The Potato Exchange - Letters from Kabul V

*Received on August 31

by Barry Pullen

This past week has been almost normal, I mean that I have been getting up in the morning, going to work, coming home and eating the, by now, legendary bad food. Therefore I thought I’d try to paint in words a few pictures of life round here. Now there have been quite a few books written about Afghanistan in general and Kabul in particular but nothing beats living here for making you appreciate almost everywhere else in the world.

Yes the people are charming and hospitable but those characteristics disappear as soon as they get behind the wheel of a car. Then they are fearless warriors charging into battle on their steeds complete with flowing robes and flashing swords held aloft. Ok the steeds do tend to be Toyotas in various stages of decomposition bit they do have the robes and probably more than a few have the swords or some other armament tucked away. It seems that traffic laws, if they exist and even I can’t believe that a whole department of traffic police exist solely for the purpose of extracting al fresco taxes from the motoring populace, are merely an advisory including which side of the road to drive on, the correct way to go round roundabouts (traffic circles for my transatlantic readership) and that one way streets really should be one way and not just the one way that someone feels suits his planned route.

The net result of this is gridlock of the kind that totally belies the low percentage of car owning here but of course you can also throw donkey carts, horse carts and herds of goats into the equation. If this somewhat unstable mix is then given a good stir courtesy of the traffic police on point duty then anything can happen. A favourite trick of these guardians of the highway occurs when they work in teams at a complex junction the definition of which seems to be any choke point in the road system with the potential to cause chaos. Instead of working as a team they perform as individual prima donnas each with their own personal style. However the end result is always the same, each of them will wave through traffic supposedly under their control without even pretending to look at the other officers. No one stops to think that the other traffic is moving, they all rush to the centre of the junction and stop. There then follows some bizarre dance of the cars as the upholders of law and chaos attempt to move enough cars to create a gap, a bit like one of those little games where tiles are shifted around a grid with just one space. Eventually everything is sorted out only for the problem to shift somewhere else and life carries on.

Another aspect of driving here is closely linked with the lack of a proper sewage system in Kabul. Between pavement and road (sidewalk and pavement) there is in most places a gully . This gully or channel varies between 200mm and 400mm in width and around 600mm deep. The depth is a bit difficult to gauge as it is usually impossible to see the bottom on account of the contents. For the most part the channels carry some sort of liquid, I don’t know precisely what the mixture is and I don’t want to, if you then add the detritus that abounds in the city streets the resulting evil mix certainly makes its presence felt on a warm day. The thing that really amazes me is that I have never seen a car put a wheel down one of these things despite every available millimetre of road space being utilised. I have seen a motorbike in one but i think the stand was broken and the owner had simply parked it there in order to keep it upright.

On some streets the kerbside is lined with stalls selling freshly squeezed lemon juice mixed with the bacteria laden local water or maybe fresh produce such as tomatoes or water melon. This brings me on to the next part of my letter and eventually the meaning behind this week’s title. The one product/service culture. I mentioned the stalls selling the lemon drink and tomatoes well this goes a lot further. Street traders invariably deal in just one product, in the case of fresh produce you will see whole stalls filled with apples, bananas, grapes, water melons or some not readily identifiable green stuff and this will be just the one item not a mix of produce.

This practice goes beyond street traders and stalls and extends to whole streets. The most famous ones are called Chicken Street and Flower Street. These are the actual names on the road signs, Chicken Street quite obviously sells chickens as well as a variety of other animal bits, the chickens are very fresh and in most cases are clucking until the money is handed over, unfortunately the same cannot be said for the other meats on display, very often hung up outside the shops. As if being contaminated with the bio hazard dust and used as a meeting place for flies wasn’t enough then the joint or carcass can cut up on the bandsaw in the street or put through the mincer powered by a car engine. Neither of these machines will have been cleaned in decades save for the half hearted occasional wipe over with the all purpose rag that five minutes before was being used to clean the car windows or another task which I will leave you to speculate about.

