The gardeners are tearing down the concrete steps of “the swamp” to make way for a flower patch.  Workers are  piling bricks to form the extension room for “the bog”.  Unable to sit in the garden without distracting the workers with my un-scarfed head and with Rasouli cleaning up “the chalet”, I took my coffee cup, blueberry muffin and work stuff on the rooftop of the big (common) house.  With warm sun and cool autumn wind kissing my face I watch the garden and the buzz below.  Beyond me I see mounds of earth on mud rooftops, trees, high rise buildings, antennas, water tanks and minarets competing for skyline space.  

 

My neighbor’s children have seen me.  One of them shouted “gaa!”.  I turn to look and I see a figure running inside to hide.  I went back to reading.  “Gaa!”  I turn again and I see only a scarfed head and a hand waving at me.  I wave back.  I continue to eat my muffin and sip my coffee.   “GAAA!”  Again, I turn to look and a young girl is standing on the balcony, in full view, with a big smile on her face and waving at me.  I wave back.  Again back to the paper in my hand.  “GAAA!”  I turn and on the porch is an older girl, smiling and waving at me.  I wave back for a good 60 seconds. This is getting to be really funny.  “GAAAAAAA!!” On the porch are two young girls, a little boy and a baby girl...  all smiling and waving furiously at me.  Oh well,  I guess the rooftop is not the best place to sit if you want to finish reading something!

 

By this time the gardeners have successfully demolished the concrete steps and is pouring fresh concrete on a layer of bricks that will become the new steps.

 

The sky is especially blue and clear and I can feel autumn slowly creeping in, putting the pomegranate trees, the mullberry trees and my pet turtle Benton to sleep.  Something inside me stirs.

 

There is something very right about my morning.  Something very right about being in Afghanistan.  For the first time in almost 3 years I am actually, genuinely happy to be here.  There is something very soothing and very real about the whole scene in front of me.  For the first time, I thought to myself, “There is no place that I’d rather be right now than here.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

These are photos of Herat City.  The minarets that you see on the header photo are all that’s left from a hundred others, spread around Herat, before the British bombed everything else down to remove any obstruction to their firing line of site during the British war.  

 

The Bog and the Swamp are names given to two houses within our compound.  The Chalet is the name of the house Paul and I are in.