Being granted hope

Today was THE day, THE day of annoucing to the local staff we stop operating as a Design Center on the 13th of December.
Last evening we all had a bit of a crying breakdown, well the girls at least.
Nabid's thirteen year old son wanted pictures with me and Palwasha and suddendly when he was taking these pictures we both broke down a bit.
Then I went to Ryan's office-turned-living-room, Nasreen came in and I just broke down bawling like a 5 year old.
She then followed, and then Lima, and Palwasha and then we were all crying like mocosas.
So today came, we'd already cried our tears and over breakfast at Kabul Coffeehouse Ryan broke down the 2-week's notice, and no one was surprised, no one acted too upset, we all just ate, cracked a joke or two...
All along I've felt my time in Afghanistan was not over.
And today I got a spark of hope.
Wendy Summers, a lovely lady I met throught eh BP's organization emailed me, I had already told her what was happening with our design center and how it looked Iike I would cease to work in Kabul.
So she emails me today asking me to give her a rough idea of what the cost would be for us to have an office and continue the work we have been doing so far.
I am soooo excited.
We'll see how it all continues to develop but for today I have been granted hope.

Living with Heartbreak

I've been craving watching the movie, "Something's Gotta Give". If you haven't seen it, watch it.
I keep going to the scene where Erica Berry(Diane Keaton) tells Harry Sanborn(Jack Nickolson, "Can you feel this? Can you feel this? This is what a heartbreak feels like."
This scene just keeps replaying in my head over and over and over agin.
My time in Kabul is almost up.
And this is what a heartache feels like.
This is what real ache of the heart feels like.
And I have never felt this way.
Leaving Vietnam I knew I would go back. I knew it was my home and that it would always have open doors to me. It did not feel like closure and I left at a good time.
Kabul doesn't feel the same.
I fear for Afghanistan.
There are no promises, no assurances, everything is uncertain.
And me coming me back, it all feels very distant.
Can you feel me? This is what a heartbreak feels like.
I am living it.
We are a week away from telling the local staff they have two week's notice. And I leave in ten days.
And the people I love, I don't know how I will tell them I am not coming back.
And me, my heart, I don't know how to tell it it is not coming back, it is not going to beat physically next to the hearts of the people I love so much in this place...

Amidst Chaos

Today was a major moving around day. This is the week to set up everything for our famous Holiday Market.
I barely slept last night, can't figure out why exactly but today being the first crazy day I couldn't feel more tired with no sleep
and running around like a crazy chicken with no head.
I also have this heaviness in me knowing that after the Hols market I have 10 days in Kabul and it could be the end of my life here.
So far I can't seem to grasp what that means. How will I cope? How will we tell the amazing women I work with that we must leave and that our design center will have a major shift?
Maybe that's exactly why I couldn't sleep.
Guess that's what blogging does to you, clears things up for you.
The generator is about to go off so I better head out the door.
More blogging coming up...

Giving Thanks

Today is Thanksgiving day (according to Afghan time ) and I want to give my thanks.
I'm thinking, reminiscing on all I have lived and I am so full of gratitute for the people I have come across in
my life as I have travelled so many roads in so many places.

I am thankful for Victoria, my dear friend, you have filled my life with wisdom and real experiences.
I am thankful for my Vietnamese kids, Lisa, Chi Hoa an her girls, Loan, Julie, Chom Chom, Chi and her family, Chung, Dung, Lucky girl, Thao-Al frescos girl, Malou, Bora, Sara, Ning Ning, Ate Neph, the Jing's, the whole small group, and on and on and on.
Though I don't email you often, you must know I carry you all in my heart. My heart is full of pockets and each pocket holds you pinned close to my heart. What I lived in Vietnam has made me a stronger, more loving person, a woman who understands other cultures and so enjoys the differences and similarities from culture to culture. Thank you for walking with me all the years I was there and for continuing our walk even though I am physically distant. Spiritually I walk with you every day from the start of the morning, and I see you in my memories all the time.

Now, living in this new place, encountering new people, cultures and places I am filled with gratitude for the people who have embraced me as their own.
Nasreencita and her family, Dani, my latin sister, Asif jan-yes I have met my match when it comes to teasing, Ryan and all my wonderful women-lions(Soraia, Baknazira, Shaima, Hanifa, Mariam, Nassima and Jaya).
Life in Afghanistan fills my cup even though I am so far away from my family and the friends I was used to having around me.
Lonely nights in Kabul are worth every sigh because when the morning comes I get to be with you all.

Then there is my family. I've spent a lot of time thinking about my father and my mother while in Afghanistan. I am so thankful for my dad's dedication as a father, he tried his best to have us be responsible, smart, ethical adults. My mother devoted her time to developing our spiritual life, and teaching us how to draw near to God. Between the two I receive so much support. They are my cheerleading team. I know you did your best.
Mi Karlita, Dan, Dahlia and Emilia, you are the family I admire, the kind of family I hope to also have.
My nieces fill my cup to no end.
Laura, Gonzi and upcoming niece, you fill my life with grace, you teach me that God's grace endures forever.
Gonzi you are the little boy that has filled our family with so much pride, and now you get to be a big brother, I am so thankful for your beautiful heart.
Cavi, I can't wait to hug you. I want my bear hugs as soon as I arrive. Two years away from you has been to long and I dream of seeing you, I have missed you so.

Belkis, mi amiguita del alma, we keep walking. Thank you for your love all these years I have been gone from Honduras.
Mis tias, Marta y Pia, las amo. Thank you for being involved in every single thing that happens in our family.

You are all loved, and I know I am very very loved because all of you fill my cup with blessings, experiences, grace and love.
I can't wait to see each one of you whenever God allows me to be with you once again.
Until then continue celebrating the joys of life, the daily blessings we encounter and pass them on, never cease to pass them on.
My heart full of pockets is bursting at the seams on this thanksgiving day.
May the peace, grace and love of God abound in each of us.

