Food and Work

Saturday and Sunday I visited more villages. Patterns are emerging. When I visit these places, particularly in the rural areas, there are no women on the streets, only men and an ocean of little boys. I finally had an opportunity to go talk to women. I asked one of the young men I was talking to where the women are (of course I know, but I like to ask anyway). He and others told me that they are at home taking care of children and the house. I told this young man I would like to speak with some women who lived close by. He thought of a place on the street he could take me. I asked the security for permission and away we went.

He walked me down half a block and took me though several court yards where we then approached an adobe home, came up to the door and knocked. Two three women suddenly appeared along with several little girls and a nursing toddler boy. The women were both young, in their twenties. They were concerned about where I sat, although I had on my army uniform and army boots (along with a scarf for respect for Afghan culture). They went to the house and folded up several blankets so I could have a clean place on the porch to sit.

I pulled out my notebook and had a chat with them. They said that they felt secure but would like schools and work to do outside the home. They offered me tea and to stay for lunch. I would have if I was not with the military, but since they were my ride and my link to being here, I needed to get back. This was the first time that they had let me out of sight and I didn’t want them to get upset. I went back to the street to chat with the boys some more. I noticed one little boy hid his hands in his pockets. I asked him how old he was, he said 15. His size was more like a 10-year old than a 15-year old. He was shy and one of the boys pulled his arm out of his pocket to show me his arms. His friend told me he could write. His arms were missing a radius and ulna and his hands poked emerged close to his elbows. Hi took his little hands and could see that his fingers were also very small and on his left hand, some of his fingers were fused.

I don’t know how he felt about himself or how others treated him. I couldn’t see that others treated him poorly which was good to see. But I told him how my ex-husband had grown up in a small village and that he studied really hard and looked for opportunities to go to college. I then told all the boys that it was important to try and improve their lives by studying hard and trying to stay in school.

When we left the city, the boys all came down to say goodbye. One little boy liked it that I put my arm around him. First he was a little hesitant and then he took his arm and put his arm around me too. After he had done it for a while, another little boy came up and took his turn, putting his arm around my neck and walking down the hill. After I got in the car, I could see the little boy with the TAR syndrome (as later investigation led me to believe) smiled cheerily and waved good-bye with his hands in his pockets again.

In the next village, several men stood out in front of their small plots of land. I interviewed them and saw some older girls standing next to one of the compound doors. I took off to go talk to them. I could tell they started to get nervous and wanted to turn and run in, but I yelled at them not to run off. They stayed and I chatted with them. They told me that they had recently returned from Iran. They had left because of the fighting and had now returned, probably because Iran is coming down harder on Afghan nationals living there. I asked if they liked it there and they had. This is a little different than the story of the Pashtun boys who had returned back from Pakistan. I understood that they were happy they were back in Afghanistan. The girls were small with pretty feminine colored dresses and puffy leggings and little scarves. They were not covered with long veils. One of them had a cute sweater over here dress and leggings, another had a blue eye in a silver setting to keep away the evil eye hanging around her neck.

Across the street I met up with another woman. She was 30-years old and had eight children. I asked her what she needed and she said food, oil, rice, wheat. She laughed a lot and was started when the security barged through the gate to check on me. She was 30, but looked at least 40. I thought of my daughter with her smooth skin and life back in the states. We are lucky and unlucky. For every situation there is a good side and a bad side. This woman has 8 children, my daughter doesn’t have any. This woman and others like her are mature in a different way than my daughter. My daughter has been able to develop other skills and attend the university and in terms of critical thinking is more mature.

Before I left the town, I saw two women run out after to speak with me. Since I was on my way back to the vehicle, I told them that I couldn’t stay and talk, but if they would tell the most important things they could think of, I would take the message back. They told me again, they wanted food and that they also wanted work outside of the home. These are things that I haven’t heard from the men yet.

My colleague suggested the woman were more aware of the food because they had to prepare it for their families. They are acutely aware of how much they have and how much it takes to feed a family. Not sure if that is why, but it is a good hypothesis.

