This summer, the radio station Hossein liked to play on the way to work used 50 Cent's "Candy Shop" as inter-program filler. Even realizing that almost no one listening could understand the lyrics, I was still a bit shocked at the song's popularity. Some weeks later, one of my usual taxi drivers proudly showed off a small video screen he'd installed, complete with looping footage of the Pussycat Dolls.
So I shouldn't really have been surprised to learn that Rihanna's latest album is quite the craze here. I hadn't heard it yet, though, so climbing into a taxi yesterday to hear "sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me," still felt completely surreal. Oh, Kabul, where no woman bares her elbows, but where a girl can sing about S&M to her heart's content (in English at least).
Showing posts with label whimsy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label whimsy. Show all posts
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Friday, August 27, 2010
The reign of the Corolla
Ha! As I noted in a postscripted comment on "The Kabul Commute", the Toyota Corolla is the king of the Afghan road. Clearly imported as used vehicles, they still display bumper stickers from their previous lives, ranging from Wall Drug to "In case of rapture, this car will be unmanned". I've seen contributor stickers for the South Carolina Policemen's Association for 2007 and the Missouri Firefighters' Association for 2006, as well as any number of added-in-Kabul slogans in wacky English - "Don't cry Girls - Ill Be Back" being a personal favorite.
Now the Washington Post is writing about the overwhelming popularity of Toyotas, too. It must be a slow news day in Kabul?
Anyway, my personal collection of sayings and decorative car stickers as seen by my friends and roommates over the summer:
"Love is Killer" - on a public bus
"Don't Follow Me" - also, often, "Don't Fallow Me"
"Baby Don't Cry, I'll Be Back"
"Danger Doesn't Give Meaning"
"My Toyota is Awesome" - on a Toyota, naturally
"No Girl, No Tension"
"When Nothing Goes Right, Go Left"
"Son of Panjshir" - next to a lady-in-a-martini-glass decal
"Can't touch this"
"My father said no friends, only girlfriend"
"In God We Turst" - on another bus
"Land craoser" (sic)
"24: Jack Bower" (sic)
Now the Washington Post is writing about the overwhelming popularity of Toyotas, too. It must be a slow news day in Kabul?
Anyway, my personal collection of sayings and decorative car stickers as seen by my friends and roommates over the summer:
"Love is Killer" - on a public bus
"Don't Follow Me" - also, often, "Don't Fallow Me"
"Baby Don't Cry, I'll Be Back"
"Danger Doesn't Give Meaning"
"My Toyota is Awesome" - on a Toyota, naturally
"No Girl, No Tension"
"When Nothing Goes Right, Go Left"
"Son of Panjshir" - next to a lady-in-a-martini-glass decal
"Can't touch this"
"My father said no friends, only girlfriend"
"In God We Turst" - on another bus
"Land craoser" (sic)
"24: Jack Bower" (sic)
Monday, August 9, 2010
Dubai Airport fun fact
Customs agents will detain you for 30 minutes and serve you coffee while inspecting your antique (and non-functional) souvenir firearms before letting you out; on the other hand, airport security will scan your bag, completely ignore the monitor, and slap an "inspected" tag on them while welcoming you in.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Carpet diplomacy, or, a photo for the day
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Kabul Fried Chicken, Part II

The sequel to the graffiti-advertising shown previously - the actual storefront of one restaurant calling itself KFC (the other, with at least two locations, uses a large chicken as its mascot rather than appropriating Col. Sanders). Near Shar-e Now Park, AFC (Afghan Fried Chicken) provides additional competition.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Afghan Model
This morning, a colleague from the logistics section wandered in to my office carrying two scrapbooks. He addressed Wakeel, who then translated as he placed one of the albums in my hands: "these are photographs of his son, in traditional Afghan clothes."
The first few were postcard-like prints, each featuring several different outfits and printed with "Maseeh Ur Rahman Popalzai," the name of our young model. Later photographs show him posed in a rose garden; petting a goat; holding a shovel over his shoulder in front of a display of summer wheat; and endless close-ups of a serious face with an even more serious handlebar mustache.

He is wearing clothes from all over Afghanistan, and as I thumb through the pages, my colleague provides narration: "Herat... Kandahar... Kabul." Wakeel explains that Maseeh Rahman competed on a television show called Afghan Model - then corrects himself - he won Afghan Model. The second scrapbook, it turns out, is a collection of congratulations. I am asked to contribute, so I pen a brief note and sign my name. After prompting me to add "USA" next to my entry, the man asks me if I have a photograph of myself. Surely enough, it appears that most of these fan messages are accompanied by passport-sized images.
We made a deal - I'll bring a photo tomorrow for the fan book, and I get copies of a couple of the postcard photos in exchange. Handlebar mustaches are far from dreamy in my book, but I can't pass up this kind of brush with fame...
The first few were postcard-like prints, each featuring several different outfits and printed with "Maseeh Ur Rahman Popalzai," the name of our young model. Later photographs show him posed in a rose garden; petting a goat; holding a shovel over his shoulder in front of a display of summer wheat; and endless close-ups of a serious face with an even more serious handlebar mustache.

He is wearing clothes from all over Afghanistan, and as I thumb through the pages, my colleague provides narration: "Herat... Kandahar... Kabul." Wakeel explains that Maseeh Rahman competed on a television show called Afghan Model - then corrects himself - he won Afghan Model. The second scrapbook, it turns out, is a collection of congratulations. I am asked to contribute, so I pen a brief note and sign my name. After prompting me to add "USA" next to my entry, the man asks me if I have a photograph of myself. Surely enough, it appears that most of these fan messages are accompanied by passport-sized images.
We made a deal - I'll bring a photo tomorrow for the fan book, and I get copies of a couple of the postcard photos in exchange. Handlebar mustaches are far from dreamy in my book, but I can't pass up this kind of brush with fame...
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Joking around
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.)
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.)
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