Temporarily suspended ...

This blog is temporarily suspended until September 19, 2013 while I enjoy my grandchildren in America.  I will return to weekly (or bi-weekly) updates once I return from my stateside assignment in Marietta, Georgia.  Until then, enjoy your summer while I enjoy mine!

Where were we?

We've gone from Jordan and Dubai, both countries where women wear head scarves, long sleeves and long shirts to Afghanistan where women are totally covered from head to toe out in public.  

I had seen pictures of Afghanistan when their war was big news in America so I was somewhat prepared for the rugged mountains, but I was not prepared for how beautiful they were to me.

These pictures do not do them justice.  The sky was hazy, filled with dust.  Occasionally, I would tell Glenn, "I just got a whiff of dust".  Do you know what dust smells like?  It's unmistakeable there.

Mostly rock, with stubble trees and bushes.  The square mud (tan-colored) houses that crawl up the hillside are fascinating to me.  How on earth do they get the hand-made bricks up the hill when there aren't even always roads up to them???

From the air (but not in this picture), you can see that the capital, Kabul, is a large city that is separated by a mountain.  If you live on one side of the city but your friend lives on the other side of the mountain, it can take you almost an hour to get there.   There are several main roads throughout the city that are paved (but badly in need of repair!) but many of the roads have never been paved.  Most residential streets are not paved.

The airport is very small.  After spending a couple of days in Dubai where everything is spanking new and clean, it was a rude awakening to get off the Air Dubai plane, crowd into an ancient transport bus to go from the plane to the terminal, about 40 yards away.  The bus was caked with dust; the vinyl seats were peeling so badly that 5" hunks of dry-rotted foam were crumbling out onto the floor.  The windows were so dirty that it was pointless to even try to take a picture of the tiny airport.  (This picture I took upon my departure, with my camera hidden on my wrist in the sleeve of my long, black robe.)

As we drove from the airport to the guesthouse where we were staying for most of our time, I took as many pictures as possible because one does not just wander about the city freely.  I also had to be careful not to take pictures of any of the policemen or any woman facing me.  That was a shame because I was fascinated by them!   I also wanted so badly to get pictures of the old men with their turbans and scraggly beards, but I certainly didn't want to upset anyone that didn't want their picture taken!

Poverty everywhere.  Broken vehicles discarded on the side of the road with children playing in them.  Clothes for sale, hanging 10 feet from the dust stirred up by cars constantly passing by.

The traditional Afghan dish called Pilau is basmati rice with raisins for sweetness, julienned carrots, chunks of onions and tender lamb or chicken, and seasoned with cinnamon, coriander. cumin, cardamon, and cloves.  It is DELICIOUS.  I loved the piles of julienned carrots pre-prepared for the dish!!  Guess this is the local equivalent to buying grated carrots in little bags at the grocery store for carrot cake recipes!  And interesting thing is that women are to be kept in the home, hidden away, so men do the grocery shopping.  It was rare to see a woman out on the street!  Those that were, were very likely widowed.

The tallest buildings were about 5 or 6 floors so no massive skyscrapers in Kabul.  The residential streets were usually not paved, but if they were, they were so full of pot holes and covered with so much dust and dirt that you couldn't see the pavement.

Traffic is horrible and the drivers are daredevils.  Glenn and I were amazed at the adroitness though of the drivers and how they all seemed to know the exact amount of centimeters they have to spare to get through a triple line of cars.  The round points were scary, especially if your car was on the inside of 3 lanes going around, and you needed to exit right away!  Drivers would just turn their car sideways and drive to the exit, and I just knew we were going to be creamed on the side of our car time after time.  

Some two lane roads would have 3 or 4 lanes of cars but some roads, like this one above, had sewage floating down beside it, which means there wasn't much leeway for cars to maneuver and it stunk!

There were lots of modes of transportation.  Yellow and white taxis were everywhere, but as you can see, you put your life in their hands when you do!

There were also a lot of huge trucks hauling things.  We had to share the narrow roads (dirt and paved ones) with them.  Most of them were piled high above the railing with goods, but I wanted to show you that the inside of the truck bed is decorated also!!

We saw a few horse-drawn carts in the city.

A thousand bikes ridden by men.  Quite often we would see 2 men on a bike, or a man and two children, or even a man, his wife, and a child ... all on one bike.  :-)   One night as we were returning to the guesthouse, it was raining slightly and it was dark, and Glenn saw two boys on a bike.  One was steering and pedaling; the other was standing up on the rack over the back fender, holding onto the other boys' shoulders, looking over his head!  And, of course, it was dark and the bike had no headlight or reflectors!

If there were a thousand bikes, there were ten thousand rickshaws like this one!  They reminded me of the old 3-wheeled mail carts that were popular when I was in 9th grade, living in Montgomery, Alabama.   This one has 6 people in it.  Fortunately for them, it was open and they could breathe!

Most of them were closed on 3 sides, shading them from the merciless sun but limiting the air that "might" cool them off.  They were all very colorful!

The advantage to riding in one of them (for hire) is that they were more narrow than most cars so they could squeeze four of them side-by-side into two lanes of traffic!

