The Weather Outside is Frightful

The weather in Kabul has taken a cold turn for the worse.  I'm told at night it's negative 2.   Course,  that's celcius,  coming from my Canadian friends.  I'm a busy man,  I don't have time to do a whole bunch of "math" to figure out what the temperature is in Farenheit,  but needless to say - it's chilly.

Solution?

Buy identical handmade coats with your friends for 55 dollars.

I feel pimptastic about these coats.

Now I'm going to lay some Afghanistan fun facts on you, and lead you down a path of knowledge,  which will eventually end with a vaguely comedic tie in to these coats.

1) The most popular car in Afghanistan is a Toyota Corolla.   Not Toyota itself.   Specifically the Corolla.   I have seen one or two Camrys,  and a couple 4-Runners,  and somewhere in the range of 7,000 Corollas since I arrived in Kabul.   There's no such thing as credit here in Afghanistan,  everything is paid for with cash,  and all the Corollas come used from other countries.  Afghanistan is the Corolla graveyard.   Parents send their Corolla's to Kabul to die,  and tell their children that the family car is having the time of it's life on some luxurious roads somewhere.

2) Afghans like their status symbols.   Having a particular this or that elevates them in the eyes of their friends,  much like,  well every other country in the world.   Now,  Toyota is the number one most recognized brand in the country (Roshan is number two).  People LOVE their Toyotas.  I have to imagine this is because Toyotas run forever,  and under the extreme duress of the roads and driving here.....thats a plus.   Now the funny part is that we have seen other cars,  like a honda for example,  that has a Toyota emblem yanked from somewhere else and pasted on their car.   Everyone wants to be seen driving a Toyota.

3) Which leads to the coats.  When we went to buy our coats we were presented with a box that had inside tags from every major brand of fancy coat maker -  from Armani to Hugo Boss.  The idea being to sew the tag onto the outside of your homemade coat (the tags we normally remove) so that everyone knows you are wearing the latest fashions.


Weird stuff.

What's in a name?

I got my business cards in today.  

Exhibit A:  The English Side

Exhibit B:  The Dari Translated Side

So I'm all excited to have my fancy business cards,  so I bring it over to a Afghan friend of mine.  

"Here's my business card.  You get the first one.  How's it look?"  I say 

He takes it.  Uncontrollable laughter.  He writes two small dots on the end of my name (you can see it there in black).   Then he shows it to a couple other afghans.  Uncontrollable laughter. 

I spend five minutes persuading this man to tell me what my name in Dari means.  I know it's bad. 

My friend won't tell me.  "it's a bad word.  i can't say it"

He slowly starts typing on his computer.    

D.  I.  C.  K. 

No way. 

I take my business card back to my buddy Dr. Sami for confirmation and ask him to write down what my business card says. 

He protectively wraps his hand around a scrap piece of paper.   A few seconds of writing. 

The unveiling....scraggly chicken scratch handwriting...

Penis.    

My full name translated in Dari means penis.  So that's pretty fantastic. 

The original Afghan friend teases me about it all afternoon,  until I'm forced to say it.  My hands are tied.  I have no choice. 

"Oh Dildar....let me tell you something about your name...."

what a good day. 

I'm back

Thailand was,  as always,  awesome.   Quick summary cause this blog isn't about vacations really - buckets, sand, sun,  food,  kayaks,  scuba joel,  cliffs, sharks,  treehouses,  sun,  good times.

Off to thailand for 10 days

Stay tuned.

That's a strong message for an air freshener

Power is Poison? 

Take it easy air freshener.  Stop handing down life lessons from your ivory tower.  Keep in mind your main purpose in life is to make our bathrooms smell less poopy.

No Matter What Time Zone You're In, It's Probably My Birthday

Let me start by saying I think this country is trying to kill us all.  Two more of my friends were cut down in their prime with the Afghan Stomach.  And Karima's been vomiting all day.   But like an adorable vomiting.  She's a pretty lady.

So anyway,  my bday party team was cut in numbers,  but I think the members of the team that made it out did an excellent job of celebrating to the fullest extent possible.

We went out to a british pub called Gandamacks.  Here we are....

One of my friends was even kind enough to bestow upon me a Afghan hat and scarf pictured below.

The Pakol originated in a region of Afghanistan called Nuristan.  The Pakol was worn by the Afghan Mujahideen who fought against the Soviet Invasion and today they are worn by the United Front Alliance.

I just googled that.  Last night I referred to it as "haaaat".