The next day, I went out on another mission. This time I went to a place that is closer to the main city. It was beautiful in a simple way. There was a huge mosque, but there was no school. They rented someone’s house as the school for the children. I chatted with the men and finally asked if there were some women close by I could speak with. One man told me to come with him and pointed to a gate a couple of compounds up. I asked security if I could go and crawled through a small gate in the large adobe fence that enclosed the compounds from the street. I went through two court yards, listened to a barking dog and saw some chickens. We then went up to a door and I was asked to come in by three lovely women. This time I went in the house.

The house’s main living area was small, perhaps 8 x 10 feet. Next to this room was another small room, perhaps a small kitchen. The house smelled really good. I don’t know what it was exactly, it wasn’t incense or something like that, it smelled more like a place where people lived and maybe the smell of food or tea flavored the air. They told me they were 40 and 45, but I think they were more like 50 and 55. One of the women was 35 and blind in one eye. She was a widow and did sewing and embroidery with a small little sewing machine next to her. One of the lady’s had a tattooed face. They are Tajiki Sujani. The man who brought me there stayed by and helped interpret so they could understand my thick accent. They told me he was their brother. I told them what a nice brother they have. They liked hearing it as much as him.

They asked if I would like tea and I said I would. I was impressed with their knowledge about the law and legal resources even though they never had an opportunity to go to school. Then, the younger woman went to the back and came back with a plate of cookies she had made along with some nice green tea. I thought how lucky I was. My heart felt like flying. Here I was making friends with some of the sweetest people in the world and having tea with them. I held their hands and told them how grateful I was to be in the first Afghan home in my life—what an honor and privilege. Their brother escorted me back to the gate.

Today snow came. It had been warm, but this evening was cold again. The snow left a light blanket of white across the ground. There were more people in the chow hall today too. I don’t know if it is because of the cold, or more people are just here today. But it was interesting. Rene, the RM who met me in Masar-e Sharif has gone back there now. I was made the temporary team leader until we have a full-time placement in about a week. I told Matt and Viktor that we are going to take a field trip and visit Herat. Matt said he would like to visit Jalalabad. I am brave, but I don’t think it would look good if I took off on a wild trip across the country. No one would miss me, but I feel like I better stay here and do my work.

The Dutch came over yesterday. I kind of felt like they were checking out my competency. Which is okay, but it is not like the work that we do costs them anything. It is like a freebie and they can do with it what they want. But they keep vetting us—they do things differently. I showed them our research design we are currently doing and luckily I had coded the information I had collected from my recent site visits and put it into spread sheets. He said it was good. We talked about it. I was glad he understood that I didn’t want to lead or limit the responses that the people provided us with. The opportunity to work with them and do work for them, however, is very prestigious. We will do what we can.

A Clinic and a Mountain

A couple of wonderful things have happened.  First, I was invited to go with the Germans to visit a medical clinic and village in the mountains. The medical clinic was the first visit. We went in and the physician immediately offered to visit with us in his office.  He said he serves approximately 14,500 residents with a small staff.  I noticed that there were about 10 women sitting in the waiting area.  All of them had on blue long blue burkas that cover them from head to foot with a small screen in front of the eyes to look out of and breath through.  I asked if I could go talk to the women and was given permission.  I went out there and sat next to the first women I saw.  She was breathing shallowly--I asked her if she had asthma and she said she did.  I asked her how many years she had it and she said about five.  She reached out from under her burka and held my hand.  She told me she had four children and the woman next to her was her sister who had come with her to the clinic.  She also showed me that she had brought an x-ray of her lungs that was rolled up and in yellow paper to protect it.  The way she breathed was almost like someone who had been crying for a long time and then gasps for air.  Her little eyes were showed a perplexed and stressed look from behind her screen.  I squeezed her hand and patted her and told her I wished she would feel better.  She thanked me.  I then went over and sat next to two other women.  One had no hesitation and pulled her burka back so I could see her pretty almond face, brown eyes, and sweet smile.  I am guessing she was a woman of about forty years.  She also had come with the woman next to her.  The woman who was sick had a bad headache and needed some medicine for it to go away.  Others were there with their children who were ill.  One small boy had a bad sore throat and ear infection.

