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.