Looking Back: On Clothing in an Islamic Country

What do you wear in Afghanistan? Isn't it awful to be so oppressed?

Another question that is often asked and my answer often not believed. Let me start by giving you a brief overview of my basic daily wardrobe:

I've mentioned the 95% rule, which is the percentage of my body I generally kept covered. My hands and face showed, as could the tops of my feet when I wore sandals. Year round, I wore long sleeves, a shirt down to mid-thigh or knees, and pants. Some ladies wore long skirts instead, or pants under a knee length skirt, or a long robe (chapan) that went from neck to toes. 

Then there was the headscarf. I wore a chadar, which is the simplest form of headscarf. It's much like a scarf from home, just a long strip of fabric. Afghan girls wear a variety of styles when it comes to their headscarf, but I generally wrapped mine around my head and then my neck and left the ends hanging down my back. Definitely no fashionista, but it was comfortable.

It'd be silly to pretend that I loved wearing this ensemble every day, because there were certainly moments when I would have happily traded it all for a T-shirt and shorts. Summer is the worst, for obvious reasons, but when I first arrived, it only took me a few weeks to get used to it. 

This was the common refrain among the Afghan girls I knew. My host sisters would come home from work at the same time as me, and while I ripped my headscarf off immediately and changed into more comfortable clothes, they didn't seem to notice that they were sitting around with their heads still covered. When I asked, they had genuinely forgotten they were still wearing it. They laughed at my disbelief and assured me I'd soon grow accustomed as well. To my surprise, I did, and I spent more than one evening wearing the scarf I never got around to taking off.

To be honest, the dress code had its advantages as well. There was a part of me that enjoyed not seeing girls' midrifs, or dealing with guys staring at my butt or breasts. I used my chadar to cover my mouth when I coughed, or when smoke or cold or dust were bothering my asthma. I used it to cover my mouth when I was smiling or laughing or crying at a time when it wasn't appropriate, and I used it to keep my head covered in the rain. I never had a bad hair day, and since I was never blow-drying or curling or treating my hair, it was in wonderful shape. My chadar was an easy way to add color to my outfit, and by the end of the year, I had quite a collection. A friend and I once brainstormed fifty uses for the chadar, from dust rag to table runner to self defense.

I was also quite fascinated to talk to Afghan ladies and find out their attitudes about their dress. Some were as anti-headscarf as I would have predicted; they were the girls who let their scarves slip further and further back on their heads, or even wore them covering only their buns instead of the whole top of their head.

But most girls I know don't have a problem with it, and many prefer to dress that way even when they don't have to. It's partially the religious aspect, and the more I heard about it, the more endearing I found it. I'm no authority, but to the best of my understanding, the laws they follow come from Sharia Law, which translates to something akin to "path." Modest dress is only one of the ways that you can better follow the religious path. Which, when you think about it, is an ideal shared all over the world -- that covering up parts of ourselves is a way of showing respect to ourselves, our societies/the people around us, and God. When I started to look at it that way, I found it easier to adjust to the clothing.

In addition to the religious aspect, the girls I spoke to also mentioned the protection of a scarf, and the comfort. When you go without a scarf, you get stared at. You feel exposed. Men say things, and women talk behind your back. When you wear a scarf, or to an even greater extent, a hijab or a burqa, you can blend in, which gives you a sense of safety. Not a terribly pretty reality, but a reality nonetheless. It is simpler, safer, to just wear the scarf.

A lot of the ladies also mentioned how frustrated they get by those who call it oppression. They insist that they have a choice, and even when they travel to non-Muslim countries, they exercise that choice and keep their scarves on. Considering the societal pressure to wear a scarf, I'm not sure how much choice there really is at home, but on an individual level, most girls I knew were comfortable with it, regardless.

The clothing in Afghanistan has its ups and downs, but I can honestly say it's not what I'd expected. It was such a huge concern for me before I first went, but now, I have no trouble feeling comfortable with Islamic dress. So, no, it wasn't awful. And I'm certainly not oppressed!

The Most Amazing Tournament Ever

There is no feeling in the world quite as amazing as standing in the middle of a dirty, littered, empty tab room, watching the sunset through the window (and the dust), seeing a slight breeze send one last, unclaimed “Certificate of Achievement” fluttering to the floor, knowing that we just concluded the largest debate tournament that (we think) Afghanistan has ever seen… and we rocked it.

Today has been a fabulous day.

