Dinglish-Colin's Journal

5/11/07
Dinglish
I’m sitting back in Kabul now and it’s oh so comfortable. We made the trip back down from Bamian yesterday. Everything went smoothly, except for 3 flat tires and not too much to mention about the journey. I drove for the first 5 hours, which was exhausting on such a terrible road. We all wished we could have flown. After a week together it was hard for us not to get a little annoyed with each other during the long, hard drive. But we made it, relationships in tact.
It really was a good crew to have taken up there for this trip. Everyone was easy to get along with and they all knew at least a little English (except Faisal) so I could communicate with them. The PARSA staff have perfected what we call Dinglish, a blend of Dari and English that sounds funny but gets the point across. For example; “Marniejan gap we go bazaar, get buz wa pepsi” translates to “ marnie says we should go to the market together and get goat and pepsi”. Asef is the master of this and we would have conversations for hours in this manner. I really like him, although he has earned the title of “mister problem/ problem-solve” as he seems to create as many problems as he solves. He is always happy and takes our teasing well. We’ve determined that Dinglish is a great way to learn dari, or English for that matter, as it gives you words in both contexts. Its especially good for those of us that don’t like to sit down to learn languages in a class room, though in the end real study is needed to not sound like a moron.
Before we left Bamian, at 6:00 am the ladies that were to start making rugs for us showed up for final negotiations. I was busy getting things squared away to leave, but apparently it didn’t go well, as the negotiations lasted only 5 minutes. Mom and Yasin came out of the meeting quite frustrated. Mom knew things wouldn’t go well when the entered the compound complaining. Now it was “the wool is poor quality, and we don’t have wood for the frames of the looms”, which is the sign that you’re in for some stiff negotiating. The ladies had told them that they wanted a payment of $40 per kilo of rug. This is outrageous and far far above market value, especially given we were going to provide the materials to them. She pointed to a high quality rug we had that probably weighs 5 to 7 kilos and was bought at the fair price of $40, without having to pay for the materials. They didn’t believe her, but I watched her buy the rug myself and it’s true.
When I heard this I was in disbelief. These people up here are not looking at what we’re trying to create, a market for their work. They are not understanding that they need to give fair prices for their work and in exchange will have consistent income, far exceeding what they bring in now which is next to nothing. All they see is that they have a Khereji (foreigner) with a large pocket book (false) and they want to get what they can out of it and run. This is not the first time we found this in our attempts to develop this “micro-industry” and in discussing it we really think it comes out of a couple of things.
For one, most of these people are illiterate and really have no understanding of math, especially the women. We could probably offer them a base wage of $100 a month for full time work and they would take it, yet we are not trying to set up a sweatshop. Mom and Yasin are just trying to facilitate the market to get more people access to cash, especially women. Secondly, they are trying to get as much as they can out of a single transaction; this I believe is due to the war-time mentality that has developed in this country over the past 25 years. You need to get as much as you can, when you can because the opportunity might not be there tomorrow. They can’t think in the long term, and probably don’t trust the development that my mom and Yasin are trying to construct. It’s hard not to be frustrated with both their ignorance and mentality; you have to think of what they have been through and their lack of education. Mom and Yasin realize now that it will not be quite as easy to set this system up as they had hoped. Provide people with materials and give them a fair price for their work to stimulate the local market and bring cash into the community. Simple right? Not at all; as typical of any program development in this country, or the third world in general. They will have to think out their strategy and find the right people to develop it with. I believe they have the right idea and are going in the right direction, but its an experiment and needs to be toyed with to find a working solution.
Today has been spent catching up on my journal and resting before our next trip into the provinces for my mother’s survey work. We’ll be going to Pansher, an area to the east of Kabul in the mountains, which should be beautiful. We’ll be staying only a couple of nights and then returning. Tomorrow I’ll go over to the Marastoon compound where PARSA is located to check on the progress of my soccer field for the orphans and plan out the construction of the goals. Kabul seems so easy and even a little boring after our time in Bamian, but its good to get some rest before we leave on Sunday.

