Mazar

Before I forget. Mazar was hard. But the hotel we were locked down in was way more plush than the one in Herat with sequin- flecked gauzy curtains lining all the walls, my own cazbah. (But when I turned out all the lights, the room was still fully lit- one wall was actually a huge poorly disguised window that faced onto the lobby.) The interior of this hotel was all I would see for the remainder of the week. Suddenly, Mazar, which had been safe for the last decade had its first suicide bomber a few days before our arrival adding to the biggest celebration of the year, Naroz, the Afghan New Year. .

Many many theater students had signed up ranging in age from near toddlers to adults. Michael and I split them up- I took those up to 15, he took the rest. We also had to share the hotel's one large room.

My women's writing group would meet in the afternoon in a smaller room (we were always making the whole show up hour by hour). After several false starts the 14 very enthusiastic young women revealed they could only meet outside the hotel; this was arranged with a little fear on my part but Kim from the consulate had offered to drive me (I asked this of Kim with mixed feelings: she looked at the portfolio I'd prepared -the women had requested focus on poetry so I'd printed up a collection including one by Nikki Giovanni about missing (her lover) in bed; Kim said I had to remove it; actually the word “lover' is never used and it more likely here in Afghanistan could have been read as a missed parent or sibling; when I pointed this out to Kim, she agreed-after everything had already gone to hell. The day we planned to meet, the international forces were conducting 'exercises' in the center of town in preparation for the weekend holiday. Suhrab, head of Mazar's writing group who had arranged for the women, called to say they had all canceled! They were afraid to go out on the street because of all the soldiers! International do gooders shooting themselves in the foot.

All was not lost. Mazar's only orphanage would be happily bringing 15 girls in the afternoons. Except they too were caught up for an hour in the logjam created by the 'exercises' and eventually turned back on the first day.

Out of all this we would come up with some kind of performance for the Friday before the holiday. I did physical theater and puppetry with the morning kids, combining sound with movement. About ten kids really nailed it and came up with a forest of beautifully imagined animals from sweet birds to growling bears; others made up the animals' stories. The forest was so evocative the large almost totally male audience actually gave a standing cheer in the middle.

Though I gave all the orphan girls puppets, I hadn't had enough time with them to plan anything so I was happy they would get to see the performance by the other children. Not to be. Just as the performance of the 'forest' was beginning, all the orphan girls were suddenly filing up the stairs. When it was over I ran up the stairs to find out what had happened! They were all gathered in the hotels's parking lot where Kim was handing out notebooks, pencils and other gifts so generously donated by Americans.