Reflections on (almost) a year in Afghanistan

My first contract in Afghanistan has finished, which means that I have been in Afghanistan for almost a year. For those who don’t know, I have decided to extend for another year, beginning in January 2020. I know, it’s a surprising decision. And no one is more surprised than I am. Who would have thought that a life here would, in a way, set me free? It wasn’t always so easy going. When I arrived last December, it was cold, dark and harsh. I was suffering mentally from being unemployed for a year and nine months. There were so many things to get used to – a group living situation, where no one wanted to be social because it was cold outside of their rooms, a work situation, where the worst aspects of human nature come through on a daily basis, and struggling with school and my impending thesis.

Like all things, it took a while to get used to. Because of the nature of my job, there were certain realities that I needed to face. And once you accepted your lot in life, it sets you free.

As winter thawed, and a bit of green peaked through, weekend brunches in the garden and terraces began. Coinciding with my return from a school trip in April, I came out of my shell and realized that living a life of isolation here was not sustainable, nor healthy. I was concerned that with socialization, I would accidentally leak the confidential aspects of my job to my housemates, who were undeniably curious. However, confident in my ability to handle it, I embraced being social within the house. More group dinners happened at home, with game nights on the weekend. It’s not necessarily an exciting life that humanitarians lead, but simple.

When summer came, and friends in the house left for different missions, I began to start seeking refuge in cooking. My work stresses diminished, while chopping parsley, coriander or garlic for hours. I also began to try to figure out:

• Being keto in Kabul, and all the nuanced recipes that it requires, given a limited supply of goods available to me;
• Baking at high altitude (ok, so I have yet to master boiling an egg at high altitude… nobody’s perfect!);
• But more specifically, baking with a temperamental oven, with no thermometer markings, and a penchant for burning things on top and on the right side.

Every day in the kitchen was a mild challenge that I set for myself. And as long there were little goals I attempted to achieve, I felt like I was accomplishing little wins every time something came out normal.

After most people left, when I threw myself into cooking, I formed a close bond with E, the hardest working person in the house and my neighbor from across the hall. When I would wake up around 3 am to work on my thesis, I could see her light was still on, because she hadn’t slept yet. She was the last remaining one of the group of friends I was close with. We looked out for each other.

In the middle of summer, I began dating in Kabul. It wasn’t without its challenges – he worked for an agency around the corner, with severe security restrictions, whereas I was relatively free in comparison. Visits needed to be scheduled in advance and he worked 6 days a week. For me, working hours were 8 – 4 pm, no exceptions. Not only that, we lived on completely opposite schedules. I woke at 3 am and was asleep by 9 pm. On his day off, he often didn’t wake until 2 pm. It wasn’t ideal, but he cared a lot for me. He didn’t communicate very well, but he told me to never question his feelings for me, and I didn’t … until he disappeared.

When I say that he disappeared, within the context of Afghanistan, that could mean a number of things. To be honest, the threat of kidnapping for international workers in Kabul is high. We have a plethora of risk mitigation measures that are supposed to decrease that risk, but the residual risk still remains. When I say he disappeared, that is literally what I mean. One day, we were going through our opposing schedules, week by week, trying to arrange for a holiday together. And then a few days later, he stopped responding to me altogether. Now, 8 weeks later, I still have not heard from him. Were there bombs that went off near embassies or places he was allowed to go? I know nothing happened to him, because I ended up making inquiries. After 10 days, I ended up asking someone senior who I worked with, who had been friends with him for years. They had just spoken the day before. So, he’s alive. And now, weeks later, not only is he alive, but he is posting on Instagram.

That’s the weird thing about Afghanistan. Men ghosting in dating life can be expected, to a certain extent, any where you are. But in Afghanistan, there are legitimate questions about whether the person is under duress or in danger. But alas. He’s alive, and I am stronger for it. I am grateful that I never let my emotions get the best of me, that I never lashed out unnecessarily, that I personally would never let someone think that I was kidnapped. At the end of the day, we are only in control of our own behavior.

During the last few weeks, an unexpected thing happened. I found friendship and solace in someone in the house. He likes to say that we only became friends because I began to drink whisky, following my trip to Scotland. I think it was because he was always there to listen, and always there with kindness when I needed it. But, as with all things in life, it is temporary in nature. He left Afghanistan, onto bigger and better things, the day after I left. After peeling away layers of what you want people to see on the outside, you realize that people aren’t so different on the inside… with the same insecurities in life, with the same need for comfort and affection.

The last few weeks had laughs, drinks, movie nights in our safe room/bar, and endless barbecues.

I leave Afghanistan with a renewed appreciation for life and people within my life. I dedicate this post to the people I have met during my first year in Afghanistan:

• Dana, always there to cook a 3 course dinner and an early morning coffee chat;
• Kerry, for laughs and my first and only experience in an Afghan hospital;
• Dea, for lunches together on the rooftop terrace, and far too generous pours of whisky;
• Noah, for the weekly pub quiz rituals and the biggest bear hug that I’ll always remember;
• David, I can still hear you running at full speed down the hallway;
• Jeff, co-president of the meat club – need I say more?
• Ajanth, who appreciates my shrimp heads and pork belly snacks;
• Patricia, for making me mokas, and her unending belief that zaatar cures everything;
• Daniel, my first and only friend outside of work;
• Will, for being the resident poet and arranging Rambo movie nights;
• Elelta, for imparting on me the knowledge to order successful take out and for “actually” thinking my cooking was tasty;
• Anthony, for never throwing away my scones, always making me popcorn, and…ruby, ruby, ruby.

To Hamid and Abaseen – my team at work. Without you, I would not have been able to accomplish half the things I wanted to.

To the people I met because of work in the last year, who are not in Afghanistan, but provided immeasurable support. Mike, the kindest man on the face of this earth. Jenny, always there to listen in the most difficult contexts. Mathias, for support and inspiration.

This post is dedicated to all of them. Afghanistan, see you in the new year.

Lannie

Lannie is a perpetual wanderer and loves to share her travel adventures and the food she eats along the way with everyone.  She works during the day while bouncing around the world and dreams about new places and faces at night!  She has a home on the magical Isle of Islay in Scotland, where the whisky flows freely and happily.

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