We had an incredible rose garden in our new guesthouse. Our gardener, the old Tajik man had magic in his fingers. He smiled when I thanked him, often. He spoke zero English––my language skill was limited only to a few words in Dari.
Load shedding was regular. We procured two generators, one with lower capacity, the other very powerful––a costly affair to operate. We ran the powerful one usually twice a day––in the mornings and evenings, around dinnertime for a couple of hours for the microwave, and the air-cons to cool off the bedrooms. When in the duty station, we returned to the guesthouse before dark due to security reasons. We ate together. Exceptions were when I had to attend high-level dinners at the governor’s mansion with fellow heads of agencies. Attendance to those events had to be cleared by UNDSS. The location was secured by armed marines due to the presence of NATO officials.
The smaller generator was used for lights and fans during load shedding or power outages. Both generators were operated with diesel. We had to store barrels of diesel at the back of the guesthouse. It was extremely hazardous– if an RPG ever fell in the compound it could have blown off all the houses on the entire street. But we lived by taking calculated risks!
In the upper two floors, we had seven bedrooms, one bathroom on each floor. Our gym, bunker with IT equipment, life saving supplies and an attached bathroom were in the basement. We got two cubicle-bedrooms constructed there with an additional bathroom. The rest of the large-carpeted space was our movie theatre. Fridays were movie nights. WHO and UNHCR guesthouses were invited. We had portable speakers and the office projector hooked on to DD’s laptop. She was in charge of the entire operation––popcorns/snacks, drinks, movie-CDs.
Alessandra and I had agreed on a bathroom share regimen. From 5 to 5:30 a.m. it was hers. My turn was right after her for the next thirty minutes. She began her day so early with a glass of fruit smoothie. When Our Regional Director and Representative-Catherine came on a mission, we had to plan the schedule carefully (I had never planned bathroom-schedules for high level officials!!)
The WHO guesthouse and we shared one common compound wall. To enhance safety we added a side-door between the two guesthouses as advised by UNDSS. It came with a cost . . . “emergency romance” started blooming. One female UN colleague from next door was sighted emerging regularly in early morning hours from the room of a UNDP officer staying in our guesthouse. UNICEF-operations officer on my behalf cautioned them. We didn’t want our domestic-help ladies to notice this and gossip. Such “affairs of the heart” in Herat spelled danger–– nothing personal . . .
It wasn’t well received.
“Use your R&Rs. . . ,” we muttered!
Security threats were constant. International NGOs hosted monthly parties by rotation. I went to monitor the situation a couple of times. Drawing attention with loud music, alcohol drinking, etc. were risky behaviors in a conservative-Muslim society. As Area Security Coordinator (ASC, alternate) in consultation with UNDSS and our operations officer, I imposed some restrictions on our residents . . . we were labeled as “old models,” “two cranky-women from the past-era,” etc. by some . . .We weren’t that old––the officers behaving like “high-on-hormones-young adults” weren’t that young, either.
Everyday we faced new challenges . . .
Security situation worsened further. We had constant “white city” alert (no movement). Most agencies operated with essential staff. One time, only Alessandra and I were in the guesthouse. Four armed Afghani UNPUs were guarding us (sometimes they were on opium. A few days ago, one tried to shoot another guard when high. UNDSS had to intervene.).
“Nuzhat what about procuring an AK-47? Hide it under your mattress? We can shoot first before they get us,” she said. “In DRC colleagues got guns.”
I knew she wasn’t serious––it was fatigue of helplessness against odds. She offered a shot of whisky instead . . . I declined both propositions. As ASC, I needed my brain razor-sharp. It was a silent, deep night outside . . .
After months of dieting, DD lost considerable weight. She got married to her high-school sweetheart. It was a Tamil event with colors, flowers . . . she dazzled like a movie star on her wedding day! We celebrated from afar and sent out our hearts riding on the whistling wind of Herat . . . over the Hindu Kush Mountains . . . across the Ocean . . .
Thank you for sharing these memories - today of course, made more painful with the horror unfolding.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Doreen. The humanitarian Aid workers who worked in Afghanistan (international and national) had very strong commitment otherwise it would have been impossible to live and function in that active war zone. But I question whether the way the UN and our allies operated in Afghanistan was the right way... one day we, as UNICEF, may want to do an "autopsy" of our engagement there- to learn what were the right approaches and what went wrong. Perhaps!
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