December 2, 2006 – First Snow Fall in Kabul (05/02/07)

It was a Saturday morning, the start of the work week in Kabul . I looked out my window as I got up and noticed that it was white everywhere outside. I almost ran downstairs to open the front door.

It had snowed about 2-3 inches overnight. The air was cold and crisp. The city had a different feeling. A new season was about to arrive. Change was near. The omnipotent dust was in retreat, at least for the time being.

From about 1998 – 2002, the country had experienced a punishing, sustained drought which had killed many Afghans. Early snowfall could possibly mean a good winter and plentiful runoff from the mountains into the rivers and streams which sustain and nourish the people, crops, and livestock.

I remember that the snow flakes were larger than any I had seen before. I hadn’t seen them this big in the Sierra Mountains in California and Nevada . I tried to think of the reason why they were so big, but settled on taking a picture of our front yard now graced with snow. I focused my camera on the front yard and porch.

Later that morning after I had gotten to work, one of my staff people came to my desk with a smile on his face. He carried with him a large envelope. Other staff people in the department began to approach my desk and gather around. I could sense something was up so I playfully asked what the envelope was about.

As I began to open the envelope, water dripped out and everyone began to laugh. The envelope had a small see-through plastic container with a pinch of melting snow inside. I also found a letter inside on which the staff had written the following:

“Dear Sir

Happy Barfi Party

According to our tradition in every year [that] the First Snow Fall is a surprise, when you get this letter with [a] piece of snow, you must give a party to all the Finance team and we all are wishing you this Surprise and First Snow Fall.

Regards,

Finance Team”

It was a deeply touching and memorable moment. This was an Afghan tradition that I had never heard about. As the laughter subsided, everyone dispersed and went back to their desks to work.

I later asked one of the young Afghan staff people what this tradition is called in Dari. He told me that the literal meaning of “barf az ma, barfi az shoma” is “snow from us, an invitation from you”.

How had the name come into being and who had coined the phrase? The playfulness of the phrase was mysterious and also reassuring. Afghans could have fun despite their past sufferings and current hardships. There would always be another day and new snow fall.

I would never forget day, however, my first snow fall in Kabul.