To my horror, American professional wrestling comes through on cable here. Dr. J was asking me about whether it’s real or not the other day. “Why is it popular in USA?” I have no idea. Though I must have some idea, because I was a fan back in the Captain Lou Albano / Hulk Hogan / George The Animal Steel days. (In my defense, I was 12.) But, really, there should be some kind of barrier preventing that stuff from getting outside our country—it’s a bit embarrassing…
The last day of actual class was Thursday and the students were restless! It got a bit frustrating trying to keep them focused. And, since we lost a day to the last-minute national holiday last week, we were able to hold a review session today (Friday, normally a day off). Driving to the university, though, we noticed a bit of hoopla. Apparently, some are advocating for war-crimes suspects to be granted amnesty—see an article here.
After the review session, D invited me to go up to a large hill where lots of people go kite flying. W drove us and R met us there. I suppose lots of people have heard of the book “The Kite Runner,” so you may be familiar with the long tradition of kite flying in Afghanistan. People actually compete with one another by attempting to cut other kites’ string with your own string. Some string is made with small bits of glass in it to make it more effective.
The view was spectacular from on top of this hill—snowy mountains all around, though the
thick air (diesel fumes) limited vision in some directions. I’d never seen so many kites before, though. There must have been 20 or so all at the same time. We were in an area well away from most of the kite flyers, but D, who informed me he’d flown kites from when he was very young up until he was eighteen, let our kite out and out and out until it was near the others. He got in a fight with four other kites and sent three of them to the ground, but the fourth got him.
I found watching the kites mesmerizing, calming. Like watching fish in a tank, I su
ppose. Isn’t that supposed to lower your blood pressure? I supposed that the people there must like watching the kites in the sky, too—looking up means ignoring what’s around them on the ground. There’s a refreshing element of harmless escape there.
Lots of people stared at me—I guess a Westerner sticks out quite a bit here and there weren’t any others. A little kid came up and tried to sell me boxes of mints. I knew if I bought from him, then we’d get mobbed with kids trying to sell something or begging for “bakshish” (gifts). So I was telling him no, but eventually kids started swarming around anyway. One in particular became a bit aggressive and grabbed my hand—he was more or less just shaking it but I was startled and pulled it back, especially when he motioned to his eyes and reached for my camera (hanging around my neck). The kid was also just absolutely covered with dirt. And my unconscious reaction was to look at my hand to see if it was dirty and kind of rub my fingers against the base of my thumb the way you would to get something off them. Then I felt detached—like some aristocrat treating these kids like “untouchables” or something—and ashamed by my privileged position, the weakness of my cleanliness.
We walked to leave the assembled kids behind and to get closer to the larger group of kite fliers. It was muddy, and the soles of my hiking boots ended up caked. There were lots of people, though. Some folks were there just to take in the view, others playing a bit of soccer (you can see a boy tending goal between two rock piles in the photo below), others watching the kites, and a few selling kite materials or snacks. R bought some very tasty roasted peanuts-and-corn mix. I wondered why we don’t have that because it was very good! I’d never ad corn just toasted or roasted or whatever like that before.
There is also a large tomb on this hill—the tomb and memorial of the last Afghan king, apparently. It’s currently being refurbished and so was surrounded by fencing and the building itself by scaffolding and drapes. But you could see the large rusted dome on top w
ith some artillery holes in it. The place had been fortified and used during the fighting. We were walking on top of a portion of the underground fortress, but there were large holes in the ground (what would be the ceiling inside the fortress underground) that I couldn’t figure out the purpose of. R said he’d been inside the fortress and that many people had died in there and he’d seen remains. Daud indicated the slope down one side of the hill and said it had been full of mines and many people had been killed or lost a leg there. So many places here one is reminded of guns, war, and killing.
As we walked back to the mini-van a little girl in a car pointed out the open window at me. I was walking toward their car and saw her father smile as he got into the driver’s seat. I waved to her as I passed by the car and she smiled and waved back as her mother also smiled.
We had to cross a large, muddy opening to get over to the minivan and I was walking along pretty much oblivious when I suddenly felt something on my belly moving up to my chest. I also heard a hissing sound. “Holy sh%# a lizard somehow jumped up and under my shirt,” I thought and frantically started to swat at myself. Then I heard someone yell and it dawned on me as I looked to my right that I’d walked into some kid’s taught, but low-hanging kite string. He and his friend were laughing as I managed to back away from it, then duck under to pass safely as I laughed at my ridiculousness the rest of the way to the van.
