Another Day in Kabul Town (with apologies to the Gershwins)

Today was another day in Kabul. At the end of this day, I will turn another calendar page and will be headed toward winter. By the time I come back from my home leave, I will be able to turn yet another page! I now have under 300 days to serve.

It is raining hard right now. I was talking to Emily on Skype and heard some noise and couldn’t figure out what it was. Eventually, I went out in the hall to look, because I suspected it was raining – and I was right! I know tomorrow will be colder – but I am not complaining because I know that those in the northeastern part of America have experienced cold and rain and wind – and some snow - all much worse than it is here. I think I am a day behind, but the last I heard was that at least 50 people had died in the storm. That is a terrible number and a terrible storm.

Today, I went with my team leader to a government compound building and met with another one of my team members who serves with a government agency. I had met him once before in Herat, as he team-taught a gender justice seminar to a group of Afghan lawyers.

I need to stop here and express my admiration for the Afghan people I have worked with. They are, to a person, smart, educated, and (here is the most incredible part to me) they speak their language, as well as mine. I have always thought that I should have some facility with languages – at least that is what research says: Because I am musically talented, I should do well with math and languages. So far, I have not found that to be true. I am so linguistically challenged that I remember French when I am speaking to Mexican defendants, but some minutes after the Mexican defendants have left the courtroom, I can dredge up the Spanish word for whatever the French was that came so easily. These people can listen to someone speak their language and tell me in mine what that other person is saying AS HE SAYS IT!!!

So today, my colleague was reading, in Dari (one of the Afghan languages), some legislation, and telling us, in English, what he was reading. Isn’t that something? My job was to take what he told us and write it as a synopsis for general consumption. It all worked so well together. I love work that happens like that.

Now, after that bragging, I need to tell you about traveling in Kabul. I saw no sheep today, nor did I see goats. I saw traffic as I couldn’t have imagined it. Think of being in a helicopter and looking down and seeing three highways, separated by medians of grass and trees. Now imagine that very heavy traffic on one highway was going west, very heavy traffic on another highway was going east, and very heavy traffic on the remaining highway was going both directions, but not in any given lanes. Now imagine that on the other highways, where traffic was going in only one direction, outlier vehicles were traveling against the flow of the other cars and trucks. And every now and then, add a person who lazily stepped out into the path of vehicles going as fast as possible under hideous traffic conditions. That was what I saw today.

The city itself is simply, as my mother would say, “Filthy McNasty.” Dust is everywhere, including on the leaves of trees and on rose petals. I have yet to see a clean car. It is easy to see the effects of years and years of war and conflict. Buildings look bombed out, worse for wear, and run down. Stores are embellished with signage written in peeling paint. Streets are pockmarked with huge potholes. Trash litters the streets, and I saw a police officer merely kick the trash toward a storm sewer opening (at least I think it was a storm sewer opening). Construction is stopped mid-scaffolding.

People are everywhere, cars are everywhere, the feeling is of chaos, dirt swirls around, people protect their lungs with nose masks and heavy scarves draped over their mouths, nothing seems settled. But interestingly, in the middle of what looks like some H.G. Wells movie set, we found small pocket parks, green with grass, dotted with long stemmed roses, and featuring lovely fountains. Is it any wonder that the country itself is having trouble finding its equilibrium?

I came back to the camp and did my work, had some hot tea, finished work, did about 45 minutes of yoga with some other women here who also aspire to calm, and then went to a Halloween party, where I danced with myself for about an hour (Max wasn’t here to twirl me around). The rain began, the electricity went out, I talked to Emily, Mother, and Max, and now it is time to shower and head to bed.

My overriding feeling after today is that here, amidst all this chaos, all this dirt, all this horrible traffic where the rules of the road are whatever a driver can get away with, some people are working every day to make it a better place – and I am not talking about the Americans who are here doing an honorable job. I am talking about the people who will be here when the Americans are gone – those people who want clean cars, well-maintained buildings, smooth roads, driving rules that make sense and safety, and a lawful justice system.

Tomorrow is another day!

New Place, New Time, New Work

My first workday in Kabul has come to an end, and though I miss the Herat staff like crazy, this is going to be a good move for me.

