Security Issues

For an entire year (2004-2005), I would walk around my home church (never stopping at a pulpit) talking to anyone who would listen about Dad's doings among Persians, and my actual and anticipated role in it. There were those who, for that entire year, avoided having to listen to any part of it, cutting me off by saying, "but it's so dangerous". Yet I had learned from experience that protection comes from Dad; fear could never dictate where I live nor what I do nor say. Costa Rican low-income neighborhoods had brandished that "dangerous" reputation until I found myself at ease in them. The North Philly barrios of my former home and job were shrouded in a haze of fear, yet had become a relaxing "home" to me and mine. On these pleasant experiences my expectations of K-Town security were built.
Expectations faded and the new reality took center stage the afternoon I entered (what was later dubbed) the Karte Char Palace (where I lived for a few weeks before the women teachers took it over) and the transition was a fairly smooth upward lift. No terrors were lurking behind the luxuriously new marble walls, plentiful full baths, nor from those breathtaking terraces. Able choquedors guarded the entrance, later to be accompanied by an armed security service, who socialize during the frequent extended visits from both the local police and the ISAF anti-terrorist rapid response force. Costa Rica never offered this level of comfort and attention, at least not to me. With running shoes on, alone, starting at 5 A.M., new trails were ignorantly blazed through places where, well, I have not since returned. The U of K offers shelter with its 2+ mile long internal perimeter, trees shading the way, and University security keeping almost all of the cars away; it's always a safe haven for a few hours of introverted exertion. The streets of Karte seh and Karte char present themselves as friendly, hot and dusty. Yet K-Town is officially a war zone; none of the "down town folk" are even allowed to bring family members into the country.
Oh, not everything here is as safe as it appears; invisible kite strings will strike your torso and head as you walk along, then people you scarcely know will invite you to tea and meals (you're not SUPPOSED to accept the first or second offers, dummy!). If you are a male who speaks the native tongue, there lurk construction workers, children, professionals and others who might leap out at any moment and entrap you with their life stories. Then back at the ISK compound, turning on the internet you could always read about violence in far off places like, well, here in K-Town. There is a Star-Trek induced dimensional disconnect between the news reality and the daily reality, and I live in the better place (you couldn't pay me enough to live on TV). Just like in North Philly where the bombed out 7-11 on the news was from a different dimension than the one down the street (where they pour the remains of the regular coffee into the decaf container!); the two places can therefore share the same street address without ever overlapping.
Security is a serious daily issue; if lady visitors stay after dinner we men must see that they arrive safely at home. Walking alone is not a good idea at night, a good (lady) friend of ours was roughed up last month in an alley. We have a comfortable compound in a rough neck of the woods. The Parliamentary elections happened last Sunday, so after the usual Thursday-Friday weekend, we kept ISK closed until Tuesday. The whole town slowed to a crawl. Government electricity ran all day (usually it cuts off at 6 A.M. until night and we run our generators). All of the NGO's had their staff on lockdown (which, depending on your company, would mean that if you go out no one will say anything, except, "I told you so" if something goes wrong). Our meals were not prepared as usual since the cook stayed home, so I ventured out to get some yogurt. Everything was still and quiet; half the shops at the local bazaar were closed. On the news, a mortar hit a K-Town warehouse wounding (one news service said killing) a UN worker - not a peep in my dimension; not even an aggressive taxi driver. Some universes have all the luck. Then at 1:30 A.M. a loud rumbling awoke me. All the dogs on this side of the mountain were barking. My first thought was that our incomplete High School building had fallen, but it had not. Was it a downtown explosion? No. A mild tremor had occurred that most people did not notice. As far as security goes, it only takes one serious incident to alter your world view.
It seems almost inevitable that one day an evil Romulan plot will cause the two universes to collide at some point and something awful will come into ISK's space. Though multiple greetings are the norm, sometimes the young men who repeat polite phrases as I run by at the U seem like anxious children vying for attention. Yet there are moments when I wonder if one of them is trying to set me up, (in spite of the fact that a bicycle abduction would be a physical impossibility.) The ISK security staff and I spend a lot of time together joking around in Dari. I observed that the Chinese machine gun weighs a lot more than the Russian one, without being any more effective. The fact that I am out handling Asiatic machine guns should serve as a hint that Toto and I might no longer be in Kansas. We are developing drills for ISK involving scenarios that go way beyond the fire drills of my youth. So there is this "imaginary" security stress everywhere, right alongside the incredibly warm welcome and hospitality.