What I Don't See

I close my eyes, and scenes flash before my eyes.

I no longer see the dirty streets of Kabul.

I don't see the gutter of sewer that I needed to avoid as I walked on the uneaven street.

I don't see the goats feeding on the garbage pile just down from my house.

I don't see my sons clambering through the concertina wire and glass shards on top of the walls surrounding our home and yard as they played tag with their friends.

I no longer see the Italian pizza oven we built in our yard and had so many wonderful pizza parties with Afghan and expat friends.

I no longer see the poor burkha-clad woman holding her emaciated baby, sitting in the middle of the busy street as cars drove by her without a look at her empty outstretched hand.

I no longer see the thin faces of the women who regularly rang my doorbell asking me for something, anything, as they stood at my gate. I prayed in Jesus' name for them as I handed two kilos of rice and beans from the stash I kept just for this purpose.

I no longer see the mean boys on the street who seemed to delight in harrassing me and my children by pretending to ride their bikes straight at us.

Men with Guns.

I don't see the guns, guns, guns everywhere. Men with kalishnikovs slung lazily over the shoulders, or the tell-tale bulge of a gun on the Turkish men around me. More men in Turkey are weaponized than are not.  Americans may believe in having guns, but we have no idea what it is to live in a militarized culture.

I close my eyes to remember seeing the locked-down fortress Kabul had become...once a beautiful and open city. Now, a bunker and firebase.

Men with Guns. 

I no longer see gun towers with men pointing their guns.

I no longer see the gigantic cement and sand barriers surrounding every restaurant, every embassy, every NGO, every Afghan Government office, every hotel, protecting from suicide bombers.

Americans are so open!  They leave their curtains open at night so anyone can look in. So strange.  I close my heavily-lined curtains at 5pm every night now, even though I live in a small town in Minnesota that doesn't seem to have any Muslims and definitely no terrorists. 

No one can see in.

We cannot see out.

I feel safer somehow. 

My daughter doesn't understand yet why I get upset when she doesn't close her curtains....doesn't she realize that men looking in are a threat? How can I explain this to her? 

Men with Guns.  

I still see the 10 Afghan Men with Guns walking calmly into my kitchen and telling me "Shhhhh...we are the police."  Did they think I was a fool? 

Men with Guns.  

I still see the men with guns pawing through my beautiful Pakistani-rosewood-brass-inlay jewelry box, stealing all my jewelry, including my Grandma's ring. I kept the jewelry box, because my husband gave it to me, but I put nothing of value in it and I don't enjoy its beauty. It's now just a thing, a reminder of a painful experience. 

I still see those men touching the ends of their guns to the temples of Neal's head. 

I looked, and saw their fingers move to the triggers of their guns. I was a milli-second away from becoming a widow. I see myself distract them from Neal, pleading in Dari with them. 

Oh for the day of Isaiah 2:4  and Micah 4:3 to come soon so there are no more men with guns. 

Come Lord, Come Quickly. 

While I wait for His return, I check and recheck the locks on my door still. 


I no longer see the gypsies roaming the streets of Ankara looking for any scrap they could pick up and sell for money to feed their families.

I no longer see the thick dust coating my furniture within an hour after the cleaner had dusted it clean. The Germans tested the air quality and found an abnormal amount of fecal matter in the air.  Good Lord!  That's the dust I shake off our clothes out on the laundry drying rack.

I no longer see the swirling dust storms enveloping my house.

I no longer see the smiling faces of the first Afghans we met - our language teachers.

I no longer see the beautiful Himilayan mountains when I took time to look up from the exhaustion of running a home in Afghanistan.

I no longer see the beautiful 100-foot pine trees circling my home, somehow majestically and courageously surviving years of war and infighting between the mujahadin. I loved those trees. They reminded me there was still a God in Heaven.

I no longer see the few lusciously green plants of my Dutch friend.

I no longer see the grieving faces of the family and friends of our friends murdered by Taliban, ....and I no longer see my murdered friends and colleagues.

I no longer see the smiles of my Afghan women friends as we drunk tea together. Lord, I miss them. I was too sad to say goodbye, and I have regretted it ever since. I have no way of contacting them. 

I no longer see the special community gathering together at the International Church of Kabul...a time, a place, and a people long gone.

