Frida's Notebook

More reasons why drugs are bad...

gear, diesel, smack, B, boy, skag, Harry, Bobby, black tar, horse, honk, munge, junk, brok, jack, jenny, brown, brown sugar, brownstone, dark, sweaty, dope, pof, sam, waccocco, lovage, dragon, bitch, skurge, ron, ice cube, A-Stock, jim, jim nix, moop, sweet lady H... (thanks Wikipedia for this list, I personally am totally clueless)

Whatever the hell you call it, I'm here to tell you that heroin is baaaad for a whole lot more reasons than the ones you can read here (on the website of the National Institute on Drug Abuse).

I'm guessing you already know about the serious bad that heroin use can do to the actual user, and to his/her family and friends. You are probably also more than familiar with the damage done to families and communities by the crime that goes hand in hand with the business of importing, transporting, buying and selling the drug in the countries of primary consumption.

But this week my life has been dominated by the damage done by the drug business here in Afghanistan, the world's largest producer of opium. I sometimes wonder what would happen if every gram of heroin sold on the streets of New York or London came with a little documentary about the journey that brought it from a field in Afghanistan to the end user. A documentary that told the story of all the lives, dreams and hopes for the future that were destroyed along the way.

What do you think? Would it make any difference?

Would recreational drug users in Manhattan think twice about their hit if they actually saw the entire communities destroyed by the production of opium here in Afghanistan? If they saw women addicts and their already addicted children, using opiates to dull the pain of a life in which they have literally no choice but to work for the druglords.

If they saw the men who are profiting from their consumption. Druglords who not only control the opium production and trafficking but who are also the elected representatives of these same desparate villagers. Druglords who, when their source of income and power is threatened, will not hestitate to kill, to destroy and to once again destabilise a community struggling to find its feet after three decades of war.

Yesterday I sat with the uncle and commanding officer of a young ANP soldier killed last week in an apparently bungled drug seizure. Rumours have been flying all week as to the circumstances of his death Was he killed by the drug traffickers, who should - in theory - have been contained by police at that point? Or was he killed by crooked police officers on the payroll of the drug lords?

When we finished our interview and I finished offering my genuine sympathy at the loss of this young man's life, the police officer (known to be a straight man in an institution not known for its abundance of straight men) looked me in the eye and said "if some Afghans cared as much about the life of one young soldier as you do then maybe this endless killing would be over".

I couldn't help thinking, "if there was no market for this shit then maybe this endless killing would be over."

The relationship between narcotics and the insurgency in Afghanistan is far too complicated for me to make sense of let alone try to write about here. But from where I'm sitting the narcotic trade is one of the biggest challenges facing Afghanistan. I know that there are a lot of things to be done to combat it here. But I can't help wondering whether it will ever be beaten as long as the market exists.

Getting out of the "deep field"

This morning, over at The Road to the Horizon, when I read this post about what it meant to be in the "deep field" and this post about the heart-lurching experience of trying to get out on RnR, I realised that Ghor - like Bor - is deep field.

Enrico's experience of having colleagues in Khartoum look at him in sympathy when they heard he was being posted to Bor is an almost perfect replica of the response I got - and still get - from Kabul (and Herat) based colleagues about Ghor.

Most of the time I disagree with them completely. I don't miss the "conveniences" of Kabul or Herat. Perhaps it is hard to get fruit and vegetables here, and finding "Super Lemon" (the local equivalent of Sprite) in the bazaar this week may have been an exciting event for me, but I feel much more accepted in the local community here and that makes up for an awful lot of missing vegetables.

The remoteness of this post, however, does bite a little bit when it comes to getting in and out of the country for RnR.

We have an airfield here in Cheghcharan, and over the summer, when the ground is dry, we have about a 50/50 chance of having the scheduled weekly flight turn up. In the winter, once the snow sets in, that rate drops considerably. If there is fresh snow on the ground the fixed wing planes cannot land and getting a helicopter up here requires a degree of political wrangling that can only be invoked a few times before you lose all credit - so I figure it is best to save that up for genuine emergencies.

