Saturday, September 26, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Queen of Diamonds, Red City
September 21, 2009 Equinox; Eid; and Mercury retrograde(until Sept 27). This last may mean little, NancyReaganism at best, but all day Saturday I jump hoops to get a seat on a Pactec flight to Bamyian: letter from president ; back and forth to office for no reason; final word: airport Sun 6AM for standby. Set phone alarm for 5AM, driver pick up at 5:30. Open my eyes at 6 AM oh dear, driver shows at 6:30, airport at 7, instant wisk thru everything by Pactec agent- 3 passengers don’t show, I’m on. Flight companions include Afghan head of Aga Khan, C. Me: “”I imagine I’m going to Shangri La.” C:”” You are.”(As I write this I still have no return ticket and I thought I was being so brave just traveling solo woman in this country)
Beautiful blond at the foot of the stairs as I debark says “ Red City”! My student Ali Akbar (not his real name) is there to collect me. We check out Roof of Bamyian Hotel. The view is spectacular but there’s no one staying there and things look a bit sketchy. Ali suggests Silk Road at almost twice the price. As S ( also from Aga Khan, recently of Islamabad on her way to Geneva) says, you end up paying one way or the other with sleepless nights and getting sick from bad food. My friends F and P are staying here-didn’t know they were coming, nice surprise.
Ali and I have breakfast at the hotel and then walk across town to the Large Buddha. Yeah, I said WALK! Unless you count the newly acquired treadmill at the guest house this is a first since I’m back! It is the first day of Eid and everyone is on their way to the mosque. All the little girls dressed in shimmery sparkles. (I do not see women except some far away in burkas). Ali stops to hug and greet gangs of young men. This is a town of 10,00, he knows everyone. As we walk up to the Buddha, there’s a playing card in the dust: Red Queen of Diamonds. On the climb up to the head we stop to explore the caves where people lived before the T and one family still does.
Everyone refers to them as Large Buddha and Small Buddha- as if they are still there, we just cant see them
We climb to the top and circle around inside the head. The guide (to whom we had to pay for a (imaginary) ticket ( the boss has gone to Kabul and taken tickets with him)- he points with his flashlight to a nest of infant doves who can’t be a day old). It’s 12 noon and HOT. I explain Siesta to Ali.
He returns in late afternoon for óur trip to Red City-I’m beat but how can I not go (this is the only day he can spend with me-tomorrow he will go with his family to their home village). Ali is driving his Aunt’s van and he’s a master – many times I think we are stuck in the rocks of a river bed and he effortlessly gets us out. I can hardly describe the scene I am seeing as we drive except to say if there is Shangri La . . . maybe the photos will tell, maybe not . A wall of the reddest rippling rock fringed by willows, it looks like any canyon wall .
The only military presence we see are kiwi (New Zealand) humvees and Afghan police checkpoints- at the last one, the young Afghan cop jumps in the back-to be our guide. Coming down as we are climbing up are the companions from the plane, C and S. We stick strictly to the path- everywhere are the white stones of the land mine sweepers and piles of spent T cartridges..
It looks like any canyon wall until you get up close and see the ruins of the ancient city that wrap around the cliff high above where the Bamyian and Kalu Rivers meet: Shahr-e Zohak was built by the Ghorids and stands on a foundation dating to the 6th century. Zohak is the name of a legendary serpent-haired Persian king. Ghengis Khan was the only one who ever breached the towers- his grandson was killed here and his revenge was to wipe out every living thing in the valley. The towers are made of mud brick with geometric patterns . They had no doors and were accessed only by ladders that were then pulled up.
We drive home in the dusk, Alis favorite Iranian rock group on his ipod blaring through the speakers. Later I have dinner with C, S, F and P and we plan a hike into another spectacular nameless canyon.
Beautiful blond at the foot of the stairs as I debark says “ Red City”! My student Ali Akbar (not his real name) is there to collect me. We check out Roof of Bamyian Hotel. The view is spectacular but there’s no one staying there and things look a bit sketchy. Ali suggests Silk Road at almost twice the price. As S ( also from Aga Khan, recently of Islamabad on her way to Geneva) says, you end up paying one way or the other with sleepless nights and getting sick from bad food. My friends F and P are staying here-didn’t know they were coming, nice surprise.
Ali and I have breakfast at the hotel and then walk across town to the Large Buddha. Yeah, I said WALK! Unless you count the newly acquired treadmill at the guest house this is a first since I’m back! It is the first day of Eid and everyone is on their way to the mosque. All the little girls dressed in shimmery sparkles. (I do not see women except some far away in burkas). Ali stops to hug and greet gangs of young men. This is a town of 10,00, he knows everyone. As we walk up to the Buddha, there’s a playing card in the dust: Red Queen of Diamonds. On the climb up to the head we stop to explore the caves where people lived before the T and one family still does.
