 kilometres (19 miles) from Taloqan and dotted with green flags marking some of the fiercest battles of the US-led offensive that dislodged the backward-looking Taliban. "We started from zero," the doctor says. "There was no staff, no access. Now we have enough health facilities and enough equipment. But there is a lack of female staff." Despite the challenges, "day by day it will be ok," he says.

Where now feminism? Go global?

I was reading an interview with Katha Pollitt about her new book Virginity or Death! And Other Social and Political Issues of Our Time and I was struck by her response to a question about the current state of 'feminism'. I consider myself a feminist in that I believe in and actively work and campaign for women's rights. But I notice that some of my contemporaries are reluctant to call themselves feminists and in some cases are even a little wary of feminist analysis and argument. In the interview, Katha was asked if she sees anything that might "reawaken" the feminist movement in the United States. In her response she comments on the very different experiences of different women: I think that there are areas in which the feminist movement is a victim of its own success. There have been so many victories, but again, spread in a very uneven way. So, if you’re an educated person, if you’re able to compete in the current economic setup, things are so much better for you than they were in my generation, let alone my mother’s generation. We forget about all those people who are not so well equipped to compete: single mothers, poor people, people who are not equipped for this modern sort of weird economy that we have. If you’re a factory worker, then you’re really in trouble. Even within New Zealand this gulf is wide between the experiences of educated, middle class, New Zealand-born white women (like me!) and many other women. But if we take a global perspective, the gulf becomes a gaping chasm and impossible to ignore. I am feeling startlingly inarticulate this morning, so I'll have to come back to this topic. But the point I am weaving my way towards could start with a question. What role do the global economy and international political relations play in maintaining gender inequalities in countries like Afghanistan? Another question would be, what advantages to more privileged women in 'developed' countries gain from the maintenance of the very same global structures that allow these inequalities to be sustained? Put another way, what would we have to give up in order for real change to be possible, and are we willing to give up anything at all?

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.

A Christmas gift idea - help Afghan children

Last night the Commander suggested that for Christmas we go out and buy as many warm children's clothes as we can find and give them to the children and the orphanage in Ghor or somewhere equally remote and neglected.

He is going to tell his family and friends that they can deposit money into his bank account for instead of giving him Christmas gifts and we'll get more clothes for the children with the money.

If anyone reading this blog is interested in doing the same thing post me a comment (if I don't already have it then you'll need to give me your email address) and I'll tell you how you can do the same thing.

For inspiration I've posted some photos of the kids in Qala-e-Naw at my human rights event last weekend, they all seemed to be under-dressed to me and it was really cold.

A community of the spirit

When I was home in New Zealand I bought my self a copy of "The Essential Rumi" with translations of Rumi's poems by Coleman Barks. I was inspired to read more Rumi after reading a few poems on Boho Girl's blog, and I am very pleased that I acted on the inspiration. This morning I read this wonderful poem and felt my spirits lift. There is a community of the spirit. Join it, and feel the delight of walking in the noisy street, and being the noise. Drink all your passion, and be a disgrace. Close both eyes to see with the other eye. Open your hands, if you want to be held. Sit down in this circle. Quit acting like a wolf, and feel the shepherd's love filling you. At night, your beloved wanders. Don't accept consolations. Close your mouth against food. Taste the lover's mouth in yours. You moan, "She left me." "He left me." Twenty more will come. Be empty of worrying. Think of who created thought. Why do you stay in prison when the door is so wide open. Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking. Live in silence. Flow down and down in always widening rings of being.

I love this photo

Not hard to see why I love it. That's my dad congratulating my little sister on her marriage, with my mum in the pale blue suit right behind them, champagne in hand. I wish I could post here the speech my father gave at the wedding reception. He said many very true and very beautiful things about my sister and my mother. This photo makes me think of that speech and smile.

Taleban Rule Book

Firstly, I have finally come up with a better blog-name for my handsome, clever boyfriend - it emerged as a result of strange internal politics at his organisation about his job title. In the end they settled on something which makes no immediate sense to anyone outside the organisation, but he and I agreed that it would have been much simpler simply to refer to him as "the Commander". Of course the term "Commander" has rather nasty connotations of war-lordism in this country, but I like the simplicity of it as a job title, so from now until I get better inspiration he's going to be 'the Commander' on this blog. Secondly, the Commander sent me this great translation of the Taleban rule book. I'm impressed with the committment to accountability and transperance (see rule 9 and 10), to some kind of rule of law (see rules 14 and 20) and to child protection (see rule 19) but some of the others are pretty disturbing. I don't like to read over rules 24, 25 and 26 too often, but it is good to be clear on the rules that apply, I guess. Layeha (book of rules) for the Mujahideen From the highest leader of the Islamic Emirates of Afghanistan. Every Mujahid must abide by the following rules: 1) A Taliban commander is permitted to extend an invitation to all Afghans who support infidels so that they may convert to the true Islam. 2) We guarantee to any man who turns his back on infidels, personal security and the security of his possessions. But if he becomes involved in a dispute, or someone accuses him of something, he must submit to our judiciary. 3) Mujahideen who protect new Taliban recruits must inform their commander. 4) A convert to the Taliban, who does not behave loyally and becomes a traitor, forfeits our protection. He will be given no second chance. 5) A Mujahid who kills a new Taliban recruit forfeits our protection and will be punished according to Islamic law. 6) If a Taliban fighter wants to move to another district, he is permitted to do so, but he must first acquire the permission of his group leader. 7) A Mujahid who takes a foreign infidel as prisoner with the consent of a group leader may not exchange him for other prisoners or money. 8) A provincial, district or regional commander may not sign a contract to work for a non-governmental organization or accept money from an NGO. The Shura (the highest Taliban council) alone may determine all dealings with NGOs. 9) Taliban may not use Jihad equipment or property for personal ends. 10) Every Talib is accountable to his superiors in matters of money spending and equipment usage. 11) Mujadideen may not sell equipment, unless the provincial commander permits him to do so. 12) A group of Mujahideen may not take in Mujahideen from another group to increase their own power. This is only allowed when there are good reasons for it, such as a lack of fighters in one particular group. Then written permission must be given and the weapons of the new members must stay with their old group. 13) Weapons and equipment taken from infidels or their allies must be fairly distributed among the Mujahideen. 14) If someone who works with infidels wants to cooperate with Mujahideen, he should not be killed. If he is killed, his murderer must stand before an Islamic court. 15) A Mujahid or leader who torments an innocent person must be warned by his superiors. If he does not change his behaviour he must be thrown out of the Taliban movement. 16) It is strictly forbidden to search houses or confiscate weapons without the permission of a district or provincial commander. 17) Mujahideen have no right to confiscate money or personal possessions of civilians. 18) Mujahideen should refrain from smoking cigarettes. 19) Mujahideen are not allowed to take young boys with no facial hair onto the battlefield or into their private quarters. 20) If members of the opposition or the civil government wish to be loyal to the Taliban, we may take their conditions into consideration. A final decision must be made by the military council. 21) Anyone with a bad reputation or who has killed civilians during the Jihad may not be accepted into the Taliban movement. If the highest leader has personally forgiven him, he will remain at home in the future. 22) If a Mujahid is found guilty of a crime and his commander has barred him from the group, no other group may take him in. If he wishes to resume contact with the Taliban, he must ask forgiveness from his former group. 23) If a Mujahid is faced with a problem that is not described in this book, his commander must find a solution in consultation with the group. 24) It is forbidden to work as a teacher under the current puppet regime, because this strengthens the system of the infidels. True Muslims should apply to study with a religiously trained teacher and study in a Mosque or similar institution. Textbooks must come from the period of the Jihad or from the Taliban regime. 25) Anyone who works as a teacher for the current puppet regime must recieve a warning. If he nevertheless refuses to give up his job, he must be beaten. If the teacher still continues to instruct contrary to the principles of Islam, the district commander or a group leader must kill him. 26) Those NGOs that come to the country under the rule of the infidels must be treated as the government is treated. They have come under the guise of helping people but in fact are part of the regime. Thus we tolerate none of their activities, whether it be building of streets, bridges, clinics, schools, madrases (schools for Koran study) or other works. If a school fails to heed a warning to close, it must be burned. But all religious books must be secured beforehand. 27) As long as a person has not been convicted of espionage and punished for it, no one may take up the issue on their own. Only the district commander is in charge. Witnesses who testify in a procedure must be in good psychological condition, possess an untarnished religious reputation, and not have committed any major crime. The punishment may take place only after the conclusion of the trial. 28) No lower-level commander may interfere with contention among the populace. If an argument cannot be resolved, the district or regional commander must step in to handle the matter. The case should be discussed by religious experts (Ulema) or a council of elders (Jirga). If they find no solution, the case must be referred to well-known religious authorities. 29) Every Mujahid must post a watch, day and night. 30) The above 29 rules are obligatory. Anyone who offends this code must be judged according to the laws of the Islamic Emirates. This Book of Rules is intended for the Mujahideen who dedicate their lives to Islam and the almighty Allah. This is a complete guidebook for the progress of Jihad, and every Mujahid must keep these rules; it is the duty of every Jihadist and true believer. Signed by the highest leader of the Islamic Emirates of Afghanistan (Editor's note: this Book of Rules was distributed initially to the 33 members of the Shura, the highest Taliban council, at their meeting during Ramadan 2006.)

Cousins, family and other wedding photos

One thing I love about my family (and there are many, many things I love about my family) are my cousins. We are very close, especially on my Dad's side, our relationships are in some cases more like siblings than cousins. On Dad's side we are six female and six male cousins. This photo is of five of my male cousins a the pre-wedding BBQ.

Marc is the cousin missing from this photo. Marc is also the cousin with whom I've always been closest, so I was pretty happy when his daughter Rosa recently introduced me to her friend Ruby as "Daddy's special cousin". Here is a shot of Marc (centre) at the wedding reception with his brother Scott and mother, Marilyn.

