Chapter 1. In at the deep end.
4th Dec
Marjorie and I are enjoying the Gluwein and Bratwurst at Bournemouth Christmas Market, when Clive Parry rings me while he’s waiting at Gatwick for his flight to Dubai and on to Kabul. Clive tells me to bring my own toiletries, and brings me up to date on the project.
8th Dec
An email from Clive warns about Arrivals at Kabul Airport, and the standard of Guesthouses. Forewarned!
9th Dec
The Emirates chauffeur picks me up from home to take me to Manchester Airport. Kiss Marjorie goodbye, with a promise of a call from Dubai.
Safely settled into seat 1K with my glass of champagne, I contemplate this latest Asian project.
In the Business Class loo, I find free combs and toothbrushes! It’s often the little things that make me happy.
Over Germany, turbulence delays the arrival of lunch. It is now 7pm Dubai time, so I treat it as dinner, with the hope of some kip before landing.
Nazra, an attentive stewardess, keeps my glass of Tokay Pinot Gris topped up.
On arrival in Dubai, I realise I am in Terminal 1, and the Kam Air flight goes from Terminal 2 - in 5 hours time. So I blag my way into the Emirates Business Lounge to while away the time. Don’t even ask if Kam Air have an executive lounge.
You see the other side when you transfer to Terminal 2. First the check-in and waiting area is chaotic, with 5 seats for 40 transit passengers. When the bus eventually comes, it’s all standing, and takes for ever - I didn’t realise Dubai was so big! The holding pen is fine, but desperate rushes are made for the next bus, and to get up the steps. No decorum.
The flight is relaxed. None of this stuff of sitting in particular seats or leaving on time. Passengers go and chat with the cabin crew while the seat belt sign is on! It’s not British. Get given a pseudo-english breakfast - omelette and baked beans aren’t too bad, but the sausages are so bad even I didn’t eat them, and bacon isn’t on the menu of course.
The view of Iran is just cloud. When we get over Afghanistan, it just looks like clay buildings, clay dust and clay everything else. Monotone - dusty, misty, colourless.
Following Clive’s advice to the letter, I am first off the plane (being in the front row of business class has its advantages), and hot-foot it across the concrete to Arrivals. Grab my entry form and stand at the official’s window while I fill it in. Get my passport stamped, and go into the baggage hall in jubilation, watching the hoards behind me queuing 20 deep. To no avail. Everyone’s luggage comes through before mine. Zarif, the young Afghan assigned to assist the project, wanders in from the outside to meet me, and uses Afghan techniques to progress the luggage. Relieved but knackered, we go outside, meet Clive, and get aboard the British Council’s armoured 4×4 to meet the challenge of the Airport Road. Like an Asian Shuemakker, our driver speeds down the middle of the road, slithers through elaborate fortified chicanes, past check-points, barbed wire and “No Photographs” signs, till we get to the Park Palace Guest House (which Clive has upgraded to from the Park Lodge). I am assigned a double room at single room rate, much to Clive’s annoyance, because all the single rooms had gone. Various male and female staff wander in and out while I get changed, to point out the delightful plastic coat hangers and the chinese toilet paper, failing to tell me the central heating doesn’t - but setting up a little fan heater and 2-bar electric fire, which can only be used next to the TV, where the only (vastly overplugged) socket is. Yes - TV - with both CNN and BBC World (Asian editions), but of course no teletext. That reminds me - dual band mobiles work, including txt, and the Guest House has a Business Centre - 4 Internet connected PCs, at $3 a session. Clive has had a line fed directly into his room (for $7 a day).
As soon as I get changed, Clive has a surprise for me.
The Friday market - show your passport to get in, and full of vendors selling carpets, scarves, fur coats, Victorian medals, hand-carved pencil boxes, loose gemstones, watches, CDs, DVDs, Enfield rifles and loads of curios. I don’t buy any carpets rifles or shawls, but get a free cotton scarf, and 2 DVDs for $5.
Back to the Park Palace to find the central heating is going to be off for days, and they have run out of beer. Clive updates me on the project, and gives me some papers to read.
