The Media: How Do They Get It So Wrong? ALL THE TIME!

Camp Phoenix, on the outskirts of Kabul, is run by US forces, with some NATO member nations maintaining a presence there.

It is also a base for the Afghan army, which is being trained by international forces in the hope it can take over the responsibility for fighting the Taliban insurgency.

The camp occasionally comes under attack, mostly from rocket and mortar fire, though without casualties.

Camp Phoenix has never been mortared.  It’s never been rocketed.  Not while I was there.  Not while I was at Camp Eggers and not in the past 3 years.  I’d know.  I lived at Camp Phoenix for one year.  I lived on Camp Eggers for a year as well and visited Phoenix frequently.  I’ve been to Camp Phoenix several times over the past 3 years as well.  I have friends at Camp Phoenix right now.  One who has been there for 3 years.

Camp Phoenix has never been a training base for Afghans either.  Not the ANA or the ANP.  There are two Camps about ten miles down the road called Camp Blackhorse and the Kabul Military Training Complex (KMTC).  Afghans are trained there.  Afghans are trained at Darulaman and there are 2 or three ANP training bases within and around Kabul on which ANP are trained.

I see this happening all the time.  The Associated Press (AP) picks up a story written by some idiot who never leaves the safe confines of his hotel room or villa in Shahr-e Naw or Wazir Akhbar Khan.  These morons report as if they are on the scene.  They mix up place and location.  They hack together stories based on second hand information and pawn it off on the public as gospel truth.  The guy who wrote this story should be fired.  He printed a hand full of lies and sent it in as if he had actually visited the places about which he wrote.  A bunch of older hacks will probably award this poltroon a  Pulitzer and they’ll all sit around in a smoke filled chamber and congratulate each other on their bravery and literary brilliance.

I’ve seen this kind of irresponsible writing of lies and half truths all over the globe.  Korea when Kim Il Sung died.  When Qandahar was attacked.  In Kabul after various attacks.  In Herat after suicide bombings.  From whom do these morons obtain their “facts?”  Dr. Suess?  The Brothers Grimm?  Hanna- Barbera?  Does anyone back home in America fact check or edit their hotel room ramblings?

I read the newspaper and online journals and I often wonder if these folks are even in country.  What happened to reporting from the front?  These guys are reporting from the whorehouse or from the tea parlor.  They’re definitely NOT on the scene.  Not here in Afghanistan.  I can assure you of that.

A day in Herat, Afghanistan

“Religion does not require women to veil their hands, feet and faces or enjoin any special type of veil. Tribal custom must not impose itself on the free will of the individual.”

Amanullah Khan
King of Afghanistan (1919-1929),
known as the “reform” king.

“We will not be a pawn in someone else’s game, we will always be Afghanistan!”

Ahmad Shah Masood
Prominent Afghan Commander,
fought against the Russians.

“Whatever countries I conquer in the world, I would never forget your beautiful gardens. When I remember the summits of your beautiful mountains, I forget the greatness of the Delhi throne.”

Ahmad Shah Durrani
Founder of the Afghan Empire, (1747-1773).
Many Afghan historians consider Ahmad Shah as the
true founder of modern Afghanistan.

“Once Europe existed in a Dark Age and Islam carried the torch of learning. Now we Muslims live in a Dark age.”

Mahmud Tarzi
Afghan Intellectual,
advisor to King Amanullah Khan
(1865-1933)

They made me invisible, shrouded and non-being
A shadow, no existence, made silent and unseeing
Denied of freedom, confined to my cage
Tell me how to handle my anger and my rage?
– Zieba Shorish-Shamley, from  “Look into my World”  published on the 50^th anniversary of the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights

“When we are together, everyone here is talking about how the Taliban has destroyed our lives.  They won’t let us go to school because they want us to be illiterate like them.”
– Nasima, 35-year-old Kabul resident

If you are wounded and left alone
on Afganistan’s plains
and the women come out to cut up what remains
roll over on to your rifle
and blow out your brains
and go to your Gawd like a soldier
go to your Gawd, go to your Gawd….