My father and his brother married my mum and her cousin (Marilyn) and then they all started out on one farm together, so we grew up with these guys and Marc is really more like a brother to me than a cousin. Mum and Marilyn although technically cousins, are also more like sisters. They grew up together in the same house, since their parents were also two brothers who married two sisters and then bought a farm together, each of them was the only girl in a family of boys so they are very close. Here is a photo of Marc and I at the wedding reception.

Along the same lines, Theresa is very close to our cousin Christina, who was her bridesmaid, and Christina's mother Delwynne. I also adore both of these wonderful women. Here are some photos of them, at the BBQ and then getting Theresa ready for the big day.

Finally we are getting to the actual wedding photos, I like this one from the ceremony of Theresa and Tom with Christina and my niece (Olivia) and nephew (Caleb).

and this one of the kiss...

Photos - instalment one

As promised I have lots of photos, and since I've managed to get through four months of this blog without any apparent security problems I've decided to start posting photos of myself. Anyway, I'm going to start from the very beginning, the last major social event in Afghanistan before I left for NZ was a farewell party for the lovely Kai. Kai works with Beth, who Amanda and Immy met in Liberia, so the first photo is of Beth and I enjoying the spectacle of Kai and Matt dancing. The next photo is of Kai dancing with a selection of lovely ladies including myself, Beth and to the right of Kai is Paula, who works with Beth and Kai. My favorite little dog in Kabul (I have to add the qualifier "little" here because I don't want my two favorite big dogs in Kabul to be offended) is Tootsie, who lives with Kai and his fantastic housemates. So here is a shot of Tootsie and I hanging out on the stairs. Tootsie can do tricks, which just goes to show how little there is to do to entertain oneself around here, Kai spent his free time teaching Tootsie to jump through a hoop. Then it was time to head for NZ, with a quick stop in Dubai for a lovely dinner at a Japanese restaurant with Lawrence, an old family friend who recently moved to Dubai, along with Kai (also on his way out, but in his case for good), and a few colleagues from my human rights team in Afghanistan, including the very funny Scott from up north in Mazar-e-Sharif and the very lovely Rupert who got stuck with Kandahar as a duty station.

Then I got to New Zealand, heading straight over to Waiheke, and on the first evening Theresa and Tom were having a "Love Boat" cruise around the island. I loved their outfits! The other shots from the Love Boat are of Wayne and Rhys. The weather was perfect and the Love Boat cruise merged seamlessly into a big BBQ for close friends and family at the house my parents had rented. I was more than a little bit jet-lagged, but the excitment of having so many of my family members in once place at one time was enough to keep me up for much longer than would ever be possible otherwise.

Some of favorite shots from the BBQ are of a group of my male cousins around the BBQ, a shot of me with my Grandmother, a lovely photo of my sister with her bridesmaid, our cousin Christina and Christina's mother, our beautiful aunt Delwynne. Here they are...

Okay, the other photos don't seem to want to appear today. I'll leave it here and post more in the weekend.

Torture and other interesting topics for conversation

Today I had a long conversation with the District Chief of Police and the Head of the Criminal Investigation Department in Qades District, Badghis. Their frankness was at once refreshing, disarming and a little disturbing. I introduced myself as the Human Rights Officer for the province, and explained that I was in town to do research and monitoring of the legality of detention in their police lock up and the district prison. They kicked off the discussion by telling me that although they know the rules and regulations regarding human rights, they are not able to follow them because the only way they can get the criminals in their district to confess is to beat and torture them. In the end we agreed to disagree on this point, but we were certainly all in agreement that it was good for them to be honest with me so that my report could be accurate and, hopefully, encourage the donors who will be reading it to continue to support the professionalisation of the Afghan National Police. After interveiwing all the detainees in the police cells and the district jail (which turned out to be the same place) I met the District Prosecutor to verify a number of apparent irregularities in the detainees cases. It was an interesting discussion. Where one detainee had told me that he had been in the prison for seven months and had not appeared before a court or been convicted, the prosecutor insisted that this prisoner had been arrested only a month prior and had been tried, convicted and sentenced to seven months imprisonment. Perhaps the prisoner misunderstood my question and told me his sentence when I asked how long he had been in the prison. With the various language and communication barriers it sometimes feels impossible to be absolutely certain of meaning. The prosecutor and I also had a disagreement as to whether it was a crime under Afghan law for a woman to run away from her home. A young woman had recently been detained for a week while under investigation for this alleged crime, in the end the prosecutor decided she had been kidnapped, but he was insistent that he had been legally entitled to arrest and detain her while she as investigated for the alleged crime. In the end I dropped the debate, I will leave that one to my friend Kathryn who I´ve got coming up to this remote province from Kabul in January or February. Kathryn trains the prosecutors in Kabul on gender and criminal justice, so she´s much better placed than I am to have a debate about the provisions of Afghan law in this regard. The woman had been released in any case, so I felt less compelled to get a resolution on the point today. It makes for a long day, after the bone-rattling drive for several hours we were sitting in cold corners of the prison yard for hours so that our interviews with the detainees and prisoners could be relatively private. Of course they are stuck there all the time, so it seems horrible to complain about just a few hours. But I will have to get out the yoga mat again tonight and stretch out my stiff limbs. I´ve been managing a good 40 minutes every morning since I got up here and I think it helps with the physical and mental impact of this kind of work. This morning I tried out my new meditation guide on the iPod, but I only lasted 15 out of the 38 minutes before I gave in to the voices and distractions. I´ll have to build up to that one. Once again I have photos, which will be posted as soon as I get back to Herat. Tonight I´m meeting the American police mentor team, who are working with the Afghan National Police in the province. I´m keen to talk about what I was told today and to find out whether they have any plans for training on investigation techniques, anything other than laying the suspect out on the ground and beating him with large wooden sticks would be an improvement so I´m guessing even the Americans will be able to help with this. Tomorrow morning I have a meeting with the Provincial Chief Prosecutor, this will be my first meeting with him because he is new and has replaced the chap I met last time I was up here. I may have to win him over to the plan for the gender and criminal justice workshop, so I´m hoping to make a good first connection. Then it´s on the road and back to Herat, where my own bed and bathroom are waiting for me. I just found out tonight that my colleague is being sent to New York for two months so I have to somehow fit all of her urgent work into my workplan for the coming few months. It was always going to be a busy little time, but now it is threatening to be ridiculous. I´ll have to pull out my best prioritisation and planning skills to get through this lot in one piece. But first there is the most important task of getting a Christmas tree this weekend! Update: After my slightly snide comment about the American police trainers, they just bought me pizza and a coke, which was very kind. Of course I would have preferred a glass of red wine, which was available at the Spanish PRT bar, but since the American military are prohibited from drinking alcohol while in an active theatre of war, i.e. Afghanistan, it seemed impolite to ask for a wine in place of the coke that they were all drinking. But now I´m off to have my second dinner with the Spanish guys, at least to have a glass of wine!

On the road

I have covered a lot of ground since my last email. I had an amazing time home in New Zealand, the highlight of which was of course the wedding of my sister and her lovely new husband Tom. The whole thing was perfect, they planned three days of events, with a pre-wedding BBQ the night before, and a brunch the day after. This gave me lots of time to catch up with family and friends, some of whom I hadn´t seen for years. They also had a lovely ceremony, short but heartfelt and moving. The speeches were great, especially my father´s which was a lovely tribute to his fabulous daughter and to his wife, my amazing mother. The food and the wine were excellent and then the DJ hit just the right notes to get everyone up on the dance floor, even my 80 year old grandmother (who made the point, however, that what we were doing was not really dancing, just jigging about). The rest of the week was taken up with my four private yoga lessons, with the wonderful Jude of Yoga Academy in Auckland. Jude seemed to come to a pretty good understanding of my life, my needs and my tendencies pretty quickly, so she was able to shape the sessions to focus on areas where I need more work (i.e. relaxing and letting go) rather than the areas that I had asked her for direction. It was a great lesson in getting what you need, not necessarily what you think you want. I felt lucky to have found such a wise and kind teacher. Other than the yoga I had special times with lots of friends, including Mary and Wendie who came up from Wellington. I had a couple of wonderful times with Mary, including the opening of an exhibition of paintings by her father, John Parker (I love his paintings, see the link on this blog), a stroll through the bookshops in Mt Eden and a fabulous afternoon on the deck with her aunt, uncle and cousin. Wendie and I spent one fabulous day out at Piha, picnicing and walking along the beach. We also managed to fit in one great run, around the One Tree Hill Domain, on a gloriously sunny Sunday afternoon. No other run is quite as enjoyable as a run with Wendie, who has been my running partner pretty much from the very beginning of my newly found love of running. Running outside is a pleasure that I miss terribly in Afghanistan and I enjoyed every minute of it. I also had a great time with my own uncles, aunts and cousins and of course my lovely Grandma. I enjoyed lazy conversations in cafes and bars with great friends, including some very special old friends. Overall the holiday was everything I could want - I even had a day Christmas shopping with my mum and sisters, and I was there for Theresa and Tom´s house warming BBQ, which helps to make up for missing their engagement party. I have lots of great photos, which I will post in a couple of days. But for the moment I am in a remote part of Afghanistan using the internet connection at the army base, and I can´t download any photos. After a slow journey back to Afghanistan (with delays due to failures in the ground to air radio system throughout the country) I finally got back to Herat on Thursday, only to turn around and leave again on road mission early Friday morning. I´ve been here for two days and I have two more days to go. Today is International Human Rights Day, so I was here to run a big awareness raising event with children. This morning we had 200 local children take part in the event, and I will have to put some photos up as soon as I get back to Herat. The kids were great, we asked them to imagine that a new country had been discovered and they were responsible for developing a charter of rights and responsibilities for this country. They had lots of great ideas, including repeated references to the right to physical exercise and sport, a right that I can wholeheartedly support, especially for the girls here! Anyway, a very kind chap from the Spanish Cooperation Agency who lives and works here in the Spanish PRT base has given me his computer for a while, but I really should finish up. I´ll post some photos and tell some more stories when I get back to Herat.

