The Afghan Queen: A True Story of an American Woman in Afghanistan (29 page)

“You can wander the bazaars for days, and I know you will, but still not see everything. Things from all over the world are on display or under the counter. After a few hours of wandering through the bazaars, you’ll get the feeling that just around the next corner is something that’ll ‘knock-your-socks-off.’ Often, that’s exactly what happens, and it’s exciting.

“I get that feeling whenever I’m in the bazaar. Of course, I am looking for items to sell, but I expect that will be your motivation as well. The type of things that will appeal to you, I shudder to think, is likely to be much different.

“Everywhere, there are bake shops, drink stands, bread stands, food stalls, musicians, artists, and craft vendors, even magicians and fakirs demonstrating and selling their magic.” At the mention of music and magic, Kirk’s attention sharpened, noticeably.

Martin Heemskerck’s16th-century engraving, “Hanging Gardens of Babylon” with Tower of Babel
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The one postcard from the British Museum that I found most intriguing, I took with me on the flight to Kabul. I looked at the postcard as we flew over Iran and Afghanistan. Crazy as it seemed, I almost expected to see the ‘Hanging Gardens” visible off the wing of the 747.

The approach to Kabul revealed huts, roads, and terrace farms. We learned that while these terrace farms were rocky they were also quite fertile, producing substantial crops on tiny plots of land.

Fruit trees and grape arbors anchored the terrace soil. It was said that the inspiration for these terraced farms was Alexander the Great, who persuaded his army and local farmers to rebuild the Hanging Gardens of Babylon on the terraced mountains.

Terraced Afghan farms

I told Kirk that the streets had open ditches for sewers when I first arrived in Kabul. The Revolution’s first priority was public sanitation and health. Most of the open ditches were eliminated and replaced with a modern sewer system. Health clinics were popping up all over Afghanistan, even if they began in shops and rural homes.

Of course, my son was more interested in music and magic than public health. But I felt he needed to be aware of real human needs outside his own juvenile cravings. I told Kirk about the medical volunteers from all over the world.

He needed to be aware of the competition between America, Russia, and China, as well as India, Pakistan, Iran, and other nations. Fortunately, competing nations built and supplied the clinics and schools. Nations that were usually at each other’s throats competed by providing funds and technicians for roads and sanitation.

Our hotel was called Neptune’s Inn. The Inn featured hot showers, baths, carpets, a café bar, the inevitable gift stall, and now waterbeds. I had previously provided the waterbeds as gifts to the Inn owner, who was a business associate. In return, I was not allowed to pay for our stay.

Of course the Inn must provide the water, but I included adjustable fittings and hoses to fill the water-beds. The water-beds also needed heating pads under them. I still can’t believe it but we found suitable electric heating pads at the bazaar. The bazaars continue to surprise and delight me.

Like all of Afghanistan, except the foreign embassies, no alcoholic drinks were served at the Inn; however, if requested, drinks could be laced with khat, a mild euphoric. I preferred khat to alcohol as it left me clear-headed and physically in full control, while allowing me to feel good. The only problem with khat is that overdoing it may leave a person with insomnia and sleep paralysis.

I put the word out that my son was not to have any khat in any form. My government minister-partner, Mike, sent notices with Kirk’s picture to all the food and beverage sellers in Kabul. I thought it was best for Kirk and me if we avoided both khat and alcohol, and this I was resolved to do.

Noor fixed us an Afghan feast with moshak, a type of ravioli with pungent yogurt and tomatoes as the appetizer. Tandoori chicken and lamb covered with curry rice followed, pickled raisins and passion fruit in the rice was a touch of genius. Noor, Kirk and I talked until midnight about business, the revolution and what I needed to buy for my customers.

For my son, Kabul was a culture shock. He couldn’t run from the pizza parlor to the mall anymore. Even with the noisy, colorful bazaars, Kabul was peaceful in comparison with New Jersey. The big difference, I thought, was that there was little media impact and much less road traffic.