Blogging and Loving it: Reminiscing upon my last Five Years of Existence

I have the writing bug cause I just blogged last night and here I am back.
How much could have happened between last night and today...hmmm.
Plenty, plenty.
Karla and I are planning our coming up family retreat.
We have not been together as a family for exactly five years.
And plenty, plenty of water has run past us since then.
I'm reflecting on what has happened between then and now as far as I am concerned.
The last time we were together was Christmas 2001. I had broken my crazy engagement to
someone I was nowhere near in love with, I had quit my job, and I had moved back home with my
mom.
Karla flew in with Dan and Emilia who was just a baby of 2 months or less, and they'd come with their friend Brett.
I was broke and had no idea what I would do next.
Then in 2002 I got my beloved job as field coordinator for Aid to Artisans, and boy did this job turn my life around.
I gained all my self-respect back and I proved to myself what I had been born for.
The same year I went to New York for training and got to be with Karla in Philadelphia for the first time.
A couple of months later, October I received a scholarship for a ceramics workshop in Taiwan. This opportunity opened my horizons greatly as I had never seen myself travelling to Asia at any given time in my future.
I knew our project would end in 2003 so I began to explore the possibility of working abroad.
So I applied for an MCC volunteer position working with artisans. Bangladesh and Vietnam MCC both invited me.
I accepted Vietnam. And so, on August 2003 I went for training at MCC headquarters in Pennsylvania. I again got to spend time with Karla.
I flew back at the end of August to Honduras to finish ATA's Honduran project. We closed down on the last day of September.
In October my mom, Laura, Gonzi and I drove down to Costa Rica so I could see my family before moving to Vietnam.
I had made a three year commitment.
At the end of October I flew to Philadelphia, spent a few days with Karla and on November 2nd flew to Vietnam.
I arrived in Vietnam on November 3rd, 2003.
Vietnam turned into almost four years of my life. And it turned into the best time of my life so far.
It became my home.
Now, 2007, my time in Hanoi came to an end and my life in Kabul began.
I've been here three months now and I feel very much at home. I guess people are what makes a place feel like home.
And I have very much been treated as part of people's lives here.
I found myself fitting in faster than I could have imagined.
So, this is in a nutshell my past 5 years or at least where I've been. To go further in depth would leave me typing for days and It's time to get packing, I'm heading back to Kabul tomorrow morning.

In Herat

It's 11:26pm, Nov. 9th.
Time does fly. It flies when you are busy not just when you are having fun.
Though I've had plenty of that too.
My trip to England was lovely. The Nguyens are great to hang out with, Quan made me laugh a lot
and Maria made me reflect a lot, it was a great combination.
Time went so fast. Before I knew it it was over....And then....

Then came India. And nine women put together on an educational journey. Six afghan business women with artisanal small businesses, 1 young Afghan woman, staff of the design center, then Jaya, a young Indian textile designer and me, the Honduran, Vietnamese and now Afghan student of life.
If there was ever bonding then we were it.
We travelled in New Delhi, then Rajasthan: Udaipur and Pokharan.
We visited social businesses making handmade products, specially textiles.
We heard story after story of how each business began, their struggles, how they finally reached the market, how they
developed standarized systems of production, how they have grown, and where they are now.
It was amazing, at times overload. We visited about 9 of such businesses. Each one unique in kind of product and location yet all united in the same theme: QUALITY GOODS.
Then came the evenings. It all started innocently. Me dropping by Nasreen and Baknazira's room to have some tea, chat a bit, have a laugh. But Hanifa was there and then came Soraia. We got to talking, I got to asking.
I knew the women who'd come on the trip a bit, but I had never really asked about their lives.

And then they opened the door to their lives. And I walked in.
And I took a look, and I saw what they showed me.
It happened on a night just like this, at a time just like now. Late evening.
We were just talking. First Hanifa talked of her marriage.
Of how it came to be. An older man, her family married her off.
She never learned to love him. He beat her, mistreated her, all her days, up until now.
She told her life with an expressionless stare. I asked her, "Do you love him?"
And without any thought and with an immediate reply she said, "Ne."
It was just the beginning. It was the first night.
She left after a while.
Then I started asking Soraia about her life.
She was a widow, married a 2nd time she said.
Then I had to ask, "What happened to your first husband?"
She spoke, resigned, just matter of fact.
He was an educated man. She loved him. He was a good son.
One day he was taken away, and the second day he was in pieces, thrown on the grown in front of her house.
In the same week his other two brothers were killed. Within days, her sisters-in-law and herself were three widows and the mother-in-law was just that, in-law, mother no more.
I couldn't help crying, I sobbed. Soraia maintained composure, a few tears fell on her cheeks as she kept talking.
She was eager to tell, she went on telling me more.
Her husbands friends helped her get her three children out of the country, they sent them to schools in Russia.
So within the blink of an eye lid she was a mother-less widow, left all alone.
After five years she remarried, she was lonely she says.
She also went to jail. The Taliban put her there for having gone with a male neighbor and not a male family member which was the law for women. But she got herself out, she didn't become one of the many thrown in by mistake but overlooked and left for years in there.
She spoke like a lion. She is a fearless woman.
When I told her I saw her as a lion, she said, what was I to be afraid of? Everything had been taken from me.
And so on and so on and so on.
Not one of the seven Afghan women I travelled with left without letting me walk into their lives.
We have come back, and our time in India is over.
But the most amazing part is they either forgot to close the door or purposely left it open for me to come in whenever I want.
So I do.
We have continued to meet. We are getting ready for a holiday market, we are eager to sell. I sure hope all of it sells.
They so deserve it. They have worked hard.
Today I am in Herat. I flew here two days ago. I came to follow up on the samples being made for Holiday Market.
The embroidery is superb. I am amazed.
Being in Herat gives me a break, to stop, think, write, analyze.
But I can't wait to get back to them.
They left the door open, and I want to go back inside. I want to continue learning from them.
I leave you for now with the biggest lesson they have given me: Don't become a survivor when suffering breaks you in half, LIVE LIVES TO THE FULLEST!
Afghan women do so every day, so why on earth do you and I not learn to do the same?

In Lincolnshire

7:10pm-12:06am

On Afghan Suffering

I'm with Maria and Quan. Lovely British town.
Amongst beauty, centuries old art, buildings, sites.
A castle. A cathedral. Boutiques.
A family. A home. Coziness.
Garden. Flowers.
Walks. Talks. Inner peace.


Then there's everything I came with, everything Afghan.
I came to take a break, to get away.
Is that really possible?
Isn't it just like trying to cover the sun with my index finger?

Afghan suffering.
People suffering.
Women suffering.
Children suffering.
Men suffering.
A nation suffering.
Ruins, so much in ruins.
Indifference. So much indifference.
All heavy like syrup. All heavy and sticky.

