xmas eve in Kabul -good food and kids

There's no snow, except on the distant Hindu Kush, it's kind of like spring, which is sad I suppose, if spring can be sad. Dinner with ten (more or less) friends to me is one of the most pleasurable ways to spend an evening-like this Xmas Eve dinner at F and P's, I've talked about them before: he's, French, an NGO doc; F is British, her father created an NGO that treats mine victims that she now runs; they have three lovely teenagers all bilinguaql who school in UK and India. Also present a Maylaysian, an Uzbec, an Italian- lots of different languages flying around the table. P may be a doc at work but at home he's the equivalent of a Cordon Bleu chef: first course must remain unnamed (I've never had it before and I think it may be politically incorrect)- a delicacy directly from Lyon brought by J that is sublime; main course is roast lamb and potatoes au gratin with the sharpest cheese also from Lyon; (it is mentioned that while the French like to eat each dish separately, Saxons prefer to load it all on the plate at once which we do); dessert, two Buche de Noels, a yule log cake rolled in a half ton of chocolate, are quickly devoured. P who prepared them with 14 year old C, apologizes for the missing decoration of " green plastic ivy." After dinner 13 year old F excuses himself to collect floss. There's a slim, delicate pine tree in the corner, minimally and caringly decorated with a modicum of unsplashy packages underneath. C handles each lovingly and longingly. She points out the dog's gift, a squeaky toy, which, she says, though it's wrapped, he always knows and goes right to. This evening the world is right.

stories from my students

M who's from a village outside Jalalabad, near the infamous Tora Bora, tells about living under the T. When a young man was verbally abusive to his mother the T taped a water pitcher to his chest for nine months signifying the length of time she carried him in the womb! Not quite what you'd expect from alleged woman-haters. Another time, an Indian Hindu traveling on the Jalalabad was stopped by the T and given the choice of being shot on the spot or converting and reciting some particular lines from the Koran. ""Ï don't know them but if you tell me what they are, I'll happily recite them and convert," the man pleaded. But the T guard didn't know them either so he told the man to be sure and learn them before the next time they met up.

Mo tells this story: He was living in Iran and a member of a radical Islamic student group. He had a mentor who was about five years older than Mo who was about 19 at the time. Mo revered and looked up to his mentor until one day the guy fell in love- with a girl who was flagrantly not devout. Mo was appalled that his mentor could betray the faith like that; he videotapoed him with the girl, brought the video to his mentor's father who disowned him; the girl eventually ditched him and he became addicted to drugs. Mo tells me this story with obvious pride that he has caught out this betrayer of the faith. Mo is one of the brightest best writers in his class.

Here's another story from M in his own words: Three in One, A Strange Trip
Last month the university was off for around 21 days because of the Swine Flu. Most of the students went to their villages including me. During the second week I received a message from one of my classmates that we would have English 115 class on 16th November to watch The Killing Field. I was very anxious because I was very far from Kabul. I tried to change the time, but I did not succeed.
It was confirmed that we would have a class at 1 pm on November 16th. Therefore, on November 16th at 8 am I started my trip from Jalalabad with my 8 year old brother to reach Kabul at 11 am so I would not be late for my class. I was unaware that something strange would happen during my trip.
It is very common that The Taliban suddenly appear and begin their guerrilla fighting. They usually target army and police, but sometimes oil tankers. After driving for 30 minutes from Jalalabad, I was in Darronta when I heard a big explosion and firing. I saw a big oil tanker was on fire. There was fighting between The Taliban and police for around 30 minutes. Police blocked the road, so we took another route. The new road was rough enough and it took us around two hours to reach the main road again. I thought that there would be no more The Taliban, but I was wrong.
After we had traveled for around 30 more minutes, we heard sounds of firing, yelling for help, shouting, screaming, explosions and horns. All of the vehicles were moving back at a very fast speed. We stopped our car to ask them what had happened, but nobody had time to even tell us. At last one person told me speaking very fast that there was fighting between The Taliban and police. When I tried to reverse my car, there was no space to do so. There were many cars in front and back of my car. A mountain was to the left and a river was to the right and there was no way to escape. Therefore, like other people I left my car and took my brother to escape. While I was running, a few rockets blasted on the mountain to our right. My young brother was afraid and shouting. We were in the Abresham Tangi for more than two hours in a hidden place. At last two helicopters came and The Taliban escaped. We made our way back to Kabul and drove very fast. While driving, I saw an oil tanker which was shot many times by The Taliban, but didn’t burn. I thought again that The Taliban must be finished and I am out of danger. I was both right and wrong. There was neither fighting nor The Taliban, but there was a heavy rainfall and a flood.
We were in the same canyon: to our right there was a huge river and a big mountain was on our left. We were driving very slowly when I saw another traffic jam. “What happened?” I asked. “Due to a heavy flood the road is blocked in two places. One here and a second one is right over there,” a friend told me and pointed to a road which was blocked. It took us more than two hours to clean the road. Eventually we reached to Kabul at 6 pm. A two and a half hour trip took us ten hours.
The government of Afghanistan and some foreign countries have tried to talk to moderate members of The Taliban to bring peace, security and stability to the country, but The Taliban usually say “The Taliban will not talk to the government of Afghanistan until the foreign forces leave Afghanistan. How can Afghan Government bring peace in Afghanistan when The Taliban do not accept their proposal? Meanwhile, President Obama plans to send more troops to Afghanistan while The Taliban leader Mullah Omar says that sending more troops to Afghanistan will not do any good. Will this kind of fighting be forever in Afghanistan?

