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.
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