Although excellent times were had by all,  the evening was pretty uneventful.  We did however meet a delightful young american fellow.  He had a thick texan accent and refused to believe that Karima was from Canada and railed on for quite some time about illegal immigration.

This wound Karima up too nearly, but not quite, "oh no you didn't" levels.

THEN he said the word wetback.  I didn't even know that was a real word.  I figured that was just a urban myth spread by liberal parents around the country.

THEN,  he sorta called her a wetback.

THEN he tried to apologize by grabbing her face.  Don't ever do that to Karima.

After a severe tongue lashing,  he retreated into the shadows never to be heard from again.

Today I heard there was a giant fight at Gandamack,  and someone got smashed over the head with a beer bottle and six americans went to jail.  There's no doubt in my mind that our buddy was the recipient of that head smashing.  Probably because he used a highly offensive racial slur towards the wrong racially unapplicable person.

Or Karima snuck back to the bar while after I went to sleep.

Either way,  my birthday was awesome and thanks to all.

On a completely unrelated note,  have a look at this...

It's a mini Eiffel Tower in the middle of Kabul.  That's barely weird at all.

And now look at this

There's no story behind this one,  I just think it's a pretty rad picture.

Good night.

Halloween In Kabul

Halloween in Kabul turned out to be a rager.  We went with a group of about 15 people to a giant party at Relax Guesthouses.  The costumes actually turned out to be pretty amazing in a country where the costume stores are limited.  I saw the best Beetlejuice I have ever seen,  and a pretty solid Edward Scissorhands.

Our costumes were admittedly very hastily thrown together.

Karima stole my Kabul Golf Club hat and polo (and a pair of argyle socks) and went as....I guess a golfer.

I wrote book on my face.  Facebook.  Ha!  Get it?  Kill me.

The advantages to being on of few americans at a party.  No one knows I stole my costume from Jim in the Office halloween episode.

The disadvantages - I went mildly insane after dozens of explanations,  blanks stares and questions like

"Why do you have 'Bo' and 'Ok' written on your face?"

Our security team was kind to us last night,  giving us an additional hour of curfew.  The high altitude warm heinekens were unkind,  striking us down with morning hangovers.

I went for take out chinese today,  one of the best meals I have had yet.  So good.  So very good.

Between that,  a little TV watching and a solid 3 hour nap,  I felt like my weekend was a success.

More pictures to follow,  I have to track them down from a friend.

Meet the Team

This picture (minus Karima) encompasses the entirety of Roshan's Marketing Communication team. 

From left to right you have Mohammed Farid Qayyumi,  Surat Khan and Dr.  Abdul Sami Raheemazay. 

Man I love these guys.   

Farid is in charge of finance and enjoys Thursday afternoons when he regularly breaks out a fancy snack of some kind and shares with everyone.  The first week Karima and I showed up he brought out a bottle of  "The Pepsi Mountain Dew" and made sure everyone got a glass to celebrate the end of the week. 

Surat Khan doesn't speak very much english,  but we communicate through the international language of hugs.  He's probably one of the friendliest people I have ever met.  You have to understand a little bit of Afghan culture, which is something I have started to figure out.  One aspect of this culture is that when you come to work in the morning,  you start the day by greeting everyone in your department with handshakes and asking how they are doing,  how their families are,  etc.  If you go to another department to talk to someone,  before any work can be done you have to also greet everyone in the same manner.  One day a few weeks back,  on a normal day I showed up at work,  went to shake Surat Khans hand and he gravely got out of his seat,  opened his arms and gave me a giant bear hug.  "It's the Pashtun way" he said.    

"Karima,  am I supposed to hug this guy every day now?"

"I have no idea"

So I play it safe and dole out the hugs on a daily basis.  We're buddies.

A fun fact about Surat Khan.  He's got the biggest hands I've ever seen on a human.  Look at his hand on my shoulder,  it looks like a bear is trying to break my neck.  

Dr. Sami is an actual doctor,  but it turns out he can make more money working for Roshan,  so now he is a manager in the marketing department.  He'll likely inherit the department after the company goes entirely to Afghans.   He's super quiet,  shy,  incredibly smart and funny as shit.  At any given time he's probably got 50 things that he's remembering to do.  While Karima and I have notebooks filled with checklists,  and to do items,  I've never seen Sami actually write anything down.  And I've never seen him forget anything either.  He has a notebook,  but mostly uses it as a coaster for coffee mugs.   He was really quiet at first,  but once he warmed up to us,  we started getting hints of his very sarcastic and dry sense of humour.  It started with whisperings of "Did Sami just say that?" between Karima and I,  but now he's got me cracking up on a daily basis.  