Scrubbing up

As soon as we all stepped out of the old Antonov airplane onto the tarmac in Dubai, my fellow travelers from Afghanistan and I all simultaneously noticed how filthy we all were. My friend and colleague Scott said he had just noticed how much his jacket smelled of goat... Somehow none of us had really noticed until then. I looked down at myself and noticed Kabul dust and grime everywhere, not least under my nails. The bright sun of Dubai, combined with the relatively clear air, seemed to suddenly show up the grubbiness we become accustomed to on a day to day basis in Afghanistan. But it wasn't to last long, I'm on my way home for my sister's wedding so it was time to scrub up a bit. Dropping my bags off at the hotel I went straight to the nearest salon and began the process of scrubbing dirt out from under my nails and sloughing away skin dried out by the cold and ingrained with pollution and dust. Three hours later I am most of the way to being wedding ready. Now I can slow down, look around and once again soak in the amazing sensation of liberty. I just walked from the salon back to the hotel, stopping on the way to wander through a few shops and then for a coffee and some ice cream. Just to be able to wander at will, without calling security or transport, is a lovely and simple pleasure. I'm also slowly unwinding after a very hectic few weeks, the last few days of which were spent in Kabul (hence the lack of posts here) at a meeting of human rights officers from around the country. As well as each taking a bit of time to talk about the key human rights issues in our region, and some of the strategies we employ to address them, we had some fantastic training sessions. I really enjoyed learning about gender and criminal justice from my good friend Kathryn Khamis. Kathryn and I arrived in Kabul just weeks apart and were put in touch with each other by a mutual friend - the marvelous Catherine Anderson. Kathryn (like Catherine) has been a great friend, lots of fun and fabulous company for a long chat or a night of dancing around the living room, but also a wonderfully intelligent and engaged lawyer whose studies in Sharia law have proven invaluable to me. Another training on international humanitarian law was followed up by a very interesting question and answer session with the legal advisors from ISAF - one of whom had very recently transferred to ISAF from the US led CTC-A. I think they were surprised to discover the level of military understanding from the human rights officers. Of course it helps that three of our team have military backgrounds themselves and know perfectly well how to identify different weapons and uniforms. Once they realized they weren't dealing with a bunch of leftie, pinkie tree-huggers (their words) they seemed willing to answer direct questions with relatively frank answers and overall I found the session informative and also, somehow, encouraging. Anyway - for the next few days I'm leaving all that behind, my nails have been filed and painted a fabulous dark red, my skin is polished and I'm ready to indulge completely in a weekend of family, food, fun and above all, celebration of my sister's marriage. Just one more sleep and I'll be home. My very special friend Andrew Cochrane is going to meet me at the airport, since my family will all already be over on the island where the wedding will take place. Andrew is the only one of my friends to come and visit me in Afghanistan. He was always going to have a particular distinction for that fact. But the momentousness of his visit was escalated significantly by the fact that he arrived on the morning of the day that the Kabul riots broke out, in May this year. He spent his first day in Afghanistan sitting in our house listening to gunfire in the street outside for hours on end, and eventually running with me to the back room ready to scale the fence when the angry mob managed to break through one of the panels of our front gate and appeared to be about to burst into the front section. We both survived intact, but it was a terrifying experience and sharing it with Andrew is just the latest in a very long of memorial occasions in our long friendship. I am looking forward to being greeted with his smiling face when I arrive back home tomorrow.

Grateful Friday

Last week I was struggling to find the courage to get out of bed, and Friday went by without any moments of thankfulness. This week, after missions to interview victims of recent tribal conflict and another up into the remote and deprived province of Ghor I feel quite the opposite, full of reasons to be thankful. Here are my top six: 1. My blues have passed and I'm again motivated, energised and ready to do this work. 2. My lovely man got back from his week in Kabul and we have this lovely, lazy Friday together before I take off to Kabul on Sunday. 3. The sun is shining again, but the past two days of electrical storms were pretty fantastic as well. 4. My family and friends are safe, with warm homes and enough food and clothes to keep them healthy. 5. I was born in a country, and family, in which I grew up with the chance to think, learn, question, participate and contribute at every level of family and public life. 6. I ran 13 kms on the treadmill this morning, starting well on my plan to get ready to run a half marathon next February. Enjoy your weekends and I hope they are filled with moments to be thankful for. x

Impact of conflict on women and children - Part II

Yesterday I went on mission again, this time to the isolated province of Ghor. I had a series of meetings with provincial government officials, including the Governor and the Chief Prosecutor, and with the Commander of the Provincial Reconstruction team (the military team responsible for security and reconstruction, in this case led by the Lithuaniuns with contingents from Iceland, Denmark and Croatia). The flight to Chegcharan, the provincial capital, is amazingly scenic with seemingly endless stretches of desertous and mountainous terrain revealing how beautiful and varied a limited palette of brown can be. Now that the mountians are covered in snow it is even more striking. But all that stark beauty is the result of drought and under-development so when you land the picture shifts from impressive beauty to heart-breaking poverty and deprivation. Those stunning white peaks, in reality, mean the beginning of the harsh winter which will cut off some of the more remote districts from the provincial centre. If winterization and drought relief assistance hasn't already reached people in those districts it could be prevented from getting there by the next snow fall. But on this trip my focus was not on economic and social rights, I was following up on a "jihad against corruption" which has been launched by the Attorney General of Afghanistan. The provincial prosecutor has been directed to begin investigations into a variety of allegations against local officials and local illegal armed commanders. He asked for my help, and this is the second time I've visited him to try and advise him on how to go about this process without putting himself or his staff into unecessary danger. This time he was particularly disconsolate and I think I will need to go more often and stay longer if I am going to be of real help to him. Thank goodness for the friendly Lithuanians, I'll plan a longer stay in January and look forward to more "opps tra la la". But the strongest impression left with me from this visit was of a man who came to me at the end of my time at the Prosecutor's office appealing for my help to recover his daughter who was allegedly kidnapped by a local commander several years ago when she was 5 years old. Again, I was struck by the degree to which women and children in Afghanistan are suffering as a result of conflicts which are led by men. Girl children suffer perhaps the most of all. This man stood in front of me in tears, having thrown off his turban to show me his shaven head in a gesture of deep despair. I asked the Chief Prosecutor what he had done to investigate the case, he told me that he had written to the Commander concerned but, not surprisingly, had recieved no repsonse. He told me that the police could not do anything etiher. I took the documents about the case from the distraught father and left with a heavy heart. I have no idea where this girl is now, nor what condition she is in. I will make every effort I can to locate her and use what little influence I have to return her to her family, but it is not a case that I can feel very optimistic about. In a meeting recently to discuss reconciliation efforts between two tribes in conflict I raised the issues of the need to involve women and children in reconciliation processes. As it goes here traditionally, the reconciliation processes involve only men, and only relatively powerful and influential men at that. The women and children, who obviously experience violent conflict in very different ways to the men, are never heard. Their voices and their experiences are absent from the 'mediation table'. I'm convinced that as long as those voices and those perspectives are not included in the peace building process, the process will not be successful. But when I raised this issue, I was told that the possibility simply does not exist. I won't give up, at the very least there are possibilities to involve women and children in the next stage of peace building, which will be the reconstruction and development projects that will hopefully be introduced into these divided communities. But I feel as though this point is so obvious that I can't believe others really expect a "peace process" dominated by men to work. Those men are weighing up different options, considering acceptable and unacceptable trade-offs. Surely it doesn't take an expert in conflict resolution to work out that what may be an acceptable trade-off to them might not be to the women and children who suffer as a direct result.

Impact of conflict on women and children - Part I

So this week I've had no time to feel sorry for myself, being this busy actually working on human rights issues is a great antidote for the blues. In case I needed any more inspiration, check out this little guy who managed to find a grin for me despite the pretty horrrific experiences he has recently been through and the really depressing conditions he is now living in.

Yesterday I made a mission to assess the human rights impact of recent conflict in an area which I won't name - just to be certain that the stories I tell here and the pictures I share don't put the people involved in any danger. I met mostly women and children who have not only been directly affected by the violence, facing armed men in their homes and seeing their fathers, brothers and husbands killed, but who are also now suffering as a result of having fled their home villages. They all reported that they still felt afraid of reprisals, so although I know you are all friends I'd rather be a bit over cautious.

As well as the kids, I was really impressed by fortitude of the women who bear the brunt of so much of the destruction. I met one 36 year old woman with 9 children (eldest daughter 20 years old, youngest baby breast-feeding as we talked). Her son had been killed in one ambush and then her husband (who was paralyzed from the waist down) was killed when the armed men from the other faction attacked their house two weeks ago. The eldest daughter was shot twice in the arm while she tried to protect her disabled father from the gunmen. We sat in the filthy room she and her children have been living in since they fled their village the night of the fighting, when her house was also looted, burned and shelled.

Anyway - things are a bit frantic and I'm off on another mission to another province tomorrow so this post will be brief.

Welcome Thomas Michael Rutherford!

Absolutely the biggest news of my weekend - my amazing, darling friend Rachael gave birth to her son, Thomas Michael Rutherford. This is in fact just the latest and most miraculous in a long line of creative acts by the very talented Rachael King (if you haven't already read "The Sound of Butterflies" then stop reading this, buy a copy and find out what you've been missing out on). This latest creation, however, was a unique and fruitful collaboration with the equally talented and dashing Peter Rutherford. I couldn't be more thrilled for them all, and my only regret is being so far away. It's the really rotten part of this job. Right now, Rachael and Peter will be bringing Thomas home to Edinburgh Terrace, and if I were home - in my own wee cottage just a few doors away - then there are a million little things I could do to make this big transition just a teeny bit easier. That was, after all, the whole idea behind us buying our houses in the same street. But for the moment I'll entrust all the hands-on loving to the very capable Brunette Mafia and put into practice the long-distance Aunty skills that I've learned with my beloved nephews and niece and that I'm now fine-tuning with my very precious godson Archie. So until I get home to meet him in person and to wrap up his amazing mother is a huge hug I'm storing up great bedtime tales for Thomas. I may never be the storyteller that his wondrously talented mother is, but I'll have some good yarns all the same.

