Saturday, March 28, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Herat
Herat March 6-8
From the roof top of the Marco Polo Hotel I see a walled-in ancient adobe home with flat roof and courtyard (could be New Mexico) amidst plenty new construction. Herat is the best preserved medieval city in Afghanistan but (unlike in Kabul) there are no rules to keep the old city. Herat IS a jewel of a city, “the pearl in the oyster shell of the world””, and one of the best things about it is it’s NOT OCCUPIED! No tanks or heavy artillery, we can go anywhere, albeit with escort and still can’t walk around. And there are acres of pine trees and parks (almost totally absent in Kabul). One major danger in Heart is drug trafficking across the nearby Iranian border.
Trip began auspiciously serendipitously: I’d just learned about a street children’s circus-Afghan Mobile Mini Children's Circus (on Wikipedia-MMCC) organized by people from Holland and on our very plane to Herat, there they were juggling away in the waiting room! (see photo as soon as I’m able to up? or down? load)
One of main highlights for me in Herat was a dinner invitation from the parents of one of my students; Dr Naser also wanted to take me (us) to see the tomb of 11th C Sufi saint, Khoja Abdulla Ansari, called Gazar Gah, “the bleaching ground” of the soul, but we had already arranged for driver- regrettably as it would have been wonderful to visit this most magical shrine with him– I was so moved by it I couldn’t take photos inside. The tomb draws many many women –don’t know why. At the head of the mosque, there’s a large enclosure (the actual tomb of the saint) mad e of strips of blue metal (blue is the color of Afghanistan) with graves and tombs of other notable families leading up to it. There’s one side for women an d one for men; on the woman’s side there’s a large silver lock securing the enclosure and everyone, men and women, touch it reverently and say prayers. There’s an old woman (not in burqua) sitting on one of the graves crying out to Gd – she has no legs. Her image burned in my mind. Another woman in burqua with beautiful and beautifully dressed children- the two year old girl with red hennaed hair and sparkly gold embossed (so very common here, I’ve adopted it myself) dress. Another woman covered in black wrap (this is Iranian style) accompanied by small boy come s up to me, touché s my forehead and pulls my head scarf tightly around my head all the while crying out for Gd. This is one of Afghanistan’s holiest sites and one the few mosques not bombe d by the T.
This shrine is the most complete Timurid building in Hearat. Shah Rukh (husband of heroine of my play Gauhar Shad, the “Queen of Sheba” of her time) commissioned it in 1425- lots of Chinese influence in the artwork- Rukh had exchanged embassies with China. An Ilex tree shades the tomb –people hang rags with prayers attached on its branches, mostly women trying to conceive.
We also visited Jami’s tomb, Herat’s greatest Sufi poet (see photo with pistachio trees growing out of the grave - many many singing birds congregate in its branches)
Sat was a pretty ragged day for me keeping up with my companions-the previous night I’d had an asthma attack from the methane leak (common) in the bathroom of the hotel room. Still, I went looking for Guahar Shad in the library but nothing in English, nor in the book stores. Also met with Herat Theater Co – in existence for 80 yrs (photo of the principles)- they invited me to a rehearsal Sun AM but my late night with the doctors prevented me from getting up in time. Stopped by Gauhar Shad HS. The 200 pound Principal invited me for tea-she looked a bit like a character from Dickens in her black shroud and promised to tell me tale s of Gauhar at 8:30 the next AM so I missed them.
Visiting Gauhar’s Musalla (many photos) or what is left of it was the first thing we did when we arrived. Also, quite magical for me, to be at this place that I first read about in 2002. All that is really left of her magnifiscent Musalla is the her tomb and 5 minarets – there were originally more than 20 as well as a Madrassa and mosque- in the late 1800’s when the British and the Russians were fighting over Afghanistan, the British ordered her whole complex to be dynamited to provide a clear line of fire! A pointless exersize -the invasion never came. Her name means “joyful jewel” but she was way more than a trophy wife. She was a great patron of the arts, commissioned several architectural masterpieces (one in Iran) and was politically active. She was murdered for political reasons when she was 80.
Lots of beautiful children (not begging, poor but not as in Kabul) followed us everywhere. They were picking mushrooms after the rain and some kind of greens.
