The Atmosphere

This weekend was the first fully independent, days and nights out on the town for me in Kabul. Thursday night we hit up a local ex-pat hot spot called L'atmosphere (or just L'atmo.) Since the place got raided a couple of months ago, it's now operating under a very similar but apparently different-enough name. Apparently some star "playboy drummer" named Matt is leaving Kabul and L'atmo was kind enough to host his send-off party. They had a few bands on the set list, including Ceiling of Nork, Khyberzoo and White City.

A couple of new friends/Roshan colleagues, Joel and I planned to arrive at the restaurant around eight o'clock so we could grab a quick dinner before the bands started playing. I was warned that the food at L'atmo is OK and the is service was terrible. Both end up being true. A personal-sized thin crust margherita pizza and a glass of wine cost me $25 USD and arrive about 2 hours after we were seated. The general rule of thumb is that food is more expensive at places that serve alcohol... and this place is definitely serving alcohol. After dinner, we headed outside to find a massive diverse ex-patriot crowd. Everyone was hanging out in the open air garden; outdoor chairs and tables were laid out the length of the garden in a long rectanglar shape. At the end of it, there was a medium sized bar-hut, similar to one you would find on the beach in the DR.

The first band was already on by the time we finished dinner; Ceiling of Nork played new and old school covers ranging from The Killers to No Doubt and everything in between. The bar-hut was a total disaster at this point; there were people four lines deep fighting to get a warm beer. I finagled my way to the front of the bar with one of my classic midget-finagle moves, and in a stroke of genius decide to order 10 beers, which went directly into my bag... the ol' beer-in-a bag trick.

Guys around me were wearing t-shirts, button down shirts, blazers and leather jackets. Everyone had either an Australian, British, Eastern European or African accent. One in every three guys had a scarf around his neck. There was also a relatively diverse range of girls at the bar (ethnically, racially etc...) Majority were wearing jeans, three quarter length tops and heels, some had sleeveless tops on, but every girl in the room had a colorful scarf around her neck - remember, we all have to cover our heads when we get back into the car.

The party was a blast - I felt like I was at a friends house and some buddies decided to set up equipment in the back yard so they could entertain us. The bands were also surprisingly good - that playboy Matt really rocked the house. The highlight of my night by far was watching a little ano Indian girl get too drunk and start stumble-dancing in the front row. Like any other bar in any other city in the world, some guy eventually started dancing up against her and later I saw them heading to the bar, most likely to "talk".  Unfortunately, Roshan enforces one of the tightest curfews out of any organization in the city, so by 11:30 pm we were back in the car and headed home for our midnight curfew. Fortunately, we were told the next day that L'atmo ran out of booze shortly after we left.

In Case of Emergency

Every Roshan employee is required to go through a security briefing when they first arrive in Kabul. I meet one of three security advisors, Amanda Flynn, at lunch on my second day. She is a tall, very pretty brunette with a long face and Irish accent. She smiles, leans across the table and introduces herself as, "Mandy." Someone with the name "Mandy" doesn't strike me as someone who runs shit, but based on everything I've heard, that's exactly what she does.

Shortly after lunch, I get a text from Mandy saying that the security briefing isn't urgent since we are on lock down all weekend. Joel and I, not thinking too much of it, are not phased by this. There isn't much trouble we can get into on the compound.

Later on that evening I notice a sign on the back of my room door:

IMMEDIATE ACTIONS

NATURAL DISASTERS
(EARTHQUAKE)
EXIT BUILDING TO COURTYARD
IMPLEMENT CALL TREE PROCEDURE
AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS

This is the extent of my current security briefing. And I assure you, I followed none of it when I woke up to an earthquake at midnight last night.

I was dreaming that I was on the phone with Mrs. Ginach in her NYC apartment, asking to speak to Danielle. In my dream, Joel was beside me, intentionally shaking the bed, asking, "Why is the bed moving? Why is the bed moving?" Over and over. (Joel has a tendency to partake in actions such as these. Striking weird poses and then asking me, "Is this weird?" is a weekly occurrence.) So it took me a moment after he shook me awake and asked, "Karima, why is the bed moving?" to realize it was an earthquake. 