Good advice and real work

So, the bromazepam helped me sleep well last night, but an even better remedy came along this afternoon in the form of an invitation to sit on the couch, drink red wine and watch movies from my fellow Herat blogger and friend along with some very good advice (which she says comes from World Food Program booklet on stress management for people working in these kind of missions). The advice was:

"accepting our feelings a little more,

and judging them a little less,

is a great stress reducer".

I feel the most incredible sense of relief just reading those words. Of course it was terrible timing for me to suddenly be hit by this overwhelm, this insomnia, this rollercoaster of emotion just as Mac arrived in town. But spending so much time hating myself for not being able to control that wasn't getting me anywhere.

So - back to the real work, which is a great way to distract myself from these emotional maelstroms. Today I've been writing up the report of a meeting of different groups (government departments, UN agencies and NGOs) who are interested in coming up with a cooperative approach to the problem of hundreds of children who are working at the border crossing between Afghanistan and Iran.

It was a good, productive meeting and I really enjoyed the healthy debate between the pragmatists (who accept that the children are going to work and want to concentrate on their health and safety) and those who want to focus more on the fundamental child rights issues (most importantly their right to an education). I enjoyed watching people come up with compromises and creative solutions that, hopefully, will take all these different perspectives into account.

At the end of the meeting I was asked to write up the report of the outcomes of the meeting since, as the participants pointed out that my Language Assistant and I had done such a great job of the previous report (which reported on the findings of our joint survey of the children working at the border). But I told them all that I know the real reason they asked us to do the report is because it's the only thing we are any good at - writing reports. Well, it is not far from the truth, it got a good laugh, and for once I felt good about it!

In other developments today, I'm making prgress towards getting a fabulous Canadian lawyer (one of the first people I met in Kabul and a very good friend) out to one of the remote provinces in our region to run a three day long training course for prosectuors. The course is going to be on the basics of criminal justice, illustrated by cases involving women! It's an exciting project for me, and the fact that I get to work with a good friend just adds to the fun.

We had some wobbles getting the project off the ground, but now everyone is happy for us to go ahead and I'm feeling very excited about it. I'm planning to have it happen around 10 December - Human Rights Day, so that I can use it as a key event to focus celebrations of human rights in the province with a focus on rule of law and women's rights (not the official theme for this year but certainly amongst the most commonly cited issues of concern to people on the ground.

So things are ticking along and despite insomnia and anxiety and hormone related emotional meltdowns, I think I can chalk this week up as a good one.

Tommorrow is Friday, which means time for my list of reasons to be happy, so I'll make my morning soy latte wait for inspiration to strike. Til then.

Thank goodness for bromazepam

Somedays I just have to admit that I'm not coping. All the yoga, healthy eating, positive thinking and regular exercise in the world is not enough to keep me a float in the midst of this madness sometimes. My good intentions last night melted into a wobbly pool of tears and I decided to give up on being a good welcoming party for Mac and instead came home, took a couple of Lexotanil and wen't to sleep (slept solidly for the first time in days). I don't like it but I knew I wasn't going to survive another night without it. More when I'm feeling better. x

Thank goodness for new days

So, My American Chap (Mac - that's his suitably American blogname for the moment, until I think of something cleverer, suggestions welcome) arrived yesterday. In retrospect I did the planning all wrong, instead of baking a cake, shopping for his pantry supplies at the Italian PRT and preparing myself to cook a big pot of risotto for him and his boss, I should have spent my time meditating on this little gem of a quote from the new movie "The Last Kiss" -

"How you fell only matters to you.

It's what you do to the person you love that counts."

In the end all the "doing" I did wasn't quite the right doing. I busied myself with food preparation because it is an emotionally comforting (and comfortable) realm of activity for me. Then when Mac arrived, all excited about his new job, his new life in Herat with me, with his travel weariness and his nerves about first day in the office, I suddenly found myself overwhelmed with his expectations.

He wants me to move into the wee house he has at his compound, which would be great - and much more homely than the big old guesthouse where I am living. But I didn't realise until I was faced with the reality of this change how badly I have needed the little bit of routine and familiarity that I have finally found in my life here. Moving again, and starting over from the beginning to carve out a little sphere of beauty in this world of ugliness suddenly seemed an overwhelming task.

But feeling that, in itself, would have been okay. It's normal or at least understandable for me to have those feelings. But how I felt didn't need to overtake what Mac needed at that moment. I could have put those feelings aside for another day - a day that wasn't Mac's first day in his new house, job, city and life. I could have joined in with him for one night in some unadulterated joy that he was here in Herat and starting all these news things in his life.

Of course, I didn't manage that as well as I wish I had - which is why I'm writing this now. I did my best but in the end what I did to the person I love was that I took some of the fun out of his arrival by starting to worry about the implications of all these changes for my life. I took some of the joy out of his daydreaming about making a new life here, and instead worried about security (his compound doesn't meet the security requirements of my organisation).

Well - thank goodness that new days keep coming and today I get to have another go at my life.

My gorgeous friend Ms Parker this morning reminded me that wishing I was a different kind of person wouldn't make me anything other than who I am. Oh to be an easy-going gypsy type, picking up my rucksack and settling wherever I land, it would certainly make this line of work easier. But I'm not - and setting up my wee sphere of beauty is part of what keeps me sane.

In the meantime, tonight I get another chance to focus on how Mac's first full day in his new job went, and I'll still prepare something scrumptious for dinner.

Fickle voters the real problem? Hmmm...

Since I arrived in Afghanistan I've had many different people tell me that part of the problem here is that the citizens are impatient and fickle, that they quickly lose faith in governments and initiatives that do not produce immediate results. This is a familiar message worldwide - I've never met a politician, for example, who doesn't express frustration at needing to produce results within the election cycle to problems that realistically require much longer term approaches. There is no doubt that many of the development goals in Afghanistan are going to require very long term efforts, but I also think it is natural for Afghan citizens to expect some noticable changes in their own lives five years into a reconstruction effort. The challenge seems to be balancing those two imperatives and at the same time overcoming perceptions that the reconstruction and development effort is riddled with corruption and waste (on that see my previous post - Through the fog of peace). In the context of growing public debate about the effectiveness of the performance of the Government of Afghanistan and the international community in Afghanistan over the past five years I found this editorial interesting, it comes from a Kabul paper which is, at least, nominally independent. Excerpt from editorial in Dari, "Why do we quickly get tired and prefer changes?", published by the Afghan newspaper Weesa on 5 November "One of the problems which have caused Afghans to fail to establish a sound a society is the impatience of Afghans and their wish for changes, which is still continuing. Whenever a new political methodology has been introduced in our country, it has caused premature individual and collective tiredness soon after its establishment. The reaction has always been to struggle for changes instead of introducing amendments or improvements, and this has always offended the people of Afghanistan rather than benefiting them. Viewing the situation logically, we see that countries' history, civilization and historical honours have not been achieved immediately. They have been achieved over long periods of time and with the patience of the people. There is no doubt that the introduction of changes has played a great role in this respect. Maybe even those who are most optimistic about the government will not deny that officials of the government of Afghanistan have not scored remarkable achievements in fulfilling the legitimate and logical requirements and expectations of the Afghan nation in the last five years. If somebody claims (even government officials) that all the work has been accomplished over the last five years, his/her words might be considered as an expression of their sense of humour. There is surely a remarkable level of weakness and shortcomings in the performance of the government in terms of offering public services and reducing the problems of the people. Also there have been significant shortcomings in the operations of the international anti terrorism forces (NATO and coalition forces), but the important thing is that even though there are significant shortcomings and defects in our government, it would not be wise to sabotage and further weaken the current government and invest our hopes in enemies and think that they will destroy the current government and establish a better one. The utmost efforts should be made to bring improvements in the areas which need improvement to enhance the efficiency of the government in its social, economic and political programmes. Statements by some of our government officials indicate that they have lost hope in the government and welcome victory by enemies rather than bringing improvements to the current government. Lots of changes have taken place in the political scene of our country over the last 30 years and people have understood all the positive and negative aspects. All spectrums of leaders (including Khalq, Parcham, the Mojaheddin and Taleban) have left memories of their period of rule in the hearts of the people and people have sung songs about the results: "My homeland! Everybody has broken your heart, each in turn" The real reason is that the officials are contributing to destroying the current situation and restructuring its foundations rather than helping to bring improvements to the weak areas. If we have a look at the upper and lower house, we will notice that in many rows Mojaheddin, Taleban and Khalqis are sitting next to each other. We have to appreciate this because it is a remarkable social achievement by the government. What people need in the current situation are sympathetic actions rather than sympathetic words. Taking sympathetic actions will be possible if we have the will to accept improvements and not think of destruction. No matter which party we prefer (Khalq, Parcham, Mojaheddin, Taleban and… but it is necessary to inject our productive thoughts into the government to give it a tonic . When we talk about changes in the meaning of weakening the basis of the current government and the return of Taleban, that means we have not learned lessons from the experiences of the last 30 years. Such thoughts will not bring any positive results or interests for our people but a continuation of the crisis. Based on a real definition of democracy, our government should be supported to enable it to fulfil the legitimate demands of the people. We can examine different kinds of details to find the best and the most effective means, but we should never damage the base and destroy the foundations."

For a more upbeat view

This headline caught my eye - "I will build more and kill less" - well, it seems hard to argue with that. And the photo makes General Richards (Commander of NATO forces in Afghanistan) look so damned chirpy, it is a bit hard to resist reading on... Anyway, the man is in charge of 31,000 NATO troops in Afghanistan and he has pledged the winter campaign to a focus on development and reconstruction (I heard more about this - Operation Oqab/Eagle - at the PRT Commanders Conference today). The shift focus is premised on the impact of recent intensive security operations in the South resulting in reduced insurgency activity over the winter. I hope the premise holds and I hope that the massive reconstruction projects that will be facilitated by Operation Oqab come off. I know it is his job, but I can't help finding his apparent optimism a little bit infectious and suddenly the pessimistic views of the people he refers to as 'armchair critics' seem a little tawdry and cynical to me. You see what a sucker I am for a bit of good old fashioned PsyOps (I learned today that this is the label given in the military to what we civilians call PR). Of course behind the jolly photo and the upbeat messages is some analysis that seems to me to be so obvious as to defy argument, but which may be a matter of quite serious debate in military circles for all I know. The flash of brilliance is this: "General Richard's tactical switch away from killing Taleban comes as army officers, local officials anddefensee analysts gave warning thatNATO's daily body count of Afghan fighters could be fuelling the insurgency. The lessons of Vietnam suggested that body counts bore no relation to progress in the war, and more often signified the disaffection of the local population, they said." Well, if nothing else this article gives me hope that it might be possible for the military to learn form past mistakes. That in itself is enough to give me feel hopeful about. Meanwhile, my gorgeous bloke arrives in ttomorrowmorw so I'm baking two pumpkin bread loaves tonight to welcome him and provide something for him to offer his staff morning tea. It is a recipe I got off the internet, and I'm baking in the funny wee benchtop oven we have here, so I'm a bit unsure of the results - but it is time to go town and see how things are coming along.