The first news is this: I don’t have to be at work until 9:15!!! Did I tell you that yesterday? I feel like shouting it from the rooftops! My body clock is back at work! Woo hoo! So today I got up around 7, hit the treadmill until 7:40, took a shower (boys, turn your backs) and got to SHAVE MY LEGS, and was at work at 8:52, celebrating the moments of my life. Does a day start much better than that?

My supervisor is going to be a good supervisor for me. She sat down with me, told me about the projects that are underway in the office and what my part in them would be. She gave me a project to do for the day, we figured out the best way to get it done, and then I started in.

At noon, I joined an English class for Afghan nationals. It is being taught by Afghan nationals, which to me doesn’t quite make sense – if I were learning Dari, I would want the most learned Dari linguist and grammarian to teach me. It seems that the students would want to be taught English by people whose native language is English. But that isn’t necessarily the way it is. Regardless, I am going to teach a class in technical writing next Tuesday, about how to write e-mails. The lesson will be KISS – Keep It Simple, Sweetie!

I finished my project in the afternoon, which pleased my new supervisor, and then I came back to my slightly larger room and talked to Max via Skype. Then I went to an exercise class that focused on abdominals, or as I call them, “flabdominals,” and then I ate dinner with four friends I had met in Washington and in Kabul prior to my time in Herat.

All in all, it was a good day, and I enjoyed the camaraderie. I also had plenty to keep me busy, which was a trade-off for the laid-back environment in the Herat offices - most enjoyable, but not too fast-paced. After all, what could be better than a day with just enough to do and then some extra time to find out more about Islam and Afghan culture from Esman and Hasat? The answer is – not too much. As I said last night, I have been a lucky girl.

Tomorrow, I will go with our section leader to a government office in Kabul, and tomorrow night, the camp is throwing itself a Halloween party. Then a friend will come over from the other camp on Thursday night, and she and I will go shopping for some winter clothes on Friday. A colleague here has arranged a bazaar on Friday afternoon and a movie on Friday night, so my day off will be as full as a day at work. I wonder how I will get anything done – such as cleaning my slightly larger room? It is a good problem to have.

I will have lots to tell you about my trip to downtown Kabul tomorrow. Now that Esman has told me how to add photos – I hope you look down to the last post so you can see Fearsome Handsome Ferocious instead of just hearing about him – I will try to take some pictures so that you can get an idea of what this city looks like – and feels like – and maybe sounds like.

My being in this far-away place evokes many feelings that I was not expecting, and here is one: I really like talking to you and sharing this experience with you. Being able to do that, and hearing from you when something I say touches you, makes me feel not quite so lonesome and not quite so far away from home. Tonight, when I was getting ready to flatten my tummy (fat chance, no pun intended), I talked about how Skype, Facebook, and e-mail keeps me in my life. I got the idea that the other women didn’t spend as much time as I do on this miraculous machine, but I thank heaven above that it is available for me. I never knew I counted so much on the touch of others – and obviously, I am not talking about physical touch. And for my Aunt Catherine (Susie to those special few) and for Vida, both of whom have complained about my general lack of contact, I promise that I will remember that lesson. Because really the lesson is that we have each other, and that itself is a treasure.

Thank all of you. Until tomorrow with a new experience.

On The Road Again

Today has been an emotional roller coaster. I got up and took my laundry to the man who has been so sweet to not only wash and dry my clothes, but also to iron them on occasion (I must remember to give Max a tip for doing the laundry each week) and tried to tell him that I was leaving by noon. Finally, I gave up and went to the dining hall to find Esman or Hasat to ask one of them to please explain that I needed the sheets before noon.

Then I tried to stuff all my things into my two humonga bags and my little carry-on and my purse. Everything went in except my laundry detergent and one pair of shoes that I forgot to take out of the wardrobe (the first time I called it an armoire) closet. The good news is that one of the guys from Kabul is going to Herat on Thursday, and he will bring those things to me. So here I was with these bags, each weighing as much I as I weigh, a small bag stuffed to the gills with my computer and other electronics, my body armor and helmet, my work computer, and a cross-body bag that carried my iPad and everything else I couldn’t get into another place. How did this happen? Two boxes from Max and two from Emily, and I was over my limit!