Shower and a kip, do my email in the computer room, and pleased to see Lorro predicting a Bolton win over Norwich tomorrow.
6.30 - evening meal time. The staff eat the same as us - well, more, but the same food (except the can of Heineken) if you see what I mean. Bearable soup, rice and stuff, and an “authentic afghan dessert” (a bit like runny blancmange).
And so to bed - early night - first meeting with a Commissioner tomorrow!
11th December
Wake up at 1.30, freezing cold. The central heating is not yet connected, and my large room is too big for the little heater - and looking at the overused plugs, not safe to leave on all night.
Up at seven to a healthy shower and a dreaded breakfast - but not too bad - some nan, toast, Nescafe and fruit, and (I find out) free water etc when taken from the fridge during meal times, but chargeable in between. So I take a bottle of water, and vow to save $3 for a mini-can of Heineken in future by helping myself at appropriate times.
Rush to get ready for 8.10, when Zarif rings to say the car won’t be coming till 8.30. It arrives at 8.45, so we just get to the office in time for my first meeting, with Ms Osman, one of the five commissioners. She is about to dash down to Kabul University to give a test (as yet unwritten) to select 10 graduates to do short-listing and monitoring work. I spring into action, write the test, have it translated into Dari and 75 copies made, and go to the University. Ms O warns the assembled 70+ students that this might include being dispatched to the provinces, at which the numbers dropped to 64 (still blinking good, I think). They do the 20 minute test and complete a Civil Service application form (of which more to come) and we take them all back to the Prime Minister’s Compound (where our offices are). On the way I get the driver to change $10 dollars at the side of the road into 440 Afghanis (AFs to us locals), and get me some bread. The bread turns out to be cold leek nan - but quite edible.
The roads round the compound are unusually guarded by tanks and soldiers, but what the hell. Back in the office a lukewarm meal of brown rice and unidentified stuff sits on my desk. I prefer the cold nan.
When we get back to the office, I find another young Afghan sat at the next desk - Seyar - who is our intepreter/computer whiz.
Then in the afternoon (with the help of Seyar) I train two female officers in objective assessment of qualitative data - in other words scoring the answer sheets from this morning - in Dari (a Persian language related to Farsi). By 4.45, and way past civil service going home time, we are half way through the 64, so agree to re-convene at 8.30pm tomorrow.
Back in the car (a mature Toyota Corolla) we find out that we have hit the worst traffic jam for months. Possibly down to Clive, who, on his return at lunchtime from a meeting down the road, tried to proceed down a cordoned off road, only to be pounced on by the military, completed with gentlemen in balaclavas lying prone on the floor with their trusty AK47’s aimed at his car. The confusion was sorted out, but the heightened tension was not. Ho hum. Just like Bolton on a Saturday night.
So we get back to the Guesthouse late, gasping for a beer. None in stock, so we beg a can each off a fellow inmate. I email Suhail, form Brettonwood Consultancy, who is paying me, and let him know I’ve arrived and work has started.
The driver then picks us up for a trip to the Thai Restaurant, where they serve the authentic stuff - but the beer is now $4 for a mini-can.
Back to the Guest House cheered up a bit by the fine meal, when I get two txts from UK. Everton beat Liverpool, and Norwich (who?) beat Bolton!! And I thought Afghanistan was a problem!
12th December
Another basic breakfast, and an uneventful run into the office. Go and finish off the scoring of tests, and find several discrepancies between the list of students who took the test, and those who completed application forms. Turned out all right in the end, all due to clerical error. I take the 64 results (they scored in a range of 3 - 10 out of 15) and work out the statistics to tell us who to put through for interview.
Then I have to go and register at the British Embassy. The Ghurkas relieve me of my mobiles and organizer, and I meet Richard Weyers (1st Secretary Cultural). We chat about work and I complete the appropriate forms, including next of kin)
Soup for lunch, with nan and a banana.
In the afternoon we have a strategy meeting with the Commissioners, which gets off to a bad start. Two gentlemen berated us for all this fancy talk about Mission and Values, explaining that their purpose was laid down in law. We eventually get over that hurdle, and have a very successful review of what needs to be done, including some specifics for me.
