Final note from Mazar e-Sharif

It is so hard to believe, but here I am, at the end of a string of goodbye parties and packing sessions, I am writing my final post from Mazar e-Sharif, for now. My time up here has been some of the most rewarding months of my life, both professionally and personally. I have met people with a resilience and will to survive I did not think existed. Now, as I rip pages out of forlorn notebooks, and donate stationary, colleagues keep popping their heads into my office, offering best wishes and home-made crafts in the form of almonds strung into a necklace, homemade yogurt and a hard white home made ball of cheese.

I am nostalgic but also inspired. What I am most proud of is the team spirit we fostered, where people learned the importance of dialogue and "putting heads together". According to the staff what they will remember from me is the fact that "my door is always open", and "I don't like I problems, I like solutions". In addition to one female who proclaimed she will always remember my standard response when someone walks into my office "what can I do for you".

I will miss my friends, and the crazy nights dancing the night away at one of the bi-weekly Mazar Social Club gatherings, a self-driven solution to a rather entertainment-challenged city. And who could forget Sebastien's Tenderloin at the Royal Oak English Restaurant. So many nights spent eating steak and drinking Becks in what fast becomes one's home away from home in the approved restaurant-deprived Mazar. I remember fondly Fridays a the WFP pool, followed by long sessions surfing the web on the Oak’s wi-fi, while sharing G&Ts with girlfriends, discussing previous and future conflict postings. I said this in Baghdad, and I'll say it again, it is remarkable how much faster friendships and other relationships are fostered and strengthened in these environments.

With that, "goddafis Mazar e-Sharif, Tashakor, Tashakor".

24-6 at the half

It's 12:28am Monday 15 October. I am tucked into bed, it is cool now. Computer in hand, furiously praying that the dial-up will catch enough of the streaming coverage of the second semi final match of the Rugby World Cup match for 2007 - this one, South Africa vs. Argentina. I was supposed to watch the game live at another NGO with a satellite and projector on the big screen, but the French loss against England last night may or may not have contributed to the ghostly reception when I showed up with my Aussie friend and lift. Not a soul loomed in the large Pakistani-style house, so we let ourselves back out as quietly as we entered and I have been wrestling my dial-up modem ever since.

Fortunately I am getting play-by-play updates from the Kabul contingent as I try and find a better source for the streaming radio....

The Blue Mosque

I decided to visit the Rawze-e-Sharif Mosque in Mazar e-Sharif today, one of many known as Blue Mosque. Founded in 1512, the mosque occupies a huge expanse of land in the center of the city. The grounds are covered with gardens, fountains, reflection pools and picnic spots. On any given weekend day, hundreds of families, cripples, children, beggars, and the odd entrepreneur (like the guys with the scales and measuring sticks offering their services at a small fee) gather to enjoy a picnic, feed the pigeons, visit the mosque and simply hang out in the company of friends.

We circled the mosque in a counter-clockwise rotation, pausing to take photos and enjoy the images of families occupying the bright blue picnic tables under pine trees. With two expat women in tow, my Australian friend remarked that he does not usually attract this much attention, pointing to the sporadic hordes of young people who follow us for a few steps, or simply yelling "salaam alaykum" in the passing.

I was blown away by the sheer size and scope of the mosque and in particular by the intricate tile work that covers the entire system of buildings. We did not enter the mosque grounds, opting to arrange a special visit with permission before doing so. Instead, we marvelled at the outside of this magnificent structure believed by Shi'a Muslims to house the remains of the fourth caliph and son-in-law of the Prophet Mohammed, revered as the first Shi'a imam. Many, however, still believe that his body is actually buried in Najaf, Iraq.

Turning another page

It's Friday, it's the start of Eid al-Fitr, it's Afghanistan. I am in my room in Mazar e-Sharif, the northwestern city where I have lived for the past six months. Outside the sun is setting, above me, on my roof, the footsteps of the neighbors' children engaging in the national past time of kite flying rambles on incessantly as it has all day. The weather is turning cooler now, the house is quite. I am the only expat in the house at the moment, and even I am not slated to be here for long.