We also shared the road with men pulling carts, hauling things such as these wheelbarrows.  Now, please don't think I've given you just the most unusual pictures.  This is just a single example of the many bizarre things we saw being hauled!  

And then of course, we had to share the road with the many, many men walking out in the streets.  Even on major roads, people would dart fearlessly in front of the oncoming cars ... because they know that if they get hit, it is lawfully the drivers' fault (not theirs, even though they were "jaywalking"-ha!)  Also, if they get hit, it could mean payment to them for their pain and suffering!

I loved this billboard about openings at the American University of Afghanistan.  Are these our American dollars at work, or is it just in name only?

Young girls under the age of 12, dressed in their school uniforms.  One web site said that they could go to school until they were 13, at which point they had to withdraw, presumably to be getting married soon.

From the guesthouse, we could hear the music to Happy Birthday to You being played over and over and over from the street.  We found out that the local ice cream cart had a microphone from which blared the song all day long to announce that the ice cream "truck" was there.  We all remember the little jingle that the ice cream truck from our childhood played, don't we?  Well, this is the Afghan version of that!

While we were there, temperatures were in the upper 90's so I was totally grossed out to see these pieces of meat hanging under a tarp for sale.  

These men are "sitting around", just shooting the breeze.  (Except there's no breeze!)  I loved how they squat, like we stand around to chit chat!

Lots of trash piles because there isn't garbage pick-up.

Due to safety concerns, our friends were very cautious about us going off the guesthouse property.   One day, after they'd checked with a local NGO who keeps a pulse on the safety of foreigners to verify that all was calm in the city, they decided it was safe to go sightseeing with the help of a driver.  A driver is a man who drives their car for them whenever they need to go outside the compound.  He, too,  keeps his ears to the ground by listening to local comments and gossip to keep abreast of the news of the city and lets our friends know if it is safe to go somewhere.

He drove the 6 of us to see the old Parliament building that was bombed several years ago during the war.   

Our driver knows one of the guards who was patrolling the property, and he let us stroll freely about the crumbling building, taking as many pictures as we wanted.  It was sobering, to say the least!

By the way, you'll notice that I am wearing a long, black robe and a head scarf.  Any time we left the guesthouse, I had to be totally covered from head to toe in this robe, even if I was staying in the car.  It was quite hot!

This is the new Parliament building that is not quite completed.  :-)  This photo was taken from the old Parliament building, so you can see it is not far from the original location.  I love that there are sheep grazing on the "lawn" of the old Parliament!!

This is TV Mountain, so named because of the many tv antennae stratigically placed on the top.   The driver took us up this tall, rocky mountain, up a curvy, dusty, dirt road that is barely wider than one car width.

Half-way up, overlooking house after house located on the hillside.

The guards at the top allowed us to get out of the car to look at the city on both sides of the mountain.  There was another car that came shortly after we arrived but the guards did not allow the car to pass the gate the top until we had finished taking all the pictures we needed, had gotten back in our car and was headed down the hill again.  

In the photo you can see one of the soldiers who keeps watch over the city.

Again, Kabul is on the two sides of the mountain so the following pictures are taken as we walked around the top. 

The population of Kabul is really unknown because it has been years since an official census has been taken, so many have died in the decades of war, and now there are so many Syrian refugees coming daily that the population has swelled tremendously in the past years.   Who knows? 

 One web site I read said there were 3.5 million people in Kabul, but others in Kabul have quoted 5 million and even 10 million.  I don't believe there are 10 million people in Kabul, but I would guess there may be 5 million.

And half of them (the men) were on the roads, on the sidewalks or walking in the streets!

I loved that everywhere you looked in the distance, there were mountains.  Kabul is in a valley (or really, two valleys since it is split in two by TV Mountain.)

The major artery.  It's paved, but it felt like a washboard dirt road as we traveled on it!

As we were coming back into town from the mountain, we passed one of the local car washes!

Don't drink the water!

Our driver allowed us to stop briefly at a souvenir place that is "approved" for Embassy personnel.  If a place is "approved", that means that the American Embassy has approved it as a store, restaurant, or other place as being adequately guarded by the police or hired guards to provide security for it's clients.

Hmmm, because it is approved as a place for Embassy folks, you can automatically assume that the prices are also set high for Embassy people.  Our salary doesn't allow us to shop at the same places!!

We drove out to a beautiful lake, but I didn't catch the name.

We saw a camp of mud homes covered with tarps.  These are "homes" of squatters.  The refugees live in less desirable homes.  It hurt my heart to see the destitution of the people.

I love the rock in the road to warn that there is something ahead that's amiss!  Really???  Will you see the rock before you see the bulldozer that is about to fall off the truck???

After a few days in Kabul, the 6 of us (Glenn and me, the friends we went to visit, and mutual friends from Dubai) flew "in-country"to the northern part of the country to visit a couple of families and to spend a few days with them, to see what their lives are like on a day-to-day basis.  (I had a difficult time remembering to refer to it by "in-country" because when we lived in Cote d'Ivoire, we lived "up-country"!)

We saw lots of camels and people riding on donkeys!