Unlike Enrico, however, if my flight doesn't come there is no viable option for me to drive to the next airfield. The drive to Herat takes two days, as does the road to Bamyan. However, I think that if I was really desparate and I fed the drivers PowerBars and Red Bulls, I could pull off the Bamyan road trip in one very, very long day. Believe me, I've been through this in my head.

On my next leave I'm planning this amazing trip to the States. Getting there is quite an adventure in itself. First I have to get out of Ghor, there is (in theory at least) one flight per week, on Tuesday. This will take me to Herat to collect my pay and some warmer clothes. Then from Herat there should be a flight the next day to Kabul. Another overnight stop in Kabul and then I should (assuming all has gone according to plan so far, which of course it never, ever does) be on a flight the next morning to Delhi. From Delhi - I have just discovered, there is a direct flight to Chicago. Voila - in only four days I should have made it from home to my destination.

But it is almost out of the question that each step of the journey would go that smoothly. So instead of pretending it will and then finding myself, like Enrico, standing on the side of the airstrip wondering what just happened to my leave plans, maybe I would be wiser to drive from Ghor to Kabul. It would take three days and I'd need a security escort and permission from everyone who has a rubber stamp in this organisation. Even then, however, there would still be the risk of breakdowns or road closures due to snow or security.

So I have learned to make contingency plans and even then to hold on to my plans lightly. Be ready to release them if the stars are simply not aligning for me.

When I was on my way to my wonderful yoga retreat in Thailand, I made it all the way to Kabul with no hitch. The day before I was due to fly out I was in the office in Kabul doing some last minute work when the security guard ran in and told us to evacuate immediately, no stopping to gather our handbags, this was not a drill. Indeed it was not a drill. There was a fuel tanker parked outside our compound with an improvised explosive device attached to it. Holy crap. That's all I can say about that.

So we spent the afternoon in the relative security of a neighbouring compound waiting for word that the IED had been diffused and we could go back in. The word never came. We were eventually all told to go home. But wait. My handbag is in the office still. My passport is in my handbag. My flight to Dubai and then to Thailand is leaving tomorrow morning. I need my passport.

There is no way I am allowed back in. So I go home, figure there is nothing to be done for now, agree to go for a drink with a friend and keep my fingers crossed that the IED will be diffused over night. At 5.00am I call our driver and he takes me to the compound. I have never been happier to be allowed into the office. I collect my passport, send out the documents that I had been supposed to send the day before and head happily off to the airport where my favorite RnR travel buddy is making sure the flight doesn't leave without me.

I'll tell you two things I've learned in this country. There is never anything to be gained from fretting about what you cannot control, and it always pays to make back-up plans for your departure on RnR!

What I think...

Self portrait, with a headache.

Here is what I think.

I think that we should be able to adapt our pace to our monthly cycles.

I think that on days like today when everything within me was crying out for quiet, retreat, softness and nuturing - I should not have to go and meet the Chief of Police, the Head of National Security and the Governor to discuss drug trafficking, death threats and the need to reinforce the Afghan National Police in Ghor.

I think that we should resurrect some of the cultural traditions that acknowledge the value of responding to our bodies' natural cycles and taking time to rest, to reach inward and to renew.

I most certainly do not think that this should translate into discriminatory practices or imposed exile.

But I do think that there are periods for letting the seed lie, quietly, in the ground. There are times for absorbing the goodness of the sun. There are moments in which active work is not the best path. There are moments for resting, for letting be, for awaiting.

My job takes no account of these possibilities. I am required to be always "on". I must be always ready for action.

In my 20 years (some days it feels endless) experience in the work environment, I have seen that it not only does not take account of the regular monthly cycle of my body, it also ignores the reality that our general productivity goes in cycles.

The "western" work ethic takes no account of the observed phenomenon that the harvest of outputs sometimes follows periods during which it seems nothing is being accomplished.

Sometimes I simply can't seem to get myself moving. I am a highly motivated, highly disciplined worker, so if I am fair on myself I can say with some confidence that this is not due to laziness or a lack of focus. No, on reflection, I think that every project has it's periods of gestation. Every process has times when the seed has to be left in the ground for a quiet, sunny moment.

