Citizen Reporter

The Language of War

Walking — The De-Landmined Kabul Golf Club

Afghanistan is a country of many ethnicities, tribes and languages, which many people can explain to you if you have the time to listen. But there is one language you don’t often read about that is spoken throughout Kabul and no doubt the nation. In café’s and restaurants, over lunch and late into the night after dinner, Afghans and foreigners alike, are speaking the language of war.

The language of war consists of words connected to violence and armed conflict, both in the present and the past tense. It is made up of the saddest and most terrifying stories; about murder, kidnapping, threats, moments of extreme panic, and people who have been lost to any of these. It is spoken by those who have been here for 5 years or 5 days, spoken while passing the rice or just passing time at a friend’s house. Beyond any of this, it is spoken with an ease and regularity that makes it one of the most widely spoken and understood languages in the nation.

I find history to be one of the most important and interesting topics one can discuss, no matter how exciting or mundane. I find personal experiences to be a constant source for learning and inspiration. Yet after almost one month listening the accounts of what it was like in what terrible situation, from both participants and observers, I find myself hating history and personal experience. Unable to listen to the language of war because something about it seems so bad for everyone in the conversation.

Surely there are import lessons to be learned from discussing these topics. Surely if our nations, our fellow humans, can carry out all the terrible actions of war, then we can confront them and not be afraid to examine these events among friends. Why should the language of war be considered taboo, when hiding the truth can only serve to keep us from learning lessons and not repeating mistakes.

While I know how important testimony and understanding are, especially in the context of war or violence, I am taken aback by the language of war. I want to stop the stories. I want to turn up the music. As strange as it may seem, the more the language of war is spoken, the less meaning it has to me, the previously outspoken citizen journalist.

bmtv116 Kabul Golf Club

We rambled into the Kabul Golf Club one afternoon in September, as we had heard there was a golf course in the outskirts of Kabul where one could play nine holes like no others in this world. What we found was a charming and forgotten course with a staff that are extremely happy to see you. Among the stars of the day was Mohammad Afzal Abdul, club Pro and our escort the entire afternoon. He has run the club for the last 40 years, facing imprisonment twice and a laundry list of problems as Afghanistan has struggled over the last few decades. The following is a video interview I did with him as we made our way through the course.

Regardless of Outcome

It is Friday night, election eve, here in Kabul. The walk home from dinner was quiet, dark, and strange feeling. One might interpret this atmosphere as the calm before the storm, as tomorrow at 5am polling stations will start to open all over the nation.

At work my Afghan colleagues mention at what time they plan to vote during the course of the workday. On the way home I asked the cab driver if he would vote tomorrow, “Oh yes… oh yes” he said without hesitation. At the front gate I greeted a neighbor and asked him about voting plans tomorrow, “Yes for sure” responds my neighbor, as if the question itself does not need asking. A seemingly calm city and a hand full of enthusiastic citizens surely skews my vision of what is certainly not a rosy picture across the country.

There is no shortage of threats and conflicts surrounding both the elections and the campaign leading up to them. Many pointed to the kidnapping of a candidate earlier today, as a sign of how bad things are. Earlier this month the murders of campaign workers and candidates, more stories that have echoed through the globe, as examples of a process that couldn’t possibly be considered successful.

But what about in cities throughout Afghanistan where a record number of candidates (2,577+) are not only on the ballot but actively campaigning. Candidates of different cultures, tribes, gender, ages, and political backgrounds, all taking part in the process despite the risks and the cynicism. There is also the voting material, destined for 5,897 polling stations, being carefully shipped and stored to be ready for the voting process that begins in a matter of hours. In many remote areas of the country, this essential material is transported by donkey, as the most reliable and time-tested form of transportation. The list of people and resources mobilized for these elections is of a scale that cannot be simply written off as insignificant.

Yet these words will be drowned out almost immediately as the bad things that have happened and will happen get amplified by those trying to measure what is happening here. People demand conclusions as quickly and easy to read as possible, which often means nevermind what has gone right, and what is commendable and positive about this process, it is easier to remember and tell the stories of bombs, kidnappings, fraud and dysfunction.

For my part, even before the voting has begun, I know what I’ve seen here, and I’ve spent lots of time reading and hearing reports from across this nation. Regardless of what the media says and what the pundits conclude or how they choose to insult those that share my observations and opinions, I’m telling you that something good and special is going on here. This phenomenon does not end on election day, there will be no declaration of victory or defeat, this is simply one more step along a very difficult path.

ctrp350 Eid and Homosexuality in Afghanistan

On the eve of Eid a large group of friends made their way to an oasis outside Kabul to have a relaxing dinner. Sure enough I brought my recorder and before you know it, we got into discussions about the importance of the holiday and eventually, the history of homosexuality in Afghanistan. This recording was made during the course of our dinner and as such drifts off and is interrupted occasionally. Both topics could surely be developed further, but at the very least, this podcast might provide a good introduction.

bmtv115 Eid Vlog

As hard as it has been to record a video entry from Afghanistan, I’m finally getting the hang of when is a good moment. The following video entry was recorded from a friend’s balcony on the first day of Eid. Just a little video hello, one week before the much anticipated Afghan Parliamentary Elections.

Kites of Kabul

I turn left into an alleyway which is narrow and somewhat foul smelling from the open sewer, like many alleys in Kabul. I’m thinking of what tasks still need to be done today and wondering how late I am for my next appointment, when suddenly a group of kids will run right passed me. They seem to be chasing something, looking up at the sky as they run and calling to someone nearby even though I can’t see another person over the tall walls which frame these alleyways. I suddenly realize they’re following kites, as I raise my face to the sky to see the scores of little specks in the sky. I stop walking, taking note if anyone is coming who might notice my foreign-ness, and I stare at the dancing kites in the sky with a big smile on my face.

Hours later I’m back at my residence and I decide to go on the roof to see what I can see. It is the last day of Eid, the very important holiday in the Muslim faith, and as one would expect on a holiday, from high above the city sounded calm. Yet on every rooftop including my own, groups of children are huddled together unravelling spools, squinting at the sky, and mending wounded kites. Those that aren’t working on something kite related are doing something with their own rooftop pigeons.

I notice the ladder leading up to another rooftop area, higher up then this one, where more kids are flying kites. As a matter of fact I notice many ladders, the primary means for kids to run from rooftop to rooftop, all in the name of kites. I give a warm nod to each of the kids, who seem surprised to see me at first, and then completely used to my presence. Even stopping to pose for a picture since they notice I’m using my little compact camera. I climb up next to them. Now, to the casual observer, I might even be in the kite flying business myself, standing next to one taller boy who seems to be running two kites that are flying higher those almost anyone can see. He motions with his hands and adjusts the spool with lightening agility, looking more like a master puppeteer than a kid with a kite. As the afternoon comes to a close and the sun passes almost behind the mountains that surround Kabul, the hundreds of kites that cover the sky like birds in formation start to disappear. My own rooftop colleagues grab the spools and cut the lines, making me wonder where their kites end up. They make for the ladders without looking at me. Just when I feel completely invisible, on my way down the ladder I can feel someone holding it steady for me. “Thank you” I say to the one of the boys in Dari and English, “You are welcome” he responds in his best english. By the time I’ve reached the bottom of the ladder, he and the kite kids have vanished, for what I can only imagine is dinner time. The end of another day filled with paper, tape, and string, another day of ruling the skies.

As I sit back down at my desk with fresh images of kite flying in my head, I get a message from a friend asking what meaning Sept. 11th has for people in Kabul. I have no big answer for such a question, all I can think of is what a great day it was to fly a kite.