Blog of the week, a grim view of Afghanistan's progress

I've added a new feature to my growing sidebar (see the various lists on the right). At the top I'm going to feature a weblog every week. I'm starting with something topical to my work and life here in Afghanistan, the blog of British journalist and writer Christina Lamb. But look out for upcoming featured blogs focusing on crafts, creative writing or American politics, I am imposing no boundaries on my blogospere forays. Christina is a foreign correspondent for The Times, and she has been traveling to and writing about Afghanistan since the times of the Mujahadeen. She is also the author of 'The Sewing Circles of Herat', a book I plan to pick up next time I am near and English language bookstore. As well as her blog, which is an interesting mix of intelligent and informed posts about the war in Afghanistan and personal snippets about her life as a wife and mother in London, I'm recommending this article she wrote for The Times recently. It is not very rosy reading, in fact after reading it I had to take a few minutes to decide how I felt about our mission here in the face of the grim picture she paints. But I admire her for writing this story because when you scan the world headlines about Afghanistan every morning and evening (as I do) you notice that the 'story' about Afghanistan today is the story of the 'insurgency' and the people who get interviewed, quoted and featured most often art the men who command the troops fighting that insurgency. The story of Afghan women, such a key element in the publicity campaign that accompanied the 'liberation' of Afghanistan from the Taleban, has ceased to be front page news. So, I'm thankful to Christina Lamb for her continued interest, and the fact that she pulls enough weight as a journalist that her interest can translate into feature articles like this. She reminds us of the high level emphasis on women back in 2001 - "In 2001 the West’s most-cited criticism of the Taliban regime was its oppression of women. Not only did the Taliban forbid women from working and girls from being educated, they also beat them for wearing lipstick or shoes that clicked on the ground. The all-encompassing burqa, with its ugly shape and cage-like grille over the eyes, became a symbol for a heartless regime. Laura Bush, America’s first lady, took over her husband’s weekly radio address to highlight the plight of Afghan women. Cherie Blair made an impassioned speech at 10 Downing Street, saying: “Women could have their nails torn out for wearing nail polish.” “The recovery of Afghanistan must entail the restoration of rights of Afghan women,” insisted Colin Powell, then the US secretary of state." She acknowledges the significant changes that have been achieved in the past five years, but she also reports on the areas in which little progress has been made, or where the situation has recently deteriorated. "But there is a huge gap between the reality on the ground and the “remarkable progress” claimed by western diplomats who sit in fortified compounds behind guards and concrete blocks and who never leave Kabul. The only area in which the country could really be said to have made remarkable progress is in growing the poppy. Under British supervision, Afghanistan has become the world’s biggest opium producer. Last year it produced 6,100 tons — 92% of world supply. Afghanistan is engulfed in its bloodiest violence for 10 years. At least 3,000 people have been killed this year — more than twice last year’s total. For all the talk of girls’ education, only 5% of those of secondary school age are enrolled. More than 300 schools have been burnt down this year or shut after threats from militants, leaving 200,000 pupils with nowhere to go. There have been no significant water or power projects and two highways built with western aid have become almost no-go areas. The Kabul to Kandahar road is plagued by Taliban militants setting up fake checkpoints, killing Afghans accused of collaborating. " Well, I warned you that it was not a rosy picture. How does it make me feel? Perhaps that depends on the day. There are days when I feel as though things are sliding irrecoverably into a pit of conflict and despair, but there are other days when I find those people here who continue to believe in the possibility of a better future for themselves and their children and with them I find small ways to move towards that future. Today I spent most of the afternoon at the regional PRT Commanders Conference, and I have to say that it seems to me to be a reason for hope to see how openly the military commanders debate and engage with their civilians counterparts and, more importantly, with what respect and seriousness they welcomed their Afghan counterparts from the Afghan National Army. There are so many opportunities to learn here and to have my preconceptions challenged, and working with the military is proving to be one opportunity from which I am learning an awful lot.

Insomnia will never be the same

No, insomnia will never be the same again, not now we have Google. A 24 hour library in your own home... (Warning: this post has lots of links, lots of fun if you have insomnia and hours to pass before morning, but probably a bit time consuming for the rest of you so I suggest you pick one, randomly, and call it lucky dip) Last night I had full blown insomnia for the first time since I left Kabul. This was the kind of insomnia that feels like jetlag, where your mind knows that it is sleep-time but your body seems to be functioning in a different time zone and simply won't act sleepy. I learned a long time ago that worrying about not sleeping is what makes insomnia painful, so at 3.00am this morning I gave up lying in bed practicing my yogic breathing and just got up. I wasn't in the mood for reading for long, so I came downstairs, got online and started googling all sorts of things that caught my fancy. A search for 'yoga afghanistan' led me to this blog - written by a woman who I met in a yoga class in Kabul. In fact in the wee hours of the morning I discovered a few blogs my people I know here, some of them anonymous but recognisable and others under their own identity. This woman lives and works here in Herat and is becoming a friend, she is great company and just as vibrant in real life as she appears in her blog. This good value Australian used to live in Kabul and was a friend of mine, she is now in Indonesia and I think her blog reflects her sense of humour well. A search for 'women running' led me to an article that provided a special training programme for people who are stuck inside and on a treadmill - and on the same site a pace converter (I can plug in how many minutes it took me to run a kilometer and the converter will tell me my pace, or vice versa - exciting perhaps only for running geeks like me, but I thought Wendie would like it at least!). The converter also converts paces from miles to kms and vice versa so I can use US derived race training plans, which has always taxed my mathematical abilities in the past. But my favorite article on this site was the feature on 'running heroes'. Okay, now I really am showing my inner running geek. Moving on... Several searches using variations on 'books writing women' threw up some beauties. This one has great book reviews (check out the non-fiction review - From Baghdad, with Love). This one has all these interviews with women writers describing their writing technique, I love it and think it may fuel many wasted afternoon fantasizing about myself as a writer. There were many other strange and winding paths down which I wandered through the night, and it was fun. I enjoyed the sense of freedom, of there being nothing else that I should have been doing. I indulged my new addiction for reading these blogs by women who I don't know but whose honesty, warmth, creativity and wit seem to reach out to me across the electronic wonderland: Susannah, Denise and Laini. When I miss my own wonderful tribe of women, I enjoy looking in on this online tribe. Well - I've survived into the early evening and I am fairly confident of a good night's sleep tonight so I'll leave you now with my one final fabulous find.

Six reasons to be happy

Inspired by Susannah 1. It is the beginning of November and, still, when I wake up every morning the sun is shining; 2. This morning I opened the fridge and found, for the first time since I came here, soy milk (our cook has been searching for it all over Herat for the past two months and eventually, it seems, convinced a shop owner to bring some in from Iran); 3. Putting 1 and 2 together - this morning I get to drink a big soy latte in the morning sun; 4. I just got off the phone from Portland where my gorgeous man was about to get on a flight that will (eventually, on Tuesday) bring him to Herat; 5. Last night I defied my Thursday evening weariness and went to the 'Mobile Bar' and met new people, great people, living here in my neighbourhood who were ready to talk about Peter Jackson's movies (a very nice change from the insurgency in Afghanistan); and 6. Amongst those great people is a yoga master who regularly runs group yoga classes, and I'm invited!

Karzai online

President Karzai today launched his own website, I'll add it as a link in my list but thought it was a sufficiently momentous occasion to warrant a special post as well. Enjoy!

Through the fog of peace?

