Sylvia's Journal

I missed my first earthquake, luckily. My colleagues, all of whom had witnessed multiple earthquakes in places such as California, Pakistan and Indonesia, mentioned it in the morning, as we headed out for our weekly walk around the local high school. I discovered later that it was 6.2 on the Richter scale, a sizeable earthquake. And yet I had slept right through it. The only thing that had been displaced by the quake was the feather light kite that Ankie had left me. It had shifted its position only slightly. Nothing else had moved or fallen.

After our morning walk we went on our usual Chicken street outing. This time we had a purpose, rather than a random buying spree (which also happened of course). We bought a gift for Elizabeth in Boston, a wall decoration with the finest embroidery. Neither one of us knowing her taste, Steve thought that I rather than he should select something, as he trusts my taste more than his own. And so I selected and he paid.

In the process of choosing the gift in one of Steve’s favorate stores we stumbled on a large plastic bag filled with at least a hundred tiny embroidered and decorated baby caps. If you bring the fabric close to your nose you can smell the entire extended family of nomads that produced both the babies and the caps. Every possible item at hand was used to decorate the caps over and beyond the most delicate and fine embroidery: buttons, broken zippers, leftover pieces of wool, small metal shapes and the tiniest of beads. Most of these things would not even be allowed in the same house as a baby in the place I come from.

Back at home we had lunch while watching on Al Jazeera what has now become a daily news report about yet another explosion in Pakistan. My friend Chantelle and her husband Sheldon live in Islamabad and extended an invitation via facebook to come and visit them during a weekend. I think it is actually safer here in Kabul.

I finished reading the 5-part series about David Rohde’s kidnapping and subsequent 7-month ordeal in Waziristan as if it was a spy novel, especially the final part of the escape. The NYT has made an animated re-enactment of the escape that is pretty amazing to watch. To then read articles about ecotourism in Afghanistan, Bamiyan in particular, leaves one incredulous – such opposite stories; but that is Afghanistan as we experience it daily: the beauty of the people, their landscape and their crafts on one side and the ugliness of weapons, war, abject poverty and destruction on the other hand.

We went to see the progress at the new house. The yellow paint I picked is a little more yellow than I thought. I am actually not sure that they used that color (sunburst). I looked much more like the other yellow I did not want (lemon ice). I can just see them in the store, “sorry we don’t have sunburst.” “Oh, never mind, give me another yellow.”

The painters did a rather shoddy job but I guess I will get used to it. They left the bridal suite in hot pink with the doors of the closets in thick white paint with gold and silver dashes and matching ceiling light. That will be the room for consultants and our guests.

I bought a nice mirror (see picture below) for the hallway and Steve graciously lent me an enormous kelim he had just bought, which we may use until he leaves, to decorate the large living room. He has given me permission to look though his stash of carpets, kelims, wall hangings and countless other large and small knick knacks that are currently heaped on top of each other in garbage bags on his balcony.