By Dawn Lloyd
Editor’s Note: Dawn Lloyd is a guest columnist that spends most of the year in Kabul, Afghanistan. Throughout the term, she’ll be sharing her experiences living in Kabul with Ethos. Any opinions she expresses are solely hers and are not necessarily held by the editorial staff.
Her other entries can be found here: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7
I come back from Afghanistan to Portland for Christmas/New Years and for summer vacation. The schedule means I’m home for New Years and 4th of July—both firecracker holidays. I hear far more booms while at home than I come remotely close to hearing in Afghanistan. Nevertheless, the first thought that comes to mind when I hear one is still, “was that a bomb?” Improvised explosive devices (IEDs) sound and feel almost exactly like the bigger fireworks and firecrackers.
Although my two and a half years in Afghanistan have given me a number of firsthand experiences of what IEDs feel and sound like, the American University of Afghanistan has never been a direct target, and I’ve never been in direct personal danger. Therefore my reaction isn’t one of fear so much as nervous curiosity and anxiousness to know what the target is. There is an abstract sadness akin to how one feels seeing a stretcher being loaded onto an ambulance, but my next thought is, “if it’s a bomb, will it affect traffic and make my students late to class?” It’s amazing how we filter even major events through how it affects our lives.
The reverse culture shock of coming back to the first world hardly stops with IEDs and firecrackers, though. Two days ago I was vacuuming and smelled something burning. The first thought that bounced through my head wasn’t to wonder what was wrong with the vacuum cleaner, but to look around at the electrical outlets and try to think where the fire extinguisher was. Then I remembered that in the US, circuit breakers, electrical outlets, AC cords, and water heaters don’t catch on fire once or twice a year.
Small reliefs at realizing things I’ve come to think of as normal don’t happen in the US continue. I was eating an apple when some tap water splashed on it. My mind immediately began debating unpleasant options. I could rinse it with bottled water, but that isn’t an effective means of sterilization, so I’d still run the risk of getting sick. I could soak it in chlorine water as we habitually do with all fruits and vegetables, but that would take at least an hour, and it would turn it brown. I could throw it away, but it was a really good apple. Then I remembered, happily, that in the US, tap water doesn’t carry typhoid or lead to food poisoning.
There are also all the little things I realize don’t happen here. The electricity doesn’t go out a couple times an hour. When entering a store, restaurant, or other public place, my bags aren’t searched and I’m not patted down. Drivers drive in their own lane and stop at traffic lights. Furthermore, there are traffic lights—a phenomena I have only seen twice in Kabul, although no one knows why they’re there or bothers to stop for them. Streets don’t have herds of sheep, feral dogs, and horse carts as standard commuters. Butcher shops don’t hang full cows (skinned or unskinned) from meat hooks outside their doorway. In the US, there also isn’t much razor wire, no sandbags, and houses don’t typically have bored guards sitting outside drinking tea with AK-47s across their laps.
What I do find the same are the human reactions to everything around us. The Afghans, just as would Americans, want a peaceful and stable world where they can raise their families without having to worry about being caught in the expected impending civil war. They want all the “normal” things I readjust to when I return to the US. “Booms” should be firecrackers. Common household items shouldn’t catch on fire. Food and water shouldn’t carry life-threatening diseases. And we shouldn’t be reminded of war every time we step outside our door.
In two weeks, I’ll go back to that world, and readjust to it again, but I find it helps to think about it to remember how fortunate we are here in America.
About the author: Dawn Lloyd is an American who got bored and set out to find adventure. Four continents later, she’s settled in Kabul where she teaches English at the American University of Afghanistan. She is Editor in Chief for The Colored Lens magazine and writes speculative fiction, a list of which can be found on her personal site.

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