After the meeting, have to nip to the loo sharpish. Oh dear, Kabul belly.
That evening (after 2 more events), Clive and I go to the Elbow Room, owned and run by two young Brits, and evidently the home from home for all the expats in Kabul.
We order a bottle of Jacobs Creek to have with our meal. Clive choses soup (as always) and Filet Mignon, I go for Tacos and Blue Cheese Fillet. Text this fact to Linzi, who sends a very rude answer. The meat iss not up to Botanic Bistro standard, but the cooking is good enough.
Home again, do a bit of work, loo again, and off to bed. Some time later a quick dash to the loo and the evening meal comes back up. Oh dear.
13th December
Breakfast requires a sensible choose - just toast and coffee. At work, I check on the selection of interviewees and go through the list, finalizing those 20 who will come for interview on Saturday. Start listing progress on my Terms of Reference, and project diary. For lunch, I choose nan and a banana. At 1.30 we attend the Network Meeting in the Conference Room, rather formally opened by the Vice President (with cameras and everything) but he doesn’t stay to take part. Clive and I have to stand and be introduced to the meeting. Towards the end, Seyar comes in with Richard Wayers from the British Embassy on the phone, and he goes out to take a call. After the meeting breaks up, I find Clive, and he has just found out that his mother has died. He will get the next plane out, and goes off to the airline with Zarif and the driver.
When he gets back, he has got his flight, and having to cope with all his travel, family and work concerns all at once. He decides to skip dinner, and arranges to go through all the outstanding stuff with me after breakfast, so we tell the driver to pick me up at 9am. Clive will go to the airport in the British Council 4×4.
I email Suhail to bring him up to date, and find an Invitation from the British Ambassador to tomorrow night’s Xmas Party - but don’t feel very festive.
14th December
Breakfast meeting with Clive, when he is thankfully still focused - I warn him it is all likely to hit when he gets back to UK. We go through all the major outstanding stuff, and say au revoir.
Zarif tries to get Clive’s Visa sorted out for a 6 week visit in the Spring, but no chance. Looks like the authorities want him to fork out for a new Visa, rather than adjust an old one. No surprise.
I bring Zarif and Sayar up to date with the new priorities, and set up a revised series of meetings. This includes writing three workshops in time for Zarif to translate into Dari.
In the afternoon, as we still have no Internet connection, I nip to the Civil Service Training center, and blag my way in to print off my invitation to the Xmas Party at the British Embassy.
The driver drops me off at 7.45, and unlike my previous visit in daytime, no-one asks to relieve me of my mobiles - it must be OK after 5pm!
God it’s packed. Find the cloakroom to dump my coat, and eventually find the bar hidden on a balcony - Becks! I’ll have two! Chat to the guys from Standard Chartered Bank, who ask if I want to open a Bank Account - ATM withdrawals in AFs only. No thanks, but they’re nice chaps, from Mumbai, and I plan to ring Charlton (an unfortunate name) for a meal one night.
Buffet dinner - Afghan Curry - Barry highly amused because he thinks this is an alternative to Chicken Curry or Lamb Curry. Start chatting to Royal Marines Commandos, who are on duty and drinking Cola - the Brigadier overhears me waffling on (I have a qualification in this), and expresses a high level of interest - he takes my card.
When the carol singing starts, I take my leave (a good idea anyway because I am by now full of mulled wine, bottled wine and any wine, as well as the Becks!)
15th December
Only in the office 5 minutes when the phone rings. Its Jane Pizzi from the Provincial Reconstruction Team (PRT) at ISAF (the International Security Assistance Force - NATO troops to you and me). Her boss (the aforementioned Brigadier) wants to see me - today - 3pm - at ISAF HQ. Crikey.
I get on and write the material for Zarif to translate, chat with Chris Jones from the project next door - Pay & Grading, which he would like to re-christen (or re-muslem?) Grading & Pay, to reflect the true priorities. He complains, like us, of a lack of man-months to complete the work - it was ever thus.
