Happy Jesham... I mean, Independence Day!

Today is Afghan Independence Day.  While walking with a friend through our neighborhood, she asked me "Independence from who?"  Afghanistan has been conquered and conquered again throughout history.  Alexander the Great came through here, so did the Mongols, Arabs, Turks, Brits, and Russians (to name a few).  Throughout history, Afghanistan often acted as the battlegrounds for various Indo-European wars and was caught up in the tug-o-war of the fight to control roads going to the East and West.  In modern history, Afghanistan acted as a battleground between the British and Russians during "The Great Game" and the Russians and the West during the Cold War.  For the last 30 years, Afghanistan has been in a state of civil war between different groups with different intervening forces.  So, "Independence from who?" is a great question.  In this case, Afghans celebrate their independence from the British with the signing of a treaty that ended the third Anglo-Afghan war in 1919.  To put it in it's simplest terms, Afghanistan has a long and complicated history.

The big news surrounding Independence Day this year is the 7000 additional police patrolling the city.  Checkpoints are everywhere.  These 7000 police consist of a mixture of national police, city police, presidential guard, all with different uniforms and all carrying their AK's.  It definitely slows travel down.  Several organizations within the city recommended no non-essential travel today; we think that's more to help avoid the hassle that going anywhere would be.  Joey and Steve left for work almost an hour early after it took Joey twice as long to get home yesterday after being stopped by the national police and a detective service.  My only essential travel consisted of a 15 minute walk to a goodbye breakfast I had been invited to.  Don't worry Dad, I didn't walk alone.  It was an uneventful walk with the usual cars slowing down to stare at two western women (and three kids) and a train of children following saying "Hello. How are you? Hello. How are you?"  My least favorite place to walk by in our neighborhood is the police station, they seem more shocked and at liberty to stare at passing women. . . Today they must have been part of the 7000 on duty patrols because they weren't there.  Is it a little strange that I'm glad there were 7000 police on duty because that meant no police bothered me on my walk?  

Happy Birthday, Afghan style

First of all, Afghans do not celebrate birthdays.  We asked our chakador, Gulrahman, how Afghans celebrate their birthdays.  He responded, "No, we don't celebrate birthdays.  Only births and weddings.  But maybe now we should start."  This might explain why many Afghans don't know their own age and wrinkle their forehead when you ask and respond, "Hmm...I think....28?"

Yesterday was Joey's birthday.  I won't tell you how old, but it's what my Zia Maria called a circle birthday.  Although Afghans do not celebrate birthdays, we certainly do.  Since I can't drive here and all my options were too far to walk to, I decided to ask our cook, Aga Gul, to bake a cake.

Let me tell you a little about our cook.  We really like his food and we really like him.  He's a precious old man who speaks very fast, very bad English.  I made him a cappuccino last week and he drank it in one giant gulp (Afghans don't drink coffee, Aga Gul has never tasted coffee before) and he proceeded to tell me (I think) that he's really good at sewing buttons on shirts...but then there was something about climbing a hill in the story too, and helicopters...and then he asked if the machine was cheap, from Afghanistan, where coffee came from, and a slew of other questions.  When we talk to Aga Gul, we mostly just smile and nod and say thank you.

I went down to the kitchen on Tuesday and found Aga Gul wearing an apron, humming to himself as he wiped down the counters.  Here is the conversation that followed:

Julie: Salaam, Aga Gul. How are you today?
Aga Gul: Salaam. Very good. Very nice. Very good. (X5)
Julie: Tomorrow is Joey's birthday. Could you make a cake for him?
Aga Gul: (Long pause, turns and stares at the pantry) I buy vegetables, some spices, (opens freezer) chicken, meat, meat. Tonight I make boulanee (an Afghan pierogie). For tomorrow? Something different?
Julie: Oh, just the cake for tomorrow.
Aga Gul: (Long pause, looks at pantry) Very good. Very nice.
Julie: (Not sure if he understands what I'm saying, but at least I tried) Tashakur, Aga Gul.

