Erika Khana

Five years ago, while still in the US, I can remember getting contact information about the people who live in Kabul. “Erika, she has a gift of hospitality. If you need a place to just be, she is a great person to get in contact with.” Instead of her last name, Schmidt, I wrote down “Khana” (khana means home) next to her phone number.

In Kabul, the energetic sixty-or-so year old Canadian/German woman was always miraculously in her element. Though for the first year and a half, I would never go to that home, (since single women lived there it would not have been appropriate) Erika was always out and about, always starting new projects, always looking for someone to come beside her and give her a hand - or take it over.

At the local tea and sandwich shop, I spotted Erika with a lovely young lady from Tajikistan so I stopped by their table and said hello. That was how I met Hamroz, who was one of the single ladies living in Erika’s house. In the early days of our relationship, Erika was on “my” side, advising Hamroz to take me seriously. “My” side became “our” side and she remains a very special personal friend.

Afghan people depend tremendously on Erika. When there is a serious problem, they are more likely to show up on her doorstep than at the hospital. And she stays with people through their tough times; she might let a project go, but stays with the people.

At an Afghan wedding last week, as is the custom, the men were separated from the woman. I did not know until afterwards, but Hamroz and Erika were the only foreigners among the women. Uncharacteristically, they spent time visiting with each other instead of focusing on the Afghans. As Erika drove us home, we scheduled a time for her to visit us.

Two nights later, she prepared a hot bath for herself and relaxed. The next morning, her cold body was found in the cold water. Erika had been called home.