Afghan Report 2007
“I think you should wear Afghan clothes. What do you think?” asked Amin. I sort of had been wanting to but didn’t want to appear
the fool so I said noncommittaly, “OK. What do you think?” “Yes” he said, and from then on I followed his lead in most things. He
bought me a shamal kamiz, the long thigh length shirt with the baggy pants with draw string they wear under it. “It should be white
because you are a man of peace” but they only had tan in my size. He then sent Kushal to another store to look for sandals “hand
made in Pakistan, but if they see you they will charge too much”. I was still in jeans and a sweater. Kushal came back empty
handed and they made plans in Pashto for later. Back in the SUV Amin handed me the cell phone. “It’s the poet Dr. Akbar. He has
written a poem for the Women. He wants you to sing it at the Womens day celebration tomorrow.” “Hello Dr. Akbar yes I will try” I
said. I was getting the idea and going with the flow. We drove to the media center, run by Media Support Partnership Afghanistan,
toured the facility, and I was given a recitation of the poem in Pashto and was sung the song by the composer. “Could you write
down the melody?” “No, but we will make you a cd” We sat in the recording studio and Dr.Akbar read the poem then said every
word very slowly. I suddenly knew I was in trouble, there was a vowel and a consonant that I had not picked up on in the Pashto
recording that I had gotten the morning I left for Afghanistan. The speaker had ignored my instructions to speak the words slowly
and one by one. I needed to first figure out what the new sounds were and then redo my phonetical text and then learn it for the
Women¹s celebration tomorrow morning. I wanted to do one story in Pashto and one in Dari. Amin said, “They are waiting for us at
the TV.” “Amin I need to learn the Pashto for tomorrow.” “OK no problem.”
I had attended a conference at Dartmouth College the last week in January and had met people from all over New England
working with organizations in Afghanistan. There were hand embroidery projects, schools, women judges, a mobile mini circus
and the one that most impressed me, Wadan. The American advisor, Jean Kissell, was from Brattleboro Vermont and was the
New England connection even though her family now lives in the Emirates and she works full time in Afghanistan. The director,
Mohammad Nasib, embodies the mission of the organization which is to work for the welfare of all Afghans though peace and
education. His voice is gentle and reasonable and serious but he smiles alot. His core belief seems to be:
“I think you should wear Afghan clothes. What do you think?” asked Amin. I sort of had been wanting to but didn’t want to appear
the fool so I said noncommittaly, “OK. What do you think?” “Yes” he said, and from then on I followed his lead in most things. He
bought me a shamal kamiz, the long thigh length shirt with the baggy pants with draw string they wear under it. “It should be white
because you are a man of peace” but they only had tan in my size. He then sent Kushal to another store to look for sandals “hand
made in Pakistan, but if they see you they will charge too much”. I was still in jeans and a sweater. Kushal came back empty
handed and they made plans in Pashto for later. Back in the SUV Amin handed me the cell phone. “It’s the poet Dr. Akbar. He has
written a poem for the Women. He wants you to sing it at the Womens day celebration tomorrow.” “Hello Dr. Akbar yes I will try” I
said. I was getting the idea and going with the flow. We drove to the media center, run by Media Support Partnership Afghanistan,
toured the facility, and I was given a recitation of the poem in Pashto and was sung the song by the composer. “Could you write
down the melody?” “No, but we will make you a cd” We sat in the recording studio and Dr.Akbar read the poem then said every
word very slowly. I suddenly knew I was in trouble, there was a vowel and a consonant that I had not picked up on in the Pashto
recording that I had gotten the morning I left for Afghanistan. The speaker had ignored my instructions to speak the words slowly
and one by one. I needed to first figure out what the new sounds were and then redo my phonetical text and then learn it for the
Women¹s celebration tomorrow morning. I wanted to do one story in Pashto and one in Dari. Amin said, “They are waiting for us at
the TV.” “Amin I need to learn the Pashto for tomorrow.” “OK no problem.”
I had attended a conference at Dartmouth College the last week in January and had met people from all over New England
working with organizations in Afghanistan. There were hand embroidery projects, schools, women judges, a mobile mini circus
and the one that most impressed me, Wadan. The American advisor, Jean Kissell, was from Brattleboro Vermont and was the
New England connection even though her family now lives in the Emirates and she works full time in Afghanistan. The director,
Mohammad Nasib, embodies the mission of the organization which is to work for the welfare of all Afghans though peace and
education. His voice is gentle and reasonable and serious but he smiles alot. His core belief seems to be:
 |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |
I played for International Women’s Day, an event organized by Wadan attended by 150 women including 15
parlimentarians. After several hours of speeches just before lunch I performed and made it successfully
through my story in Pashto. I had finished retyping the text after my two teachers had gone over each word
sometimes competing to see who could say it louder. Nasib seemed happy with my performance. “You did in
one day what most people couldn’t do in three months”. Jean told me that this was the third such event they
had held and the women were much more comfortable this year and there was more mingling and
conversation with the men who sat mainly in the rear of the hall. I wore the traditional village musicians’ vest
and turban and the sandals with no socks, as prescribed by Amin. I thought I looked ridiculous but every one
there said I looked nice. Amin said “It makes the people happy to see you in these clothes.” I confessed to
Jean that I felt a little like old king cole. She laughed but agreed with Amin. That afternoon I worked on the
song for Women. The CD had arrived too late for me to perform at the Women¹s day event. On the CD there
was a karaoke version of the song but in very Bollywood pop style. I isolated the melody and made an
arrangement for bass and voice that worked quite well.
