Coming To Kabul
Greetings from Afghanistan everyone. I'm in Taloqan, which is firmly in the north, and a contested area of the old Northern Alliance in the war against the Taliban. I’m mostly doing office work and trying to pick up the language, Dari, as fast as I can. The staff here has been most accommodating, especially the local guys, who are cheeky and love a good joke. I thought I would give some bits taken from my journal, of my first days in Afghanistan, so you can have a little taste of this place. Enjoy.
Frankfurt airport, January 29
Stood in the Ariana afghan airlines ticket line for a long time, while one woman wrote out each ticket by hand. She wouldn't take US dollars when I finally got to her, so I had to go get euros and stand in line again. She’s writing them by hand because they have a computer problem. The problem is they don't have one. Matthias says at least they have a system, which is more than you can say for most things they do in Afghanistan apparently.
En route to Teheran, January 30
The airplane has a 70s decor, grubby and worn. Mercifully, the seats actually recline, making for a comfortable sleeping position. The crew is all male, except one woman who ghosts around, so it took me awhile to see her badge. The rest are dark, gentle men, soft-spoken with a polite, apologetic manner. The captain - I’m assuming not the ONLY captain – is stretched out along four seats in the centre row behind me, sleeping out this leg of the journey. I thought we were flying straight from Istanbul to Kabul, but it seems that fuel is cheaper in Iran, so they always buzz down to Teheran to top off the tanks. We’ll be stopping there for "one hour" the announcer informs us. This is an afghan euphemism for "as long as it takes." So far, it has taken close to three hours at each of our previous one-hour stops.
Things are different on this flight. For instance, they make a haphazard announcement shortly before landing, asking everybody to un-recline their seats, etc. but nobody comes by to make sure everybody noticed. Nobody until one guy runs around insisting on it as the wheels hit the tarmac. How often has this zealot gone headlong on touchdown, I wonder.
Also, there are dogs on this flight. They have their own seats. Five American guys, look like ex-military, have a few wired German shepherds with them. The dogs are a going concern. One woman came aboard to find her seat taken by a dog. She raised a stink, the crew swarmed, people chattered away, and someone found her another seat. Now it turns out that the dogs need to lie down, and they want to do it in the exit door row. That’s right in front of me, so I get this priceless exchange between the steward and the guy sleeping in the exit row seat.
Steward: pardon, pardon. (Guy wakes up) excuse me, I am solving a problem. (dramatic pause) there are dogs. [I hold my breath at this point, hoping for the sake of pure comedy that this will be his entire explanation] dogs must lie... here. (he indicates the guy's legroom along with this grand finish) will you exchange seats?
Guy: uh. Can you give me two minutes?
Steward: (with a huge, winning smile) I will give you FOUR minutes, two in cash!
As the plane landed in Kabul, everyone jumped up and began to pull down their luggage, despite the half-hearted attempts of the jovial steward to encourage people to "remain on seat!" He shrugged at the few of us still on seat. "Why afghan want always to be five minutes early? They are five centuries behind anyway."
Kabul, January 31
Chris is one of the SFL staff here in Kabul. He’s a kiwi and full of loopy expressions, "g'day cowboy!, 'ow are yer, cop? oi, sunshine! etc." he's friendly and full of beans. He took me to a moneychanger to get some Afghanis. The guys are in a little shack and they punch out the exchange rate on a hand held calculator, then hand you stacks of bills in the smallest denominations possible. You’re supposed to count them. You’re also supposed to lose count of them and not notice that you're 10 bills short. Good trick except Chris noticed and reached across the desk, counted out some bigger bills and turned to leave with a cheery "tashakor!"
"They give you those small bills to muddle you up?" I ask as we walk away.
"Yeah, it's too bad really. Desperate times call for desperate measures, but those guys aren't desperate. They’re just crooks."
Little boys come up to you on the street selling VCD movies, maps, shoeshine, etc. Sometimes they look mournful and ask for "baksheesh," a gift. But one little dude didn't seem to be asking for anything. He just grabbed my arm and winked and chattered. Later he saw me in a shop and dashed in "HELLO! HOW ARE YOU? FINE THANK YOU! SEE YOU LATER!" and dashed out again.
Yesterday I made my first purchase in Afghanistan. I’m quite pleased because it wasn't even on Chicken Street where all the vendors speak English. I bought two bottles of Fax shampoo, all natural, imported from Pakistan. It cost 90 Afghanis, about $1.80. The shop owner served me tea while he dusted off the bottles and put them in a bag for me.
Kabul, February 3
Now, in early evening, as the sun goes down behind the hills, there are kites flying above the ridge. Four of them, in bright colors, catching the updrafts of dusk. The name for kite in Persian is "kaghaz-paran" – flying paper. The kite flyers themselves are silhouettes against the pale sky, running along the ridge. The buildings around here are filled with bullet holes and the streets piled with refuse and cratered from shelling, but trees still grow outside this window, birds still sit in them and sing, and children still climb the hill at sunset to fly their kites over the city. Kites in Afghanistan. Kind of gives you hope.
Thank you all for keeping me in your thoughts, and remembering me on your knees. Keep in mind especially our staff relations here, as the work is busy and we have some clashing personalities. We need the highest form of peace and mercy for all.
