My colleagues love to tease and are quick to laugh. Sometimes I don't really get what's so funny, and at other times I join in the fun. Some jokes I've been told over the last few days:
On marriage:
A wealthy Pakistani man returns after a time in America. Stopping in to make a small purchase, he tells the shopkeeper that he's looking for a wife, and where should he begin the search? The shopkeeper returns home and tells his young daughter that a rich man - with a green card - is looking for a wife, and would she maybe want to marry him and go to the US? The daughter agrees, and so wedding planning begins.
After the party, the newlyweds return to the groom's hotel, where he first peels off a toupee, then pulls out his false teeth... and then leans down to unscrew his artificial leg. The bride runs screaming back to her father's house, where she storms in to yell at him: "You didn't tell me he was falling apart!"
On Afghans and Arabs:
Two Afghan men traveled to Jordan. Arriving in the airport, they became separated briefly. One of them stumbled across two Jordanian men arguing - their voices raised, gesturing wildly. The Afghan watched, baffled, for a moment, but soon wandered on and found his friend again. He told him: "Jordanians are strange! You'd never believe what I saw - these two meen were fighting, and even then all they do is yell from the Qur'an!"
(this because most Afghans would encounter Arabic primarily, or exclusively, via readings of the Qur'an, but wouldn't necessarily understand enough to recognize non-religious conversations or arguments from these formal readings.)
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
Updates from the AIHRC
The Afghanistan Independent Human Rights Commission was founded eight years ago yesterday - June 6, 2002. Staff here commemorated the day with tea, cake, and a brief speech from Dr. Sima Samar, the chair of the commission. She noted that 8 years old is equivalent to a third-grade student, with much already learned and yet much more to do, and then spoke directly to a number of different programs within the Commission.
I was proud because the election-monitoring team, formed that very day, received a brief mention. As hoped, I will be spending my summer receiving data from AIHRC field offices on political rights and violations complaints, then helping to write reports and regular press releases. Coming soon - a primer on the electoral system and possibly some of the candidates involved in September's elections, which will choose the Wolesi Jirga (the lower house of the legislature - the upper house, or Meshrano Jirga, is an appointed body).
It was also an opportunity to meet Dr. Samar. She was reportedly nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize last year (nominations and deliberations are not made public for 50 years), and some commentators mentioned her as a superior candidate to President Obama. She served as the first Minister of Women's Affairs and founded a women's rights organization called Shuhada (where Afreen is working for the summer). More recently, she was also appointed the UN special reporter on Darfur and named one of Forbes's 100 Most Powerful Women.
The days remain quiet as work plans remain in the formative stage, but as voter registration begins on June 12, it's certain to get busier quite soon.
I was proud because the election-monitoring team, formed that very day, received a brief mention. As hoped, I will be spending my summer receiving data from AIHRC field offices on political rights and violations complaints, then helping to write reports and regular press releases. Coming soon - a primer on the electoral system and possibly some of the candidates involved in September's elections, which will choose the Wolesi Jirga (the lower house of the legislature - the upper house, or Meshrano Jirga, is an appointed body).
It was also an opportunity to meet Dr. Samar. She was reportedly nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize last year (nominations and deliberations are not made public for 50 years), and some commentators mentioned her as a superior candidate to President Obama. She served as the first Minister of Women's Affairs and founded a women's rights organization called Shuhada (where Afreen is working for the summer). More recently, she was also appointed the UN special reporter on Darfur and named one of Forbes's 100 Most Powerful Women.
The days remain quiet as work plans remain in the formative stage, but as voter registration begins on June 12, it's certain to get busier quite soon.
Friday, June 4, 2010
and it's a strange condition...
So day three of the peace jirga is underway with no further incident, and after 60 hours mostly confined to the guesthouse, I'm very much ready to return to the office tomorrow. Today, the Japanese restaurant down the block reopened, providing a pleasant (if minor) change in scenery in which to sit and feel confined.
This restaurant, like every place that caters to the international set, is completely unmarked outside. A friend of a friend told us to look for the orange door just across the street from our guesthouse, and surely enough there was a rose-garden cafe and local handicrafts shop tucked behind it. Staff in the guesthouse pointed us to the coffeeshop just a few steps further down the street. Another expat's dining guide provides plenty of recommendations and helpful directions to each.
