Frida's Notebook

What I would pray for, if I prayed

Boy in Wardak village, Ghor

I have left Afghanistan. While it hasn't entirely sunk in that I won't be heading back there after the holidays there is a quiet ache in my heart that tells me I do understand, on some level, the significance of this departure.

I learned to love Afghanistan. Unlike Gaza it was not love at first sight. Afghanistan was a challenge, I had to overcome my fears and doubts and my own desire to be in control before I could really learn what this extraordinary country had to teach me.

As I drove to the Kabul Airport yesterday morning, on the first day of Eid, I saw the large group of men on the corner of Butcher Street hoping to be picked up for day labour. I was struck by a wave of sadness at the incredible struggle that is life for so many ordinary Afghans.

On the first day of Eid these men should be home with their families, thanking God for the blessings of the year which has passed. Instead they were standing out in the cold, misty morning chasing after each truck that pulled up hoping they would be picked to head off for a day of hard labour and the reward of a tiny take home pay, barely enough to cover the expenses of their families most basic needs, if that.

If I really believed there was a God or more accurately, if I really believed in divine intervention in the business of men, I would be down on my knees praying for Afghanistan. Praying for peace and stability, praying for a space from this interminable conflict - enough space for the people I met over the past two years to rebuild their lives and begin to build a future.

Instead I put my faith in those very people, having done my very best to support them over the past two years, having failed in so many ways and yet carrying home with me the satisfaction of those small successes and the knowledge that I did my best.

Leaving Afghanistan feels like the end of a difficult but precious love affair. On several levels that is exactly what it is. Despite all that Afghanistan has taught me, letting go continues to be my challenge.

Here in Dubai I am in transit, sitting for a few days in this strange space between my life in Afghanistan and my life in New Zealand. As I sank into bed last night this space terrified me for an instant. I felt entirely afloat, cutting my ties with one home, unsure of my ties to another. I felt as though I could let go and simply float away.

My instinctive response to that feeling was to want to get a grip on something, to hold on to the place I was leaving or grasp for the place I am going to. I stopped and breathed for a moment and then chose not to hold on, I chose to drift to sleep knowing that wherever I go, there I am. Knowing that there is no solid ground beneath any of us and that in these strange days I have the chance to really feel that truth and embrace it.

I'm going to take a break from writing here, and from visiting all your amazing blogs. I need to take a break from finding a way to put my transition into words and I need to be entirely present in every moment of my "homecoming". I plan to be back because I don't think that my story ends because I leave Afghanistan.

This year my challenge is to find a way to make peace in times of war while living the everyday life of a student in New Zealand. Over the past 18 months many of you who read and comment here have told me how difficult it is for you to see how you can make a difference in your lives. Moving to Afghanistan, or Gaza, is not the only option - obviously - in response to the challenges of our troubled world. I want to bring home the lessons I learned in Afghanistan and share here the journey of learning to live a life which makes sense and contributes to a more peaceful world without packing up and moving into the conflict zone.

I expect to be back in late January or early February so I wish you all happy and peace-filled holidays and many moments of joy and laughter with the people you love in the coming weeks.

Checking out

I've just arrived in Kabul after one final week in Herat. It has been the kind of week that seems appropriate as an ending to my time in Herat. Herat was a place, for me, which was filled with tumultuous and passionate love, extraordinary challenge and incredible rewards. In Herat I hit one of the lowest points of my life and in Herat I found my way back into my personal and professional strength and confidence.

So it seems appropriate that this has been a week in which my farewell party was interrupted by explosions all over the city, forcing all invited guests to stay at home (with the exception only of the UN regional security officer); in which my final goodbye dinner with a much-loved ex saw me put on a performance of melodrama and tragicomedy worthy of an Oscar; and in which final departure to Kabul was interrupted after five failed attempts to land in Kabul by a detour to Pakistan.

I am now in Kabul and heading into to my final week of "checking out" - such a bald term, and so inadequate to describe the complex emotional and professional process I'm going through these days. But as hard as it is to move on, I'm finding myself increasingly ready for the next adventure in my life. A year at home in New Zealand studying psychology, writing and refreshing my relationships with family, friends and the land to which I belong.