I am a girl who likes to follow instructions, so I did run downstairs to pop my head into the hallway. But when others had decided that it was over and there was no need to proceed to the courtyard, I got back into bed. I lay there for awhile thinking about how uneventful, but at the same time totally surreal the quake was. I lived on the edge of the Juan de Fuca and North American tectonic plates for 15 years and had earthquake drills twice a year in school. We were taught how to duck and cover the back of our heads with our hands, get under a desk or look for a door frame that would block falling debris. All those years of practice and I never even felt a small tremor.

This morning, we received this email from Amanda Flynn:

A 6.3 magnitude earthquake struck the Hindu Kush last night at 11.51pm local time. The epicenter of the quake, which struck at a depth of 200 km, was 7.5 km South – South East of Faizabad and 265 km North East of Kabul. There are no reports of casualties or damage as of yet.

So far, no real harm done. It seems someone just wanted to shake things up before the elections today.

First Days

I hated my first day of boarding school. I showed up at Middlesex at the end of August wearing black pants, a black t-shirt and boots. Since a uniform was required at my previous all-girls school, I will admit I was a little confused. But it didn't help that I had to get up in front of 40 or so 15-year old boys and girls (all dressed in their own unspoken uniform of khaki shorts, pastel polo shirts and reef flip-flops) and introduce myself. I knew I had to be friendly and make a good first impression, but all I wanted to do was lock myself in my new dorm room and cry.

Three years later, I had the same anxious feeling as I moved into my college dorm room in Perkins Hall. This time around, I got the outfit right - having planned it for days in my mind - but under the smiling face and friendly hand-shakes I was annoyed and judgemental. My dorm was small and far from the main campus. My roommate was a weirdo. People were overly excited and I wanted to slap most of them in the face. Again, I fought the urge to close myself in a bathroom stall and cry.

One would think that after living far away from home for 11 years and successfully resisting the urge to cry myself to sleep every time I arrive in an unfamiliar place, I would be an expert at this process. But upon arrival at the Roshan Village compound yesterday, I had the same pit in my stomach. We got the grand tour of the gym facilities, ping pong table, Foosball table, common TV room and bar/entertainment room, but it wasn't until we opened the door to the small, clean, hardwood floor dining room did I realize I was back at boarding school. I had flashbacks to holding a tray at the entrance to the massive dining hall, getting looks for choosing the wrong table and then getting dinged for table-hopping. Check in and check out every time you leave the grounds, breakfast served between 7:00 am to 8:15 am, dinner from 7:00 pm to 8:30 pm.  This time around there are no woods in which to escape. Instead the campus is enclosed by a 25-foot cement wall with an electric wire running along the top, and the courtyard in the middle is dotted with security guards carrying rifles.  

All insecurity and uneasiness aside, the compound is secure and clean. I am not allowed to get into security details for obvious reasons but let's just say the fear of insurgent attack inside the Roshan Village is slim to none. Joel and I have duplex-style rooms next door to each other; the bedroom, armoire and dresser are upstairs, and a small living room, TV, desk and bathroom are located downstairs. We are down the hall from the gym, and steps away from the outside courtyard where I'm told people play cricket on the weekends. In one corner of the yard there are tables set up under hanging colored lights and there has been a cool and pleasant breeze moving through the courtyard both last night and this morning. We are officially on lock down as a result of the upcoming elections, which means the office is closed and we are required to stay on the compound through Sunday. To be quite honest, I think it is the perfect way to ease into the experience. It gives us a couple of days to rest and watch the 50+ English movie channels before the real work starts (last night I unpacked to Isla Fisher and her adorable performance in Confessions of a Shopaholic). There is also wifi throughout the compound and network connections in every room.

Inevitably, over the course of the next three days of lock down, I will be forced to push aside the pit in my stomach and make some new friends...maybe even sit at a table in the dining hall with complete strangers. But I think I can handle it. I have done it twice before.



Panoramic view of the courtyard. Copyright Joel.