Rudyard Kipling, “The Young British Soldier”.

Minaret of Jam

Minaret Jami

This is the Minaret of Jam. It’s about a 4 hour drive northeast of Herat on the road to Chist-e Sherif.  The tower has the Sura of Miriam inscribed on mud brick mosaic tiles on it’s outer surface.  The sura of Miriam is the story of the mother of Jesus as told in the Qur’an.  Very little is known for certain about the origins of the tower.  Only that it is an ancient relic dating to sometime around the Ghurid Dynasty of Afghanistan’s history.

he Minaret of Jam is a UNESCO World Heritage Site in western Afghanistan. It is located in the Shahrak District, Ghor Province, by the Hari River. The 65-metre highminaret, surrounded by mountains that reach up to 2400m, is built entirely of baked-bricks. It is famous for its intricate brick, stucco and glazed tile decoration, which consists of alternating bands of kufic and naskhi calligraphy, geometric patterns, and verses from the Qur’an (the surat Maryam, relating to Mary, the mother of Jesus). For centuries, the Minaret was forgotten by the outside world until rediscovered in 1886 by Sir Thomas Holdich, who was working for the Afghan Boundary Commission. It did not come to world attention, however, until 1957 through the work of the French archaeologists André Maricq and Wiet. Herberg conducted limited surveys around the site in the 1970s, before the Soviet invasion of 1979 once again cut off outside access. The archaeological site of Jam was successfully nominated as Afghanistan’s first World Heritage site in 2002. It was also inscribed in UNESCO’s list of World Heritage Sites in Danger, due to the precarious state of preservation of the minaret, and results of looting at the site.

The photos below were taken by an Afghan friend and colleague a few years ago.  He actually took them with a cell phone camera.  Great photos for a cell cam.  At the time, he was working with the Province Governor as a liaison for NGOs.  He and a few friends climbed in a 4WD and took the 8 hour trek over some nasty terrain to visit the Minaret.  They came south and west from the city of Chagcharan which is the capital district of Ghor Province.  Ghor Province is a part of Herat Region which is where I am working at the moment.

It would be amazing if I were able to visit the Minaret of Jam myself and get out to Chist-e Sherif which is a few hours drive from the area where the Minaret was built.  Alas, it is a treacherous drive and if the terrain doesn’t get you, the taleban or bandits might give it a go.  Perhaps, I will get my chance at some future time.  As for now, it is not to be…

Minaret Jami

I just returned from Ghor where I picked up this carpet depicting the Minaret. (21 October 2009)

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Herat City Map

This is an excellent map that gives incredible detail on western Afghanistan’s great Silk Road city.

The Mountains of Western Afghanistan

Minarets of Herat

The Minarets of Herat

I can’t get out to these parts of town.

So…I gave my camera to my boys Shoaib and Wahid.  They cruised down to the Minarets and took these photos for me and did a pretty good job of it.

Great photos.  I cropped and shaped some of them up a bit.  The photos give an excellent idea of the experience of visiting these ancient edifices. I would love to be able to get out there someday and see the Minarets myself.  Touch them.  Feel their spirit or their vibe so to speak.

Perhaps I’ll get the chance someday.

These links give a bit of background information about the Minarets.

Wikipedia

Times Online

Letters from Herat

Function of a Minaret

As well as providing a visual cue to a Muslim community, the call to prayer is traditionally given from the top of the minaret. In some of the oldest mosques, such as the Great Mosque of Damascus, minarets originally served as watchtowers illuminated by torches (hence the derivation of the word from the Arabic nur, meaning “light”). In more recent times, the main function of the minaret was to provide a vantage point from which the muezzin can call out the adhan, calling the faithful to prayer. In most modern Mosques, the adhan is called not in the minaret, but in the musallah, or prayer hall, via a microphone and speaker system.

