Language teachings - mirror of society?

After having been asked several times, I agreed today to join in the English class offered to colleagues from our field office in Hirat. The teacher was a young and enthusiastic guy, who pronounced each word with an English accent that would make many of my non native speaking friends jelous. When I entered the class, they were just about to read words that were written on a white board. The words on the board included among others "protest march, subversion, demiliterization". They also included other words such as "superman, sabotage, knifing and militarize".

It took me some time to see the heading written above these seemingly random words: "political words". Astonished I asked the teacher if these are common political terms in Afghanistan. With a broad smile and perfect English accent he said "yes" and continued to read the words superman, militerazing, knifing, mixed with terms like political party and constitution, explaining to the students how important it is to have sufficient vocabularly in political discussions ... Language teaching, mirror of a society?

I once had a similar experience when I tried to find a language course for Somali. The first one that I found was from the seventies and was written for tourists and business people who plan to visit Mogadishu. I assumed that most of the things mentioned in this language course, such as arrival at the international airport of Mogadishu, or sending a post card from Mogadishu wouldn't be relevant for my work in Somalia, given that it was the year 2005 when I planned to go there. The second one was from the early nineties and was in essence a small pocket guide for UNOSOM soldiers, with useful phrases such as "I am a doctor, I am your friend, don't shoot!". Hoping I would never have to use such expressions in Somali, I decided not to buy it. When I openend the third language course, I only had to read the first two sentences before closing it and giving up on my ambitions to learn Somali: "Where is Ali? He is dead". This guide was from the late nineties.

Islamabad

Today I travelled from Kabul to Islamabad. The distance in my mind was far bigger than the actual distance between these two cities. It's practically just hopping of the ground with a plane for a lousy half hour, and down you fly into the humidity of Islamabad. Touching ground in Islamabad immediately made me notice that though this city isn't necessarily better off compared to Kabul when it comes to security (remember Mariott?), it does look quite different from the Pashtu areas across the border. It's green, roads lack potholes, traffic lights switch steadily from green to yellow to red and back again, on the edge of the street are public parks where people enjoy a walk; further all streets are clearly signed with numbers (even though the numbers don't really follow much logic - they jump from 30 to 36 and back to 32...). There are even few women walking around (!) that don't wear headscarfs (!!). And yet, once you drive past the signboard that says "diplomatic enclave" you know that the place is actually far from normal. And then you also start noticing the check points. And suddenly you get suspicious when you see people not just walking around in these road side parks, but groups of ten to twenty men in traditional Shalma Kamizes sitting in a circle under a tree, talking about god knows what. It's somehow an artificial place, that has gotten in touch with the reality of the "other" Pakistan in the tough way over the past few years.
I will be here for only two days, starting up a cross border program for Afghan refugees living in Pakistan, jointly with colleagues from IRC Afghanistan. The aim is to identify employment for young qualified afghan refugees in Kabul, and thus creating some pull factors for them to actually go back to Afghanistan. Anyhow, I am sure with the deteriorating security situation on this side of the border, we will have plenty of people interested in returning to Afghanistan...

Back in Kabul

Over the past few weeks of being back in Kabul, I have received the same question over and over again, from people here and from people back home and from people god knows where in the world: "How is to be back in Kabul?"

I tend to answer with "difficult". Somtimes "weird". Sometimes I even get a bit more positive and get a "not too bad" out of my mouth.

All in all, seriously, it is not too bad to be back, largely because of the fact that I have decided to leave soon, towards the beginning of December. But saying that it feels good to be back would nonetheless be an exaggeration. After all what happened, I don't think that I can ever again travel to streets of Kabul with the same enthusiasm that I had before August 13th. Leave alone travelling through the country side. The simple thought of it makes me shiver.



There are good and bad sides to being back. The good side is that I could see few people again I really care about. The other good side is that I managed to spend a weekend in Hirat, which came close to a mini holiday with some work attached to it. It also feels good to see my staff members again, and to slowly work with them on restarting programs. I am also quite happy about the pomagranat juice which is sold in all coffees and restaurants these days. And to further increase my inner balance, I have resumed my yoga classes. Though not balanced yet entirely, I at least don't have to feel guilty any longer at night for not moving my lazy bones at all...

But there are also many things that make it difficult to be back here. One of them is the lack of freedom, which I notice much more now than I ever did before. For instance in this very right moment, I am stuck in the office because of an abduction alert, with the consequence that we expats are only allowed to travel in convoy which again means that I have to get three other workaholics away from the internetlifeline in our office (IRC does not grant us internet in the guesthouses...) in order to get moving. I know few internationals here in Kabul who frankly give a sh** about security, and think they are free. Personally, I don't think driving a bike in Kabul or walking through the streets would make me any more free. The bubble we live in doesn't burst just because of that. And we are not less observed or less foreign just because we put on local dresses. But anyhow, that's just my opinion.