Thankfully, there's also a private taxi service (or three) that serve the foreigners as well - the dispatcher answers in English, and the drivers know all the usual hangouts, including many private houses, by name. (This is exceedingly helpful in a city where building numbers are rare and not all streets are named). For $4, they'll drop you off at the unmarked door of your choice, in their equally unmarked Corollas.
Then it's a matter of knocking and stepping into a small alcove to be searched. Afreen draws curious looks from the guards who check her backpack - Afghans aren't allowed in many of these places, so she looks suspicious until beginning to speak. Bags approved, the armed guards open a second door into a world completely removed from any exterior reality. The Taverna du Liban has a four-foot tall brass teapot decorating one corner and serves hookah; the Gandamack Lodge contains a reasonable approximation of a British pub, with the exception of the official government permit requesting that they not serve alcohol to "Afghan citizens or muslims" and a very American "Mad River Glen: ski it if you can" sticker over the bar.
This second, secretive Kabul provides escape from the chaos and possible threats found in the first. Still, its isolation from the greater city is total, and it would be quite easy to live here and never interact with a local except to order dinner. At the end of a day in my office, where I am the only foreigner in the building and one of a mere handful in the organization, it is strange to return to a world my colleagues simply don't know. I eat cafeteria Afghan lunches and participate in spirited half-translated discussions on politics, world affairs, and comparative sociology, only to vanish back into home comforts and English in these separate evening spaces. My desire to escape the speakeasy-bubble is kept in check by uncertainty, however - in an unfamiliar place, who am I to break with habit and test the risks? It's a deeply restrictive little world, and yet it is comfortably so.
This restaurant, like every place that caters to the international set, is completely unmarked outside. A friend of a friend told us to look for the orange door just across the street from our guesthouse, and surely enough there was a rose-garden cafe and local handicrafts shop tucked behind it. Staff in the guesthouse pointed us to the coffeeshop just a few steps further down the street. Another expat's dining guide provides plenty of recommendations and helpful directions to each.
Thankfully, there's also a private taxi service (or three) that serve the foreigners as well - the dispatcher answers in English, and the drivers know all the usual hangouts, including many private houses, by name. (This is exceedingly helpful in a city where building numbers are rare and not all streets are named). For $4, they'll drop you off at the unmarked door of your choice, in their equally unmarked Corollas.
Then it's a matter of knocking and stepping into a small alcove to be searched. Afreen draws curious looks from the guards who check her backpack - Afghans aren't allowed in many of these places, so she looks suspicious until beginning to speak. Bags approved, the armed guards open a second door into a world completely removed from any exterior reality. The Taverna du Liban has a four-foot tall brass teapot decorating one corner and serves hookah; the Gandamack Lodge contains a reasonable approximation of a British pub, with the exception of the official government permit requesting that they not serve alcohol to "Afghan citizens or muslims" and a very American "Mad River Glen: ski it if you can" sticker over the bar.
This second, secretive Kabul provides escape from the chaos and possible threats found in the first. Still, its isolation from the greater city is total, and it would be quite easy to live here and never interact with a local except to order dinner. At the end of a day in my office, where I am the only foreigner in the building and one of a mere handful in the organization, it is strange to return to a world my colleagues simply don't know. I eat cafeteria Afghan lunches and participate in spirited half-translated discussions on politics, world affairs, and comparative sociology, only to vanish back into home comforts and English in these separate evening spaces. My desire to escape the speakeasy-bubble is kept in check by uncertainty, however - in an unfamiliar place, who am I to break with habit and test the risks? It's a deeply restrictive little world, and yet it is comfortably so.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Safe, sound, and stir-crazy already
So a peace jirga began this morning, and as a result, pretty much everything in Kabul is closed down, including my office and any restaurant catering to the expat crowd. I'd planned to post later today to break the lock-down boredom, but given that news reports are now talking of rockets, suicide bombers, and the evacuation of some delegates, I'm just posting briefly to note that our guesthouse is far enough away that I'm also following this online, having not heard any of the explosions, and everything remains calm. I'm going to be pretty supremely bored by the time everything is back to normal on Saturday, so do email links, stories, and other distractions...