In a practical sense, these are also used for natural air conditioning. As the sun heats the dome, air is drawn in through open windows and up and out of the shaft, thereby causing a natural ventilation.

Minarets have been described as the “gate from heaven and earth”, and as the Arabic language letter alif (which is a straight vertical line).

The world’s tallest minaret (at 210 meters) is located at the Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca, Morocco. The world’s tallest brick minaret is Qutub Minar located in Delhi, India. There are two 230 meter tall minarets under construction in Tehran, Iran.

Scenes from Western Afghanistan

Took this pic on the road to Herat…near the Airport.   It looks hazy because I took it through a bullet proof window.  Thick and dirty glass…so it looks like it’s foggy but, really, it’s a clear day.  And warm for this time of year.  Last year, we had sub-zero weather and 3 feet of snow.  This year.  It’s 50 degrees out.  Can’t complain about that…

Camels are always fascinating for some reason.  Wish I could have snapped a clear shot, though.  Could have been a great shot.  But this one is ok, I suppose.

Opposite side of the road from the Camels.  Took this shot going out today,  This is the end of the mountains as you hit the plains rolling west through Herat and into Iran.  It’s the same route that Alexander and others used to enter Afghanistan over the millenia.

Big old dog…the Afghans usually cut their ears off and use these bad boys for fighting.  Note those huge paws.  If he was well fed, he’d have to weigh in at 100-125 lbs.  Imagine that coming at you.  This dog was at one of the Police Stations off the main road to/from Herat.  Kind of a guard dog or early warning system.  Hear them barking or growling…look out.  May be the Talibs coming at you.

The lovely restroom facilities.  This is a relatively nice one.  ‘Nuff said…lol

This little boy was with his father.  They were contractors building a new room on the roof of the police station.  Water pumps.  In America, this would seem a foreign concept.  But.  This is how much of the world gets their water.  Many do not have this luxury.  It’s a walk to the creek or river or a well.

Old school AC.  I had no idea.  Had to ask.

Herat has a “season” that is called “the 100 days of wind.”  It’s actually closer to 120 days.  The wind blows.  Hard.  Constantly.  For 120 or more days.  HARD!  Did I say hard?  The wind can knock you down it blows so hard.  It’s actually a blessing.  Without the wind, it would be stiflingly hot.

Most of Herat is without electricity.  More of Herat is without air conditioning.  So…they set up a water jug or container of some sort over the brambles in the windows that allows a slow drop into the wood.  The wind blows through the brambles  into the windows and is cooled by the water.   Cools the air in the buildings.  AC!

I’m assuming that this is a Mother and daughter out for an afternoon stroll or heading to market.

This is the famous Minarets of Herat.  Centuries old.  They are starting to fall because of the traffic on the road that runs between them.  Personally, I can’t believe that they laid a road between them.  If you get up close, you can still see remnants of the oven baked tiles that once covered the Minarets completely.

I was not able to visit these ancient edifices.  Afghan friends used my camera and snapped these photos for me.  I’d love to see these myself.  Walk up and touch them.  It would be quite and experience.

A falcon or hawk lazily swoops in between the Minarets searching for prey.  There are 5 remaining towers in the Musalla Complex.  The others have fallen.  I think there were originally 7.  The site was built in the 1400s by Queen Gawharshad–wife of one of the Timurid Shahs.  The complex consists of the 5 remaining minarets and several shrines and libraries.

The famous Masjid Jami of Herat.  One of the most beautiful structures I have ever seen.  It rivals the Muhammand Ali Mosque in Cairo for magnificence.   This is the peoples Mosque.  It is the place where the city congregates each Friday.  Building on the Mosque began in 1200 AD.  I’m not certain as to how long it took to complete construction.  It has been badly damaged several times.   Genghis Khan conquered the city on his way through the region and left the mosque severely damaged.

Zarang

A Herati family makes their way about town.

I took this photo while downtown the other day.  I was inside the police headquarters looking out of the gate.