I’m doing very well with the language, for being here only one week, but I still need all the help I can get. Your support in all ways is invaluable. Tashakor! (Thank you).
rjs
Frankfurt airport, January 29
Stood in the Ariana afghan airlines ticket line for a long time, while one woman wrote out each ticket by hand. She wouldn't take US dollars when I finally got to her, so I had to go get euros and stand in line again. She’s writing them by hand because they have a computer problem. The problem is they don't have one. Matthias says at least they have a system, which is more than you can say for most things they do in Afghanistan apparently.
En route to Teheran, January 30
The airplane has a 70s decor, grubby and worn. Mercifully, the seats actually recline, making for a comfortable sleeping position. The crew is all male, except one woman who ghosts around, so it took me awhile to see her badge. The rest are dark, gentle men, soft-spoken with a polite, apologetic manner. The captain - I’m assuming not the ONLY captain – is stretched out along four seats in the centre row behind me, sleeping out this leg of the journey. I thought we were flying straight from Istanbul to Kabul, but it seems that fuel is cheaper in Iran, so they always buzz down to Teheran to top off the tanks. We’ll be stopping there for "one hour" the announcer informs us. This is an afghan euphemism for "as long as it takes." So far, it has taken close to three hours at each of our previous one-hour stops.
Things are different on this flight. For instance, they make a haphazard announcement shortly before landing, asking everybody to un-recline their seats, etc. but nobody comes by to make sure everybody noticed. Nobody until one guy runs around insisting on it as the wheels hit the tarmac. How often has this zealot gone headlong on touchdown, I wonder.
Also, there are dogs on this flight. They have their own seats. Five American guys, look like ex-military, have a few wired German shepherds with them. The dogs are a going concern. One woman came aboard to find her seat taken by a dog. She raised a stink, the crew swarmed, people chattered away, and someone found her another seat. Now it turns out that the dogs need to lie down, and they want to do it in the exit door row. That’s right in front of me, so I get this priceless exchange between the steward and the guy sleeping in the exit row seat.
Steward: pardon, pardon. (Guy wakes up) excuse me, I am solving a problem. (dramatic pause) there are dogs. [I hold my breath at this point, hoping for the sake of pure comedy that this will be his entire explanation] dogs must lie... here. (he indicates the guy's legroom along with this grand finish) will you exchange seats?
Guy: uh. Can you give me two minutes?
Steward: (with a huge, winning smile) I will give you FOUR minutes, two in cash!
As the plane landed in Kabul, everyone jumped up and began to pull down their luggage, despite the half-hearted attempts of the jovial steward to encourage people to "remain on seat!" He shrugged at the few of us still on seat. "Why afghan want always to be five minutes early? They are five centuries behind anyway."
Kabul, January 31
Chris is one of the SFL staff here in Kabul. He’s a kiwi and full of loopy expressions, "g'day cowboy!, 'ow are yer, cop? oi, sunshine! etc." he's friendly and full of beans. He took me to a moneychanger to get some Afghanis. The guys are in a little shack and they punch out the exchange rate on a hand held calculator, then hand you stacks of bills in the smallest denominations possible. You’re supposed to count them. You’re also supposed to lose count of them and not notice that you're 10 bills short. Good trick except Chris noticed and reached across the desk, counted out some bigger bills and turned to leave with a cheery "tashakor!"
"They give you those small bills to muddle you up?" I ask as we walk away.
"Yeah, it's too bad really. Desperate times call for desperate measures, but those guys aren't desperate. They’re just crooks."
Little boys come up to you on the street selling VCD movies, maps, shoeshine, etc. Sometimes they look mournful and ask for "baksheesh," a gift. But one little dude didn't seem to be asking for anything. He just grabbed my arm and winked and chattered. Later he saw me in a shop and dashed in "HELLO! HOW ARE YOU? FINE THANK YOU! SEE YOU LATER!" and dashed out again.
Yesterday I made my first purchase in Afghanistan. I’m quite pleased because it wasn't even on Chicken Street where all the vendors speak English. I bought two bottles of Fax shampoo, all natural, imported from Pakistan. It cost 90 Afghanis, about $1.80. The shop owner served me tea while he dusted off the bottles and put them in a bag for me.
Kabul, February 3
Now, in early evening, as the sun goes down behind the hills, there are kites flying above the ridge. Four of them, in bright colors, catching the updrafts of dusk. The name for kite in Persian is "kaghaz-paran" – flying paper. The kite flyers themselves are silhouettes against the pale sky, running along the ridge. The buildings around here are filled with bullet holes and the streets piled with refuse and cratered from shelling, but trees still grow outside this window, birds still sit in them and sing, and children still climb the hill at sunset to fly their kites over the city. Kites in Afghanistan. Kind of gives you hope.
Thank you all for keeping me in your thoughts, and remembering me on your knees. Keep in mind especially our staff relations here, as the work is busy and we have some clashing personalities. We need the highest form of peace and mercy for all.
I’m doing very well with the language, for being here only one week, but I still need all the help I can get. Your support in all ways is invaluable. Tashakor! (Thank you).
rjs
posted by rjs | 3:54 PM
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