Soon, a round-figured older woman appeared.  She invited me to go to the back.  I accepted her invitation and went to the back area which turned out to be another waiting area with about 30 women and children who were cramped together sitting up against walls and in the middle of the floor.  I was ushered quickly into an examination/conference room and asked if I would like tea.  This round-figured older woman had a few missing teeth in the front and little wrinkles across her face.  She could have been my age or she could have been much older.  When people hit fifty in Afghanistan, often times they as if they are sixty years old or older by American standards.  I remember this sweet little lady's name because it is almost like my daughter's--Shireen.  Shireen was the village midwife, not a nurse midwife, but the woman who somehow ended up being the one to deliver numerous children because she had to, because no one else was around, or no one else would do it.  She probably gained a lot of experience over time and was able to help deliver babies in this busy clinic.  Shireen brought in two nurses to talk with me.  I am guessing they were both close to thirty.  One had a little baby with her, about two years old.  Both had been trained in the city and worked in this busy clinic.  I asked them about illnesses, what was common, what wasn't.  I was happy to hear that tuberculosis wasn't much of a problem in the city, but diabetes was.  I asked if people could access medicine and they said yes, mostly insulin.  I know in America it is expensive, I couldn't imagine how people could pay for it here.  Right now they said that colds and influenza were the biggest problem.

I asked if husbands were nice to their wives.  They said some were and some weren't.  From the way it was said, I got the idea that half the husbands were good and about half weren't.  They said that sometimes when their husbands get home they beat their wives in the evening.  Sometimes their husbands don't provide food or clothes either.  Probably some just can't afford it.  They said that they measure the circumference of the women's arms to measure if they are malnourished or not.  This information is tracked on a card and if the measurements indicate too much emaciation they the woman is provided some kind of voucher for oil and food. I had been chatting away in the back, unguarded for quite some time, the German officer who came into the clinic with me awkwardly made his way to the back of the clinic and checked on me to make sure I was okay--I told him I would be a few more minutes.  The nurses wanted to tell me about their own lives too--too many children, not enough money, and no time.  One of the nurses husbands worked close to the base where I am stationed.  He works long hours as does she and they have four children to care for.  She said she only made $60 a month at the clinic.  I hope I misunderstood because the medical technician who had worked at the hospital made about $300 a month.  They kept telling me someone had just had a baby and if I wanted to see.

They took me to the next room and there on the table lay a woman who had just given birth.  She looked a little older than thirty, but I don't know.  She was in the clothes that she had come in the clinic in.  Perhaps the same clothes she had worn for the past week.  She was covered with an old dirty blanket.  She looked exhausted and not exuberant as most mothers seem to look like after they give birth.  I had the honor of attending my daughter's friend's baby's birth the year before.  It was beautiful and a glowing mother and child.  Unfortunately for this woman, her prior three children had died and this was her fourth try.  Behind me was her mother or mother-in-law.  She had a joyful look on her face and underneath her chador was the baby.  I asked if I could look and it was the little newborn girl--sweet and perfect.  I congratulated all and thanked them for the honor of letting me see the beautiful little newborn girl.  I touched the mommy on the arm and told her I hoped she felt better soon.  I left them in their privacy and spoke to a few of the women and children in the hall.  The nurses took me back into their office and suggested I finish the tea.

I tried to get them to write down the things that the clinic needed. They started and stopped. They seemed to be concerned that providing me the information would not be proper protocol and that it should only come from the physician.  A woman came in with her baby in her arms and demanded to be seen.  I didn't want to take more of their precious time and told them that I needed to go.

The next place we visited had been a ghost town when the German officer had visited the year previously.  We had to drive up the side of a steep canyon.  The road was so narrow that it was difficult for the armored vehicles to share the road with a man and his donkey who was on his way down the canyon.  The canyon was steep.  There was only a bit of grass that grew on the slopes, no other vegetation.  As we went up, we started to see a few little houses.  Some had dogs out in front, some turkeys (or fil-morgh, elephant chicken), beautiful chickens, donkeys, and further up two of the most beautiful cattle I have seen.  Little boys and men started appearing, it seems out of no where.  The villagers had returned from Pakistan where they had been living to avoid the Taliban.  In this village, Pashtun, Hazara, Uzbekis, Tajikis, and Farsiwan. Two of the elder boys talked to me the most. They are Pashtun and very polite and well educated. One was fifteen and the other was fourteen. I asked why the school house windows were broken, one of the boys made gestures that someone had shot them out with a sling shot.  The other boys scolded him and told me that is not what really happened.  What had happened was that there was an earthquake about 20 days previously and the rattling had broken some of the windows. The boys told me that what the village needed most was electricity and then readily available clean water.  This aligned up with what the men were telling the officers.  They said that there were about 100 homes and about 1000 people that lived here.  It was an amazing site--little adobe homes on the sides of steep hills with beautiful snow covered mountains beyond.  There was certainly fresh air and the boys told me they raised grain and peas among other crops. They had cows that provided excellent dugh (yoghurt) and other products.  The boys said they also needed school supplies and a football. I shook all the boys hands and said my good-byes. They smiled and I could see that they could all use toothbrushes too. Plaque and calculus was building up already on the teeth of these sweet little boys.  Sooner or later many of them would look like the blue-eyed Oriental faced Tajiki man that enjoyed speaking to me there as well.  His teeth looked like a chewed up little corn of cob.