The Pearl of Khorasan

Herāt (Persian: هرات) is a city in western Afghanistan, in the province also known as Herāt. It is situated in the valley of the Hari River, which flows from the mountains of central Afghanistan to the Karakum Desert in Turkmenistan. Situated in a fertile area, Herāt was traditionally known for its wine. It is the third largest city in Afghanistan, with a population of 349,000 (2006 official estimate). Persian-speaking Tājiks (or Fārsīwān) are the main inhabitants of the city and are roughly the same as the Persians of Eastern Iran.^[1][2]

Herat is an ancient city with many historic buildings, although these have suffered damage in various military conflicts during the last few decades. The city is dominated by the remains of a citadel constructed by Alexander the Great. During the Middle Ages Herat became one of the important cities of Khorasan, and it was known as the Pearl of Khorasan.

Herāt is situated favorably on the ancient and historic trade routes of the Middle East, South Asia, Pakistan,China, India and Europe. The roads from Herāt to Iran, Turkmenistan, Mazar-e Sharif and Kandahar are still strategically important.

from wikipedia

I took these pictures from the inside of an armored F150.

Herat.  The Pearl of Khorasan.  This was and to an extent still is the example to which Central Asia aspires.

Think about that…

About set for my Holiday

Today, I flew from Herat to Kabul.  It’s the first leg of the journey that will be this holiday. From here, I fly to Dubai.  I’ll spend a day there and then fly to the States.

I was so excited to be starting my vacation that I couldn’t sleep last night.  I finally drifted off at about 4:15 AM and had to be up at 5:30 AM.  I jumped up when the alarm clock went off and grabbed my bags and my body armor.  I had to be at the convoy SP area at 5:50 AM.  I got over there with 7 minutes to spare.  Just enough time to run to the DFAC to grab a quick sandwich and some fruit.

The SECFOR took me to the airport where I had to wait for another hour before any signs of life became evident at the civilian side of Hirat Airport.  I was meeting Farhad there at 7:15 so that he could walk me through any problems that might arise.  But I rarely have any problems in Afghanistan.  I just started talking in my meager, “pigeon” Dari and smiling and joking and laughing with folks and I pretty much get away with murder.  I’ve yet to be required to check my bags in Hirat.  They police have always taken care of it for me.  This time, they told me that I could just wait at the terminal and they’d make sure everything went ok.  It helps that I wear the uniform of the US Army.  But usually it’s my easy laugh that gets me through everything with such ease.

This morning when I walked over to the civilian terminal from the ISAF side, several of the ANP Border or Customs Police had little Mississippi pins on their uniforms.  Someone came through and gave several out to the Border Police.  I tolk them that I’d have to rectify that and bring some Kentucky pins back with me to share with them.

In the Airport this morning, there were several women sans burqa.  And some of them were very pretty.  One was Victoria Secret’s model gorgeous.  It was difficult to NOT keep looking her way.  I certainly can’t stare at or check out women in a place where almost all eyes are on me.  I’ve grown accustomed to it but Afghanis stare at me like I’m from Mars.  All the time.  I think it’s funny.  I say hi to everyone.  And laugh about it.

I spent the two hours waiting for my flight talking to the Airport Commander and his officers.  Several of them, I recognized from my time at FDD.  So I used that to start conversations.  Usually I didn’t need to start talking as they were all pretty keen to talk to me.  Or rather to talk to the American fellow with the loud laugh.  One of the Captains explained to me the security features of the terminal and showed me the contraband room.  Drawers full of matchbooks and lighters and sprays and even a couple of jerry cans of fuel.  Afghans attempt to bring some odd things onto Airplanes with them.  Another guy.  A LTC.  He gave me his Field Training Officer badge to wear on my uniform.  This same fellow allowed me to board the plane in advance of the other passengers.  That was quite convenient.