Everyone refers to them as Large Buddha and Small Buddha- as if they are still there, we just cant see them
We climb to the top and circle around inside the head. The guide (to whom we had to pay for a (imaginary) ticket ( the boss has gone to Kabul and taken tickets with him)- he points with his flashlight to a nest of infant doves who can’t be a day old). It’s 12 noon and HOT. I explain Siesta to Ali.
He returns in late afternoon for óur trip to Red City-I’m beat but how can I not go (this is the only day he can spend with me-tomorrow he will go with his family to their home village). Ali is driving his Aunt’s van and he’s a master – many times I think we are stuck in the rocks of a river bed and he effortlessly gets us out. I can hardly describe the scene I am seeing as we drive except to say if there is Shangri La . . . maybe the photos will tell, maybe not . A wall of the reddest rippling rock fringed by willows, it looks like any canyon wall .
The only military presence we see are kiwi (New Zealand) humvees and Afghan police checkpoints- at the last one, the young Afghan cop jumps in the back-to be our guide. Coming down as we are climbing up are the companions from the plane, C and S. We stick strictly to the path- everywhere are the white stones of the land mine sweepers and piles of spent T cartridges..
It looks like any canyon wall until you get up close and see the ruins of the ancient city that wrap around the cliff high above where the Bamyian and Kalu Rivers meet: Shahr-e Zohak was built by the Ghorids and stands on a foundation dating to the 6th century. Zohak is the name of a legendary serpent-haired Persian king. Ghengis Khan was the only one who ever breached the towers- his grandson was killed here and his revenge was to wipe out every living thing in the valley. The towers are made of mud brick with geometric patterns . They had no doors and were accessed only by ladders that were then pulled up.
We drive home in the dusk, Alis favorite Iranian rock group on his ipod blaring through the speakers. Later I have dinner with C, S, F and P and we plan a hike into another spectacular nameless canyon.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
27th Day of Ramadan
September 17, 2009
Today is considered most holy day of Ramadan so I’m trying to fast. Supposedly if I do all my dreams and wishes will come true. Hmmm. What are they.
One of my students and I went to the ceremony honoring the winners of a short story competition, sponsored by the German NGO. As we’re driving , she checks her phone and groans. Don’t you get random pervert calls? She tells me about a fellow woman student who’s been getting much worse from an anonymous male student at the university. He leaves pornographic messages and similar “gifts” in strategic places. N thinks she knows who it is and if she’s right, he’s one of my students, the son of a war lord, surrounded all the time by body guards. The women have complained to security but they’re unable to do anything because they can’t identify him.
I’m envious of the NGO’s with creative projects but if it weren’t for the soldiers no one would be doing anything here. Last week D and I went to visit Turquoise Mountain, an oasis in the middle of Kabul with lush gardens and the exquisite woodwork native to Afghanistan. TM is the baby of people like Prince Charles and the Aga Khan. The author Rory Stewart who wrote about walking across Afghanistan is the chair of the Board. Their intention is to restore native Afghan Arts, like the wood working with the goal of marketing products to the west. They have a school for Afghan students in jewelry making, calligraphy and pottery as well as woodworking. Mostly internationals run the workshops and live in the beautiful oasis ( the calligraphy of course can only be taught by Afghans). The Australian running the pottery workshop, through many experiments, came up with a formula for recreating the 1500 year old Turquoise glaze that had been lost. The jewelry workshop is teaching students modern rather than traditional design. Because they are so well funded they have impressive state of the art equipment for everything. TM is also restoring buildings in Kabul’s Old Town, working in schools and operating a health clinic.
Through the serendipity of the internet, I have connected with a group coming at the end of the month as part of a Code Pink peace initiative- they're trying to make a case for Obama to pull back on soldiers vs forging ahead.
Eid Mubarak (Happy end of Ramadan)
Today is considered most holy day of Ramadan so I’m trying to fast. Supposedly if I do all my dreams and wishes will come true. Hmmm. What are they.
One of my students and I went to the ceremony honoring the winners of a short story competition, sponsored by the German NGO. As we’re driving , she checks her phone and groans. Don’t you get random pervert calls? She tells me about a fellow woman student who’s been getting much worse from an anonymous male student at the university. He leaves pornographic messages and similar “gifts” in strategic places. N thinks she knows who it is and if she’s right, he’s one of my students, the son of a war lord, surrounded all the time by body guards. The women have complained to security but they’re unable to do anything because they can’t identify him.
