It was good that only half a day had been scheduled: everything took twice as long and so we filled the entire day. We sat in the basement of a branch of our guesthouse. Because we were in the basement we stayed fairly cool although despite not having any electricity to run fans. But the coolness also attracted flies, and so we had to spend the day together down there.
When the day was over we debriefed, first the larger team (Kabul team plus Badakhshan team) and then the Kabul team only with two local colleagues sitting in the outer ring, listening in. At first everyone struggled to say good things about the day. The default is critique: everyone critiques everyone, from the president all the way down to the villagers. After a very cursory list of what was good (only one comment, not very compelling but apparently made up to please me) everyone rushed into full critique mode. But I stopped them in their tracks. Back to good, I told them, and then explained why. It has something to do with leadership.
At the end of the day our local colleague and host made another stop at the fruit stand. We had a 20 minute break in the hotel to refuel my computer and ourselves before we were called downstairs again for another outing.
This time we drove on the other side of the river, downstream, after we picked up another doctor (everyone in Afghanistan appears to be a doctor), the fruit (more melon) and cold water. After driving for some time I asked, where are we going? Our host said, to a lovely place. And before I could ask where that lovely place might be he quipped, to the Taliban, and then pointed to the doctor we had picked up and who sat in the front seat, and said he was a Taliban commander. Afghans like to make jokes about this; what else can you do?
We arrived at the spot after crossing small side streams of the big river, and when the cars could go no further, by walking on the wet grass, jumping over puddles and wading through streams until we reached our destination: an idyllic green strip along the river where the new doctor had brought out a carpet and cushions. It’s funny how back home we would be worried about making a carpet dirty while here carpets are like garden furniture – you put the carpet on the dirt to keep yourself from getting dirty. It was a lovely sight, this small instant living room by the river.
While the men organized our dining room ‘sur l’herbe,’ we women approached a large tent that was pitched a little further from the water next to an enormous patch of vegetables. It was full of women of every age, from very little to the old matriarch who turned out to be only 40. After the initial greetings and curiosity was satisfied we were invited inside the tent for a meal of homemade yoghurt. When some of our melons arrived we had a feast and everyone slurped up the juice melons while we finished our yogurt, broke pieces from enormous round breads made in the tandoor and stored behind a cloth curtain.
It was nice to be with my colleagues who could translate all my questions so I could chip away at my insatiable curiosity.
When the sun started to set we said our goodbyes and made our way back to the cars, passing more tents and simple mud-brick dwellings, and tons of little creatures: animals and humans alike. After a while everyone understood that we liked the little creatures and they brought more and held them frightened in a tight grip to pose for pictures.
As we traveled back I noticed a single tree standing lonely on top of an otherwise bare mountain range. I was told that it is a symbol of the victory (one of many) over the Russians who tried to hit the tree and the mujahideen underneath it but missed repeatedly. That was 30 years ago but the tree and the story are alive and well.
Although we had planned to do some work in the evening, by the time we got back it was dark again and everyone was too tired.
Sylvia's Journal 
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