After 'E' day

So I was wrong. Usually, I'm a natural optimist, but in this case, in the case of the Nepali elections I chose pessimism. I chose to believe the dooms day predictions and the head shakers and the "it will never go peacefully" camp. But I was wrong. The elections were a success and men, women and youths came out in droves to exercise their democratic right. It is funny, in a way, as a successful election was not what anyone had prepared for, including me. A few days before "E" day, in response to the overwhelming election pessimism in the air, my housemate and I had registered with the embassy, stockpiled cans of tinned tomatoes and pasta and all but packed our bags ready for the evacuation. On Election Day vehicles were banned from the roads, the army and the various election observers were out in force, and everyone was ready for the mass burning and looting of polling booths, violence and intimidation from the YCL (youth arm of the Maoists) and maybe even the outbreak of civil war. But the morning came and I woke up to the sound of bird song rather than gunfire. Still convinced mayhem was being unleashed just beyond my gate; I rolled over and turned on the BBC to be greeted by the cheerful voice of BBC correspondent Charles Haviland reporting an almost 'festive' atmosphere at polling booths. And that is how the day progressed, peaceful beyond anyone's wildest dreams. Although there were cases of polling booths being burnt or thrown into the river and candidates being killed (7 in total, I think) news was also of people who made sure they voted before being rushed to hospital to give birth, old people who voted and then died minutes later (the press insinuated excitement related heart attacks), people in the Terai who came out despite threats of violence to finally have their say about how they wanted their New Nepal to look.

In the end an estimated 60% of Nepalis came out to vote. As the Kathmandu post pointed out the next day, this is nothing short of a miracle considering the pre-election tension, the numerous armed groups vocal against the elections, and the fact that a huge % of Nepal's population has been displaced, killed or moved abroad due to the 10 year armed conflict that has waged since the last elections in 1999.

I really shouldn't be so surprised. Nepal is amazingly resilient country, which always seems to come through despite 'everyone' saying it could never happen. Take the people's movement in April 2006 or the fact that the elections were held at all, let alone peacefully. Every time, it seems, the Nepali people proved 'everyone' wrong. Of course the biggest surprise of all was the landslide victory of the Maoist Party and still the pessimists and the hand ringers are predicting the worse, how can such a rebel party come out of the jungle and lead the New Nepal, it will never work! But the people of Nepal have chosen the Maoists and with them comes a feeling of change and maybe even optimism, who knows…the Maoists and the country have a long up hill struggle in front of them, but this time I will take my lead from the people and I will choose optimism and hope for change and a New Nepal (albeit a red one!)

Waiting for a New Nepal

For the last few days there has been a noticeable increase in huddling among men here. Huddling is something that Nepali men do, they sit in huddles and drink chiya and talk…but recently the huddles have got tighter, the talk more urgent and they are everywhere, on street corners, outside shops, in the usual chiya pasals (tea shops). I know what they are talking about, its what everyone's talking about, wondering about…even the street dogs have an unsure look on their face "what will happen after Thursday? Will everything change?"

Thursday (tomorrow) is the Nepali CA (Constituent Assembly) Elections. Nepal has been waiting for these elections for almost 2 years now, since the Jana Andolan (or people's uprising) in April 2006, when the king stepped down and democracy came (for the second time) to Nepal. The elections have already been postponed twice, and right up to this week, people were still not sure if they would actually happen…the ballot papers weren't going to be printed in time, the parties were fighting, the Madeshi's were bringing the country to a halt. But in the end the ballot papers got printed, the parties continued fighting but no one pulled the plug on the elections and the Madeshi's were appeased. So here we are, on the eve of the elections, wondering if the much promised Naya Nepal (new Nepal) will materialize.

