Day 4: Suicide bombers.

A man from the Norwegian Embassy just rang me to confirm I am alive. A VBIED exploded outside the Supreme Court in Kabul just as people were leaving work. Now, I presume in places like this, upon arrival - everyone is given a security briefing about the threats and risks in the area. Let me give you a quick run through of key terms in our security plan from the risk analysis chapter: IED (Improvised Explosive Devices); BBIED (Body Borne Improvise Explosive Devices); VBIED (Vehicle Borne Improvised Explosive Devices); and UXO (Unexploded Ordinance - i.e. mines and such). The way I see it, if you're not working in or for or with the government or the military, it is just a terrible, terrible bad luck to be where it happens when it happens. Yesterday's attack on the military compund near the airport, cost the lives of the two Holy BBIED's and seven more were shot by special forces. How holy are you when you blow yourself up at a highly protected military area?


One of my collegues lives not too far from the airport and said she had heard the explosion. Just the idea of waking up to the sound of two human beings exploding is unreal, almost absurd (in a non-comical kind, of course). Exploding bodies of their own free will - or, at least, within the bounds of a will that a deranged individual can have. I cannot find anything in me that can understand what drives a person to do this?

This morning on my drive over to work, we drove past a grafitti; Running letters sprayed on a brick wall said "Yankees Go Home". Ten years of war must give whomever sprayed that the right to do so. On my way home, I stopped by a supermarket to get dinner, and while shopping for bread, the bread selling boy said he thought I was in the military. NO! I almost shouted, by God, no; I'm not that brave. Or crazy. Later that day, I spoke with an American, she said that our efforts for making peace here are historical. Well, as a humanitarian organisation, our job is not to make peace, but to make societies resilient to conflict and to pick up the rubbles and try to glue the fragments of a society together. It is like a jigsaw puzzle with no matching pieces. The iman blows in his microphone to make sure it is on. It is.

On the minute I received the text from our Security Officer about the blast, I got up and closed the glass door to our terrace as a sheer reaction. As if the glass door could offer any protection, nevertheless - I needed to shut the city out for a while. Calls and sms's updating me on the situation - Taliban claimed responsibility, sixteen lives taken.

I have opened the door again. The city is ever so busy and honking cars and the goat next door are making their usual sounds. But, I put on my head scarf and I sit on the floor by the open door. The evening prayers call to the distance - the echo fills the space between the wedding hall and as far as it carries in any direction. It has an, either lonely or heartbroken feel- I can't decide. The sun sets over Kabul, my coffee is cold now, but I had a solid reality check this evening.