But more than all that, today my body was crying out to be allowed to stay in a quiet, safe place. I had no choice but to push it out into the world of corruption and drug-running and threats of violence. It was not a happy day.

But I got through it.

Who knows, maybe I even achieved something important today. Right now it seems unlikely. But these things often come at unexpected moments.

Next month, I promise myself a day on the couch.

Things that make me smile on a bad day

Divina Graca, me and my shadow friend. Portugal, August 2007.

Things that make me smile on a day when the news is otherwise horrible in the western provinces of Afghanistan:

- a local journalist and civil society activist who came to my office today to ask me to write about peace in a book he is putting together for the people of Ghor. He already has a spontaneous poem about peace from my Afghan colleague and a message of peace from the Lithuanian Commander of the local ISAF base.

- this poem, found on the first page of a book by Anne Lamott that I found, of all places, in the recreation room of the American police mentors:

"I am not I.
I am this one
walking beside me whom I do not see,
whom at times I manage to visit,
and whom at other times I forget,
who remains calm and silent when I talk,
and forgives gently, when I hate,
who walks where I am not,
who will remain strong when I die."

Juan Ramon Jimenez

- the fact that I went for a run today. I ran around the inside of my compund ten times, it took me 15 minutes. For someone who used to go out for two hour runs without blinking it takes some effort to celebrate this. But the first rule of running (as in life) is to start where you are, not where you think you ought to be. And where I am is: out of running shape, living at altitude and with only a 1.5 minute circuit around my dusty compound as a running track. My goal is to double that over the next month so I can go for a gentle run with MJ and a serious walk with Swirly when I get Stateside next month.

My new photo blog

I'm starting a new photoblog. It's called "Look Closer: Portraits of Afghanistan" and the idea is to share images of Afghanistan which will challenge the news media's portrayal of this country as a wartown, terrorist-harbouring disaster zone.

Almost two years have passed since I arrived here, and Afghanistan and its people have won my admiration, my respect and my heart and I hope that my images will help share that with a few others.

It's pretty new (brand new!) so there are not too many posts so far, but I hope you'll come visit and let me know what you think.

24 hours of peace... and Lessons in Letting Go Part VII

Car ornament, Ghor, 2007

21 September is International Peace Day. The United Nations has focused it's activities this year on Afghanistan. Shit - I just heard an enormous explosion. Perfect. It's the day of peace and I was about to write a post about all about peace and how it is not just a pretty word, how it is the result of a whole lot of hard work and the resolution of conflicts. About how the women who told us on Sunday that they would kill anyone who tried to take their land from them are not blood thirsty warriors but mothers and wives who know that without the land they all die anyway so they might as well fight for it. I had all sorts of thoughts about peace, development, security and human rights today. Instead I hear an enormous explosion.

While on the subject of peace, and my view that it cannot be expected to flower until fundamental human rights are respected and conflicts are resolved. Over at Laila's blog she posted this week about new restrictions placed on civilians in the Gaza Strip. Read it and weep. The PR term for these restrictions is apparently "civilian levers". Civilian levers? How can they say this stuff with a straight face?

For some reason the spin has always been what makes me the maddest. If you are going to cut off the water, fuel, food and electricity supply to men, women and children who are trying to live a life of some minimum quality under unbearable circumstances then at least have the balls to call a spade a spade. These are not "civilian levers" this is a classic, text book example of collective punishment, and there is a reason it is prohibited under the Geneva Conventions. Maybe we should suggest that someone sits down and watchs "The Pianist" to remind themselves of where, when, how and why the Geneva Conventions were developed.

Sigh.

Aside from rants, I'm so full of thoughts and ideas and inspiration today. I can't quite get it all into order in my head to share it here. So this may be a little disjointed.

The lessons in letting go continue. This past two weeks the key theme has been letting go of "unrelenting standards". It's a phrase I picked up on a pop-psychology magazine and I can't get it out of my head. I guess it spoke to me. Little by little and with many relapses I am learning to let go of standards that don't help me, standards that used to hold me back by telling me that everything I did should be done well.