There were several children in the terminal awaiting flights.  I had taken some fruit and pop tarts from the DFAC.  I gave most of it away to the children.  A couple of apples and a banana.  One little girl was crying loudly. I took the banana and gave it to her mother.  I figured most kids love bananas.  It might help. Eventually, she ate the banana and stopped crying.  I gave another little girl a pack of gum.  When I got to Kabul, I gave a couple cute little boys some candy that the Chaplain had given me earlier in the week.  I love getting the smiles in return and the shy little “tashakors” in reply.

Of course, I took the first seat next to the exit when I got on the airplane.  It was a full flight so an Afghani fellow sat next to me.  I could tell that he was confused by my uniform.   I’m obviously American.  Yet, I’ve got Afghani patches and badges all over my unifrorm.  I laughed as I listened to his friend explain it to him.  I could understand pieces of their conversation.

Eventually, I pulled out my iPod.  I watched some videos while I waited for the airplane to take off.  My neighbor was fascinated.  He stared at my iPod like it was magical.  So, of course, I played the videos that I have that have the sexiest women.  Shakira Hips Don’t Lie and La Tortura.  That kind of thing.  I don’t think the guy blinked.

After the plane was safely in the air and we were on our way to Kabul, I put the iPod in my pocket and dozed off.  I was awakened 90 minutes later and told that we were about to land.  Thank God they woke me.  We landed so hard that I’m sure I would have panicked and thought we were crashing had I been asleep.

We hit the ground hard.  HARD.  Then twisted left and right until they pilot got it all under control.  It seemed to me that he took an inordinate amount of time to slow as well.  That’s Ariana for ya.  I’ve heard that they are a bit wild as far as Afghani Airlines go.

We landed.  Boarded a blue bus for the terminal.  Once inside the terminal at Kabul, it is pure madness at the luggage carousel.  There is one baggage carousel.  People coming from Herat, Teheran, new Delhi, Dubai, Qandahar and other places.  Chaos ensues as everyone attempts to get their bags.  There are no signs or announcements.  Just bags flying off the carousel and people crowding forward in an attempt to get their bags or just close enough to see if their bags are coming along.  It’s pretty insane.

After you get your bags, you have to show your baggage claim tickets to exit the area.  Next, you walk over to the practically unmanned x-ray machine to have your bags checked by these wholly “professional” souls.  They barely pay any attention.  Grab your bags on the other end and you are free.

My ride was waiting for me in Parking Lot 3.  So I had a ways to walk.  I walk out of the Kabul Pax Terminal and the sun smacks me in the face.  Then I have to walk through Parking Lot 2 and on to PL3.

Parking Lot 3 is also the waiting area for flights.  A few months ago, it was an open area.  No shelter.  Nothing.  You waited for your flight in the rain, snow, sun, cold or heat.  So basically, you called ahead and arrived no earlier than one hour before boarding.  I waited out there for 3 hours in the hot September sun last year.  I just read a book.  Luckily, it doesn’t rain often in Kabul.

To get to my ride, I had to pass through hundreds of folks who were either waiting to board or waiting for friends, family and colleagues arriving from around the globe.  Of course, I got a hundred confused looks because of my uniform and Afghani police insignia.  I just kept moving and laughing.  Finally, I got through the crowds and Arif was waiting for me on the other side.

I threw my bags in his vehicle and he drove me home to the safehouse.

Now, I’m waiting for my flight to Dubai.  Dubai.  That’s when the fun begins…

It is hot in Herat!

Hot as hell. Walking outside is like walking into a blast furnace. In 6 days, I will begin the journey that takes me home to my Momma and then on to Asia.  I am so so looking forward to rolling out of here. 9 Days at home to visit my Momma and some of the rest of my family.

Then…

Off to Bangkok for some real fun. Two days there to relax and become acclimated to Asia.

Next stop is Cambodia. Something about that place that I love. I want to explore a bit more. Go deeper into the place. Go a little off the beaten path. I’ll probably spend about 8 days in Cambodia. Two in Phnom Penh and 6 or so in and around Siem Reap. Must see Angkor again, of course. I want to get away and see Battambang and other places that don’t get the usual tramp of tourism. See what I can out there. Just gotta be careful. Landmines out there in the wilds of Cambodia. The Khmer Rouge were as ugly as the Soviets and Taliban when it came to emplacing landmines.