A village-Colin's Journal

5/9/07
Today was one of the best days I’ve spent here so far certainly a highlight of the trip. It started with our visit to the giant Buddha’s that we’ve looked at from a distance the past week, but haven’t had the chance to explore. We hired a “guide” that said he was an archeological student from Kabul, however whenever I asked him about the history of the area he either knew none of the details, or couldn’t voice them in English. He mainly kept us from wandering into areas that were potentially still mined.
These Buddha statues were carved out of the face of a cliff in the 2nd and 3rd century AD, considered the most impressive depiction of the Buddha and until the Taliban destroyed them could probably be considered one of the great wonders of the world. Amongst them are literally hundreds of caves that the people who inhabited the valley of Bamian, the Kushans, lived in. This was a defense against raiders such as Ghengis Khan’s grandson who razed the valley in the 12th century AD. As Buddhism spread westward along the Silk Road, Bamian became a center for the study of Mahayana Buddhism, with hundreds of monks living in and around the statues. As we climbed the tunnels up above the Buddha’s, our guide explained the existence of slots with views of the Buddha. Apparently monks would come and pray, sleeping in these slots, allowing people to walk over the top of them, remaining undisturbed in their meditations.
When the Taliban arrived in the valley they saw the Buddha’s as false idols and sent the Hazara people up with dynamite to destroy them. There are still lots of chunks that some people want to try and use to reconstruct the Buddha’s. Though I consider the destruction of the Buddha’s a terrible tragedy for the world, it is a good example of how horrible extremism in religion can be. Why would people be so insecure in their own ideas that they have to destroy such beautiful icons of another system of beliefs? Maybe they should remain in destruction, as a reminder of what the Taliban was all about. When they destroyed the Buddha’s they got the attention of the world and it was really the start of the Taliban being viewed in a negative light. The Buddha’s have now been declared a UNESCO World Heritage site and have the protection of the international community, for whatever that’s worth.
After seeing the Buddha’s we went back to the compound and left Same and Asef to work on getting it ready for our departure the next day. They wouldn’t have been nearly as excited to do what we were setting about next. We took Rahim our landlord and went up into a high mountain valley above Bamian. We drove the car as far as we could on the bad dirt road and then got out and walked. We were bringing a sun oven, donated by Caroline Firestone, of the Firestone Tires fortune to a widow with four children that my mom had met on a previous visit a few months previous. She had promised she would return in the spring with a development program and aid, she was keeping her promise which is something I think these people are not used to. Too often internationals show up making big promises and then don’t follow through.
This is a very beautiful mountain village that reminds me of pictures I’ve seen of Nepal or Tibet. These people truly live the same as they have for thousands of years. We stopped at the first main dwelling and were welcomed by a man and his family. Invited to chai, we sat down and were served tea, nan and maste (a creamy yogurt-like product that I couldn’t eat for fear of dysentery). Mom saw a “nemad” (rug) that the man had made and asked if he could make more. This was another opportunity to try some “micro-industry” development in a small village that needs access to cash. As before, when negotiating the price we could buy the final item at the man came up with an astronomical amount that we could never come close to paying. We couldn’t sell it for even 1/4th of what he was wanting. As on previous days we were a bit perplexed at this, I don’t think they understand that if they develop their own village industry they will make far more money in the long run, but we can’t do this at the prices they are quoting us. We stopped the negotiations there, leaving it for another time, as the main point of our visit was to develop good relations with the village, helping this poor woman. Yasin and mom also talked with the man about the need for a small portion of land for use in building a school building and small widows garden; to teach English as well as how to grow something other than potatoes and wheat. At first he said that it wouldn’t be possible to find land unless purchased. Yasin told the man that they are an organization that is trying to help his village, not turn a profit. That the problems the village faces are theirs to solve not ours. We want to help facilitate the development of the village literacy and well-being but are not going to do it without the full support of the people there. My mom has always, even before coming to Afghanistan, tried to instill self-sufficiency in the people she works with such as the women on welfare that was her previous focus. She is not interested in just handing out aid, as it does nothing in the long run but enable a begging mentality. Her programs are about empowering people to change their own circumstances, which is much more effective to their well-being over the long-term.
This man offered to help us transport the sun-oven the rest of the way up the valley to the widow’s house. This took about half an hour and was a decent climb. The widow lives in a little mud dwelling that is pretty much a hovel with no compound walls. The inside is dark and damp with no furniture and really nothing other than a few blankets spread on the mud-made floor. As word of our arrival spread we had quite the little crowd of villagers, aside from the widow and her daughters. Yasin went to work explaining why we were there, as my mom had made a promise and was keeping her commitment to her and the village. He then went about explaining how to use the sun oven. As I ran around taking pictures of the scene it looked pretty funny. These villagers spend almost their whole life in this tiny little village. We must have seemed like aliens descending on them with two kherejis (mom and I) and this sun oven that looks like something from outer space.
After the demonstration my mom told the widow that it was her responsibility to the village, to use the oven and find how many different ways it could be used to cook. If she was successful then more ovens would be brought for more families. At this the widow looked so upset, she could feel the pressure and was nervous she would fail. It was kind of touching really. After the fact I asked my mom whether she had put too much pressure on the poor woman. She said that pressure was what she wanted the woman to feel. Otherwise the woman may not really try to learn how to use it. It will also be empowering for her to become successful and play her part in helping out her village. Mom will bring more aid regardless, but the pressure on these people is key. It’s not just a handout but a responsibility. These people must be active in the process of improving their lives.
In the middle of the demonstration a man that was the elected village headman showed up, watching everything with great interest. Though we had passed by his rich dwelling on the way up, we had purposely avoided the invitation for chai by his wives, as it would have sidetracked us for at least another hour. He’s not the one that needs any help, as he owns most of the land in the village; yet we knew we would need to deal with him at some point for the future of the development program. We left the widow and her daughters, giving them some money as well, which is probably what they were more immediately interested in, promising to return in one month. I’m sure they believe my mom this time.
The headman and a few others escorted us back down the hill. When we arrived at his compound we talked with him about the need of finding a small plot of land, which a school could be built on, as well as a bit more for a widow’s garden. The school is needed in the village because as of now only the boys are allowed to go down the mountain for class, the girls needed back home to get the household chores and farming needs taken care of. With a school in the village the girls can attend half a day and do their work the other half. The garden will be used to reintroduce a subsistence level of farming. Right now they grow only cash crops, primarily potatoes and wheat along with their fruit orchards. They don’t get the nutrients they need because the cost of them in the bazaar is prohibitive.
When we reached the headman’s compound we discussed the need for a small plot of land for a school and garden. He stated that he should receive a salary for his time in searching out this land. This was a ridiculous request as he owns most of the land and knows where he could put the school and garden. Yasin laid into the man. He told him that the man was the elected leader of his people and it was his responsibility to take care of them, not ours. Another man could replace him, especially if it was found out that he failed to help an aid program enter the village. Yasin smoothed things over a little by saying that when they returned they would bring an oven for the headman’s family as well as others in need. I think the man got the picture, yet mom says that this was just the opening volley in the negotiations, so we’ll see.
As we left the man’s house and the whole conversation was related to us, we told Yasin how proud we were of him. He said exactly what mom would have told the man and didn’t even need to consult her. He has learned my mom’s way of doing things and the two of them are an awesome team. He is so important, as it is crucial these days in Afghanistan to have a man as the lead negotiator in certain circumstances. If he is seen just as a translator for my mom, things go differently. Most of these rural people don’t really know what to do with my mother, as her strength and personality as a woman are so alien to them. At first they think they can railroad her as any other woman, or just don’t take her position seriously it’s so foreign to them. Yasin continues to be impressive and is gaining strength and confidence under my mother’s leadership.
On the walk down to the car we were all happy with how things went, discussing all that had occurred. One last little thing that made the day even more special was the arrival of a little “sag-e-chopan” (sheep herding) puppy. Yasin had been looking for one to take home they whole trip. This is a very special breed of dog that exists in the highlands of Afghanistan. These are huge dogs that traditionally are used for sheep herding, yet often these days get turned into fighting dogs for sport. They are very intelligent and have an interesting look to them, as their ears are cropped as a defensive measure in fighting with, traditionally wolves and more recently other dogs. Yasin bought the puppy off of a little boy for 500 afs ($10), making both of them extremely happy. When the transaction was finished mom told the puppy, “ You just won the lottery” which is a saying they use when they rescue street dogs and cats from abusive homes or the street. The dog will have a much easier, happier life with Yasin. He was so excited about his new puppy, though his wives probably won’t be. I came up with her name on the way home. Zorine, which means “golden” after the name of the place we got her; “village of the golden oat”. When we got back to the compound we fed her a huge meal, as she was so skinny. This cemented the relationship and she was instantly ecstatic to be with us, running circles around the compound and playing with everyone’s feet.
It was a wonderful day. I had so much fun taking pictures and it was incredibly rewarding. New ideas about what I should be doing with my life have been circling through my head, especially after this experience. But I’ll formulate them further before sharing them. Tomorrow we leave Bamian and go back to Kabul, none of us are looking forward to the drive back down the terrible road, but we’ll all be happy to take a shower an enjoy a little bit of comfort, such as electricity and soft beds after a long, yet successful week in the mountains.