Naya Nepal, is a term that everyone has been using to describe the Nepal that will materialize after the elections (Equal Access even have a radio programme by that name), it is a term loaded with hope and the promise of change for the better. It makes me think of shiny new things, of glowing lights and angelic voices in chorus. The reality is a little less shiny. The reality is news of bombs and shootings, of the killing of party candidates by other parties cadres or women candidates being beaten up so badly they loose an eye, of petty name calling between politicians and party members, of curfews and voter intimidation, of rallies that turn violent and campaigns that have no agenda for how a New Nepal will rise, no party line bar the slogan "vote for trees" or "don't vote for them". The party leaders have signed two agreements promising a peaceful and fair election yet not a day has passed in the last two weeks without the papers reporting one lot of party cadres beating up or intimidating another. Prachanda (the Maoist leader) has said that if the Maoists don't win, the elections must be unjust and he will not accept them. In reality if the Maoists DO win it will be because of fear and intimidation, as I'm pretty sure they do not have any popular support. But ke garne, if they don't win they may well pick up arms again, 'head back to the forests' and start another civil war...so perhaps, in the name of a quiet life, they will win. Whatever happens tomorrow I'm pretty sure in the end the people of Nepal will not win. But may be I'm being too pessimistic, maybe the gains that have been made in ensuring better equality and representation in Nepal will continue and this election will go smoothly and will truly mark the start of the road to a New Nepal…that's the beauty of the day before, waiting, huddling, its all rumour at the moment and from this distance we can still hope!

Losar Love

I feel like my blog is becoming a little depressing. So this entry is a positive celebration! Last Saturday I braved the crowds and went to Boudha – the largely Tibetan area of Kathmandu to watch and take part in the celebrations for Tibetan New year or Losar. It was confusing – but then what new year's celebrations aren't confusing for the outsider? Lots of seemingly random (but obviously well timed) shoouts of "lah", throwing of white powder into the air, milling around, smiling, laughter, amazing costumes and cookies. They also have a tradition where you write people's names on prayer flags, and then these are hoisted up and hung on the Boudha Stupa (see photo of man carrying flags to the top) where they remain all year. So I bought my flags and wrote all your names on them – it was lovely, sitting their in the sun on the steps of the stupa, thinking of all my friends and family and writing you all down one by one on multi coloured flags. Whether you believe in the power of prayer or not, it's still kind of cool to know that your names are flapping in the wind, high above a huge Buddhist stupa, somewhere in Nepal.

Ps I don’t think I forgot anyone, but if I did….I will go back next year!

Fifth Worst

A letter to the Kathmandu Post (or maybe it was the Himalayan Times) that I read on Sunday said that Nepal had been voted amongst the top five worst countries in the world. Unfortunately, the letter writer did not expand on which poll he was quoting from, how 'worst' was defined or what the other 4 countries were (but that is the start of a whole different rant on journalism here which never seems to require story background, context or follow up!). At first I was a little surprised. This is a country where when the smog lifts you can see nothing but snow capped mountains in the distance, this is the country that is home to Everest, that is the birth place of Buddha and a travel destination for droves of tourists, climbers, hippies, trekkers, adventure sport fanatics and generally anyone who loves beauty. There are a lot of stinking, war torn, corrupt and generally undemocratic countries in the world. And Nepal was ranking in the top 5. Then I thought about all the possible indicators for 'worst'…lack of amenities, lack of clean water, lack of security, lack of good governance, lack of a functioning civil society, corruption, pollution, low life expectancy, lack of health services, poverty, discrimination, displaced populations and I realized Nepal has all of those, some in abundance. Everyday there are less vehicles on the road and longer queues outside petrol stations because of a diesel crisis (meaning the country has no diesel), we have to wait days, sometimes weeks for a new gas cylinder to use for heating or cooking, today I heard that the water truck can't deliver any more water because they have no fuel for driving (and my house has become the shower-place as all of my friends ran out of water weeks ago), electricity cuts are now 8 hours a day (more outside Kathmandu) with no real reason (Nepal is hydropowered and should have enough power to power herself and parts of India and China!) except for "in order to repair damaged machine No.1 Julekhani Hydropower Project needs to be closed tentatively for about two weeks…." that was 2 months ago. In terms of security the Maoists have quietened down since joining the Government but a new group (I use the term group loosely as there are many different groups and factions) called the Madheshi's are now agitating across the Terai region of Nepal, calling strikes, burning buses, letting off bombs, killing and terrorizing in the name of equal rights, representation and in extreme cases an independent state. The Terai is a pretty much no go area and hordes of people are leaving, adding to the hordes who left or were displaced under the 10years of Maoists insurgency. Stikes (or bandhs as they are called here) in Kathmandu are less frequent but at least once or twice a month the city will grind to a halt, tyres will be burnt, rocks will be thrown and another group will call for another set of demands to be met. I went to a BBC presentation last week where they shared that when asked 'what is the most effective form of collective action' the highest number of survey respondents said bandh, the next highest was violent uprisings. The Constituent Assembly elections (the first crucial step towards developing a functioning democracy and Government in Nepal) have already been postponed twice…this time they are planned for April but no one can say if they will happen. And all this comes on top of the poverty, the low literacy rates, the high infant mortality rates. Nepal is amongst only a few countries in the world where the life expectancy for women is lower than men (although this differs on whose statistics you look at, Action Aid has women slightly higher than men). So I guess it is understandable that Nepal would rank so high…but still disappointing and distressing, this is a country with such potential, with so many natural resources, with a vibrant tourist industry, with beautiful people and yet it seems to be slipping away largely unnoticed by the wider world.