My buddy Becca will join me when I get back to Bangkok and then it’s off to India and on to Egypt. Two of the most exotic locales on the planet. Pyramids and Tah Mahals. Moghuls and Khans and Pharaohs. Perhaps, we should leave early and take a side trip into Jerusalem. I’ve been to Jerusalem before. It’s one of those places where you can feel humanity and the ages speaking to you. History wails through the cracks in the Western Wall. The legend of Christ can be felt there. His pain and his love for humanity. The oppression of both the Roman and Islamic Empire can be felt still floating through the air. The victims still cry for justice. You can smell the blood that has been spilt. Feel the rage of the rebellions and revolutions. Jerusalem is truly a special city. It’s a magnitude of “exceptionality” that one can not comprehend until one has experienced the City of Peace. Likewise, visiting the Pyramids is extraordinary. Thousands of years of history. One follows a multitude of pilgrims to Ghiza, Saqqara and Memphis. Millions of Egyptians look to the Pyramids with pride. Knowing that their country, their culture produced such wonders in antiquity. I’m sure it makes them feel as though they can rise and do so again. With leadership and true philosophy, I’m sure that they could. But Egypt, like the rest of the Muslim world, will do nothing again until they throw off the mind numbing shackles of Islam. Islam where Insha’allah prevails as the philosophy of progress.

India. Who can truly summarize the Golden Continent of Gandhi. All great Empires of the old age coveted this realm of spice and riches and magic exoticism. Beauty and uncommon wealth are ubiquitous on the subcontinent. Yet, dwelling in the house of beauty and affluence is their stepsisters poverty, famine and death. I have read much of India but have yet to experience it. I shall on this journey for the first time. Hopefully, more trips will follow and I will get to know India well.

I still can’t believe how hot it is here today. I don’t want to step outside my door. I don’t remember the Sinai being this hot. I feel like the Sun is a mere inch from my face while outside my door. Scorching my skin. Incinerating my nose and ears. Yet, January saw the worst blizzard Herat had seen in decades. 2 feet of snow. Freezing temperatures.

And I thought Kentucky weather was insane.

I read in the news that Kobe has choked again. Kobe will never be the great player. He will always be the one who could have been. The one who should have been. Too much was given to Bryant. He hasn’t learned that sometimes one has to take the prize. Reach out and make it so. He still thinks that he deserves the prize. No one deserves anything. One achieves or one does not. Kobe does not. His instinct is now and will always be to expect to win. He has not learned that he must keep fighting until the last ounce of sweat has been sacrificed. He still hasn’t learned that he can’t do it alone. He still hasn’t learned that leadership is a full time job. Not a sometimes job. He settles for the question when he should drive to certainty.

Therefore, another Kentucky boy will get a ring.

Go Rondo! Go Celtics!

An Afghan Wedding

Wahid is one of the terps who works with me here in Herat. He’s a pretty laid back guy. We’ve developed a pretty good friendship over the course of the past year. I didn’t always think that such would be the case. So it’s kind of funny to be making that statement. He moonlights at night in Herat as an English teacher. What you see below is the product of 6 months study (and a bit of an attitude…lol) on the part of one of his students. Nether I nor Wahid made correction or edited the piece. This is straight from a 16 year old Afghani male English student.

An Afghan Wedding

In our country Afghanistan, the youths mostly get married in the early ages. And the marriage process has its own traditions and customaries which sometimes make difficulties for the both sides. Comparing to the other countries Afghan people have kept their culture even though it sucks.