Here's the team with Karima.  Of course as a woman she doesn't get the hugs. 

Buzkashi

Do you know what the Afghan national sport is?   I didn't till a few weeks ago.  I don't really have anything to report on it,  I haven't seen it....I just think you should know it exists.

I think essentially it's like polo except instead of using a ball......they use a goat carcass.

That's all I have to say about that.  I'll report back when I get to a match.

Afghan Stomach

So I got struck down with some food poisoning the past couple days.  Apparently everyone gets it eventually when they come to work here.  It's euphemistically referred to as "Afghan Stomach" and it's been explained to me that it's my stomach "adjusting".

However,  in my case - and based on some intense physical evidence,  my stomach decided against "adjusting" and instead tried to pack up my intestines and leave me for good.

I don't have to get into the particulars of my food poisoning I suppose,  most people have been there.  There was some curling up wishing for death of course,  some moaning,  and several days of unpleasantness.    I'm now at about 80% I think,  which just means general uneasiness and dislike of being out of range of a bathroom.  But I can cope with that.

The real lasting damage however is nausea.  Especially when I think about the food in the dining hall.   There's nothing wrong with that food at all,  but since I can't pinpoint the source of my afghan stomach everything is suspect.  And when I see the suspects,  I feel a little sick to my stomach.

So today,  I inexplicably got a severe craving for a tuna fish sandwich.  Something safe,  that I can make on my own.   Karima and I went grocery shopping,  got all the necessities and I looked forward to it all day.

Around 7:00pm,  just when I was really getting excited about a sandwich,  Karima decided to take a nap.  I gave her an hour,  and then in a panic of hunger over not eating anything substantial in 3 days,  went and pulled her out of bed to make sandwiches with me.

Now,  the only problem with making food in my room, is that there is no kitchen.   I know a couple guys with kitchens,  but you have to be a real scumbag to come into someone's living space,  make tuna and leave.  That stuff smells.

So that leaves my bathroom sink.

Let me tell you something.  Nothing will chill you to the bone more than when you're salivating,  hunched over,  squeezing,  and you accidentally get a glimpse of yourself in the mirror - nearly 32 years old,  manically excited about  bathroom sink tuna.  

I may have taken a few wrong turns in life.

But on the other hand....

Man,  I loved that sandwich.


P.S. I'd like to give a special shout out to one Brian Mcgurn.   Before I left he not only let me crash in his spare bedroom for two weeks,  he hardly complained at all when I left tuna fish dishes in his sink.  A better friend is hard to come by.

Hmmm

I can almost hear the the thought process before he hit send. 

"I will be looking forward to eating you?  No,  does not feel right.  Reading!  This is right.  Whew...I am almost put mouth on foot with that one"

Traffic Jam

Hey....where are you guys off to so fast?

Oh.


These characters caused a giant traffic jam for us this morning.    If no other cars existed in the world,  the trip from the compound to work would take 10 minutes.   Even though we ride in these sweet Toyota vans from the 70's.

The normal trip to work takes about 30 minutes due to regular traffic.  When these marines roll around town in their giant whatever those things are,  everyone just stops driving.   Everyone is scared of suicide bombers attacking,  so they take a possum playing dead approach.   If I stop my car here,  no one will notice me.

Today the trip took about an hour.  Luckily I was in one of the vans with working AC.

P.S.  Don't take pictures of the Army guys.  It enrages them.

A Smell to End All Smells

Holy crap.  I got smacked in the face today by B.O. the likes of which I have never encountered before.

The people of Afghanistan have a lot on their minds,  and a lot of problems.....therefore showers are not always a high priority.  I get that.  But today was not your normal unshowered man smell.  This was something extraordinary.

I was sitting in this hallway waiting for a meeting when this innocuous looking fellow strolled by me.  Nothing happened for 2 seconds,  then like a dog senses fear I started to realize something was wrong.....and then 3 seconds later I was struck down.   This man's BO has a five second trail, following him like a rotten ghost wherever he goes.

It wasn't a normal smell.  I've smelled horrible things before.  This scent nose raped me.  The smell traveled up my nose,  into my head,  and strangled the part of my brain that is responsible for happiness.

I haven't been right since.  I want to brush my teeth.  I want to set my clothes on fire.  I need to Q tip my sinuses.