I just watched an amazing documentary on life in Afghanistan during the Taleban time as well
as Post-Taleban.
It breaks me in half.
Brings me to my knees.
Makes me taste my own tears.
Makes me run to God, weep in God's arms.

Have I been too comfortable in Afghanistan?
Am I overlooking what's real?
Have I secluded myself in a bubble?

How do I focus on seeing life as clear as a water drop?
In Herat I got to see first hand villages of returned Afghan refugees who'd been living in Iran.
In Kabul I have gone out to work with associations with women members full of grief in each crease of their faces and hands.
Each wrinkle folds a story of pain and despair.
Life is truly so harsh.

Where do I come in?
What does it all mean?
What does it mean to be amongst a suffering nation? Me the outsider, the one who can always run away to a better, safer,
cleaner, spacious place?

My Father keeps me still.
He claims I am there to walk amongst them.
But who am I to get the priviledge to walk amongst those who suffer the most?
What entitles me? How dare I?

I am painfully aware of how undeserving I am to walk amongst the suffering.
I am painfully weak and easily broken.
Do my good intentions matter?
Am I part of something that provides healing?

My hope.
That is all I can bring.
That is all I can give.
Yet it seems so hard to keep it.
So easy to lose it.

So I turn to my Lord. I plead, hold my hands. Steady my steps.
I cannot carry this burden by myself.
Lead me to share. Take me to the place.
Give me peace. Keep your fire burning in me.
Let me return and be with them.

Return from Herat

Last Wednesday I flew to Herat with Nasreen Jan.
We were told the flight was at 7am. I got up at 4am, got picked up by Tor at 515, picked up Nasreen and by 6am was at the airport. We were ready for the adventure, and for me, my first time outside Kabul.
I'd been told repeated times I'd love it.
We got a man to carry our bags from the gravel parking lot(parking lot number 3) to the entrance of the airport which is a looong way if you have to carry bags yourself. You have to go though 3 parking lots on foot.
We got to the 2nd gate, at the end of the 2nd parking lot and were told to wait, there was no one at the Kam air check in counter yet. So we're stading there. After about 8 minutes, the guard at the gate announces to us the flight has been moved to 2pm. Welcome to Kabul!!!
This is just how things run around here.
So we dropped Nasreen home, then Tor took me to the office and I worked all morning. It was actually kinda good because I got a lot of other pending things done.
At 1pm we went back to the aiport and by 3pm were taking off.
We arrived in Herat.
Another world. The real Afghanistan.
Village after village made out of mud, in wonderful shapes, dome-like roofs, they are so in sync with nature and their lives just blend right in with it.
The city itself is so much more organized than Kabul. They even have many products that are almost non-existent in Kabul. There isn't a single art supply store in Kabul and I found a most amazing one in Herat which carried everything we need for our work. Needless to say we came back with excess luggage(liek 50 kgs extra) which we didn't pay for to the airline as the person in charge just asked for 200 afghans(4 dollars) which he gave to the guard to let us go through. One more example of how things work around here. Although this time, this kind of thing worked in the benefit of our work.
This was the first week in which I could go everywhere I wanted, at any time I wanted. We went to the bazaars, did materials sourcing, went to mini-mall, the antique shops around the famous blue mosque, spent time redesigning some local Herati fabric, hand-woven by the most beautiful man I've ever seen(ok this has nothing to do with what I am talking about). I mean I just went around freely. It felt so absolutely great.
The city is clean, full of trees, and things seem to run a lot more smootly than in Kabul.
I could definately live in this city.
We gave training to over 30 women for 2 days, elements of design and color theory.
Then I spent time creating collections out of samples Darleen had ordered during her time there in July.
The food's great, I got to try Irani food as Iran is 1 hour from Herat, and we just well, had a great time.
Right now I am sitting on the couch at the CIPE compound, and I do feel happy to beback in Kabul. At the airport I felt good to be back home.
This friday I am off to London but I have a ton of things to do before that day.

What's happening to me lately?

Sunday, 3:27pm. Ramazan....work day....

So what's new?
So much...The latest and most obvious to me is how comfortable I feel in Kabul now.
I am comfortable. I feel at home.
My Vietnam keeps beating inside of me but not in a painful way, just as a part of me as much as Honduras is.
Life is interesting, I have many good laughs, I do work I enjoy, I get to teach design, I get to design handmade products,
I am learning Dari(Persian) and I have many wonderful trips planned ahead.
This Wednesday I leave to Herat, a town up north, close to Iran. I'll be there a week. I'll give 2 workshops: Elements of Design and Color Theory. My lovely Nasreen Jaan will come with me, she is the person I am closest to and she has filled my days with the best of whole-hearted good laughter.
Then there's Asif, who is a male version of me, personality-wise so we just spend work days cracking up at each other. He is my newest spanish student. And it's amazing to me how seriously he has taken it, he studies every night and makes me feel bad when the next day he knows stuff I should already know in dari...I guess at the same time it's a challenge to keep pushing forward with Dari.
I miss speaking Vietnamese, but Dari is definately a language I enjoy learning.
I'm still at the CIPE compound, right now it's just 70-year-old Ralph and me. But I do leave on Wendesday for a week, come back for 2 days and then my so longed-for-trip to England arrives and immediately after it my long-sought dream: India!!!
New Delhi and Rajasthan.
Ryan is still in Milan. Enjoying love and beauty...
Cristina left about 4 days ago. She's back in Rumania, though I'm pretty sure she'll make it back somehow.
Love is in the air between CIPE and our Design Center....yuhuuu!!!
Lima, our marketing director and Omaid, CIPE's grant officer are in love and have just gotten engaged. We've had a good laugh about it as know we can speak of a permanent collaboration between ATA and CIPE : P
The Design Center is AWESOME!!! We all rock! I think we just make a great professional, forward-thinking team, as well as the informal side, we get along, we joke too much and I just spend the day laughing, my kinda-work.
So I'm good. If you are worried about me, please don't be. I have a good life.
God is forever the utmost graceful-gentleman and I feel so fortunate to always be on the receiving end of His graceful blessings.
Thank you for your love and emails.

