Sylvia's Journal

This morning we all slept in and had breakfast in our pajamas. I made thick crepes for breakfast with lemon sugar syrup. At 10 the car came to get us for our weekly ‘airing’ at the German high school tracks. We walked around the tracks for about an hour before going to Chicken Street. This is more or less the Friday morning routine.

As soon as we hit Chicken Street we scattered into various directions, creating a dilemma for the guard sent along with us. In the end he stays with wherever the most of us are. I wonder what he thinks about the seemingly unlimited supply of dollar bills that we, collectively, pull out of our pockets as if they were an ATM.

Steve went off to one place to pay off debts incurred by travelers who never expected to spend so much. He is like our local banker; he would be the most well stocked ATM of us all. After that he goes off on his own and finds more treasures. We never have to wonder where he is because the little street urchins all know him and we can use them as messengers if our phones were ever to fail. Big Steve they call him.

The rest of us went to visit the jewelry store of Mokhtar. There is a downstairs full of rings, earrings and necklaces that go from the gaudy new (as well as some beautiful new) to the most spectacular old jewelry bought up from rural populations from all over Central Asia. It is astonishing how much this region has produced. Upstairs he keeps the really old stuff. As you climb the rickety stairs you pass under an art gallery with awkward art from local artists. It includes a study of a scantily glad woman, right next to fierce looking turbaned men. They are looking in the other direction.

I had memorized where to find the rings that Tessa was interested in by their position in the various boxes that I had sent her pictures of. But the owner had moved and changed the boxes so it took a while to find them. A few were gone, bought by others I suppose, but I found some replacements that I thought she would like.

I was right. “OH MY GOD!!!! THANK YOU!!!!” said the email I got in reply to the photo of the nine rings on my hand, sent to her as soon as I got back home. The bunch included a poison ring (we think), something she wanted but did not mention; how did I know?

When everyone was done and dropped enough dollars in the various little shops to sustain many families for the week, we drove to the Thai restaurant with the orange-pawed fighting dog and the aviary for a Thai lunch. After lunch MP and I were dropped off at the Thai massage place it took us so long to find last week. The rest did some grocery shopping and thenreturned home. We now have ice cream in the freezer – but you have be to be fast or else it is gone.

We were massaged, each on one side of the curtain that partitions the basement, by young, tiny and very strong Thai women. It was like a yoga session. The stretches felt good, albeit a bit painful now and then; it did undo some of the damage of hours and hours of sitting hunched over a computer much every night.

While we were inside a downpour over Kabul turned the streets into muddy rivers floating with garbage and debris. We navigated through the dirty city, past the Kabul zoo where we know the lonely pig is in quarantine somewhere. We would have loved to bring it some edible garbage but the zoo is considered a safety risk so we drove past it.

Although it was my day off, I used the rest of the day to take care of tasks that have come in through email and accumulated into mountains. Most of these tasks have nothing to do with my work here. When I travel like this I end up having two jobs, a day job for my client here and another job after hours for all the people back in the headquarter office (and around the world). I am supposed to be actively coaching teams in Cambodia, Haiti, Pakistan and (lightly) facilitate a virtual worldwide conversation about multi-sector collaboration in addition to completing a third iteration of a book chapter and start writing my current trip report.

I had only part of this done when the car arrived to take us to our farewell dinner for MP who is leaving early tomorrow at some ungodly hour. We picked an Afghan restaurant this time and ordered its ‘Sufi Special’ – a series of courses of small dishes, accompanied by a bottle of red wine, a big treat. We toasted to friendships, good stories, good food and safe returns home.

Afterwards we visited a friend and ex colleague who is living in the house of an ambassador. She is a globetrotting Iranian/American, doctor, writer , musician (and probably much more) who is about to publish her second book. I was sorry to mete her so late in my trip and would love to get to know her better.

At the rather late hours of 11 PM we drove home through a deserted (asleep) Kabul with only men with guns on the street – the people who are there to protect us – that’s the idea. MP sat in the back telling sick jokes from high school, none of which can be repeated here; we laughed until the tears rolled down our cheeks. I wonder what the Afghan driver and guard thought of us; it was probably just as well that they could not understand our rapid fire English.