The boys wanted to know if I went to the gym and used weights.  I told them I did.  They wanted to know what kind of sports I did and I told them.  They also wanted to know if the vest I was wearing was heavy because of the protective plates inside.  I said yes. They were impressed with that.  They also wanted to know how old I am.  I told them I was fifty-one and they were impressed.  They said most people who were fifty-one in the village were humped over. I told them that I was lucky because I had good food and good medicine.  They were not impressed, however, with the finer art of wearing a head scarf.  They said I looked silly.  So, I tried to fix it, but I could tell by the expressions on their faces I was not doing a very good job of it, so I asked them to help me. The older Pashtun boy took my scarf and pulled the edges down over my shoulders and so it hung a little more elegantly and then gently placed the other side so it crossed loosely over the front and hung over my shoulder in the back.  I have to agree that it did look better.  I had it scrunched up too much and more tightly tied around my head.

As we walked back down the mountain side to return, one of the men asked if I was a Muslim.  Before I could say anything, the boys told him I was and that I prayed too.  They then helped me to try and recite phrases from the Qoran.  The man recited As-Salam-Allah-Kum with me as we walked down.  Whatever it meant to him, I could tell it was heart-felt and it resonated within me too. When I left, they ran beside the vehicles and gestured a round ball and mouthed football.  The two older boys had run down the road to wave good-bye to me one last time.

Not Sure I Am Working

I had a conversation today with Belgian Mark today in the lunchroom.  Mark is a career military man a few years younger than myself.  He told me he is about to turn 50 and I told him how marvelous that is.  That I started to come alive just before I turned 50.  It is nice to know that men often have the same feelings and urges as women.  He wants to have meaning in his life.  He wants to feel loved and have a good relationship with someone.  He wants to make sure his children are taken care of.  He wants to do things that will challenge him.  

I also told him that I am happy; that I am really not sure if I am working or not, because I am having so much fun.  I am meeting amazing people, learning a lot, talking to Afghans, seeing ways of life that are alien to my own experience in many ways.  I am not even sure I am here to help the Afghans anymore.  It is true that in many ways we are richer materialistically, but I am not so sure about other ways.  Perhaps it is so, perhaps it is not so.  We don't really know the inner workings of another human being, but I am here to ask and find out.  

That is an amazing thing.  Yesterday I went out on a mission for the very first time.  It was fun.  I sat in a Dingo with four young German soldiers and drove to some remove villages.  Before we got to the first village, we stopped at an American post.  I met a young Afghan interpreter there.  We had time to chat.  He told me he was from a village not far from Masar-e Sharif.  His father has a shoe boutique and his brother teaches psychology at Boston University.  He is a medic by training, but was only making $300 per month.  This is probably the average salary for a middle class Afghan.  He said he needed more, so he applied to be an interpreter for the Americans. He is also a flutist and novelist.  He is about to publish his first novel in Dari/Farsi.  He speaks seven languages.  He desires to go to America, he said anything is possible there.  He would like to pursue schooling and become an engineer.  

He said he is very grateful to the allied forces and especially to the Americans for helping get rid of the Taliban.  He said most educated people are glad they are gone.  He also made an interesting comment that his mother relayed and wishes to pass on so I will pass it on to you.  She said, it would be nice if some civilians come here to live and show Afghans how to live.  She said the military can get rid of the Taliban, but they cannot teach Afghans how to live.  