Some choices when saying goodbye

I've got a stick and I'm willing to use it, originally uploaded by frida world.

When the time comes to say goodbye to people and places there are several choices.

You can rush through each day distracted by the to do list and focused on the end point.

You can focus on the new possibilities which can be opened up only through this process of letting go.

You can sit and reflect on all the factors that make this departure very right at this time.

You can wallow in the sadness, drowning in a sense of loss and of uncertainty about the future.

You can treasure every moment, making the most of each opportunity to say farewell with care and to honour each person and place that is being left.

You can feel overwhelmed by all that is left undone, all that has not been achieved.

You can mourn the alternative endings, the alternate futures which didn´t survive the crucible of real life.

You can swing wildly from one of these choices to another.

And in the end you can hope to find the courage within you to say goodbye honestly, exposing the depth of your love for these people and the equal parts fear and hope that you carry for the future of this place.

This is what I do

Some people wonder what I do in an average day. Today was an average day. At about 8 am I finished drying my hair and walked the 100m from my accomodation unit to my office. Almost as soon as I sat at my desk a colleague came to share a long and winding tale of intrigue and deception with me. This tale was premised on the assumption that another colleague of ours is a baddy, and this morning I was had it with tattle tales. So as soon as the internet started working again and I could send off my monthly report (depressing human rights violations left, right and centre) I set out for a mind-clearing walk.

I started out at my favorite burial ground of old tanks and various abandoned vehicle carcasses. This morning instead of capturing the shifting light and shadow on the rusting tanks and APCs I was happy trying to catch the gleam of the sun in an icicle (below) or making a snow-hooded APC look like a smiley face (above).

By the time I had power walked along the river for an hour I felt less like strangling everyone in the office and was ready for another long meeting of the Combined Disaster Management Team (CDMT). We meet regularly these days, given that the arrival of winter spells all sorts of iminent disasters in Ghor.

I've been meeting and working with these men for sometime now and today (as my final departure looms) I decided to capture them in action.

Do they look serious? Well, they should. Today we had one hour discussion on the question of 'how can we keep the roads open this winter, ensuring access to health care and food assistance?'. Once we had each been tasked with one follow up action we moved onto a shorter (we were all getting tired) discussion on 'how many displaced families will turn up in Chegcharan this winter, and how will we help them?'.

These are familiar faces to me, these men I've been working with here for the past year. As I photographed them today I realised, again, just how much I'm going to miss this maddening and captivating little town.

Packing up

Last night it snowed, our first real snowfall here in town. I snuck out early into the silent, gray morning to photograph the snow on the graveyard of out-of-service Russian jeeps outside my room.

The snowfall also finally propelled me into taking steps towards leaving Ghor. I've been postponing packing up and avoiding committing to a date to fly or drive down to Herat (can anyone say "denial"?) but seeing the snow made me realise that if I don't move soon I could be stuck here and miss out on my fabulous summer Christmas with my family in New Zealand. The airstrip here in Chegcharan is not sealed and nor are any of the roads, so once the snow arrives it is quite difficult to get aircraft in and almost impossible to get out by road. In other words, if I don't get out of here soon I may not get out.

So today I packed.

Now I may live the life of a gypsy, but I love to feather my nest. Wherever I travel I take photos of the people I love, treasured books, beautiful fabrics to throw over boring furniture, candles and pictures for the walls. Give me a dull, "standard-issue" staff accommodation unit and I'll make it my own. So this morning before starting on the packing I decided to photograph some of my favorite corners of my latest home, preserving it for posterity. Here, then, is a peek into Frida's nest:

A teeny Buddha sits on a even teenier book of wisdom.

My beloved piles of books

My beautiful Afghan beadspread, a gift from the Commander.

A fridge collage of goodness (yes, it's like a bloggy wall of fame, spot Swirly, Denise, Susannah and MJ)

The red trunk houses a shrine to my Bohos

Treasured collection of teas carried from all over the world

Another trunk, more special people

Wine bottle candleholders, if a bottle of wine makes it all the way up here then you can believe that I'm going to put it good use.