I have written and rewritten this entry during the past 12 months. I am still struggling to describe how completely this title has defined my Afghanistan experience. It’s at once excruciatingly lonely and yet here I have also found profound comfort.

Realization of this imbalance creeps slowly in while waiting for the flight from the US to Dubai. The gender balance in the airport lounge tips, draining much of the  estrogen from the room. However, it pales in comparison to the flight in from Dubai to Kabul, this final flight provides a snapshot of life to come…

Testosterone Immersion

I work with men. I shop with men. I socialize with men. I am fully immersed in testosterone. Having lived in Afghanistan for a year, this reality has finally dulled and the transition when returning from trips abroad is much easier to make, but it is still a transition.

Despite progressive hiring practices in my agency women are outnumbered more than 6 to 1. This ratio pretty closely reflects the local market place and though it improves slightly at expat parties, the scales are still tipped heavily in the favor of men.

Hotness Factor

Go to any expat watering hole on a Thursday night (our version of Friday night) and you’ll be one of maybe 10 women in any packed bar. This creates, what one friend calls, the “Inflated Hotness Factor.” He reckons that a woman here, solely by virtue of  being a woman here, gains a full 3 points on the hotness scale. So, if you’re a 5 back home, here you’re an 8… or a 7 at home, here becomes a 10. Can’t say this is true, but can say that women here certainly behave as though it is!

The reality is that as a woman here, you are treated differently. Whether by expats or nationals, you are rarely viewed through the same lens that has always identified you. I find this disconcerting and tend to gravitate toward men who treat me much as I’ve always been treated (as a goddess, of course!!!) haha

Me & Afghan Men

Interaction with Afghan men is a trip in itself. The extremes are the most apparent attitudes… you’re either sex-on-legs or completely asexual – something not quite a man, but certainly not at all a woman. Over time the interaction becomes much more comfortable and the extremes less apparent. However, I still wonder what sort of impression I make.

At first I tried to be a bit of a feminist… I made eye contact with men in public! (shocking I know) For instance, when I’m looking out a car window and a guy has gone to all the trouble of staring me down (swiveling his head & gaping) I’m going to look back.

My blow for feminism is met with consternation when the man realizes that his steady gaze is actually being returned. The reaction is first one of surprise, then he looks away, and finally…after a momentary pause, you can almost see the wheels grinding as they wonder, “why am I looking away?!?”

As direct eye contact is cause for consternation, particularly in Kabul, I have found it easier to drop my feminist aspiration and to simply avert my gaze, or go into a soft focus to avoid making any eye contact. It’s just not worth the impression I’m leaving behind.

Afghan Women

It is generally held that “a woman’s place is in the home.” A traditional expression of this ideal is “a woman’s place is ONLY in the home”. This statement lives on the streets and in the bazaars where, on a good day, 10-20 percent of the crowd are women. Of those, at least half are in burqa, the traditional head-to-toe wrap with a narrow mesh at the eyes so women can see… a bit.

Women in Burqa

What I have come to understand is that the burqa keeps women safe through keeping them anonymous. There is nothing, including the eyes, visible enough for men to stare at… unless the guy staring has a thing for dirty feet. Were I not so tall, I might consider wearing a burqa when I go to the local bazaar. It just frees one up to shop without feeling hundreds of pairs of eyes on you.

What I struggle with is the dehumanizing effect of the burqa. This shroud of cloth cuts women off from all that’s around them. I don’t just mean figuratively – their vision is also acutely impaired and with that, their mobility. Through the narrow mesh window one’s  peripheral vision is nonexistent. This puts women at risk when they cross busy streets or simply walk through crowded bazaars with uncertain floor surfaces etc.

In its simplest form, being seen is making eye contact. It’s an essential human connection. One that women in burqa are denied. Add to this the fact that even in a business setting a woman cannot shake a man’s hand without him extending his first… through being sheltered, women are being cut out of society – silenced not only behind compound walls, but also behind veils.

The impact on Afghan society cannot begin to be measured. Everything from infrastructure to education reflects the absence of women in public life.

One other thing I can tell you about Afghan women is that they are engaged in hand-to-hand combat against the aging effects of their environment. Even with all of my cremes, lotions etc. my hands have aged 10 years since I got here.

Despite these challenges and barriers, I have met remarkable women who are campaigning for women’s rights, running their own businesses and some who are refusing to wear burqa, opting instead for a chador (head scarf).

Safety

I haven’t decided whether or not my being a woman puts me at greater risk in Afghanistan. There certainly are more men looking out for you, so at least on that front I may be more safe. However, safety in Afghanistan is so uncertain that it is unlikely even if something were to happen to me that my gender would play a significant role in my safety. IED’s or avalanches are very discriminating.

I do wonder how my reputation plays into my safety. Given that I am surrounded by men, my closest friends here are men. So, I do wonder what the drivers think when they drop me off, yet again, at a restaurant where I’m meeting a man… unrelated to me.

It is a strange thing to constantly be on alert – to constantly corral your natural social impulses. One night I went to pick up a friend for dinner. I hadn’t seen him in a couple of months, so the natural impulse was to give him a hug. He jumped in the backseat and we both smiled and clung to opposite doors until we got to the restaurant.

A few nights later as the driver dropped him off before he left on R&R, we both leaned in to say goodbye. It didn’t seem at all strange until I caught sight of the driver’s wide eyes in the rear-view mirror.  These are the moments that chafe.

I worry, really worry, about what the guards and drivers think of me – of my morals. I suppose I wouldn’t be so concerned, but given my agency’s approach to security my primary safety rests squarely on their good opinion of me.

I will say that if for some reason I found out tomorrow I could never leave Afghanistan, I would marry immediately. This is a hostile environment for a single woman without family!