Cheers! Kabul

New subject, same students. Many of my old students are attending my new class; I guess they have missed me!
Graffiti on crumbling buildings with no plans for reconstruction.
Haven't I seen this guy somewhere before?

Being back in Kabul after a 4 month long hiatus is interesting. During this trip back, I have had many bouts of Deja Vu; the guards at my old apartment are the same, my driver is friends with my former driver, so he knows that I like to lift weights, the policeman at the gate at school remembers that I don't eat bread, so he didn't offer any to me when it was lunch time and I walked by (he offered chick pea soup instead), the old beggar lady in burqa outside of the grocery store told me she hasn't seen me in a longtime, the biting cold is still unbearable, the walk to Camp Eggers still haunts me, I can still smell the wood stoves burning across the street from my place, my students ask me how Chris is, and the azan (call to prayer) still shakes me from my slumber before dawn.

Through all of these encounters, I can't help but think that I am Norm and Kabul is my "Cheers."

For those of you who are too young to remember, "Cheers" was a television show in the 80's about a bar in Boston. Norm was a regular at the bar and whenever he walked into the place, everyone would yell his name "Norm!" to greet him.

The theme song to "Cheers" went like this:

Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got.
Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot.
Wouldn't you like to get away?

Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name,
and they're always glad you came.

You wanna be where you can see,
our troubles are all the same
You wanna be where everybody knows your name.

As funny as it may seem, I have been singing this song in my head ever since I got here. Though I didn't necessarily want to "get away" from the happy life that I live in the states, I did want to come back here to remember how wonderful my life really is. Just as I have written before, I think it is necessary for us to leave behind what we love in order to realize how amazing the things that we have are. So, I have gone away to Kabul to remember how lovely my life is in America.

It is ironic that the place I have to go where everybody knows my name is Kabul. Afghans are awesome like that. They have the best memories of any people I have ever known. If you tell an Afghan something, they most likely will never forget it. But you have to be careful, Afghans expect the same from you! I remember that one student told me how many siblings she had, and what all of their names were. She felt bad later on when I asked her again about her siblings and what their names were. Testing her, I asked if she remembered all of the things I had told her about my family, and she proceeded to repeat all of the information I had mentioned the week before. So this, it ends up, is the place in the world where everybody (who has met me!) remembers my name. Go figure!

And finally, here, everyone's troubles are the same. It is true, our troubles are all pretty similar in Kabul. From the poorest person on up, we are all cold, we all are hoping for clean air, clean water, and clean food, we are all hoping for peace. Though the foreigners here have all of these things outside of the country, temporarily they have to live alongside their Afghan counterparts and experience a fraction of their suffering. We all worry about suicide blasts, inclement weather, illegal checkpoints, and kidnappings. We all worry about money and time. We all go to sleep hoping to wake up to a better day tomorrow.

So, as I wander through these familiar streets, consistently being greeted by people whom I know, always seeing things I have seen before, I can't help but think: I am Norm and Kabul is my "Cheers."

The Ice Cream Man

He leans back on one elbow, tanned face turned up towards the warming Kabul sun. A scarf flails in the wind behind him like a lonely flag on an empty horizon. His eyes are closed, but under his lids, those eyes dart back and forth scanning the street for potential customers. Jacket and pants full of holes hang on his gaunt frame, looking for a way to shirk the dirt they have collected from years of dust. The red box beneath him belts out "My Heart Will Go On." Celine helps lure sweets lovers into his lair. He hums happily along with the tune though he has heard it 1000 times before; he says it reminds him of happier times. Children sprint towards him, glee flowing from mouths, blue UNICEF book bags falling to the uneven ground, change jumping out of their hands, anticipation pouring from their eyes. Self-importantly, he rises from his elbow and grins at the children. He begins to sing over and over again, "ICE CREAM, ICE CREAM, Who wants ICE CREAM." Everyone does.

Did you know there are ice cream men in Kabul?

Kabul Break

Empty, snowy Kabul Education University.
Visiting Babur Gardens, Kabul, with the new ELF Amy. Bullet holes still riddle the mosque.
The view of Kabul from Babur Gardens.
My Afghan friend's daughter making "Crossfit rings" soup.
The kids and me cooking in my kitchen, Kabul.

Night has fallen and I am no longer alone. Though my apartment is still cold and empty, new friends and activities have filled my life. Five months ago, I wrote of being imprisoned in my own home. Now, I still face the same challenge of not having freedom of movement; of not being able to make my own choices about many small things that we take for granted as citizens of a free and peaceful country, but in the space between the loneliness and wanting, life has grown around me.

