Podcasting since 2004; Conversations, conflicts, adventures and monologues from around the world.
You don’t often hear from poets in Afghanistan, but beyond all the politics and violence that gets all the press, they’ve been there all along, writing, reciting, performing…
My guest is Wida Sharifi, a poet and writer based here in Herat. She joins me to tell me about how she got her start in poetry and how the world of poetry works in Afghanistan. We also get into literacy, television, work, and more.
Greetings from Kabul, dusty but determined capital of the country everyone has an opinion about: Afghanistan. For the second time in my life, I’ve arrived in Kabul. No longer confused or intimidated with how things look or work (or don’t work), being back in this magic town is like starting your second year of high school. You’re far from mature and wise, but you’re better prepared and strangely comfortable.
Over the next 16 days as part of the intrepid Small World News training team, we will be working as part of the international media development organization Internews. The mission is to teach, train, guide, and share knowledge with aspiring journalists, film makers, new media producers with all manner of interests and objectives. With our combined experiences, not to mention the unique experiences of these young people, we intend to better prepare them for the career that could lay ahead.
During the course of these trainings, I’ll be telling my own stories of what I see and what I hear, as always. But to be here in Afghanistan in 2011, one year after having been here for the elections of 2010, one prevalent feeling in the air (at least the air I breathe) is that at this point in global history, Afghanistan is no longer important. The international light that once shined on this place has grown dim, with those who wield it unwilling or unable to keep it on much longer. Whatever the typical time limit for attention and engagement this fickle and easily distracted world, it has been reached. Listen to a political speech or a news analysis and you’ll hear what to many are good arguments to stop engaging in helping this nation rise from the decade old ashes. Yet here we are, not just Small World News, but so many dedicated people, who still come despite the risks, obstacles, and the criticism; who still work hard for a specific purpose.. helping people build a strong nation with a good foundation. A foundation that took and will take substantial time and investment in various forms.
So it goes. Working in Afghanistan, for Afghanistan, long after it has gone out of style.
Almost one year since my first ever visit to Dubai last summer, I find myself here again for a few days in preparation of a new project in Afghanistan. The details of the project I will leave to an upcoming post. The details of my days in Dubai is what I wish to talk about today.
It has been done to death and you can include my name among them, writing about Dubai with disdain calling it a capitalist experiment gone bad or gone too far or without a soul. Its easy to poke fun at a city that is so modern and busy yet so empty and transient. See there I go, doing what the reporters who are here for 5 minutes tend to do. Hard to resist.
To properly peel away the layers Dubai has it would take months if not years. The people who could do a proper job explaining it all are too busy trying to earn a living and send it back to their loved ones in Pakistan. In India. In Afghanistan. In the Philippines. In Bangladesh. Insert a nationality. The world is in Dubai. The emirates may claim it as their own and control things from a government level, but Dubai, no matter what they say, is firmly property of the world.
Somewhere along the way these polite gentleman in their eye-catching bright and clean white uniforms with that sweeping part that covers their head with the ever so well positioned black headband.. those gentleman did whatever they could to attract the world to their port city in the desert. They knew they had oil but they also knew that in this world, oil is not enough, so they sought to make something more. Tourism. Banking. Business. In the process they needed a massive amount of help. So they invited workers from all over the world, especially their nearby neighbors in South Asia. And so they came, mostly on their own leaving families at home. To drive the taxi’s, cook the food, collect the garbage, pick a job… there are so many that they do. In the course of 20 or so years… a port city with some oil reserves and a population of just over half a million, became an international economic engine of almost a million and a half. The city few knew about, became a name everyone knows about, even if they’ve never set foot on UAE’s sun scorched soil.
