Afghanistan: Baba-jan and badan-jan

We are living with our Afghan partner Monireh's family -- her sister Madiya, brother Reza (who are both in the workshops and the shows we are doing -- theater runs in the family), and then her mother and father.  It's a typical Afghan house with a tiny courtyard behind a tall gate along a dirt road in the midst of Jabraeil, a village community right outside the town of Herat. 

The father is really funny, he’s quite the clown!  Good humor abounds in this household.  He has decided I’m his American daughter, his sixth daughter after Nahib, Monirah, Tahira, Halima and Madiya (or actually I would be the first, since I’m older).  He’s having a good time playing with this.  “Dokhtar-jan”! he calls out (“daughter, dear”).  Come here, time for breakfast, time for tea, time for joking around.  So I call him “baba-jan.”  I had learned that “baba” is how you say daddy in Dari, and “jan” is a term of endearment you add after a name, like saying “dear.”  I give him a hard time and he threatens me with the fly swatter, all in good fun.  Last night we were having tea and fruit after dinner, and he starts singing to me, a lullaby about “dokhtar” and “baba.”  That’s so sweet!  Joanna and Michael are juggling the oranges and putting on a show.  Impromptu we start making percussive sounds, the father drumming on his big belly.  Lots of laughter together.  These are the precious moments!

This is an Afghan man with a good heart.  We hear so much about women being oppressed, forced marriages, abusive husbands, horrible men.  But of course not all men are like this, there are good happy loving homes and families too in Afghanistan.  This is one of them.  I can see that Sayed Hassan loves and appreciates his wife, Fatima, very much. Yesterday in the afternoon, while we were enjoying tea time together, he leaned his head on her shoulders and looked at her with adoring eyes.  Then he tweaked her nose.  Ever the jokester.   Even if it’s an easy-going and open-minded family, it’s still a traditional house-hold, since the father is adamant the women must wear the head scarf with Michael there; and the mother does the cleaning up, while the father takes a nap.  But then when I jumped in to do the dishes after lunch, and Michael took it upon himself to clean up after dinner, the father sprang into action and had to show how it’s really done.  I thought to myself, here’s a first! An Afghan man doing dishes!  I bet he’s never done this ever before, but he was quite swift so he might have some experience after all.  And actually he does do household chores, he helps with the laundry and they do the cooking together.

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Everyday baba-jan goes to the market to get the greens for the day’s cooking, and then sits and chops them all up to make, for example, “ku ku” – like a vegetable patty, or quiche but without the crust.  And let’s not forget the “badan-jan” – eggplant with tomato fried in a lot of oil.  I normally hate eggplant but this is really good!  And thank goodness, because it’s served every other meal. 

 Badan-jan with nan

But the best is the “bulani,” which are like pierogis filled with cooked greens or potato, and making this is a whole family affair – madar-jan flattens the dough, baba-jan puts the filling on, and sister Monireh readies them for the cooking and fries them up on the stove.  And then I eat them!  Yum!  

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Afghanistan: The students (PHOTOS)

Sabera              --            Mariam            --          Sakina (Hasti)

Madiya             --              Amina             --             Samira

Anna and Joanna with Wahija

Our students giving us feedback on the workshop

Me and Mahboubeh

  Hussein                                                                                                                                     Hassan

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Zainab and Zahra and me



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Wahija,  Zahra, Samira -- my best buddies!









Michael and the gang (Jafar, Amir Mahdi, and Ali)

Goofing off with Hassan, Mohammed, and Hussein

Lollipops!

Afghanistan: PHOTOS from the workshops!

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Celebration!

Acting out a story from a poem

Acting out the Taliban...

Wahija in center, who loves the stilts, because they make her feel tall and strong

Afghanistan: The workshops and our amazing students!

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We are partnering with a young theater company here in Herat called Simorgh (which means 'thirty birds' based on a Sufi legend about a great flock of birds on a journey to enlightenment, along the way bird after bird drop out and in the end only thirty remain...).  Simorgh is forging ahead to build a future for theater in Afghanistan, a daunting task and what they have already accomplished is quite the feat.  But more on the company later, now on to our talented youngsters!

For the first nine days here in Herat, we have been doing workshops with Simorgh's young company members and students, mostly girls age 12-20 and also some boys. They are so amazing! I am really impressed with their level of imagination and creativity and expressiveness. These are kids who have not had much exposure to theater as a medium in their culture (indeed such activity is generally frowned upon, and theater really doesn’t even exist). As children they are taught to be quiet, unnoticeable and have no opinions, especially the girls – and yet they are so spirited and jumping right in to play, game to try out whatever we throw at them. Some of the newer girls are very shy, but as the workshops progressed we could see that they got more comfortable and felt more free to express themselves, in action and in words.

On the final day, we had a conversation with the youngsters and asked them about their experience: what did you enjoy about the workshop, what did you discover, and how can it be useful to you in your lives? How do you think theater can be of value to the community? I was blown away by their responses! They are so young but already so wise.