Living in a man's world

If you've been following up, you know I live with 3 other people. Ralph and Cristina from CIPE, and Ryan, the director for the design center, aka my boss.
Ralph is the chief of party for CIPE, and he is "the main boss".
CIPE( a US NGO) chose ATA to implement the design center for the Afghan Women's Business Federation.
Soo....today, an executive from the CIPE Washington office arrived.
Ralph made an itenerary for the time Gene(the executive's name) would be here.
So I took a look at her itinerary, and saw he had written down dinner for today with(and I quote) "Ryan Taylor, design center director and his assistant, Cristina".
Double ouch.
Assistant, ouch. Cristina__________(no last name). double ouch.
I've been living with them for crying out loud!
He doesn't even know what my position is, or my last name, and just assumes I am the assistant.
I'm in Afghanistan. I absolutely have no expecations from Afghan men to treat me with equality and/or respect.
But from an expat colleague? That's a different tale.
I can't even begin to tell you how big a pet peeve of mine this kind of mistake is.
The funny thing is I was making pancakes for all of us. Amidst stirring pancake batter I found out. Cristina was in the living room so I told her to come over and have some pancakes with me. Then I called Ryan to come over and have some too. Ryan arrived with Ralph.
So, me being a toro fuego( firey bull) immediately told Ralph, "I have a bone to pick with you!!!" And he looked very surprised and asked, "What?"
So I told him. He turned beet red.
But he never apologized. He said it was his mistake, and then tried to fix it making it worse, saying he was in a hurry, then saying that for him the word assistant meant so many great things, all kinds of crap, basically putting both feet in his mouth, to the point Ryan had to step in and tell him to stop, it wasn't going anywhere.
Then he almost told Cristina, consultant to CIPE and deputy director if she were to stay in Kabul, that she was an assistant too. Well, began to say assis...and then changed it.
A man's world indeed. A man's world from the 1920's. In all fairness Ralph is 70 years old. Still(I can hear Karla saying) he should know better.
All of us are doing equally important work, and bust our butts off working, have a good education, have international experience and here we, the women are the assistants. Cristina and I speak 8 languages between the 2, Ralph 1. I don't say this to be proud or demeaning, but I do say this to show how she and I, 65 years old between the 2 have not wasted our time, but have taken our work seriously and tried to inmerse in every way possible, including learning the language wherever we live. She learned Dari and I am in the process of learning. Most expats never bother to learn more than hello and thank you.
Cristina said that we are either assistants, secretaries or wives if seen working abroad. I guess that was not my experience in Vietnam. No such assumptions were ever made.
That's probably why I am here anyway, to continue learning what all the issues are for women to development and reach equality in this world.
I have vented enough, before the root of bitterness grows in me, I need to move down the line of forgiveness. Poor Ralph, I hope he learns something from this funny/not so funny faux pas.

Dealing with Kabuli on Ramazan Eve

September 12th-950pm Kabul time

It was on tv yesterday and the news spread very quickly. Ramazan was to be today. Everyone was excited. The Mullah in Saudi Arabia had looked at the moon and deemed it was thick enough.
The month of fasting was to kick off today, and was also a holiday. No eating or drinking(even water) during the day. Families eat after the sunsets.
Yesterday Besmallah, program manager for CIPE took me to look at 4 kittens he was given by relatives. Cristina from CIPE had told him I was wanting a kitten. So I went. None compared to my meo con Phillipe yet I still felt obliged to get one because I'd been taken all the way to his house which was like 45 minutes away one way.
So I chose one, a white and yellow one. I didn't choose over cuteness, I chose over quietness. He was the calmest looking one cause the other three were running around like wild cats.
So I chose him. I named him Kabuli.
He came home with me. He, like the rest of us living in Kabul, was filthy covered in dust. I bathed him, and since all I had was body shop shower gel so he got spa treatment lathering in mango scent.
As I bathed him I started to see fleas all over him. I started plucking them off with my tweezers. I got over 30 out. I checked him well and he looked pretty clean.
After the bath Ryan held him for a while. He seemed ok.
But then bedtime came along.
And then the nightmare began. I have never heard a kitten yowl as loud and as much as this one did. I'm too tired to give you the whole story, so to get to the point I wasn't able to go to sleep until 6am. Poor Cristina suffered as much as I did, as our rooms are next to each other. Finally at 6 am I took him to this room that's between the living/dining room and kitchen. I left him there and collapsed til 8am when Ms. Nikidar opened the door to my room. I was so startled. She wasn't supposed to be there, it was supposed to be the 1st day of Ramazan, she was supposed to be on holiday.
I saw her take my dirty laundry and leave. I thought, "Maybe she felt obliged to come and work the morning since we'll be without a helper for 3 days."
Then around 1030am Ryan knocked on my door. He wanted to let me know today was not the 1st day of Ramazan. The Mullah had looked again and realized the moon was not thick enough.
I must have looked like a 'cacho quemado'(slang for burnt out person-literal meaning: burnt horn) cause he quickly reassured me he was still letting us have the day off because we had worked on Sunday(Staff Planning retreat) and it had been a holiday.
So I was relieved.
I got up, did emailing, had a couple peaches for breakfast (yes, they are in season here and are SOOO tasty). Kabuli on the other hand, was lying on a towel, sound asleep. The culprit looking as the most innocent kitten.
After lunch( 2 burritos, yes! Jane, an ATA consultant brought me a ton of mexican foodstuff), I went to the office to get some books and ran to a supermarket. Before leaving I went to Besmallah's office and told him I couldn't handle Kabuli. I had to give him back. Thankfully, Ralph, the country director for CIPE was pretty upset with the kitty and really wanted me to give it back. So Besmallah understood and took him back.
For those of you who know me well, let me just say: "I've never been more relieved to get rid of a kitty!!!" It was a nightmare.
He peed on me, on Ryan, cried non-stop for over 12 hours at the top of his lungs....It was a harsh 24-hours.
Farewell to thee Kabuli, I ain't gonna miss you.
So, after all the fanfare, I am now resting in the living room. Tomorrow is(so far) Ramazan and we DO have the day off plus Friday as it is the only day off during the week, so I get 3 days off this week.
Truthfully, it never really feels like time off. I still have to stay put at the CIPE house and I keep myself busy with work stuff, specially emailing and reading up on material that is useful for my DMP.
But I CAN sleep in tomorrow and I sure WILL.
Yippie!
So Ramazan eve turned out to be a pretty interesting day. Starting tomorrow Afghans will fast all day long. Thank goodness we will still have Mohammed cooking for us.
I wonder if he sneaks food into his mouth while cooking. I'd love to know. Will probably never find out.
Anyway, I'm off to relax a bit more before calling it a night.

The looongest Sunday

Staff Planning Retreat 830am to 5pm.