After returning to Kabul from my trips to India and Nepal, reality slowed down like a slug on a cold winter morning. I returned to an empty University, a freezing apartment, unforgiving snow, friends gone on vacation, and not much to do but work out. My Kabul break had begun.

Fearing that boredom, loneliness, and quite possibly insanity may set in, I took to working out twice a day, writing letters home, studying Dari, and planning my semester. Though idle hands usually would cause much mischief in my seemingly unadulterated real life, here it just makes me fantasize about taking a long walk outside.

Thankfully, crossfitting and spending time with friends has filled my break time with much-needed socializing. During my winter break, I have spent time with students, entertained the new English Language Fellows by taking them to Babur Gardens and out for dinner (I know, it is a little crazy!), gone shopping for clothes in the local mall, attended lessons at Dari school, gone to my University to do some work and toughen up in my unheated office, cooked, spent time at Camp Eggers doing crossfit, and invited my Afghan friend's family over for lunch.

Surprisingly, life has been quite pleasant during this break time. I still find myself gazing out of my window towards Television Hill, wishing that I could throw off my chadar and bound up to the summit. Five months ago those peaks seemed thousands of miles away. Now, they are closer than ever.

Recently, I was invited to go and explore those hills. Though I won't be running to the top, when the time is right, friends will accompany me to one of the highest points in Kabul where I can look down on the city from a new perspective; when I arrive on the mountain, I will say my prayer of freedom, just like I promised so long ago. Only this time, I will say it not for myself, but for this humble city of Kabul. For now I know that anything is possible.

Only five months ago I felt as though I was alone, in prison. Now, the peaks of mountains are at my fingertips. If life here can blossom into a beautiful, friend-filled existence in such a short time, maybe the same can happen for the city itself. Only time will tell.

Opening the Second Act

Wintry walk with a friend.
The second-hand store; calm before the storm.
A light sheen of snow's first visit to my neighborhood.
A friend's son anxiously stares out the window as the snow falls.

It blew in swiftly and playfully. Tiny flecks dotted the morning sky and then disappeared like shooting starts fleetingly lighting the night. Burqas billowed in the wind and then relaxed on women's frames; droopy curtains covering aching hearts. Dog's howling ceased; silence dominated as the storm gathered its strength. Then, all at once, the snow poured from the sky. I pressed my face to the window, along with the children in the room, and excitedly shouted, "It's barfing!" Winter has finally found Kabul.

If my time here were an opera, this would be the opening to the second act. The close to the first act would be my return from the land of holiness and intoxicating Middle Eastern love swiftly followed by the echoing blasts of IEDs haunting a temporary oasis in war. The name of the opera would be Tangled Contradictions because the tumult here has never been strong enough to enshrine the grace of this place.

As the snow of the second act begins to fall, lovely ladies would be dancing around the stage flinging their chadars in the air, singing of the winter fluff blanketing mountain's craggy slopes. The aria would sound like my own breath filling a basement gym, weights clanking on the floor, a melodic, yet intrusive mullah blasting through loud speakers, beckoning the people to come and pray, oil popping in a too-hot pan ready to fry the next couple of eggs, horns honking rhythmically, students sweetly calling, "teacher, teacher," a Chopin piano solo bursting out of a phone, Farhad Dariya accompanying me through the congested streets, a nervous heartbeat filling my chest as I choose my next Dari words, cold seeping into my bones slyly yet gradually.

Ever so suddenly, snow has fluttered in to Kabul; the second act has begun.

The Good Things about Being Back in Kabul...

Hadi and his adorable sisters.
Lunchtime!
Where the magic of language acquisition takes place...the closer to the wood stove I am, the more Dari I can speak.
The view of Kabul from inside of my lungs...Really, Kabul on a rather dust-filled afternoon (Darulaman Palace in the background).

There are a few good things about being back in Kabul...

First, the best thing about being back in Kabul is seeing my students again. As soon as I returned to the city, a few of my students visited me at my house and brought over a Christmas tree! Better than a real tree, I will have this plastic reminder of their love for the duration of my stay here. At the ELF house it'll be Christmas until our fellowship is over. Sparkling lights and a stocking dangling form our space heater will remind us of the spirit of the season even after it passes.