Last night I was drinking tea with three journalists from The New York Times, The Times (UK) and Associated Press, respectively. Between the three of them they have years of experience in Afghanistan (as well as Iraq, Chechnya and all the other fun places), but each of them has been out of Afghanistan for some time and had recently arrived back. So I was listening carefully to their assessments of the current situation and their prognosis for the future. The outlook was not cheery; they had been taken aback by the level of disappointment, anger and resentment amongst the population here, apparently a dramatic shift from recent years. They felt that defeat of the Taleban insurgency would require a long term (i.e. 15 year) commitment of thousands of troops. Another day I will write more about the ensuing discussion about military strategies for fighting insurgencies – first I need to find and read a book they were referring to which apparently sets out recommended rules of engagement for such situations. But for now, I was left reflecting on this anger amongst the Afghan population. My question to them was whether this was a general disappointment and anger at lack of progress in making basic improvements in their lives, or whether it was a more specific set of complaints against this Government (are they perceived as corrupt, as selling out Afghan values to the Americans and the other foreigners?). They told me what I’ve heard before many times, people are furious at what they see as the massive waste in the implementation of development assistance. People believe that a lot of aid money disappears through embezzlement and corruption, and they accuse not only the Government and the big contractors, they also accuse NGOs and their implementing partners of this corruption. People also criticize the mutli-layered structure through which much development is delivered. Delivery of development assistance here is complicated. Firstly there is the question of how the money comes into the country. Some money comes (or is supposed to come) to the Government through commitments under the Afghan Compact. The Afghan Compact is the multi-lateral donor agreement with the Government of Afghanistan which provides for the government’s, very modest, operating budget and some even more modest funds for implementing development and infrastructure projects). Other funds come to the Government through bilateral assistance from the big donors. But in some cases donors insist on maintaining management of the implementation of their development assistance, so that USAID directly manages much of the USA’s development assistance in Afghanistan. But neither the Government of Afghanistan nor the big donor government development assistance agencies are actually able to implement all the projects – so the next layer comes into the picture. The GoA, for example, contracts with implementing partners, private companies and NGOs. In some cases the projects are so big (like the National Solidarity Programme) that one large implementing agency is contracted to coordinate implementation through another layer of direct implementing partners. The same is true for the large projects funded and managed by USAID and others. At each layer of this structure you have a mix of organizations. Some are extremely efficient and effective with minimal overhead costs and great track records on delivery, monitoring and evaluation. Others are less efficient, and carry heavy overhead costs which obviously eat into the funds available. One significant factor that affects overheads in development and infrastructure projects here is the cost of security. Again there is a huge variety of approaches taken to security. Some NGOs like ActionAid adopt a strategy of low visibility to protect the security of their staff, beneficiaries and projects. Recently here in the west World Vision has decided to shift to a lower visibility approach after four of their staff were killed in past months. At the other end of the spectrum projects directly implemented by the US Department of State, like the Justice Sector Support Programme, adopt a very different approach with armoured vehicles and armed close protection agents for even the civilian staff (one came to our office with some JSSP team members recently and completely freaked out our staff – his resemblance to Rambo was striking). Construction projects also utilize very different approaches to security, some rely on the Afghan National Police and Army (ANP and ANA) for protection, and others employ expensive private security companies. Consulting firms and private construction companies also employ huge numbers of private security guards for their guesthouses. Most NGOs, on the other hand, employ local guards who are not armed, or rely on the ANA and ANP. The UN has a policy of working with national security forces to provide security for missions such as UNAMA, so we also work with the ANA and the ANP. But with all these different layers, and the expense of security arrangements, you can start to see why people here use the image of a snow ball being passed through many hands to describe the way that development assistance makes its way to communities in Afghanistan. I don’t know how much actual embezzlement or corruption goes on, although I hear constant reports and rumours, but I can see that even without dishonest being involved it is reasonable for Afghan people to feel they are not getting the full benefit of the aid dollar. The debate about implementation of humanitarian aid and development assistance in Afghanistan has many other facets. While citizens complain that private companies cost too much money, the Government continues to sub-contract its large education, health and infrastructure projects because it doesn’t yet have the capacity within its own structures to implement such large scale projects (and don’t governments in other developed and developing countries also sub-contract out major infrastructure projects?). Meanwhile NGOs argue that the involvement of the International Security Assistance Forces in humanitarian aid and development assistance (through the PRTs – Provincial Reconstruction Teams) is blurring the lines between military and humanitarian intervention, confusing the population and increasing the security risk for humanitarian workers (who offer much ‘softer’ targets than the soldiers), some PRTs respond that if there were some NGOs present in the areas in which they operate then they would be more than happy to leave the humanitarian work to them, but since there are not they figure someone has to do something. Of course, the response to this is that the confusion of military and humanitarian action is making it too dangerous for NGOs to return to some of those areas so the cycle is self-perpetuating. The question is whether it could be done better. This is the question that the journalist from The New York Times asked me. He wanted to write a story about the critical role of development in determining success or failure in Afghanistan. After long discussion about the military strategy and the prognosis for its success (it seems these guys think that a definition of what will actually constitute success would be a good start) they wanted to hear from me about the other major strategy – development. He wanted to know what was being researched, written or talked about in development ‘circles’ as offering a better alternative. Are there any models out there that have worked to provide effective development at low cost? I thought about the community-based participatory approaches taken by organizations like ActionAid and the efforts made to build those elements into the National Solidarity Programme here. But I want to hear from my friends who know more about current research on development assistance in post conflict settings (Amanda and Immy, I’m pointing at you in particular). I would argue that alongside what is conventionally thought of as development assistance (building bridges, roads, water and sewerage systems, dams, schools and hospitals, training teachers, midwives and engineers) there is a need to emphasize human rights in any strategy to stabilize this or any other post-conflict country. When I talk about human rights I’m thinking of everything from the traditional sphere of civil and political rights (strengthening the justice system and rule of law) to the need to integrate a human rights approach into all economic and social development projects. It sounds like a mantra, like a rhetorical flourish that I’ve practiced and repeated through years of working in human rights organizations. But whenever I really sit and think about what went wrong with an intervention, or what could have been done differently, I find myself thinking of barriers that constitute barriers to full enjoyment of human rights. Conversely when I try to creatively imagine where the opportunities lie for leveraging meaningful changes with small interventions, I find that I am imagining opportunities that translate into steps towards better realization of human rights. At least I know that I’m working in the right field – the question still remains whether I’ve worked out how best to apply myself to the field. But that seems like a life-long question. So I won’t try to answer it today.

The secret dancer inside

Last night on Euronews they were covering the opening of the musical 'Dirty Dancing' in London. This movie has lots of special memories for me - from the original memories of being a teenager and listening over and over to the soundtrack, remembering the scenes of the movie (in the days before DVD or even home VHS), dancing around my bedroom. I also have lovely memories of special birthday screenings of 'Dirty Dancing' in Wellington - the lovely Jason providing the projector and screen and the Brunette Mafia providing the commentary and collective recitations of key dialogue (and playing spot the 'overactor' in the final dance scene). The Brunette Mafia even considered travelling enmasse to Melbourne to see the musical when it opened. My mother and sister did go to see it, and loved it. So what makes 'Dirty Dancing' so popular with us all? Why, as women in our 30s, are we still drawn to watch this teen movie over and over again? Maybe Eleanor Bergstein, the original 'Dirty Dancing' screenwriter who adapted her own screenplay for the stage version, has the answer. There she was all silvery and gorgeous at the premier, and when someone asked her why this movie, and now the musical, was so popular she answered that she though the story "connects with the secret dancer inside people, and that they suspect that dance could transform their lives". When I think about the films that really engaged me as a teenager, the ones that I replayed in my mind over and over again, they were all dance movies. I loved 'Footloose' and my Brunette Mafia ladies know that my favorite scene is the one where Keven Bacon teaches Chris Penn (may he rest in peace) to dance - thus transforming his teen life in a significant way. I loved 'Flashdance' and like millions of other teen girls I practiced the audition dance routine in my bedroom, with the soundtrack running on the cassette player and dreams of a life of dance, travel, mystery and glamour running through my head. Perhaps most of all, I loved 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' with Sarah Jessica Parker and Helen Hunt. Like all great dance movies this has the audition scene in which all sorts of weird and wonderful dancers get their 30 seconds of fame, it has the montage of SJP's character being taught by her older, more experienced dance partner to let her passions out into her dancing and in which she slowly learns to dance with more abandon. It has a finale dance-off in which she finally pulls off the "big move". They are formulaic, they are entirely predictable (although let's give DD the credit it is due for tackling heavier social issues than most teen dance movies), and they are pure viewing pleasure. In our 30s dealing with our careers, our mortgages, our children, our relationships and our car repairs, we all need to reconnect sometimes with the secret dancer inside, we all need to remember our belief that dance can transform our lives, and we all need sometimes to turn up the Flashdance soundtrack and dance like mad around the bedroom. This posting is a tribute to Eleanor Bergstein for knowing that.

Just when I thought it was over...

Yesterday, when I got a phone call at 10 pm about a planned demonstration in Badghis province today I just took a deep breath and reminded myself that today my senior, more experienced, colleague would return and take over. Of course, I should have known that this week fate wasn't going to let me off so lightly. There was no flight today, so he didn't arrive. Instead I had to deal with the ongoing fall out of the events in Shindand last week as well as these new developments in Badghis - in which tribal elders from some districts protested against the recent murders of government officials from their district. They threatened that if appropriate and effective action was not immediately taken by the government they would take matters into their own hands "like they did in Shindand". So for today I'm still in the hot seat, trying to do my best to manage the office (processing staff performance reviews and leave applications, interviewing candidates for new posts, nominating staff for training programmes and coordinating the weekly office meeting) at the same time as I'm trying to absorb seemingly contradictory reports of the developments and work with our senior national staff to come to sensible conclusions and recommendations in time for the meeting of Very Important People in Kabul at 5.00pm. I called up a few people around the country who are more experienced than me for their advice and I was a bit taken aback at the attitude some of them seem to have that this kind of inter-tribal or ethnic violence is inevitable. A week ago today approximately 40 people were killed and now we are getting threats of similar developments in a neighbouring province. I don't think it is naive of me to take that seriously. Perhaps it is true, as I was told by one person, that 40% of the security incidents reported in Afghanistan in the past year were inter-ethnic or tribal conflict, but I don't see how that means that I should just accept it. It is very difficult to think of really effective interventions, but I can't just adopt a wait and see approach. Anyway, thank goodness I have these Very Important People to report to, since they can do something meaningful with the information and so I can get to the end of the day with some sense of having acted. Meanwhile I also had a call a little after 10pm last night about a 15 year old girl who had turned up at a house in a village in Shindand. We were assured by apparently reliable sources that she was safe where she was over night, so we just made sure everyone relevant knew that we knew that she was there and checked up on her situation today. Apparently she returned to her family, and I'm left with more questions than answers, like 'why did she leave her home in the first place?' and 'why did she agree today to go home?'. Girls in Afghanistan do not leave their homes and go to the homes of strangers. Running away from home can lead to prosecution and imprisonment, and many families won't take their daughters back. We are not allowed yet to travel to that area, following the fighting last week, but I will be trying to find out more and I hope that someone can visit her and find out her story and her current condition as soon as possible. My final ongoing challenge is being in a position where I am in charge of an office filled with men, many of whom are older than me, and all of whom come from very different cultures than my own (not only Afghan but also Kenyan, Ugandan, Uraguayan). I have a sense that I need to be firm and authoritative, that too much negotiation and discussion may be interpreted by some as weakness and a lack of leadership. I also think it is especially difficult for military men to be managed by a civilian who also happens to be young and female. I'm having to find quite different management styles and approaches from those that worked in previous roles. So my learning curve continues to be very steep, and I'm looking forward now to heading to the gym and working out the stress of the day.