I no longer see the American MRAP's and German armoured vehicles going down the streets with the gunner at the top pointing his gun at us and others to stay far away.

I no longer see the wonderful Afghan men who served in our office and were so polite, kind, respectful, professional, caring.  They were the epitome of Afghan culture, and what it could be. I know and remember there were problems, but what a privilege to have known those folks who were so patient with us and our many mistakes.

I no longer see the cheery grin of my favorite shop keeper who treated me politely when the Taliban were in power and then when they weren't.

I no longer see the bombed out houses of Karte Se, the bullet holes on the Russian bakery on the road to Karte Char. The bombed out post office at DeMazong. The bullet hole-ridden houses all over Karte Se with the exception of the International Church.  Why, to this day, is the church the only one of all of Karte Se that suffered NO DAMAGE?  What a witness to Your Power!

I no longer see the beautiful marble filling my home in Kabul and in Ankara. What a luxury! Marble is so cheap there and so expensive here.

I no longer see the Morning Glories climbing the posts on my marble veranda in all of my homes in Kabul. What an amazing gardner Kaka Aziz was!

I no longer see the gentle face of my favorite vegetable seller in Turkey who always helped me pick the best vegetables...the ones at the top back of the pile.

I no longer see my favorite Turkish shop, "Cheap Charlie's" and Mr. Adem's face as he sold me beautiful Turkish scarves at his shop across from the US Base. I could see tears in his eyes when we told him we had to leave.

I no longer see my children pushing the petal car around our yard - the car we painted to look like Lightning McQueen. How many decades earlier had that car been brought to Kabul?

I no longer see the smiling and gentle face of our evening watchman who chose to follow Christ, "because His path seems a good one to follow."

I no longer see the busyness of the Karte Se bazaar, the haggling over garlic and tomatos and second-hand naan (bread) being sold for chickens and poor people, and the second-hand clothes karachis (carts).

I no longer see MandayI Bazaar, and my favorite Pashtun shop keeper who returned my sunglasses to me - the ones I had left over a month earlier in his shop when I was looking for second-hand shoes for my son.

I no longer see "Goat's Head Corner."

I no longer see the Hindu Sikhs' spice bazaar, one of the most beautiful laid out spices sections in all of Kabul.

I no longer see Chicken Street.

I no longer see my favorite Pakistani Rug stores.

I no longer see my favorite naan seller.

I no longer see the dirty faces of beautiful children begging for handouts.

I no longer see the famous kite flying battles of Kabul.

I no longer see the gentle and smiling face of my teenage evening watchman who taught my sons the rudiments of Afghan Kiteflying.

I no longer see the grieving face of the mother of the Afghan who had become like a son to me - he was in jail because "apparently" he didn't have the correct paperwork for his motorcycle. She and I sat there and cried together as we worried about his safety of being a young kid in jail.

I no longer get to see my favorite fabric bazaars, my favorite second hand shops, and my favorite Afghan, Turkish, and Lebanese restaurants.

I no longer see Mr. Kamal, the owner of the most famous and popular Lebanese restaurant in all of Kabul...he was murdered by Taliban when he was trying to protect his customers from the Taliban attacking his restaurant one evening a few years ago.  He was so kind, and I asked him to cater so many team parties and team gatherings for us.  I remember asking him for the special spice recipe for his Fattoush salad, and he told me it was a secret.  But shhhhhhh.....I think it was the Sumac.  Someday I'll try to re-create his dish.

Wow. 

But I saw You, Lord, as you brought Afghans to courageously choose to follow You.  I saw you break down barriers between foreigners (outsiders) and Afghans (insiders). I saw You in the miraculous healing of blindness, deafness, and I saw Your Hand in the amazing miracle when You turned the salty water to sweet. You gave me a front row seat to Your work in one of the most dangerous places of the world. Help me not forget and to not let my children forget. 

Help me to see You here in Minnesota. Everything I see is so nice and clean and beautiful - it's hard to see You. We really don't need You here for day to day challenges.  

We don't seem to have the same need to look for You and see You. 

We are so impoverished in sight compared to the rest of the world.  Help me to see You in the smallest blessings, and to point out Your activity in my children's lives. 


Go To:

What I Don't Smell
What I Don't Hear