Flower Street sells flowers but even here things are not what you would expect. It’s all artificial flowers made of paper, plastic or cloth in some of the brightest shades never seen in nature. Everywhere you go you will find the most ornate and bizarre floral arrangements, indeed some of them on the tables in the guesthouse are so large it’s like trying to talk to the guy across the table through a jungle. There is another reason for the many shops selling the artificial flora, weddings. Now I have no idea how the wedding venues are decorated but cars taking the bride and groom as well as the guests to weddings are decorated in the most elaborate manner. This is all part of the service offered by the Flower Street shops and it is carried out at the kerbside thus reducing the available free road to one car width if you are lucky.

There are other streets which have a one product or service aspect, near to me is a preponderance of sari shops, further down the road it becomes what I have dubbed Toilet Street because every shop sells porcelain products. Think of a commodity and there’s likely to be a street full of shops dealing in it. Tyres, metal gates, rope, computers, you name it and I bet you’ll find it here. On the way to work we pass through a particularly shabby district which deals in vehicle parts, it is said that this is where the locals come to buy back their wing mirrors, hubcaps and other easily collectable spares which get collected by others at night.

About now you may be wondering what potatoes have to do with this week’s ramblings, well I will get to the point. At the foot of the hill leading up to the Inter-continental there is a partially completed road with a reasonably good surface, every morning a selection of horse drawn carts are parked there along with drivers and several young boys. On the roadway are heaps of potatoes and onions which presumably have arrived on the carts. The boys seem to be picking over these heaps and sorting in what must be a crude grading process. The vegetables are then loaded onto carts and everybody goes away, there doesn’t seem to be any cash changing hands or any locals arriving to buy for home use merely an exchange of produce.

It was at this location that I witnessed the coming together of two of the subjects previously mentioned, the waste channels and the unidentifiable green stuff. This horse and cart driver was parked up near the potato guys with his load of greenery when i saw him take bunches of it and rinse it in the gully. I made a mental note not to eat anything remotely like that ever while I am here.

I’s been a quiet week by local standards at least in Kabul and I can only hope that it stays like this. I hope it won’t be too long before I see some of you in person again.

Letter from Kabul IV - by Barry Pullen

*Received on August 22 - On elections' week

Yet another week has absolutely flown by. Your intrepid correspondent has not had time to put thoughts onto the screen before today, which is Friday 21 August 2009.

I can’t say I really like the word incident when it’s used in the context of some of the happenings here, but I don’t suppose the official report writers are allowed to use descriptions such as atrocity or mass murder. The week started with one such “incident”. A suicide car bomb got to within thirty metres of the main entrance to ISAF headquarters. How he got that close and through the other checkpoints is still the subject of investigation and much speculation. Anyway, the bomber killed no foreign troops but did manage to kill and injure large numbers of his own countrymen. I just do not know what goes through the minds of these lunatics.

Then on Tuesday an ISAF convoy, just off the Jalalabad Road, was the target of another of these explosive laden Toyotas. This time a UN vehicle was caught up in the mayhem and two local staff were killed. Because military convoys are the main target of the one way taxis, our drivers have instructions to stay at least fifty meters from ISAF vehicles to lessen the chance of becoming collateral damage. Personally, I like the hundred meters version of this practice and would actually prefer to be a lot further away, possibly another country.

Throughout the week, the saga of the audio visual and simultaneous interpretation equipment has been running with all the allure and satisfaction of one of Kabul’s open sewers. All this expensive gear had been sat in Dubai for days and promised delivery dates came and went, but nothing arrived. As you can imagine, there was much shouting and screaming, and then we let the carrier’s local representative down from the rack. No, seriously, we were emailing everybody we could think of at the airline as well as the shippers, but nothing seemed to happen. Except an ever expanding list of excuses and a growing feeling that if this did show up, it could be just in time for the 2010 elections.

On Wednesday we stripped out the small conference room we had been using, so that at least we had a PA system. ISAF arrived with decent microphones and an interpretation system and we had promises of a lighting set from Afghan Television

Thursday morning and imagine how I felt when I received a call from logistics that our man at the airport could actually see the aircraft and was driving towards it with trucks. Normally I wouldn’t welcome being woken up at 06.30 but I was definitely prepared to make an exception for this call. Christmas had come early and I couldn’t wait to unwrap the presents. It actually took another three hours for the shipment to arrive at the hotel and then a while longer to negotiate the security that, first of all, seemed intent on making everything come in the long way rather than through the nearest entrance, then wanted to search all the boxes.