This week I read Keri Smith's post about her dust bunnies and smiled in recognition. It is so good that as well as linking I'm going to go right ahead and quote her here.

my house is never as clean as I would like, but I much prefer to spend time writing reading and making things than cleaning. i keep it at a point which it doesn't depress me, tidy but a bit dusty.

these are truths that a few years ago I would not wanted to have anyone know about. I would try and make people think that everything was pretty and funky and well functioning all the time. I am perfect and you should want my life.

at some point i became extremely wary and suspicious of the notion that people teach in self-help books that we should all aspire to a fully self-actualized high functioning life. this life and all it's messiness is what makes life interesting and intensely creative. i think often that's how creativity arises, in having to deal with things in the moment. the fact that some plans you have don't work out the way you wanted or "planned" forces you into a new way of seeing and operating.

in need of fixing is a perfectly good place to be. at times this is exactly who I am. sometimes life is uncomfortable and I no longer feel the urge to run from that. most importantly i no longer feel the need to live up to someone else's ideal. i can breathe deeper because I am not spending any energy hiding the truth from people.

because everyone else is messy too and has dust bunnies in the corners of their rooms.
some just hide it better than others.

Amen, Keri. My new friend Swirly was full of the same brand of goodness and wisdom this week.

It seems my stranglehold on my own life, demanding only the very best at all times, may have taken a little too long to overcome under normal circumstances so I led myself to Afghanistan. Here, I couldn't pick one day when I measure up to the standards I once thought were inviolable.

I too now miss deadlines, and hand over papers that I once would have never allowed to see the light of day, I drop balls and fail over and over again and - lo and behold - through it all I am still making a positive difference. I am still doing a good job.

I miss yoga sessions and haven't been for a run in three months, I eat what I can get which is sometimes the kind of food I would never have allowed past my lips in a past life. Yet, my health is good, my body has not collapsed or transformed into an unrecognisable blob. I still think that striving for excellence is great, that taking care of my body and meeting my committments to others are important. But in learning to survive here I've learned that nothing is more important than letting go a little bit. Letting go of my unrelenting standards and of my expectations of myself and others.

This week I'm also feeling closer and closer to realising my own power to make my dreams come true. Both Laini and Denise wrote about dreams this week, and I realised that I still have dreams that haven't yet had their day in the sun. I've never really lost my belief that, if I put my mind to something I can make it happen. As a little girl I dreamed of working for the United Nations, travelling to remote and troubled places and fighting for justice. A big dream for a farmer's daughter from small town New Zealand. Yet, here I am. I have more dreams, and now it is time to let some of them out to play. I'm pretty excited about that.

Tribute: the Brunette Mafia and the bottomless well of goodness that is female friendship

Ravens, aka The Brunette Mafia. New Years, 2003. Note: some VIP and honorary Ravens not present

Yesterday morning I sat down to write my way across a few empty pages and found the phrase "what I crave..." taking it's place at the top of the page. Here is the first thing that came to my pen "the company of women who are emotionally honest, pursuing their dreams, generous with love and lots of fun."

Then I went on to write a two page script for a perfect fantasy day in Wellington with my Ravens. The women in the photo above have seen me, and each other, through heart break and grief. We've wrapped each other up in blankets when the world came tumbling down and popped over to check on the tissue, chocolate and red wine supplies when it was a less tragic but still painful loss.

We've toasted each other's successes - opening nights of plays and of movies, launches of novels (yep, pretty damn talented bunch of women my Ravens). We've spent many, many long evenings at a table near the fireplace a the Horn, talking the world into shape over Sunday roast and sherry.

These are the women who made a party out of the launch of the "New Zealand Action Plan for Human Rights". It was, hands down, the least hip publication of the year but it was also the fruit of four years of my hard labour and they brought gifts and toasted me with champagne as though I had just published an awarding winning novel (like our Rachael actually did).

We've been to music festivals and on roadtrips, had beach holidays in Coromandel and in Parapara. Winter weekends at Wharekauhau (and one unforgettable gourmet extravaganza there too). They've convinced me to listen to rock music again, and at least one of them shares my downbeat groove. Miss Adams no one can make a playlist that says holiday to me as well as you can. Speaking of playlists, we've done the Wellington to Auckland drive home for the holiday, in convoy. Stopping in Taupo for last minute Christmas shopping and at my parents farm for cold drinks.