I went upstairs to work, and talked for the last time to Esman and Hasat, trying not to cry yet again, and then we had a staff meeting at 10. But it was a party. The boys had gotten me a cake, and Jawad had brought some chocolate candy bars celebrating the birth of his new little girl on October 19. I was very surprised but also touched. I had asked Esman to bring some cookies, and he said he would bring a cake, but when I arrived in the office and saw no cake, I thought he had forgotten. When he told me that on the first day of Eid, one of his friends had died of stomach cancer, I wasn’t concerned that he forgot the cake, but understood why my moving on wasn’t the first thing on his mind. It turned out, though, that he hadn’t forgotten, and I felt wonderful.

At the meeting/party, I told them all how much I appreciated them and how much I had enjoyed each of them and hoped to stay in touch with them. Esman spoke for everyone and told me that they had enjoyed their time with me and were sad to see me go but wished me the best. He said that they felt as if in me, they had a friend. On the way back to the office, he told me that I was the first person who had worked there whom EVERYONE liked. I felt very special and very humbled.

And then it was time to go.

Ferocious came to the office a little before noon and asked if I was ready, and all the guys carried all the suitcases out. Because our camp is on gravel, the suitcase rollers did no good, and two guys had to carry one bag! It was pretty funny. I gave all of them a hug and told them to go back to work. I wasn’t really concerned about the propriety of hugging them; I just did it, and I don’t think any of them was shocked.

Now, if you haven’t been reading my story from the beginning, I will go back here to remind you about how I arrived in Herat two months ago:

We finally arrived at our destination, and to my surprise and delight, a friend from my first stop, Ron, was there to greet me, as were his security people, Huge and Ferocious. As I struggled to right my bags, which were treated well by the crew, Huge picked up one of the suitcases as if it were a box, and carted in the 50 feet to the armored vehicle in which I would be riding to my new home.

I started to ask if he didn’t want to roll it, but then stopped. Why ask? The bag was at the vehicle.

I had spent two hours on a plane, and so I had to find a bathroom. Right away. Many people in this area speak Italian, and darn the luck, all I could think of to ask was, “Donde es el bano?” which is Spanish for, “Where is the bathroom?” We wandered, Ferocious and I, through the graveled pathways, and we finally found a bar. There had to be a bathroom there, right? There was. It was either a man’s bathroom, or a unisex bathroom with two stalls. I didn’t care. Poor Ferocious. I don’t think he knew what to do.

His reaction was not unlike Max’s, when, after we were married and I don’t think he even then understood what he was in for, we were in Kansas City, maybe south of the Plaza or somewhere, and I had to go to the bathroom, and there were three women in line for the ladies’ room and no one in line for the men’s room (can you imagine, ladies?). I made Max scope out the men’s room for inhabitants, and then went inside for my purpose. Although not apoplectic, Max was speechless for a while. Then I asked him what he thought I should have done, and of course, he had no answer. From then on, he was my willing guard if I needed one.

I have to say that Ferocious did himself proud.

So today, Ferocious completed the circle and took me to the airport, where we arrived on time and waited an hour for the plane. When it finally got there, he carried each bag as if it were a little box from the truck to the plane and LIFTED it about five feet off the ground to the plane’s cargo hold. I stared in amazement. Those bags were heavy. And he did the same thing with my body armor, which by that time had to feel as heavy as a cereal box. He gave me a hug and told me that he was sorry to see me go, and asked me to stay in touch. And of course, I will. E-mail is so darn easy!

And while I am on the subject of Ferocious, I have a picture of him that I am trying to figure out how to post – and darn the luck, I forgot to ask Esman to help me. I actually sat down with Ferocious to ask him some questions, because I can’t fathom the kind of life he and Huge and Substitute Huge lead. They have all spent so much time away from home, and they plan to spend more years away. It’s something I just don’t understand. Most of the people I know have roots and want to keep them. These guys, on the other hand, don’t really have roots, nor do they seem interested in putting any down.

Ferocious joined the British Air Force when he was 19 and stayed in for four years. After that, he began working construction and couldn’t stand it. He heard from a friend about being in the security business, and he thought that sounded pretty good. He liked “soldiering,” and thought that security would be similar. And for him, it has been.

