I worked out that I’ve slept in 19 different beds since I left Kabul in November. That’s 19 beds between Kathmandu, London, New York, Rhode Island, Washington DC, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Dubai, Tasmania, Sydney and now Niamey and that’s not including nights in aeroplane seats.
In retrospect the whirlwind tour was just the cure for my melancholy after leaving Afghanistan.
Although my Afghan team are still in my thoughts, and my inbox….
An email from Ahmad the driver: Salam Lucy Jan how r u doing wher r u. I heart u leaving 2 the stat what happen nd jimmy is he leaving with or just u leaving a lon…har jay ki bashi khosh bashi (this mean: wer you are I hop u good). Bye.
And Zabbi: Dear My Lucy Gordon, I hope you are safely home with no more weepings. Look forward to receiving your reminders and guidance. Zabeehullah Jalili.
So with their good wishes and thoughts, I felt liberated to embrace the next stage, even though it wasn’t quite what I’d planned.
And the next stage seemed to embrace me too – after all I was mostly in America which does a warm welcome like none other, so I didn’t have much option but to enjoy myself and learn almost as much about another culture and politics as I did in Afghanistan.
And then I was packed off to finally meet J at the end of my mini US tour by my wonderful American boss. As I ran into San Francisco airport she pressed something into my hand. It was a photograph of the Dalai Lama she’d taken and Christmas card saying: ‘Miracles to Come.’
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