Lack of freedom is just one thing that makes it tough staying here. Many other reasons exist as well. Not that I am eager to paint an all to negative picture of my mental state. I still enjoy being here, but, as mentioned earlier on, partly because I know that I am leaving soon. Some might ask, why bother coming back at all? There are simple answers to that: I would hate not being able to say proper good bye to people I care about, I would hate to leave my work unfinished, and it would be extremely difficult for me move back to Italy without any buffer and preparation time in between. Being back here for two more months after all gives me the time to think about what I really want. For the time being, thats many things. Travelling, endless trekking, maybe a bit of studying, maybe working again wiht NGOs, maybe changing career, maybe spending some time in paris, maybe x hundred. I am not really desperate about my future. If there is one thing I have learned over the past few years in Somaliland and Afghanistan, than that there is always a way out and foward, no matter how impossible it seems in the moment :)

My Afghan garden

Contrary to some western misbeliefs, development workers like me are not living in tiny huts, attempting to go native in their free time. Instead, we live in normal houses. My house here in Afghanistan is from the 60ties or 70ties, painted green, with huge thin windows that let in a lot of sun in the summer and a lot of freezing air in the winter. The inside is covered entirely by carpet floor, and decorated with furniture from the seventies. Some time ago an expatriate, who lived in this house before, most likely in a sudden urge for beautification, decided to paint the living room in terracotta color. Its not quite terracotta, though. In sunshine, during the day, it's bright orange, and at night, when the room is filled with the dim city power light, it has the color of skin.
The house also has few amenities such as a micro wave that only works on generator, as public power is too weak, and a top-loader washing machine. I never quite figured out how to use that one, though, as they don’t seem to be that common anymore in present day Europe.

But what’s best about this house is its garden. It’s not big, but after my half square meter balcony that belonged to my flat in Vienna, it seems like pure luxury. Since spring time I had plans to work on this garden. It started with buying seeds for flowers and spices, at the beginning of the year back home in Italy, when Afghanistan was still covered in deep, grey snow. While it had twenty degree minus outside, the seed sachets got dusty in a shelf in my room. When sun came out again, and snow freed up tiny grass in the garden, and the first dandelion had already stuck their yellow heads into the sky, I remembered my seeds. I was just about to get ready for getting them into Afghan soil, these little messengers from back home, when I was surprised by a watchman who turned out to have a hung on gardening. In his fluent Dari and my broken understanding of Dari he expressed his love for flowers. With a broad smile he continued saying gul! gul!, meaning flower, and pointing towards the ground. Feeling pity that he couldn’t wander around garden shops and get all kinds of exotic seeds, I handed over the packages to him. Since then, while in the garden roses started blossoming, I have been looking out for the remaining of my few Italian seeds. Slowly but steadily they made their appearance, in between the roses and all the other green stuff that grows in the garden. Slowly but steadily, parts of the garden developed into a jungle.

But it was only today that I finally took charge of the garden, being inspired by the English garden of my friend. Though I knew that my garden isn’t quite an English garden, I was still taken by the wild mix of organisms in my garden that opened up in front of my close inspection: while the pepper was twisting itself up the roses, basil and geranium had become best friends; in the meantime, tomato bushes where creeping along the ground. Looking closer, I discovered purple eggplants behind the roses, and could smell rosemary from some distant corner of the garden. What should I say? I guess we should earn a certificate for truly mixed agriculture! Its too dark to take pictures of our little garden Eden tonight, but will post some as soon as it gets daylight again...

What makes me sad

Now, many of you would not have thought that such a thing like female police officers exist in Afghanistan. They do. With current developments, though, the past tense might soon have to be applied to this wonderful and encouraging species.
Last Sunday, the most high profile female police officer, Malalai Kahar, stationed in Kandahar, has been shot dead by unknown gunmen, on her way to work. Ironically, Malalai was the head of Kandahars department of crimes against women. Her son, who was with her in the car, was wounded as well but survived.
Not much later, a spokesman for an extremist Taliban movement, which targets government officials, claimed responsibility: "We killed Malalai, she was our target and we successfully eliminated our target".
Kandahar is the birthplace of extremist Taliban; during the years Taliban were in power, women in Kandahar were stopped from working outside their homes, and were only allowed onto the street with Burka and male accompanist.
Malalai was the first women to enrol in the Kandahar police force after the fall of the Taliban. To me, seeing persons like her, is a sign of hope in a country where men have been brainwashed of women rights and women continue to be discriminated in almost every sphere of life. Learning about her dead, and knowing that this wasn't the first assassination of brave women like her, simply for the work they are doing, and for the change which they symbolize, brought tears into my eyes.