At 5:00 on Wednesday, Habib (another chakador) found me and said that Aga Gul had left me a message, "The cake is hidden in the cabinet."

Going out to eat in Kabul is definitely different than going out to eat anywhere else I have been.  You don't just walk into any restaurant and sit down.  There are three questions asked before going to eat. 1) Is the food safe to eat?  As we have mentioned before,  it is very easy to get sick here.  There are no food sanitation laws in Afghanistan. 2) Is it still open?  Due to the situation here, restaurants open, close, move, reopen, etc.  3) Is it secure?  This involves not only the security at the restaurant itself, but of the surrounding area and neighborhood. There is a fine balance between going someplace that is too high profile and not secure enough.

We went to a Mexican restaurant called La Cantina.  Yes, that's right, there is one Mexican restaurant in Kabul.  After three security checks in three separate rooms and finally getting into the restaurant, our time was quite enjoyable.  The food wouldn't be termed authentic, more like an interpretation.  The beans were delicious, but almost tasted more Indian than Mexican.  But it was great to sit outside and laugh and relax with our housemates.



When we returned home, I searched the cabinets to find the hidden cake.  Sure enough, Aga Gul had come through with a cake glazed, frosted, and decorated with marshmallows.



The times that I miss friends and family most are the days that are meant to be spent with friends and family.  Weddings, important events, birthdays, holidays; these are the times when I know I will feel far away.  But last night, sitting around the table with Steve and Sari and Gulrahman, eating cake that was ridiculously sweet and celebrating Joey's circle birthday; I realized that slowly but surely, we're building friends and family here too.  I love the line from the Kimya Dawson song, My Rollercoaster, "And if home is really where the heart is, than we're the smartest kids I know.  Because wherever we are in this great big world, we'll never be more than a few hours from home."

Bush Bazaar

Kabul is full of bazaars selling anything from car parts to fruit. Our own neighborhood bazaar sells fruit, plastic shoes, and has a store with overpriced western goods. Most bazaars are fairly similar; a little of this and a little of that. But there is one bazaar that is unique from all the others. . . Bush Bazaar.

The bazaar is located on the other side of town from Karte Seh. I've heard some people say that it is considered one of the seedier areas of the city. But to be honest, I couldn't tell. All I know is that we pass by one of the mosques considered to be more extreme, the Hotel Serena where important people stay on visits to Kabul (which was bombed in December and now resembles of military fortress, but I hear it's worth the security hassle for the pastries in their bakery), and the outdoor public toilets that empty into the river where there is a constant line of men squatting.

What makes Bush Bazaar unique is that it carries a plethora of Western goods at cheap prices. It is named for a certain prominent American figure. Supposedly in the 80's, a similar bazaar stood at the same place called the Brezhnev Bazaar. I wonder if the name will change again in November; Barack Bazaar or McCain Bazaar.

The bazaar is made up of 12 rows of stalls. 6 rows contain food, toiletries, and body building supplements (why? I'm still asking that question). The other 6 rows contain clothes (Afghan and Western), curtains and bedding. The food section is always the most interesting. It feels like a treasure hunt, walking from store to store being surprised to find items like beer or Neutrogena shampoo. Of course, there are some staples products like MRE's, giant cans of green beans , Dr. Pepper, quick grits, and fruit cups. There are also a few golden ticket items that everyone seems to be searching for, like cereal and ramen noodles. The bazaar contains everything from weird (Korean boy scout uniforms) to wonderful (Swiss dark chocolate. . .it's melted now, but in the winter it will be a treat). Usually several stores will carry the same products which allows for good bartering. By the third shop the price usually comes down. And if it doesn't, we walk away and they holler down the row, "Fine, fine, whatever you want to pay." The shopping is quick and a little frantic. Shoppers hire men with wheelbarrows to follow them through the rows and stack up their purchases.

I have been to the bazaar twice. The first time was to look for some Afghan clothes. All the clothes have been cleaned and ironed and hung from wires to the ceilings of stalls. I found three shalwar kameez and one chador and paid around 300 afs (or 6 dollars). Our shopping was cut short when we were told we had to leave for security reasons; the market gets closed often for security checks. The second time was to help some friends shop for an upcoming trip. Joey and I walked away with a flat of Gatorade and our friends had a trunk load of groceries.

