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| In Kandahar, a huge city of multinationals, traffic, and stench. |
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| Beautiful Dinner with my Afghan Colleagues |
I am coming home for a quick vacation. I have a lot to write. I left this morning at 7:30 from Kunduz to Masar-e Sharif to Kabul to Kandahar where I am now. I miss my little Kunduz. Someone said it is Mayberry. In many ways it is. I have a new friend, Majeed. He is 23-years old, a Qizilbash, Turkman. He is about my height, slender with big almond eyes. I met him one day when I was in the German Interpreters' Office. He was sitting in the hallway and I greeted him and two other young men in my usual fashion. A few days later, he saw me and came up and greeted me. I was surprised by his confidence, command of the language, and happy energy. I gave him my card and he sent me several texts telling me he was going home to visit his family for a short vacation. He texted me as to what kind of present he could bring me back. I just ignored the texts because I didn't want him to bring me anything. A week or two passed and I saw him and invited him to the office. He pulled a package out from under his shirt and it was a beautiful crystal necklace and earrings.
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| Looking for Portland Oregon!--Kandahar |
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| Goodbyes to our German Friend in Kunduz |
In the meantime, we have had some challenges with work. There were setbacks about going out, both internal with territorial issues and outside with increased threats. An American attache wanted us to help him with a project, but he could never really articulate what he wanted and his ideas kept changing. In the meantime, the clock was ticking about when he wanted us to go out. We expressed limitations on some of the grandiose ideas he had, after all there were only three of us in our office, Matt was on R&R and we couldn't survey all of the province without transportation, security, interpreters, and so on. So as we tried explaining the limitations on some of his ideas, he blew up at us and told us thanks for punching holes in all of his ideas and stormed out of our office. The same thing happened to Robbert, the Dutch social scientist. But instead of being professionally objective, he told me I was buggering him in the brain and put his hands around my neck gesturing he was choking me--so much for self-analysis. The following week, we followed up with him. He was a little more calm and less frustrated, not with us so much but the situation that this work presents--a lot of obstacles. This time as we were chatting, he began to explain to me all the cultural competency training he did for the military using Aikido philosophy. I waited for him to finish and I began to tell him my approach that I have used to train medical professionals when dealing with cross cultural differences. He immediately told me that my approach was academic and invalid, but I didn't even get to tell him anything about my approach, how it was similar or different. I stopped him and said, "You know what Robbert, you are rude. You told me that my approach is academic and invalid and I didn't even get to explain it." That suddenly woke up my two other teammates from the discussion. Robbert told me to go ahead and explain, but I told him no. He said that I should be more understanding since English isn't his native language. But honestly, that was a lame excuse. I said that was a good reminder, and apologized. He left to go smoke one of his cigars. I am sure I was short because I was hormonal. I think I also missed the nice times I had with Robbert and disliked the way he treated me because of my gender. A few days earlier I was invited to watch a movie with him and two other of the Dutch Rule of Law/Police mentors and trainers. During the break, I scuttled down the hall to the bathroom. He asked me why I was walking that way. I told him sometimes, I just like to walk fast. It was fast and playful--no big deal. He told me I shouldn't walk like that that I should walk with my pelvis tucked under, blah blah blah. If I was a man, I don't think he would have been so critical. I also felt left out of celebratory cigar smoking. Even if I wasn't going to smoke one, he could have offered after the presentation of the findings of our trainer interviews. He offered everyone one except me and to smoke later on with the men. Somehow I felt jilted. So much for his inclusiveness and feminist proclamations. A gesture of appreciation would have been nice.