Shari Zohawk-Colin's Journal

5/5/07
In The Heart of Afghanistan

Today we set the painters up with enough work for the day and went out to explore. We drove 45 minutes to an ancient and abandoned fortress built in the 6th century AD by the Shansabani kings. This is an abandoned refuge from invaders. It is located on an isolated outcropping of rock, maybe 800 feet above the river valley of Bamian. The people built these dwellings high above where they farmed, as a defensive measure from raiding barbarians such as the Mongol hoards of Genghis Khan’s grandson in the 12th century. There were a couple such fortresses in this high valley that was once home to hundreds of thousands of people. When the Mongols invaded in the 12th century they laid siege to Sharizahak (the red city) and also a nearby fortress aptly named the “city of screams”. The people here were decimated by the Mongols, but eventually incorporated them into their bloodlines, which can still be seen in their facial features.
When we arrived at the turn off from the main road we were stopped by a “poopy little man” as my mom called the short soldier. He said that if we wanted to see the ruins we had to purchase a ticket (45 minutes) back in Bamian. We were slightly put off to say the least at there was no sign indicating this anywhere, nor was this the case just two months earlier when my mom had been to the ruins. Yasin started to drive down the road anyways and the soldier went and grabbed his gun aggressively. We stopped and he reiterated his demand that we return to Bamian and purchase tickets. Yasin stepped out of the car to talk to the man. As it appeared he was getting nowhere, my mom got out of the car and walked stridently up to the man, whom she towered over. She expressed her anger and then called for Norm to come out and “beetle” his eyebrows at the man angrily, as he is the big Khereji (foreigner) man. Slowly our group gathered momentum with the man as all of us seven of us, Faisel included, got out of the van and surrounded the man. I couldn’t say anything but I took off my sunglasses and did my best to “beetle” my eyebrows angrily, (though I wasn’t quite sure what that was supposed to look like) and generally huff about. My mom had Yasin translate for her. She said that this was a ridiculous thing not to sell tickets at the location and if she had to go back to Bamian she was going directly to the governors office. She said she was an acquaintance of the governor and demanded to know the soldiers name and his commandant’s name. I could see the little soldier’s resistance start to crumble and he went inside a building, bringing out a quiet looking, younger soldier. It was finally agreed that we would pay the young soldier 500 afs. ($10) to be our guide up to the ruins. We had not problem with this, paid the man and he jumped in our van with us, with his machine gun.
This was a good example of a couple of things that happen constantly in Afghanistan. As I mentioned in an earlier entry there are “25 million kings” in this country. Anyone in any position of power typically tries to enforce whatever rules he sees fit to, when he wants to. It’s a fairly arbitrary decision and often has no basis in the reality of the situation. Yes, someone probably did make the poor decision to sell tickets to the ruins in Bamian. However, it was obviously not that big of a deal given the soldier relented in the end. If he truly did have orders not to allow anyone access without a ticket, then he should have stood by these orders and prevented our entry without fear of losing his job. As it was, we did what is needed so often in this country to get anything done. We made a big scene, dropped phony names, threatened the man’s job and made a general nuisance of ourselves. It was kind of fun, though I would not have been the first one to start bitching out a man with a gun. My mom has gotten used to this and is unafraid of “poopy little men” with machine guns.
So we went on our way and parked the van for the walk up the ruins, which were amazing. These dwellings are perched high on the sides of the mountain and cliffs, constructed of mud that was also molded into designs. I tried to imagine what they looked like when first built and what it would have been like to live high up above the valley with thousands of other people. The defensive nature of the choice to build up there was immediately apparent. Walking up the path was difficult enough, let alone trying to take the city while being defended by its inhabitants. We had to stay on the path and I was introduced to the white and red rocks that are found all over Afghanistan. These were painted to indicate the presence or lack of mines left over from the various wars that Afghanis have been subject to for the past 25 years. I really wanted to hop around the rocks and explore the ruins further, but the young soldier with us got very distressed whenever I crossed over a red rock, so I stopped doing this and stayed on the path. I probably would have been fine, but I guess it’s not worth the chance.
This outcropping, I don’t really call it a mountain because it is set apart all alone and less than a thousand feet above the valley floor, was used by Mujahadeen against the Russians, as well as the Taliban against the Hazara of Bamian. It is the perfect place to use as a defense against invasion from the east. There were old dug out spots that held large howitzers and anti-aircraft guns. Empty ammunition cans and caves dug into the hillside with evidence of soldiers having lived in them. At the very top we came on a large gun that was either broken, or too much hassle to try and bring back down the treacherous trail; a helicopter probably brought it up in the first place.
As we stood at the top, next to this gun I was struck by the understanding of why it has historically been so difficult for invading armies to take Afghanistan. The mountains are a great equalizer; they don’t allow large armies to utilize most of their complex machinery of war. Tanks get bogged down in valleys where they get bottlenecked in passes and can be taken out by a handful of men sitting on the hillsides above with rockets. The Russians lost so many solders in their 9-year attempt to take Afghanistan and many attribute this as one of the main reasons the Soviet Empire fell. The people of Afghanistan are historically a very warlike society of different tribes, none of which will stay subject to another’s will, especially that of imperialist non-believers. Given America now has soldiers here in Afghanistan, I worry that our government will make the mistakes that the Soviet Union made. I actually think that in some ways it’s a good thing that we moved on to Iraq so quickly. In most areas of Afghanistan there is not much of an American military presence, it’s my impression that the majority of Afghans sees us less as an occupying army and more of a stabilizing force. Afghans seem to fear other Afghans as much or more than they do us. The years between the fall of the Russian supported communist regime and the takeover by the Taliban were the worst for most Afghans, as it was a time of warlords vying for control, with at one point three separate armies fighting over Kabul. There is a reason why the Taliban were embraced by most when they first won. People wanted stability, though the form of stability that ensued was realized eventually by most to be absolutely undesirable.
We eventually finished playing tourist and descended back down to the valley floor. We gave the young soldier that was our “guide” another 250 afs., as he was actually pretty nice and didn’t rush us even though we took endless numbers of pictures. I could tell he was pretty amused by us. He made $15 more that day because we showed up and I hope this makes it a little easier for the next people who want to go see the ruins. When we got back to the “poopy little man” we gave Same some bakshish to give him, our attempt at smoothing things over with the locals. He slipped it into the soldier’s hand subtly and we could see he was a little surprised at the tip. He opened the gate and let us back towards Bamian.
We returned to our compound and our painters hard at work, though truly doing a terrible job by American standards. It’s interesting to see Afghans at work. They make great farmers but are truly unskilled at anything remotely technical like plumbing, electricity or painting. The average American knows more about these things than most people here that claim to be specialists. I was talking to mom and Norm and we decided that for one reason, most Afghans don’t even have these items in their home. Secondly, in America the cost of labor is so expensive that we learn to be independent and do things ourselves. We learn to paint our own homes, work on our own cars, and do our own basic carpentry. Here in Afghanistan you can always hire other people, a base wage is usually around four to five dollars a day, with specialists not usually earning much more than 6 dollars a day. Everyone with any money has a houseful of servants to do what is needed. On the surface this seems great, though Afghans make terrible servants. But I’m glad that I grew up learning to do household basics on my own. I can cook better than most, I’ve done roofing, painting, plumbing, electricity, drywall, and wall-to-wall carpet, have a good basic knowledge of cars and lots of landscaping. I think we often surprise the Afghans by the breadth of knowledge Americans have on these subjects. They seem to think that because we are rich Kherejis we are soft and incapable like their own elite. Its kind of fun to know how to do all these things yourself, although great when you can afford not to. In a country like this, if you want to have things done well by our own western standards, it is crucial to be able to direct your workers with efficiency. It is rare to find anyone that really knows what they are doing. People need work so desperately that they will call themselves a specialist at anything to get a job. Its important to not get too frustrated at this, we have pretty high standards for work as Americans. Find a good hard worker and teach him how you want it to be done. But be ready to repeat yourself because they so often just do what they want anyways. They are Afghans; a historically proud independent people and one must take them for what they are worth or be continuously frustrated.

