A woman may not

go to high school or university...so begins the lengthy list of things a woman may not do in Afghanistan under the Taliban.

"It does not have logic," a refugee told me. She was looking at the coffee a friend had just bought for her but I doubt she was seeing it.  A... left Afghanistan almost five years ago. Her English is a little stilted at times but it is good because she went to school there and was taught English. She had dreams of becoming a doctor. Next year she will, with any luck, begin to pursue that dream again. It is something she thought might never happen but she did not give up hope.

I won't give up hope for her either but we talked about the other things Afghan women are no longer permitted to do. Getting an education is one of the things that worries A... the most. 

In order to get an education there are other restrictions which would also have to be lifted.  Women are no longer permitted to go anywhere outside their homes alone. They cannot drive a car or take a trip in a taxi. They must be chaperoned by a male member of their family at all times.

If they visit a doctor, who must of course be a male, they must go with their husband or a male member of the family. They may not speak to the doctor. They can only speak through the family member. A male doctor may not touch a female patient. This must make it almost impossible for a doctor to treat a patient.  All this does indeed "lack logic". Presumably Afghanistan still has enough trained women from the previous regime to deal with at least some of the needs of women.

Recently there was another slew of restrictions places on women. They may not sing. They may not speak in public and must not raise their voice at home. They may not read the Koran aloud outside the house. Women must cover themselves in dark clothing and not show their faces in public. They cannot play sport or even take their children to a park or playground.

I went to university with a Saudi princess. Saudi Arabia still has some very repressive laws with respect to women but that girl had a father who was, in many ways, progressive even all that time ago. Her father and I had a chat one day as he was waiting for her to come out of a lecture. He was a pleasant and interesting man who wanted to see change. He had sent all his children abroad to further their education. It is likely he is long dead but I suspect that the restrictions on Afghan women would appal him. They would not make sense.

How do you manage the health of women under the restrictions being imposed? How do you provide all the services needed if they cannot educate the young, care for the sick and elderly and so much more? Who fills all the roles that women still fill in society? Here we have some men demanding they be allowed to be treated as if they are women. We talk about "respecting their right" to do that. In Afghanistan they would be put to death for even speaking about such things. Here we worry about the issues surrounding abortion. In Afghanistan women must be worrying about getting even basic health care. It would be particularly so for the girls who have not been given even the most basic of instruction when they are forcibly married to men they have not met before their wedding day. 

It is time we looked a little further afield and saw what his happening in places like Kabul and beyond. The women there have some very real issues to be concerned about. Some of them are concerned with their actual survival.  I want A... to be able to go back one day and be a doctor in the country she was born in.  Is that too much to ask? 

"Would you mind an upgrade?"

There is currently a story doing the rounds about the Downunder Prime Minister getting "free" upgrades to the best seats on aircraft. It is said he actually phoned a mate who just happened to be the CEO of the air line in question and asked for these.

If true then it is wrong. It would appear to be true as the Prime Minister is avoiding answering the question. It will be even worse if this in anyway influenced a refusal to another air line for more flights in and out of the country. 

Air fares here, particularly fares overseas, are expensive. They have always been expensive. We have long distances to travel.  Planes are expensive to buy and the cost of aviation fuel is too.  This is one reason why I have not been on a plane for thirty-five years. Still, I hope to go on one sometime in the not too distant future.

Will I get an upgrade? It is very unlikely, so unlikely that I am more likely to be hit by lightning or have someone buy me the winning lottery ticket.

But...I did have an upgrade once. I was checking in when the person behind the counter asked me to step aside.  I remember feeling rather anxious about this. I had a valid ticket and a valid passport and.... what was wrong?

A few minutes later I was quietly asked, "Would you mind an upgrade? Economy is overbooked but there is a seat in business. You can have that at no extra expense."

I took it of course. It was the sensible thing to do. I sat next to a very senior someone in the government of the day.  He asked, in a sort of polite but bored way, what I was doing there. It was the end of conversation until, some hours later, food appeared. He ate my bread roll...and asked more questions. He asked a lot of questions.  I did not agree with his politics but did not say anything. Our conversation was quite useful later.

I think I did earn that upgrade in the end but I still wonder what the bread rolls taste like.

"He died this morning"

the writer said and then went on to say, "I don't want sympathy. I don't even know why I am tweeting this."