I refused point blank to open all these in the hostile dusty environment of the hotel car park, so eventually a compromise was reached and a K9 explosives search unit wandered over the boxes, sniffed and went away. I suppose I should be grateful the dog or the handler didn’t hang around to mark out their territory.

As this was only three hours before the first press conference, only basics were set up: audio distribution for the press and the projectors. Afghan TV arrived and in their usual style and attempted to take over the show. I was prepared to be generous as they had at least turned up with the lighting, so just this once they were allowed to place their own microphones.

Over Thursday and Friday, we managed to rig the new loudspeakers and microphones as well as the interpretation system. This was a massive team effort and everything came together splendidly. At this point, I have to say a special thanks to our ISAF liaison team. They joined in with the set up and provided good company and humour over the days they were with us. How they managed to do that after being stuck at the hotel over two nights because of the movement restrictions imposed on them I do not know but I shall always be grateful to them. On election day, they even noticed that I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for most of the day and brought a pot of tea to me as I was working at the sound desk.

As for the elections, it has been deemed a success in terms of voter turnout. Yes there were a large number of incidents across the country and Kabul experienced some small explosions and shootings, a bit like South London really. But here at the media centre we had the impression of being in the eye of the storm: a dead calm had descended on the place. Life was strangely normal, we sat down and had tea and meals and you could have been almost anywhere except for a couple of little hints that this wasn’t a normal setting. The car park was full of armed police and, most importantly, the service in the coffee shop was typically Afghan, at least an hour and sometimes more for a simple snack such as a burger or a grilled cheese sandwich.

I’ve had a few days staying at the hotel, treating myself to the unaccustomed luxury of hot water from the shower whenever I wanted it. I didn’t care that the air conditioning didn’t work or that the television was dead - there was hot water. The other bonus was breakfast, alright there is no bacon or black pudding, but the buffet had plenty of other goodies, enough to temporarily displace the memory of local bread and Happy Cow cheese.

The actual press conferences have been going well and the local staff are gradually getting the hang of the equipment. All I have to do now is convince them to pay attention and not miss microphone cues or play with open ended cables, thereby causing hum on the system.

Well, that’s a week which commenced with the bombing at ISAF, but which didn’t seem to produce the levels of mayhem that was widely expected. Nonetheless, innocent people have been the victims, as is usual in any country which is basically at war with itself. Casualty figures are still rising and more coffins are being returned home, but if I was asked if this was all worth it, I would have to say yes.

The average Afghan is a nice person, despite their propensity as a race for fighting and they deserve a chance to stay out of the clutches of the lunatics that ran this country back into the dark ages. All that will remain to be done is to convince the majority of the male population to start treating women as human beings and for the place to have a president who is strong enough to stop buying off warlords and religious groups at the expense of the ordinary people.

The Beer Seller of Kabul - Letters from Kabul III

*Received on August 14 - coming closer to the elections

by Barry Pullen

Afghanistan is an Islamic republic and an unfortunate by-product of this is that alcohol is nominally not available to the citizenry. But there are supplies to be had both from official and unofficial sources. On the legitimate side, our source is the bar at UNOCA, where I partake of the occasional beverage with my mate Dennis when we go shopping for supplies. If a person doesn't have access to UNOCA, then they are forced to buy on the black market in places such as Flower Street, at a substantial premium or as required in their guesthouse or hotel.

When a guesthouse sells someone a beer, this can involve a house boy going to the beer seller and, by the time it gets to your table, not only is it warm, but a $1.00 beer now costs $5.00. The internationals at the Intercontinental are mostly confined there and don't have access to the UN base. This includes the European Union Election Monitors, who are Brussels' civil servants, lording it around the place as if they were back home. As they seem to be mostly French, I would not be too unhappy to find the place a smoking ruin when I arrive in the morning, well maybe just the top floor which appears to be the principle habitat of these refugee purveyors of onions.

