Sylvia's Journal

Between migrating to my new computer and talking with folks in Afghanistan on the phone, most of my day was spoken for. Much of my mental energy these days goes into ‘anticipating.’ Trying to image what I need to have taken care of, fixed, understand, settle or get within the next 10 days. It’s exhausting, all this anticipating. Luckily I am fairly good at it. I am from the school that tries to always have at least a plan B and C on the table. But this does make the anticipating more complex.

I received the sad news, via facebook (where life truly happens in front of your eyes) that my friend Carol lost her 29 year old Ashby in a car accident. I Googled his name, all the social networks showed up – he was a very social creature. In between I found a report from the Nevada State Troopers that a young man named Ashby had rolled over in his car and that he was, despite his seatbelt, killed on impact. As the report said, no way anyone could have survived on the driver’s side of the car. His passenger apparently did survive and was released from the hospital shortly after.

I first met Ashby when he was 11, in Bamako. Hardly sticking above the dashboard of his mother’s old clunky station wagon Peugeot, he drove us along the Niger River to a lovely island where we spent the night, surrounded by snorting hippos. I was rather taken aback that I was being chauffeured by an 11 year old but he was good, albeit a little too fast for my liking.

Carol and her family are of the type of people whose lives are intense, sometimes dangerous and never dull. As a result they have had more than their share of sorrows and scares that went along with the high peaks that you see when people live their life to the fullest. This is the abyss that comes after the peak. I can’t even begin to imagine.

My network of contacts in Afghanistan or with people who are here and have connections continues to grow. Word is spreading that I have entered the Afghan ecosystem. I received a call from Rachel from Groveland, a friend of a friend. She rattled off a list of names of amazing Afghan women she knows, hosts, or has worked with. They are all, in one way or another, involved in changing the lot of their sisters. I am entering this web of connections that is expanding at dazzling speed yet I know I am barely scratching the surface. Maybe it is because of this that I am hopeful about my sojourn in Afghanistan.

Most of the bad stuff we hear or read about involves men as agents and women as victims; but what I am discovering is a whole other universe in which women are the agents and, as far as I can see, no one a victim. The work is done by extraordinary women, quietly and only noticed by people who are inside this intricate web of relationships. I hope that Axel can contribute during his time over there to bringing some of this to the surface of the American consciousness.