Initially the groom’s family propos to the bride’s family through a traditional gathering. They usually do it several times to get the agreement from the bride’s side and in order to become more familiar with them. During the proposing process, the bride’s family investigate to find out more about the reputation of the groom; for example they will check if the groom is a nice guy, he has a good job, he is able to look after his future wife and in the other words if he is healthy and not addicted to the drugs like opium or hashish… At the end if they find out that the groom fits into their family, they will choose him as their future son in law. Then the both sides will be taking care of the wedding traditions. That’s just the beginning of the misery. This misery is definitely pleasant for bride’s side because they get paid really good but poor groom is going to live hand to mouth for the rest of his life.

I read it out loud in our office and everyone burst out laughing. It’s hilarious. And it contains a lot of truth. Reading that passage will give you a good idea of the typical conversation around the office. You kinda have to translate their English along the way. But we have a good time.

We spend a lot of time talking about the cultural differences of our countries. Fawad is another terp in our office. When he first came to work with us, one of the first conversations I had with him was about weddings. He asked me how much it cost to get married in America. I started talking about Weddings and such. But what he was asking about was the dowry. How much for the bride price. In Afghanistan, you have to pay the brides family to marry her. They have a traditional sit meeting called the Nikah where they haggle over the bride price. I’m told that the average is around $5,000.

Another guy who works in my office named Farhad told me that he couldn’t marry the girl that he wanted because his mother refused to participate in the “barbaric practice.” His mother’s words. Not mine. So regardless of Farhad or the girls feelings, they had to break it off. Later, he told me that she was to be married to a guy from Kabul. He was pretty heart broken. But, the girl threatened to kill herself if she was forced to marry. So the wedding was called off.

I’m told that this is common in Afghanistan and Pakistan. A girl being forced to marry someone that she doesn’t want to marry will threaten to commit suicide. Sometimes the wedding is called off. Other times, the father forces the marriage. Sometimes with fatal results.

This is a funny video about attending Afghan weddings.

Here are a few links that give you insight to Afghan Weddings. Good and bad.

Afghan girl in Britain is taken to Afghanistan and Pakistan to find a suitable husband whom she is forced to marry.

Observations from an American (?) Girl at an Afghan Wedding.

Modern Afghan Wedding.

Bamiyan Buddha Afghan Commemerative Stamps

When I was a kid, I collected stamps. So when I came across this little gem, I had to pick it up. These stamps are from the time before the Soviet invasion. The time of King Zahir Shah. The last King of Afghanistan. They’re a link to a time when Afghanistan was at peace with itself. When it’s peoples were mostly just neighbors to one another. Before bin Laden and Mullah Omar. A time before sucide bombers and taliban and ruined cities and foreign occupations. This was a time when Afghans looked on their Western visitors as merely strange figures on whom they visited warm hospitality. It was a time when visitors were considered guests and were treated as such. ‘The pushtoon code meant something and the mehmet was indeed a welcomed and honoured guest whether they were Muslim, Christian, Hindu, Buddhist or Jew. Westerners weren’t peace keepers. We weren’t soldiers or policemen or civlian contractors for America or ISAF or NATO soldiers. Westerners were merely visitors with strange behaviors. Strangers who seemed to have an even stranger affinity for opium and hashish. Merchants from the West in search of carpets and tapestries, emeralds and rubies and lapis to sell in their homelands.

Back then, the hippy trail ran through Iran to Herat and on to Kabul. Lone travelers came and left unmolested. The Mustafa Hotel in Kabul gave some respite and a chance to shake off the dust of the road. It still stands and the occasional brave traveler stops there for a night or two until he moves on into Pakistan, Tibet, Nepal and India. I have read that some of the hippy communities still exist in Goa. I’m sure that there are others. Guys who dropped out of the West and traveled to Asia in search of peace or freedom or a final escape.

Afghanistan actually knew peace back in those days. Before the communists came and ruined everything. The King was attempting to make reforms. Give women rights. Construct a constitution. Educate his people and move them into the 20th Century.

What might have been.

So this is a “peace” of that time. A memento as the Afghans like to say. A small reminder that Afghanistan was not always as it finds itself now.