One international elections observer asked if I could supply him with beer. As he was 1) English and 2) not from the EU delegation, I duly agreed. Once a case of Heineken had been purchased, it was taken to the hotel on one of our usual press conference days, the recipient was phoned when we arrived and a rendezvous was arranged in the car park. Unfortunately when he arrived, he had forgotten to bring a bag or box with him: you just don't walk into a government owned hotel with a case of Heineken under your arm, so more waiting until he returned with cover for the contraband. Money changed hands and another happy customer wandered off to stock up his fridge.

It been just another standard week in Kabul: dust, flies and dire food have been in abundance. Luckily, I have not been revisited by the dreaded Kabul stomach, which afflicts so many of the international community here, possibly because I am tending to eat out or get a good take away at lunchtime and not having much at the guesthouse.

Vegetables continue to be a very rare item in my diet, simply because I don't like them cooked in diesel for 10 hours before dinner. I'm not joking. As I left for work this morning, I peeked into the kitchen and the rather unhygienic looking chef, he could have been the chief stoker off the SS Great Britain from the state of his clothes, was just starting to cook tonight's dinner. The technique seems to be cook everything for the same amount of time, i.e. a lump of mutton is cooked long enough to render it tender but the cauliflower goes on at the same time. Once cooked to oblivion, the food is then left to acquire a temperature somewhere between that suitable for a one year old child and stone cold. Of course on the way it has passed through optimum bug breeding temperature with its usual dire consequences. If a guest has the temerity to mention that the food is a bit chilly, a member of staff will slink away and reappear with a small chemical fuelled heated to place underneath the food.

Of course he will then need to refill it from a plastic molotov cocktail kept under the serving table, so that the pungent odour of the fuel adds its own special something to that whole dining experience. He will then light this tin with the flourish of a magician producing a newly repaired sawn in half assistant and at the same time ignite the spilt fuel on the tabletop, his hand and the floor.
None of this is cause for concern to the staff who just wander off to watch some Bollywood movie or Afghan soap opera on the big screen television, which dominates one wall of the room. Don't get me wrong, this is not a state of the art LCD or Plasma television. It is a massive cabinet of the projected television type that were popular a few decades ago before flat screen technology. It is constantly out of focus and has a sound system which would reduce Pavarotti to a George Formby sound-alike.

Despite these technical failings, I have more pressing reasons to dislike this intrusion into my senses. Firstly, I have become used to relative peace and quiet during meals, so that I can just eat or engage in conversation with my fellow inmates. Secondly, the staff will continually switch this monstrosity to a channel in a language that nobody except they understand. When asked for BBC or CNN or simply to switch it off, they do so with as much bad grace and sulking as can be collectively mustered: a bit like the reaction to be expected from a child from whom you've taken away the crayons he was using to redesign a Pugin wall hanging, or the look of puzzlement on a cat's face when the feline finally realises that the small creature its been tormenting for hours has finally expired.

As we approach the final few days before the election, speculation is rife as to what will actually happen. Rumours abound about possible violence before polling day. The Taliban have threatened to block roads and otherwise disrupt the electoral process. But yet another rumour says that they are going to take a step back and let the various political factions start all the trouble.

Obviously organisations such as the UN have to make contingency plans for any eventuality which could range from a peaceful election to full scale civil unrest. One worrying sign is that our office is now stuffed with bottled water and MRE's, Meals Ready to Eat, US Army rations also known as Meals Rejected by Everyone. We have yet to be informed as to if and when these will be distributed and I for one will be happy to see them.

For the senior members of my readership who remember army "compo" rations, these MRE's are a whole different ball game: each pack contains one main meal plus cake/cookie, crackers, jelly (jam in English) and beverage, coffee. The main meal is in a sachet and can be eaten cold, but these ration packs come with a heater bag for each main meal. The heaters are simply activated with water, which starts a heat producing chemical reaction; main meal bag is placed inside the heater bag and hey, presto! 10-15 minutes later you have a hot meal. I've yet to figure out how to make tea with this system.