To be continued.
From the roof top of the Marco Polo Hotel I see a walled-in ancient adobe home with flat roof and courtyard (could be New Mexico) amidst plenty new construction. Herat is the best preserved medieval city in Afghanistan but (unlike in Kabul) there are no rules to keep the old city. Herat IS a jewel of a city, “the pearl in the oyster shell of the world””, and one of the best things about it is it’s NOT OCCUPIED! No tanks or heavy artillery, we can go anywhere, albeit with escort and still can’t walk around. And there are acres of pine trees and parks (almost totally absent in Kabul). One major danger in Heart is drug trafficking across the nearby Iranian border.
Trip began auspiciously serendipitously: I’d just learned about a street children’s circus-Afghan Mobile Mini Children's Circus (on Wikipedia-MMCC) organized by people from Holland and on our very plane to Herat, there they were juggling away in the waiting room! (see photo as soon as I’m able to up? or down? load)
One of main highlights for me in Herat was a dinner invitation from the parents of one of my students; Dr Naser also wanted to take me (us) to see the tomb of 11th C Sufi saint, Khoja Abdulla Ansari, called Gazar Gah, “the bleaching ground” of the soul, but we had already arranged for driver- regrettably as it would have been wonderful to visit this most magical shrine with him– I was so moved by it I couldn’t take photos inside. The tomb draws many many women –don’t know why. At the head of the mosque, there’s a large enclosure (the actual tomb of the saint) mad e of strips of blue metal (blue is the color of Afghanistan) with graves and tombs of other notable families leading up to it. There’s one side for women an d one for men; on the woman’s side there’s a large silver lock securing the enclosure and everyone, men and women, touch it reverently and say prayers. There’s an old woman (not in burqua) sitting on one of the graves crying out to Gd – she has no legs. Her image burned in my mind. Another woman in burqua with beautiful and beautifully dressed children- the two year old girl with red hennaed hair and sparkly gold embossed (so very common here, I’ve adopted it myself) dress. Another woman covered in black wrap (this is Iranian style) accompanied by small boy come s up to me, touché s my forehead and pulls my head scarf tightly around my head all the while crying out for Gd. This is one of Afghanistan’s holiest sites and one the few mosques not bombe d by the T.
This shrine is the most complete Timurid building in Hearat. Shah Rukh (husband of heroine of my play Gauhar Shad, the “Queen of Sheba” of her time) commissioned it in 1425- lots of Chinese influence in the artwork- Rukh had exchanged embassies with China. An Ilex tree shades the tomb –people hang rags with prayers attached on its branches, mostly women trying to conceive.
We also visited Jami’s tomb, Herat’s greatest Sufi poet (see photo with pistachio trees growing out of the grave - many many singing birds congregate in its branches)
Sat was a pretty ragged day for me keeping up with my companions-the previous night I’d had an asthma attack from the methane leak (common) in the bathroom of the hotel room. Still, I went looking for Guahar Shad in the library but nothing in English, nor in the book stores. Also met with Herat Theater Co – in existence for 80 yrs (photo of the principles)- they invited me to a rehearsal Sun AM but my late night with the doctors prevented me from getting up in time. Stopped by Gauhar Shad HS. The 200 pound Principal invited me for tea-she looked a bit like a character from Dickens in her black shroud and promised to tell me tale s of Gauhar at 8:30 the next AM so I missed them.
Visiting Gauhar’s Musalla (many photos) or what is left of it was the first thing we did when we arrived. Also, quite magical for me, to be at this place that I first read about in 2002. All that is really left of her magnifiscent Musalla is the her tomb and 5 minarets – there were originally more than 20 as well as a Madrassa and mosque- in the late 1800’s when the British and the Russians were fighting over Afghanistan, the British ordered her whole complex to be dynamited to provide a clear line of fire! A pointless exersize -the invasion never came. Her name means “joyful jewel” but she was way more than a trophy wife. She was a great patron of the arts, commissioned several architectural masterpieces (one in Iran) and was politically active. She was murdered for political reasons when she was 80.
Lots of beautiful children (not begging, poor but not as in Kabul) followed us everywhere. They were picking mushrooms after the rain and some kind of greens.