Debate tournaments are always hectic, and today was no different. I was coaching, judging four of the six rounds, training judges, and running the “tab” room (tab is the process of tracking all of the results- wins and losses, speaker points- and deciding who breaks to semifinals, etc.). At most tournaments, I do one of those. I hit the ground running at 6:30 am this morning, and we didn’t get a break until after 7:30 tonight- which isn’t a big deal for tournaments for us (I’ve had tournaments that were MUCH worse), but for Afghans, it seemed like a really long day.

We told the kids to be there by 8 am. 8 am normal time, not Afghan time. We thought they would be late, but about 20 of the 36 debaters actually showed up at 7 am to practice before the rounds began. I was at the guest house so I could use the online tab program, and the tournament director, Josh McCormick, called me from the university at 8:30 to tell me that everyone had arrived and I could print and bring the pairings- the list of which team would face which team.

We had three rounds in the morning, and then a break for lunch. By lunchtime, we had two (of the eighteen) teams who had won all three rounds, and five other teams who had won two and had really high speaker points- meaning they had a shot at going to semi-finals. I didn’t judge the fourth round, so I was sitting in front of the ballot computer (using the spreadsheet program that I created because we couldn’t access the Internet and use our online software- pretty fun!) as ballots came back with judges’ decisions. The four other debaters from the US- Josh, Clayton, Rachal, and Nick- and the executive director, Aref, were standing over me with hungry looks on their faces. Every time a ballot came in, they all leaned closer- who won? who won? who won??

It was a ridiculously close break for semifinals. Two teams had a 4-0 record (they won four and lost zero), and we had to choose from the five 3-1 teams based on speaker points. Remember Razia? She and her partner had a 3-1 record and 277 speaker points. The last two semi-final teams had 3-1 records and 286 and 278 speaker points. We were so disappointed- Razia and Hotak missed the semi-finals by one point. Later, when we calculated speaker awards, Razia missed by two points and Hotak missed by one. So frustrating- but still an incredible achievement for their first tournament.

The final four semi-final teams came from three different universities and included, completely by accident, four female and four male debaters. We were so excited- it’s been difficult to convince the girls to try debate and difficult to convince their professors to let them be on the teams. One team tried to send eight guys, arguing that their girls didn’t have much experience. Two of those girls took second place overall.

One of my teams won the tournament. They were from Tabesh University, which has only been open for two years and which offers limited English classes. The two debaters, Shirzai and Ahmed, did a great job. They went 4-0 in rounds and had high speaker points. The two other teams from their school, Suliaman/Abuzar and Musa/Moosawi, picked up one win during the entire tournament, but when results were announced, it was as though the entire team had won. No bitterness, no rivalry- just pure excitement and genuine happiness for the success of their teammates.

It was a hectic, busy day. I ran from tab room to topic draw to prep room to judging to tab room. Most of us didn’t have time for the sit-down lunch that was provided, and by the end, we looked like we’d been rolling in the dirt because the building was so dusty and we were so hot. Some teams were upset- the team of girls who lost in semi-finals had tears running down their cheeks, and Razia spent fifteen minutes telling me why the judge who gave her a loss didn’t deserve to be judging. Others were ecstatic- the look on Ahmed’s face when they announced the winners was priceless.

Watching them debate these controversial, semi-political topics was priceless. “Afghanistan should develop nuclear weapons.”
“Freedom of expression is necessary for the development of a society.”
“Pakistan is the biggest threat to Afghanistan.”
“The U.S. should establish permanent military bases in Afghanistan.”
“The security situation in Afghanistan is improving.”
These aren’t topics that most Afghans talk about, yet there we were. Watching students who have been learning debate for two weeks give claims, give impacts, give rebuttal, say in the semi-final round that their points were “damn clear.” Watching students who, two weeks ago, couldn’t wrap their minds around the concept of “cross-examination,” couldn’t figure out how to respond to their opponent’s arguments without just repeating them, couldn’t give a speech in English to save their lives, had no idea how to argue something that they didn’t necessarily believe.

Yet there we were.

If I weren’t heading home to spend only a few weeks with my family before I start work, I would definitely change my ticket and stay longer. If I could, I would stay here indefinitely, host another tournament, get these debate clubs going long-term. The kids kept asking when they could do this again, when they could debate again. We had to tell them we didn’t know. This was such an experimental program, but judging by the success, I think it’s safe to say that the Kabul Invitational may just become an annual event. There is nothing I would like better than to come back next year and help host it again.