Men, and women, I suppose, who aspire to be in the security business, can take training seminars toward that end. The one Ferocious attended was about five or six weeks long, and enhanced his soldiering skills, by including instruction on being a bodyguard, which employs the same skills as the military, but in a different way. He said that a particular seminar in South Africa, which is highly desirable, includes a week in an ambulance ride-along, giving the participant hands-on experience in the possibilities of what can happen in the security business. At one point in his seminar, Ferocious took real fire, as in real bullets, as he passed what I would call a final readiness test. And that preparation has taken him now for about 10 years into war zones.

I asked him if he had ever been afraid, and he said he has, but he just keeps on going. He said that one time in Iraq, his buddy was killed as they stood next to each other. He said that was a sobering moment – but it wasn’t enough to keep him from doing what he likes.

I, of course, homebody as I am (as I am sure you recall), cannot imagine being so footloose and without a home base. He, however, enjoys that about this job. He says that the job provides him with a good salary and a great deal of freedom, and he never feels tied down. I asked him about his relationship with his family, and he told me that his father had died before he turned a year old, and that he and the rest of what is now his family had not been particularly close. I imagine that gives him a certain ability to allow himself to wander, although he does talk frequently with his two siblings.

His job is to keep me safe, to make sure that where I am going is safe, and to make sure I stay safe when I get there. The first time I rode with him in the truck with him as shooter, I watched him watch the road and traffic. He never took time to watch the herds of goats and sheep as I did. He watched the rearview mirror; watched traffic; watched the outside rearview mirror, making sure that we were not being followed, that we did not drive too closely to other vehicles or that other vehicles did not drive to closely to us - which could put us in a dangerous situation - and watched all the pedestrians who could have walked in front of us and have been hit. He is the leader of the team, and he hires and fires the drivers and sets the schedules of the other men who also make sure we are safe. He decides whether it is safe to go out of the camp on a particular day. And the one time someone fired shots outside the camp, he and Sub Huge came to get us, put us in a bunker, and stood watch outside the bunker until we heard the all clear. We were never in any danger, but I felt completely safe because they were there, and I knew they wouldn’t let anything happen to me.

At 33, he has benefited from his job in that he has what I would call a partnership with some friends back in England, and they own a lucrative franchise, and he owns real estate in three different countries. I asked him if he was attached, and he had been, but is no longer. It seems that the last young woman in whom he was interested was ready, as women are wont to do, move forward, and he was not. He said that he never had been really interested in marriage because he couldn’t imagine someone telling him what to do all the time. I assured him that I didn’t tell Max what to do all the time (okay, I kind of stretched the truth a little there), but even if I did, Max didn’t always do it, and we worked those things out. I have a feeling that someday, some woman is going to get really lucky.

And as we spent our hour together, he brought home the fact that these men, whose job it is to really put their lives on the line for someone like me, are really just people, doing a job in a faraway place, away from their friends and family. Last night, as a kind of farewell, Julie, Will, Sub Huge (who for now I will call Tim), Ferocious (who for now I will call Maurice), and I went out for a pizza. We hadn’t gone out very much, and this was a real treat. Tim was telling me about his parents’ retirement, and how he was going to visit them for Christmas, and how he was looking forward to their retirement and to their traveling and just enjoying life. And while we were on our way to the airport, Maurice gave me the news that Tim’s mother had been killed in a car accident, maybe while we were enjoying our pizza and he was looking forward to his trip home. He had put Tim on a plane at 10 that morning, after Tim awoke him at 3 to tell him the bad news. I listened as he talked to Tim on the phone, encouraging him to stay home as long as he wanted, that he, Maurice, would give Tim his leave so that he didn’t have to come back early – Maurice was supposed to leave day after tomorrow for the month of November, and was willing to give that up for his “mate.”

So tonight, I sit here in my slightly larger real room that is in a real building outside Kabul, instead of a connex outside Herat, feeling the pain that goes along with leaving someone or someones behind, and recognizing my absolute good fortune that in such a foreign and fearsome land, so far from home, I have managed to fall in with a number of stellar people, I have cared about them and they about me, some have worked with me and laughed with me and told me about their lives, and a couple have kept me safe. I am truly a lucky girl.