I must add a few lines with a more sombre tone. Almost every day you folks back home will be seeing accounts of yet more UK casualties here. Sometimes you will also see reports of US ones as well. It’s easy to forget that several of the other forty countries involved in ISAF are also losing members of their armed forces. Amongst these are the Germans, Canadians, Poles and Australians, smaller contingents than the UK and US admittedly, but still having people killed and injured. However, the units taking the most casualties are the Afghan National Army, ANA, and the Afghan National Police, ANP. The ANP alone is losing on average 120 members a month to enemy action.

These elections will not bring an end to the troubles here and, indeed, may cause more in the short term. But one thing is certain: British and other forces will be here for a very long time. If the families wish to criticise our country's involvement here, they have every right to do so, just as if they wish to support it.

With any luck, the coming week will be a quiet one and I will be able to report from here with more of the funnier side of life in Kabul.

Take care,

Barry

Letter from Kabul II - by Barry Pullen

*Received on August 7

This week I have tried to structure the jottings from dust bowl central into something approaching chronological order, always assuming I can work out what day of the week it is. The new week dawned on Saturday and, after a party Friday night, I stayed in bed till 7am when, thanks to various wild swipes at the alarm clock, I could no longer reach it to hit the snooze button.

Saturday itself contained no surprises and even less work. Highlight of the day was going to be a meeting with the architect of the new purpose built media centre hereinafter referred to as the MC. Despite being contacted a week ago and me sending him a list of suggested alterations to his vision of Versailles in Kabul, there had been no reply to confirm that the meeting would actually happen. Wafa, as he likes to be called, remained elusively silent. So imagine my surprise when I was called to the gate to vouch for this gentleman. Our meeting was by Afghan standards short and to the point, although the ritual tea, without which no meeting is complete, was consumed before business commenced.

Bearing in mind I am no architect and have the artistic bent of an aphid, between us, we came up with some sensible alterations to the building design which is in a style known locally as "Pakistani Wedding Cake". Apart from some very necessary technical changes, Wafa agreed that emergency exit doors to complement the one entry/exit in his design would be a very good idea, we also managed to lose a row of small windows 6m up the side walls which were supposed to be supplementary air conditioning, but said daylight intrusion to me.

Sunday it was supposed to be a regular press conference at 10.00. Today all concerned had a shock when it actually started at 10.30 and was conducted in a fairly orderly manner. As it was approaching lunch, it was decided to head for the main UN base for a pizza. Unfortunately, before reaching there, the driver was called and told to turn round and head back into the city, as there was some sort of problem on the road near the base.

I will now assume that my readers are not that familiar with Kabul and its environs. UNOCA, the main UN compound, is on the Jalalabad Road, which is something it has in common with a lot of ISAF (International Security Assistance Force) facilities. At one time this road was considered to be one of the most dangerous in Afghanistan due to the frequency with which roadside bombs were detonated. But in recent times, the Taliban effort has headed out into the provinces. On returning to base the full story of what had happened was related to me by a security guy. Apparently, a local child had been knocked down and killed by a white 4x4 and initial suspicion fell on the UN, although it was subsequently discovered that the vehicle belonged to an NGO.

The ramifications go a lot further for all of us working here. As far as the locals are concerned, we all go around in white 4x4's and it doesn't matter to them if it says UN, FAO, WHO or any one of a dozen other acronyms on the side. It’s going to be very likely that aggrieved people with AK47's are going to be taking pot shots at vehicles travelling that stretch of road and unlike our department a lot of other staff are not using armoured vehicles. Maybe common sense will prevail, but no one's holding their breath on that one.

Monday and another media event, this time to demonstrate the indelible qualities of the ink used to mark voters fingers. Organisation of the show was absolute chaos but the demonstration was a hit. After testing various solutions - from nail polish remover to bleach on several volunteers - it was generally agreed that the only certain method of removal was amputation, although nobody came forward to help test this theory. Technically, this was not a bad day apart from one intellectually challenged member of the press, who managed to unplug the projector from the wall socket in order to charge his camera.