Debating in Afghanistan

The Kabul Invitational Tournament, a tournament to which I’ve dedicated the last three weeks and a lot of others have dedicated much longer, will take place “tomorrow.” Hopefully.

Running a debate tournament in Kabul is nothing like running a tournament in the States. If you’ve ever been to a tournament at home, you know that they are chaotic to say the least. There are a lot of coaches and students and pieces of paper floating around, and it’s tough to keep track of it all. But at tournaments in the States, you work with kids who have been taught to think critically, most of whom have at least some debate experience. You have a location reserved months in advance. You have Internet that works, and you don’t have random power outages that sometimes last two minutes and sometimes last two hours. You know ahead of time how many students are coming and how many judges will be there. You don’t have military checkpoints at the entrance to the university, and you aren’t expected to schedule a full hour for a complete sit-down lunch. Your tournament can start early, and most participants know that it will run until well after dark.

None of that is true in Kabul.

In the three weeks that we’ve been here, we’ve put a lot of time into this tournament, the exhibition debates at the universities, and the debate workshops we’ve been teaching. And we’ve made a lot of progress. We’ve gotten trophies purchased, teams trained, certificates made, ballots written, judges recruited. We’ve even gotten the sanction from the International Public Debate Association, which is pretty cool. (If you go to www.ipdadebate.info you can see it!)

Unfortunately, Afghans don’t believe in making To Do lists and checking things off. We paid for our trophies, but the company just told us they are sorry for the delay and they’ll try to get them to us tomorrow morning. We don’t have a location; Kabul University initially agreed, but the president told us last night that he has changed his mind. We have to provide lunch for all of them, and we haven’t yet figured out how to do that. We have to reimburse students for the transportation costs (400 Afghanis each, which is about $8), and all the money we exchanged is in 500 Afghani notes. We have tentative lists of students, but we don’t know who will show up or if they’ll be on time or if the high security will let them on campus.

It’s a little stressful, but we are trying to teach ourselves to go with the flow. This is a very new concept here, and we have to remember that these students and professors and judges aren’t seasoned debaters who have been doing this for six or seven years, as the rest of us have. So we are just crossing our fingers and praying that it will all work out!

Despite all of the frustration, I have to tell you how much I am loving this job. There are busy days and boring days, but my favorites are the workshop days. Last Saturday, my partner Clayton Goss and I went to Kateb University to teach the second of two four-hour workshops. We met these students three weeks ago when we did our first exhibition debate at their university, two days after we arrived. Clayton and I interviewed them all, chose eight students (four men and four women) for the workshop, and wrestled with their schedules until we could plan for two Saturday afternoon workshops.

Five students showed up that first Saturday.

One of the missing students was my favorite, Razia. I wrote about her once before. She’s an amazing student, a political science major, who dreams of becoming the first female president of Afghanistan. She is very progressive, and wears a chadar that starts at the bun at the nape of her neck instead of at her forehead like most girls’ do. Gasp!

We were really disappointed when she missed last week, but she called to apologize and asked if we could train her later. So last Saturday, she showed up at 12:30 and sat through a one-hour crash course on resolutions and claim/warrant/impact. We had taken over two hours to teach that to the entire class, so I didn’t think she would be able to pick it up quickly enough. But she did. We were finished in under forty minutes, and she had such a firm grasp on the concepts that I joked that she should be teaching me.

We also did our first practice debate round that afternoon at Kateb, and Razia and her classmates did awesome. Most rounds we’ve seen so far have included little to no rebuttal, definitions, actual questioning during cross-examination, or anything else we’ve been teaching them for three weeks. Most rounds consist of four speakers who stand up and make claim after claim after claim after claim. Which isn’t exactly a debate round.

The debate at Kateb was different. Razia paired with Hotak, another promising debater, on the negative, and Farzana and Qadir were on affirmative. They made claims, but they backed them up with evidence and then they challenged their opponents’ claims. The first time I heard Razia say “My opponent said…” I wanted to stand up and cheer!

Watching these students improve and learn and take an interest in debate makes the frustrations worth it. These are smart students who want to change their country. They see the issues of security, of education, of corruption, of ineptitude, and they want to fix them. They’ve never been taught how to listen respectfully to someone else’s arguments, and they don’t know how to create questions based on what they heard. These ideas are so normal so me, and so foreign to them, but I love watching them figure it out and learn. These kids are going to change the world someday, and it’s so cool to be a part of it.