This morning when I was going to the gym, I started a conversation with a young man there too, his name is Aziz.  Aziz is 25 years old.  He keeps the gym tidy and clean, but wishes to become an interpreter too.  He showed me his vocabulary book.  It is filled with phrases and sayings in English and Dari.  I told him I want to improve my Dari so several times a week we are going to meet and help each other.  

This morning I was taking trash out to the garbage and one of the young Afghan men who are digging the ditches stopped me and took the garbage from me and threw it away for me.  Sooo sweet these young Afghan men are.  

I am also meeting interesting people here on the base as well.  One of my friends is a civil affairs Major from New York.  He is also a film maker and hangs out with Tony-award winning performers.  He is always singing, making light comedy, and wants to do a radio show for Afghans based on something from mythology, I think I mentioned him in my last blog too.  I have met two social scientists from the Netherlands who are working with us on evaluating the rule of law here.  The rule of law is a program where police, judges, DAs,, participants in the whole system are mentored and trained.  It is being watched closely by the Parliament and many parliament members and event he prime minister were here not long ago to witness and evaluate the program.  It is a privilege to work with these people on it.  One of the social scientists is also a psychotherapist involved in Sufism, archetypes, and so on.  Tonight I read a paper he wrote on learning about our own shadows, being courageous, making contact with the Afghans and helping them to make slow but deep changes--helping to heal.  

As I said, I am not sure I am working, I think I am having way too much fun.  I go on another mission tomorrow.  Yesterday, I met with an Arbab, a village elder--had tea with him and several other men in a traditional mehman khaneh.  It was made of adobe--mud and straw, much like the thick mud walled buildings of the traditional southwest and Mexico.  It was pleasant and warm.  Inside was a metal barrel with a pipe that used wood or dung for heat.  

In the fields were the remains of last year's rice fields, cows, donkeys, I saw a lot of beautiful chickens, dogs, many birds, groves of poplar trees, new wheat beginning to grow, and a variety of homes, from concrete and painted to little mud hovels.  There were many little children, mostly little boys.  Some shy, some helpful, some naughty.  I held some of their little tiny hands.  Some were frozen cold and rough from exposure to the elements.  A lot of the children had runny noses and the villagers said right now many of the children were sick with colds.  Many were short of stature, and I am not sure if it is because they have had inadequate nutrition or this is their natural height.  None showed overt signs of malnutrition however.  No one had gloves on, some didn't have socks, but all the little boys either had on a coat or a very warm sweater.  I was very cold and the wind here is freezing.  

I noticed that the Afghan villagers that I saw took really good care of their animals. The donkeys and cows had quilted blankets on them.  If there is something like a happy cow, I think I saw a lot of them.  

The roads are awful to these villages, there is no electricity, there are problems with flooding, inadequate space for school or no school, and sometimes no medical services for miles.  I was told that some of the women die on the way to the hospital to deliver and that there were no trained midwives, just older women in the village with some experience in delivering.  The villagers say there are no security problems and they would like the girls to attend school, but without enough room, the boys end up getting preference.  In some places they sit outside under the trees for their class rooms.  

People waved at me along the road--smiling when they saw my face.  There were young boys who waved hello and then crossed their hands across there heart.  There were little girls who ran in doors and then quickly opened them to spy on the parade of vehicles going by.  

In one village, I was asked why I was here in Afghanistan.  I told them that about 40 years ago, I saw some pictures of Afghanistan and always wanted to come here.  That is one reason.  I told them that I fell in love with their history and many aspects of their culture.  That is another reason.  I told my colleagues I was bored.  That is true too.  I also wanted to challenge myself and use some of my background and experience to do something worthwhile.  I am not sure if I will really make a difference in these people's lives.  I hope so, but they have already impacted mine with their sweetness and kindness toward me.  Their smiles, their waves hello, their natural curiosity--

I hope that I assimilate some of this into my life too.

Something Funny

18January2012

I was talking to the atmospheric guys about some good news in the province.  One of the smaller villages came to the interim provincial governor complaining about a neighboring village who comes over and plants ieds in their village.  They said if they want to plant ieds, they can plant them in their own village; and, if the government doesn’t take care of it, they would shoot the criminals on site.  They also said they didn’t want the Germans to be killed because they do not want to kill the Afghans and that they are helping to rebuild the province. 