Theater, they tell us, serves to reflect our society and its problems in order for us to better see ourselves… Zainab points out that after working on different characters, she now feels she can better understand people, and this is how theater can be useful: to help us understand each other. Mahbouba said that she discovered how she can connect with people, beyond her small circle of friends – through theater she can make a connection with the audience and thereby with people in the community.
Zahra describes how men traditionally have more power than women in the society, but in this workshop she felt equal to the men, everybody on the same level, free and comfortable. Marzia points out that she even forgot the boys were there!

The fact that both boys and girls are working and playing together in the workshop is not without controversy. One girl, unfortunately, was not allowed to continue because her brothers discovered there were boys in the workshops, and even though her mother had agreed to her participating, the brothers as men had the veto power to decide what their sister may or may not do. On the final day, she nonetheless snuck out of the house and joined us for a last chance to play.

Marzia loved yelling her name out, throwing it far over the mountain, because, she told us, it was the first time she had ever said her name out loud, and it felt so good to know that “Yes, I am Marzia!”

Little Wahija liked the stilt-walking best. Why?, we ask her. “Because I stand tall and feel in control of everything! It makes me feel more confident.” Wahija is a very small girl, she is twelve years old but really looks eight. Everybody loved the stilt-walking. It’s amazing the power such a simple activity can have. And everyone loved the acrobatics too.

Mahbouba tells us she really saw value in the exercise of passing the mask that transforms. It’s the same in life, she points out, because when one is in an argument with someone, they pass on to you their angry mask which you take on, but you don’t have to keep it, you can change it to one of joy before you get home!

Wow. I have to say I am shocked and awed by their astute insights. And these were just a few examples. It is so affirming to hear how enthusiastic they felt about the work we’ve done together, how much they got out of it, how eager they are to continue, and the insights they gained. It makes me feel like we truly have offered something worthwhile and made a difference. This moment to me was the culmination, the highlight, of the entire project. (And this was less than two weeks into the program. Who knows what amazing things will happen in the next few weeks!?)

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Then we ask them what the problems are that make it difficult to do theater in Afghanistan, and they all shout out in unison: “Everything!!!”

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Afghanistan: Another day in Jebraeil

Another little missive from April 10:

Hello,
Today had a day off. Good, cuz I was sick all night. It was probably the home-made yoghurt the father made for me. But didn't last too long.


We went for a walk around the neighborhood and down the street with the market and little shops. I had my camera with me and we were taking pictures. I bet they never had tourists here before! We definitely stirred up some attention. But all in a good way. A man in his breadshop called us over to take photos, and we checked out how they made bread – they bake it deep in a hole in the floor and then lift it out, flat and round and hot and fresh – and we got some to eat. Mmm, naan! As we continued on, a man here and there would come up to Michael to engage in conversation and ask where we're from and whenever we would stop to chat, a crowd would gather to check us out. (I noticed they never addressed me or Joanna; and I assume they didn’t because that would be inappropriate, as in this culture men are not supposed to talk to women they do not know on the street.)  School had let out and the street was filling with little school girls in ‘nun’s habits’ eating ice cream, and soon a bunch of them were gathered around us, giggling and whispering, and following us down the street like we were the Pied Piper.  But whenever Joanna pulled out the camera they hid their faces in their hijabs. You can't take pictures of women, not even when they're little girls!


As we got home, the neighbors' kids were out on the street playing and we yucked it up with them again, as we had before, it's become a game of making faces and playing monster. This adds to the novelty of our presence, I’m sure, because I imagine no adult here, and definitely no woman, would play like that with them and make funny movements and faces -- on the street! Crazy foreigners!  After we had entered our house (behind a large iron gate, most Afghan houses are hidden behind a wall and gate), there was a loud banging. I opened up, and there were three of the school girls again. Don't know how they found us (we had left them behind further down the street), but I guess it's not that difficult, since we're the only foreigners in town. Come to the market with us! they shouted. Come, let's go! Now? Yes, now! Well, maybe another day, ok? We were actually quite tired at this point, and really needed a nap.  Still, I would've been game to go, but I can't go off by myself, even in the entourage of little school girls. That was so funny, though, and sweet, that they were so excited at meeting us that they came to get us to go to the market with them. Badan mebinim! (See you later!)


Later in afternoon, someone was coming over to fix the refrigerator that wasn't working (although they had just bought it). We were told the man was Taliban so we better stay in our rooms and not show ourselves. Well, the man was Pashtun, and to our hosts (who are Hazara) any Pashtun man who wears a turban is Taliban, which of course isn't true, but I guess it's good to play it safe!