Almost TIme

On my next to last day in Herat, I worked like a crazy person editing a very long newsletter. It was interesting to read, but I couldn’t take my time as I would have liked to, because I had a deadline. Esman and Hasat will not be back until Monday, so I can get used to the idea of their not being around. I am still sad, but I think I am over the worst of it. Until I leave!

The hardest thing to do about packing a life is to put the life in a suitcase after using it – for instance, what am I going to do with my wet towel on Monday morning? It’s time to wash my sheets, so I think I will have to get the sheets to the laundry first thing on Monday morning so they will be clean and ready to go when I am. Then I can just shove them in my suitcase, and my bed in my new room will feel comforting.

I am leaving some Hershey’s Kisses here. Esman and Hasat had never seen them, and so I will give some to each of our staff to remember me – it will be their first kiss!!!

I didn’t go to sleep easily last night, so I am going to hit the hay early and try to make up for lost time. Worse, when I turned on my alarm, I didn’t turn it on all the way, and so it didn’t go off. How I woke up at 7, I will never know.

The moon is almost full and the camp looks almost peaceful in the evenings. Because all our Afghan staff is on holy day holiday, the camp sounds quiet, almost peaceful, during the day. The quiet is broken, however, by the sound of a ping-pong ball hitting the table again and again, back and forth, back and forth, because some soldiers don’t have much to do at that particular time. The cat, meowing softly and looking for a luckless bird, wanders back and forth on its little cat feet (Thank you, Carl Sandburg) across the “piazza” where the pizza oven stands, now unused. A lone soldier sits on a bench outside and murmurs on his cell phone, probably to someone back home. A Gurkha guards the rose garden, aided by a down jacket hanging from a tree and flapping in the wind, like some weird-looking scarecrow. On Monday, though, things will be back to normal and bustling – at least until some date between now and the end of 2014, when this camp will probably be silent. And maybe peaceful.

Preparing

It is Friday and my day off. I have been packing and getting ready to go on the next stop in my year-long experience. I will miss my little room, but I am looking forward to seeing my next little room, which is slightly larger than this one. I also am looking forward to having dinner on Monday with some of my friends from Washington and from Kabul.

I was going to shop at the bazaar today, but I forgot that Eid is being celebrated today, and so the camp is deserted, and the bazaar is not open. I will have to buy my backpack next week.

Ferocious brought me another present yesterday. I think he will miss me. Our team is going to one of the military bases tomorrow or the next day, and I am getting my interview with him so that I can tell you more about him. He never knew he would be famous!!!

I looked yesterday to see how many people are reading what I say, and I am overwhelmed and grateful for the audience – which, believe it or not, extends to Russia and South Korea. What in the world? How did that happen? I’m thrilled for the audience in Sedalia!

I started looking around today, and will try to take some pictures so that at some point, I will be able to show you where I live. For today, I have a couple that I think are interesting: roses among thorns. Seriously. It is hard for me to believe that in this place of dirt and dust and gravel, these beautiful flowers can thrive. I think they illustrate that old bromide: Bloom where you are planted. For some, obviously, it’s easier than for others. But these roses remind me that where seeds take hold, some good things can follow.

Yesterday, we had a little excitement. I was working at the computer, very diligently working, and something crossed my brain that sounded like something but it wasn’t loud enough or important enough to distract me from my task. A little while later, I heard Julie yelling, “What’s going on?” and so I thought I might want to find out what the problem was. I opened the door and looked out and saw the guy from Jefferson City walking past our building holding his AK-47 at the ready. I was getting the idea that I missed something, and Julie told me she thought the noise might have been a gunshot.

I have always wondered what I would do in a situation like that – when something unexpected and probably dangerous happened. I have always assumed that I would be logical and clear-headed and simply do what was necessary to handle the situation. Well, I was right except about one thing. The FIRST thing I did was act like my father, who, when the tornado siren went off, went outside and scanned the sky to see God knows what. So my unbelievable first reaction, after making fun of my father for years and years, was to take a step toward the open part of the building to see what was going on.