I’m envious of the NGO’s with creative projects but if it weren’t for the soldiers no one would be doing anything here. Last week D and I went to visit Turquoise Mountain, an oasis in the middle of Kabul with lush gardens and the exquisite woodwork native to Afghanistan. TM is the baby of people like Prince Charles and the Aga Khan. The author Rory Stewart who wrote about walking across Afghanistan is the chair of the Board. Their intention is to restore native Afghan Arts, like the wood working with the goal of marketing products to the west. They have a school for Afghan students in jewelry making, calligraphy and pottery as well as woodworking. Mostly internationals run the workshops and live in the beautiful oasis ( the calligraphy of course can only be taught by Afghans). The Australian running the pottery workshop, through many experiments, came up with a formula for recreating the 1500 year old Turquoise glaze that had been lost. The jewelry workshop is teaching students modern rather than traditional design. Because they are so well funded they have impressive state of the art equipment for everything. TM is also restoring buildings in Kabul’s Old Town, working in schools and operating a health clinic.
Through the serendipity of the internet, I have connected with a group coming at the end of the month as part of a Code Pink peace initiative- they're trying to make a case for Obama to pull back on soldiers vs forging ahead.
Eid Mubarak (Happy end of Ramadan)
Saturday, September 12, 2009
September 11, 2009 Another Iftar
Another Iftar . We’re all sitting around on a blanket on the grass as the sun goes down. AZ is reading one of the submissions for the short story contest sponsored by a German NGO. He’s reading it in Dari and translating into English. His translation is exquisitely detailed- he explains all the many layers of metaphor . One of the more beautiful is the explanation of the mother pulling on the shirt of the husband who is bound to kill her daughter his wife. This part of the shirt, the lower portion of the shalwar kamise is sacred on both men and women but esp women because this is the part of the body where humans are born. When you make a plea to someone in this way the person is bound to honor the supplicant. The story is only two pages long and yet tells so much – I imagine it would take twice as long to say the same thing in English. There are other evocative metaphors: the writer hears a dog giving birth inside the house he’s observing. He imagines the dog is mourning the birth of her pup because of the terrible life it is bound to lead, and he compares this to a human giving birth in this time. The author is from Mazur which is the current center of storytelling and creative writing in Afghanistan. The author is the head of one of two writing groups in Mazur. the competition had more submissions from Pashtuns than in Dari but the Dari ones were better.
When the sun goes down, H brings hot fresh Nan and there is baklava brought by D from the German NGO that is sponsoring the competition.
Later we go inside and after Z has gone out to get kabobs we sit around on the floor and toast 4 more yrs of Karzai (haha)
Al Jazeera is on the TV. They’re talking about about the NYTimes journalist that was jus t rescued while his accompanying Afghan journalist was killed. AZ says the family of the journalist had arranged with the T that he would not be harmed, but then was shot by the British bec they thought he was a T. A (from Poland, working for a Swedish NGO, here 6 yrs) says the T who were once only on the Paki border are now everywhere.
She has brought some Afghan films-4 shorts and one feature. I am only able to see the first two because my driver insists on picking me up early. The first one was made in the 60’s and is an informative film on birth control!!! All the women are wearing western style haircuts, no scarves and skirts above their knees.! (B says her mother got married in 1969 and wore a mini for her wedding dress) It is so strange to see this as History! All the Afghan men present are in their 20’s.
The second film was the first film made by the man who made OSAMA (if you haven’t seen this and want to know more about Afghanistan run out and rent it. He made it during the era of the soviets-he was in his 20’s studying filmaking in Moscow. It shows some children painting a peace sign on a building with jack booted men bearing down on them. It’s kind of surprising he was able to get away with it.
I have just learned that the end of Ramadan is next week (Eid) and I have 9 days off! What to do! Where to go!
When the sun goes down, H brings hot fresh Nan and there is baklava brought by D from the German NGO that is sponsoring the competition.
Later we go inside and after Z has gone out to get kabobs we sit around on the floor and toast 4 more yrs of Karzai (haha)
Al Jazeera is on the TV. They’re talking about about the NYTimes journalist that was jus t rescued while his accompanying Afghan journalist was killed. AZ says the family of the journalist had arranged with the T that he would not be harmed, but then was shot by the British bec they thought he was a T. A (from Poland, working for a Swedish NGO, here 6 yrs) says the T who were once only on the Paki border are now everywhere.
She has brought some Afghan films-4 shorts and one feature. I am only able to see the first two because my driver insists on picking me up early. The first one was made in the 60’s and is an informative film on birth control!!! All the women are wearing western style haircuts, no scarves and skirts above their knees.! (B says her mother got married in 1969 and wore a mini for her wedding dress) It is so strange to see this as History! All the Afghan men present are in their 20’s.
The second film was the first film made by the man who made OSAMA (if you haven’t seen this and want to know more about Afghanistan run out and rent it. He made it during the era of the soviets-he was in his 20’s studying filmaking in Moscow. It shows some children painting a peace sign on a building with jack booted men bearing down on them. It’s kind of surprising he was able to get away with it.
