Wet to dry

I returned to Kabul with very mixed feelings. I didn’t mind leaving the intense heat and humidity of Delhi behind but I dreaded what I was returning to, wondering, along with everyone else, what the consequences might be of this latest assassination. If I left Kabul a week ago feeling rather discouraged, I am returning even more discouraged. What is so much more appealing than a peaceful life to sacrifice so much for, I wonder?

The difference between the Safi flight from Dubai and the one from Delhi to Kabul is the total absence of muscled bold or crew cut guys with sunglasses. Very few foreigners were on the flight and probably none of the usual mercenaries and security guys. The Delhi flight is full of Afghans who went to India for health or for education. In fact I knew several of them who had been to their twice a year face-to-face sessions that are required to complete their two-year MPH course in Jodpur.

The flight was full and late. Maybe I was a little too early with my praise for Safi’s punctuality; but then again Delhi airport is very crowded and putting flights in a holding pattern until there is slot for landing is apparently quite common.

In Kabul I found that the heat is about the same as in Delhi but the humidity is replaced by wind that squeezes every drop of water out of the air. Everything looked parched, the trees, the roads and even the people.

At home a bowl full of fruit, fresh milk and yogurt, an Afghan salad, a quiche and a fruit salad were waiting for me, making the homecoming to an empty house a little easier.

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