Then I followed with the logic and clear-headedness, and headed toward my little room, where I quickly put on my Kevlar and then got back to work. I did move from my desk to Esman’s, as his is away from the window and he had the day off for Eid. After all, what was I going to do about it? I don’t have a gun, and everyone thanks God for that, even if he or she doesn’t KNOW that thanking God is the correct response. All the security guys were out in force, doing their thing, finding out what happened and where the shot, if it was a shot, came from. I felt very safe, which is exactly what I would not have felt like if I had a gun.

When I shot a gun in training, my hands were really sweaty. I think it’s because I just had never held one before, and I certainly didn’t feel comfortable holding one – or firing one, for that matter. Something tells me, though, that if I had to fire one, I could do it. I have been able to do, during my entire life, whatever it takes to get me through whatever it is, and I think firing a gun would be exactly the same. Let’s just keep me where I don’t have to find out.

After a while, I took off the vest – it is blue, and I was wearing black, and my wearing the two together would distress Emily to no end. And it turned out that whatever happened was not a shot, and whatever it was occurred when one of our guys did something, so we were never in any danger. I never felt any danger anyway. I am telling you that the security force, all of them, looked fearsome. Their reaction was a good thing to see. When I leave on Monday, I will be thanking them for their protection during the time I have been here.

The kitchen is cooking out hamburgers tonight, and so I will be eating dinner. This day has been lovely, just like a September day in Missouri – the morning was crisp and a little chilly, and then the sun took off all the chill and was beautiful as I walked around. I know it will get chilly again when the sun goes down, but I expect that the evening will be invigorating. It will be perfect for a cookout. The moon is approaching full, and because we rarely see clouds, the night sky becomes luminous when the moon is up.

I will leave you now, as I must ready my next column for the Democrat. I know you will recognize it, and I hope you enjoy it.

Until tomorrow!

Post Publication: I can't figure out how to insert my pictures. I will have to wait for Esman to help me!

Cordialamente

News today. I will be leaving Herat next week for a new assignment in Kabul with Gender Justice, which is kind of like a division in the company that works on women’s rights. I think it will be a good fit.

But, oh! How I will miss my whole team – Julie and Will and my little guys and my one girl! I can barely think of the day that is coming when their bright smiles and welcoming attitudes will not be the first thing I encounter at work. I will miss our team’s eating breakfast together, laughing as I douse Hasat’s French toast with syrup because he thought syrup went only on pancakes. I will miss Abdul’s calling me “ma’am,” even though I thought it should have made me feel old. I will miss Sadiq’s calm demeanor and brilliant smile, although he doesn’t smile very often. As an aside, I asked Esman why none of them smiles for photos, and he said he thought it is probably because they are all so serious – and who wouldn’t be, as growing up in a war zone probably takes away most of the innocence and joy of youth.

I will miss them all, but of course, as I spend six hours a day with Esman and Hasat, I will miss them the most. They have made my days pleasant, even fun, and they have made my stay pretty close to wonderful. They are both kind and pleasant, capable and smart, friendly and caring, and hopeful. And they have taught me so much, as I believe I have shared much with them.

I will meet new people where I am going, and I will reconnect with those I met previously, but I tell you that a small hole will remain in my heart for some time as I get used to a day at work that does not start with their cheery “Good morning!”

They told me that they would stay in touch, and that they have wanted to stay in touch with many Americans they have worked with, but that they drift away – and of course, sometimes, that’s what life does. It interferes with the people we want to keep dear. Work becomes overwhelming, children demand, the house needs to be cleaned, there isn’t enough time in the day, and somehow a year has passed and we haven’t kept in touch as we would like. But in me, they will have a willing pen pal, and someone to count on if necessary.

These young men have been unexpected and extraordinary bright spots in my life when I really needed them, and knowing that I will leave them the next day I see them pretty much breaks my heart. I had a hard time leaving home, leaving Max, leaving Emily, leaving my friends and the rest of my family, but I refused to let myself break down and bawl, because I think I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop. Now, however, I am allowing myself some of those tears as I move on to whatever follows, knowing that I have already met people who have had an impact on my life, and knowing that I must leave them behind, hoping against hope that our lives will stay connected nonetheless.

