Most of us worked long hours, especially more so when emergencies heightened. Six weeks seemed quite stretched––R&R breaks were life-saving. Sometimes my roaming Blackberry found ways to sneak into my R&R-times, mess with my brain . . .
As International staff, our mobility was extremely restricted in Afghanistan. During incidences of "white-city (no movement)" we were grounded in our guesthouses and operated from there, were more isolated. It happened often. Our national staff were better off living in their own communities, with their families.
The UN-International staff in Kabul enjoyed far improved quality of life than the field offices––the UN complex was better secured, internationals had more access to modern amenities. The UN complex was almost a "city within a city." Outside its borders, the local markets and stores were filled with numerous kinds of food, many other necessities . . .The Expats often had the luxury to eat at regular restaurants (cleared by UN security) and the five star Serena hotel, with international, luxurious standards. It even served Blue-Margarita drinks!
Anyway, once in a while, the situation got somewhat calmer in Herat. With blessings of the UNDSS, we could cautiously venture out in our armored cars. Our destination––a shopping center located in the heart of the town, and a big store that sold antiques and old, silver jewelry and this and that . . . buried in dust and cobwebs. Not sure if it had local customers unless the owner had a clandestine opium business and sold drugs (a mystery, and a hypothesis).
The three of us––DD, Teeranuch and I, loved quick explorations of the stores, usually on Saturday mornings when we were desperate to breathe the air outside of the guest house––entombed inside a labyrinth of barbed fences and Hesco-walls, the place we called "home" . . .
Sometimes, we also visited our favorite carpet store which was closer to the UNICEF-guesthouse. Herat was famous for its craftsmanship in rugs and carpets. I believe we should rather call it "Craftswoman-Childship." Carpets in the Herat Province were mainly woven by women and children. Children started as young as age 6. About 30%-40% were below 14.
And we bought some exquisite pieces (bought more than I needed, mainly out of boredom . . .).
Two drivers, alternately, were assigned to my duty as sometimes I had to attend State/Provincial functions after office hours or during weekends at the Governor's mansion. One of them was a retired Col from the Afghan military . . . he normally parked the large armored vehicle in front of the shop entrances and stayed vigilant. It made us feel safe. He was a trained soldier, extremely trustworthy.
I felt somewhat hesitant in calling the duty driver/s on a weekend to go shopping––disrupting his time with his family but as International staff we were not allowed to drive in Afghanistan like many other emergency-non family duty stations. Our personal pursuits were considered official business.
In the shopping center, the stores were full of Chinese and Iranian goods. A few specific stores sold silk scarves, locally woven by women. Herat produced high quality silk. The Department of Agriculture supported women's/family projects to cultivate silkworms. The silkworms fed on leaves of Mulberry bushes and trees that grew in abundance all over the province. About 42,000 women were involved in harvesting silk.
I was more interested in the antique-store. The owner was an old, bearded man and spoke English. He looked ancient––was so bent that his hands almost touched his feet. He was very fond of me, tried to engage me whenever I was in his store. He knew my taste––would fish out exquisite, old "Kuchi" silver jewelry to please me.
The old Kuchi silver jewelry I bought from the old man's store |
"Naazhat, take this . . . ! I kept it for you . . . this is your shop . . ." His enthusiasm was too obvious. He didn't pay equal attention to my companions.
DD and Teeranuch teased me no end:
"Nuzhat, this old man is eyeing you as his fourth wife! Make a pre-nup. You will own the store if you marry him. . ." and we laughed and laughed. Some times even at his face, he was never offended––was almost my grandfather's age!
He showed me his album that had his photographs from youth.
"Look, Naazhat, how handsome I was!" He proudly pointed out at his mustached photos, in traditional clothes and head gears, practically discolored with age by then. "Look. look, I could stand up straight those days!"
I couldn't stop laughing. He was funny! He told us that he was featured in one of the editions of the "Lonely Planet" travel guide magazine published by the National Geographic.
. . . Looking back, I remember my time in Herat with much fondness and sadness. I remember its streets, the dusty mountains . . . the danger that lurked in every corner of the mysterious-city. I remember how the passion to "save" girls and women tortured my psyche . . . I remember the faces of the little boys who ran after my car as I used to give out cookies. They were so thin that I could count their bones through their torn clothes.
But even then I could feel the spirit of Herat, powerful, defiant . . .
I wonder where the "lonely-planet old man" is today!
Beautiful description; evocative of Afghanistan and sympathetic towards those living in the area. When, oh when will Afghans be allowed to live the life they want to live, where they want to live ?
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