I am not sure how the "tweet" even came to be in my timeline but it was there. It appears to be from a legitimate account, from a man whose son had the worst sort of brain tumour. 

Why would he write it? Why would he write it if he wasn't looking for sympathy? What's the point?

There is a point of course. We need to know about some of these things sometimes. We don't need to know about all of them all of the time but we do need to know sometimes. Knowing about all of them all of the time would be more than our mental health could handle. Is knowing about some of them some of the time good for us? I suspect it is. Perhaps that is why such things sometimes creep into our timelines, on to the printed page or into the airwaves.

We need to know about another family who have just lost a son in a freak accident, a family who may yet lose a daughter as well. This was no "crash" caused by inattention on the part of the father. Someone ahead of him had hit an emu. 

Our need to know is not because it is good or right or proper to dwell on these things but because we need to be reminded of the value of life, our lives and the lives of those around us. These things are a reminder to be aware of those around us.

Yesterday I had an unexpected string of visitors. I was only expecting one. He came to pick up several items from the shed. I had not met him before. He was pleasant enough but not seeing him again will not bother me. As he arrived so did someone I really do not know well. She knows I am moving of course. Was there anything she could take to the charity shop on her way through? I passed over a bag of things that were labelled "useful but do not keep". 

Then my new neighbour called in and offered to take me somewhere I need to go next weekend. I declined because I have made other arrangements but I wished I did not need to leave this address when I have neighbours like that. 

Mid afternoon and Middle Cat came with someone who was taking more from the shed. G... is a "handyman" and sympathised over the size of the job. 

While they were here S... arrived. She had half an hour to spare. What could she do to help? We loaded more books into her car and two more bags for the other charity shop closer to her home. 

When they were all gone I sat down for a moment to make another list. The house was quiet, almost too quiet. I went outside for a moment...and there was another visitor. This time though the visitor was avian not human. The little willy-wagtail sat within two metres of me. We looked at each other before it darted in to pick some more of the cobweb I have deliberately left for nest building. Most of the cobweb has now been used. I know I should clear the rest away but how can I? A visitor is using it...and I am lucky to have such visitors. 

It is also why I need to reach out to someone else.  

Making bread

is something I have done often - but only in a bread machine. I have never succeeded in kneading dough well enough by hand. My paws are simply not large enough or strong enough. Yes, I know there are "no knead" recipes around but they are not the same.

Our first bread machine came to us because my friend I... made her own bread. She used a machine. It was something she had bought to try and save money. In her case it did because she used the machine on alternate days. Her children knew that having bread in the house depended on them making sure it was used and cleaned.  Her family ate well on a very limited budget.

As I..'s family grew older and left home less bread was made but there was always fresh, hot bread if we went to visit. The Senior Cat really enjoyed that bread. 

"We should get a machine and do it too," he told me after Mum died. I hesitated. They are expensive to buy and the kitchen is tiny. Then I... phoned and said she had seen one in a second hand store. It looked almost new and there was, wonder of wonders, a short guarantee that the thing actually worked. At one tenth of the price of a new machine I asked her to get it. Next time she came out to us she brought it with her. It was the same make and model as hers. She gave me tips and I began to make bread. 

We did not eat a lot of bread but it was good to have, especially in winter when we could toast the resultant loaves to have with soup. At last I could make the heavy full grain bread the Senior Cat loved so much.

Sometimes I added one extra ingredient and sometimes I added another. I would put in extra pepitas or sunflower seeds. At other times I would add a cup of chopped walnuts. There were other things we tried as well. Very rarely I would leave the bread mix as it was or try a loaf with white flour. I took out some of the flour and added cornmeal. I took out a cup of the bread mix and added rye flour instead. The Senior Cat suggested things.

That bread machine finally gave up but it had more than paid to have it. The Senior Cat searched the internet and found a new machine. Phew! We had home made bread again. 

I always made the bread until he went into the nursing home. He told me quietly the bread there was "like soggy paper". I bought the very heavy German rye bread for him and the staff were good enough to make sure he had that for breakfast. The loaves are tiny and it keeps well so he would finish one before it went mouldy. 

