From my bedroom window I can see the upper branches of a tall tree. Full of blackbirds, its branches waving in a gentle breeze against a pale blue winter sky, it is the first thing I see when I look out my window.

I grew up surrounded by trees. Huge trees. Carpets of green covering every untamed surface. I hadn’t given the tree a second thought, until today.

I went shopping yesterday (well, the day before I considered the tree). Sounds simple enough, right? Just a short trip into town to see what’s available in the market. Turns out it wasn’t.

Ya, I know the tree…I’m getting to it.

In addition to the market being checked out by my security team, several guards accompanied me on my “quick trip” and I understand that more were already standing by throughout the market should anything go wrong.

In an attempt to attract less attention than I normally would, (women here do NOT shop without a burqa and a husband! …and are at least a foot shorter than me!) I moved quickly, following the lead, head scarf low over my forehead. I kept my wrap draped loosely around my shoulders, arms crossed tightly across my chest in a feeble attempt to disguise my all too abundant curves.

It was a good trip. I found a couple of pocket knives (locally made) and got a good general sense of what is and is not available here. What I did not get was a good sense of my surroundings! Not only does a low head scarf obscure peripheral vision, but per cultural norms, I kept my head down and eyes averted.

A passive posture goes against everything I know about being in a new environment. I’m certain that I attracted attention, but with my eyes on the ground, I couldn’t tell what sort or from what direction. I simply kept following the lead. Doing what I needed to do – what I was expected to do.

As I hopped back into the vehicle for the trip home, something bothered me. It wasn’t until the next morning when I found myself staring out the window at the tree in the next compound that I realized – it wasn’t my eyes on the ground, the head scarf or the shroud. It was my freedom.

I’m not free to walk the few hundred paces to the tree in the next compound. I’m not free to simply walk to work, or to drive to the corner store to pick up some milk. The trip into town was a gracious simulation of freedom, not the real thing…and at what price? How many guys had to recce the area, how many more stood by while I shopped.

While I deeply appreciate the effort expended on my behalf, I just don’t know that it’s worth it for me to feel as though I’m free. As though I’m outside.

* * *

As though to force this point home, the following afternoon an IED was discovered and diffused in that zone of town. Zone’s are rather large – so while it wasn’t necessarily specific to where I was, it was a general enough reference to convince me to confine my non-emergent shopping to Kabul….or maybe Dubai!