Another Celebration

Thursday through Sunday are holidays for Islam. This is the end of the Hajj, when Muslim pilgrims journey to Mecca and Medina (and I need to check my spelling) to walk the path of Mohammad. Thursday is a day of fasting, for those who choose, to commemorate the frantic running of Hagar to find food for her and her son Ishmael after Abraham had turned her out. The story is that Hagar ran between two mountains, Marwah and Safa, trying to find food and water for her and Ishmael, and then on her seventh trip, she saw a spring of water appear where Ishmael sat and waited for her.

After the day of fasting comes Eid, which is a day of celebration. I got the idea, as Esman described it to me, that they celebrate this Eid as we do Easter. The people wear new clothes to prayers, and many more people than usual fill the mosques, and after prayers, families feast together and go to friends’ houses to share in their feasts. Additionally, this is a good time for children: they usually receive gifts, either of new clothing, or in wealthier families, money. When families visit each other during Eid, guests will bring money for the children in the house, and occasionally, the host family will give money to the visiting children.

As an aside, Muslims celebrate another Eid, which comes after Ramadan, which was this year in late July and August. During that 30-day period, Muslims forego food, water, cigarettes, and sexual encounters during the daylight hours, and break their daily fasts only at sunset. In the summer, these can be long days! The Eid that will be celebrated this week, though, is a celebration of renewal of faith.

Esman explained that a lamb (sheep) will be sacrificed, and that the meat is divided by families into thirds: one-third goes to the family for their meal; one-third goes to poor families who might not have enough money to purchase a lamb or to slaughter it; and one-third is offered to guests who will come to visit during the holiday. At the sacrifice, the people give thanks that they are able to sacrifice a lamb instead of sacrificing their children, as, according to the story, Abraham was asked by God to do. Of course, this idea of sacrifice disturbs me; just like I didn’t want to know about the Gurkas’ goat, I certainly don’t want to know about a lamb, which, as we all know because of Mary, is a cute little animal.

I also learned that this Eid is part of a marriage ritual here. Grooms-to-be are expected to bring gifts to their fiancée’s family, and to their fiancée. The gifts to the girl should be the new clothing to wear to prayers, as well as make-up, jewelry, and food, and the gifts to her family should be money – and lots of it. The bride-to-be’s family will spend some of the money buying a gift for the young man, but most of the money will be kept by the family or spent by the young woman’s parents.

This ritual is becoming difficult for many young men, who, without education or a good job, cannot fulfill their fiancée’s family’s expectations for gifts, and therefore postpone the marriage, sometimes for years. In fact, in the past, some of the uneducated and under-employed young men would go to Iran to work for years, saving enough money to provide not only appropriate gifts at Eid, but also appropriate gifts and food for the wedding. With the recent downturn in Iran’s economy, so that Iranian money is now almost useless (sanctions from somewhere we know well at work!) and the number of available jobs is tanking, young Afghan men cannot go there as before to find work that will pay for the expected loot. Esman says that this overwhelming tradition is becoming a topic at Friday prayers, so that the country will look at what the focus on funds is doing to its young people. After all, the thought goes, which is more important? Appropriate and large gifts? Or marriage and a family life?

A fascinating thing I learned about Hajj is that every Muslim should endeavor to make this trip during his or her lifetime, although someone who cannot afford the trip will be excused. Also, pilgrims wear white robes, and men shave their heads, so that all will look the same, as God sees no difference in his children. Women, however, cover their heads with a white scarf. On the 10th day of the lunar calendar, which is Friday this year, the pilgrims sacrifice a lamb as do those who have remained at home. Because they can't use the meat, the pilgrims donate it to the Saudi government, which distributes it to the poor. As I was reading about it, I found travel agents who deal exclusively with the pilgrimage, and most interesting, one of the ten most beautiful airports in the world, according to Time Magazine, is an airport open ONLY during Hajj in Saudi Arabia. I cannot fathom the number of people who must make this trek every year.

I continue to learn a great deal about a country and a religion about which I have known nothing. I am so fortunate to share office space with young men who welcome me and who do not mind discussing their religion with me and explaining it to me, and who accept that my religion is different from theirs, although we share many beliefs. I often have them fact-check my writing to make sure that I have either quoted them correctly or have re-told the stories correctly, and they are very helpful – and don’t complain!

I know they will have much to tell after this weekend, and I will be sure to let you know what that is!