That night I had dinner with Ted Achilles, who had also been at Dartmouth. He had made two unsuccessful
trips to Bargram the American Military base to try to get the instruments that we had sent via airforce cargo jet.
He apologized but said he was leaving the country for a wedding and wouldn’t be able to help anymore.
Another American, Kathleen, had also tried and missed by five minutes the suicide bomb meant for Dick
Cheney. Jean said don’t worry something will turn up.
parlimentarians. After several hours of speeches just before lunch I performed and made it successfully
through my story in Pashto. I had finished retyping the text after my two teachers had gone over each word
sometimes competing to see who could say it louder. Nasib seemed happy with my performance. “You did in
one day what most people couldn’t do in three months”. Jean told me that this was the third such event they
had held and the women were much more comfortable this year and there was more mingling and
conversation with the men who sat mainly in the rear of the hall. I wore the traditional village musicians’ vest
and turban and the sandals with no socks, as prescribed by Amin. I thought I looked ridiculous but every one
there said I looked nice. Amin said “It makes the people happy to see you in these clothes.” I confessed to
Jean that I felt a little like old king cole. She laughed but agreed with Amin. That afternoon I worked on the
song for Women. The CD had arrived too late for me to perform at the Women¹s day event. On the CD there
was a karaoke version of the song but in very Bollywood pop style. I isolated the melody and made an
arrangement for bass and voice that worked quite well.
That night I had dinner with Ted Achilles, who had also been at Dartmouth. He had made two unsuccessful
trips to Bargram the American Military base to try to get the instruments that we had sent via airforce cargo jet.
He apologized but said he was leaving the country for a wedding and wouldn’t be able to help anymore.
Another American, Kathleen, had also tried and missed by five minutes the suicide bomb meant for Dick
Cheney. Jean said don’t worry something will turn up.
That night in the Wadan office, after a trip up the Shomali plain north of Kabul to buy pottery, I sang the song for a group gathered there, including a minister who was leaving
the next day to head a delegation to Pakistan to discuss terrorist groups crossing the border. Nasib told me “My time is not my own. People come by and want to talk so I must
talk with them”. I could see how much people respected him and wanted his advice and counsel. I met a lot of people in that office and learned how to greet in the Afghan
manner. Shake, place right hand on the other man’s chest, lean forward and touch cheeks, then shake again.
the next day to head a delegation to Pakistan to discuss terrorist groups crossing the border. Nasib told me “My time is not my own. People come by and want to talk so I must
talk with them”. I could see how much people respected him and wanted his advice and counsel. I met a lot of people in that office and learned how to greet in the Afghan
manner. Shake, place right hand on the other man’s chest, lean forward and touch cheeks, then shake again.
Build strong relationships and then open people's eyes to change through reasonable gentle persuasion. Wadan runs three main programs: non formal schools in villages
where there is a population that got left out of the mainstream public system. There are 80 of these. Drug rehab centers there are four of these plus some drop in centers:
Malik training. The maliks are the chosen leaders of each village. They are also the de facto justice system. The training helps them with governance and understanding
democracy with human rights and womens rights. They have trained most of the Maliks in the country and formed them into an association that has become a growing political
force for change. The training works because the Maliks see that they can use what they learn for the benefit of their villages.”We don’t tell them what to do but we encourage
them” said Nasib. He attended my concert that weekend at Dartmouth and said to me “We will welcome you in Afghanistan”. I wasn¹t sure what this meant but I thanked him.
Jean said, “Learn some Pashto”. I said, “I will send you the stories to get them translated.”
In the aftermath of the conference I wrote to all the organizations I had met offering concerts in Afghanistan. I heard back from one school, but nothing from Nasib. I had barely
managed to get an invitation letter from FCCS the group that had sponsored me last year. It was clear that they were busy with their annual festival in Mazar but said they would
try to organize some concerts for me. No one had offered me a place to stay and I hadn’t heard from my friend Joyce Lehman who had found a place for me at her guest house
last year. It turned out my over active spam filter was eating messages from her and others. The last week before I left, Nasib wrote and said the Pashto translation was
coming. He had been traveling and had not received my emails. I met with Joyce who was in New Hampshire for a few days and she generously offered to let me stay at her
hotel while she was away in Chile and have her assistant pick me up at the airport. I felt quite a bit better.