Yes, this was my Sunday. And of retreat nothing but the title.
Yes, it is absolutely necessary. Specially after the project with only 7 months of life has undergone so many changes.
We met all day to come up with a unified vision statement for the design center, to review every staff member's job description so we'd be clear on who's responsible for what, discuss plans from now to December, make a schedule of all our activities, have each department share their upcoming plans, etc.
I have to admit bluntly: I AM A VISUAL LEARNER. To sit down and listen to people plan and share from 8 to 5 is not my cup of tea. Yea, yea, very necessary. The irony of it all is that when my turn came to share, it was 5pm and we'd run out of time. I sat and waited and waited to get the space to share the design department's goals and plans, and the space never came. Go figure!
I'd been planning since Friday. Had everything written down, had decided on what to share. The day came and went and my chance never arrived.
I'm almost laughing.
Like I said before, it is a month. I have been here a month, and I feel it.
I've been frustrated this week from hearing the word 'failure' mentioned more than a couple of times, and my enthusiasm for the work I am doing got pinched like a needle to a balloon, because to hear members of the team feel the work we do will lead to nothing really desinflates my energy level.
But I gotta get it back. And I know it.
Surely tomorrow it will come back. Tomorrow and Tuesday I begin my elements of design classes to association members. Tomorrow will be to 3 associations, and Tuesday to 1.
Surely after these experiences I will be filled with air again as a balloon getting patched.
Moving on to share about my personal life, the time has come to make a move. I believe next week I will be moving to a new house. The CIPE compound house is comfortable enough. I have an internet connection in my room, Miss Nikidar cleans my room, does my laundry, even irons! Mohammed the cook has a home-made dinner every night(full of carbs, yet still counts), we have cable tv, a work-out room complete with a treadmill(my favorite-though haven't used it much). Yet, it is empty, lonely and the people in it are about to leave or spend most of their time in their office in front of a computer. And it is the only place I am at when not at work. Gets pretty lonely. Plus when we are together all we do is talk about work and Afghan issues, we mostly fill our heads with stress. Not a good recipe for people planning to live in this very isolated place for a year.
Cristina Grecu leaves in a week and half, she'll be coming back as a consultant but for short periods of time. Ralph is moving back to the US on October 10th as his wife is sick and will not do the year he had planned. Ryan, my boss, is going to Milan on the 16th and returning on October 10th. So it'd just be him and I on his return and that ain't a good combo either.
So, I found out about this house, 2 women live there, Khatdija and Nika, the 1st canadian(I think from Indian parents) and Nika from Iran. They both work for NGO's and will be here for another year.
They had been looking for a 3rd housemate so I think it's a match. The house is quite nice.
So I'm about 90 percent sure I'll be making the move as soon as Cristina from CIPE moves.
I know I need a space in Kabul that has nothing to do with work. It can get intoxicating. And a burn-out arrives much sooner than expected under such circumstances.
Anyways, as you can probably tell from this post today was more than a loooong day.
Can't wait for tomorrow when my real work begins. Real meaning the work I enjoy, the part I know I am good at.
This Wednesday or Thursday(depending on the Mullah in Saudi Arabia) Ramadan begins. This will be an interesting month.
Nobody eats or drinks during the day. People go home early(2pm) to begin preparing dinner as it's their only mean during the day.
Yes, yes...amidst looong Sundays I am definately living interesting times.

Karla...big sister

I have a sister
She reaches out to give me hope.
I have a sister
She with love touches my soul.
I have a sister
One with whom I never feel alone.
I have a sister
She, who comforts and fills me whole.
I have a sister
Warm, full of sky, full of sun.
I have a sister
With me, at all times, wherever I go.

After one month

Today marks a month of my arrival. A month gone so fast, a month which toured me amongst such a colorful road, so full of new people, places, food, colors, textures. My, it did go fast yet so much has gone out of me and into me.
Life is just not the same. My expectations have changed.
I am realizing how much I have to simplify my expectations and my way of treating others. And this is a lesson I am thankful for.
Everyday I am trying to remind myself to treat others like I wish they would treat me. I am reminding myself to let by-gones be by-gones, and that each day should start with a clean slate.
My expectations of what we can accomplish need to be flexible, because sometimes I am happily surprised and other times I am disappointed. But isn't life so much better when we are happily surprised?
I am disappointed when my expectations are high but when I just wait to see what happens and the results are good, or even great, wow do I feel encouraged.
We are setting up a store at the women's market. The design center has shared responsability for establishing the store. The center did not want to do the store but the women's business federation really pushed for it. So it was agreed.
I arrived, and the feelings at the center have been that the store will be a failure, but the federation expects the store to be a key component to their sustainability. I think both expectations are in opposite extremes. I just want to aid in the setup, walk with the women whom we train to do inventory, keep records, tag, etc. and then see how they do. It is more a learning experience than a mere success or failure.
After a month I feel like I am way in the middle of the design center and the women's federation.
The foreign ideas are one extreme and the local ideas are another. How do we merge and seek success as a team?
And I having walked on both sides before, feel that neither is quite right, but both possess a lot of truth. Part of me saying all of this is feeling that after a month, I see a tug of war.
And all I want is to train local women who hand make their products.
But the politics in between sandwich me and my work and instead of me being able o set up and start have to spend a lot of time and energy on talking and figuring things out on both sides.
Then the women who await training seem to always be the ones on the loosing end as because of external complications we can't reach them or we cut short the time to be spent with them.
All of this can really wear you down.
I want to remain optimistic, and when I am around them, when I visit them, it is exactly what I want, what I wish to be doing.
But when I am away from them everything seems to get so complicated.
My aim for September is to be as close to the local associations as possible. It will be an interesting month to start training as it is RAMADAN. Employees are allowed to go home at 2, specially for the women, as they have to cook a feast for the family to eat after the sun sets. So our trainings will be from 8 to 2 with no tea breaks or lunch in between. I wonder how much concentration the women can do.
In October I am flying to be with the Quan and Maria Nguyen and their lovely kids. I'll be in England for 10 days, then fly back to Kabul to leave the next day to New Delhi for the India market readiness program, I'll walk the trade show as well as be part of a market and raw material sourcing tour to take place right after the training program. My first time to England. My first time to India.
Life just keeps getting more interesting with time, and I continue to be toured around all kinds of newness.