Trying to be better

Again apologies for the lack of bloggyness recently. I am trying to be better! It is just harder when you don't see things through new eyes anymore, when getting up going to work, coming home, going to bed is the extent of your daily routine, when power is often cut, internet is shabby and it is too cold to type....but these are all tired excuses, so I will try to write more and thanks for still reading.

When you know your language lessons are useless...

...when your didi* who speaks no english turns up at your door and bursts into tears and you don't know how to say "what's wrong, don't cry"....when you only finally realise after a painful session of your limited understanding of Nepali and her acting skills that the reason she is crying is that her nephew is dead and her husband is in hospital in Malasia after they were both attacked and you can't even say "I am so sorry for your loss, are you alright? Is there anything I can do to help"... when all you can do is stand there dumbly or offer a hug to this tiny lady who has nothing and yet has lost more than you can even imagine...when you want to tell her that you are so angry that immigrant workers like her husband and nephew, who are so often the poorest and most desperate, are also the most vulnerable, that it shouldn't be this way, that it is unfair that she only saw her husband for the first 5 months of their marriage before he left to work abroad 3 years ago ... but instead all you can say is "naramro" = "not good/not lovely"... when you spent the last 2 hours learnng how to say what you did this morning and all you now need to say is "im sorry that this happened to you, it is ok to cry"


*didi - literally means older sister, but is the name given to the lady that comes to your house to clean etc (most nepalis have a didi, who come and help out)

Zakiya Zaki

“But ordinary people don’t just get assassinated”, I said. All wide eyed western naivete. But the truth is they do. Everyday in Afghanistan. The difference is this time it was someone I knew, had met, talked to, was inspired by, so when my colleage came in to my office this morning to tell me Zakiya Zaki had been killed last night, in her bed, that was my initial stunned response.

Zakiya Zaki was the station manager of a Radio Solh or Peace
Radio, (this is her picture that I took last week at her studio as she proudly showed me all the letters the station recieved) a community radio station in a Jabel Seraj an area in Parwan province about 1 hour outside of Kabul. I had been to visit Zakiya and her radio station just a week earlier as it is one of Equal Access’ partner stations and also because she has been very supportive of our human rights trainings in the area. And it turns out that it was just this kind of supportiveness for initiatives in her area that led to her being murdered. I have since heard that local power structures had verbalised criticism of her openness in working and dealing with NGOs and foreigners. To talk to her you would not have realized that she was under any threat. She seemed carefree, in control, proud of what she had achieved with her station. She was one of those lady’s that even if you’d only met her once, you’d remember her. I first met her at a training we gave to cultural centre and FM centre heads in the area, one proud smiling female in a woolly hat in an otherwise male dominated room. “Whose that?” I’d asked my female colleague sitting next to me “that is Zakia, she is a great woman”

