Afghanistan. I never thought I'd be here, but here I am. After one week on the ground, I feel like I've been drinking from a fire hose culturally, linguistically, work-wise, etc. Overall, I'm really enjoying the newness and radical changes, but there have already been some stressful and challenging events.
There were twin bombs in Kabul and Mazar on Tuesday, which was the Shia holiday of Ashura.* Although it was inter-religious conflict, and had nothing to do with Westerners, it was sobering. Perhaps most eye-opening was the way my mind played out the scenario for Afghans. At the end of three months, I get to go "home" to hot showers, continuous electricity, and a decent legal system. Others will live here regardless of the situation, going about their daily routines. I don't by any means place myself or my culture over theirs because all cultures are misinformed and somewhat broken, but I can't help but ponder the depths and layers of hardness created by the environment alone, much less the numerous invasions and conflict here.
*Ashura (meaning: "10th" in Arabic) is a Shia holiday of penance and mourning for Hussein and Hassan, the sons of Ali and grandsons of Muhammad. Hussein ibn Ali died at the Battle of Karbala in 680 AD.
The second event was getting crunched between an SUV and a Semi on the way to the mill yesterday. Luckily, nobody was injured apart from some whiplash. This shook me up quite a bit, and put me on edge most of the day. Mainly, it made me miss traffic laws and the enforcement thereof.
In spite of all of the above, I've observed and experienced hospitality and friendship in the midst of everything else, and see a beautiful and rich cultural history. Beyond that, Afghans do not feel sorry for themselves. They are very proud of their traditions. They are people, they eat and drink, worry about taking care of their families, enjoy poetry, and work hard.
Here's an excerpt from this week's journal:
"The food is very Central Asian (from my feeble amount of knowledge on the region): rice and meat soaked in grease and salt. Its cold here. Everywhere. We use wood-burning stoves to keep warm in the main common areas. Our guest house is like most here, mud and concrete with a blue steel gate on the street and a flat roof. Our room is cozy. We have a gas heater, large blankets on the bed, and a carved table next to the bed. The mattress and sheets are actually quite comfortable compared to many places I've stayed in Asia and Africa. We have a small cupboard, several wall-hangings, and blue curtains with a pattern of faint golden circles. Nights are filled with barking dogs, the occasional car horn, and a five a.m. wake-up call from the mosque. Showers are hot, but usually have to be from a bucket because the shower head only provides a small trickle, and once again, it's cold getting in and out."
Pictures to come soon.
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