For dinner we were invited by our staff member here in Herat who assists the provincial health office. Several of our other provincial colleagues had arrived from Ghazni, Jawzjan, Faryab, Tahar and Kabul, plus the head of the PLO which here means provincial liaison office. All the men were dressed in traditional garb, the PLO chief wore the kind of dress we associate with Karzai but without the hat.
As the only woman I was ushered into the house first and was shown to the bedroom where the hostess had retreated. Even though she is a doctor, the traditional segregation of sexes is still alive and well here; women simply do not mix with male visitors. I was given the choice to stay with her or join the men in another room. Feeling a little guilty about abandoning my own sex, I opted for the company of men. After all these are the people I work with.
We sat on the kind of cushions that I want to put in our new living room, snacking on various nuts and raisins while drinking cup after cup of green tea. The conversation was in Dari with occasional translation. I did catch the word Taliban from time to time; they were talking about the clash between government and the anti government forces last night – it appears that the government did the killing rather than the Arabs. I guess this is a good thing if killing can ever be good.
After an hour, just when my knees started to hurt rather badly we were invited into the living room where plastic table cloths had been spread out on the ground and covered with dishes of various meats, vegetables, enormous piles of rice and traditional bread (naan). Our security guard got up first and, in one quick motion, retrieved his gun from under the cushion and stuck it under his long tunic. I must say that I found that a little disturbing even though that gun is supposed to protect us. I am not in Kansas anymore.
Sylvia's Journal 
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