What's It Like In Kabul?

In the last ten years, we’ve heard a lot about Afghanistan, and if you are anything like me, you’ve built up quite a mental image of the place. I want to describe Kabul for you and see if it is as different from your image as it was from mine. (I’ve also taken about a billion pictures, which are all on Facebook and show the city better than I could!)

First of all, Kabul is hot. Really hot. I know that I’ve lost some of my tolerance for heat since moving to Oregon, but that loss is only augmented by the lack of air conditioning. During the middle of the day, not much gets done. People sit around their fans and try to absorb every ounce of air possible. The liveliest times of day are from about five o’clock, when a breeze usually starts and the air begins to cool, to sundown, which comes as early as 7:30. Most social life ends around 8 pm, since it’s still rather dangerous to be out after dark.

Kabul sits in the middle of a valley and is completely surrounded by mountains. The air is dry and dusty, devoid of all humidity. The streets are mostly unpaved, but the cars fly up and down them as if they were driving on asphalt, so the air is always full of dust. When we are walking or driving, we pull our scarves over our mouths and noses (yet another use for the chadar!) to protect our lungs.

The buildings are unlike anything I’d imagined. Many are built into the hillside, clay buildings that remind me of the dwellings in Mesa Verde. The main streets look like any other city, characterized by tiny stores and restaurants that are packed into every square inch of roadside space. Even the most well-kept are a little bit dirty, but in a normal sort of way that doesn’t look out of place. The stores aren’t the typical Main Street stores at home; they are butcher shops with cuts of meat hanging from the ceiling, bread stores with giant loaves of naan, clothing stores with traditional garments hanging next to prom dresses (for guests to wear to wedding) and blue jeans. Street vendors are everywhere, selling everything from food (lamb kebabs and pulao are two of the city’s specialties) to scarves to bottles of shampoo and conditioner with labels in both English and Dari. I’m tempted to buy more conditioner that I don’t need just because I love the look of the label written in the gorgeous Arabic script.

There are fruit stands every six inches, it seems, and fifty percent of them are selling watermelon, stacked ten melons high and thirty wide. (Funny story- the word in Dari for “watermelon” is one letter away from the word for “fart.” Yesterday, I tried to say “thank you for the watermelon,” but I messed up. Guess what I actually said?) Other vendors peddle ice cream trucks that play Jingle Bells and Happy Birthday, or carry giant inflatable toys and swimming pools on a contraption that rests on their shoulders and looks heavy but probably isn’t.

In driving through Kabul, it’s easy to remember that Afghanistan is a Third World country. I see it in the uneven and bumpy sidewalks that are littered with trash, running parallel to the open sewers that give the city its, um, distinctive smell. I see it in the military convoys that drive past and the roundabouts that have men with machine guns and helmets. I see it in the streets full of beggars, mostly women in burqas and children with dirt streaked faces, and in those who might have begged for money but instead are trying to support themselves by cleaning car windows at intersections or by selling tiny purses for “one dollar, ma’am. Just one dollar.” I feel it when I pass a uniformed policeman and experience the tiniest sensation of fear, of wariness, of uneasiness, that I’ve never felt before, and I feel it whenever I hear about bombings in Herat or a general killed in a northern province. These moments remind me how far I am from home.

But in driving through Kabul and meeting its people, it’s easy to see that Afghanistan won’t be a Third World country forever. I see this in the young mothers with market booths to support themselves and the schoolchildren walking down the street who wave to us and call to us in English, thrilled to see foreigners with whom they can show off their command of the language. I hear it in the university students who study law or political science or economics and tell me that they want to leave to get a Master’s degree that isn’t offered here, but that they want to come back because this is their country and they want to make it better. I see it in the growing number of businesses, the newly arrived Dumpsters on the streets, the military checkpoints that my friends tell me were manned last year but are no longer necessary.

These moments prove to me that Afghanistan may be far from home, different and strange, a far cry from the Afghanistan I’ve always pictured but that it is a wonderful place nonetheless. These moments prove to me that Afghanistan is coming back. These moments remind me why I am here and why I am so happy that I came.

Women in Afghanistan

I know that you are probably very curious about the women in Afghan society and the stereotypes surrounding them, and since that’s been on my mind lately, I wanted to share some thoughts.