My current contract ends in two weeks, and I have had the agonizing task of making the decision not to stay on here. Not because I don't find the work extremely satisfying, and working with the people unbelievable gratifying. It's just that I have now been apart from my husband for nine months, and frankly, that is getting a bit old. Compromises, I suppose, is what makes the wedding wheel turn after all.

That being said, the dozens of people coming into my office this past week sharing their exasperation with my decision, did not make it any easier. I suppose it is better than the alternative, but still, how do you explain to a team of nine engineers and site managers, with whom you've spent hours and hours on project cycle management and other forms of project capacity building, that you are in a matter of speaking, abandoning them? I nearly burst into tears when one of my guards brought my dinner to my room one night with a look of defiance when he said "Susan inja nie?" (Susan, here, no?) with an indication of both hands waving away? I tried desperately to explain in what little Dari I had picked up that my "family" was in Kabul and I had to leave...

Fortunate for me, my two large projects (the construction of roughly 600 shelters, schools, clinics, road, latrines and potable water for landless refugees, internally displaced persons (IDPs) and returnees (from refugee camps in Pakistan and Iran) is closing at the end of the month, so I will be able to see this through. But still, I have fostered strong friendships, relationships, and professional connections up here and work well with all of my colleagues at the UN, Red Cross and other partner organizations, only to pull up, pack up and move to Kabul.

I have started looking in Kabul, but have not made a firm commitment to anyone, I want to be sure that I select something that will not render me a paper pusher in the capital, with zero or no interaction with the provinces and the people. Ideally I will shift into a Kabul-based position with a lot of travel to the provinces, with a focus on providing access to justice for vulnerable people in Afghanistan.

I am ecstatic to announce though that in three weeks today (enshallah), I will be having dinner with Hannelize in Dubai, on my way to South Africa for some serious R&R in Plett with my parents, and then the Cape with my sister (who decided to pick on me today for joining facebook and hence neglect my blog....) Watch this space for the next page.

Rugby World Cup 2007

Alright, this is not exactly a literary post about my adventures in Afghanistan, although I guess in a way it is. It involves keeping your dreams alive, even in remote places like these - which for the next two weeks involves only one thing, the Springboks taking the cup at the Rugby World Cup 2007! After two weeks of upset upon upset, the final four teams include England (yes, the old, slow and seemingly less-than-fit Red Roses profited off the myriad mistakes made by a careless Australian side last Saturday), France (after inching past a not-so-stellar Kiwi side, by refusing the ball the pleasure of ever seeing the hands of an All Black back, the Frogs stunned the world by gaining access to the semis), Argentina (after beating RWC hosts, France, in the opening match, everyone knew to watch out for the oft' unpredictable Pumas, and they proved to be right, beating out Scotland for a coveted spot in the final four, a first for them), and South Africa (dealt the toughest pool of all the contenders, the Springboks had to fight past England, Samoa, came very close against Tonga, and then finished off the US). Some say the Springboks had an advantage because of the fact that they had some competition, and this might be true. Racking up three-digit scores against the likes of Portugal, Italy and Japan does not exactly prepare one for tough rugby matches.

Probably easy for me to say (since my team's still in the run), but let bygones be bygones. I am looking forward to this coming weekend. England and France will surely battle it out 'til the end, and the South Africa vs. Argentina game is bound to be an entertaining one. I get to watch this week’s festivities with the Red Cross in Mazar (in French) and then if all goes well, the finals in the closest thing we have to the “Springbok Bar” in Kabul.

And to my Kiwi and Wallaby friends, "Que sera, sera.....whatever will be, will be" see you in 2011 as the defending champions! Amabokke-bokke!

(Photo: I don't usually post unsourced photographs, but unfortunately I received this via email and have no idea of the source and thought it was TOO GOOD...if you recognize it as your own, send me your name!)