Colin's Journal: BandiAmir Lakes

5/6/07
Today we packed up the van and headed out to Bandiamir lakes. The road out of Bamian heads generally west and is not in very good shape. It took a little over 3 hours to drive to the lakes and it was a really rough ride, on both people and car. First we passed through a system of canyons, following a small fast flowing river. There were small farms on any land that was relatively flat and could have water run to it. I’m constantly amazed at where the Afghans can get water to run.
We eventually made our way out to wide open tundra like land where men and young boys watched over herds of fat-tailed sheep and goats. We passed through a couple of small villages of Hazara people that obviously did not see many foreigners. These people seem to lead a tough life, not much different than their ancestors had thousands of years ago. The faces of some of the children were red from the sun and malnourishment. Little 11-year-old boys have the faces of 40 year olds.
At one point we stopped in a village; the name escapes me, that had recently had an international donor build a medical clinic and two long buildings that are supposed to be shops. While I’m assuming the clinic is well used, only a third of the duchans were in use, most locked up and empty. This project cost about a million dollars, is actually quite useless, and is after only three years beginning to disintegrate from the elements. It looks like crap and is thoroughly un Afghan. Why build a bunch of shops for people when they have no economy? This makes no sense and is just one example of the misuse of international donations to the rebuilding of Afghanistan.
Though obviously well intentioned, this money is going to waste. It would have been more effective in helping these people if it had been put into the building of their local economy. Not many people drive up to this village because the road is so bad. These people need roads and access to cash economy. I doubt that someone that had spent any time in the community, or even in Afghanistan for that matter devised the project. The people of Afghanistan have been through so much and deserve the help of the international community. They comprise the largest refugee population the world has ever seen. They are frustrated that even 5 years after the fall of the Taliban there is little improvement in their daily lives. Yes, girls can now go to school, but if their parents can’t afford to let them away from the farm because they are too poor to give up the time away, then they won’t be allowed to go. What is the solution? I’m not sure but this is not it. This is a country that needs to be rebuilt from the ground up. There is literally no infrastructure outside any of the major cities, and that which is in the cities is dubious. Kabul, until this spring was living on 3 hours of electricity a day. It took 5 years to get to this point in the city that is the heart of Afghanistan’s economy. The outlying villages have far less. Up here in Bamian there is no city electricity, nothing to do with garbage or sewage and there are probably around 100,000 people living in town and the surrounding area.
It’s not solely our job, but I believe that America has let these people down. We made promises of a better life without the Taliban and have not even come close to fulfilling this commitment. We jumped on to Iraq and are poring billions of dollars into the rebuilding of that country, while still fighting a large insurgency/ civil war there. I would hazard to guess that there is a larger percentage of the afghan population that is happy to have America here compared to the population of Iraq. We could make such a difference here, but if we don’t act quick enough there will be someone else, a local warlord that makes an offer that the afghan people will take up in a desperate bid for a better life. There are two things that would make a huge difference here; roads and electricity. If we gave them this Afghan people would truly be strong allies and would cast out those elements that fight the development of their nation and way of life. They are hard working, industrious people that given the chance will build a great country. There is immense potential to develop their natural resources in a way that would benefit the whole country.
Okay, off of my soapbox and back to the trip. We rolled on through the high plains with the sporadic herds of sheep and goats, as well as the occasional winter wheat fields being prepared (this is a horrible practice that causes huge amounts of erosion). We eventually got to the high point and started going down hill. Occasionally throughout this high grassy area we would see the red painted rocks that indicate the presence of mines. These people are pasturing their animals and herding them through these areas where the Russians placed mines, probably in this case and people are still dying from them.
We got to our first glimpse of our destination. We could see one of the upper Bandiamir lakes, which are a series of five large, emerald blue lakes of incredible, unmeasured depth. The contrast to the barren landscape makes the blue of these lakes all the more startling. The place we stopped was actually the same place that my mother had stopped as a little girl on her first visit, a picture of her taken in the same place that I had a picture taken of myself. We continued to work our way down to the lakes, the road getting even more fun and finally got to the bottom. These lakes seem to have been formed by mineral deposition damming up the exit. So the lake level is about 25 feet above the valley floor, with small waterfalls running off the edge. I’ve never seen anything like it before and would love to learn more about it’s natural history, though I have a feeling that there hasn’t been much research done given its isolation. This series of five lakes could be a wonderful place to do speciation research, especially on the fish and amphibians. The bottom of the largest has never been discovered, probably due to a lack of sophisticated equipment, but there have been attempts. It was recently declared a UNESCO natural heritage site, so development has been halted and the few local people that have been living around it are subsidized so that they don’t upset the area too much with farming. Unfortunately Afghans, like most third world people, don’t have a concept of garbage control and garbage is starting to pile up a little. Its not bad yet, but will become so if the area becomes easier to access and outdoor ethics are not instilled in the visitors. It would be a shame ruin such an amazing place with plastic bags and aluminum cans. Mom and I couldn’t help but pick up a large bag of garbage while we were there. It wasn’t much but the purpose was more to provide an example to the Afghans with us and those local people that saw us doing it. I think they are just blind to the garbage at this point, as most Americans were until about the last 50 years.