The drive back from the Intercontinental to the office was by my usual mad driver who today had an attack of Mr. Grumpy, so the maniac driving was laced with a severe dose of black looks and monosyllabic grunts as he tried to mow down everything in his path from elderly men on even more ancient bicycles to donkey and cart or herds of the mangiest goats you have ever seen.

I shall begin Tuesday with an open letter to The Taliban.
"Dear Mullah Omar and friends, if you must fire rockets at the American Embassy, the diplomatic quarter in general and Kabul Airport, would you please not do so at daybreak but wait until at least 07.00, 09.00 on Saturdays. I have just started to sleep through the call to prayer and the cockerel and now you lot start. So, unless you want serious trouble, I suggest you let me get my beauty sleep".

This attack even had a snooze facility. Just as it seemed sleep was possible again, another one went off.

I should say that one child was injured and there was damage to one house, as for the rest nobody really notices any more potholes in the roads, its just another hole in the road and in a few days drivers will be swerving to avoid it without remembering what caused the damage. The general feeling is that this attack was long overdue and was really just the insurgents making their point that even the capital isn't beyond their reach.

Because of this unwarranted intrusion into my slumbers, the US forces decided to spend the rest of the day flying Apache attack helicopters and Blackhawks around the city with such frequency that it was like sitting on the set of MASH or Apocalypse Now. All that was needed was a bit of napalm or a volley of air launched rockets in the air to complete the illusion.

And so to Wednesday, I really do hope this is going to be a no event day and the next thing that I write about is the feeling of an ice cold Heineken in my hand. Managed to meander through the day without really thinking about anything except how much I miss being at home. I get like this every so often. Anyway, beer is in hand and I am at peace with the world, be even better if certain elements out there were at peace with me. Looking forward to a good night's sleep now.

Got up Thursday morning feeling quite good, don't know why considering where I am but there you go. Another normal Kabul day: the usual manic drive to the Intercontinental, a press conference that started a mere fifteen minutes late and was mercifully short, then back to the ELECT compound to try and make some sort of sense out of the procurement process.

In the past 24 hours it’s been decided that simultaneous interpretation is needed, something I was asking about six weeks ago. Now I could go down to the market and buy some of the Chinese copies of virtually every brand of electronics in the world, all with a three day warranty if you're lucky. As I want this system to still be functioning in the course of time, I put it into the permanent MC. This approach has been decided against. So now I am putting potential suppliers under pressure to send back quotes in the time that most French companies spend over lunch, needless to say none of them are getting a look in. Lets see what happens and hopefully come Saturday we will have a chosen company to fulfil this order.

Headed out to the main UNOCA base for a beer run in the evening in the company of a very jovial Ugandan called Dennis. The plan was simply to buy some cases of beer to take away and get back in the car. However once we got there it seemed silly not to have a couple of Becks and so we dismissed the driver with instructions for him to come back in two hours. Now the bar has all the charm of a supermarket booze aisle but there's conversation to be had and its all we've got so beers were consumed, friends greeted and a good evening had by all.

Friday and the sun was well up by the time I stirred, just for once getting up late didn't mean that all the hot water had gone. Hmm, the day's going too well, I thought. I met some friends and new folk at the Serena Hotel for brunch and proceeded to pig out on delicacies, such as smoked salmon, trout, marinated vegetables and sushi for four hours. It’s a bit of an indulgence, but it has to be done.

One of today's diners was, wait for this one, a US navy helicopter pilot. It seems he's either very adventurous or upset somebody because he has been condemned to sitting behind a desk at ISAF headquarters in Kabul for seven months. A really nice guy, although I do think turning up in body armour and armed for brunch may have been a bit over the top.

I've been going over the e mails that have appeared since last night, I didn't checking them earlier in case it spoilt my day and how right I was. Most of UNDP/ELECT are being told to stay in their residence between 17 and 24 August, with the exception of key personnel on the list attached to the message. Yes you guessed it, yours truly is on the list.

