Monday June 16, 2008

Hello everyone,

Yes, June 16. Our last day here in Herat. That’s hard to believe. In some ways, feels like I have been here just a few days, and then sometimes it feels closer to forever.

Time is a strange critter.

You know that we have become “regulars” in the life of the hotel when the café staff calls to see if I’m going to have dinner, telling me what time the restaurant closes, and wondering, politely, “You are OK, madam?” That was the conversation when my phone rang at 9:15 Sunday night. I was working to finish some materials, while my colleagues were doing a workshop. I had made dinner from some yogurt I had on hand and a handful of pistachios (they’re almost gone but they have been delicious).

School has been very busy the past few days. I don’t have any more classes to teach but many meetings and other duties. Had a very good meeting with the English Literature. Chair, the Associate Dean of Engineering and the Chancellor to get the okay to move ahead with letting English Literature instructors use their expertise to become a service center for engineering. The Chancellor had lots of questions but I think we acquitted ourselves well.

At 4:00 pm my colleague and I went out with some folks from the university, who gave us the full tourist treatment—the Mousallah Complex, which includes the Gowhar Shah tomb. We climbed to the top up a winding, narrow, DARK stone staircase, upsetting the resident pigeons as we went. (I made them go first.)

Then the Qala yIkhtyaruddin palace, a great sand and brick castle that rises high above the city. Yep, climbed that sucker, too. It was hot as usual but there was a good breeze. Actually so much of a breeze that we had to hold on at the top. Got my workout. And of course realized that these guys are half my age. They seemed fairly impressed that an old girl like me could do all the climbing and clambering. Remember that at 49 I am past the average age expectancy by about 4 years….

Then, oh my, I got to go inside the Masid-e Jami (or Masjet-e-Jam, depending on whose spelling you go by), the big “blue mosque” at the center of town. It is gorgeous.

Couldn’t take any picture but it’s a huge open central area, tile floored, that can hold about 2500 worshippers. All around the edges are alcoves (marble, two-story ceilings) where people sit, pray, study—another thousand could fit there, if they wanted. Breathtaking.

Walk through the mosque and you come to a garden that is thick with walkways, plants, flowers—where people meet to talk quietly, meditate, rest. And then you climb out the gate at the other end and back onto the street. Since I’ve been here, I’ve seen the mosque and garden in passing, but didn’t think I’d have a chance to go inside.

After that we went shopping. The market in the old city was so packed we couldn’t get to the carpet store, but we visited a couple of antiques stores near the mosque and found some goodies.

You’ll all be happy to know that I resisted buying either an antique musket or a two-foot curved sword.

While I was coming out of the antique shop (waiting for my colleague who kept wondering whether or not he should buy something), I ran into four kids (ages about 4-7, one girl, three boys), who had been watching me with great interest through the window, eyes as big as saucers. When I came out, I told them hello (salaam) and their eyes got even wider (“the creatures speaks!”). They said salaam in return, then high-tailed it around the corner. Our driver was tickled at the scene, told me that he had five children. Then the kids came back, watched me some more, and finally went on about their business. Can imagine them telling their friends….

We got back to the hotel about 7:45 pm. I put my feet up…and went to sleep.

In the past few days I’ve learned a few interesting tidbits, language wise. I’m picking up words here and there, but of course a lot of stuff goes over my head. My colleague told me yesterday that our driver has taken to calling me “the sister.” So he’ll ask, “Where is the sister?” Or “does the sister know this or that?” It’s not sister as in blood kin from the same mother but more of an affectionate term. He was funny yesterday, examining my booty from the antique shop and giving his approval. Guess he’s decided that the sister has good taste. Heh.

The other language tidbit, which my colleague told me, was that most of the students address me as “mother” when they come to my office. I thought they were calling me “madam” (accent on the second syllable) but as he noted, they are actually saying “madar.” Again, very sweet though it reminds me how old I must seem to them.

For those of you who have been wanting to know if I’ll keep my scarf on when I get back to the U.S.—the answer is NO! It’s hot. Although it does prevent (or cause?) the so-called “bad hair day,” it is not my idea of a permanent wardrobe item. Though I do have to say that I’ve gotten pretty good at whipping it on in the morning. I even have a variety of drapes and “looks” that I can indulge in. But no, I’ll be glad to pad around in shorts and without all the layers, especially when it’s warm.

Women here dress rather conservatively, wearing the long head to toe cloak called an abaya or chador, worn over a tunic and pants. There is an opening for the face, and the cloak is held securely under the chin. Most women wear black, but some wear subtly patterned material. The burqa, always a light blue, covers head to toe but also has the screen over the face. I’ve really been surprised at how many women wear burqas.

Given the hot pink pants and high heels sometimes worn underneath (when the wind blows….) the burqas do seem a contradiction—one of many. The women talk about how the coverings afford them privacy; they are very uncomfortable with men looking at them, watching them, seeing them. The idea of public (and private) modesty runs very deep in the Muslim world in general and this corner of it in particular.

Of course the women (and men) are also quick to say, just to confuse me, “modesty does not reside in the dress.”

I’ll say what I said a couple of weeks ago. I’ll keeping thinking about what I think. It’s possible that, coming from such a radically different culture, I won’t ever understand it. It does seem clear, however, that the women I’ve met do not see wearing the cloak or the headscarf as “oppressive.” Many of them see it as a good thing, affording them a private space of their own in public.

It’s early morning here, quiet and cool just after sunrise, before the heat of the day sets in. We’ll fly to Kabul in the morning, and I’ll try to send an update from there. Otherwise you’ll be hearing from me after my feet are back on Connecticut soil.

Ya’ll be sweet.

Discuss these notes from Afghanistan.  

 About the Author: Beth Richards is the Director of Rhetoric and Professional Writing at the University of Hartford. Responses and questions about her experiences and the program can be sent to her at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it

Photo Credits: © 2008, Beth Richards; © 2008 Jean Nordmann, reprinted with permission from istockphoto