Into the Throes of Winter

Shortly before the dawn of winter, we said "Goodbye" to our comfortable existence in the German Guest House, and decided to head off into a world not yet known to us -- life inside an afghan house.

Upon first appearance, our new neighborhood was bustling with activity: children playing ball and other games in the street, vendors shouting out their wares, and donkey's corralled at the neighborhood "organic refuse bin" (which also possessed an incovenient smattering of plastics). The majority of homes in our neighborhood are cozily tucked behind 3 meter walls; however, a few have done a seemingly un-Afghan thing: built the face of their homes directly on the road front. From the second story porches of these homes, we hear the voices of children & the conversations of the adults, and see the day's laundry hanging to dry.

We, also, occupy the second floor and have been spotted on the porch by neighbors (even though it is a law that one is not to gaze upon the "courtyard-areas" of his neighbor's house). To prevent accidental sightings, our landlord had placed a reed-screen around the second story; and in the attempt to prevent passerbys or neighbors from seeing into the house, the windows are thickly glazed with a reflectant.

So, on our daily walks home from the university, we come to the last blue gate in the block, ring the doorbell, greet the chokidar (literally chair sitter, but technically a guard & helper), and make our way up to our abode.

Well, wintery weather was in the making, and with it, brought the need for adequate heat. It is a bizarre thing that in a place with such chilly winters the houses are made for the summer, and heating is an afterthought!

The day we moved in, the landlord had installed a sizeable (and apparently antique) wood-burning stove (referred to here as a bokhari or chadi). For the first few days, it produced an excellent warmth. However, by the third day it began to smoke atrociously so that everything we possessed was infused with a non-aromatic smoke (some of the wood produces an incense-like vapor that somehow compensates for the presence of smoke, but unfortunately, we had but a few pieces of this kind of wood). The nice thing about a bokhari is its ability to heat up any item left on top of it-- a good place to reheat meals, keep tea warm, and toast the bread!



What are the benefits of being in a new place? Well, the views afforded from the patio are so interesting!!! From here, we see over the roofs of the neighborhood to the nearby hills and mountains. We can see weather-systems approaching, and have a good understand about the thickness of the smog layer. All the more provoking is the ability to inspect the precarious arrangement of hill-side houses (below in detail).

To the southeast (and all along the west, below), we can see ranges of mountains, whose snowy caps bring comfort to the local farmers' hearts, and have led to the creation of a proverb, "May Kabul be without gold rather than without snow" (Kabul bee zar baasha bee barf nee -- in Dari, barf is snow, so don't let your imagination run too wild). In the foreground of the mountains is a minaret, one of the many in the neighborhood, from which the call to prayer (and various other religious monologues) is broadcast. Our morning wake-up call is the first call to prayer. This time varies from season to season. At the time of writing, the call is at 5:10am, and getting earlier every week or so.

To the southeast loom large mountains which trap the kabuli smog, but also provide some great morning views as the sun's first rays turn these white slopes into a heart-warming rose.

Although the few months we have been in this new location have been bumpy, the onset of spring gives way to hope in every aspect.

This snowy path within the university is beginning to be touched with spring's first green, the resprouting of grass. And within the month, we'll break ground on the Student Farm. Spring is in the air, even though some lingering traces of snow remains!