The weather is changing. Days are not hot; nights are chilly. The winds--and the dust--have picked up. Sometimes you can't see the mountains for all the dust in the air. When you go outside, your scalp gets filled with sand and dirt; like being at the beach, but without that primal feeling of peace you have at the beach.
It's Ramazzan. That's the local pronunciation of what people in the states call Ramadan. There is no eating or drinking of anything during daylight hours--by the locals; it's not polite for Infidels to eat or drink in front of them, but we
can eat & drink; just inside, out of sight.
I've almost been here 6 months. The days stretch on, but the weeks fly by.
The work is good, but the work politics... Not the co-workers; they, the immediate, day-to-day co-workers, are all great--at a higher level though, the politics and the stupidity... The institutional level, ugh.
And Kabul is a different place than it was 3 or 4 months ago. It's more timid, but more on edge. Less hopeful, though still positive. There are still lots of good signs of reconstruction, rebirth; but there certainly is no lessening of police or military or security barriers.
The longer I am here, the more benefits I see in my having decided to do this; everyone in America should have to live in the third world for a few months--even if they live in relative luxury--electricity, running water safe enough to shower in but not drink, clean bottled drinking water, plenty of warm food every meal--while living in the third world.