One memorable breakfast at Nikau went from Chocolate Pops and coffee through Kedgeree and Rose back to Chocolate Pops and coffee in the course of only six hours. That's how much we can talk. And laugh. And eat. And drink. I think we may each have had a crush on one beautiful bar owner at some point over the years. Was anyone exempt from the Sam-magic? Honestly? Maybe Lou...

We've had babies, and we've had miscarriages. Some of us are walking the fertility journey. There have been weddings and funerals. I have always known that if disater strikes, as it unfortunately does sometimes, I could wrap myself up in these women and know I would survive.

These women are emotionally honest, pursuing their dreams, generous with their love and LOTS of fun. I guess I've been craving a bit more of them in my life.

But something a little bit magic happened today. After I wrote to the otherside of my craving and had a little cry about the depth of my desire from some girl-time, I felt cleansed and strengthened just by the calling up of the image of my Brunette Mafia. With them behind me, I set out into my day.

Then I had a brain wave. I thought occured to me which had somehow not occured to me before. It was such a simple little thing, involving flying out of Afghanistan in the opposite direction to the usual when I leave for my next RnR. But this little thing suddenly was so obviously right. It will take me right into the path of one of the newest women in my wonderful world. When I emailed her to say "what do you think" she not only said YES YES YES (thank you! only my niece and nephews greet me with more enthusiasm, it made me smile from ear to ear) but also - at the very same time as I now plan to fly into her neighbourhood there will be another wonderful, soulful, brave, generous, funny woman there. Another someone I think I've been meant to meet.

So there you have it. I craved it. I wrote it there in my journal - and then I realised I could make it happen. Heck, if that's what it takes then I'm writing more of my dreams out in those magic morning moments.

More on that tomorrow. Tonight, alone here in my room in Ghor, I toast my Ravens and all my wonderful new friends in the blog world (I only have Pepsi, so I toast you with Pepsi, but next I meet you in person it will be for real - red wine or champagne or bust).

Inspiration for those "yogi behaving badly" days

S's glowing Buddha

Another frantic week whizzes by and I find myself wondering when I forgot to stop and take time for myself. I know these things about myself. I am more productive, calmer and happier when I consecrate the first two hours of every day to my rituals: a little yoga; morning pages; coffee prepared with care and consumed with awareness; and a quick scan over my favorite bogs and any new messages in my personal inbox. Between 6.00-8.00 am I ground myself, I carve out a little space in my day to call mine and then I feel free and ready to go out and give the best of myself to the rest of the day. When I miss those two hours I start the day feeling rushed, feeling deprived of my own part of the day.

This past week, for various reasons, I have missed my morning rituals most days. I feel off kilter and on Friday I had a 'no good, really horrible, very bad day' (to use Tara's delicious phrase). On more than one occasion I was guilty of being a 'yogi behaving badly' and I had to come back and read the great Rumi poem on the subject shared by my fellow bad yogi over at Everything Yoga.

No matter how fast you run,
your shadow more than keeps up.
Sometimes, it's in front!

Only full, overhead sun
diminishes your shadow.

But that shadow has been serving you!
What hurts you, blesses you.
Darkness is your candle.
Your boundaries are your quest.

I can explain this, but it would break
the glass cover on your heart,
and there's no fixing that.

You must have shadow and light source both.
Listen, and lay your head under the tree of awe.


I had a few hot potatoes to handle this week and I was not always as calm and serene about it all as I would like to be. There were moments when I was almost panicked (during an emergency medical evacuation) and other times when I was down right pissed (when I spent two hours looking for a staff member who had simply not bothered to call me when his car broke down). So yes, my shadow self was sometimes out in front of me this week. But Rumi is right (how very gracious of me!) that shadow has been serving me and - especially - "my boundaries are my quest".

This has been and continues to be the year of letting go, and reaching my boundaries and continuing onwards even when I feel out of control is part of that process. I have had to let go of ideas of myself as always calm under pressure. I've had to let go of the restrictive grip of my own expectations.

Deep breathly and let go. Right?

