Hope from the Past

It has been far too long since I have written, this I realize.  Since my last post, I escaped to Egypt for a much needed adventure and I just returned from a trip back to the States where the familiarity of family and friends was a welcoming as it always has been.  

Today, when I was reading through my morning news, as I always do, I couldn't help but share this, as every time I come across photos and stories of Afghanistan from some time ago, they bring a renewed sense of hope to what we are all doing.  Colleagues have lived through this, international colleagues traveled here and to hear there stories is amazing - - its an Afghanistan so far from the war torn country we are in now.  

Take a moment to gather some hope and see the light. 

 

Photos of Afghanistan's Past: Modernity Lost

There are more in the Photo Essay at Once Upon a Time in Afghanistan

"Mothers and children at a city playground."

When I look out my window every night, as darkness sets in and with only the light of the moon, I see a city, a real city.   There is hope.  A hopeless romantic I may be, but with a past where mothers and children can play in the playground freely and the will for the future - there is reason to have hope.

Everyday a surprise

Everyday is an adventure. Everyday is surreal. Everyday I find myself both asking myself why I am here and feeling blessed that I am. Life is funny in that way, I suppose. Maybe that is how each day should be, continually challenging ourselves to step outside of our comfort zones so that we feel out of place, but also blessed.


Being here, though, in a warzone, that is, it is the little things in life that are magnetized. The goods are great and the bads are horrendous – here in Kabul we have no middle ground, that I quickly realized.

A few days, a coworker received a large box in the mail. Now normally mail day brings the good days to great. But this large box – oh, it changed the week, friends. Inside of this box was about 40 boxes of - straight from the hands of an all American, 7 year old, badge wearing, sweet and peaches, girl scout – Girl Scout Cookies. A skip in the step on the way out the door, a friendly hello and meetings even ended on time, with a pleasant “another cookie, before you go?”. Everyday brings surprises.

Yesterday, a more humorous surprise came my way - - and a bit more suddenly, which I am sure you will appreciate. Our security protocol is such that if you go to an outside building to ours, you are searched. Ok, makes sense. Well, I had traveled to an office of ours that I hadn’t been to before, from “the outside”.

“Ma’am, kindly step inside”, the nice guard asks, as the female guard is waving her baton at me. So, I step inside and hand her my purse to search. As I am unzipping my purse, I am getting more action than I have in quite some time. Now, maybe this is partially because I am in Afghanistan not allowed to really even look at men, but goodness me – this woman took her job very seriously. As I am trying to a. focus b. be a mature adult and not laugh c. figure about what the h e double hockey sticks is happening and if it is really protocol and d. no just start running, I simply look up toward to sky as she finishes my “body search” (f.u.l.l. body search, mind you), and like an obedient dog wait for her permission to leave. If TSA is looking, I suggest they give her a call.

Not only was my “search” an adventure, but it made me realize how lucky we are back in the states to not have to be searched each time we walk into work, school, etc. Sure, I think too much over here. But it is these little things that really make you think. So go out and buy some girl scout cookies and walk through those work doors with pride (no special attention for you).

It's All Relative

Yesterday morning I was annoyingly awoken by the changing of the guards, which made me think - maybe I spoke too soon about this normal thing.  When I say changing of the guards, I don't mean the fancy speal they do at Arlington National Cemetery (how great would that be though?).   What I do mean, is that at around 4am-ish the lovely gentleman who so kindly have watched over the house all night and patrolled now go home to their families and taking their place are more nice gentleman.  Really, I am not being facetious, they are very kind.  As the new guards come in, they are instructed to check their guns to ensure they are locked and loaded (ahh, I learn the meaning of locked and loaded! - but shouldn't it be loaded and then locked?).  Well,  we are in The Ghanny, so not everything is in tip top condition, so if you don't spiffy up that gun, you can imagine how many times you might have to ensure it is properly loaded, or locked - heck, I am not even going to pretend I know what they are doing.  All, I know is that they are making that 'chich-chich' noise over and over and over again at 4 FREAKING AM.  It was like a literally wake up call - no, Anna, your life is not normal.  Better yet, the neighbor guards thought this was going to be a musscle fest, so they started flexing too.   Hello, we are sleeping.

So I wake up all grumpy and get in the shower, only to realize that something had bit me in the middle of the night.  I had 5 massive bumps on my back.  Jeepers creepers - this was not my night.  So I think, eh, I'll let it be, just watch them and make sure I don't keel over (you never know around here).  Only to walk in the office and the office manager had broken out in full out hives.  I tell her to go to the Dr. and she tells me that if she goes, she will be there for 2 days and they will "inject" her with something.  What about a clinic, I say.  Get this -- they are not open during the day.  Don't worry, any kind of drug you want - you got it, but you never reeallly know what you are getting.


Normal - what is normal, anyway?  I suppose its all relative.  I am feeling settled and life is good. 

Oh, and Baby Henry was born!  Congrats Ryan, Shell and Belle, can't wait to meet him. :)