Close Encounters in Afghanistan
It had been more than three months since I’d arrived in Sheberghan, in the troubled north of Afghanistan, where the Adventist Development and Relief Agency (ADRA) for whom I work, was making a second attempt to rehabilitate the Oramast School. The project included the provision of desks, chairs and recreational equipment, as well as installing hand-pump wells.
In order to better communicate, I took lessons in Dari, the language of the Afghans in the area. But being a woman, it was culturally appropriate that my teacher be a woman also. In Afghanistan, a woman can’t go to a stranger’s house, so I went to hers.
After a month of studies, I was beginning to communicate with the locals. Everybody smiled at me when I tried my newly developed skills on them. They also smiled for me, for a new world of understanding was opened. Let me tell you about a few.
Naseema, my Dari teacher, is married, and has four children. They are an educated family, and I received only affection from them. During the rule of the Taliban, they fled to neighbouring Iran. Naseema’s dream is to live in a developed country. When I mentioned I’d been married for four years and still had no children, she was amazed. “How . . . what do you do?” She fumbled. “When we Afghan women marry, we have one child after another.”
I explained the fundamentals of family planning and the contraceptive pill. She was excited at this. “Please, get me some of these magic pills,” she laughed.
Habib, our guard, is a farmer. His village has just one functional well for its 3000 inhabitants. He is married and has five children. In contrast to Naseema, he’s illiterate. However, he does know how to read hearts. He’s a dedicated worker, happy and friendly. His dream is to be “blessed” by God, in order to provide for his family. Habib epitomises the Afghan saying: “The first time we meet we are friends, the second time, we are brothers.”
Khamro is a teacher of the Oramast School. He is proud to be a teacher, for he knows that through education Afghanistan can have a promising future. He often invites us to visit his village near the school. There he gives us a knife then chooses the best watermelon in his garden and offers it to us. He is thankful for the ADRA initiative in assisting the Oramast School. He is also married and has three kids. His dream is to be a school director.
Then there’s Mohamed, the shopkeeper, who owns one of the best small shops in Sheberghan. He goes to the school in the morning, trying to catch up on education denied him by the Taliban. He is not ashamed to be an older student in his class. Many expatriate NGO workers patronise his shop. Few leave without free chocolate or biscuits.
My friends show their appreciation for the work ADRA is doing in Afghanistan. I show my appreciation for the lessons of life they teach me. For me, it isn’t so difficult to live and happily work here, despite recent traumas the place has experienced. While I’ve no bad experiences inflicted on me by the country, these my friends have. But they’ve decided to “be happy” anyway, smiling for life. They don’t keep looking to the past, lamenting its horrors; rather, they press on, planning for a future and working hard to achieve it.
I’m glad to be part of making their lives better today, and thankful for the doors ADRA has opened for me here as I attempt to make a real difference in their lives, as they are making in mine.
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