At home I stopped making bread because I ate so little of it. I bought bread from the bakery. It is more expensive there but it is much better than what is available in the supermarket. I can freeze half the loaf.  When W... comes for lunch, as she does each month, I make bread if I need it. I make it for other special occasions. On Christmas day I am expected to provide a loaf made with white flour and cornmeal and cheese. It was an accidental combination but one of my nephews grumbles I do not make it often enough because it makes good toast.

Yesterday I was standing in the kitchen with Middle Cat and we were looking at what else needs to be packed.

"Are you going to take the bread machine?" she asked. 

I thought not. I won't have as much space wherever I go I told her.

Apparently this was not the right answer, "You know you really do need to take it. We need it and you know I haven't got any room for it."

I suspect it will get packed - and used.  

The "self-service checkout " at one

of the local supermarkets has just two machines. One has not worked for over a year. The other blinks on and off occasionally.

Nobody seems to be very concerned about this. I have not heard anyone complain. Even the man who rushed in on Friday to pick up milk before heading into his office did not complain. Instead he simply cheerfully thanked the girl behind the "quick" counter and rushed off again. It has been a very long time since I saw anyone using the available machine.

At the other end of the shopping centre there is a second supermarket. There are about eight self check out machines there. A member of staff is always posted there. Ostensibly their role is to "assist" people who are having problems. 

I have never used these machines. I have in fact never used a self-service checkout. Yes, I probably could work out how to do it but even in one of the big chain stores which sells clothing and haberdashery I have meekly gone up to the person supervising and got some help. I tried using a machine once but you needed a steadiness of paw I do not have and I failed. Is that what put me off?

No. What puts me off is that you pay just the same amount for what you are buying even if you do the work yourself. Supermarket prices have risen dramatically, especially since Covid. At the same time staff numbers have gone down. There are far more "own brand and made in China" items on the shelves than before but prices have gone up. I went hunting for something on Friday. I found it tucked away. The packet is now fifteen percent smaller and the price is twenty percent more. The own brand substitute  is smaller still in quantity - but the packet is the same size. At least it is local. In the supermarket with multiple self serve stations there is a different brand. It comes from China. It costs even more. Self service is not saving us money.   

Outside the supermarket I prefer I sometimes see the permanent staff going in and out to their shifts. They will always acknowledge me. I know their names and some of them know mine. If I need help to reach the top shelf and one of them is around I know I can ask and they will help without hesitation. I know the students who work there. In the library yesterday one of them stopped me and asked a question about his work as he prepares for an exam. It makes me feel useful.

I would rather wait a minute, even two minutes and be served by a person. I want to know that I have paid the correct amount for those things which need to be weighed. I want to make sure if I buy two of something that I actually pay for both of them. I can ask for a receipt and even pay with "real" money if I feel so inclined.  No, self service is not saving money. It is just isolating us even more than before.  

The call for "reparations"

is, at best, misguided. It fails to understand or acknowledge history.

May I suggest it is time to study history? No, people won't do that. It won't give them a reason to demand reparations now. There will be no money in it.

My ancestors invaded Scotland before Scotland was Scotland. My surname comes from the Norse word for "war".  Does that mean that the people who were living in what is now Scotland should be able to sue the Norwegians for reparations? 

Put like that it sounds ridiculous doesn't it? Is it really so different for anywhere else? How likely is it that some Pictish chief "sold" a woman into "slavery" for his own benefit? Did they ever negotiate a treaty with the invaders? Who took what out of it? 

Take a look at Africa, particularly western Africa. The British did not simply sail there, round up whoever happened to be wandering around and cart them off to England or America. No, they bought people from "kings" and "chiefs" - people who were powerful and already wealthy. Those enslaved were often seen as "criminals" because they had broken harsh laws in their own countries - in much the same way as people were transported to this country. The countries on the modern maps did not even exist then.

And yes of course it was wrong, very wrong, that there were others who made still more money selling people on to plantation owners who also exploited them and failed to give them respect, care and consideration as human beings. I am not making excuses here but I am suggesting there might be more to the story that is told when demanding "reparations".

There is a "stolen generation" story in this country. It is a story which suggests hundreds upon hundreds of indigenous children were forcibly taken from their families. They were, it is said, abused and made to follow "white" ways of life. There was a Royal Commission which seemed to confirm all the horrors we were told about in the media. We were told all this was worse than the story of the convicts and even of the slave trade. 