To be continued.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Teatro in Kabul
March 4 from Kabul
Lat Sat AM I took my worl (started out as a typo but now I like it) lit students to meet the company of the Afghan National Theater (last posted photo). We met in their rehearsal room which is like a giant womb, a circular room , walls covered in red velvet with tiered seats of red velvet cushions facing stage- all this on the top floor of the French Cultural Center which also houses the Lycee (French high school for boys- whose students and graduates form the majority of the company). It’s a wonderful space, the French seem to have the right idea in a lot of ways (I’m maybe unfairly comparing them to our basic nuts and bolts, less than cultural USAID funded university): as in get them while they’re still in High school, but also the Cultural Center sponsors painting and photography exhibits, shows (French) films, etc.
The company has been in existence for 4 yrs, have performed from the European canon: Caucasian Chalk Circle, Romeo and Juliet, Moliere. The member s of the company told us they are barely surviving, all have real jobs as tailors and carpenters (which of course comes in handy for sets and costumes – they all do double duty as actors and something else.) They don’t have much support from Afghans in general. I suggested it’s because they are doing work by old Europeans, not writing about Afghanistan. They said they tried to write a play about the drug culture (Hillary’s narco state), but they got censored. Of course they’re beholden to the French but they are learning a lot. I invited them to come to my (proposed) theater/production class in the fall. My students went into the meeting with barely any interest and came out aficionados.
On Friday night I hosted a reading of my play, The Musalla of Migzarad (that I began writing in 2002!) It was the first time I had Afghans playing the roles AND in the audience and the feedback made up for the non-pro actors (who’ve been in everything I’ve done for the past five years and spoiled me rotten). I learned things like Rajiv ( minor character), is a Hindu name , not Afghan. The most brilliant feedback came from my new Afghan-America friend Fatima who works for the International Center for Transitional Justice in Brussels, lives half time in London so I feel lucky to even meet her. She thought it was an “”eloquent “”idea to have 3 women from Afghan history symbolically rebuild the country (you’d have to see it, hopefully someday you’ll be able to), liked the implied “”unyielding misplaced glorification of the veil””; and from Kamran, who’s also Afghan American- listening to the play he couldn’t understand why (I made ) the main character so vociferously and even obnoxiously American (which a lot of the group wondered about)- and then afterwards, he got it. Also I learned that a couplet I quote attributed to legendary (and probably mythical) heroine, Malalai, has become an idiom used whenever someone threatens to give up.
After the theater co mmeting on Sat I went shopping downtown briefly and fell badly- it was a stupid fall- I was looking in my purse instead of where I was going and literally flipped over a waist high cement barrier and slammed with my knees and elbows ( protecting my head) into the sidewalk- at first I couldn’t get up, and Sangor, my guard was a t a loss. An Afghan stranger came over, grabbed my arm and made me get up, indicating it was very dangerous for me to remain on the sidewalk even for a minute. I’m still quite bruised but amazingly no real damage I don’t think. Need sleep! Hasta la proxima.
Lat Sat AM I took my worl (started out as a typo but now I like it) lit students to meet the company of the Afghan National Theater (last posted photo). We met in their rehearsal room which is like a giant womb, a circular room , walls covered in red velvet with tiered seats of red velvet cushions facing stage- all this on the top floor of the French Cultural Center which also houses the Lycee (French high school for boys- whose students and graduates form the majority of the company). It’s a wonderful space, the French seem to have the right idea in a lot of ways (I’m maybe unfairly comparing them to our basic nuts and bolts, less than cultural USAID funded university): as in get them while they’re still in High school, but also the Cultural Center sponsors painting and photography exhibits, shows (French) films, etc.
The company has been in existence for 4 yrs, have performed from the European canon: Caucasian Chalk Circle, Romeo and Juliet, Moliere. The member s of the company told us they are barely surviving, all have real jobs as tailors and carpenters (which of course comes in handy for sets and costumes – they all do double duty as actors and something else.) They don’t have much support from Afghans in general. I suggested it’s because they are doing work by old Europeans, not writing about Afghanistan. They said they tried to write a play about the drug culture (Hillary’s narco state), but they got censored. Of course they’re beholden to the French but they are learning a lot. I invited them to come to my (proposed) theater/production class in the fall. My students went into the meeting with barely any interest and came out aficionados.