Where do these products come from? Good question. The answer is a little complicated because there is no exact answer. Some of the products are left over from military units leaving the country. Some of the products are gleaned from donations to towns that have no use for fruit cups or Lays potato chips. Some fell off the back of some truck somewhere in the world. Some of the products are expired, always check the date! And some are obviously counterfeit from Pakistan, like the Dove Body Cream for "womems." Some are reclaimed from the trash and refilled with another product, only buy products that look clean and have multiples available. As you can see, the avenues to Bush Bazaar are many.

In many ways, the Bush Bazaar is more bizarre than useful. It's more of an experience than a necessity for us. But it is an interesting example of how the Western presence has influenced Kabul. . . Seeing a burqa-clad woman haggling down the price on Heinz Ketchup and chocolate snack-pack pudding is priceless.

Riding a bike in Kabul

Let me begin by saying that I cannot remember the last time I rode a bike.  I'm guessing that it's been at least five years, probably more.  But there is some saying about never forgetting how to ride a bike, right?  Well, with some other factors thrown in to my first Kabul bike riding experience, I had some moments where I was wishing for training wheels. 

My friend Erica asked me if I wanted to go on the walking tour of the neighborhood today. We live in a place called Karte Seh. It's right along the river and is an area that a lot of foreigners call home.  This morning when she showed up at my house she asked "Do you know how to ride a bike?" She had asked one of our doormen, Gulrahman, if I could borrow his bike for the day so we could get places quickly. 

Bikes in Kabul are all at least 10 years old, mostly manufactured in China, the same height, rarely have brakes, and are usually held together by wire and duct tape.  They, along with many other items found in the area, are left over from the Soviet period.  I must say they are sturdy.  I've seen men riding them without tires, without handle bars, with four people piled onto them...Some of them have lasted 20 years of ongoing war. And any contraption that can survive the streets of Kabul deserves some recognition. 

Which brings me to my next point, roads.  There is no such thing as a bike lane in Kabul.  In fact, there are no such things as lanes in Kabul (bike, driving, pedestrian).  But driving in Kabul deserves a post all of it's own, for now I'll stick to today's experience.  The roads are sometimes paved (and full of potholes).  Mostly they are just rocky unpaved roads.  So, if it's paved you avoid potholes, if it's not you avoid rocks.  Navigating takes all senses on high alert, dodging cars, pedestrians, goats, and gawkers.

Final point.  Being a woman and riding a bike is the icing on the cake of the Kabul bike riding adventure.  Afghan men think it is absurd to see a woman riding a bike.  In popular opinion, women are too stupid to drive a car or ride a bike.  Therefore, seeing a woman on a bike elicits two reactions.  Either the men catcall, whistle, or simply stare.  Or the more frustrating reaction; since women shouldn't know how to ride a bike, some men take it upon themselves to prove how badly women ride by causing distractions or obstacles.  They yell or honk their horns, open car doors to get in the way, swerve at the bike with their car or bike, try to hop on the back of it (every bike in Kabul has a place for a passenger to perch on the back) or force the bike off the road.  They laugh and scoff when their distractions cause the bike to tip or swerve.

All of this was compiled by the fact that my brakes barely worked, I couldn't stop to touch the ground because the bike was too high, my shalwar (long shirt) was getting caught in the wheels, I had to constantly make sure my chador (headscarf) had not flown off, I had my purse under my arm, and the chador also takes away my peripheral vision.  Needless to say, my first bike riding experience was quite an adventure.  We got from point A to point B and back without incident, but with lots of great stories.  I know that each time I go out life here will seem a little less awkward and a little more normal; that bike riding and stares will become part of my daily routine.  For now, I'm enjoying (or at least bearing with) the culture shock.  In some ways learning to live Kabul is a lot like learning how to ride a bike.  At first it's a little scary and seems like it is nearly impossible.  But with time, practice and experience (and a few bumps), it starts to feel natural.