Happiness comes in gas filled packages

The highlight of yesterday was pulling over to the side of the road where P-monster bought me four sweetly garish giant parrot balloons, as P pulled each one in through the drivers seat window, I was giggling at the absurdity and at how deliriously happy I was. At $5 dollars a piece I think we probably made the street seller's week. With $20 dollars worth of blow up creatures in the back of the car, we headed for the supermarket for my weekly outing to the world outside the walls of the clinic. The brightly lit and immaculately organised shelving system of Finest was blowing my mind - upstairs a plethora of products thronged the aisles and I made merry with the shopping basket. Here I am stocking up on shampoos and shower gel and, even for me, I'm overwhelmed by the sheer number of different L'oreal beautifying potions one can purchase. I'm particularly unattracted to the whitening washes and creams - spending half my time chasing after a sun kissed glow - the idea of a Michael Jackson powder white mask for a face is not exactly ideal. I am reminded of Mazar's wife's photos - he's been showing them to me on his computer - her wedding photos showed her heavily made up in a selection of elaborate, glitter laden costumes, her face pancaked in white, lips and eyes starkly outlined in luminous peacock, absolutely no trace of a smile, the look: Extreme Geisha.

- buying things here is like being at Butlins with some kind of holiday tokens, prices are in Afs and I'm paying in dollars, I can't get my head around what it is I'm spending and hand over a hundred dollar note like monopoly money. I don't really feel the pain like I'm spending real money for real things. I obviously 'need' the stuff I'm buying by the tubful and manage to spend eighty dollars on hair products and jalapenos. We cart out two shopping bags worth of fripperies and nonsense and stick them in the back of the car with our newly purchased air-filled parrot friends.

$100 dollars for this creature

During my trip to Ischashem we stopped off in a village on our way back to Faisabad. I'd climbed out of the car to photograph a cows head I spotted just sitting there propped up against a ladder and had caught a glimpse of some rather fine furry creatures hanging from the wall inside a small shop. I went inside, as always creating quite a stir simply by being there (there is no way to be inconspicuous as a foreigner). Everything about me was a curiousity to them particularly as I looked up at the hanging furs and asked if I could look more closely at one of them. The old man in the shop was very happy to oblige and his sons or young helpers look on in from the doorway giggling and self conscious at my presence.

I am face to face with a creature, white furred and longer than me as i hold him up, just his skin, his dangling legs and poor sorrowful head. I hug him and I want to take him home with me. I am sad that he is just a sad skin, all dangly. We have a little chat in the doorway, he and I, a little dance with a left over mountain lion, I hold him up for a photograph " Me and my new pal", and then out of curiousity I ask how much he costs, "$100 dollars", the shop keeper tells me. I'm horrified at the thought of promoting such a trade. I'd like to rescue him and take him away from here but I cannot and I hand him back and he is re-hung next to his furry comrades.