We wandered up to the edge of the lake and went to a place that had a ledge where you could get in and out. The lake literally drops off immediately, and I mean immediately, to some incredible depth. In some places you could jump in and not be able to pull yourself back out, and you’re not jumping off a cliff, but from lake level. It’s kind of intimidating even to someone that’s a decent swimmer. Everyone looked a little apprehensive, so I lead the way; changed into my swimsuit and leapt in. As I predicted my breath was immediately taken away by the cold of the water and I swam back to the ledge and got out. The water was bearable on the ledge because the sun warmed up the foot and a half of water there, but once you stepped off the ledge it was ice cold. Once they saw me do it, Norm, Asef and Same went and put their suits on. The Afghans didn’t have shorts, but used light pantaloons that they rolled up to above their knees and then blew air into from their waistline. I didn’t understand why they did this until I saw them attempt to swim. Neither of them could do much besides a doggie paddle and they used this air in their pantaloons as a flotation devise. The end result was absolutely hilarious, though I was a little scared that I was going to have to rescue one of them. Asef called this method the “paghmani system” because he saw Same do it, who is from Paghman an area outside of Kabul that has a decent sized lake called Carga, which I believe I mentioned in one of my first entries. We had quite a few laughs at this “Paghmani system” and it became a running joke for quite a while.
Faisel looked like he wanted to jump in but Yasin can’t swim at all so I told him I would take the little boy in. He had been holding Faisel’s arm tensely the whole time we were near the edge, fearing the boy would fall in. The lake drops off so immediately that there is really no wading except in a few areas where a tiny bit of a ledge exists. Yasin could see that both Norm and I were good swimmers and allowed me to take Faisel into the water. He splashed around on the ledge a little bit and then I took his arms and dipped him into the deep part so he could be completely submerged. He loved this and I wished Yasin could do this with him, though I had fun connecting with the child that I couldn’t talk with at all as I have very little Dari and he knows no English. Eventually we did get Yasin to stand on the ledge and play with Faisel and this made us all happy to see. It was quite the funny scene, four Afghans and three Americans on a jaunt to this amazing lake, Norm and I in our American swimsuits, the Afghans in their pantaloons and little naked Faisel. Mom could have gone swimming as there were no other Afghans around to glare at her, but she would have had to do it in full clothing, not that much fun.
There wasn’t a whole lot of swimming, just in and out because the water was so cold, but it was good to get a little bit of a bath as there were no bathing facilities back in our compound in Bamian and it had been a few days since my last shower. We finished up our “swim” and wandered back to the van. We tried to get to some of the upper lakes but a bridge was washed out and we couldn’t access the road. I offered to drive us back home and was glad that Yasin relinquished the steering wheel. For one its easier to be the driver on bad roads as you can anticipate whets coming up and brace for the swerves and sudden stops, secondly I have been driving a lot longer than any of the Afghans and was afraid that Asef might be the next in line to spell Yasin. Yasin is a good driver, but hauls ass on these roads and it’s quite a rough ride. I went just a touch slower, as its not my own car, and the ride was deemed by all to be much smoother and worth the extra few minutes it took us to get home. He’ll probably let me do some of the driving on the ten hour trip back to Kabul, as Norm is flying home earlier I don’t really want to be subject to Asef’s driving and I wanted to prove myself to Yasin. I’m sure he trusts my driving now, though I have no desire to drive in Kabul, as this is another matter entirely. I’ve driven in some crazy places, such as Mexico, but there is not a traffic light or dividing line n the city of about 2.5 million and I don’t want to get into an accident in a foreign country with someone else’s car.
When we got back to the compound all of us were tired from the long day. We found our “wonderful” painters finishing up for the day. I saw that an ant nest I had noticed the past few days that is on the edge of our “patio” was really active with ants spreading out everywhere. Someone had spread a white powder out from the entrance and at first I thought that someone had found an insecticide and they were trying to escape. This was not the case and one of the neighbor boys hanging out explained that Dauood the painter had put flour out to feed the ants. I looked at the boy incredulously and asked why they were feeding our ants that I didn’t want there in the first place and was planning on killing. He said that the ants were considered some sort of good luck charm and to feed them would bring luck to the person or some sort of nonsense. Now, I’m a person that loves animals, plants and all sorts of insects, but there are plenty of ants in the world, they are probably the most successful land animals in the world. The ants are not suffering. This, at the end of a long day, from painters that had been a real pain in the ass already was just too much. The whole “ straw that broke the camel’s back” analogy is perfect. I stomped over to a five-gallon jug of water and very animatedly dumped the whole thing on the ants, washing away the flour. Not only was this in front of our painters, but our landlord and several other guys that were milling around for some reason. Several saw how upset I was and decided it was time to leave the crazy Khereji as my mom called me, for the day. The whole trip I had made every attempt to ingratiate myself to the locals, but this was too much. Most of them couldn’t understand a thing I said, but I made it clear that if they wanted to have good luck, they could feed their own goddamn ants, in their own houses and deal with the mess themselves! I was wearing full Shawar camise and my scarf was wrapped around my head to protect it from the sun. My mom looked at me and asked me to remove it because I looked pretty scary with it on when I was mad. I wasn’t so much mad as flustered and incredulous, once the painters left, quite quickly after this display I just laughed with mom and Yasin who knew exactly what I was feeling at this moment. Yasin said that whenever you work with Afghans they surprise you with the things they do that make no sense at all to anyone but themselves. I don’t speak dari, but I doubt that the painters will make that mistake again; this communication needed no words to be understood.
I finished up the day by making a quick meal of spaghetti that we all inhaled and was the most satisfying meal we’d had so far. I was really tired and started to feel a bit of a chill that didn’t bode well. The night ended with a sudden windstorm that blew up with a bit of rain. I heard our garbage spreading throughout the compound and ran out to see it blowing everywhere. I had tried so hard to instill a division of garbage for the Afghans. Burnables, organic and true garbage such as plastic. My system was rolling all over the compound in disarray. Same and Asef heard me get up and came out to help get what hadn’t blown away put into one of the rooms. Asef called this the “garbage dance”. Oh Afghanistan, you really do know how to put someone on their heels.

