Archive for the ‘Afghanistan’ Category
What I Remember About Kandahar
I read today that the U.S. is planning to launch its next major offensive in Kandahar, the stronghold of the Taliban. For most Americans, the word Kandahar conjures up images (if it conjures up any images at all) of bearded men with Kalashnikov rifles slung over their shoulders, burning schools and preaching hatred—of the West, of their own women, even of music and kite flying. For me, however, Kandahar conjures up a completely different image.
I joined Peace Corps in 1976 and was assigned to Afghanistan as a teacher of English as a second language. I arrived on July 6th after a journey from Washington, D.C., that took 24 hours and involved hours of waiting in airports in Frankfurt and Tehran. After a two-month training that included history, culture, and Dari (Persian) classes, I was assigned to the Kabul Teachers College, where I taught both men and women in completely co-ed classes.
After a hot, dry summer and an absolutely glorious fall, a cold, dark winter descended on Kabul. I started feeling somewhat depressed, so to cheer myself up one night in early December, I decided to accompany some friends to the Happy Hour that took place weekly in the basement of the house where the American Marines lived.
Soon after arriving, I looked up and saw an interesting young man walking down the stairs. He started talking to Jackie, a Peace Corps friend, and then moved over to the bar. I asked Jackie who he was. She said his name was Hans, that he was from the Netherlands, and that he and his father owned an oriental carpet business in Rotterdam. Jackie introduced us and one thing led to another. Two weeks later Hans asked me to marry him, and I said yes.
In February 1977, Hans told me that he needed to make a business trip to Holland, and he asked me to go with him. Since I had vacation coming by then, I was able to do so. We left our large, 2-story adobe home and tree-filled garden (whose privacy was ensured by 12-foot high mud walls), drove through streets filled with people, carts, donkeys, camels and all manner of noisy, honking automobiles and boarded an Ariana plane, which had to bank sharply to rise above the snow-capped peaks of the Hindu Kush Mountains.
Five hours later, we descended into Schipol Airport. Hans’ father picked us up in his black Mercedes and headed for the autobahn, where I watched the cold, flat, wet, green Dutch countryside flash by while Patti Lupone sang “Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina” on the radio. We finally arrived at Hans’ family home, which was just one of a whole street of small, neat, two-story brick duplexes with a tiny patch of grass and a huge picture window in front. Culture shock descended on me in full force.
After three weeks in Holland, we got word from Hans’s Afghan partner that he needed a truck to haul stuff with. So Hans bought a huge DAF semi and we embarked on our return journey to Kabul driving overland. After a fascinating trip that took three weeks (I’ll tell that story another time), we finally arrived at the border that Iran shares with Afghanistan. Unfortunately customs officials said there was a problem with the truck’s import papers, which meant that Hans had to spend more time in Iran to get the papers amended.
By this time, however, I really needed to get back to my job, so I decided to continue on alone to Kabul. I made my way through border security and climbed on a bus filled mostly with Afghan men. The bus pulled out and headed for Kandahar, where the passengers would spend the night at an inn before continuing on to Kabul the next day. A young man sat down in the seat next to me, and we conversed sporadically in English for the next six hours.
When we got to the hotel in Kandahar, the young man was standing just behind me in line when I got to the check-in desk. In astonishment, I suddenly heard him tell the innkeeper (in Dari) that we were together. I yelped out “Durustnes!” (It’s not true!) With a look of disgust at the young man, the innkeeper handed me a key to my own room. I headed there immediately and crawled into bed, grateful for the comfort of a real mattress and sheets after three weeks of sleeping in the truck cabin.
I awoke early the next morning, got dressed, and opened door. Right in front of me, sound asleep on a hard wooden chair, was the innkeeper. He had slept there all night to protect me!
After a breakfast of nan and tea, I climbed on the bus for the last 6-hour leg of the journey to Kabul. Sure enough, the same young man sat down next to me again. When we got to Kabul, he insisted on escorting me to my home because I was a single woman traveling alone. He left me there, acting like a perfect gentleman, and I never saw him again.
Ever since that day, however, whenever I hear the word Kandahar, what comes to my mind is the image of an innkeeper who spent a night sleeping in a hard wooden chair in order to protect a stranger from harm.
