Culture

I turned on the television to see if the Today Show was on, but instead, I see that Beethoven is playing on the movie channel. If you have not read my tale of vacationing with a toddler, I will post it after this entry so you may. I think it rather hilarious, if I do say so myself, and Beethoven was an integral part of it.

Well, I didn’t write anything last night. I read Pride and Prejudice instead. I was going to write about the really cute goat that I saw being led through the camp yesterday. It was black and shaggy and had blue on its horns. Julie went over to pet it; however, though I found it really cute, I was not interested in making it my pet. I thought that its owner, the man who was leading it through the camp, might not appreciate it. So I looked at it and oohed and aahed over it, planning to take a picture of it tied to the post in the rose garden, lazily munching on the grass, looking around and enjoying the sun. I mentioned this to Will, who was back from leave, and he said, “Oh, well, I had hoped you wouldn’t see the goat. It’s for the ceremony.”

I asked what ceremony, and Will told me that the goat was the next night’s dinner for the Nepalese who are here as guards – we call them Ghurkas. Apparently, there is some festival or something that requires a goat, and the Nepalese have a goat every year. This information sent me for a nose dive. I mean, there is something sanitized about eating pig or cow when I don’t have to look into its eyes before its demise. It’s as if the tenderloin, be it pork or beef, was never anything other than this hunk of meat that, when treated properly and served with the right accoutrements, is kind of close to heaven. But to look at the goat and know that it was tomorrow’s chow? I couldn’t do it (As an aside, I don’t have the same problem regarding chicken. I think that’s because Ruby Johnson, our next door neighbor in Thayer, kept chickens in the back yard for a while, and I was unfortunate enough to witness at least one chicken’s sad fate. My grandmother’s fabulous fried chicken, however, was enough to keep the sight from bothering me.).

Luckily, I didn’t have to go over to the rose garden this morning, and so I have no actual knowledge that the goat I saw yesterday was the same goat that the Nepalese were asking me to partake of tonight (sorry about that awkward preposition). I prefer to remember the goat as he was – grazing placidly and looking skyward, not knowing his fate.

The nights are getting colder, although the days are just like Indian Summer in Missouri. Someday, I will figure out where that phrase comes from. I think I have told you that I don’t have any winter clothing, but because the days are so warm, I don’t really need a coat or jacket right now. When it is chilly – in the morning and at night – my path leads only to the (here we go) DFAC and back, and to the gym and back, and when I return from the gym, I am at least warm and don’t need a jacket.

Esman says, however, that won’t be the case forever. He says that it is very cold here in the winter, and that we will have to keep the heater on in the office all night or the computers will freeze. After taking a closer look at the wall-mounted heat pump, which is located right under the eaves, I can see he is right; the electrical cords go out of the office through a HOLE that I CAN SEE THROUGH. It has probably a four-inch diameter. I told Esman that he needs to get some insulation so that we can plug the hole. I’m sure he will be able to find some insulation somewhere, and I hope I know what to do with it. I wish Max were here. He would fix it perfectly. Of course, I wish Max were here regardless of the hole in the wall!

We read some information today about Afghan culture; the information is designed for American soldiers who are, like me, guests in this country, but who must honor unfamiliar traditions, family obligations, and religious beliefs so as not to offend our hosts. Esman says that some of the information is not correct; however, I pointed out that he and his family, and probably most of the people they know, are educated and live in an urban area; many Afghans live in rural areas without electricity or any other connection to the 20th or 21st century. I think it is probable that some older traditions still dominate these rural areas, where much of the population is illiterate. He agreed.

Part of the information was about what the Koran says (and the information says that I am spelling that wrong – it should be Qu’ran – but Esman says not to worry about it) about revenge. The pamphlet said that revenge is endorsed by the Koran, but Esman says that is not quite correct. The Koran does say, for instance, that someone who kills someone should be killed, but it does not say that such killing should be done by the victim’s family or by a lynch mob. The Koran speaks of the killing much in the way the Old Testament talks about “an eye for an eye” and many states support the death penalty.

As usual, it was a wonderful discussion. When we were finished, he showed me a picture on the internet of some boys in school – during the Taliban regime. They were sitting outside, writing. Some of them had desks, and some did not. Some were sitting on the ground. Esman told me that the picture was probably of an examination, because when the students took exams, they had to go outside into a larger area so that they wouldn’t cheat. He also made me notice that even the young boys wore head gear. He said that all boys had to wear head gear regardless of their ages. It was not a pretty picture.

Tonight, I was treated to a surprise. Most of the spandex soldiers have now left camp, but the small group who is still here, but leaving tomorrow, cooked pasta with shrimp. They invited me and it was lovely. I enjoyed so much eating the food, but more than that, enjoyed the camaraderie among the soldiers. After my experience in this camp, specifically with this group, I don’t know that I will ever think of soldiers in the way I had before. In the entire month I have been here, they have all been in good humor, teasing each other – of course, I haven’t been able to understand a word of it – laughing, cooking, eating, sharing, and saying, “Good morning,” every day, even when it was past noon. I appreciate their kindnesses – most notably, last week, when I got to the gym to walk on the treadmill and saw that the television was turned to boxing. One of the fighters whacked the other, that one fell, and at that point, one of the spandex soldiers brought me the remote control. I thanked him and changed the channel, although the alternative was just about as bad – The Mask, with Jim Carrey. Anyway, I will miss them, although I might not have to worry about people making fun of me when I try to lift weights.

I will go to the American base on Friday, and I am looking forward to getting out and seeing something different. I know I will have something to report. Until then.