Women definitely don’t enjoy the same status in Afghanistan that they do in most countries I’ve lived in, nor are they given the freedom that American women are used to. All women must wear long pants and long sleeve shirts when going out in public, along with a chadar, a head scarf, that covers the top of the head and neck. Our shirts should go down to our knees, tunic style, to cover our backsides. We follow the “95% rule,” meaning that only 5% of our skin (faces, hands, and tops of the feet) can show. We aren’t supposed to laugh loudly in public, play sports, stay out after dark, etc. When we meet men for the first time, they shake hands with all the guys in our group and either ignore or simply mutter “salam” to the women. We aren’t supposed to stick our hands out and initiate the handshake either. Men and women don’t touch each other in public, and women aren’t really supposed to make eye contact with men on the street, particularly strangers. A man and a woman cannot be alone in the same room unless the door is open.

The restrictions aren’t easy to remember. I’m a rather independent girl (you might have noticed…), and for the last two weeks, I’ve been chafing under the many rules. But, I knew what I was getting into when I first came, so I’ve tried my best to follow them. I wear my long sleeved shirt and pants any time I leave my bedroom, and my scarf goes on any time I want to go outside the house. I’ve learned to eat with the scarf around my head, although that took some practice!, and I no longer spill food or water on it during lunch.

Some of the other rules are hard to remember. My chadar falls off on a regular basis, and I usually don’t notice, so my debate teaching partner is constantly saying “Rachel, your scarf is off.” I am accustomed to looking into people’s eyes, so I usually forget to look demurely at my feet. I try not to initiate handshakes, but sometimes I forget.

The funniest social blunder I make is purposeful- I play soccer every chance I get. Until today, I had only played in the yard of our guest house, which is hidden behind a thick compound wall, so nobody sees except the staff. After they saw me play, they told another guest that I played surprisingly well… for a girl! Today, we went to visit the gardens that belong to the man who worked in the government for many years, for the Ministry of Borders and for the Peace Corps, and now owns a beautiful peace of property he is turning into a guest house. We toured his gorgeous gardens, ate watermelon with our hands while seated cross-legged on a gazebo, and then played soccer on the lawn. For the first time, I played with some Afghan men, and my team won 5-2. I scored four times, even with my head scarf knotted around neck! Afterward, several of them told me that I played well, and they sounded so surprised. It was great.

The interesting part about these cultural rules is that I’m beginning to accept them and even appreciate some of them. I’ve heard that women who wear burqas are usually forced to do so by a family member, but some of them enjoy the anonymity that it provides. I wouldn’t like to wear a burqa, but I was thinking today how nice it is that I wear such loose clothing that I don’t have to worry about what I look like. You never see flesh between a girl’s shirt and pants, and the dress that covers the backside is so loose that guys don’t bother trying to check us out. It really is rather freeing. I put my hair in a French braid every day and forget about it, and although I’m not getting a tan, I also don’t have to worry about getting sunburned.

Although I can’t say that I like wearing the chadar, many girls have told me that they don’t mind it. One friend didn’t even take hers off at the wedding or in other places where she’s allowed to do so, and she says that she feels safer and more comfortable when she wears it. More progressive college students have pushed theirs so far back on their heads that it’s almost like they are wearing a scarf around their necks instead. Even I have gotten used to mine; we threw a surprise birthday party for Rachal the other day, and I wore my chadar all through dinner because I didn’t even notice that I was wearing it.

Honestly, being a woman here is annoying sometimes, but it’s not as bad as we think. The original culture warnings they sent before we came told us not to speak in public, to walk submissively behind our male co-workers, to never address a man if he didn’t speak first. None of that is enforced or realistic. Yes, fewer girls go to school here than boys, and yes, the girls are required to wear hot and heavy clothing out in public. But overall, this is a society like any other. I watched a little boy and girl push their brother down the street on a two-wheeled bike, one holding his seat and the other his handlebars, jogging alongside as he wobbled down the pavement, and I thought about the normalcy of it all. Some things are different, but Afghanistan is a country like any other, and its women and its culture have a beauty all their own.

$10,000 Wedding

Well, it’s been an eventful weekend. I know it sounds strange to say that on a post that I’m writing on a Friday night, but that’s because my weekend just ended. Afghanistan celebrates weekends on Thursday and Friday because Friday is the holy day, the equivalent of Sunday in the States. Some government and other agencies are campaigning to switch to Fri-Sat for global business stuff, but that hasn’t gotten much support from the people.