This week I have found so many gems of inspiration on the blogs I read and love. They all resonate in some special way for me this week and I wanted to share them.

Firstly my outrageously smart teen friend over at Spelling Tuesday reminded me that the state of happiness is not a thoughless, passive state but one that we chose, that we grow towards as we grow in wisdom.

It seems to be a big misconception about happiness--that it is reserved for the unthinking population--that it requires no depth of thought. On the contrary, every day I notice how profound the state of happiness is, almost inexpressibly so.

Then my newest blog addiction (thanks Susannah) Delia at Lefthanded Trees dropped a little quote about inspiration into an already inspiring post about journaling and art.

Inspiration comes to us slowly and quietly and all the time, though we must regularly and every day give it a little chance to start flowing, prime it with a little solitude and idleness Brenda Euland

Just what I needed to gently nudge me back to my quiet moments each morning with my blank journal and no work to do.

Over at Andrea's Superhero journal, as if it wasn't enough to be reminded by Andrea herself that "it just takes one woman" to make a difference, I found this great Plato quote in one of the comments left on her post. "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."

On the subject of kindness - which I am convinced is the most important difference I can make everyday, Tara, of Paris Parfait quoted George Washington Carver:

How far you go in life depends on you being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving and tolerant of the weak and strong. Because someday in your life you will have been all of these.

So here I am, reminded that I can make a difference - just me, just one woman. Reminded that everyday I can make a difference by being tender, kind and compassionate. Reminded that when I fail, when my shadow self takes the lead and is a little less kind and a little too cranky, I need to cut her some slack as well. Reminded that my quiet mornings are not just indulgence, they are the time to fill the well so that I have my best shot of being kind for the rest of the day. Reminded that inspiration comes to me when I give it a little chance to start flowing.

And last, but most certainly not least, this week I was reminded that I have to be brave and take risks, to let my playful side out without worrying that anything precious will be broken by a little creative play. This came via two wonderful women - Susannah and Megg - both of whom are putting the words into practice as we speak and inspiring me to keep doing the same.

"To be creative, you must be brave and allow yourself to take risks. You must also be a little crazy. But have an appropriate degree of perspective. Reassure yourself that by doing a watercolour or throwing a pot you won't set off some chain reaction that destroys your entire universe." ~ Danny Gregory, via Megg and Susannah

Friday morning Meme

With my homie in Bournemouth

This meme started with Jen, whose blog is always, always worth visiting, and then I found that two of my favorite women (Susannah and Alex) had filled it out and I loved reading their answers so much I decided to do it myself.

a special talent
armed with only a pad of sticky notes and a marker I can help anyone, anywhere identify goals, objectives, inputs, outputs, outcomes and a plan of action for any project they can dream up

a secret nobody knows
i'll happily go for days without a shower if left to my own devices

a personality trait you find attractive
confidence

a personality trait you find unattractive
manipulativeness

songs that melt you
hope, fat freddy's drop
aotearoa, trinity roots

the biggest truth you have learned this year
the importance of letting go

an item you are currently coveting
a new hard drive for my iBook

what gives you peace
knowing that I did my best

what perfume are you currently wearing
none, but once i shower and get dressed i'll put on Prada

do you dream much
absolutely, but i forget the dreams fast unless i tell someone about them

what word(s) do you tend to say to much
insh'allah, nice

in highschool, what kind of teen were you
fiesty, taking the school board to task over injustices in the classroom

describe yourself in five words
earnest, playful, passionate, overstretched do-gooder

a weird quirk
generally I don't like meat, but i'm totally hooked on beef jerky

have you ever been in love?
yes

has your heart ever been broken?
yes, over the end of love, the suicides of brilliant young people, and the cruelty and injustice in the world.

favorite thing to wear
hoop earrings and MAC plum perfect tinted lip conditioner

Artist's date in Tavira

Portugal in blue and white, originally uploaded by frida world.

Now that I've worked out how to make these mosaics there is no stopping me. We stayed in Tavira, in the Algarve in Portugal and I had lots of fun wandering around the sleepy little town on camera safaris looking for colour themes in unexpected corners. My travel companion, the lovely Imogen, even agreed to let me practice my portraiture skills on her.