Kirk was a bit surprised at how friendly people were in Kabul. Everyone was open and chatty. While we couldn’t understand most of what they were saying, they would smile and so would we, nodding pleasantly. Mostly, Pashto was spoken here. More and more English was spoken each time I returned to Kabul, however, and with the new schools, and young women attending, English was going to spread.

Women’s education was the most gratifying change credited to the Revolution. At least that was my take on it. The schools taught Russian, Chinese, and German, in addition to English. The language programs were largely the result of funding from various nations.

As women, girls really, are coerced into early marriage they teach their children. Mike told me that mothers with children were paid a family subsidy to bring their kids to family schools. This had become a popular pursuit for progressive families. The Kalq Party, with Soviet advisors, had moved into every portion of Afghan culture.

I knew a little of the language at this point, like “Peace be with you; blessed be the name of Allah; what is the cost? Would you deceive a poor woman making her living as did Khadija the Great (Mohamed’s first wife and the first champion of Islam)?” That last phrase has helped me more than once!

After breakfast, we walked to Mike’s shop, and I gave him the list of objects that had been ordered over the last few weeks. Mike and Noor discussed the list, each noting what they could supply. I needed twenty gross of the slipper socks and Noor could get these, as well as saddle bags and kilems.

Mike took Kirk and me with him on his road travels which included stops for tribal jewelry and other art objects. As usual, Kim from the Chinese Embassy, and Kit the Australian health adviser, traveled with us in the large Russian vehicle.

The first stop was a few miles south of Kabul where roads and a clinic had just been completed last year. It was a poor town of small farmers and many vendors. While not a bazaar by Kabul standards, it provided me with some lovely handmade crafts, mostly beautifully embroidered children’s clothes. We also found some wonderful fresh melons and locally grown fruit.

Kit and Kim spent some time at the clinic, which had become a busy health center and a rare triumph of international aid. Brass plaques were everywhere, crediting the various donor nations. Most conspicuous were Russian, Chinese, American, and Swiss donations. So many nations wanted to get their foot in the door of this fiercely independent country.

Dinner at the hotel café was bright and cheerful. Here we were: American, Australian, Russian, Chinese, and Afghan friends, rivals and business associates, chatting and feasting like a happy family. Scenes like that were rare, and I was not allowed to photograph such gatherings.

While we talked, Kirk jammed on his guitar in the corner of the café. He was quite pleased with himself, having sold $30 worth of old T-shirts at the bazaar. Most of all, Kirk was aglow from the applause each time he finished a song. He was relishing the attention sorely missed in the States.

Kirk had brought some Frisbees along and played in the courtyard garden with Noor and some of his staff. The Frisbees were so popular that they now played daily for an hour or so. Within a week, Frisbees became quite the rage. The Afghans were wild for them.

I was not aware of this at the time, but Kirk had packed dozens of Frisbees that were sent ahead to Kabul Airport. He asked me how much he should sell them for, and I suggested that he give Mike and Noor each one as gifts. I told Kirk he would do much better by trading then by selling them.

For once Kirk took my advice and traded his Frisbees for Afghan hats and socks. When we returned to the States, Kirk sold these to friends and at flea markets. He became quite an enterprising guy and loved to buy and sell at garage sales and flea markets. I encouraged him to “Take it easy, but take it.”

My son became quite popular among our circle of Afghans and embassy people. With his guitar, magic tricks, and card playing, he was constantly invited to gatherings, ping pong at the Chinese Embassy; poker games, swimming, and gym at the U.S. Embassy; basketball and horse-back riding with the Russians. I suspect they find Kirk a convenient information source.

Kirk was especially happy that he kept winning at poker. For that reason I was suspicious about embassy staff pumping him for information. My son was delighted that they laughed at his awful jokes and encouraged him to tell more. I knew his jokes to be tiresome, though, and that’s why I believe he was popular as an information source.

He was having such a glorious time, getting lots of attention, and was so consistently happy that I did not want to break the news to him. I kept telling myself: ‘There’s little he can say. What tidbits of information can he provide? Let everyone fuss over him. What does it matter?’