Kabul is a place that I always wanted to visit. Growing up in Russia, we’ve always been scared of Afghanistan. My uncle was conscripted and sent there for a couple of years and he told us enough horror stories to stay away from this place for the rest of my life. But anyway, I wanted to face the fear and just go. Having a friend working in community development obviously helped the cause and I didn’t want to miss the opportunity.
Stepping out of the Airport into a hot and dusty air for some reason reminded me of Saratov, Russia. I don’t know why, but when I was a kid, this is how I remembered Saratov. Except Saratov didn’t have any UN marked cars or mountains filled with mud houses..
… or billboards portraying a happy Afghan family enjoying a bottle of Coca-Cola.
That afternoon my friends took me for a walk around the area “near the French bakery.” There were lots and lots of kids. A few of them were flying a kite.
Others were kicking a ball on the street and stopped to say hello to us.
Others we just staying outside of the gate, checking out what was happening on the street.