Planning with hope

I've spent the whole week doing planning. Planning on the trainings to come, the groups I will work with, the provinces I will go to, the times I will go, the number of women I will work with per training, the materials I'll need, the subjects I will teach, the this and the that, the here and then that.
Then I started to put these 'planned' activities into a calendar.
What a difference that makes.
The calendar really puts the plans into the scheme of things.
I have too many plans and not enough time.
How do I make the wisest plan? Who can benefit most from the training we do? How do I choose?
It feels like such a hard call. 35 associations in Kabul, 18 in the provinces.
Crossing out groups from my list leaves me feeling guilty. We can never cover all.
Then of those who do get invited, who will be able to come?
Will the women be able to commit a full day to sitting and learning 6 times in the year?
Will my teachings be of any real help?

I went to one of, or the poorest association. They are embroiderers. I sat with them. We had tea. I explained what I do. They listened. Most were too shy to respond.
One of them caught my interest. I didn't get her name. I just go a bit of her story. Mother of 6, 3 are mentally handicapped, all 3 are teenagers or older, she is a widow. She was the most responsive. Seemed to be the leader.
She smiled, it was a genuine smile.
Her misery was nothing to frown about. She makes a living as an artisan, she embroiders her life away.
She lives in a tiny square of a room, there are 6 such squares in the place were were in, so 6 families live there. No green. All dust.
They share a water pump.
She made me wonder. Is anything I know of use to her?
Does my training provide an improvement in her life, now, later or whenever?
How do I enter her life?
She immediately touched mine. How do I reciprocate the big lesson she taught me today?
There must be joy in the struggle. This seems to be a recurring phrase I turn to, believe in, love reminding myself of, but seem to use very little.
Yet there she was, all smiles, eagerness, questions, acceptance of what I come and offer.
Full of joy in her daily struggle.
What can I give?
As my planning continues I can only wait in God's grace to fill my work with wisdom.
I want to leave all my ego, and expectations, and comforts behind, and when I enter their room, and sit with them, I hope I may truly feel like their sister.
I want to be a sister with hope. I want to truthfully hope that my Afghan sisters will be ok. That tomorrow does bring a brighter day. That their daughters will suffer less and less.
I want to plan full of hope.

Out of touch

For some reason Blogger had my blog as a possible spam scam and so my blog was blocked for like 5 days...
Though i have done a lousy job of letting all my amigos know I am online and blogging....for those of you who have been reading up, my apologies. I was pretty frustrated with the whole thing. But I am over that...Now it's time to share about my life.

Today something sweet and real happened.
I'd been feeling disconnected spiritually since I arrived in Kabul. Maybe I was just assigning too much energy to external things rather than spending time alone, moments of real processing my being here.

But this very afternoon, suddenly, as I was being driven back to the office, coming back with Shabibi and Palwashera from my first meeting with a women's handcraft association(about 40 minutes away, district 6 of Kabul) just sitting, just looking curiously out the window, I felt Jesus so close to me, so everywhere and within everything my eyes could see.

I saw Him amongst the sheperd guiding goats along the road, through the various bakers stretching out long slabs of local bread called nan, while people awaited in line, in the eyes of little girls to and from school, in Shabibi's words as she told me of her life as an Afghan refugee in Pakistan, in the grapevines I could see growing inside homes we passed by, in the strong heat I felt in a dusty afternoon but with a cooling breeze brushing my hair and pushing my scarf back. In the lemon stands on every street, offering refreshment from the heat to passersby.
He's here, amongst us. His lifestyle is all around me.
The paths that Jesus walked. I look at this arid, desert place, at men still wearing turbans, long beards, tunics, women covered from head to toe, and then slowly take in the closeness I feel to Him as my eyes drink in the landscape and people that He walked amongst not so long ago.
I recovered my hope, picked up His grace, and made a promise in my heart to remain and keep walking the same roads He walked on.

My DMP

Part of my job is leading a program called the DMP(Design Mentoring Program). What this means is that the Design center recruits women interested in pursuing design as their career and mentors them for a year and a half. We provide in-class workshops, training, lessons that will introduce them to the world of design. I, as the in-house-designer for the center have the task of providing these classes for them.
So far, the center has 6 DMP students. And we are planning on starting a new class in September. As this one is starting later, it will run for a year.
The 1st DMP group, the one that begun in April began with a lot more students. One by one they have stopped attending, and well, now, 4 months later we are left with only 6 BUT quite dedicated students.
I met them briefly, when I came in May, but the day we met was the day they were bidding farewell to Dani, the Bolivian designer who had been here for 3 months and had opened the world of design to them. We had no time to talk.
Yesterday was my first day with them. Of the 6 only 3 attended. Our work tends to move in this direction. We prepare, plan, and invite women to come to the center to receive training. They agree to come, sign up and then don't show up for one reason or another.
Now in our world that just seems incredible. We ask ourselves, why would these women with limited resources and work skills do this to themselves? Why don't they take advantage of such a great opportunity?
I find myself asking the same questions even though ever since I graduated university my work has been all about development work, working with people in the countryside, villages, and very retired, off-the-path places.

At the same time, I find myself always reminded of all the struggles these women face day in an day out.
Why don't they come?
I have asked my mother the same question. She leads a scholarship program in Honduras, funded by a Presbyterian church in Dayton, Ohio. She has done this work for years, and similar work all her life.
She is full of answers all the time. Well, because fulanita(so and so) didn't have the money(a quarter of a dollar) to pay for the bus to come to the house to get the scholarship money for her son.
Well, because her husband was shot and there is no one to take care of him but her.
Oh because, she makes tortillas for a living and she couldn't find anyone to take over while she came.
And on, and on, and on. She could give me a million reasons of why they don't come to receive the scholarship money, or the school supplies, or the basic foodstuff they would receive if they haven't eaten for days.
This is real. I am not making it up. She lives this. Honduras is full of this.
Then I come to Afghanistan, and when the women commit to come and receive lessons in elements of design, color theory, trends, booth design, product development, quality control, customer service, etc. I ask myself once again, why don't they come?
I find myself thinking "Why if I was them I would so take advantage of these opportunities."
But then I chastise myself as once again I remind myself that I am not them. That I have no idea of what their daily struggles to make it through each day are like. That if I was really in their situation, would I really be able to come?