Self portrait challenge

For creative challenge and inspiration I've decided to join the "self portrait challenge", once I learn more about the technical tricks I'll upload a link to the challenge website onto this blog. But for now, here is my first effort. The theme for October is "imperfection". This week has been a week with many opportunities to reflect on my imperfection and my human frailty. This photo is of the bedside table in my room. It speaks to me of imperfection firstly because it is not a very good photo and yet I'm going to post it. But more than that this photo tells a story about my imperfection because it shows both my good intentions and the imperfect way in which those intentions were carried out. Under the table is my yoga mat, getting good use this weekend now that things have calmed down, but it was rather neglected - despite good intentions - this week when the pressure was really on. Also on the table is a candle for relaxation, but if you look carefully you'll see a remnant of the means I actually used to relax at night this week, a blue stemmed glass peeking out from behind the computer that once held red wine. The orange notebook was to be used as a journal, to express my insecurities and fears. Instead the only thing in it is a catalogue of the books I have with me in Herat (a lesson learned from Ms King) and an account of a disturbing dream I had this week. Instead I worked out my anxiety and stress by eating my way through a half kilo box of Lindt chocolate (see the evidence to the left of the candle) - a box of chocolates which, by the way, I had brought back from my leave to give to the staff in our office for Eid holiday. Next to my iBook is my new Seaen Corn ashtanga vinyasa DVD - not in the computer... Instead what I've been watching is the DVD underneath, Northern Exposure season two, there are plenty of themes to identify with in that show. But the most important point about this photo is that I feel pretty good about it. I admire myself for making the effort, buying the candles and journal, lugging the yoga mat from NZ and the yoga DVD from Portland. I am happy about the two mornings when I did get up and do a few minutes of yoga. I feel pretty forgiving of the wine and the chocolate. So this week I am celebrating my good intentions, however imperfectly implemented, and I'm accepting my human imperfections and the fact that if I didn't have any I doubt I'd be much fun to be around.

Things I learned today

1. Just because you made a point of getting up in time to do yoga, it doesn't mean that the local commanders and politicians did their alternate nostril breathing this morning.
2. It can be extremely difficult to maintain a sense of calm and well-being when your assistants are reporting new armed clashes, this time in Herat city.
3. The advice to take ten deep breaths and call at least two different sources to confirm your information before taking any action based on reports of armed conflict is good advice.
4. If you are trying to eat only healing, healthy food then keeping a large plate of sweets on your desk for visitors (an Eid holiday tradition) is probably a bad idea, especially when you are dealing with reports of armed conflict.
5. That it can feel very good to tell a Military Liaison Officer that you'd like him to stop telling you to stay calm because you find it redundant (I am calm!!) and condescending.
6. But, the pleasure can be undermined when you then have to explain the meaning of the words 'redundant' and condescending'.
7. Getting to the end of the week can feel like completing a marathon.
8. A simple invitation to have spaghetti and a bottle of red wine with new friends can seem like a holiday.

A good way to start my day

In my post yesterday I admitted that when I'm very stressed I find that I am more attracted to a good hard run than I am to the yoga mat. But sometimes the quietness and discipline of yoga are what I need more. So last night, before I went to sleep, I lit a “motivation” candle which I had bought at a crazy little shop in Portland, and I made myself a promise before I went to sleep that I would do some yoga this morning. I even set my alarm for 6.30am to be sure I didn’t oversleep and run out of time. But instead this morning I woke up when my housemate knocked on my door with the phone. The call was from my lovely man, and it wasn’t good news. There is a possible problem with getting the technical clearance for his new job, the one that is supposed to bring him here to Herat. This week has been taking its toll and when I got off the phone I just wanted to cry. But there was my yoga mat, waiting for me where I had laid it out before going to sleep, and there was my little motivation candle waiting to be lit. So I went ahead and sat down. I started with alternate nostril breathing, which I find very cleansing, and which gets my breath in the right rhythm for the rest of the practice. After five minutes of the alternate breathing I was feeling really ready for sun salutations. By the end of ten minutes of increasingly energetic salutations I was feeling much more present in the day, and ready to face whatever was out there waiting for me. I’m not abandoning the wonderful rush of a good run. Tonight I'll be in my regular spot on the treadmill. I'm playing around with the incline this week, devising imaginary paths around Wellington's hills to avoid total boredom. But when I get home, sweaty and satisfied, I think I will put my mat out again for tomorrow morning. Today's photo is of the Oregon coast, taken on my recent visit, but it almost feels like it could be a photo from home. It brings me a lovely sense of well being.

Talking to the blog

Okay, so this is my third post in one day, my sixth in a week. I think I can admit that I'm feeling a little bit isolated and missing having easy access to my people to talk things over with. This has been one heck of a week for me. Professionally and personally this crisis has stretched me. I'm out of my depth and trying to learn faster than I suspect is possible without making potentially deadly mistakes. What I want are people to talk it over with, and all the people I would usually talk to are far, far away and this week the phones are not my friends. I'm missing the connections, or the moments I have free to talk turn out to be the middle of the night in whichever continent my loved ones are sleeping. So I'm blogging. Or writing emails and sending them off into the night, knowing that they'll not be read until sometime when I myself am fast asleep. One of the approaches I was planning to use to help maintain balance in these stressful times was yoga. When I was living in Kabul I discovered yoga, and twice a week I met up with a group of people, mostly women, to practice yoga with. I loved it, some weeks I felt as though it was the only thing keeping me in one piece. But now I am here in Herat and without anyone to practice with I am finding it incredibly hard to find the discipline to roll out my mat and be quiet with the practice. Instead I'm finding release and relaxation through running, which has been a reliable method for me over a number of years. I love the rhythm of it and the sense of achievement when I run further or faster than I could the day or week before. I love the chemical kick I get out of it. Running is an easy and dependable fix for me. But yoga was going to be my balance, the ying fto match the yang of running. Where running fulfilled my desire for goal oriented achievement and the external pay off of miles covered or hills climbed, yoga was going to help me be present in the moment and accept the journey without pressing towards externally measurable goals. Well, may be tomorrow the mat will look more welcoming. For tonight, since I'm pouring out my ramblings, here is a letter to a precious cousin that gives a sense of the paths my thoughts are following. Dearest M, I'm not always sure what kind of journey I'm on here. Some days it seems like an amazing opportunity to learn so much more about life and about my own potential. Other days it feels like a lesson in how wrong we can all be - how badly humans can mess up their lives, their environments and their communities - and on those days it's not clear to me at all what difference it makes that I am here. On those days I think about you, and the other people I love at home, and I think that there is not so much to be gained from being here, in the midst of all this mess, and pain and violence and suffering. I think that I should be home, making the most of the wonderful people I have in my life. And then I realise that there are some wonderful people in my life here, and that I would never have known them and never learned the things I have learned from them if I hadn't come here. Well, you can probably tell that this path is not the kind that you set out upon and then never look back. Perhaps I'm not looking back, but I certainly find lots of occasions to revisit the question of why I am here, what I am here to do and whether it remains the right place for me to be and the right thing to be doing. Maybe that is healthy - perhaps it is a mistake to become so settled and comfortable in our lives that we stop reflecting on whether we are living the best life we can be living. Certainly there is no such comfort for me here, at least not yet. I do think that it is a good and healthy thing to reflect, to examine our lives and to be ready to admit and act upon the need for change. But I also think that we need, as a perhaps basic human needs, some balance to that - some sense of stability and confidence in our choices and out paths. I'm sharing all this because I imagine that you must be learning a lot about the need for a balance between reflecting on your choices and examining the path you have chosen, on the one hand, and feeling some certainty and confidence in your choices, on the other. So for these very different reasons, I feel as though we might be learning some of the same lessons. I don't know if it was on the news in NZ but we had some pretty bad factional fighting this week after the heads of two different tribal groups were killed - one in retaliation for the other. I'm in charge of the office this week so it falls on me to try and represent the organisation in these circumstances. I'm out of my depth and learning to trust my instinct and take everything slowly - stop and take deep breaths before I speak and act, but then on the other hand trust myself to speak and act wisely when I have to act fast. Anyway, I've been thinking of you and S. All my love, Frida

A bloggers cautionary tale

The UN envoy to Sudan is expelled because of comments in his personal blog. See more here at BBC: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/6076022.stm Your thoughts?

Guns

This morning as we drove to the office I couldn't help noticing that the most popular Eid present for boys this year was a play gun. All over the streets of Herat were boys of different ages play-fighting with their new guns. These are not water guns, they don't come in bright primary colours or shoot bubbles. They are black plastic replica pistols and automatic weapons, and they are intended to look realistic. I'm known for my rants against guns, so I'll try to be restrained. Over several years of work in conflict situation, I have got to the point where I can concede that there maybe a time and place in which a gun can be used for the protection of human life and promotion of stability. But still, this scene of children celebrating Eid by running abour pretending to shoot each other disturbed me on so many levels. Firstly, there is the risk to the kids of their play gun being mistaken for the real thing by one of the ISAF patrols or any one of the numerous armed guards stationed outside homes all over the city. Real guns are part of daily life in Afghanistan, and not for shooting rabbits. My housemate told me that the replica guns were banned in one city in Northern Afghanistan last year after a teenager with a play gun was shot and killed by international forces who mistook the gun for the real thing. Secondly, I'm all too conscious of the real fighting that has taken place this Eid in Shindand. During these days, which should be a time of celebration of the end of the holy month of Ramazan, fighting between tribal factions in the southern district of Herat province has instead resulted in numberous fatalities. The play in Herat so vividly mirrored the real violence in Shindand that I found myself speculating on the relationship between the two, i.e. the relationship between the past and ongoing real armed conflict in this country and the cultural acceptance of the giving of replica guns as a gift to celebrate the end of a month of prayer. The extent to which each of these is the result of or the cause of the other would be, it seems to me, impossible to establish, but I do think the causal relationship must flow in both directions. My language assistant, while waiting with me for a meeting with the Provincial Governor yesterday to talk about the situation, expressed his persnal opinion that religion is the root cause of all conflict, here in Afghanistan and elsewhere. It is, of course, a line I've heard more often than I can recall - especially during my years in the Occupied Palestinian Territories. But it doesn't really ring true. I can't see religion as a root cause. Religion seems to be a means through which some of the root causes of violence and conflict find their expression and their structural support. The root cause seems more basic, and again I find myself wishing that I better understood human psychology. But that's drifting into realms that I know far too little about to comment on intelligently. So for today I'll stick with an observation that there are an awful lot of guns in Afghanistan and that I don't like the replica ones much more than I like the real ones.