The American Afghan in atmospherics (who we joke is a Canadian) is helping me meet with two of the areas most important and influential women.  I told him that the Dutch social scientists are interested in meeting them because they would like more women to join the police.  He said it would be easy, just offer a $5,000 signing bonus and there would be more women than men in a very short time!  In fact, fathers would be saying—really she is 18 years old about their 12 year old daughters.  A lot of girls would join as a way to provide for their families and so that they wouldn’t have to be married to some old ogre.  Anyway, it was funny the way he joked about it—sad too.  I was also told about a few local girls who committed suicide nearby because their parents were marrying them off to some horrible old man.  I said I would probably commit suicide too if that happened to me.  Actually, I think if I had the same dad as I do now and lived in this society, he would have tried to sell me off to whomever without regard to my thoughts or feelings.  Probably to some dorky old man---yuck.  I think I would try to run away first of all and then kill myself.

Nearby here, there is a place where two young people were stoned to death.  It was on the news apparently.  The interpreters told me a story about this young couple had fallen in love.  The girls family did not want her to be with this boy.  So, they ran away to Baghram.  Someone found them there and tricked them.  They said if they came home they could get married and everything would be okay.  However, as soon as they got back, they were taken to a pit and stoned to death.  I need to follow-up on the rest of the story, but some of the things here are terrible.  Some are good.  The lesson is that if we allow our society to become poor and ignorant, these are the same things that can happen to us.  No one is really safe. 

I met a civil affairs officer who is working on creating media to reinforce a sense of identity for Afghans and I told him about the Shah Nameh and how many of their heroes are from Afghanistan—their epic hero, Rostam, was born in Zabol.  There are many iconic images they could use to influence society.  He is thinking about creating radio plays and is interested in me possibly being a consultant.  He said Americans are great at myth making and he wished that Afghans were a little better at it.  We will see. 

Experimenting with a Blog

Hi All,
I hope you can get this posting.  Yesterday was an interesting day.  My colleagues and I prepared a design plan that is basically an outline of what we are going to accomplish, why we are going to accomplish it, and gaps in knowledge we have to fill.  We also prioritized research designs that will guide our individual work projects.  As a priority, we identified the Dutch police training mission.  We have been asked to help evaluate the effectiveness of the Dutch police training.  The Dutch embassy is here to work on it with us.  We have met with them and they want us to start shortly.  Getting an effectively trained police force and rule of law system in place in the country is important for long-term stability. 
Just a couple of hours after we had finished our meeting, two social scientists came to visit us from the Dutch camp.  They are both social scientists.  One who will be leaving and his colleague who will be taking his place. They are very interesting. They brought over a well-thought out collaboration plan so that we can complement each others' work.  They also engaged in a very interesting conversation.  One of the social scientists is also a psychotherapist.  It is fascinating how they are able to take a perspective that would probably be laughed out in our system.  He said that they look at society through a Jungian approach--with a feminine and masculine side.  Anima an animus, I believe.  They have done studies on American society--we are very masculine 70% and they are very feminine (14% masculine), they estimate the Afghans to be 90% masculine.  One of the qualifies of a masculine society is short-term gain. This makes sense in war-torn places.  I have seen similar studies on Palestinian children and investment strategies.  They take short-term benefits over long-term strategies because long-term is so tenuous.  There are other qualifies that are different between the masculine and feminine--such as a focus on family and community.  We see how the Dutch (and they mention Norwegians a lot) make time for frequent breaks from here to visit their families, how their social system makes time for parents to earn livings and take time off to raise babies, etc. etc.  Anyway, they were talking about it in terms of outcomes and approaches. 
I had a lovely time talking to them, just listening to something so completely alien, I would never ever hear political or military strategists talk about this.  They also are very keen on working on encouraging women to be part of the police force and how important that is.  They will be mentoring the police chiefs and other leaders on gender issues as well.  I look forward to working and learning from them. 
It is sunny.  Last night was clear and beautiful.  I could see all the stars.  It is pitch black at night and I often worry about walking into others.  I do use my flashlight (mom), but sometimes I forget. 
I am very busy now working on getting these research designs set up.  My Dutch colleagues will be back in a day or two for follow-up and I am going out on my first trip on Thursday.  Hopefully, I can load up some pictures then and send them to you.
Love you all.  Don't forget to email me at assasnik@yahoo.com
Sandra