The villages in the area were comprised of mud houses with domed roofs!  These communities were scattered all along the road, often with struggling farm plots on the outer edges.

We saw 4 or 5 abandoned tanks along the way.  Some of them had been stripped of anything salvageable!

We visited in the town of Mazar-e-Sharif, which means "Noble Shrine". 

The name refers to the large, blue-tiled mosque and sanctuary in the center of the town, called Shrine of Hazrat Ali (or the Blue Mosque!).  According to Wikipedia, some Muslims believe that the tomb of Ali ibn Abi Talib, the cousin and son-in-law of Prophet Muhammed is located at this mosque; however, most Muslims believe that the grave of Ali is at a mosque in Najaf, Iraq.

A few days later I donned a borrowed blue burka, a full body cloak that totally covers from head to toe, with only a small patch of mesh from which to peer out.  In my long, black robe, I didn't even know the meaning of hot!  I'm claustrophobic to a degree, and this burka brought on mild feelings of panic!  Not only did I feel I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see either!  The mesh was like looking through screen wire, my eyes constantly blinking to focus with every step or movement of my head.  

With burkas on, a driver took the 6 of us 80 miles westward to Shebergan.   To get to Shebergan, we drove through Taliban-occupied territory, so the 3 women had to stay completely covered (even in the car) with our burkas on.

  

We passed 4-5 check-points along the way, each one manned by at least 2 police/soldiers, but we never got stopped.  The idea of the burka was to not let anyone know we were foreigners, for our own safety.  Of course, the Land Cruiser we traveled in with 3 white guys, a driver, and 3 burka-covered women wouldn't bring suspicion, would it? 

The front of the burka is more like a long shirt, covering me down to my hips, while the back goes all the way to the heels.  I learned that I needed to grab one of the bottom corners and pull it up and across my pant legs to cover them, and to stay covered like this at all times.  This was quite difficult for me, because I had to use one hand to hold the mesh close to my eyes so I could see out, and the other hand to hold the corner of the burka to cover me.  I also needed to learn how to "float" as I walked, not knowing where I was going or what I was stepping on.  (Most of the times, I didn't want to know!)

Is this me?

The wife of the family we stayed with in Shebergan took me on an outing to go get ice cream.  While women are generally not seen out in public, they do have a place where ladies can go to get ice cream!  There on the sidewalk, next to the open-air market, is a cold-counter where men and boys can get scoops of ice cream, but since women are not supposed to be out in public, the women scoot behind the ice cream counter into a small curtained room (and I mean small!)  

 I felt like I was inside a piece of Double Bubble bubble gum!  On three walls hung vibrant Pepto-Bismol pink floor-to-ceiling curtains with metallic silver threads reflecting light from the florescent lamps.  The fourth wall was covered with the largest mirror I've ever seen and was surrounded by huge posters of beautiful Boliwood men and women.   Inside, we were able to lift our burkas.  There were 6 skinny tables at which were seated 8-10 other ladies, ranging in age from 13 to 56.  (I had not yet turned 57!)  A young boy came in to get our order, and then quietly slipped out to fill it.  The boy has to be 12 or younger, not yet 13, the age in which he becomes a man and begins to lust after women.  There is never mixed company unless with a spouse or a relative!

The traditional Afghan ice cream has cardamon in it, which, surprisingly, was quite tasty!

We spent one night in Shebergan and got to experience sleeping on toshaks, Afghani beds, which are like oversized embroidered pillows.  Visiting is done in a room that is lined with toshaks (long, rectangular cushions on the bottom and pillows against the wall).  There is usually a large, beautiful Persian rug on the floor.  

When it is meal time, a vinyl tablecloth is laid down to totally cover the rug, and it becomes the "table".  People are seated around the room on the cushions with their feet criss-crossed in front of them or folded underneath (being certain NOT to show the underside of your foot because that is RUDE, nor putting your feet on the "table").  Once everyone is seated, plates, silverware and heaping dishes of food are placed on the vinyl tablecloth and the meal begins.

We were invited to a real meal deal with an Afghani family and I loved every bite of it!  I ate so much that I've only been that miserably full three or four other times in my life!  I want to cook Afghan Pilau for my family the next time we are in the U.S., which will be very, very soon!

Though we didn't see or hear any gunfire or bombs going off, there was always the possibility that it could have happened somewhere in the city.   I kept asking myself, "What is the chance of something happening to Glenn and me?  "Very, very slim", I answered to myself, so I was able to relax;  but I have to admit, hearing the two military helicopters flying overhead all day and night long began to wear on me.  Being confined (90% of the time) to the house was a little boring.  Having to make sure my head and body were covered in the presence of any man other than our friends was a hassle.  By the end of our 10 days there, the oppression was beginning to get to me.  

I don't know how our friends live with this day in and day out, except by God's presence and grace in their lives.  He  enables them to withstand the isolation, the unconscious-yet constant-fear of prison or death, and the ugliness of the extreme ravages of a country at war for decades.   Pray for Afghanistan!  Next year, when America pulls all troops out of the country, the lives of the people will deteriorate even more so, and I cannot fathom how dreadful that will be.  I cannot imagine how bad things will get.

  Please pray for Afghanistan!