A few minutes later Karima came and sat down next to me.   And then the same man walked by.

I waited 3 seconds and said "Karima, take a deep breath...."

A Note On "Ex-Pat"

I realize that some of you don't approve of the word "expat".   In fact,  I called a certain friend - you know who you are Alex - and he almost got off the phone with me because I used it too many times in a row.

Unfortunately,  I'm probably going to use that word a lot in the upcoming months,  so apologies if it offends your sensibilities.   I just don't have another word for someone from another country living and working here.  Everyone calls them ex-pats,  I didn't make it up.

I'm open to the word "Pause-Pat" -  I just don't know if it will catch on.

America,  I still love you.  You were just smothering me a little.  I think we need a break,  see some other countries for a bit.  I'll be back in a year and I'm sure we can work things out.

3 Things I Miss

As good as Kabul is there are a few things I miss from America.  In no particular order they are...

1) Free Will. 

Roshan security is the best in the business.  In seven years of being open for business,  there hasn't been a single incident involving an ex pat.   However,  there's a reason for that.   Security is very,  very,  very strict.  We have a constantly updating list of "approved" locations that we can visit at any time...restaurants, bars,  etc.  However,  if something isn't on the list....you have to get approval ahead of time.  And like a strict mother,  security often says no. 

"I don't care how many other ex pats are going to the party,  as long as you're living under the Roshan roof,  you will abide by my rules"

Oh,  and we have a curfew.  11pm on weeknights and 12 on weekends.  However, since it takes 20 minutes to get anywhere in Kabul - that means that,  oh for example,  once the party at the french guest house this past weekend really gets rolling,  and the dance floor is starting....well it's time to go home.

It's like being a kid again.  On one of my first nights here at a bar,  another ex-pat actually teased us like a high school bully about having to go home early.  

And like high school,  I responded with an acid tongue...made fun of her pants....and then called my mom to come pick me up.

2) Air

Kabul is really high up in the mountains!  Did you know that?  I didn't realize that before I came here,  but we are like 6,000 feet above sea level.   Excercise makes your lungs burn.  It's harder to get up in the morning.  Two or three drinks and you're dancing around with a lamp shade on your head. 

Oh,  and it's very very polluted and dusty.  

When I come home I'll be drinking in the air like big glasses of water.

3) Food that isn't designed to kill you

Before I go any further,  I want to say I understand the difficulties of cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner for 70 -80 people.  It's not easy.

Also,  the breakdown of people at RV is about 95% Pakistani/Indian and 5% the rest of us. 

That means the food is generally skewed towards Pakistani/Indian type fare.  

A typical meal consists of..

1) Rice.   I used to like rice.  Now I would punch rice in the face if I could figure out how.

2) Meat/Oil.   Apparently it's a sign of respect to use vegetable oil in the food.  The more oil,  the more they respect you.  Based on the oil in the food,  they respect us on a similar level as gods.   On any given day it's common to be scooping chunks of meat out of what appears to be a BP oil spill. 

3) Is that a vegetable?  KARIMA?? IS IT A VEGETABLE??

4) Fruit.  The fruit is actually fantastic. 

A side note...you know what's a good cereal?  Kellogs Crunchy Nut.  I don't think you can get it back home.  I used to enjoy it every morning.   Until a week or two ago...let me break down the sequence of events

- Karima pours a bowl of Crunchy Nut
- Joel pours a bowl of Crunchy Nut
- Karima goes back to kitchen for something
- Joel pounds down about half his bowl of Crunchy Nut
- Karima says "oh my god,  there are worms in the cereal"
- Joel says "MMPHHH??!"
- Karima finds 6-7 worms in her cereal

I don't think eating little mealworms is necessarily bad for you.  However,  it will forever destroy any enjoyment you get from eating cereal. 

No guns at all?

This is the entrance to our office.  As you can see they REALLY tie your hands when it comes to weaponry.   Nothing resembling an AK-47 OR even a handgun.

How am I supposed to act out on my murderous rage at the office without any guns?

I'm waiting for them to add a third sign,  but until that happens I'll continue to just bring knives and hachets to work with me.

What to do for fun in Kabul

Well you can go to the beach with some friends if you like.

See live bands in backyard gardens.

Enjoy the best burger in town at Habibis.

Go to a crafts fair on Turquoise Mountain.

Or go golfing of course.

No don't worry,  I didn't see that one coming either.