 

 

 

 

the real market

On Saturday, Z took me to the market, the real market, where Kabulis shop. I tried to hide inside my hooded down coat with a scarf covering my face revealing only my eyes. We walked through miles and miles of catacombed market, but everyone who saw me did a double take-I was the only westerner in there- we're not allowed. All the shopkeepers were lovely to me, no one tried to sell me anything, they smiled for my camera, one shopkeeper was teased by all his neighbors when my camera quit working for lack of a charge but they all blamed him "You're too ugly, " they told him.

Kabul at sunset, check out air quality; side of a semi

 

 

 

professors in the mall

 

traveling between Kabul and Bishkek via StarTrek

Valeri is Literature Professor at American University of Central Asia in Bishkek, Kirgystan. We are going to co-teach Contemporary World Lit with emphasis on the region (Afghanistan and Central Asia)- I'm excited to be introduced to a whole new world of literature mostly unknown in the west. Two of my colleagues and I flew to Dubai last weekend to meet our counterparts and be trained in this non-user friendly software that is intended to help us coordinate the course across the miles. Each university has a room with a huge screen so each class can see and interact with the other - the room looks like a cockpit out of StarTrek. In spite of the software, Valeri and I hit it off- an interdisciplinary teacher after my own heart, as part of his lit courses he always includes art and film so I'm now catching up on all these Kirgyz movies though it takes so long to get the books they wont arrive til just before the class starts. One of the books I've put on the list is Murder in Samarkand, a real page turner about Uzbekistan by a former British ambassador that wasn't available in the US for years (guess why). If you can find it, read it!

Sharifa and Fausia-ladies of the hearth at Char Minar

 

 

 

 

 

Dubai mall during Eid

 

 

 

The jolly looking fellow is the Messenger of Death

 

 

 

on the set of Maniben.com with Smriti

Shibani, offered to take Gail Nyoka of Toronto and me around Mumbai. After we checked out the aptly named FabIndia and Ghandi's cooperative, Khadi, with its beautiful hand woven silks and cottons and wonderfully smelling skin products-all for the benefit of the villagers who make the products- we drove very far north (in the 1600's Mumbai was a string of islands that have since been consolidated with land fills and bridges) where all the Bollywood and TV studios are. Shibani's daughter, Smriti Irani, is one of Indian TV's top stars, though we didn't learn this until after we had visited her on the set. They were shooting her current serial, Maniben.com, when we arrived- a family comedy about a village woman who comes to the city but tries to keep her traditional ways. The show was adapted from a play that Smriti starred in. Before this, Smriti was a hit in her previous serial that was especially popular in Afghanistan, so popular in fact that one night while an Afghan family was glued to the set, they were robbed and the thieves wrote in big letters on the walls around the house, THANK YOU, SMRITI!" When Smriti is done shooting she heads to the theater where's she's appearing in a new play that she has also produced.

Performers from MAHARASHTRA

 

 

 

 

Jeannie Haughton and cast; Vanisa Adams Haris in Who Will Sing For Lena?