I had a day and a half long weekend, which is more than I’ve had since Christmas, I think. On Thursday morning, we had an exhibition debate at one of the universities, but after that ended, we were free until later that night when we were invited to attend a wedding for the daughter of the cook at the Partnership in Academics and Development office, where the Banyan Tree Network is located. The wedding started at 7, and I know it makes me sound like a girl, but I was really nervous about what to wear. My debate clothes are hardly appropriate, and the colorful things I brought are all too form-fitting or short sleeved. Hajar, my female Afghan friend from the office, finally told me to wear a short-sleeved pink top I’ve had for a long time- she said it was colorful enough to look good and that since it would be all women, we didn’t have to worry about having long sleeves or wearing a chadar, a scarf. That made it worth going right there!

Weddings in Afghanistan are a big deal. Eloping is unheard of, and it’s not uncommon for a wedding to cost upwards of $10,000. This is in a culture where people only have to pay income taxes if they make over $100/month. Weddings are expensive. Kabul boasts a whole neighborhood of wedding halls, giant buildings with neon lights worthy of Vegas. The couple has to rent two halls, one for men and one for women. The ceremony itself is conducted elsewhere and broadcast into the two halls via television screens in the corner. Then the bride and groom get into a decorated car (no words, just flowers) and drive to the wedding halls, where around 400 guests are waiting. They go first into the women’s hall and climb onto a dais and sit on a throne. After about 15 minutes of accepting congratulations and greeting people, the groom leaves for the men’s hall. I don’t know what he does there- as you can imagine, I wasn’t allowed in!

The insides of these halls are ridiculous. Each holds about 30-40 tables, and the guests filling those tables are SO colorful! Í saw some crazy outfits- long dresses of purple and fuchsia and gold. Everyone is covered in sequins and flowers and ribbon, and jewelry! Hajar told us that the more decorated girls are married, because Afghan men buy gold, especially gold bangles, to demonstrate their love. Some girls were wearing tiaras and gold bangles on both wrists and ankles. Their hair was done so elaborately that they must have used a can of hair spray apiece just to make it stay like that.

The dancing was the coolest part. Picture Bollywood style music, with a Middle Eastern twist. That’s what they dance to. It was really cool music, and I wanted so badly to go dance, but I didn’t know how. Hajar promised to teach Rachal and I, so we went into the little fitting room, and a bunch of kids followed us. Soon, a couple of the kids were showing off their moves and Rachal and I were just trying to keep up. They were so good, and although we could hardly communicate with them, we had a great time speaking through motion and smiles and giggle fits. Who needs a translator?

At about 9 pm, they started serving dinner. That part was crazy too. Each table had about twelve people sitting at it, so two-three waiters would come running up to the table carrying a loaded tray. No joke. They were sprinting from the kitchen to the table with a full tray balanced on one hand and the other hand out it front to part the crowd, football style. When they got to the table, one woman would start unloading plate after plate after plate after plate. Rice and rice with beans and naan (bread) and watermelon and meatballs and chicken and lamb something and pudding and green pudding and bananas and more rice and another chicken dish and salad and… the dishes just kept coming! They were stacked on top of each other in the middle of the table, leaning over or piled two high, just to fit them all on.

And then everybody dug in. They passed us the dishes first, since we are guests, but both Rachal and I had already eaten dinner at the guest house (lamb kabobs with naan and watermelon! Man, I love this place!), so we weren’t hungry as much as thirsty. My stomach was also a little upset, and we had to be careful about what we ate- a lot of meat dishes, vegetable dishes, and dairy dishes are dangerous for us foreigners with untested immune systems. So Rachal and I turned down a lot of dishes, and I think we actually insulted them a little bit. I felt bad, so we asked Hajar to explain that we’d eaten too much food already and had slightly upset stomachs. I think they understood. I hope so.

We ended up leaving fairly early, around 10, because our ride was leaving, but I’m really glad we got to go. Despite the clothing anxiety and being unable to dance and feeling odd because we were segregated, it was a LOT of fun. I’m so happy we went- when will we ever get to see an Afghan wedding again!? It was totally worth it.

Afghanistan- starting a new adventure!

Well, it’s been over a year since I posted to this blog, but since I’m off in a foreign country again and have lots of wonderful friends and family trying to stay in contact, I figured it was time to resurrect it. I probably won’t be able to write to everyone individually, but I’ll post things on here and try to add personal comments, and feel free to write back to me via comments here, emails, or Facebook. It makes my day when I hear from home!

