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.

4/30/07 Colin's third day....

4/30/07
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.

Journal entries from Afghanistan

4/25/07
So I’m sitting here in the Seattle Tacoma airport. Just got through check in and security. Now I have 2 hours to wait until my flight. Excessive security measures require 3 hours advance arrival for international flights. I got through check-in and security within 30 minutes.
As I look around me at all the other international travelers enjoying a cocktail before their flight, I can’t help but ask myself, “ are they going somewhere as crazy as I am? “ In most cases no! As I’m riding a British Airways flight most of them are probably going to a destination in Europe somewhere, though Africa and Asia aren’t out of the question. Who is going to the Middle East? Not many Americans that’s for sure.
Am I crazy? Why am I going to a place where Americans are openly disdained? Is it going to be as bad as it seems it would be? The reactions of people that I told I was going to go to Afghanistan were exactly what I would have predicted given the portrayal of the war on terror by American media. An incredulous “why?” was the overwhelming response to the statement. My sarcastic retort: “for vacation!”. Which of course brought even further incredulity.
Why? What a great question. Superficially this is a trip to visit my mother. Granted I do really miss my mother, but there is a whole host of other reasons that are a little closer to the truth of the matter. I was always able to resist my mom’s attempts at luring me out to Afghanistan in the past. However it is really the change in my own self that is allowing me the courage to undertake what will likely be the most challenging travel I’ve ever undergone. The past year of my life I’ve undergone a transformation of self that I feel has left me in the right spot to take this trip. There are things I want to prove to myself that this trip will allow. I truly love other cultures, people, and ways of life. In past travels I have found myself feeling homesick for the “good ole US of A” . This was more likely a function of missing loved ones back home than missing the way of life. This time I have no girlfriends back home waiting for me, nothing other than my wonderful family, which is always there. My girlfriend is actually in Japan right now, starting her own adventure, while I start mine.
What freedom! To take off and leave the country for two months without a thought to what is left behind. This is a wonderful feeling of independence and self direction. I’ve never really had this before, and it excites me.
I want to talk for a bit about the reactions and impressions of “my fellow Americans” upon hearing that I was going to Afghanistan. While in Montana I received the typical conservative American response. “Don’t get your head cut off by a terrorist” was pretty common, or “I’ll see you on CNN” was another good one. It was rare to hear anything other than a “you’re crazy” type of response. The idea that an American would go to Afghanistan for any reason other than military engagement was unreal to them. Most Americans these days see a middle eastern man and have a gut reaction of distrust. Although understandable given our history, its too much a “black and white” distinction, which Americans have become good at as of late. Most Americans believe that all middle eastern muslims hate America. Is this true? I think I know the answer to this question but would like to verify it with my own experiences. I’d like to compare the ideas Americans have of the region, people, and religion; impressions influenced by the intense media coverage on the matter as of late; to the facts on the ground in Afghanistan.
Are there differences between what is being portrayed here and the realities of the conflict? If there are then, is there a motive behind this or is it just reactionary? Is there true design behind the propaganda or is it just a function of fear run wild? Fear has caused terrible scenarios in the past. Consider the average German during WWII-did they all hate Jews? Probably not, but why would they let such horrible things happen under their noses? Fear. When a leader learns to wield fear upon his populace, he can get almost anything to seem reasonable. It is a tool that has been used and abused in the past. Is 21st century America a case of this? I hope not but fear it to be true.
So off I go, with lofty ideas and questions in my head, to one of the few places in the world where I probably shouldn’t go. Oh well, you only live once. Right?

