Will: I spent some time in the library this week. Of the books produced by European authors during the colonial period, titles like, “Eighteen years amongst the Pashtuns” or “A life of service in the north-west frontier” dominated the shelves. In contrast, many of the 3000 or so internationals that work in Kabul have typically been here for less than two years. Those that have stayed for more than two years are generally considered ‘old timers’. Five years here and you are a ‘veteran’. Those who stay longer than that are practically oracles (and probably have a long white beard to boot). An ‘old timer’ said to me today, “This winter is nothing compared to last winter. This is positively mild.” Shivering, I nodded in agreement. The truth is it’s not that bad, for us. It is worse for the many who huddle over metal boxes of cinders (sandali) under plastic sheeting on Kabul’s hillsides. In some of the highest villages in the central highlands, the temperature outside is minus 35; inside it is minus eight. Hobbit-like houses are hidden under layers of dried moss (for fuel and insulation) and built into the hillside for protection from the elements. These families have lived like this for hundreds of years and despite frozen fingers, the whole family will weave a carpet over the course of the winter and live off the proceeds ($200) for the rest of the year. In Kabul, the temperature is no worse than England on a cold winter’s day. It is inside that you notice it. The majority of buildings here are poorly insulated and warmed by a central stove. My feet are usually leaden by lunchtime and my nose numb as the cold climbs up from the ground and the frost descends from the low-slung clouds overhead. Not for the first time I have heard people measure their stay here in terms of how many winters they have survived. I wonder what Kabulis think when they allow their minds to escape the long cold winters here?
It seems to be very difficult for foreigners to conceive of spending any length of time here at all. A new restaurant opened recently and has already been applauded as the only place in Kabul where ‘you don’t feel like you’re in Afghanistan’. A friend recently made a point of saying that she must take a photo of a certain house before she left the country: she is only a few months into a year’s contract. At the start of the project nearly three years ago, a senior Afghan colleague declared that he would be here for five years, until the job was completed. I wish I could summon a similar level of commitment but if I’m honest, my mind turns very quickly to matters beyond Afghanistan; to home and future adventures. This is one of the core problems of state building in a country like Afghanistan. It is very difficult to have a significant and lasting impact in only a year or two. It takes that long to really grasp the language and the local politic. Without that, relationships are only ever conducted at a very superficial level, often through translators. Genuine relationships, let alone friendships between internationals and Afghans are rare. This is partly because we are shut away in concrete cloisters for much of the time, unable to mingle freely with local communities. But it also has something to do with the lack of direct communication and time spent sharing and understanding our Afghan colleague’s experience of life. Even before we start, there are myriad misunderstandings and prejudices to work through, on both sides. The tragedy is that these are allowed to linger in the background as relationships are established within the limits of a work environment. Whether you are mentoring a special constable in the Afghan National Police; training a Captain from the Afghan National Army, working alongside an Afghan official in the Ministry of Finance or simply trying to run an NGO, it takes time to build relationships of trust and to lay the foundations for future growth. This is as true on the international level as it is for individual relationships. After eight years of sustained investment, Afghans' righty ask what has been achieved. Their patience is running out. Not with a little justification, the International community's intervention here has been described as lukewarm and lacking in commitment; the general incompetence with which the campaign has been conducted so far, can only be equalled by the incoherence and conflicting strategies of the US, EU, and NATO. Whilst there is undoubtedly an argument for tenacity in state building, the money spent and the lives lost must surely force us to ask serious questions about the future of this intervention. If it fails - if the Taliban are not defeated, if terrorist atrocities continue, if the the economy flounders, if the naracotics trade continues to flourish, and if Afghanistan becomes a failed state once again - then the future of these international institutions of power must surely be in doubt.
Howard and Liz gave me a book for Christmas called ‘Palestinian Walks’ by Raja Shehadeh. The first line reads, “One way to measure the quality of your freedom is to take a walk.” UN staff are officially prohibited from walking more than 150m. Most of us cannot walk freely in the city. I am perhaps more fortunate than most, since my job requires me to walk around a small part of the old city visiting construction sites and calling on local families. This is in contrast to the Palestinian idea of sarha, of walking freely with no set route, no restrictions of time or place, and with no purpose other than to rejuvenate the soul and lift the spirit. Life in the fort is communal. We work, eat, and sleep in the same compound. However, unlike most communes, there is no one philosophy that binds us together. It is rather a loosely assembled group of individuals, often very interesting individuals, all from different backgrounds, whose experience of Afghanistan is more or less limited to their work for Turquoise Mountain. The inevitable result is that work tends to dominate peoples’ conversations. If it isn’t budgets over breakfast it is usually strategy over supper.
The relative lack of freedom deprives people of the chance to build a life for themselves beyond the immediate work environment. This must partially account for the difficulty people have in settling here. A few keep horses and some have pets, but by and large, I suspect people are living out of suitcases, in near monastic conditions, working long hours and socialising in heavily protected bars. According to Gabriel Garcia Marquez, “Life is not what one lived; but what one remembers and how one remembers it in order to recount it.” When I look back on my time here it is inevitably the walks in Istalif and around the city, our great road trip towards the Chinese border, and excursions to other cities, and all the people that we met during these trips, that shape my memory of Afghanistan. For those, who due to security restrictions or work pressures, have been unable to venture out of Kabul, I imagine their memories are less about Afghanistan and more about short-lived, intense relationships, parties, and stories from work.
Lucy and I arrived in Kabul, having mentally set aside two or three years to be here, to find people talking about coming home. This coincided with an increase in attacks in the city and made settling in far from ideal. However, it is the start of the year and we are full of hope. Lucy has been applying for jobs and has already been through several rounds of interviews with a well established NGO (non-governmental organisation). There is a lot of work to do in the old city preparing the ground for the introduction of The Institute for Traditional Afghan Arts and Architecture. There is gallons of human waste and rubbish that need clearing; drainage, sanitation, and paving to be installed; and plenty of work organising the community to start managing their own services. I have started language lessons with renewed vigour; Lucy is using a giant green exercise ball to get fit (when I am not looking); and I have started carpentry lessons in exchange for teaching Arabic to one of my colleagues. It is a good mental and spiritual discipline to accept present company and circumstances and to occupy the present moment with fullness of mind and spirit. To do otherwise is to deprive yourself of the opportunity to be shaped for the better. I am reminded of St. Paul’s words in Philippians, “ I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.”
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