A forest in the desert
Unfortunately, I'm coming to realize more and more that few of my posts contain any complex or interesting plot. They are mostly subjective casts in to the pool of visual images I come across throughout my travels. I suppose there's nothing wrong with that, it just seems more like a lengthy rambling of a tired old man than the inspiring visions of a master storyteller.
Our journey finally ended a few weeks ago, and I found myself in an entirely new place, with entirely new goals before me. Before I had my own clinic to work out of. Now, I have to build one. I must order new supplies to refurbish it, and establish an entirely new system and daily schedule. Not that I don't have the experience to do so, but it is a bit daunting to find oneself in this position. But it is also refreshing. There is something appealing about having the freedom to start anew, and having the capacity to do it differently, to solve old problems, to prevent previous mistakes due to the benefit of past experience. But right now, its not so much about doing it better, its more about not doing it worse. I only hope I don't fall in to the latter category.
While I was cleaning off one of the trauma beds, one of the local kids who lives on the base with his father came in to help too. I had just taken a shiny new mop bucket out of a box, its bright yellow color no doubt appealing. All he wanted to do was play with it, rolling it back and forth across the room. He even grabbed his own rag and even mimicked my actions, having no qualms about turning the manual labor in to his own "game." I was touched by the child's view of things, but also saddened that what this kid saw as play was worlds apart from my own more sheltered and pampered upbringing. Forget video games, all this kid wanted was a bucket with wheels.
The scenery is a stark contrast to the flat, endless desert of before. Now, I am surrounded by ringed mountains, each peak spilling over with fir trees and evergreen shrubs. The dust clogs my nostrils and cakes upon my skin and clothing, but it just makes the winter snows that much more wanted. Anything to stop the onslaught of "moondust."
Hiking through the mountain valleys, I notice numerous differences in the desert mountains before. Here, the higher altitudes and northern climate yields billowing mountain streams, terraced farmlands, and even forests of deciduous and evergreen trees. At one point, our patrol drove over hilly, dirt roads, past compounds of stacked buildings, like stone huts clustered against a ridge, overlooking verdant green fields, even green in the dusty winter. It was simply beautiful. Probably the most pastoral and bucolic images I have ever seen in Afghanistan.
As the holidays begin to creep up on me, I notice that my time here is drawing to an end. There is still some time left to go, but I also do not yet feel the pull to return so quickly. There are still more tasks that I have yet to accomplish, and more work that can be done in my role in this intricate world before me. And only time will see it through for now.
Our journey finally ended a few weeks ago, and I found myself in an entirely new place, with entirely new goals before me. Before I had my own clinic to work out of. Now, I have to build one. I must order new supplies to refurbish it, and establish an entirely new system and daily schedule. Not that I don't have the experience to do so, but it is a bit daunting to find oneself in this position. But it is also refreshing. There is something appealing about having the freedom to start anew, and having the capacity to do it differently, to solve old problems, to prevent previous mistakes due to the benefit of past experience. But right now, its not so much about doing it better, its more about not doing it worse. I only hope I don't fall in to the latter category.
While I was cleaning off one of the trauma beds, one of the local kids who lives on the base with his father came in to help too. I had just taken a shiny new mop bucket out of a box, its bright yellow color no doubt appealing. All he wanted to do was play with it, rolling it back and forth across the room. He even grabbed his own rag and even mimicked my actions, having no qualms about turning the manual labor in to his own "game." I was touched by the child's view of things, but also saddened that what this kid saw as play was worlds apart from my own more sheltered and pampered upbringing. Forget video games, all this kid wanted was a bucket with wheels.
The scenery is a stark contrast to the flat, endless desert of before. Now, I am surrounded by ringed mountains, each peak spilling over with fir trees and evergreen shrubs. The dust clogs my nostrils and cakes upon my skin and clothing, but it just makes the winter snows that much more wanted. Anything to stop the onslaught of "moondust."
Hiking through the mountain valleys, I notice numerous differences in the desert mountains before. Here, the higher altitudes and northern climate yields billowing mountain streams, terraced farmlands, and even forests of deciduous and evergreen trees. At one point, our patrol drove over hilly, dirt roads, past compounds of stacked buildings, like stone huts clustered against a ridge, overlooking verdant green fields, even green in the dusty winter. It was simply beautiful. Probably the most pastoral and bucolic images I have ever seen in Afghanistan.
As the holidays begin to creep up on me, I notice that my time here is drawing to an end. There is still some time left to go, but I also do not yet feel the pull to return so quickly. There are still more tasks that I have yet to accomplish, and more work that can be done in my role in this intricate world before me. And only time will see it through for now.