Colin's Journal: Trip to Bamyan

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5/4/07
Fun With Mom In a Country of Contradictions
I’m sitting here, in a traditional mud built compound, our home for the next week, with my laptop playing hip-hop for entertainment, wearing a shalwar chamise and sunglasses. Though I am a khoragi (foreigner), this illustrates the contradictions found in a country trying to develop out of the Middle Ages to the modern world.
Yesterday we made the 10-hour trip yesterday from Kabul up to Bamian. This is a small town up in the mountains that exist in the middle of the country. The trip up was primarily on a bad dirt road that wound its way up mountainsides and through beautiful little green valleys. A little scary at times, as the road is not very wide and trucks bring goods back and forth on it, with people passing in terrible places with 500 to a thousand foot drops bellow. The farmers here who create amazing irrigation systems, at times literally getting water to flow up hill, work every arable peace of land. These farms are truly fascinating; Afghans are industrious, wonderful gardeners. Everything is ordered and neat, well designed and done the same way it has been for thousands of years.
With the exception of cars, cell phones and electric generators, the outer provinces of Afghanistan are a trip back to the middle ages. Families work their fields; men move the dirt and create the irrigation systems, women and children plant and harvest the crops. They still till the land with oxen and wooden plows. It was interesting to move from the ethnic Pushtun areas in the lower valleys, to the Hazara areas in the higher valleys.
The Hazara are an ethnic minority that has been persecuted by other Afghans for millennia. They are a Mongoloid looking people who I believe have their roots in the Chinese Buddhists that expanded along the Silk Road. Bamian is the heart of Hazara territory and is actually quite safe for westerners. The big draw here is a set of large Buddha statues carved into a mountainside that is now a UN World Heritage site. It is also a place of almost unparalleled beauty, green valleys and stark mountainsides carved out by the heavy snows that come in winter. The taller mountains are steep and still full of snow; they would be fantastic to snowboard on if you could access them. The whole trip up I kept making the van stop so I could jump out and take pictures. I’ve seen quite few places in the world by this point, but it might be the most beautiful landscape I’ve ever had the pleasure of traveling through.
We only had a few small problems on the trip. One flat tire and the framing that holds the spare under the back of the van kept getting knocked out of place by the roughness of the road, but all in all a pretty smooth journey up here. We arrived at the home that had been rented for 6 month, sight unseen. It was a little bit of a shock to see what we would be living in. My big question before coming here was if there would be furniture. I didn’t imagine that we would be showing up to a traditional mud dwelling. I think even the Afghans with us; Yasin and his son Faisal, Asef and Same were a bit surprised. There are some things that as Americans we don’t even think to check on before renting a new place. Like, will there be a water source and access to electricity! The khinuraab (toilet) situation is a little grim, as it is merely a second story hole in the floor that can be accessed on the outside by a man that comes around every few days to collect it and then it gets spread on the fields (fertilizer!).
We immediately started planning what needed to be done to make it a place we could enjoy. Within half an hour we found a man that would organize a team of painters to come the next morning. The floors are made of dried mud, so we are going to buy plastic covers and then rugs to cover these. They will hook up the electricity to the public system, which runs from 7pm to 10pm, and then we also have a generator. We will buy a cistern to put on the roof for water, for now we have 5-gallon jugs. Its basically like camping, but more dirty. I wish I had my tent so I could just escape into a nice clean, scorpion free place. As it is I have to sleep on a charpoee that is an afghan version of a cot. These are cheap and are ruining my back. It takes me an hour every morning to truly straighten up.
We finished our first night in Bamian by going to a restaurant, which serves in a family style. It was full of mostly travelers and single men. Mom was the only woman present and we were stared at the whole time. These for the most part did not seem to be hostile stares, just curious. I’m sure that most of these people have not seen many foreigners before. It’s also pretty strange to see a woman out of the compounds at night. We’ll be cooking our own food the rest of the trip. It’s more comfortable and less likely to give me dysentery. I’ve made it a week and a half without any signs of sickness, oh I hope this lasts but I’m not counting on it.
Today we went about getting the painters started on their work. Oh what I wouldn’t do for a nice Ace hardware. Finding paint is a difficult chore and often what we do find has been sitting around for a decade and no good. It is also very difficult to find colors that will work, that will cover all of the stains on the walls. We are essentially trying to paint mud and mud with plaster on it. The painters are another issue. They are good hard workers, but really terrible painters. They slop the paint everywhere and have no concept of strait lines. The end result was that we did as much work as they did and had to direct them all day or it would have looked like crap. I think they get the concept now and will be better about it tomorrow. We were all pretty exhausted by the end of the day and have resolved to just mix up enough paint for the whole day in the morning and leave them with strict instructions. We’re just going to have to trust them to do the job themselves or we won’t have any fun on this trip. Once the wall are painted we can get something on the floors and the place will feel much more livable. The outside walls were for the most part finished by the end of the day and we feel a little better already.
I had my first day of frustration with Afghanistan today. I couldn’t really pin down why, but getting anything done in this country is a challenge. Nothing goes smoothly or according to plan. This is a good lesson for internationals working in Afghanistan. It takes patience and understanding of the culture, as well as a willingness to let certain notions go. You need to adapt your projects to the logistical realities and realize that things are not going to go exactly as you want them. The end result, if you get there, will be an amalgam of your wishes, the local reality and way of doing things. You must let go of certain things and keep the larger picture in mind. I, having just come from the states looked at what had been accomplished at the end of the day with the work of all of our three painters and us was frustrated. My mom and Norm, having lived here for two years, looked at what was accomplished and were impressed, especially as it was a Friday (their Saturday). At one point I, having gotten extremely frustrated, sat myself in a corner of one of the mudrooms for a half an hour and calmed myself down. I realized there was no point in butting my head against a brick (mud) wall; I needed to let things go. I re-emerged from the room and felt better about things. I chose my next little project and got back to work. This trip is about the process and the learning, not about any end result.
At the end of the day, with the painters gone we sat around in our new furniture (plastic chairs) and drank warm Heineken at $2 a can. We looked at our nice red walls with blue trim and laughed about the day. I really enjoy the Afghan people; they are so wonderful when they accept you. The guys we have with us, Yasin, Asef, Same and little Faisal are just great. I can hardly talk with any of them besides Yasin, yet the communication is there. They love us and we love them.