We also spoke with a young man who was here in Herat on visit, but works down in the Helmand province (next to Kandahar) as an interpreter for the US Marines. He said it was very dangerous, for him as someone working for the Americans, and for us if we wanted to go there, because [finger across throat], they'll behead us all. And it doesn't help that he's Hazara. They don't like us cuz we're foreigners? Joanna asks. Pashtuns don't like anyone who's not Pashtun, he says.


Another fun day in Afghanistan!

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Afghanistan: Hello from Herat!

Update from April 7:


Salam! Chestor asti? Khob astom! Here I am in Herat, and am picking up some good Dari phrases. After a month of living here, I’ll be speaking like a native. Not quite. But little by little, able to do some simple communication.


We are living with our theater hosts’ family. Monirah, the director of Simorgh, the theater company we're working with here in Herat, is fantastic. She’s 26 years old and has already produced several plays and films, together with her husband Hakim. Well, actually they’re not quite married yet, though they finally got engaged, a bit of a scandal here. She’s a free-thinking modern young woman, but is having to adhere to local customs (which she gripes about). To that end, she dresses in the chador whenever she is out on the street, like all women here. This is basically a large sheet, black or with white flowers or sometimes grey, swept around the body and held tight with the hands under the chin, so only the face shows. There are still women who wear the blue burqa, too. When inside, all women (and girls over 9) still wear a head scarf if there is a male present who is not close family. So because Michael is in the house, her mother and herself and her younger sister wear head scarves, but otherwise they wouldn’t. Joanna and I don’t bother when in the house. Since her father said to me: “You’re like my daughter!” I figure we’re family now and I don’t have to. And Michael is family to us too (me and Joanna). So there. But the grand father came for a visit the other night, and the father ran up to me quickly and said: “Anna, Anna!” and gestured to put my head scarf on. Because the grand father is very old school, very conservative. He does not, by the way, approve of Monirah’s choice of husband (to be), and has not spoken to the family for a long time.


In any case, the family is very welcoming to us, the father is really great and good-humored, and the mother is sweet. They cook us fabulous Afghan food. We are eating like kings -- yummy vegetable dishes, salad, yoghurt and great bread. We eat on the floor on a plastic table cloth (called the ‘sofra’), that’s the Afghan way. And drink lots of green tea – wherever we go, we’re offered tea, even in a shop.


We are in a new suburb to Herat called Jabraiel (it's being built as we speak, everywhere partial structures in process of construction). It’s where all the Hazara live. The Hazara are an ethnic people in Afghanistan and are very much discriminated against, especially by the Pashtuns (who consider themselves the only true Afghans). The Hazare are supposedly descendants of Djengis Khan, and have Asian features. The day after we arrived was a holiday and Monirah’s family and many many others went to a picnic area near a mountain. There some Tajik guys took a photo of a Hazara girl (and you do not take photos of girls!), so her brothers asked them to stop and to delete the pics; some soldiers came up (who happened to be Tajik too) and suddenly opened fire, and two random Hazaras got killed. This was extremely upsetting to Monirah, who started crying when she heard. It’s distressing because this kind of thing happens a lot. Of course, it didn’t help that we were in the midst of an intense political discussion about the state of Afghanistan and its future, as she got the news.

The day we arrived is when they had protests because of the Koran-burning. However, it was pretty small here in Herat (although later I was told there were up to 3,000 protesters and that is still quite a crowd). We were advised not to hang about town for a couple of days. But everything is fine. Things are peaceful here. It’s down in Kandahar, and in the east, Jalalabad, and now up in the north too, Mazar-i-Sharif, where the Taliban are causing trouble. We walk down the street and nobody bothers us, although we got lots of looks. There aren’t any other foreigners here, so we are quite a sight. And Joanna and I are not wearing the chador-sheets, although we of course wear long tunics and loose pants, or long skirts, with head scarf. People stare at us like we’re aliens, men, women and children alike. Some looks may appear a bit disapproving and hostile, from some men in particular, but mostly it’s just shock and awe. In general, people here are friendly and welcoming.


We have started teaching workshops, and are working with a group of very talented young girls, age 12-20, and some boys, too. It is really fantastic that there’s a theater group here, I must say, and with so many girls, and that their families let them come and be part of it! Considering how conservative and traditional the area is, one might expect any such activity to be entirely suppressed and certainly if involving girls. For sure, engaging in theater here is not without controversy, without its risks and problems. Theater is certainly not considered a respectable activity here, let alone profession (nor did it use to be in the US or Europe, and perhaps still isn't) and definitely not something respectable young girls should partake in. Women are not supposed to show themselves (off) in public, so to be on a stage and be looked at – unthinkable! And who knows what kind of untoward activities they’ll have to engage in… Moving their bodies – scandalous! Being loud and expressive – outrageous! And, God forbid, intermingling on stage with the opposite sex. At Kabul University where they have an acting department, there is not one single female acting student among about 200 male students. In fact, Monirah's sister Tahira is just now entering the university and she will be the first female acting student ever! Go Tahira!

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