On Friday night I hosted a reading of my play, The Musalla of Migzarad (that I began writing in 2002!) It was the first time I had Afghans playing the roles AND in the audience and the feedback made up for the non-pro actors (who’ve been in everything I’ve done for the past five years and spoiled me rotten). I learned things like Rajiv ( minor character), is a Hindu name , not Afghan. The most brilliant feedback came from my new Afghan-America friend Fatima who works for the International Center for Transitional Justice in Brussels, lives half time in London so I feel lucky to even meet her. She thought it was an “”eloquent “”idea to have 3 women from Afghan history symbolically rebuild the country (you’d have to see it, hopefully someday you’ll be able to), liked the implied “”unyielding misplaced glorification of the veil””; and from Kamran, who’s also Afghan American- listening to the play he couldn’t understand why (I made ) the main character so vociferously and even obnoxiously American (which a lot of the group wondered about)- and then afterwards, he got it. Also I learned that a couplet I quote attributed to legendary (and probably mythical) heroine, Malalai, has become an idiom used whenever someone threatens to give up.
After the theater co mmeting on Sat I went shopping downtown briefly and fell badly- it was a stupid fall- I was looking in my purse instead of where I was going and literally flipped over a waist high cement barrier and slammed with my knees and elbows ( protecting my head) into the sidewalk- at first I couldn’t get up, and Sangor, my guard was a t a loss. An Afghan stranger came over, grabbed my arm and made me get up, indicating it was very dangerous for me to remain on the sidewalk even for a minute. I’m still quite bruised but amazingly no real damage I don’t think. Need sleep! Hasta la proxima.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
worl lit cont.
A few more words about world lit: my student who I mentioned earlier Tamina along with her two sisters and mother came to Kabul to be near their father who is the head of one of the ministries- they never see him because he works from 5 AM to 1 Am but he is reassured by having them near; Tamina and her sisters can go nowhere but home and school..The family has lived most of the last 20 yrs in LA. Her father came because he could not stay away; could not keep from doing whatever he can to salvage Afghanistan.
On e of the stories on the reading list is Misfortune by Chekov, about a young woman who is happily married until a long time family friend comes on to her; she resists for awhile and then succumbs. Tamina and Hassan argued about the woman’s motive; Hassan said she left because of love. Tamina insisted it was desire. I didn’t ask them what the difference is (yet)
The students were not esp drawn to Gary Snyder’s poetry until they heard Kipchoge’s rendition of Äs For Poets”; they said the music helped them to feel’’ what it was about; they also loved a line he added: (the poet) “takes photographs of time.”
Today I am sitting in my solarium with it’s 360 circle of mountains, Kabul favelas in the North;’ snow solid Hindu Kush to the west; the turquoise dome of the enormous Iranian mosque in the south . . .
To be continued- my sojourn in the solarium interrupted.
3-1
Friday night there was a reading of my Afghan play and Sat AM my world lit class and other students interested in theater enjoyed a visit with the all-Afghan National Theater company before they head off for a 7 month residency in Paris. I will write about these events as soon as I can but for now, a pile of papers to correct.
On e of the stories on the reading list is Misfortune by Chekov, about a young woman who is happily married until a long time family friend comes on to her; she resists for awhile and then succumbs. Tamina and Hassan argued about the woman’s motive; Hassan said she left because of love. Tamina insisted it was desire. I didn’t ask them what the difference is (yet)
The students were not esp drawn to Gary Snyder’s poetry until they heard Kipchoge’s rendition of Äs For Poets”; they said the music helped them to feel’’ what it was about; they also loved a line he added: (the poet) “takes photographs of time.”
Today I am sitting in my solarium with it’s 360 circle of mountains, Kabul favelas in the North;’ snow solid Hindu Kush to the west; the turquoise dome of the enormous Iranian mosque in the south . . .
To be continued- my sojourn in the solarium interrupted.
3-1
Friday night there was a reading of my Afghan play and Sat AM my world lit class and other students interested in theater enjoyed a visit with the all-Afghan National Theater company before they head off for a 7 month residency in Paris. I will write about these events as soon as I can but for now, a pile of papers to correct.
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