And now she is dead. How can that happen? How can you be killed for being respected and admired in your community? How can loving your country be a threat to your life? I’ve never known anyone who has been murdered before. And there is no doubt that she was murdered, in the most brutal way. According to reports from my colleague, armed assailants broke into her house in the middle of the night and killed her. She had 7 children. My brain can’t comprehend it and my body is not used to the emotions that this news brought. When you hear that someone has died, you feel sadness. When you hear that someone has been murdered, assassinated, for doing good things, for helping people and for standing up for their beliefs in their own way then yes, sadness is there but there is also anger and frustration and disbelief and I just wanted to scream “No!” this can’t happen, this can’t be what happens in Afghanistan. I was in the room with my two scriptwriters when I was told. They knew her better than I did. I looked at their faces as the news sunk in and saw sadness but also more than that, I saw…not acceptance as such, but resignation I guess. This is not new to them. I also work with an Afghan American lady, she was devastated by the news and called the local Wali (important person in the village) when he heard that she was crying he said “don’t cry, we have been experiencing this for 30 years”. Pointless deaths of good people are not new to Afghans.

Although she was not killed because of the support she gave to Equal Access, her work with internationals and ngos did contribute to her being murdered. I think we as internationals here, with our big cars and our armed guards and our secure houses, sometimes forget that by and large it is Afghans who are being targeted. When the Italian journalist was kidnapped recently it was his Afghan fixer who was killed, while he was freed. Many internationals here get danger money and hardship allowance (I don’t) but it is ordinary Afghans like Zakiya who put their life on the line for the country, not the money or the kudos or the CV.

I don’t know what to do. I heard this news and there is nothing I can do except tell you all about her. I doubt you will read about her death in the international press, by our International standards she wasn’t that important but to me she was a symbol that women (and men) in this country can make a difference and her death is a symbol that Afghanistan still has a long way to go. I hope that her death does not make other women (or men) shy away from standing up for their rights, but who am I to demand that they do? How many of us would actually stand up and do something if we knew that it could end up with us being murdered in our beds. Zakiya did and it amazes me every time I meet a woman, or a man in this country who is willing to do the same.

http://www.mediumlight.com/Radio/radio.htm

The end of the Kabul social scene as we know it...

For those of us lucky enough to only have to work a 5 day (although this almost always becomes closer to a 6-day) week here in Kabul, Saturday is generally known as L’atmo day. You turn up all scarfed and culturally appropriate, walk in, de-scarf, order the BEST apricot pie I've ever tasted, a pot of tea perhaps and … relax, knowing that at some point some, if not all, of the people you know in Kabul will drop by. And everyone who has spent any time here can recall a Thursday night getting a little too drunk on L’atmo’s generous spirit portions and dancing into the wee small hours to the likes of Shakira ('hips dont lie').

