Sylvia's Journal

We had a busy social agenda today, starting with my usual massage while Axel had coffee with Peter in the Flower Street Café garden. It was a lovely warm fall day. I joined the two for another coffee and then stayed for lunch.

The next activity was a trip with some of my female colleagues, Afghan, American, Australian, to the women’s gardens which turned out to be closed this one day. The small women-run shops in front of the walled in garden were open however and hundreds of women covered just about every surface in front of the shops and on the small grassy spots between the shops. Most were eating with steaming plates of rice, bolani (fried dough with potatoes or chives inside) and kebabs. We were invited by each clump of women and children to share their meal.

Chris’ 4-year old Kate, blond and pale-skinned, was a source of great excitement to the women who pinched her cheeks, touched her hair and made comments like ‘she made of glass.’ Everyone wanted to make pictures of her, this exotic child. Kate freaked out and hid behind her mother’s legs. She wanted to go.

To offset the horror of being the center of attention for hundred of women and kids we bought her a towering and dusty fake Barbie with badly cut yellow hair and a dress made from fringed pink paper pasted on a cone that wrapped around her thin waist. Before our trip was over Barbie had lost her head and Kate chewed on the remaining stump of her neck. Most of the fringe had unraveled. It was good we delivered Kate home before her dress came undone and we’d have only a headless and naked pink Barbie left.

We all piled into the car to take us to Bagh-e-Bala, the park below the Intercon so we would have at least a visit to a garden. But Bagh-e-Bala is not a women’s place. In fact there are very few women. S and her sister came late and had to walk, without a male companion, to where we were – a very uncomfortable walk because neither men not women are used to this phenomenon. I felt bad I had not gone back to meet them. The things we take for granted elsewhere cannot be taken for granted here.

The caretaker of the little palace came out to greet me and let us all inside to climb to the top of the palace for the best view of Kabul. M’s husband joined us so we were not an all women group anymore that invited only stares from the many men sitting on platforms, smoking and drinking tea.

The next activity was the 2nd birthday party of SOLA. We had cake, kebabs, cookies, pomegranates and sung happy birthday. I met a few more students who will join my class next week. I am so happy to be part of this extraordinary group of young Afghan people. They are a source of inspiration and hope.

The final activity of the day was the delivery of the Kindle to Sonia. Sonia is a quick study and figured the Kindle out in no time. Her younger brother, her aunt and mother joined us in the fancy salon of her grandmother’s flat. We were served tea, cookies and then there was the expectation we would stay for dinner. But we explained that we were expecting a call from our daughter, the new bride, to hear about her honeymoon. We agreed we would meet again at our or their house for a meal sometime soon.