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| No that is not a handbag--qualifying for German weapons. |
Anosha left to go visit friends and family in Germany. I got up and made sure she was awake and wouldn't miss her flight. I miss her spunkiness. We had coffee together and I waved goodbye until we meet again. I will miss her when she goes home for good. She has such maturity and depth. She is also spunky, rough and tough as if she has wrestled with her older brothers for decades and is the base chess champ. She speaks seven or sol languages fluently and is a full lawyer. I don't know how her parents raised such a magnificent child given the fact that they had to flee and deal with imprisonment and exile. Afghans show enormous resiliency. Whenever I feel like I might be making a reach in one of my conclusions about Afghans, women, Islam, or even other men and men, I use her as a reality check in. A day or two after Anoosha left, I left to go to Masar-e Sharif and attend the Women's Shura on behalf of the PRT. The team leader there picked me up and took me to the transient tent. She was nice to me but quick to condemn everything I was wearing. I wanted to be somewhat appropriate with what the Afghan women might be wearing. I noticed that when they attended the meetings, they wore make-up and even the police wore cute little black pumps. The day before my daughter sent me my woven leather sandals which cover the front of my feet. I carried a small purse, just large enough to contain my ID, a tube of lipstick, telephone, business cards, and tampon. I was wearing a cotton jacket with jeans and shirt. So, this is what I heard: those shoes are terrible (I knew--my feet were killing me from walking around on large rough gravel); my purse could be used by someone to strangle me and I should use a lanyard around my neck instead (okay, I would rather be strangled by an 1-1/2 inch strap than a nylon lanyard which would rip into my neck); I should wear jackets with more pockets (okay good advice). Later when she was cross examining me and the other social scientist as to what we were talking about, the other social scientists told her we talked about "boys". Apparently, she didn't have a sense of humor and made a crass remark of some sort, so the other social scientist said, "Yes, we talked about Sandra's son. Did you know she has a son who is 28-years old?" The the team leader said, "Well, she is no spring chicken you know. Anyone can look like that if they get a face lift and use make-up." I thought it was the greatest complement ever. Of course I am no spring chicken and that is why I use make-up, but the fact that she thought I had a face-lift made my day. I guess I can hold off of doing anything for a few more years. I managed to go to the bazaar though and I talked to some of the vendors there and bought some jewelry. I met one really nice young Afghan who looked at all my jewelry and told me what I should have paid. He gave me such good prices that I didn't even need to negotiate. I gave him a $10 tip, and he refused to take it. I made him take it anyway and he told me he would use it go to give to the poor. What a sweet young man. He was married and had two children. He supported himself and his family on roughly $200 a month. If I ever go back there, I will definitely go back and visit him.
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| The Police and two friends from the Kunduz Female Engagement Team in Masar-e Sharif |
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| At the Female Shura with two Afghan National Police in Masar-e Sharif |
Then there was the female shura. It was very interesting. The first female general in Afghan was there. I would say she was in her late 30's. She had thick black eyeliner on that accentuated her almond upward slanted eyes. She was a beautiful women with a huge presence. I can't imagine what she had to go through to get where she is. As I understand it, she is demeaned somewhat. Whereas, all the other male generals have nice offices, great resources and assistants, she is given little in terms of resources. I loved the way she met and greeted the female Afghan police and military personnel who were there. Kisses and warm hugs. The shura began and the first part covered the female's role in the Reintegration Program. This is a program where Taliban members can turn themselves and rifles in and get some support in terms of employment and other resources to turn their lives around. But it isn't easy, and it requires mothers, sisters, and wives to encourage men to do this. The women who came from the different Provinces in the North Command gave suggestions and ideas to support and communicate this program. The second half was used to present ideas to help local women. It was interesting, there were a couple of provinces that were not represented and then the province Balkh had two sets of women present ideas. This wouldn't have been so bad if each province was to just present one idea for support. Then the women argued and it turned into a cat fight. Regional General had the ladies go out and decide which project would be the final proposal. There has to be a learning process, so it is good that things like this happen. Women need the opportunity here to make mistakes. It has been 30-years since they have really had an opportunity to be leaders.
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| Ladies Lunch at the Shura in Masar-e Sharif |
At lunch, I sat with several of the female Afghan National Police. I asked them if they were ever harassed or given problems because of their work. They told me that it was not a problem. It seems they just shrugged it off. These women liked their work, had collegiality with each other, and didn't let things bother them. When it was time to leave, none of the female security spoke Dari and they needed help to keep the women from going to where they shouldn't and to get help to get on the transport bus. I helped the young security woman there. She was so sweet. Chubby, short military haircut, and big pretty green blue eyes. She remembered me and shook my hand a week later at an airport when I was on my way out. I had dinner with the other social scientist and my plane trip was cancelled so I had to spend another night. I told someone I couldn't wait to get back home. And he asked me where is that in the states? I said, no--I mean Kunduz. I realize how lucky I am to work with the individuals I do.