The last day of actual class was Thursday and the students were restless! It got a bit frustrating trying to keep them focused. And, since we lost a day to the last-minute national holiday last week, we were able to hold a review session today (Friday, normally a day off). Driving to the university, though, we noticed a bit of hoopla. Apparently, some are advocating for war-crimes suspects to be granted amnesty—see an article here.
After the review session, D invited me to go up to a large hill where lots of people go kite flying. W drove us and R met us there. I suppose lots of people have heard of the book “The Kite Runner,” so you may be familiar with the long tradition of kite flying in Afghanistan. People actually compete with one another by attempting to cut other kites’ string with your own string. Some string is made with small bits of glass in it to make it more effective.
The view was spectacular from on top of this hill—snowy mountains all around, though the
thick air (diesel fumes) limited vision in some directions. I’d never seen so many kites before, though. There must have been 20 or so all at the same time. We were in an area well away from most of the kite flyers, but D, who informed me he’d flown kites from when he was very young up until he was eighteen, let our kite out and out and out until it was near the others. He got in a fight with four other kites and sent three of them to the ground, but the fourth got him.I found watching the kites mesmerizing, calming. Like watching fish in a tank, I su
ppose. Isn’t that supposed to lower your blood pressure? I supposed that the people there must like watching the kites in the sky, too—looking up means ignoring what’s around them on the ground. There’s a refreshing element of harmless escape there.Lots of people stared at me—I guess a Westerner sticks out quite a bit here and there weren’t any others. A little kid came up and tried to sell me boxes of mints. I knew if I bought from him, then we’d get mobbed with kids trying to sell something or begging for “bakshish” (gifts). So I was telling him no, but eventually kids started swarming around anyway. One in particular became a bit aggressive and grabbed my hand—he was more or less just shaking it but I was startled and pulled it back, especially when he motioned to his eyes and reached for my camera (hanging around my neck). The kid was also just absolutely covered with dirt. And my unconscious reaction was to look at my hand to see if it was dirty and kind of rub my fingers against the base of my thumb the way you would to get something off them. Then I felt detached—like some aristocrat treating these kids like “untouchables” or something—and ashamed by my privileged position, the weakness of my cleanliness.
We walked to leave the assembled kids behind and to get closer to the larger group of kite fliers. It was muddy, and the soles of my hiking boots ended up caked. There were lots of people, though. Some folks were there just to take in the view, others playing a bit of soccer (you can see a boy tending goal between two rock piles in the photo below), others watching the kites, and a few selling kite materials or snacks. R bought some very tasty roasted peanuts-and-corn mix. I wondered why we don’t have that because it was very good! I’d never ad corn just toasted or roasted or whatever like that before.
There is also a large tomb on this hill—the tomb and memorial of the last Afghan king, apparently. It’s currently being refurbished and so was surrounded by fencing and the building itself by scaffolding and drapes. But you could see the large rusted dome on top w
ith some artillery holes in it. The place had been fortified and used during the fighting. We were walking on top of a portion of the underground fortress, but there were large holes in the ground (what would be the ceiling inside the fortress underground) that I couldn’t figure out the purpose of. R said he’d been inside the fortress and that many people had died in there and he’d seen remains. Daud indicated the slope down one side of the hill and said it had been full of mines and many people had been killed or lost a leg there. So many places here one is reminded of guns, war, and killing.As we walked back to the mini-van a little girl in a car pointed out the open window at me. I was walking toward their car and saw her father smile as he got into the driver’s seat. I waved to her as I passed by the car and she smiled and waved back as her mother also smiled.
We had to cross a large, muddy opening to get over to the minivan and I was walking along pretty much oblivious when I suddenly felt something on my belly moving up to my chest. I also heard a hissing sound. “Holy sh%# a lizard somehow jumped up and under my shirt,” I thought and frantically started to swat at myself. Then I heard someone yell and it dawned on me as I looked to my right that I’d walked into some kid’s taught, but low-hanging kite string. He and his friend were laughing as I managed to back away from it, then duck under to pass safely as I laughed at my ridiculousness the rest of the way to the van.
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