In a couple of hours I'll be heading off to Farah, 'my' province in Afghanistan where my team and I support those affected by the war to pick up their lives again with small businesses, a new house, education, food or livestock. Farah is an increasingly dangerous province in the West of Afghanistan where Taliban flee to when it gets too hot on their heels in neighbouring Helmand. Next to that, the very porous border with Iran has made Farah a one-stop-shop for drugs and weapons where the rule of law isn't exactly the rule of 'Parliamentary approved' law.
But that is for (a couple of hours) later. Getting packed is first. Now, although 40 degrees and sunny sounds like a holiday, the packing looksa bit different: when was the last time you packed a pocket-buddy or a grab-bag? In order to keep track of where I am when I am traipsing around on field-visits in the dessert and find me if I am 'disappeared', I am to carry a little device that sends my GPS coordinates to our security-operations room. This little buddy also has a panic button that you can push to alarm security and record a 30 second message in which you detail the where, what, why and how...if the device hasn't already been taken away from you. A grab-bag is probably more familiar: who hasn't gone to a popfestival with an extra sweater, towel, pair of boxer shorts and bottle of water? Mine is a brand new cool sand-coloured back-pack fillend with the abovementioned and then some, which I am suppossed to take with me or place next to the door of my room so I can grab and take it in case of emergency. I've thrown in some fruitella as well.
One of the Western-style supermarkets in kabul was graced with a visit too and emptied of significant amounts of their canned beans,vegetables and meat, pasta, rice, oil, comfortfood, tea and coffee. My new live-and-work compound isn't exactly in the centre of the universe, so stocking up is a necessity. As it is one of the smaller UN compounds it also doesn't have all the staff that seems to come standard at the bigger ones such as cooks, cleaners and maybe a gardener.
Last, but for security certainly not least, I have bought agreat Sharwal Kamiz (traditional men's dress) and some sandals. One has to blend in as muchas possible when going to the provinces. Although anyone with a functioning pair of eyes will notice that I'm not an Afghan, from a distance I will stand out less than when wearing jeans and a polo-shirt. (Obviously a photo of me in full dress will follow soon).
We'll see how it fares, but for now I hear I'm lucky: The Provincial Reconstruction Team in Farah will have a karaoke evening Thursday night.