Goodnight from Kabul

Barry

Letters from Kabul - by Barry Pulen

A British cameraman has been working in Kabul for two months now. In August, he sent his friends a letter, painting a less glamorous, still charming picture of what his job means. His letters were not meant for publication, but he did not oppose the idea when faced with the proposal. Here is his first letter, sent before the elections, on July 31.

Letter from Kabul I

Dear All,

To those of you who have not received this before Letter from Kabul just started as a few random thoughts and a sometimes slightly cynical look at life in Afghanistan and in particular from a personal view. I suppose now I should give the usual health warning and say that the views expressed herein are solely those of the writer, as if anyone else could come up with some of the ramblings that follow. So enough of this and on to the main feature.

Yet another week has gone by in the dust bowl of Afghanistan's Slough. Hard to believe I've been here five weeks already, only another 8 to go. Been told to stop marking the days and weeks on the walls of my cell – sorry, "luxury guesthouse suite" - as its confusing the cleaners. They think I'm trying to leave instructions for them.

Also, had to cut down on the use of fly spray, as its being mistaken for a chemical weapon of mass destruction by the detectors on the roof of the US embassy 3 km away.

Chatting with people from various UN agencies over what is jokingly referred to as dinner, we decided that there are really only 2 styles of cooking: one - everything is cooked to death in a red oily gloop; in the second version, they use a yellow oily gloop. These methods seem to be applied to most foodstuffs, with the exception of rice and fruit, although I am waiting to see if water melon gets the gloop treatment one night. A high point at dinner yesterday was the arrival of oranges, so the Red Cross parcels must have got through at last. All we need now are the escape route maps printed on silk and hidden in cigarette packets. Please note: no files to be sent in cakes - by the time they get here, I will need a file to break open the cake.

Work progresses albeit slowly, but I eventually got to spend $60,000 on a load of new equipment which if we are lucky will arrive before the elections. Getting anything done here requires lots of signatures, which is difficult because the culture seems to be along the lines of "if I don't sign, I can't be held responsible; and if I do sign, it must go further up the food chain, so a higher pay grade can sign and take responsibility".

Having said that, there are a lot of UN staff here, both national and international, who are very good at their jobs and dedicated to making at least the elections project a success. Press conferences and meetings with candidates continue in the haphazard fashion that passes for organisation round here, as you can imagine time is a bit of an abstract concept. One meeting over ran by such a margin that by the time the VIPs finished talking, the buffet of kebabs, samosas etc. had been well and truly munched by security guards, drivers and the audio visual staff.

Since we are talking about staff, I have now acquired two Afghan guys from the IT department. Both are very competent and pleasant and should do well. At a press conference on Thursday, one of them, who sports a permanent 3 day beard and an eye watering mantle of sweat, turned up resplendent in a suit of a colour I can best describe as lavender with matching shirt and tie. Predominant fashion round here tends to be shiny suits and very long pointed shoes.

Security tends to be a subject on everyone's minds, but thankfully for us in Kabul the militants are at present concentrating their efforts on the provincial cities. Unfortunately, this is putting pressure on friends and colleagues working in those areas. We are still awaiting clarification of arrangements for late working over the election period, but for now all journeys by our department are in those nice new 8 ton Land Cruisers, which appear to have one design flaw: yes, they have armour that will stop up to a .50 calibre shell and give good blast protection, engine fire suppression systems, run flat tyres and a selection of sirens and blue lights, but nobody thought to upgrade the hand brake, so the drivers have a hell of a job doing hill starts or even getting the thing to stand still when we are parked on the slope at the hotel security point. (BAe Systems please note)

Its Friday, the weekend, and please note this is a one day weekend. Went out last night to the main UN base for a few beers and to stock up the fridge with essentials, like wine and Heineken It was a very pleasant evening in the company of two very jovial Ugandan guys from UNDP/ELECT and we all left loaded with enough supplies to see us through the week. Stockpiling and hoarding will begin fairly soon, I suppose, as the rumours of lockdowns over the election period persist. Nobody wants to be stuck in their room without booze, crisps, chocolate and pot noodles.

I'm going to sign off now, wishing you all a safe week to come, and I will be back with more confused jottings next week.

Barry