Then I get over to ISAF HQ, where I am asked if I have any weapons - me? Check in, hand over my mobiles and organizer, and get met by Jane, who is a short sailor. She walks me to the brigadier’s office and provides real coffee - this is a first, and I find myself advising on ways of getting people to work in the public sector in Badakhstan. Good job I’m not a waffler. The Brigadier declares himself thankful, and Jane walks me back to the gate (we find that we were both at the Bournemouth Xmas Market a few weeks ago consuming Bratwurst and Gluwein! - small world eh?
After work, Zarif is anxious to find an Internet Café - we find three, but none of them have connections!
On to the Inter-Continental Hotel - Kabul’s finest, and undoubtedly no connection with the International Hotel Chain (a bit like the Hard Rock Café in Mombasa, which is really a café). Twice in one day I am asked if I have any weapons - tempted to say “how much do you want to pay?”, but on second thoughts…
Nice buffet dinner, except the power goes off twice and it’s too dark to see your plate. Any drink you like expect alcohol, so I order a Sprite, total bill a hefty $12.
16th December
Thursday, first workshop with the commissioners. The Chairman and three others attend, because the wife of the fourth one has been taken ill. A bit apprehensive, as they have been interviewing people as long as me, so what would I know? But the whole thing goes swimmingly, as I am able to offer both process improvements and new techniques that are short-term wins and long-term benefits. The meeting overruns, because they want to keep taking about the subject - great. Can I also come back after lunch to work privately with Ms Osman and the Chairman - of course!
I am asked my advice on interview questions for an upcoming vacancy, revised structure plans, and the induction of the 10 graduates. Good job I don’t waffle. They ask me to leave a handbook of my various workshop materials and documents next Wednesday - fine.
Zarif and Seyar have gone to Mr Fahad’s house (he’s the big boss of the Civil Service Commission) where there is a farewell do for one of the up-and-coming lads who is off to Korea for high level training, so I take the opportunity to make a start on my reports.
When I get back to the Guest House, One half of one of my radiators is hot - yippee!
Then the driver runs me to the Lai Thai Restaurant, where I gorge on Muay Thai Chicken and steamed rice, washed down with a couple of Fosters. Their range of expensive t-shirts are too gaudy for Brits - leave them to the Yanks. One even says in huge writing “I’m proud of my Dad - he served in Afghanistan” - can’t really see Barry wearing that to work.
Friday 17th December
Had a god chat over breakfast with an Aussie, taking about cultural differences - he’s worked in Polynesia and Melanesia, and noticed quite different attitudes to the work ethic and obligations. We are joined by an Afghan expert, who tells us what the Russians did to ferment ethic divisions, and some useful stuff about how Higher Education works here.
Off to the Market to get some silk scarves and DVDs, and I ask about discrete white t-shirts - something might turn up.
Back to the Guest House for a grotty lunch (the 7up was OK) and to test the DVDs. Alexander is great. I check the emails, and go down for dinner - not too bad, but am beginning to forget what pork, fish or wine are like. No preparation for tomorrow’s work, as it’s the interviews all day, but I get my flight tickets ready for Zarif to confirm, and the postcards for him to post.
Saturday 18th December
It’s interview day, so I dump the stuff with Zarif, explain some English that needs translating, and get off to the other building ready to be on the interview panel. No one seems to have a key to the interview room, so temporary panic. Eventually we get in, and I insist the candidates sit at the same table as us - they are still using the 1904 civil service model, just like Bangladesh - but not for much longer!
Off we go, 19 out of 20 turn up, and I get to ask them about English and IT - in English of course. My Dari is limited to 3 words still (Tashakoor, Bale and Dushambe), and Pashtu zero.
We get the scoring done by 6pm, and it looks like our only female candidate has got through to the final ten, thank goodness. Zarif is hovering, waiting to go home - he confirms my flights are OK, but hasn’t posted my cards yet. This is a worry for him, and he thinks I’m wrong not to want to put them in envelopes. Anyway, back to the Guest House - hooray, the radiators are on full blast! - and just in time for dinner - oh no, it’s arriving late, so chat with a Yank who is doing Change Management for the Ministry of Communications - he is a bit worried, as the Minister - who’s a good guy, is on the move. Dinner is the same soup, rice and mutton as usual, but what’s this - apple pie for pud!!