A Country of Twenty-Five-Million Kings-Colin

5/2/07


Yesterday was fairly uneventful. In the morning mom and I went to PARSA to finalize the plans for their grand opening of the new building in the Marastoon compound. Though many Americans would not understand the significance of the type of organization my mother has created, I am truly impressed. Though there are a couple of international workers, it is primarily an afghan run organization. Men and women are working side by side; there are female directors and male directors for the different projects. This often puts men under the direct control of women, which is not often found in such a male dominated culture. But everyone seems to know their place and fits well within the system. If they didn’t they would have been fired.
One of the more funny moments occurred when Asef came back with some prototype table designs for one of the crafts sales departments. The tables had a good overall design, but were inconsistent in height. Some were the right height, and could be sat around with chairs, however others were too tall to be sat around on cushions and too low to sit around with chairs. Mom said, “Asef, we need a ‘table program’, so that we have consistency”. It may not translate well here, but it was quite humorous.
This scenario illustrates the type of managing that has to be done in Afghanistan. If not overseen directly, the workers often, no usually just go off on their own and do what they think should be done, regardless of what they have been told. They will listen to what you tell them, nod their head in agreement and then go off and do what they think is best. Mahbouba introduced me to a saying that runs true. She said that Afghanistan is a country with 25 million people, each of them kings.
Mom runs into the same problem with her servants. Her cook, gardener and house keeper each have their own idea of what a good house should look like, what food should taste like, what a garden should be comprised of. She is constantly fighting small battles with her servants, where she confronts them on an issue, they agree to do something and then go about it their own way. Mahbouba said, and I agree, “ afghans make terrible servants.” She compared them to Indians, who make wonderful servants and this makes sense given the cultural and religious differences that exist. Indians understand and have no problem with their place when subservient. Their belief system allows for them to be subservient without feeling inferior. I don’t think that Afghans have the cultural latitude to allow them to feel this. I think it’s an interesting contrast.
Today was the official opening of the new PARSA building at the Marastoon compound. What mom and her staff are trying to create is a model system for Afghanistan and the third world in general. Its simple, in the third world you can’t educate people if they are going hungry and have no job, you can’t improve a person’s position without addressing the basic needs of the person first. PARSA addresses the whole person, she first deals with the Well Being of the individual, with her Well-Being department, a psychosocial and physiotherapy focus addresses these concerns. They assess their people on a physical level, and then start in on the Economic programs. She has artisans and craftspeople working in this department, as a way to make money and support their families. She has a program that teaches widows to create self-sustaining gardens. After the physical well-being and economic concerns are addressed she can then attack the Education of the individual, with English lessons, and other basic educational concerns. I’m not the best person to outline what her organization does, but I do understand that what she is doing is approaching the problem of poverty by dealing with the whole person, and all the problems that the person has. From what I’ve seen, this is an innovative approach that not many charities/ngos ever try. It’s ambitious, but I believe will become a model for the dealing with poverty in the third world.
The opening went extremely well. It was a short, succinct ceremony, beautifully presented, and moving. The guest of honor, a woman named Fatima Gailani, that has worked hard for her country, and is very well respected for her work and her family here, gave a moving speech. Most of it was in pharsi, so I didn’t get the details, but the sentiment needed no words to be understood. At one point she said, “ it doesn’t matter which national flag the person who wants to help Afghanistan waves, it is the flag of humanity that is being presented”. This was wonderful to hear, as I believe many international workers are quite sensitive to the fact that often the indigenous people resent the help of foreigners as somewhat “condescending” in approach. For those of people in the field, this is a validation of the work that is so hard to do.
This ceremony was a transition of sorts, from the old PARSA that existed before my mother took control, to the new PARSA. My mother has won the love and respect of her staff. She is truly loved by all. All of the staff that had been there for the earlier times appreciate the approach and dedication that mom brings to the job. I believe they are relieved to have someone that they can count on and defer to. My mom is truly great at what she does. She is loved by many Afghans who recognize the dedication she has to improving the lives of their people. They are starting to see her as one of their own. I believe it helps that she lived here as a child, otherwise they might have wondered where her motivation comes from. She works so hard for them, often at the expense of herself. After the ceremony Yasin came up and thanked my mom, almost in tears, essentially saying that he considers her his American mother and greatest mentor. He is such a wonderful, sincere and dedicated man. This evening my mom said that when she and Norm have had trouble with being in Kabul, have wanted to go home and pack it in, it is Yasin that keeps them here. She has found a wonderful man that will become a strong leader for his country under the guidance of my mother. Though at this point he has much to learn, I hope he gets into politics eventually. His country needs people like him to lead it into a prosperous future where all components of his people are taken care of. He neither acts like, nor desires to be a king, which is exactly the type of leader that is needed in Afghanistan.

4/30/07
My Day with Heroes
The past two days have been a great introduction to the work that my mom really does here. Having grown up with my mother’s work surrounding me, I learned to insulate myself from the depressing details of her world. From the work that she used to do with youth at risk and welfare women, to homeless and mentally ill; I think I actually became habituated to the myriad of problems that people face. There’s always been someone that needs her help more than I do. From a very early age I had to share my mother’s attention with a lot of other people, sometimes feeling that her priorities lay in helping others more than her own family. This is truly not the case, but it’s hard to feel differently when you are young and cannot see the whole picture. I’ve always recognized that she does great work, and it is born of a profound dedication to improving the lives of those surrounding her. However, I don’t know that I have ever felt more proud of my mother than I did today. But I’ll get to that a little later.
Yesterday morning we went to the Marastoon compound where PARSA is located. I’d been there previously, but as it was a holiday, there was no work being done. I met the Afghans that comprise her core staff, Yasin, the country director for PARSA I had already met, and I like very much. He is intelligent, dedicated to his people, loves my mother as his mentor and is practically a family member. Palwasha, is an afghan woman who is Yasin’s “right hand man” and seems incredibly intelligent and competent. There are many others that I met, and I like them all. She has a staff of about 81 at PARSA. cooks, drivers, and gardeners included, beyond their many different project managers. She has essentially created an Afghan version of Washington Works, an organization that she founded back in the 1990’s that dealt primarily with female welfare recipients, but as necessary in this environment takes an even more holistic approach to the problems of poverty. I really do think it will be a remarkable organization.
I had a short Farsi/dari lesson with a young man that I think just graduated from high school, and am starting to get a hold of the basics that one needs to get around in a country; greetings, numbers etc.. I’ll have several more the next few days, and would like to continue to learn. It’s not actually that hard of a language to learn, and in many ways my understanding of Spanish is helpful, especially because of similarities in syntax. I’m not saying it’s easy, but it isn’t as bad as trying to learn something like Japanese or some African tribal language. After this lesson I went up to the orphanage that is in the same compound and further formulated a plan I have for building a new playfield for the children. My first night in the country we went to the compound and in wandering around we came across the “soccer field” that the children use. It has no goals, is covered in large rocks, not even close to level and has holes and trenches all around it. I decided that wouldn’t do, and I asked Yasin to help me talk to some people about what it would take to make a proper soccer field. Labor is cheap here, it costs about 4 dollar a day to hire a good laborer, so I decided that I could probably afford the costs of the project. I talked to the head gardener at PARSA, and he is finding me a man with a bulldozer to do the initial leveling (at the whopping rate of 8 dollars an hour), and then a few other men to finish picking out rocks and smoothing out the dirt. I have no illusions that grass will take hold, let alone survive the dry summer months, so I’ll be happy with just smooth dirt. I’m then hiring a metal worker to make some movable goals and will try to find some sort of netting (might be difficult, but I’ll find something). Things are moving quickly on the project, and they will start bulldozing tomorrow, the field should be smooth by the end of the week. I haven’t told the children what I’m doing yet, but I’m sure they’ll love not having to play soccer on hard rocks in bare feet. Real goals in place of the stacked rocks presently in use will be a novelty I’m sure. I know its not really much in the scheme of things, and there might be more pressing needs, but this was something I could do for the children that I understand and feel competent to take on as a project. It’s also something that I can afford to fund myself, and can see to completion in my short month here. I might try and get some equipment donated by some companies back home, but even if I don’t, they’ll be able to make use of the field for a lot of different games beyond just soccer, and they won’t ruin their bare feet on the rocks. Hopefully it’ll turn out how I have envisioned it. We’ll see, this is my first attempt at getting something important done in the Third World, and there are bound to be hang ups, but its’ simple enough that it’ll probably turn out just fine. I’ll go rake the whole damn thing myself if I have to.