The Most Dangerous Basketball Court in the World

No,  not because of the guys with machine guns.  They are friendly.

It's just slippery is all.

It's like playing basketball in the tub, after a shower.  A shower of olive oil.

I already have multiple injuries and scabs from all the tumbles.

Summer Camp

This is RV.  Roshan Village.  "Compound".

All the ex-pats that work at Roshan live at RV.   We get three square meals a day.  We have limited access to the outside world.  There's a big gym.  And a big courtyard for "outdoor time".  There are cliques,  or "gangs" as we jokingly refer to them.  hahaha....

No!  NOT prison.

Summer camp I said.

Summer camp.

Let me tell you a story

Hi all.  I'm late,  I realize that.  A lot has happened.  Let's kick start this party with a story.   Settle down,  lean back and soak it in.    It's actually two stories,  but the themes are similar.

Story number one....

So I'm in a van a few weeks back with Karima,  heading to the Kabul airport.    I've got a fist full of currency,  some good old US dollars,  some Afghani, some Dirhams.  I'm having a hard time counting it,  so I'm holding it up in the air,  letting the sunlight spread some clarity on my currency.

Karima kindly points out that counting my money in full view of the world is a bad idea.  Especially since we just received a security notice on our phones about a rash of bandits slashing tires and robbing car occupants.

But I remain unconcerned.

Until seconds later our van stops abruptly, and two men with machine guns open the back door and gesture for us to exit.   Wait..what?  Not "us"?   Just me you want?  Karima gets to stay in the van?

I remain unconcerned.  I'm getting robbed?  No big deal,  it's a hundred bucks and they don't seem to be in the killing mood.

The men with machine guns grab my arm,  bring me around front of the van and point me towards another man across the street.  This man is brandishing a ten inch knife.

This is unsettling.  I'm vaguely concerned.  This pleasant early morning banditry has taken a turn for the worse.

As I move across the street,  my knifey friend  continues to show me his knife,  and has escalated the umcomfortableness by jabbing it in my direction.  Jab, jab,  jab,  poking the air.  Poking my chest?  Ah,  he's grinning.   He's turning the knife around to stab himself in his bullet proof vest.

"See?" I imagine he's thinking "Pointy knife doesn't hurt me,  pointy knife only hurts you"

Grin.  Jab.  Grin.  Jab.

As I cross the curb into his circle of terror,  the only thing I can think to say,  with a smile on my face is

"Well, thats not very nice"

My knife weilding bandit friend laughts.  Put's his knife away.   Pats me down for weapons.  Let's me go.

Oh.  It's just the first level of security clearance for the airport.

I remain unconcerned.

Story number two.

So Karima and I want to go out to dinner one night.  Security for our company is tight, and we have a list of approved restaurants.  We pick a nice sounding italian joint for our first dinner out just the two of us.  Bella Italiano.

Once again we are in a van,  at night,  cruising down dusty backgrounds that all blend together.  No idea where we are.

We finally take a right now some dark alley and pull up in front of at least 10 Afghan men with machine guns,  loitering outside some poorly lit sign.

This must be the place?  

The driver drops us off.  The doors shut.  The van is gone.  We're alone.

This is not the place.

It's an italian restaurant,  yes.  But not the right one.  Is it an approved restaurant?  No idea.  

We go inside anyway.  Every table is taken.   The angriest host i've ever had the misfortune of meeting greets us with snarls and hate in her eyes.  She's russian.  She looks like beets.  She smells of beets.  Her hatred knows no bounds.

A table?  Out of the question.  Any idea of when a table will open?  Of course not.  We may sit on a couch and wait for an undetermined amount of time?  No thank you.  We'll take our chances with the dark, and the machine guns outside.

The right question yields results.  The restaurant we are looking for is a mere two blocks away.   How do we get there?  Well you have to walk down the dark alley.  Yes,  this alley here with all the barbed wire, and giant blockades and bushy bearded men peering at you through heavy lidded eyes from behind the walls of a fortress.

It's dark and scary.  Halfway thru this barbed wire walkway,  Karima and I discuss our upcoming deaths. 

We agree it's likely to be gruesome.

The light at the end of the tunnel.

Oh,  it's lovely Bella Italiano.   The four cheese pizza is delicious.   More garlic butter for my bread?  Yes please.

Dinner was great.

What's the theme here?  You know what I'm trying to say.  It's on the tip of your tongue.

Kabul.  It's just not as sinister as it appears to be or how I thought it would be.    Life is good.