Today, the thoughtfulness of my students continued. In the morning they, along with their uncle, picked me up at my apartment. We drove past Darulaman Palace and bumped along some new (but unpaved) roads towards one of their family's homes. Upon arrival in the "suburbs" we sat around drinking tea and talking about school and life. I noticed that there were no mud-brick structures in this part of town. My student told me that the building codes said that there could be no such construction in this neighborhood; they were trying to keep it nicer-looking than other parts of town.

After playing a couple of games of cards, we made our way to another room for lunch. The food consisted of the steadfast qabali palaw (rice with raisins and carrots), naan bread, and a variety of meats and vegetables. Absent of family members other than children, an uncle, and a cousin, I asked where the rest of the family was. My students told me that there were other guests in a different part of the house. I was both impressed by the mother's ability to host two "sets" of guest at the same time, and honored that I was invited during another family event. This just goes to show how utterly amazing Afghans are. Being hospitable and welcoming is definitely one of their strong suits.

The second good thing about being back in Kabul is learning Dari. Although, upon returning to Dari class I realized that I had forgotten most of what I had learned in the last 4 months, I was still happy to be back in the humble school. I sat next to the wood-burning stove with my teacher and constructed a sentence about how much I didn't like potatoes. I used the Arabic word for potato, "batata," and when my teacher corrected me with the proper word in Dari, "kechalu," I thanked her and assured her that, "lo," I would not make that mistake again. She laughed and asked what "lo" meant. I realized I had told her no in Hebrew.

The last good thing about being back in Kabul is that I am returning healthier (minus my lung infection) and to a relatively cleaner city. I think there was some mass trash pick-up while I was gone. Each day last week as I drove through the newly clean streets, I wondered where all of the trash went...then I saw the river. The Kabul River doubles as the dump. Unfortunately. Also, the air is much thicker with pollution, so I can't help but think that the trash has been burned somewhere and it is all actually particles in the air now. But I am digressing from my optimism.

So, you see, there are some good things about being back in Kabul. In a few days I will start my winter class. Yes, I actually do teach here. More on that soon...

Kabul in Hiding

I am in my apartment alone; it is quiet save for the honking horns, men talking, and occasional call to prayer. The brown light of the afternoon peeks through my opaque windows. Mountains on the horizon beckon to me; I wish I could bound into the the afternoon heat and run up to the radio towers that grace the hills. I would say a little prayer of freedom and gaze upon this broken city with eyes wide open. But for now, I inhale the dusty inside air and tell a story of hiding...

I am one of the lucky ones and so are you. Although this lock down is only temporarily my life, for most people here it is all they know. I have been an honorary Afghan woman for the past five days and I can barely imagine what this life looks like permanently. Venturing outside of the cool concrete walls of my apartment complex only can happen when I am going to work or a meeting. At that time, I must be with a guard and a driver. I haven't experienced a day on campus as a professor yet, but I imagine this is where I, along with the students and other professors, find daily freedom of movement and thought. I wonder if Maya Angelou was speaking of Afghans when she wrote "I know why the caged bird sings?" Here, I think everyone is a caged bird.

There are holes everywhere. Bullet holes still litter most of the older, taller buildings in town. It is evident that they have been patched, but with cement and spackling that cannot stand up to weathering; most of the patch work is crumbling anyway. Potholes are the roads. My driver mentioned that the roads were nicely paved before the Taliban came and ruined everything. Now, on the side streets there are remnants of concrete, but for the most part dust and dirt have engulfed the once-smooth thoroughfares. Bricks and cinder blocks have been piled into the biggest of craters, constant reminders of a tumultuous reality.

But if you look closely enough, there is life hiding everywhere, trying to fill the holes which 30 years of war has left.

Indigo silhouettes of women tip toe through mud in their high heels; although burqas hide their faces, their shoes give away their spirit.

An old man whistles a sweet song as he ambles along my road. He smiles broadly at me as I try to hide the fact that I just took a picture of him through the only open window on my stairwell. I blush.

Across from my building, on the roof, I notice boys congregating with kites as the sun sets behind black hawks buzzing through the dusk.

I enjoy my first "Afghan-style" meal out in the secluded garden of Sufi Restaurant. Who knew that this lush garden with trees, flowers, fireside tables, and traditional Afghan music existed among all of this dust a rubble?

Upon first glance, Kabul is a dusty, desolate place...But slowly, I am discovering that the real Kabul is in hiding, waiting to emerge from this dark time. There is no way, with the heart and spirit of the Afghan people, it won't. Just as the sun rises anew each day, I have faith that Kabul, and Afghanistan, will emerge from this long night soon enough.