My arrival in Kabul-Colin

4/28/07

Wow, I’m here! I was picked up yesterday afternoon from the wonderful Kabul airport by mom and Norm after 40 hours of some of the most grueling air travel I’ve ever experienced. Everything went fairly smoothly, no real problems surprisingly enough. Dubai was an interesting experience. I had originally been told by my mother and Mahbouba that I could check my bags all the way through to Kabul, however that was not the case. I had to claim my bags and transfer them to a second terminal to check them into my Kam Air flight to Kabul. I wanted to stay in the main terminal as long as I could, yet as I got shuffled through the system at the airport I found my self with bags on a trolley outside of the airport. I tried to get back in, and had been told by a few people that I could check my bags through at the international terminal and then go over to the other terminal closer to my departure time. I eventually, through many different communication attempts with tall Arab men in all white, found that this was not the case and that furthermore, I had to take a taxi (no free shuttle) to the other terminal. I couldn’t get back into the main part of the terminal, which is actually very nice with lots to do, because I didn’t have a departure ticket from that terminal. With nothing else to do, I got a taxi and went to the second terminal, went through security, only to find that I couldn’t check into my flight for another 5 hours. So I was stuck in this area next to the check in booths that had no facilities or services (no toilets!), and couldn’t go back out to the toilets or the one snack bar available, because the security guards didn’t want the hassle of checking my bags again (there were 8 of them sitting around with nothing to do, but for some reason this would have caused great problems). I had no options but to post up and try and sleep sitting, with my head resting on my luggage. Didn’t happen. Now I should remind you that I had just completed 17 hours of flight and had been awake for more than 24 hours by this point.
I met two Afghan Canadians returning to Kabul for the first time since they had fled the violence 20 years previously. These men were more nervous about going to Afghanistan than I was, and they spoke the language and blend in. They couldn’t believe I was going, and were very concerned for me. They advised me not to leave Kabul for any reason. They were very nice, and I eventually felt safe enough to leave them watching my luggage while I went outside security to get some water and go to the restroom. By 5 am I was able to check in, go through more security, and get to the departures section of the terminal where I could buy some food, use the restroom and relax for another 3 hours until my flight left.
While waiting to depart I met a man working for NATO in Kabul. He had been in the country for 4 months and lived in the main international area where most foreigners spend all of their time. Much different than how mom and Norm go about things. He also seemed amazed that I was going for “vacation” and also advised me not to leave Kabul. He said that most of the country was fine, but there were certainly “no go” areas for westerners. It was the random acts that could happen anytime, anywhere to watch for (hard to do when their random). This man was very nice, and he talked me through the Kabul arrival, so that it would go smoothly. I just followed him when I got off the plane in Kabul, and was able to get through the various steps smoothly and efficiently (as much as possible in a dimly lit baggage claim with Afghans running around all over the place, and most foreigners not having a clue what to do. I passed through one last security screening as I left the airport (What’s the point?) and found mom and Norm waiting by the parking lot. Everything was less hectic than I had imagined it. Way easier than getting through the Addis Ababa airport in Ethiopia. I was not accosted by people trying to carry my bags for me or get me a taxi, which was a pleasant surprise.
I was so excited to see mom and Norm, and I could tell mom was relieved to have me there safe. We drove the “scenic route” to my parents compound in the Karte Se neighborhood, and I got to see Kabul for the first time.
Oh the smells of the third world. It is always the first, thing I notice, even as I step off of the plane in a country like this. Dust, burning garbage, kerosene, dirty fuel burning cars, uncensored male body odor, open sewers and the occasional wafting of cheap cologne/perfume. This menagerie assaults someone from the developed world, as we are unaccustomed to the quantity and intensity of smells in our sterile lives.
We got to my parents house, which is very nice and comfortable, with oriental rugs and handmade fabrics all over place. They have collected some beautiful hand carved wood furniture that would probably cost a fortune in the states, but is quite affordable here. The garden is started and promises to be a nice little green sanctuary later this summer. Their animals are many, and the politics are intense, yet they provide endless entertainment.
We went to the Marastoon compound where the new Parsa office is about to open. It promises to be quite the organization. I met Yasin, his second wife Salia and their son Osmond, along with Salia’s brother Assef. They are wonderful people that I immediately felt comfortable with. We toured the whole compound and met some of the orphans out playing. They are very curious about me, but on the whole, polite and respectful. I saw their football field, covered in rocks, and not level at all, with piles of stones as goal posts. Most of them run around in bare feet. I talked with Yasin about finding someone work the field until its smooth and well graded, and am going
to have some real goals built. This will be my little contribution to the compound. Their gardener costs only 4 dollars a day to hire, so I think that for the price of about $50 I can get them a nice place to play football. Under Taliban rule there was no playing allowed by children, so there are not many playfields in Kabul.
We had a wonderful little meal at the compound of chicken tandoor, rice and some sort of spinach dish, with fresh watermelon and bananas as desert. Yasin’s son Osemond ran around all over the place, but as typical of Afghan families was included in everything. I think I will like Afghanistan. It is truly different than Africa, I feel less foreign here, less out of place, less of an object to be stared at. Afghans seem truly friendly and hospitable, at least the ones that I have met so far. I’m happy to be here, and look forward to seeing more of Kabul and the outer provinces. It is truly an amazing country.

My son Colin-begins his journal and his journey.