Do women have freedom here? No, not much.
Can they manage their own lives? No, their husbands, fathers, brothers, and all the men around them dictate how their lives are lived.
Are they allowed to get an education? The new government states they are, and can. Yet many families, specially the traditional ones, the ones who are still stuck in the past, in Taleban-era times, firmly believe it is a waste of time to educate a woman.
And on and on and on.
So, I have 6 students. 3 came yesterday.
I am promised they will all come on Saturday.
They are brilliant. You would be astounded. I have been.
Their projects tell me so. Their manner emates so.
They had an exhibit on Monday. They recapped how they began their design experience from 2-D designs to the final products they showed us which are all their designs. They blew me away.
They were confident, composed, spoke eloquently and showed they have learned something this past 4 months.
I am full of excitment to begin working with them. Moreover, walking with them, being their older, foreign sister if they allow me to be.
As I write all of this, I am once again reminded they are willing to do it. They do want to come. It's just that when the day finally comes, they as much as me, have no idea what the day will bring, and if they will be able to make it to my classroom again.


Ps. The 6 women in my DMP class are far more priviledged than the average Afghan woman. However, they because of the priviledge of having an education, are a small percentage of the Afghan female population seeking to absorb anything and everything. They try to grab as much as they can and in doing so I believe end up spreading themselves too thin.

An OFF Sunday!

Independence Day! Wait...they just celebrated independence day, Ryan said.
No, no, our driver, Tor explained. This one is from the British.
So, Ryan, ATA director, who's been here just 3 months, has had the opportunity to celebrate 2 independence days, one from the Russians, and today, from the British.
Today was a very lazy day for me. A pensive one too.
Yesterday, a German-woman, an NGO worker, who was having lunch with her boyfriend inside a local restaurant was kidnapped. The Taleban are claiming the kidnapping.
I haven't been able to shake her off my mind. I have been praying that God holds her up in His grace. That she doesn't feel hopeless.
I keep thinking of her and looking at me.
What if it would have been me? How would I deal with this.
These are questions I never thought I would have to think about.
With this latest happening, my outings are even more restricted...not sure how that can possibly be but they are.
So with no plans, and no where to go I slept in, way in. 10am.
I've been getting up at 630am, and those of you who know my daily habits, know this is quite a change. A drastic change.
I got up, had breakfast at 11.
Did emails, surfed the net.
Had lunch, chatted with Ryan.
Read. Have been reading Cien anos de Soledad(100 years of solitude) by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. And am not reading just any old copy, I have in my hands my mother's copy of the book, signed by her 1971, when she was a university student at The National University of Costa Rica. This makes the reading experience a lot richer, so unique. I turn each page with care and keep wondering what my mother's thoughts were while reading the same pages I am reading.
The book is so full of new words for me. Spanish word I have never heard. I wonder if she knew them all, if she got the book in a whole different way than I am getting it.

After reading I napped.
Then I watched one of the few channels that I can actually underestand, BBC food. I took notes on Indian recipes.
Had a snack.
Worked-out for an hour. Yes! There's a treadmill here.
Sat, and found Julie-Dung online. We talked over Skype. It was wonderfully clear, and wonderful to speak Vietnamese with a friend again.
Now...I'm about to go off to bed.
This was my free-Sunday. I'm sure I won't have many of these.

I'd rather be at the office chatting with the Afghan ladies anyways...

A page on contrasts

My vonage phone works! For those of you not clear on what a 'Vonage phone' is, let me enlighten you.
It is a phone adaptor you can purchase in the US/Canada/England which gives you a phone line including the area code for the city in the US where you live and which allows you to make calls anywhere in the US/Canada and England for a flat rate, plus international calls for a rate per minute. My brother in law got me one about 3 years ago while living in Vietnam. It was heaven to have in Hanoi, and I was crossing my fingers it would work here and I just found out today: IT DOES!!!

I also just found out today that there are no phone lines in Kabul. I had to fill out my insurance papers and went to ask where I could fax the filled out forms from, and was told, "There are no phones here. Just cellphones".

No worries, we do have a scanner and can just send the forms off as an attachment.

As of yesterday I have a direct internet cable connection in MY ROOM. I am so excited with such a gift. This is why I have a vonage phone installed. I have to share another praise with this, I was not going to bring a phone to Kabul. I thought, 'Oh, i'll just buy one there.' But at the last minute my sister mentioned she had a spare cordless I could take and so I packed it in my bags. There are no phones here, so I couldn't have bought one.

Going to the market is out of the question for us. So if I want anything I have to tell the driver or ask Cristina Grecu(one of my housemates, CIPE staff) to tell the cook to get me what I want. I asked for tomatoes, cucumbers, lemons, etc to make a salad.
He brought a huge cucumber, 2 sad looking tomatoes and a small shriveled- up lemon. I had been told I had to do my own cooking at the house. But then, from the day I arrived we've had full dinners made by an adorable-looking man named, Mohammed. He is literally the image of a cartoon from a french film. He is short, chubby, with a moustache, all he needs is a chefs hat.

So now I get to come home to a homemade dinner which includes desert. Yesterday the menu was pizza(with olives), potato cakes and stuffed cabbage, and for desert a pudding. We are having to talk to Mohammed because his meals are quite the carbohydrate. Take today: another kind of potato cake, pasta with chicken and another kind of fried cake with cabbage inside plus another kind of pudding.

Tomorrow we will have another talk to ask him to please bring back the veggies and leave carbohydrates and desert behind.

Then there is Mrs. Nikidar. She is our cleaning lady. When I first saw her I thought she must be in her sixties. I asked her age and was taken aback, she is 43 years old. She is the definition of a happy woman. She gives me over 8 kisses in the morning.
I had planned to do my own laundry. I left my clothes for washing inside a bag inside my closet. When I returned from work the clothes were neatly laying on my bed. I left her the message to not bother doing it, that I'd do it. Once again I returned to find clean laundry waiting to be put away. And so far, today being the 4th day, the same thing has happened all over again.
She insists on doing my washing everyday.

Life is full of contrasts.
In Hanoi I had all the freedom to come and go where I wanted. I lived on my own. I took care of my washing, cooking. Life was in my control. People always look younger than they are. A 25 year-old woman always looked like a teenager to me.
Kabul is all about restrictions. I live with other NGO workers, someone else does my shopping, washing, cooking. People here tell me I look 21! Which is hilarious to me! But in their lives I do, as a 30-year-old woman like me looks like she is in her late 40's.
But life is all about similarities too.
Both places have given me the priviledge of walking with amazing people. I just started my walk here but so far I am amazed at people's hearts.
This journey has just begun, and I pray that I may more and more walk away from the contrasts and just focus on the similarities.