Jalal al Din Rumi Persian Poet

Jalal al Din Rumi Ghazal 1506
Poetic Translation
believe me i wasn't always like this lacking common sense or looking insane like you i used to be clever in my days never like this totally enraptured totally gone like sharp shooters i used to be a hunter of hearts not like today with my own heart drowning in its blood nonstop asking and searching for answers that was then but now so deeply enchanted so deeply enthralled always pushing to be ahead and above since i was not yet hunted down by this ever-increasing love Translated by Nader Khalili Rumi, Fountain of Fire Cal-Earth, September 1994

Afghanistan Scenes

These are four of my favorite scenes from Afghanistan.

I, actually, abhor the Burqa. Even so, this is a compelling and somewhat haunting photo. I’d love to have been the person who originally took this photo. What is the story of this womans life. What are her dreams. What came of her after this photo was taken. Is she still alive. Did she make it out of Afghanistan. Did she live through the Soviets, the Taliban, the Warlords and to the invasion of the Americans after the World Trade Center travesty. I’ve taken hundreds of photos of women hidden behind the ubiquitous blue burqa of Afghanistan. I find it abhorrent that these women are forced to wear this horrid mass of natty cloth. Afghan men believe that it is a stain on their honor for other men to see the face of their wife. And it is a mortal crime for a woman to be seen looking at another man. In this quirky, Islamic land, women are far from free. Women who talk to foreign men are accused of prostitution, whoredom and anything else that an Afghani man can conjure in his weak mind. It’s really quite disgusting.

There are some free thinking persons here. I’ve met some awesome young people here who want to change their country but who are fearful and feel powerless to bring about real change. It is difficult to find fault in their fear. Afghanistan is a dangerous and violent land. Vengeance is a reality of life here. Insurgents. Bandits. Taliban. Opium gangs and druglords abound. Mullahs are the real force of governance in the districts. Each District has a Governor appointed in Kabul who may or may not be more powerful than the local Talib “shadow” Governor or Mullah. Afghanistan is a land out of time. I sometimes feel as though I am in a tale out of the Pirates of the Caribbean genre.

This post card is a group of Afghani tribesmen playing Bozkashi–the traditional game of Afghanistan. Afghanistan’s National past time. The taliban outlawed this game during their reign of terror. This exhausting game is played from horseback. The first horse rider to pick up the dead goat and carry it to the goal line and pitch it across wins. The game has been known to last for more than a week at a time. The champions of this game are famous throughout Afghanistan in much the same manner as Tom Brady, Kobe Bryant and Michael Jordan are in the US. It’s a gruesome game that takes much endurance and strength to play. Contestants are regularly killed in the midst of competition.

The picture above is the main entrance to the Grand Mosque or Friday Mosque (Masjid-i Jami) in Herat. This magnificent and ancient structure was built in 1200 AD. It has stood witness to the wrath of Jinghis Khan as well as the regions other great conqueror–Timur the Lame. It stood in silent witness to the savagery of the Taliban. It stands today as an inspirational testament to the longevity of a city that has survived since the time of Alexander the Great. I’ve been to the great Mosque once. Though I was not able to enter or get close enough for a long enough time to snap my own photo. Hopefully, I will get my chance before I take my permanent leave of Herat. It truly is a beautiful Mosque.

Above is the Minaret of Jam. This structure is of uncertain origin. Though, it is thought to be of Ghorid origin. On it’s outer wall is inscribed the Qur’anic Surat which relates the Islamic version of the story of Mary mother of Jesus. Jesus is recognized as a prophet by Islam. Although, Muhammad is THE prophet. The last prophet of Allah. The minaret is 65 meters tall and sits between the Hari Rud and Jam rivers. It was built sometime between 1174 and 1195 AD.

These are four of my favorite pictures from Afghanistan. I have thousands of photos that I’ve taken of Afghanistan and it’s various vistas and Afghani life and culture and hundreds more that I have been given by friends and acquaintances over the years. I’ll post the some of the best of those as well. I hope you enjoy these.