“21 years I have been here sir,” my driver from Peshawar tells me as we sit in mid-day traffic, “back then there was nothing like this. Maybe one shopping mall, now we have too many. And these huge buildings and the hotels. Nothing like this.” He sits in silence for a few minutes, cab drivers in Dubai will tell you of their lives, but they don’t like to carry on. Straight to the point: “I can never bring my family here. The money I make driving taxi could never pay rent for a family house. No no. I send some to my family and there we have a house. I even have enough to be a landlord of a second property. Here is just work. Its the only way.” He goes on to talk about the violence and risks in Pakistan. He is upset and disillusioned with the politics and innocent people who lose their lives. But bringing them to Dubai is not an option. 21 years and it is not an option. In effort to bring some positive energy back I ask him about Pakistan’s nature and beauty and his eyes light up as he describes all the lush countryside.
The next evening I’m in a trendy Thai restaurant in a residential neighborhood. The place is packed with locals, Indian and other South Asian accents all around. Surprisingly an Emirate man, in the signature white robe, sits with his family who seem themselves to be South Asian. They’re posing for photos and passing around a cute little baby. Back at the hotel there’s a sign, Prom 2011, and all around me are Indian teenagers and all their drama. Listening to their petty arguments and clever jokes, I could have been anywhere in Europe or North America hearing the exact same thing. High School in Dubai, here are the children of the people who are raising their families in this land where they are forever guests. What will become of them in the future?
Critics will point to the lack of rights. Even the abuse of guest workers. Even the term guest workers reminds us that these people from all over the world living and working here are never allowed to become citizens. A sad fact for those who have toiled for so long and help make this city what it is everyday. But putting that sadness aside, even potential power counts for something, so although the law may not be on their side, there is power in this massive population that call Dubai home and without their everyday contributions, this place would shut down.
The violence and threats occasionally are reported about in the mainstream media. The threats to funding have also grabbed headlines this year. Almost two years since the murder of Dr. Tiller, what is the state of abortion in the United States? For those who perform the procedure. For those who need or want the procedure. How have things been changing for all the actors involved over the past few years.
To explain the state of things I’m visiting with one of my favorite people, Leah, of the Philadelphia Women’s Center.
She was last on the program back in December of 2007, discussing the state of abortion in America at that time.
The tall blonde blue-suited airport security worker keeps looking down at his screen and up at my face in suspicion, “So you work for who?” I try to explain my different jobs as a citizen journalist, but he only seems to listen to half of what I say. From the very first question he has shot me looks of disapproval, of my job, of my nationalities, of my travel habits… to him there is something wrong with me. He goes on to ask what I find to be excessively personal questions about who my friends are and who I live with, which I politely refuse to answer. He calls over another man who is near the gate, watching all the pre-boarding interviews for passengers on their way to the US. This man, obviously a supervisor, looks at me, looks at his paper, and starts writing me up for a “full” security check. As the two men start to take me away from the gate the supervisor says “Sir, you’ll have to go for further security checks, your life is just too complicated for us.”
His words, and their faces, as a large part of my life lay before them, reminded me of a simple truth: I walk a different path, A very different path. And that path doesn’t fit easily into the boxes on a form, as so much of our lives are supposed to. When you don’t walk the familiar line, give the typical answers, you’re more often condemned then welcomed.
That’s not to say my path is miserable burden. I didn’t mean to lead you in that direction. Indeed I what I do brings me a great deal of joy and wonder, and yes, I would even say more appreciation then rejection.
Still there I am, heading to the basement of Schiphol airport to have every inch of my body and belongings searched. What are these strangers who barely look me in the eye searching for? Any easy way to understand my life perhaps? Something that makes sense to them, perhaps? Whatever it is, I’m not sure they ever find it. Some may get it, some may learn, adapt, and recognize something they never understood before. A different way of doing things that has value, in some form of another. Then again, some people never learn anything. The world goes on repeating some mistakes over and over, and the innocent suffer.
As the great street philosopher and drug dealer Poot once explained, “World going one way, people another yo.”
It’s is the first time in many years that I am back in the US during the 4th of July celebrations. While I enjoy a BBQ with friends and family today, I’ll also not forget the powerful words of Frederick Douglass back in 1852. In this video entry I read an except from that speech.