On my 4th day in Kabul

Today is Sunday, a normal work day in Kabul.
I had no time to think about yesterday and today being my weekend, these are normal working days and there is just no point stopping to wave goodbye to my usual weekend.
Thursday, my half-day and Friday my off-day will soon come, leaving no traces of Saturdays and Sundays and their beautiful, restful meaning in my life.

As I updated previously I not only got to arrive in Kabul with ALL of my suitcases, but with new stuff I acquired in Dubai. Karla was amazing enough(despite her surgery) to insist on going over all the things I was bringing to Afghanistan and 'repacking' for me. This process involved separating a big pile for "The second mile thrift shop" and creating a 2nd pile of winter clothes and other 'stuff' that could wait to be brought to Kabul in December. I had to stop and re-evaluate my situation, I knew I was over my head with stuff, so I agreed.
Even after such intervention, as I struggled to put each bag onto the scale at the Delta counter, I saw each bag marking 70 pounds. I smiled a knowing smile, and asked how much(for the few extra pounds)?
Though I arrived into Dubai bagless, I must admit there was great advantange in not having to carry 2, 70 pound bags especially as I changed rooms in the hotel I stayed at 3 times.
On the day of departure, at 5am, ding dong there they were. I had forgotten their weight, yet was quickly reminded as I once again struggled to put each one on the scale, but this time on the Kam Air counter where I was only allowed 30 kilos, meaning one bag less 2 kilos.
I was allowed to go pay excess luggage and so arrived into Kabul with both.
Now, don't get me wrong. They are inconvinient to travel with, they do require paying excess poundage yet there is no pricetag on the comfort of being in a place so full of limitations with all my 'STUFF'. My hello kitty zip lock bags, my Vietnamese embroidered scarves, my body shop shower gels, my pearls, my mother's copy(from her university days) of 100 years of solitude, yeah, yeah, I did bring these unnecessary items to most of you but oh so necessary to someone like me.

I am sure like Karla said, that after less than a month I'll be full of all kinds of new local stuff. But for now, on my 4th day of being here, I must rely on this stuff to get me by.

Homes as I hop

Well here I am. Me, the one who never intended on blogging, me the one who used to wonder who ever had the time to blog!?! and post their life for others to read? Yes, it is I.

But come on, moving to Afghanistan has got to be blog-worthy, definately one of the accredited reasons to blog, and so I must.
The last month has been a tornado of directions and emotions.
Leaving Vietnam on July 9th was the hardest thing I have ever done.
My grieving is not done. It's a like a cookie I keep biting into now and then, always leaving some for later.

My heart is still there.
Suddenly I have become very aware of being homeless. My life there was my home. Never had I felt so much a sense of home in my adult-life. Now, I'll have to adjust to temporary homes... transient housing here and there, changing homes along as I go.
After Hanoi my first stop was Philadelphia.
There was a big new someone to meet: Dahlia, Karla's second daughter, and now officially one of my favorite people on earth.
Lovely, calm, smooth, satisfied, happily grunting through life. That's how she spends her time.

After 5 days I flew to Honduras. Amidst the many guests my mom houses at the bed and breakfast(July being her high season) I got to spend day in and day out for 2 weeks with my mom, dad, Laura, my Gonzi, Tia Pia and Tia Marta, plus my closest friend, Belkis.
Time simply jumped from arrival day to departure day. The last 3 days I spent with angst...every time I remembered I was about to leave I'd get a pang in my stomach.
Leaving my mom was the hardest. She is the best flavour of home.
Despite the short time we sure enjoyed away the days. I got all the tortillas con queso I could eat. I got all the time with my 2 tias, all the afternoons by the hammock with my mom, all the time to sit and admiringly watch my nephew in action, awestruck at who he is, at his manner of expression.
My favorite is how he says: Me encanta or No me encanta referring to things he likes or doesn't like. These, he either adores or doesn't adore, and this very well describes how intense he is about life.
I'd forgotten how wonderful it is to live in a place full of garden, full of green and the space to just sit and stare away at leaves, petals, turtles lurking around.
On my return to Philly I was to just stay a day before flying to Dubai.
This didn't happen. The night before flying I started getting sick with fever, shivers, body-ache, and a very upset stomach. We feared dengue fever, as Honduras is full of it as I type.
My flight was changed, and I stayed with Karla for an extra 4 days. It wasn't dengue fever, maybe the flu, not sure what.

Philly is another one of those places I easily call home. I always look forward to spending a few days there and enjoy Karla's homey home and homey neighborhood.
Karla had had gall bladder stones removed the day I arrived. But despite me being sick, and her coming out of the hospital the day after, we got to spend great time together along with Dahlia, Emilia and the compadre, Dan.
I got 2 days to walk through the farmer's market, eat all the blueberries and peaches I craved, have breakfast at 2 of the Green Line cafes, even got a whole afternoon shopping at Target....

Again, a couple of days before flying I got anxious, and didn't feel ready to leave.

As quickly as I had decided to move on and retake my passion of working with artisans by moving to Afghanistan, I have not really had a good enough break to just relax before the big move. So a teaspoon of Honduras and a bit less of Philly had me feeling so emotional and anxious. I wonder if this is why I got sick.
Within a deep breath I suddenly found myself on the Atlanta-Dubai direct flight, then suddenly walking the hallways at the Dubai airport.
I arrived last night, getting a hotel and Dubai visa quite smoothly compared to my first time going to Kabul in May. But, but, but my luggage did not arrive.
About a dozen people on my flight didn't either, we were assured it would be delivered at our hotels by tonight.
It better because I fly to Kabul tomorrow at noon, where I shall begin to scoop out sand and plant a new home.

UPDATE: My luggage did not arrive on today's Atlanta-Dubai flight. I fly to Kabul at noon tomorrow. Am waiting for the reception to call and let me talk to the airline. Am trying not to panic....but am panicking.
Will let you know how this ends.
2nd UPDATE: My luggage arrived at 5am on the day I was to fly to Kabul as 12 noon. I had already shopped, was planning to move with 4 new outfits, basic toilettries and the faith that somehow, one fine day my luggage would appear. But that didn't happen. I flew to Kabul with my 2 70 pound, 32 kilo bags plus the 4 new outfits and toilettires I got in Dubai...