Realities of life in Afghanistan

Few days ago I was I talked to my driver about education, on our way home from office. In his village, he mentioned, it is impossible to send girls to school; Taliban are policing at night from house to house, intimidating residents that sending girls to school will have dire consequences for the entire family. Abdul Haq, has several daughters, who have gone to school during their exile in Pakistan. Back in Afghanistan, they cannot continue with their education, despite the fact that overall, the education system has grown from 1 million kids in school back in 2001 to 6 million kids in school today. The Afghan reality, it seems, is two steps in front and one and a half steps back.

Few days after I had talked to him about this, I came across this article that gives details over the status of education in Afghanistan; which is best described as a success with many sacrifices.

Attacks deprive 300,000 students of education KANDAHAR, 22 September 2008 (IRIN) -

Zulaikha, 14, was the top student in her class last year but has been unable to attend school this year because of increased attacks on schools, rampant insecurity and threats to students and their families. "I wanted to become a doctor and treat poor and ill people," she told IRIN at her home in the outskirts of Kandahar city in southern Afghanistan. Taliban insurgents oppose female education and work and have frequently torched schools, killed school employees and circulated letters warning parents not to send their children, particularly girls, to school. "We don't object to our daughter's education but we also don't want her to be killed on the way to school or her family members killed because of her going to school," said Zulaikha's father, Abdul Rahman. Afghanistan has made impressive progress in primary and secondary education since the downfall of the Taliban regime in late 2001. At least 3,500 schools have been built since 2002 and hundreds more are planned. More than six million students, about 30 percent girls, are enrolled in 11,000 schools across the country, compared with about one million boys only in 2000, according to the Ministry of Education (MoE). However, resurgent Taliban and worsening security have put the country's hard-won educational achievements at serious risk. Education denied More than 600 primary, secondary and high schools are closed, mostly in the volatile southern provinces, because of prevalent insecurity and attacks on formal education, the MoE said. "In 45 districts of 12 provinces about 610-620 schools have been closed," Hamid Elmi, a spokesman for the MoE, told IRIN, adding that efforts were under way to re-open some schools through community support. Most of the closures are in the four southern provinces of Helmand, Kandahar, Zabul and Urozgan, where the conflict is having a greater effect than elsewhere. "Up to 80 percent of schools are closed in these four provinces," Elmi said. In the worst-affected Helmand Province, only 54 schools, primarily for boys, are functioning, against 223 schools that were open in 2002, according to MoE statistics. Consequently, more than 300,000 students have been deprived of an education in 12 provinces, according to MoE officials. Punishments The MoE said 99 schools have been attacked, torched and/or destroyed by armed assailants this year and 117 similar cases were reported in 2007. Dozens of students, some as young as seven, and teachers have been killed or injured by armed assailants over the past two years. Armed men associated with Taliban insurgents reportedly cut off the ears of a teacher in Zabul Province on 14 September as a sign of punishment to those who support education. In addition, Taliban insurgents in August reportedly attacked trucks carrying textbooks from Kabul to Kandahar province and burnt tens of thousands of books, the MoE said. Taliban denial A purported Taliban spokesman, Qari Yosuf Ahmadi, denied the insurgents' involvement in attacks on schools and students. "Our Mujahideen have not attacked schools and schoolchildren," Ahmadi told IRIN via telephone from an unidentified location. "Criminals - whom the government cannot stop - are carrying out such attacks," he said. The Taliban imposed a strict ban on females' education and employment and enforced an Islamic curriculum for boys during their reign (1996-2001). IRIN last year received a warning letter ostensibly issued by the Taliban [http://www.irinnews.org/Report.aspx?ReportId=74690] in which attacks on schools and students were supported. The government blamed the Taliban for attacks on educational facilities and school employees. "The Taliban are attacking everything related to education because they need illiterate youths to join their ranks," Elmi of the MoE said. Back to Top

Normality

I am waking up. It's six o clock in the morning. It's a Friday, which translates to Sunday in non Islamic countries. It's dawn, with the sky still being greyish. Since it's Friday-Sunday, I curl myself back into the warm bedsheets. Sleep for two additional hours. It's eight when I wake up again. I reach my hand out of my bed and open the curtains slightly. From where I lie, I can see trees, moving slow with the morning breeze, in between traces of blue sky and light of rising sun. Fresh air is coming in through the open window. Now my room mate switches on her radio, and I can hear low tones of music through the thin wall. Sometimes she sings in line with the music. From the garden, I notice the watchman moving around. Sometimes a car is driving by. I take my book and start reading, while being still half covered in bedsheets and dreams.
But while I attempt to read, there is only one real thought in my mind. That this is one of the few moments when life in Afghanistan feels normal.