 

 

plays plays plays

More than 60 international plays were presented over the week with ten readings a day so it was difficult to choose. Here's a very small sample: Salute the Man by Jeannie Haughton of Melbourne, takes place during the early settlement of Austrailia. The alleged disappearance of a white woman causes the settlers to murder many aboriginals in their search for the missing woman. Finally found, "she" is discovered to be the prow of a ship that has crashed on the rocks! Who Will Sing For Lena? by Janice Liddel of the US is about the first woman executed for murder, an African American woman who has killed her abuser in self-defense terrifically acted by Vanisa Adams Haris, also of US. Another play was about a white woman scape-goated in Rwanda. Many plays were about race and ethnicity. There was a play about Indian prostitutes and transvestites written and acted by the prostitutes themselves- they have formed their own theater company!

Unlike most of the internationals, I stayed in a guest house on campus and across the hall from me occupying thee same size room that I had to myself, were 10 members of a traditional folk group from Maharashtra who were there to perform the ten incarnations of Krishna-it's hard for me to keep all the Indian gods straight but I think Krishna is also Shiva.

Ripali, Niru, and Nilam

 

Ripali, Niru, Ripali and Ameera

 

 

 

CHILDREN OF THE FAR FAR AWAY

Children of the Far Far Away is about an American woman who travels to Micronesia to look for babies for an adoption agency. The US has a compact with Micronesia that allows for US military bases and bomb testing- remember Reagan's Star Wars. In exchange, Micronesians get a little money that wipes out their subsistence life-style and are free to travel to the US without a passport. This is the attraction for adoption agencies. It means an end run around the INS. My mentor when I wrote it, called it "Frontline" on stage. It's debut was in the Solo Mio Festival in San Francisco.

The conference asked me to stage "Children" in Mumbai. The cast is a mix of international delegates and University of Mumbai Theater students. One morning I'm walking outside the University when this young pistol of a girl approaches me, just being friendly I think to a stranger. When I get back, there she is, Ripali, with the other theater students, and I instantly cast her as the pregnant Lina. Niru didn't have to work hard to portray the seductive taxi driver. Indian-American actor/playwright Ameera as Kada, the adoption worker, says after he comes on to her: "That smile . . I almost say yes. " She looks at Niru and his drop dead gorgeous smile lights up the room; the 5th wall is broken, everyone in the audience is seduced.

Nilam wears a white sari as beleagured Dr. Rita- "four Caesarians in one day and we dont have water for days."

In the discussion that follows, an Indian woman denounces the play for presenting Lina as a victim. My Indian friend, Shibani whispers to me, "You always know it's good when someone in the audience gets angry." Shibani asks if she can translate the play into Hindi.

 

 

 

 

Women Playwrights International

When I told people at my university where I was going there was not much interest- women? playwrights? who cares. There were 80 women delegates from countries around the world and about 200 Indian women. Many of them were playwrights in addition to being attorneys and scientists. Probably everyone was an activist, some more than others. These women are playwrights and theater people so they can have a VOICE. Ever since I've been in Kabul I've been trying to promote theater as befits my title of Professor of English and Drama which is mostly meaningless but I still take it very seriously. Theater is even a great way to learn English - you get to use your whole body and not just language to express the idiom.

Every evening at the conference there were performances by groups from throughout Inda. One of the most brilliantly exquisite was by an Indian 'ballet' troupe from Hyderbad. The beautiful young girl in the photos is the youngest member. Her grandmother, Vasanth Kannabiran, a pioneer in the Indian women's rights movement and nominated in 2005 for the Alternative Nobel Peace Prize, wrote the play, Menaka, that forms the context for the dance.

VEER

VEER which means Brave, takes place in the 1750's, (hence the Scarlett OHara gowns); it stars hottie Salman Khan-I only learned this was the guy strutting back and forth, the seams on his jacket about to burst every time he moved a mega muscle -after the fact when every Indian woman of any age almost fainted when I told her- I didn't get a photo of him but he offered Rosemary and I tea around 2 AM when we probably looked like we were about to pass out having already been on the set for 9 hrs.

The Gate of India next to the Taj Majal Hotel; the caves on Elephant Island; Make-Up, and Rosemary and me aka Harriet and Jane on the set of VEER