Actually called L’atmosphere, L’atmo it is a bar, a restaurant, a wi-fi zone, a garden, a pool…an institution among expats here. So imagine our despair when this Saturday, towel and bikini (yes Kabul is one of the only bikini-friendly places in Afghanistan) in hand my friend and I rock up to L’atmo to find that it has closed. “Closed for an hour?” we asked the guards hopefully, “ah closed for the day” piped up another group who had just turned up for a Saturday swim…."no, what? closed? closed as in closed down…but, but, this is L’atmo??!!” And this is Afghanistan where the Ministry of Finance can do a 1 day audit and decide on rather sketchy evidence that they will close down the place unless the owner pays $500,000 in taxes. This is despite the fact the owner (a French guy) is one of the few people here that actually do pay their taxes! The word on the Kabul rumour mill (which is not that accurate at the best of times…I heard a rumour about myself and a Fijian boyfriend who was coming to Kabul to reclaim me! I have never dated a Fijian!!) is that the Adam Smith Institute who are capacity building within the Ministry, told the MoF (min of Finance) that they should make an example of a non tax paying organisation. They chose Latmosphere, an Afghan staffed, tax paying, successful business. This is the short sightedness of the Government here. Instead of realizing that L’atmo was a good money earner for the Government, they saw it as a cash cow to squeeze dry. My housemate runs another restaurant here and she has spent weeks and months jumping through various government hoops and corrupt, bureaucratic systems. Roshan, which is the Agha Khan set up mobile phone supplier and which is the biggest payer of Government taxes in Afghanistan has 5 full time lawyers, on staff, simply to deal with whatever the Government keeps throwing at them to squeeze out more money. There is no forethought, no understanding that without encouraging a successful private business sector, the Afghan economy will never get up from its knees and the Government will never be able to survive without donor money. Mark, the guy who owns L’atmo, wrote an open letter explaining what had happened…he sounded tired of fighting…his last line was “good luck to whoever tries to start a business in this country”.


Another rumour circulating on the Kabul rumour tree is that Mark, the owner, is now on a hunger strike until the MoF open L’atmo again…that sounds to me like another Fijian boyfriend of a rumour!!

I'm back

Sorry for the silence. I'm back on the blog...promise!

Getting Engaged

My first month in Kabul, I was driving to my colleague’s house for a taste of homecooked Afghan food when we passed what can only be described as Las Vegas on a roundabout. In a city of mostly mud houses (apart from the occasional war lord mansion) this massive building, surrounded my flashing neon palm trees, fairy lights dripping and a huge bold sign reading “KABUL PARIS WEDDING HALL”, took my breath away. Since I saw it, it has been my dream to enter this flashing neon world and experience it for myself….and last week it happened! It was my colleague Safi’s brother’s engagement party and it was at the Kabul Paris Wedding Hall. All my male colleagues were invited along with me and Meghann (our new program manager). Meghann and I were of course going to be in the women’s side, so we would not actually see any of the other guys from the office (Safi as a family member is allowed to join both sides). I’d heard tales from friends of hours stuck alone with a room full of women they didn’t know, but I had Meghann and I was also excited to spend time with more Afghan women – a rare opportunity in this city! I was a little unsure what to wear, I had heard that the women dress up to the nines, so I put a little make up on and borrowed my housemates silk shalwa-style top, I felt pretty fancy (I’d even showered at the neighbour’s house for the occasion) but nothing would prepare me for the full make up and heels, taffeta and sequins all the way appearance of the Afghan ladies. Not a head scarf in sight, instead the young girls were dressed like something straight off the pages of just 17, all side pony tails, miniskirts and boots, the girls in their teens wore full stage make up, beautiful (and some horrendous) strappy dresses (sometimes with t-shirts underneath), sequin jackets, stilettos and huge smiles. Some of them were truly breath taking and sassy too, chatting and laughing, strong, beautiful women of Afghanistan. There was one particularly stunning group of ladies, who I soon realized were all related – 3 wives and about 20 daughters of the one of the richest men in Kabul. The wives all seemed to get on great, dancing and gossiping together, the newest wife was 16, which turned my stomach a little, but she seemed happy, who can tell. I’ve learnt to not judge in certain cases anymore, it’s not my place, it is more interesting to hear what people on the inside think of it. I was chatting to one of the daughters who said that she wanted to marry a poor man, when her father asked why and she said “because then he can only afford one wife”, “but you are beautiful, no man would need a second wife if he had you” the dad had replied…to which the daughter quickly (and brilliantly) retorted “my mother is beautiful and you still have 3 wives”. The evening was a complete eye opener to the closed, inside world of Afghan women. It was also an eye opener to the downsides of being in the ladies’ room. After 3 hours of dancing and being videod* the food finally arrived. I was so excited, at parties with my male colleagues before I have loved the steaming plates of Kabuli Pilau, fresh hot bread, kebob, kofta and mantou…but as the cold half eaten plates were put down on the table, I realized these were the men’s leftovers. I knew this happened in Afghanistan, that the women ate only after the men had been served, but surely not in Kabul, not at an engagement party. But sure enough, there were teeth marks and fork marks all over the cold food. None of the women seemed to notice, and tucked in eagerly, to the half full plates. I looked apologetically at Meghan, I’d persuaded her to stay an extra hour on the promise of a feast of a lifetime and as I picked up a piece of cold already bitten into bread, I realized again how lucky I was as a western woman to be able to experience both sides of the coin here. As sassy as these women were, they were still in the room that got the cold food and few of them would ever experience what I’d taken for granted, sitting in the boys room, watching them dance, being treated as an equal and eating hot food first!

