It’s nice to know what I’m doing, if only a little bit

One year ago yesterday I arrived to the Kabul airport. Spending a few days in the city this month at a conference and in transit, visiting friends, called into relief what a difference a year makes.

When you arrive at the airport you go past the massive dolphin sculpture in what would be the natural pick-up place, into a second parking lot where men accost you to carry your bags or give you a taxi ride. But it’s on through that lot, down another corridor, past soldiers and finally out to a cement pad surrounded by loops of razor wire and men with beards and turbans. There’s still a little ways to the actual parking lot, but that’s where Joanna met me a year ago. She has since become a friend, and beards and turbans have ceased to register, but Joanna will always hold a little patron saint place in my heart.

I can hardly imagine another scenario where an adult would be so reduced to childlike dependence. There is a Lonely Planet guide, but only the hitchhiking elite/crazies try this country as a tourist destination. The rest of us depend completely on others for transport, translation, clothes advice and clothes themselves, food, shelter, security decisions, and social opportunities.

Three days after I arrived an expat woman was shot and killed a kilometer from where I was out on the street at the same time. These days a year later must be hard for her friends and family. I remember thinking it was terrible, but was it normal? No, I was told.

We (Fay and I) were on lockdown for a month or two, couldn’t do our own shopping, couldn’t walk to language class. We didn’t speak the same language as the guard who did the shopping for us, though we proudly learned fruits and vegetables in our earliest lessons. Social opportunities and shopping came painfully slow. One of my earliest was ultimate Frisbee with a motley expat crew in a huge field where I could actually wear a t-shirt in mixed company. I thought I’d never learn the way around my neighborhood, that those 10-ft high walls with doors would all look the same forever. We had to learn how to use a gas stove, oven, and kerosene water heater. I expelled my first fire extinguisher on the latter.

And now a year later.

I know where to shop and the best restaurant, I have friends to visit where last year there were none, the hot water heater still gives me pause; I know which taxis to use, and can exit the airport like an old hand. I know which medicines you need if you have egg burps or blood in your stools. I know what ISAF means (actually I don't know the acronym, but I know what they do). I know to cover from wrist to collarbone to ankle plus skirt, and my head, but not my face. I can fall asleep even if there are bedbugs. I do my own shopping. I even speak a little of the language. Whew.