I have just learned that the end of Ramadan is next week (Eid) and I have 9 days off! What to do! Where to go!
Thursday, September 10, 2009
September 9, 2009
A few days ago, Gulalai found a four foot snake in the alley between our houses. It looks like a rattler until you get to the tail which is pointed, no rattle. – she’s a biologist who has studied snakes and says all snakes with pointed tails are venomous. I didn’t get to see the head which was chopped off by the guard with a shovel but she says it was also in the shape of a venomous snake. There is no anti venom in Afghanistan. But still it was sad to see such an amazing creature be put in the ground. Other colleagues have encountered a huge yellow scorpion and giant spiders. Theoretically this is all scarier to me than any Talib.
It’s barely past the second week and I’m once again in love with my students. I’m having all of them keep journals: Yesterday there was an IED ( Unidentified Exploding Device) at the airport- the airport as a site is a first since I’ve been here- and 3 students reported that they had been on their way to the spot but late or 5 minutes away when it went off. A woman student in a severe black chador just got a car- I have yet to see any woman driving though I know that one of my acquaintances does. Another woman wrote about taking public transportation for the first time in her life. How many of you have taken public transportation?
The first assignment for Advanced Comp students is a Talk of the Town from Kabul a la the New Yorker- this is really a huge challenge for them, but if they can do it I think it will be great.
Today Hjalmar came over to visit-this is so rare that it is noteworthy-Hjalmar is the Bolivian-German in-country director of the ARDO (Afghan Human Rights and Democracy Organization) theater project I began working with in the spring- he has asked me to mentor the group he’s working with. He’s funded by a transitional justice org in Brussels that is also funding three international theater people (Columbia, Switzerland and US-the Columbian is a political activist who’s written a one man play about his life and death exp in Columbia) -they will do workshops all over the country (puppetry, clowns, etc ) with orphanages , women’s shelters etc and I’ll be able to bring some of my students which is great since my proposal for Intro to Theater didn’t fly this semester and many were disappointed. A little bit of positive in a very bleak picture. He corroborates what I hear over and over again. The majority of foreigners working with NGO’s and the UN don’t give a shit about Afghanistan and are just here to collect their 10 or 15 thou danger pay a month for 2 yrs(mine is 1500), add it to their resume and move up the ladder to some safe European posting.
It’s good that I love my students bec they may be one of the very few things going for me here- it’s even harder to leave the guest house this semester – today the city is celebrating of Massoud, there are tanks all over the place, we are barred from leaving and this is the beginning of a 4- day weekend.
I’m sitting outside hoping for internet connection which we haven’t had for 2 days and there are all these baby birds feeding in the grass.
I put up some of my photos to prompt my 17! Creative Writing students
It’s barely past the second week and I’m once again in love with my students. I’m having all of them keep journals: Yesterday there was an IED ( Unidentified Exploding Device) at the airport- the airport as a site is a first since I’ve been here- and 3 students reported that they had been on their way to the spot but late or 5 minutes away when it went off. A woman student in a severe black chador just got a car- I have yet to see any woman driving though I know that one of my acquaintances does. Another woman wrote about taking public transportation for the first time in her life. How many of you have taken public transportation?
The first assignment for Advanced Comp students is a Talk of the Town from Kabul a la the New Yorker- this is really a huge challenge for them, but if they can do it I think it will be great.
Today Hjalmar came over to visit-this is so rare that it is noteworthy-Hjalmar is the Bolivian-German in-country director of the ARDO (Afghan Human Rights and Democracy Organization) theater project I began working with in the spring- he has asked me to mentor the group he’s working with. He’s funded by a transitional justice org in Brussels that is also funding three international theater people (Columbia, Switzerland and US-the Columbian is a political activist who’s written a one man play about his life and death exp in Columbia) -they will do workshops all over the country (puppetry, clowns, etc ) with orphanages , women’s shelters etc and I’ll be able to bring some of my students which is great since my proposal for Intro to Theater didn’t fly this semester and many were disappointed. A little bit of positive in a very bleak picture. He corroborates what I hear over and over again. The majority of foreigners working with NGO’s and the UN don’t give a shit about Afghanistan and are just here to collect their 10 or 15 thou danger pay a month for 2 yrs(mine is 1500), add it to their resume and move up the ladder to some safe European posting.
It’s good that I love my students bec they may be one of the very few things going for me here- it’s even harder to leave the guest house this semester – today the city is celebrating of Massoud, there are tanks all over the place, we are barred from leaving and this is the beginning of a 4- day weekend.
I’m sitting outside hoping for internet connection which we haven’t had for 2 days and there are all these baby birds feeding in the grass.
I put up some of my photos to prompt my 17! Creative Writing students
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