The Surge in Afghanistan: Yes or No?
Kabul, Afghanistan-1976
Although I have not visited Afghanistan since 1978, the country and her people have had a huge influence on my life. I went there for the first time in July 1976 as a Peace Corps Volunteer. In December that year, I met a Dutchman named Hans; in October 1977 we were married in Kabul at the church in the Italian embassy.
For the last 30 years, I have watched in sadness as the country and her people have been torn apart by a never-ending war. I have also watched in anger as the U.S. has twice come to the country’s aid and then deserted it.
Since many of my friends know about my Afghan connection, they have been asking me recently about my opinion of the surge. I have told them I honestly don’t know what the best solution is. On the one hand, my heart just wants to end both of our wars of choice and bring our soldiers home. On the other hand, I shudder to think what will happen to the country if we desert it for a third time.
Three Cups of Tea
This is why I was so eager to attend last week’s lecture by Greg Mortenson. I have few modern-day heroes, but Mortenson is one of them. As described so beautifully in Three Cups of Tea, he has spent the last 16 years almost singly-handedly building schools—mostly for girls—in the remotest areas of Pakistan and Afghanistan.
It was interesting to see Greg in person. He was wearing a dowdy gray sweater that was stretched tightly over a somewhat pudgy body. His shoulders were a little hunched, and he kind of shuffled as he walked across the stage. He was also humble, self-effacing, and extremely inspiring. It just goes to show that you don’t have to be a rock star to change the world and that one human being with a passion to help others can make a huge difference.
Greg’s organization, the Central Asian Institute (CAI), has now built 131 schools that serve 58,000 students, including 44,000 girls. Although the Taliban has destroyed many schools in the area, not one of CAI’s schools has met that fate. This is because Greg only builds a school when the leaders of the community come to him and ask him to do so. They also have to agree to donate land, thousands of hours of manual labor, and whatever materials they can. This ensures that the community truly buys into the project and strongly supports it.
In fact, only one of CAI’s schools has ever been attacked by the Taliban. This happened about two years ago. In response, the villagers attacked the men who had overtaken their school, killed a few of them, jailed the rest, and reopened the school two days later.
One of the most disturbing things I learned from Greg was that the Taliban have been actively working to destroy the culture in Afghanistan by driving a wedge between the children and the elders. Traditionally, the whole society—young and old—has had a high regard for the elders, who regularly gather together to make decisions for the good of the community. By removing the male children and putting them in schools that teach them to disrespect the leaders of their own communities, the whole society is beginning to fall apart. (First the individual communities collapse, Greg explained, then the central government.)
Women Students at My Wedding Reception
Greg said that an educated woman plays a critical role in this regard, which is one of the reasons the Taliban are so opposed to the education of women. This is because a woman who can read, learn and think for herself will not let her sons attend such schools. She will also have fewer children, which improves the health of the whole family, and she will ensure that her children obtain an education.
Greg quoted a proverb from Africa that says: “If you educate a boy, you educate an individual. But if you educate a girl, you educate a community.”
At the very end of his talk, Greg acknowledged that many people in the audience were probably wondering what he thought about the planned surge of U.S. soldiers. He didn’t exactly answer this question one way or the other, but this is the gist of his comments as nearly as I can remember.
First he said that the politicians in Washington made their decision to support the surge behind closed doors—without soliciting opinions from the American people or from the Afghans themselves. He believes this was a big mistake. He also said that the politicians—including Hilary Clinton and Joe Biden—have made few trips to the country and understand little about its people and culture.
On the other hand, he said the military leaders really “get it.” In fact, ALL of the American officers in Afghanistan are now required to read Greg’s book! Greg has had many conversations with General Petraeus and other high level military leaders, and they seem to understand that to succeed in Afghanistan, Americans must build relationships, understand and respect the culture, and work closely with the elders.
The alternative to the surge is to increase air bombing through drones (as Biden has apparently urged). This is absolutely the wrong step, of course, because drones kill women, children and innocent men as well as whatever military leader we might be targeting. The result is growing hatred of Americans.
So…for the moment…I think I’ll try and suppress my baby-boomer distrust of the military and support the surge. The alternatives are worse. And maybe–just maybe–we will get it right this time.