I’m currently living in Kabul, Afghanistan. I arrived four days ago, but it feels like so much longer! I’m here for a month, interning for a nonprofit called the Banyan Tree Network (BTN) and teaching debate to university students here. (I just learned- “Afghanis” refers to the currency. The people are “Afghans.” I’ve been saying it wrong for ten years now!) I came with a group of five college students (Clayton, Nick, Josh, and Rachal) from various schools across the US, and it’s been so much fun so far. We spend a lot of time together, between work, meals, transit, and “chill time,” but we get along really well, and I’m really enjoying it.

The work is amazing. We have a grant from the US Embassy to give exhibition debates at five universities, teach debate workshops at each university, and host the 1st Annual Kabul Invitational debate tournament, the first such tournament ever hosted in Afghanistan. At this tournament on June 16, the students we select from the five schools will debate each other using the skills they will learn in the workshops we are teaching. It’s really interesting- we have to teach basic debate and public speaking and persuade them that debate is important and useful, all while working with students who speak English as a second language.

We really encountered language barriers yesterday when we did our first exhibition debate at Kardan Institute of Higher Education (only public universities are allowed to call themselves universities). We practiced in front of the BTN staff first, and when we asked for feedback, they told us our example of Iran could be seen as offensive, that they didn’t know what a Japanese internment camp was, and that we TALKED TOO FAST!! So… we started again at square one, and when we did the second debate, it was much better. We had to talk S-O S-L-O-W-L-Y to be understood, but it was good practice.

The culture here is so different, but it really isn’t as scary or weird as some of you probably imagine. Some things live up to stereotypes: we go through military cement blocks to get to our compound (house), women have to cover their heads with scarves (chadaran) in public, and the patriarchal society definitely exists. But contrary to popular belief, not all Afghans hate Americans, want us to leave, or want to hurt us. In fact, everyone I’ve met so far supports the US being here, is glad that we came, and believes that Afghanistan needs us here. They are so curious about our culture- we’ve had amazing talks about everything from education systems to the status of women (which is changing here! So cool! They even said they might be able to find a group that will let me play soccer with them, which women never get to do!) to corruption to the Barcelona-Manchester game. So academic, I know.



Listening to them, I’ve been struck by the fact that our societies are so different, but we have such similar ideologies. These youth want change as much as we do. We live in totally opposite cultures, but we all want to see our countries, our world, improve, and we all have dramatic ideas about how we can help. Maybe my generation is young and stupid, but we aren’t willing to live with the status quo and I love seeing how passionate they are about change. All of the students I’ve talked to so far recognize that Afghans aren’t taught how to debate, how to argue with reason instead of with fists, how to think critically or use logic. It isn’t a part of this culture. It is so exciting to be introducing it to them and I really believe it’s going to make a difference. I talked to a girl yesterday who blushed as she told me that her dream was to become the first female president of Afghanistan. If that’s not progress, what is?

It’s time for bed, but I have to share one last thing. I’m absolutely loving the chance to learn another language. You probably know about my passion for languages and that I’ve been studying both Spanish and Italian for the past year. The languages of Afghanistan, Pashtu and Dari, are nothing like those Romance Languages, but they are really cool nonetheless. I’ve been trying to learn Dari as much as I can, and I’m picking it up quickly. I’ve learned the basic grammatical structure- adjective, noun, verb- and the verb conjugations, which weren’t too hard. Now I’m learning random words: Salam alaykum! Sobh ba khayr! Chetor asten? Khub astom. Mekhayed chai sobh? Bale! Man goresna astom! (Hello! Good morning! How are you? I’m good. Do you want breakfast? Yes! I’m hungry!) I’ve also learned a bunch of random words- monozara-debate. maris-sick. E chandi ast?- how much does it cost? loftan- please. tashakor- thank you. Wow, that list was longer than I thought and there are still more, so I’ll stop boring you. Suffice it to say, I’m having fun learning new words every day. Even cooler? According to the Afghans I’ve talked to in Dari, I don’t have an accent at all! Ah, I love languages.

Hope all of you are well, and please do write to me! I’d love to hear from you!

Salam! Peace!
Rachel

PS- I tried to post photos but it didn't work. Sorry! Look on Facebook to see my lovely headscarf :)