Nobody seems to want to mention that children were willingly sent off to get an education or that they were mixed race and being rejected by both sides of their families. Yes, some of them were very badly treated if we judge their care by modern standards. In many instances they were being cared for by the standards of the day and the expectations of them were also judged by the standards of that day. There is a complete failure to acknowledge the slave trade to the north of us in what is now Indonesia. 

I don't want to suggest there was nothing wrong in the past. There is an awful lot wrong in the past, especially viewed through today's glasses. That said all the calls for reparations and treaties and truth telling seem to me to be more about "what's in it for me" than any real concern about the past. It is a grievance industry which is unlikely to satisfy those making the most noise. Their lives have purpose while these things are not settled. They will need another cause if they get what they say they want.  

Surely it would be much better if we concentrated on the future, not the past? 

What makes someone want to be

a missionary? 

I am no closer to understanding that today than I was yesterday. Yes, I went to another funeral yesterday. I suppose I am getting to "that age" where funerals are becoming more frequent, especially in the generation above me. 

R... would have been just old enough to be my mother. I knew her for many years. Her husband taught with the Senior Cat at a time when they were both assistant teachers in a big primary school. Their careers took different paths, very different paths. The Senior Cat went on up the teaching path and B... turned to the Church of England. He married R...

I often wondered whether R... had any inkling of what they would take on. I suppose she could be described as one of the genuinely "good" people in this world. She started out as a teacher too but her real role in life was that of "mother" - and not just mother to her own children. They had four children of their own and went off to Africa as missionaries. 

The youngest of their children gave the family eulogy yesterday. She recalled being sent three hundred miles to boarding school at the age of seven because her parents were doing missionary work in a remote area. She spoke of how her mother made the long journey each half term to see her four children at school. She spoke of all the other things her mother did, how they gave up a room in their own small home to another missionary nurse when the promised accommodation did not eventuate. Her mother fed people, taught people, cared and comforted for people.

Yes, I suppose I admired her for all that. R... came to a talk I once gave at a church. I started out by asking everyone in the room to stand up...and they did of course. I then explained what I was going to talk about. I told them I was going to try and make them understand why it is so important to understand at least some of the language being spoken around you.  As I finished saying that I added, "Tafadhali kuketi cini". I waited and only R... sat down. I knew she had understood. I had just said "Please sit down" in Swahili.  (No, I do not speak Swahili. I wish I did. I know a few words and my late friend C... had told me how to say that for the occasion.) I knew it was very unlikely that anyone apart from R... would understand and it made the point. 

And R... rose to the occasion in two ways. She stood up again and said, "Cat has just asked us to sit down - in Swahili. I think it was a was a wonderful way in which to make us all understand what she will be talking about."

R... spoke fluent Swahili. B...did too. He says his is a little "rusty" now. After the service I spoke to the youngest child, a woman about ten years younger than I am. All I had to say was one word, the Swahili word "thank you" - "asante". She gave me a warm hug and murmured the response, "Asante sana".  At some point we will sit and talk about how it was for her as a child. Neither of us will understand how it was for her mother to go as a missionary to a country that is not safe - and was even less safe then. 

I cannot understand that level of commitment at all. I cannot understand that level of faith or belief. It seems to me there are very few people who do. 

R...and B... spent more than twenty years in Africa over two terms.  When we talked about it I think they felt the aid workers I work with were not truly committed. They saw them more as people who go in and out for their own benefit as much as the benefit of the community they go to help. That would not be true but R... and B... did not face the same restrictions. They took their children and one of the first rules the micro-aid worker is, "You don't take the children with you...or even your partner unless they are essential to the role." Micro-aid workers go in and out as quickly as possible. They are not there to socialise or develop relationships. They are there to do a specific job - and they must then leave. In many ways it takes the same level of commitment. They often take unpaid leave or use their holidays to do something...and it often involves personal expenses that are not tax-deductible donations to charity. 

For all that I know R...and B... believed in what they were doing when they went. They supported many of the people I have worked with over the years. Their knowledge of Swahili has sometimes been useful.

And, just once in a while, teaching other people the real meaning of "please sit down...and listen" was invaluable. I won't be able to go in and have R... ask if I want a mug of tea again but any time I go past their old house I will say a quiet, "Asante".