Stuck in Traffic

Cramped in the back seat of an up-armored SUV, I lay my head against the ballistic glass, to rest my neck, and evaluate the events that led me to this point in time as I and my colleagues are stuck in a traffic jam in downtown Kabul.
Next to me, sits our project’s Municipal Coordinator (MPC) for Nili, a well kept, young Afghan man from a remote area of the Daykundi province. At a glance, one might think he is young and inexperienced, but a close examination of his face and mannerisms tells a different story. Typical of most Afghans I meet, his possesses a maturity that no westerner will likely ever harness.
On the other side of our MPC is my team leader, a larger than life Scotsman with the stereotypical wit to match, and a command of diplomatic skill that can light up any room and diffuse just about any argument. This is a guy who can tell you that you’re on a sinking ship, and make you feel fine about it.
In the driver seat is a locally hired soldier. Our project PSD hires local drivers because few expats have the nerve to navigate the mess that is Afghan traffic. The streets of Kabul, as well as Kandahar or any other city in this region, is a heterogeneous soup of small cars, trucks, bicycles, pedestrians, military vehicles, motorcycles, and even livestock. The only two rules that I can discern are: try to drive on the right, and don’t let whatever is behind you to pass you.
Our personal protection officer (PPO) sits in the front passenger seat, scanning the surrounding area for any possible threat. He’s a true Irishman, pouncing on any opportunity to crack a friendly joke. Unfortunately, I usually require an interpreter as his accent is remarkably thick. Either way, when on our movement through the streets, he is all business.
We are all returning from a meeting with a local contractor which we hired to do some roadwork in Nili, and rework the plan to accommodate drastic funding cuts. There are big plans for this small mountain town, with little financial backing. This is a typical scenario in Afghanistan, as aid funding is like an unpredictable tide washing in and out, and each time it comes in, priorities change. The whole thing gives me a dizzying headache, since nothing is a permanency.
I always thought of myself to be flexible, but this work has stretched me in ways I never thought were possible. I have learned to live day to day, wallowing in the few small victories we occasionally experience, and steering clear of any disasters on the horizon.
Other than obvious threats of living and working in a conflict zone, there exists an element about this work that I have never had in any other job. My emotional and mental capacities have been tested beyond their extents, but I can honestly say, even with all the frustrations and defeats, I feel alive here.
Hopefully the traffic will get moving soon.