My husband Jamie and I have been living in Afghanistan for a year now. Jamie is on a posting with the British Embassy in Kabul and I work for an organisation that makes radio, theatre and television programmes for social development. I started writing my blog as soon as we arrived because small details are quickly forgotten, and I knew I would never have time to explain them all to family and friends. Getting to know a place is like slowly peeling an onion - each layer leads to another - but the more I learn about Afghanistan, the less I understand; there are fewer answers and more questions than this time a year ago. But an experience is made up of the people with whom you share it. My Afghan colleagues are the reason I have grown to love a country that is not my own, and it has been the best start to married life I could have wished for.

May 21, 2007

Someone once said to me that they thought the expression “war-torn” must first have been used to describe Afghanistan. But as we flew over Kabul, I noticed how neat it looked. The straight walls around houses, built by men for protection and to hide their women, added to the formulaic pattern of the city. To an accompaniment of snorting and phlegming from my neighbour, we hit the runway. I put on my headscarf and hoped I wouldn't look too much like the new girl.

In Kabul airport's only terminal, a few dirty yellow light bulbs shed a gloomy light. It was dark and hot. I was a given a landing card to fill in and noticed that my hand was shaking so much that I couldn't write my name. I headed out of the terminal, trying to look as if I knew where I was going.

I was looking out for Abdullah Fahim, who was meeting me, but nobody is allowed within half a kilometre of the airport for security reasons, so I had to bump over potholes and through car parks to the meeting area to find him. Behind a wire gate hordes of men were standing around, waving signs and yelling into mobiles. There was Abdullah, standing amid the dust in a crisp white shalwar kameez. A huge grin appeared through the glossy black beard. He is the finance manager for my new employers. I was very pleased to see him and, had it not been for Afghan conventions, would have hugged him.