In the afternoon I went shopping and ran some errands around town with mom and Aziz (her favorite and best driver), who doesn’t speak a lick of English but seems to take great care of my mother. I like him a lot and trust him to watch out for us. The drivers for PARSA are all trained to be on the look out for bad situations and kidnapping attempts, and what to do in the case of the latter (i.e. If s someone tries to block you in from the front and the back, get the hell out, regardless of the damage to cars, buildings or anything else). It is truly worth having good drivers that you can trust around here, they keep you out of trouble and could possibly save your life.
We had dinner that evening with Yasin, his second wife Salia, her brother Asef (who speaks a little English and I am coming to like very much), Dawn (mom’s childhood friend from her time in Kabul) and her husband Jim. It was enjoyable, and I love the Afghan family that Mom and Norm have created for themselves.
Today we had a very important meeting to attend at the ministry regarding a report that mom put out regarding appalling conditions found at a local Kabul orphanage run by the afghan government. Mom had written an unofficial report on the conditions of the Alluhoddin orphanage that PARSA staff and she had witnessed this winter when they were allowed access to the compound. The offenses are extensive, but I will touch on a few of the highlights. There were children running around with sandals and no socks, clothes falling apart and threadbare in the winter. Children would be given money for bathing and then have it taken away, there were boys that hadn’t been allowed to bathe for 3 months. In one instance, it was brought to the attention of orphanage staff that a girl had lice; she was slapped on the head and sent to have her hair shaved off. The girls have no access to feminine hygiene products and are not even taught about the change that occurs as they grow older. In one instance a girl was seen berated for hiding rags. There is inadequate staffing. Often the children were found with no adult supervision on the premise and these are hundreds of children. There was no female staff member set up to stay with the girls at night, just think of the terrible abuses that could occur in this scenario.
I could go on for quite a bit longer, but I think the picture has been painted adequately. The meeting with the ministry of social affairs in charge of orphanages had been forced by pressure my mother garnered from international and domestic NGO’s, by the circulation of her unofficial report. This had brought out other anecdotes from other organizations that had witnessed similar problems in orphanages throughout the country, and at least 7 different organizations representatives were present. The presiding ministry representative was the deputy minister of social affairs, previously the minister of martyred and disabled, until a merger brought him under the control of another man. I think he’s of a slime ball that is only interested in preserving his position of power.
The meeting started off fairly well, with my mother and Mabouba (her work partner here) presenting their findings to those present, and calling for an investigation into the conditions of the orphanages of Afghanistan. Their request was simple. They did not want anything to come out of the meeting other than a formation of a committee of NGO representatives that will oversee an official investigation into the matter, and design policies that will bring about systemic, long lasting changes for the sake of the children affected. They did not try to defend the veracity of the report, even under questioning by several of the people present (most likely implants by the minister), but stood by their simple request for an investigation, and then action based on the official report. Several other NGO representatives voiced their support of this initiative and it appeared that the meeting would be concluded successfully.
Then what we feared would happen, did. The minister said that he had formed a committee of 5 different NGO's to oversee an investigation (good). However, he then launched into an extensive defense of the work done by the ministry and the conditions of the Allahoudin orphanage. He slammed the report my mother had presented, as well as her organization. He said that as PARSA had only been allowed a month and a half of official access to the orphanage, the entirety of the report should not be taken into consideration, only those allegations pertaining to that time period. He made claims to refute the report presented. He made such claims of a 1:2 staff to child ratio (bullshit!), and that the lack of female attendants overnight was a cultural problem that could not be solved (women are not allowed to live on their own away from either their husband or a male member of their family). This last claim especially demonstrates a lack of true interest in solving the problems and making changes. For example, I’m sure there would be no lack of international volunteers to help little orphan girls for a few months at a time, or a family could be living on the compound so that a woman would always be present at night. It was apparent to me that the minister was trying very hard to save face in front of the international NGO's, but I believe that in the process harmed his reputation with them (I hope). The request was simple, have an official investigation on the problems that not only PARSA, but many other organizations had witnessed and could attest to. The meeting did not need to go in the direction that the minister took it. The man went on and on about how much had been done already, defending his position and the actions that had been taken so far. As far as PARSA and the other NGO's were concerned none of this matters, if the orphanages are not running well, something needs to be done to change it. End of story! My mother was
After, listening to this monologue for about 20 minutes, my mother found her chance, stood up, and addressed the meeting one last time. She thanked the minister for the formation of the committee, said she expected the ministry to follow up on their promise to initiate changes based on the official investigation and the committee’s recommendations. She said that now the discussion had turned defensive and she was done with it. The PARSA staff then got up and walked out of the meeting. Mom was not interested in listening to a bullshit defense, nor was she going to listen to someone slam her organization’s integrity.
As I walked out with my mother, I couldn’t help but feel immensely proud. She has such presence and courage in front of people. She is a great speaker and is not afraid to take a stand on important issues, even under very adverse circumstances. I gained even more respect for her than I already had. She takes on so many projects and issues and always puts everything she has into her work. It’s been so long since I’ve really seen her in action. Having grown up watching her work (she never was into day care for my brother and I so we were drug around with her for years), I think I forgot how great she is at what she does. She is absolutely my hero.
It is unclear whether the minister we met with will really bring about any substantial change, however at least what my mother wanted will happen. There will be an investigative committee on the conditions of the orphanages. Hopefully there will be a policy of minimum standards made and followed through with. Mom has her doubts, but we shall see.
Later that evening Mabouba and her husband Hassan came over for dinner. I made fresh pasta salad and cooked hot dogs (sort of). It was explained to me that Hassan was once a Mujahadeen general. He was in charge of 4 or 5 major generals, had thousands of fighters under his command and was responsible for kicking the Russians out of Jalalabad during the Afghan-Russian war. He is revered as a hero and practically a saint given his family background. He is a soft-spoken, unassuming man whom I like very much. When asked about his experiences he merely said that he never wanted to be a soldier, but his country needed him. He doesn’t really talk much about his experiences. Once the fighting dissolved into Afghans fighting Afghans he left the country for America, just recently having returned.
The day was a good one, especially seeing my mom in action here. I was so proud of her, at several points throughout the meeting at the ministry that I was almost moved to tears. The world is a better place for my mother’s presence.