In the news

From Gaza, to Timor-Leste to Afghanistan, I've become used to seeing the country I'm living or working in in the world news headlines. But today I was reading headline news on BBC, New York Times and the International Herald Tribune online not just about the place I'm in but about the specific situation I'm trying to work on. The reports in the media vary widely from 12 to 70 people dead. Our sources here on the ground are also giving different figures. The offical number is 21 dead, although informants on the ground mostly seem to agree that there have been at least 30 fatalities including civilians, perhaps even women and children. This is the conflict that our office has been trying to help prevent for the past week. Now it is the conflcit that I'm trying to help find peaceful solutions to. I have great support from our head office in Kabul and excellent advice from national staff here in the region, but at the end of the day I'm in charge of this office and I'm the person who has to front up to meetings the Provincial Governor etc. This morning, sitting outside the Governor's office - waiting for the emergency military council to finish it's discussions - I'm was busy trying to convince myself that I was actually in the right place, that I'm not a fraud, that I wondered how I'd ever manage to instill any confidence when I finally met with them. The one saving factor is that the gravity of the situation and the cost of either inaction or taking the wrong action is potentially so high that thoughts or feelings about myself are pretty quickly overwhelmed by the need to focus on what can be usefully done. Today is the first day of Eid, something like the Muslim equivalent of Christmas day. People here should be celebrating the end of the month of fasting and prayer and enjoying meals and good times with their family. Instead families in Shindand are burying their dead loved ones and the threat of further violence remains. So I'm well and truely out of my funk about not knowing what I'm supposed to be doing here, but I'll still be very happy when this particular "focus" is well and truely over.

A quick cure for self pity

What a difference a day can make. Yesterday I was feeling confused and frustrated at my lack of clarity and direction in this role. Today I'm in charge of the regional office and so - according to Murphy's Law - fighting between tribal factions has broken out in one district. This situation has the potential to be serious and I'm pretty much on my own in deciding how our office responds. It is the day before Eid so on top of most of the international staff already being on leave, tomorrow all the national staff go on leave as well. There is nothing like real conflict, with real lives at stake, to focus the mind and clear away the self-pity. The question is how best to use the influence we have to help calm the situation and hopefully prevent more deaths.

Taking comfort from platitudes

I loved this - at Chagcharan airport in Ghor the welcome sign is positioned directly in front of the corpse of a crashed plane, which remains alongside the runway to remind you of your possible fate. It's an encouraging sight. This week, returning from a fantastic holiday in beautiful Oregon, I've struggled to to get back into the groove at work. What I'm quickly learning is that my preference for structure (both insitutionally and in terms of work planning and implementation) will be challenged in this role. I'm moving from a series of roles in which my focus was on planned, proative and strategic work to a role in which my focus will often be on responsive work. It's an uncomfortable transition, but I trust that I'll adjust - and hopefully find a way to balance my natural inclination to plan with an ability to be responsive. But if I ever need encouragement to persist, and to believe in the possibility of small and seemingly feeble contributions making a difference, I only need to drive past this statue in Herat. It shows ordinary Afghans, armed with pitchforks and sticks, overcoming a Russian tank. Fantastic... When I worked with the Race Relations Commissioner he used to encourage me to persevere in the face of seemingly insurmountable challenges with a proverb about eating an elephant one spoonful at a time. The Chief Human Rights Commissioner gave me the story of a champion boxer who, when asked what the secret of success was, replied that the winner is the guy who is willing to fight another round. Now I'll add to those two this image of resisting a Soviet occupation by combining the impact of many small pitchforks. And if that doesn't suffice, I have my new DVD of Ashtanga Vinyasa to calm the mind and balance the body. I also have a big box of chocolate that I bought in Dubai to give to my colleagues after Eid but which, at this rate, is likely to be gone before then.

Update after six weeks

I'm going on leave tomorrow - which means that I've been in Afghanistan almost six weeks. It has been a fantastic although challenging time. I'm really glad that I came into this new role in a setting that I have some idea about. The job itself, and the changes in life- and work-style that come with working for the UN have been enough of a transformation for me. I'm not sure how I would have managed if I had also been in an entirely new country. This morning our Head of Office realised that for a couple of days this month while he is on leave both of the other senior (and experienced) officers will also be on leave - so Frida gets to be Officer in Charge of the UNAMA Western Regional Office - with 50 staff! The only reason he felt I could be trusted was because I had been in Kabul for that time before I came to Herat. Ignoring for a moment the extreme differences in political and social conditions between the capital and this part of the country - it was nice to realise that on some level he is right, I arrived in Afghanistan at the end of December last year and I'm starting to get to know how things work, a little bit at least. I guess some of you have seen my emails about my missions to Badghis and Ghor - the two remote provinces I'm covering in the Western region. Badghis came first and I thought that conditions there were bad - and then I went to Ghor. Someone told me that the name of the province means "grave" and when you see the place you are a little inclined to believe that. There are two big shot warlord/commanders in Ghor, each with their private militias and their territories - into which the Afghan National Police dare not enter. The Afghan National Army is not even present in the province at all. Several World Vision staff have been killed in these provinces recently - two in Badghis and two in Ghor. So the NGOs and international organisations are rethinking their approach to humanitarian aid in the provinces. But the need is so great - these are two of the most severely drought affected areas in Afghanistan - that no one wants to simply pull out. I stayed with the Provincial Reconstruction Teams in each province (the International Security Assistance Forces contingents responsible for stabilising each province - i.e. the Kiwis are in Bamiyan) In Badghis they were Spanish and I really only got to know the civilian component, but I enjoyed their company and they treated me extremely well. I had my period and had terrible cramps and one of the guys must have picked up what was going on because he delivered a hot water bottle and a little bottle of ginger oil to my container! They also served red wine with lunch and dinner everyday. In Ghor the PRT is mostly Lithuanians, although with small numbers of Icelanders, Danes and Croatians. I got on extremely well with the Icelandic woman who is the development advisor to the PRT and enjoyed my night at the Thursday bar - a special once weekly event at which lots of beer is consumed (to wash down the boiled sausages) and jolly Lithuanian drinking songs are sung. It was actually a lot of fun - I even had a strange attempt at dancing salsa to polka music with the Mexican paramedic, who insisted we have a go despite the refusal of the Lithuanian DJ to put on his salsa music. Work wise, I've been following up some cases of alleged ill-treatment in detention, a couple of cases where women have approached the authorities to take action about domestic violence, some allegations of corruption by police and a particularly serious set of allegations related to some illegal armed groups - and which are much bigger than I would ever try to deal with myself. But the Afghanistan Independent Human Rights Commission usually does investigations into individual cases - I pass the cases that come to me over to them and only really get involved again if they think it could help. More of my work is monitoring and reporting on the situation and - this is the part that I think I'm really going to enjoy - supporting the development of national institutions essential for the protections of human rights. These include the Commission, of course, but also the Office of the Prosecutor, the judiciary, corrections and the police. I’m quickly learning the Criminal Procedure Code and getting up to speed with the requirements for due process in criminal investigations and prosecutions. It’s intellectually challenging and I’m enjoying that. I've also been going around lobbying NGOs, donors and international organisations to spend some money in Ghor, We just found out the US Department of State has money to train 20 criminal investigators and 10 prosecutors - they are planning to do this in Herat city but I'm going to do everything I can to convince them to do it instead in Ghor - the forgotten province. A programme like that could make a huge impact in Ghor. On the economic and social rights side of things I’ve just proposed a joint project with the UNAMA officers responsible for relief, reconstruction, institutional development and recovery – to do a provincial profile of Ghor province covering economic, cultural, social, political and legal issues. A little bit like the stocktake report we did on New Zealand for the NZAPHR – but in entirely different circumstances. On the personal front I've just moved in with my Human Rights Unit colleague. She is a fabulously energetic and funny Italian woman, whose Indian father has passed on his good looks to her. She is disciplined about getting along to the gym at the UNHCR guesthouse at least three or four times a week and is happy to jump around in some parody of aerobics with me. She even offered to let me teach her some yoga, just so I could have some company. She is a great cook and most importantly (well, most important after the fact that she is funny and like to run on the treadmill with me) she is an experienced Human Rights Field Officer who has been doing this job in Herat for two and a half years. She may not be around for too much longer so I am trying to learn as much as I can now. Our other two housemates are both Kenyan – one is the Transport Officer and the other is the Communications and IT Officer – so it seems likely that out house will always have access to vehicles and the internet. They both love rugby, and know more details about the All Blacks than I do, and they are good company. Anyway - this has been a very long post because it has been six weeks. I'm planning to do shorter, snappier posts more often from now on.

Who is Frida?

Several years ago some of my friends were writing a column for a local Wellington paper. The column was filled with juicy highlights of the cultural life of the capital and was written by these fabulous women under equally fabulous pseudo names. Sara Barr, Wanda Martini and Gita Mann thrilled and amused Wellington with their exploits and insights. One week - to my undisguised delight, I made it into this column. My tag was Frida World. Years later I still use the tag, with pride, knowing that the humour behind it was always combined with respect for what I believe in (i.e. fundamental freedoms and human rights for all) and support for me in my work. So this, my first ever blog, carries on the tradition of Frida. Here I'll share with you notes on my life in Afghanistan and welcome your comments in response. I hope to find the courage and the skill to write with honesty and with clarity. However, I'll need to be aware of potential risk to myself or others and to make choices about what I post based on those risks. Some of you will want to know what music I'm listening to and whether I've managed to maintain my fitness regime, others will mostly be interested in the detail of my human rights work. This blog will probably be a mixed bag - with a little of all those things and hopefully lots of photos. Welcome, nau mai, haere mai, tena koutou, tena koutou, tena koutou katoa!