*(there was a professional camera crew, and for most of the night, the bride stood on a stage being filmed with her fiancée, friends and family. Hats off to the girl, I only stood up there for about 2 mins and when I stepped down I found I was blinded by the spotlight, my jaw ached from smiling and I felt dizzy from standing!)

Kabul in Winter

When you live here for a while, the way of life in Afghanistan becomes a reality. I remember being at a dinner party my first couple of weeks here, when suddenly all the electricity went out and we were plunged into darkness. No one shrieke, no one made a fuss, in fact whoever was telling their story kept speaking and everyone else kept listening and I sat there wondering if I was the only one who had noticed the blackout. But now I understand, it is only when you leave here that you actually remember it is not normal to have one hour of electricity a day or to have no real roads or addresses or postal system. When I got back to my parents’ at Christmas and opened my bag, I was struck with this overwhelming smell of 16th Century peasant life, I and everything I owed smelt (as my dad kindly pointed out) like the Yorvic Viking centre. It is not surprising, heating over winter consists of bukaris – small wood or diesel burning stoves that provide heat just while they are lit and then seconds after the fire goes out, the room is freezing again and you have to start messing around with wood and splint and matches and diesel to get it all going again. December was harsh, it was cold, but January was a whole new ball game and I think half the problem was that I’d forgotten the standards of life you have to live by here. I’d got cosy with my parents in America, I’d got lazy with central heating and fridges and ovens that just turn on, I expected that turning a tap would result in water…and I wasn’t prepared in anyway for the coldest January in Kabul in 40 years. I have not experienced cold like it. You see your breath when you wake up, when you are cooking in the kitchen, when you are working. Pipes freeze so there is no running water (the pipes in our house froze for the whole month) ice actually formed around the flush in the bathroom. I had a recurring dream where I’d turn a tap and water came out. After the pipes freeze, they generally crack and so if you do manage to defrost them, then water comes gushing down, through the mud roofs and muddy, cold water pours down the walls in your house and you are left with a damp stench that you know will be around til spring (this happened to my boss, not me). For 4 weeks I washed from a bucket of water collected from the well in the garden and heated on a bukari, I got dressed to go to bed then got in my sleeping bag, under by duvet, I never wore less than 2 pairs of thermals and 103 layers. But I survived and somehow the harshness of it all adds yet another dimension to the camaraderie that you share with people around you. People take one look at you and know whether you are a have or a have not (got running water). The haves are usually generous and offers of showers at random people’s houses are not uncommon. A meeting I had at the British Embassy ended with a contract and the offer of a bath! Where else would that happen! I took them up on it of course, and turned up 3 nights later, my towel packed in my bag and spent 2 blissful hours in a bathroom that felt like home, being naked and happy for the first time in ages…I think for a moment there as I lay in this pristine bathroom, as much hot water as a girl could dream of, not a chill in the air…I actually forgot where I was, just for a little while, but these are the moments that get us through a winter in Kabul!