Where it turns out the head of the village looks like my grandma
A fine sunny day today, spent visiting communities to see what progresses we are making in the field.
Where we stopped in one village, were explained the work on a well by 1 man, the progress on a latrine by 3 and finally the progress on another latrine by 8 men and somewhere around 30 children. I love the way you strike a conversation with five senior men of one village and, within seconds, see the offspring of the entire district run to you, accompanied by the few men who missed the start of the action.
Thereafter, a lunch of soup, bread and bird. As for that bird, it is grey, fluffy and rather dignified. At the end of our lunch, some kid in military garments shows up and gives a full bird to my engineer. But - wait a minute - that's a living bird we're getting. Indeed, our engineer is planning his dinner. Off we go with it in a sealed box, topped with a few nice holes so it can contemplate the countryside, over which it is unlikely to fly again.
Then we reach a far up village lost in the mountain. We leave the car, continue on foot and it turns out 15 months of zero physical activity make my heart beat at 270 by the tenth step. A little dignified - after all, there's a living bird, in a box, in our car, that's facing death without blinking, so surely I can continue walking - I carry on but cannot hide my dismal physical condition.
The head of shura and soon another ten adults and so many children, give us a tour of the wells they have been working on. (That's the deal, communities help with the digging and we provide the hardware material, plus training, spare parts and a lot of other activities.) Not only have they done a fine job on the wells that have started, but they seem to show unlimited energy to deal with the digging. I find it most reassuring as the wells look already more like theirs than anything else. I mean we start the programme, but they get organised, get down to work and all. In short, they are in charge and that's really what matters most.
A flash before leaving: there's something about that head of shura nose and teeth that remind me of someone. Wait, I know, my grandma! The oddest association for sure. Him respectably bearded in his mountains and her baking some lovely madeleines in France. Aaaaah, madeleines.
On the way back, some herd dogs playing catch the car (or is it catch the human?). And in the middle of the conversation it turns out the bird is actually meant to be my supper. Now I'm at loss to explain just how far Afghan generosity can go. I mean our engineer got that poor little bird, that got to do a hell lot of travelling, just because I failed to try the nicest part thereof... So OK, after arguments, I have to accept the offer - with hopes to one day be able to reciprocate. The tough part is I'm not ashamed to be where I stand on the food chain, but in a hypocritical kind of way, would rather not see anything below me before it reaches the casserole. Then again, releasing the bird is not much of an option either. (I mean, I'm told these birds can be caught at night by just flashing them with a light in their holes. Out of surprise, they freeze. In front of so much stupidity, I'm barely accelerating natural selection, am I?)
A few carrots picked along the road before reaching Maymana. They are, for some reason, yellow and red. Can't do anything like the rest of the world here, can they? Washed in a river and rinsed with mineral water, but we're way past caring about our bowels. It turns out these carrots don't really need peeling either and are yummy. And at last, return to our dusty home.
Where we stopped in one village, were explained the work on a well by 1 man, the progress on a latrine by 3 and finally the progress on another latrine by 8 men and somewhere around 30 children. I love the way you strike a conversation with five senior men of one village and, within seconds, see the offspring of the entire district run to you, accompanied by the few men who missed the start of the action.
Thereafter, a lunch of soup, bread and bird. As for that bird, it is grey, fluffy and rather dignified. At the end of our lunch, some kid in military garments shows up and gives a full bird to my engineer. But - wait a minute - that's a living bird we're getting. Indeed, our engineer is planning his dinner. Off we go with it in a sealed box, topped with a few nice holes so it can contemplate the countryside, over which it is unlikely to fly again.
Then we reach a far up village lost in the mountain. We leave the car, continue on foot and it turns out 15 months of zero physical activity make my heart beat at 270 by the tenth step. A little dignified - after all, there's a living bird, in a box, in our car, that's facing death without blinking, so surely I can continue walking - I carry on but cannot hide my dismal physical condition.
The head of shura and soon another ten adults and so many children, give us a tour of the wells they have been working on. (That's the deal, communities help with the digging and we provide the hardware material, plus training, spare parts and a lot of other activities.) Not only have they done a fine job on the wells that have started, but they seem to show unlimited energy to deal with the digging. I find it most reassuring as the wells look already more like theirs than anything else. I mean we start the programme, but they get organised, get down to work and all. In short, they are in charge and that's really what matters most.
A flash before leaving: there's something about that head of shura nose and teeth that remind me of someone. Wait, I know, my grandma! The oddest association for sure. Him respectably bearded in his mountains and her baking some lovely madeleines in France. Aaaaah, madeleines.
On the way back, some herd dogs playing catch the car (or is it catch the human?). And in the middle of the conversation it turns out the bird is actually meant to be my supper. Now I'm at loss to explain just how far Afghan generosity can go. I mean our engineer got that poor little bird, that got to do a hell lot of travelling, just because I failed to try the nicest part thereof... So OK, after arguments, I have to accept the offer - with hopes to one day be able to reciprocate. The tough part is I'm not ashamed to be where I stand on the food chain, but in a hypocritical kind of way, would rather not see anything below me before it reaches the casserole. Then again, releasing the bird is not much of an option either. (I mean, I'm told these birds can be caught at night by just flashing them with a light in their holes. Out of surprise, they freeze. In front of so much stupidity, I'm barely accelerating natural selection, am I?)
A few carrots picked along the road before reaching Maymana. They are, for some reason, yellow and red. Can't do anything like the rest of the world here, can they? Washed in a river and rinsed with mineral water, but we're way past caring about our bowels. It turns out these carrots don't really need peeling either and are yummy. And at last, return to our dusty home.
posted by Babs @ 9:56 PM
2 Comments:
Babs, you so rock. Excellent post. Madeleines... how I would love one right now!
Cool post. I was always amazed at Afghan generosity.
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