(An ironic scene of contradictions as a motorcycle transporting bare mannequin legs drives next to a motorcycle with a burka-clad passenger. Not all women in Kabul wear burkas, but all wear long pants or dresses, long-sleeved tops and headscarves. Many men wear traditional long white tops and matching pants or Western style long slacks. The only bare legs to be seen in Kabul are on this bike.)

One of the first things I learned upon arriving in Kabul, Afghanistan is that driving appears riskier than threats of terrorism.

The roads are a high speed free for all of cars, trucks, bicycles, motorcycles, donkey carts, human pushcarts and pedestrians. Most cars have steering wheels on the left but there are numerous cars from Pakistan with right-side steering. Nearly every vehicle is a Toyota because as Razia Jan said, the parts are available. Drivers are either stopped in rush hour traffic or driving as fast as possible to catch up to or zip around other cars, people or whatever is in the road. Packed minivans whiz around with the doors wide open to accommodate an overload of passengers. I may have been the only person in Kabul wearing a seatbelt and wasn’t embarrassed to do so. Shortly after landing in Kabul, I realized I couldn’t stroll through the streets documenting life. Razia took extra care to ensure my safety as a foreigner, a woman and photojournalist. That meant there was little walking around and I was never alone. My photography was confined to the specific venues we visited or from the car, often at high speeds on potholed paved roads and rutty dirt roads.

The ride from Kabul to Deh’Subz, where the Zabuli School is located, takes 45 minutes. Either Razia, only the 30th woman to get a drivers license in Kabul, or the Zabuli School administrator Mohamed Zia, who handles school and non-school logistics for Razia, drove the SUV. He even fixed the broken zipper on my suitcase. Zia is kind and mild mannered until he gets behind the wheel of Razia’s white Toyota SUV where he aggressively uses the horn and accelerator weaving through the streets of Kabul.

Armed Afghan soldiers and police are stationed around the city and in front of government buildings. Every photo I have of Afghan soldiers was taken surreptitiously as Razia thought it best for me not to photograph them. While Kabul appears to be a state of construction -- or deconstruction -- there are few signs that its infrastructure has suffered as a result of the war.

While waiting in stop-and-go traffic, beggars approach car windows, hoping to sell notions, candy, magazines and incense. Many are young children. Razia warned against falling for the sad eyes of these youngsters because they’re actually professionals making a living for their families on the streets. Many of the young beggars take buses clear across the city first thing in the morning and work the streets all day to make money for their families. If they miss the last bus in the evening, they might get lucky enough to get a ride from a police officer. Shortly after Razia moved to Kabul she reached out of the car window to give a child some money only to have her wrist clamped onto by a young boy who refused to let go. Her driver had to detach the boy, leaving both Razia and her driver with scratches up their arms.

 Before my trip, I had been warned that Americans’ sensitive digestive systems wouldn’t allow me to eat fresh fruits and vegetables while in Afghanistan. Instead of heeding this advice, I followed Razia who assured me I’d be fine. My riskiest indulgence was eating fresh lychees from a street vendor. This sweet tropical fruit usually grown in China came from neighboring Pakistan and was the freshest I’ve ever had. Razia and I discovered we shared this love of lychees and went back to the vendor a few days later. Zia parked next to the lychee cart when suddenly the loud speaker of a police truck blasted us. Razia said the police demanded we move our car immediately so he could have the parking spot. If we didn’t move, the officer would remove Razia’s license plate. Zia pulled the car down the road only to notice the lychee vendor running after us. Razia paid him double for his effort. We laughed as we drove off with our exotic dessert.

 Driving out of Kabul and on the road to Deh’Subz, the buildings become more spread out and the road alternates between paved road to dirt and back again. There were military compounds with walls topped by spirals of barbed wire, brightly painted construction trucks from Pakistan lined up on roadsides, and open fields and graveyards lay sprinkled with worn green flags, scraps of fabric tied to poles and sticks. These flags signify fallen Afghans who died fighting the Soviets or Taliban. Around the bend stretch the walled dwellings of Deh’Subz and the Zabuli Girls School.

After a week in Kabul, I was struck by the vibrancy of life in this large city. Clearly, foreigners are aware of the risks associated with living there as they have drivers and bodyguards, but for Afghans it’s simply life. It’s about making a living and raising a family with the constant backdrop of war.

I felt safe with Razia, but during the few times I was outside the car, I was keenly aware my guardians were on alert which reminded me of the risks inherent to being in Afghanistan.  Razia said, “The Taliban is a nuisance for the country. It’s like a bacteria; sometimes it’s high and sometimes it’s low.”

In conversations with Afghans, Europeans, Americans and other foreigners, I asked their thoughts about the future of Afghanistan and to a person, everyone expressed fear about what will happen when the U.S. military leaves in 2014. They worry about a Taliban uprising and civil war, and the progress of so many, including, women and girls, being extinguished after a decade of reforms.