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
AIHRC in the news
In January, a 13-year-old and a 14-year-old girl ran away from their much older, abusive husbands. Authorities in Herat, rather than taking them to women's shelters or prosecuting the illegal marriages, returned them home to be beaten. The local leadership beat them - 40 lashes apiece - and filmed the process.
The video made it to the AIHRC, which pushed national authorities to respond. When they did nothing, the Commission released the video. A New York Times article on the case made the front page yesterday.
It's a sad recognition of just how far there is to go, but I'm encouraged that there is a watchdog making these things public - and I'm glad to work with them for even this short time. It should be an interesting summer...
The video made it to the AIHRC, which pushed national authorities to respond. When they did nothing, the Commission released the video. A New York Times article on the case made the front page yesterday.
It's a sad recognition of just how far there is to go, but I'm encouraged that there is a watchdog making these things public - and I'm glad to work with them for even this short time. It should be an interesting summer...
Monday, May 31, 2010
History and Perspective
So it's a quiet day at the office - nothing new to report. However, three different people have now shared an article at Foreign Policy on Afghanistan in the 1950s that I have to admit is fascinating to see through the lens of Kabul today. Check out the photo below - I can't imagine that being the same city I now wander... click it for more, similarly incredible, images of Kabul past.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
1,001 cups of tea: or, meet the AIHRC
Arranging an internship through personal channels has its benefits and its drawbacks - though one of the Commissioners extended his welcome for me to spend the summer with the Afghanistan Independent Human Rights Commission in early March, relevant details never quite made it to the human resources staff. As a result, I arrived yesterday morning with no appointment, the name of a woman I'd gleaned from a single, near-accidental email, and absolutely no idea what the day might hold.
I'd caught her by surprise, too - my "I've arrived in the country; when can I start work?" message having arrived on her day off. I'd introduced myself to the guard as Kathryn, which only furthered confusion as somehow HR had me scrawled on a dry-erase board as Katy (complete with " - ???", exactly like two of the other four interns listed there). I sat for half an hour while she sorted out other priorities, then for another after she retrieved a copy of my CV and set out to consult with colleagues as to what to do with me.
Finally, an official pronouncement came - I'd spend a week with Monitoring and Investigations, primarily crafting a grant proposal for monitoring activities associated with refugee return. After that, maybe a week with the security team? It seems my summer will be made up as it goes along, one week at a time. For the moment, this means the love-seat and coffee table in the M&I office have become my temporary desk, and that a smiling man named Safi will be my supervisor for the week. So far, so good.
The oddities of crafting a work plan for a program I know nothing about, on the other hand, are many. The project consists mostly of asking Safi endless questions, leading him to call assorted offices and request piles of documents. In between answers, I sip tea and read from The History of the Peloponnesian War. In two days in the office, I've read about 60 pages and consumed approximately 17 cups of tea. We're two drafts in, and I've at least begun to understand where the project seems to be going. Not at all bad for the second day...
(as promised, the rose garden back at the guest house, from which I'll be composing most of these updates...)
I'd caught her by surprise, too - my "I've arrived in the country; when can I start work?" message having arrived on her day off. I'd introduced myself to the guard as Kathryn, which only furthered confusion as somehow HR had me scrawled on a dry-erase board as Katy (complete with " - ???", exactly like two of the other four interns listed there). I sat for half an hour while she sorted out other priorities, then for another after she retrieved a copy of my CV and set out to consult with colleagues as to what to do with me.
Finally, an official pronouncement came - I'd spend a week with Monitoring and Investigations, primarily crafting a grant proposal for monitoring activities associated with refugee return. After that, maybe a week with the security team? It seems my summer will be made up as it goes along, one week at a time. For the moment, this means the love-seat and coffee table in the M&I office have become my temporary desk, and that a smiling man named Safi will be my supervisor for the week. So far, so good.
The oddities of crafting a work plan for a program I know nothing about, on the other hand, are many. The project consists mostly of asking Safi endless questions, leading him to call assorted offices and request piles of documents. In between answers, I sip tea and read from The History of the Peloponnesian War. In two days in the office, I've read about 60 pages and consumed approximately 17 cups of tea. We're two drafts in, and I've at least begun to understand where the project seems to be going. Not at all bad for the second day...
(as promised, the rose garden back at the guest house, from which I'll be composing most of these updates...)
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