Odds and Ends

These are some things that I would like to add to your vision of where I am.

* * * * * *

Today, we went to a government compound that houses the Ministry of the Interior. This compound is probably a couple of city blocks square; many government offices work in this area. It was bustling. As we entered through a side gate, which, I suppose, was reserved for women (I say this because the gate we entered put us in a little room where our bags were searched and WE were searched), I noticed two long lines of men on each side of the road we had just walked down. I asked Azizah where those men were going, and she told me that they were all going into the MOI compound. I couldn’t imagine what all those people needed to do inside those walls. I still don't know.

Eventually, we got where we were going, and we all crowded into a small office – the four of us, six staff members for the Director to whom we were paying a visit, and eventually, the Director herself. Unlike the woman I met yesterday, who was older, small, attractive, quiet, and powerful, this woman was young and, don’t take this wrong, flashy. She is beautiful. She is tall, she has beautiful olive skin, smoldering dark eyes, and she wears her hajib, which was sky blue with little sparkles, over her dark hair that was tied in a bun to hold the hajib firmly in place without detracting from her gorgeous face. Gayle and I have to keep pulling at our scarves so that our hair kind of sticks out and our scarves slide over our faces, but this woman has the head covering down to a science – and a science that certainly benefits her.

Prior to the Director’s arrival, the deputy director brought out candy dishes full of goodies – the paper almonds that Esman had brought in Herat, golden raisins like the ones in Herat, and two other kinds of candy that I dared not try for fear of gobbling it all down – and a staff member poured our steaming hot tea. It is hard to quantify their display of hospitality. These candies, the tea: these are the best this office staff has to offer, and they are offering it to me. In the South in America, in southern Missouri, in Arkansas, no one, and I mean no one, comes to someone else’s home and leaves without something to eat and drink. The hostess who is caught flat-footed and without something to serve will forever live with shame. I think that people in Afghanistan are similar in their beliefs about what is expected of a socially acceptable hostess.

We talked about business – or at least, everyone else talked and I listened – and then the Director, who sat on my right, turned and burned her dark eyes into me, asking for me to enter the conversation. I, who still had on my body armor because taking it off was too awkward (I would have had to take off my scarf and my glasses, and my tunic probably would have come off, too!), made a joke about being stuck in a difficult place and apologized for being unable to move properly, and for feeling completely out of place. Her eyes were both curious and kind as she looked at me, and I felt the same kind of connection I had felt the day before with Director C, as if each knew I would be talking about them and my meeting them.

As we left, she, new in her job and not as familiar with us as Director C had been the day before, shook hands with us and bade us return another time. I told her that I was pleased to see such strong, powerful women doing a good job in their country. And then we left to return to our office, where work awaited.

On our way to the Ministry, we had driven down an avenue I had not seen before. It was rife with computer stores, called “Stationary [sic] Stores,” that sold not only computer hardware, but also necessities for any office – paper, labels for CDs, and the like. On our way back, we drove past a bountiful farmers’ market, with absolutely beautiful produce displayed in farmers’ wagons pulled by donkeys or small horses – pomegranates, onions, potatoes, tomatoes, and cauliflowers, among other vegetables. It was as if the bounty would never end. And then we drove through another part of town that looked like a small New York or San Francisco neighborhood, with bodegas and small storefronts abounding, even butcher shops with the ubiquitous butchered goat hanging from the ceiling. Going past those shops made me homesick for Herat – except that in Herat, the butcher shops had been open air; here, most of them were enclosed by windows. We also saw lots and lots of construction, which I called “signs of hope.” Cranes and scaffolding show that this country wants to move ahead.

And we saw my favorite sight: a little girl, heading somewhere after school, in her black pants, tunic, and white head covering, looking like a miniature nun. Every time I see one of those little girls, I smile. First, the religious irony is simply hilarious, and second and most important, those little girls are in school – a place they were forbidden to go when the Taliban was in charge here. As Esman said, when the Taliban was in control, only one million children were in school. Now, eight million children are in school, including little girls, who look like little nuns, who may someday lead a ministry in this country, or maybe the country itself. That’s a good thing.

* * * * * * * *

Azizah and I continued our conversation as we drove down the streets of Kabul. I kept seeing clothing stores that displayed Western-type clothing – dresses with short hemlines, defined waists, short jackets, and the like. I asked her who bought those clothes. She told me that Afghan women bought them. “But where do they wear them?” I asked. She told me that many times, Afghan women wear such clothing under their long tunics and jackets. Esman had told me that women wore “normal” clothing around the house, or at weddings, where the women are separated from the men (except for family) and can wear party dresses. Azizah also said that often, women wear such clothing inside their offices, but don their tunics or coats when they go outside, for wearing the clothing is acceptable, but wearing the clothing in the out-of-doors is not.

We also talked about how she, just like Esman and Hasat, has never known anything but war and conflict. She told of her brother’s walking with her to school, and how her mother now tells her that often, when the children left in the morning, their mother had the thought that she might not see her children again – that something could happen – a suicide bomber, a bomb placed at the school or on the road on the way to school – and her children would be taken from her forever. Azizah, who spent a year at Dartmouth, says that when she leaves in the morning, she often wonders if she will see her home, her husband, again, because something in this unsettled land could take him from her or her from him. What kind of life is this for young people? I hope that she will soon know peace.

* * * * * * * * * *

Tonight, Michael, Kevin, Ara, Brian, David, and I celebrated America last night, giving thanks that we are Americans, and have the right to free speech and the obligation to vote to keep it. We do, as President Obama said, live in the best country in the world. I am grateful.