Sunday 19th December
Catch up with Mr Hassam, the Board Secretary, and find he has concluded the scoring and selection process, and passes me a photocopy of the final list, which I will use in Statistical Analysis training.
Second workshop for the commissioners, but this time the numbers dwindle to two. I knew Ms Osman had gone to Lebanon, but now I find out one is interviewing and the other preparing to go to Australia. Nevertheless, I give them my thoughts on the good and bad points of yesterday’s interview process, and introduce them to Behavioural Interviewing and the Interview Cycle. Once the translation problems and the novelty of all this are got over, we see eye-to-eye on the way forward. I am asked to give my expert opinion (again) on some imminent selection work, and the Chairman prepares to take the list of Graduates to the Vice President for approval.
When I get back to the office, Zarif has reconfirmed my flights, posted the postcards, and bought me a nice Christmas Card - what a nice thing to do. I express my gratitude
The other day I was watching a TV programme about healthy diets that must include fish. I related this to Zarif, and asked if any fish was available in Kabul, as there was none in the Guest House, and I hadn’t seen any in Restaurants. He tells me that it is available, but relatively expensive. It’s river fish from near Jalalabad where our fruit comes from, and he would provide some at work one lunchtime.
Now that time has come! Whole fish, hot and spicy coated, gets delivered by our driver. You just pull it apart with your hands, and tuck in. Lots of bones, but very tasty. Oranges for dessert.
Then I try to find Khatera, to set up a time for training in statistics, but she has swapped jobs (job rotation at work) with Roya. Roya is only available today(she can’t come to work for two days because she is busy(?)), and we need to use Mr Aziz office - he’s on a course till 4pm, so I leave it to her to organize.
Khatera asks to be trained in lieu of Roya and this is penciled in for tomorrow morning.
Monday 20th December
Met 9 of the 10 graduates who had been recruited, and who started today. Asked them what they thought they had been assessed on in the Written Test and Interviews, and they had no idea. This is a whole new world to them. I also said that most of them would need to quickly improve their English and IT skills, as these are essential for their future careers.
My meeting with the Commissioners on the jobs coming up in the Cabinet Secretariat was only attended by Mr Mosawi. His room mate wandered in and out with bare feet and a towel (!).
At the Guest House, the central heating is off again, so I wear a sweatshirt over my ordinary shirt to bed, and leave the 3-bar electric fire on all night.
Tuesday 21st December
Seyar brings me a present - a box of real Afghan sweets, nuts in something white - something for the Christmas table!
Off to see the Monitoring “experts”, and bring them up to date with my thoughts and plans. Fine for a while, until the meeting descends into a moan about Ministries and other sets of people not communicating with them.
Then a surprise - a banquet hosted by the Commissioners, roast chicken and mutton (to be eaten with spoon(!) and fork, and a demonstration of pomegranate technology by Mr Hassan. These were huge pomegranates from Kandahar, and the technique is to cut them into quarters, and bash the skins with a spoon, loosening the seeds until they drop on a plate, they you can eat them with your spoon - yes, the same one.
I relate this revelation to Seyar, who says an alternative is to squeeze it well in your hands, then insert a straw and drink the juice! You can do the same, he says, with a mango! Well, you learn something every day.
Zarif rings from Kam Air - no room in Business Class, so it will have to be economy! My assertive skills launch into action - there are 8 seats in Business, and I want one of them! The counter assistant offers a seat in Business on a later day - you must be joking. Eventually Zarif sees the Manager, who sorts it out. Apparently it was the driver who took the ticket in to confirm my flight, and both he and the counter assistant didn’t realize it was a J Class ticket. Never mind, it’s sorted out now, and the flight is confirmed for 2pm. The armoured 4×4 from the British Council is confirmed to pick me up at noon.
Zarif arrives back with an Afghanistan sports shirt for $3.50, but I think one is enough, thank you.