Journal entries from Afghanistan

4/25/07
So I’m sitting here in the Seattle Tacoma airport. Just got through check in and security. Now I have 2 hours to wait until my flight. Excessive security measures require 3 hours advance arrival for international flights. I got through check-in and security within 30 minutes.
As I look around me at all the other international travelers enjoying a cocktail before their flight, I can’t help but ask myself, “ are they going somewhere as crazy as I am? “ In most cases no! As I’m riding a British Airways flight most of them are probably going to a destination in Europe somewhere, though Africa and Asia aren’t out of the question. Who is going to the Middle East? Not many Americans that’s for sure.
Am I crazy? Why am I going to a place where Americans are openly disdained? Is it going to be as bad as it seems it would be? The reactions of people that I told I was going to go to Afghanistan were exactly what I would have predicted given the portrayal of the war on terror by American media. An incredulous “why?” was the overwhelming response to the statement. My sarcastic retort: “for vacation!”. Which of course brought even further incredulity.
Why? What a great question. Superficially this is a trip to visit my mother. Granted I do really miss my mother, but there is a whole host of other reasons that are a little closer to the truth of the matter. I was always able to resist my mom’s attempts at luring me out to Afghanistan in the past. However it is really the change in my own self that is allowing me the courage to undertake what will likely be the most challenging travel I’ve ever undergone. The past year of my life I’ve undergone a transformation of self that I feel has left me in the right spot to take this trip. There are things I want to prove to myself that this trip will allow. I truly love other cultures, people, and ways of life. In past travels I have found myself feeling homesick for the “good ole US of A” . This was more likely a function of missing loved ones back home than missing the way of life. This time I have no girlfriends back home waiting for me, nothing other than my wonderful family, which is always there. My girlfriend is actually in Japan right now, starting her own adventure, while I start mine.
What freedom! To take off and leave the country for two months without a thought to what is left behind. This is a wonderful feeling of independence and self direction. I’ve never really had this before, and it excites me.
I want to talk for a bit about the reactions and impressions of “my fellow Americans” upon hearing that I was going to Afghanistan. While in Montana I received the typical conservative American response. “Don’t get your head cut off by a terrorist” was pretty common, or “I’ll see you on CNN” was another good one. It was rare to hear anything other than a “you’re crazy” type of response. The idea that an American would go to Afghanistan for any reason other than military engagement was unreal to them. Most Americans these days see a middle eastern man and have a gut reaction of distrust. Although understandable given our history, its too much a “black and white” distinction, which Americans have become good at as of late. Most Americans believe that all middle eastern muslims hate America. Is this true? I think I know the answer to this question but would like to verify it with my own experiences. I’d like to compare the ideas Americans have of the region, people, and religion; impressions influenced by the intense media coverage on the matter as of late; to the facts on the ground in Afghanistan.
Are there differences between what is being portrayed here and the realities of the conflict? If there are then, is there a motive behind this or is it just reactionary? Is there true design behind the propaganda or is it just a function of fear run wild? Fear has caused terrible scenarios in the past. Consider the average German during WWII-did they all hate Jews? Probably not, but why would they let such horrible things happen under their noses? Fear. When a leader learns to wield fear upon his populace, he can get almost anything to seem reasonable. It is a tool that has been used and abused in the past. Is 21st century America a case of this? I hope not but fear it to be true.
So off I go, with lofty ideas and questions in my head, to one of the few places in the world where I probably shouldn’t go. Oh well, you only live once. Right?

Afghan Spirit...images from my trip into Pakistan

I just returned from a great trip to Pakistan with Mahbouba, her husband Hassan, and Ariane-all Afghan Americans with deep family roots in Afghanistan. Here are some whimsical images...I keep trying to find ways to express how funny, whimsical, creative and unexpected the Afghans are and I am getting some good pictures. We traveled down through Jalalabad, spending the night in Hassan's family estate...warm air and orange blossoms-palm trees. Onto the Khyber Pass and through hellishly chaotic border crossing...the austere looking gentleman owns the peacocks and he coaxed the male into showing his beautiful tail. Afghans love birds and this man was incredibly gentle with his birds and animals. The Afghan gentleman in the beautiful Russian scarf turban was on the border...homeless, hungry, slightly mad but happy in spirit and he had an amazingly stylish flair in his dress....the hard part about understanding the Afghan's and their plight is that there is really nothing pathetic about them. When we visited a model orphanage in Rawalpindi, the director commented about the difference between local cultures during the earthquake crisis and how many, many communities used the crisis as an opportunity to get as much in the way of services and money as possible...but the Pushtuns invoved that lived on the Afghan/Pakistan border were proud, gracious and they were barely willing to accept basic help from the donor agencies. She had utmost respect for the Afghans...the photo of the truck and mountain is the exact border crossing.

A Friday walk---and a Day Glo Goat...