I wheeled my bass with my giant duffel on my shoulder to the third parking lot after bribing an army officer to leave me alone. He said he had gotten me through customs. I
wasn’t sure. I called Joyce¹s office borrowing a cell phone from a passer by and stood in a sea of mud waiting for the van as a huge crowd gathered around the bass case.
Everyone was hugely entertained and friendly. I was glad to be back in Afghanistan.
The next day I walked around Kabul with my friend Ohne Pärl, we met the ‘bookseller of Kabul’ who asked if I would play in his new bookstore bus which would be parked in
Mazar for the Nauroz festival. I said I would try but wasn’t able to. I called Nasib and he said he was on his way back from Jalalbad where he and Jean had been detained by a
demonstration following the accidental death of 16 Afghans by US soldiers. They were sorry they had missed me yesterday and would send a car. I was adopted.
For the next three weeks I became the performing arm of Wadan. Nasib outlined some events they had planned for me and then Amin, armed with his cell phone, arranged
things on the fly. Once I told him I had done 30 concerts in Palestine in three weeks it became a competition for him. “How many events so far?” He would ask? “Ten” I would
say. “Ah but the quality is much greater here”, he would say.
where there is a population that got left out of the mainstream public system. There are 80 of these. Drug rehab centers there are four of these plus some drop in centers:
Malik training. The maliks are the chosen leaders of each village. They are also the de facto justice system. The training helps them with governance and understanding
democracy with human rights and womens rights. They have trained most of the Maliks in the country and formed them into an association that has become a growing political
force for change. The training works because the Maliks see that they can use what they learn for the benefit of their villages.”We don’t tell them what to do but we encourage
them” said Nasib. He attended my concert that weekend at Dartmouth and said to me “We will welcome you in Afghanistan”. I wasn¹t sure what this meant but I thanked him.
Jean said, “Learn some Pashto”. I said, “I will send you the stories to get them translated.”
In the aftermath of the conference I wrote to all the organizations I had met offering concerts in Afghanistan. I heard back from one school, but nothing from Nasib. I had barely
managed to get an invitation letter from FCCS the group that had sponsored me last year. It was clear that they were busy with their annual festival in Mazar but said they would
try to organize some concerts for me. No one had offered me a place to stay and I hadn’t heard from my friend Joyce Lehman who had found a place for me at her guest house
last year. It turned out my over active spam filter was eating messages from her and others. The last week before I left, Nasib wrote and said the Pashto translation was
coming. He had been traveling and had not received my emails. I met with Joyce who was in New Hampshire for a few days and she generously offered to let me stay at her
hotel while she was away in Chile and have her assistant pick me up at the airport. I felt quite a bit better.
I wheeled my bass with my giant duffel on my shoulder to the third parking lot after bribing an army officer to leave me alone. He said he had gotten me through customs. I
wasn’t sure. I called Joyce¹s office borrowing a cell phone from a passer by and stood in a sea of mud waiting for the van as a huge crowd gathered around the bass case.
Everyone was hugely entertained and friendly. I was glad to be back in Afghanistan.
The next day I walked around Kabul with my friend Ohne Pärl, we met the ‘bookseller of Kabul’ who asked if I would play in his new bookstore bus which would be parked in
Mazar for the Nauroz festival. I said I would try but wasn’t able to. I called Nasib and he said he was on his way back from Jalalbad where he and Jean had been detained by a
demonstration following the accidental death of 16 Afghans by US soldiers. They were sorry they had missed me yesterday and would send a car. I was adopted.
For the next three weeks I became the performing arm of Wadan. Nasib outlined some events they had planned for me and then Amin, armed with his cell phone, arranged
things on the fly. Once I told him I had done 30 concerts in Palestine in three weeks it became a competition for him. “How many events so far?” He would ask? “Ten” I would
say. “Ah but the quality is much greater here”, he would say.
The next day we went to the Television studio. I carried my clothes on a hanger and changed there. For the
rest of the trip I just wore the afghan clothes. I recorded the ‘Lions of Ramallah’ because they wanted a
song in English, and then did ‘The Saddest Day’ in Dari and ‘Another Fairytale in Pashto’ and then sang the
song for the Women also in Pashto. Then I recorded a promo for the station that was played a couple of
times an hour for at least a week or two. I said in English “Hi, I’m Dobbs and I’m here in Afghanistan
playing songs and telling stories. I love this country and you people and I’m going to celebrate New Year’s
here,( March 21st ) and then in Pashto,”Ze Dobbs De Shamshad Sera.” I’m Dobbs and this is Shamshad
TV. They wanted me to say something in English because otherwise people wouldn’t know that I wasn’t
Afghan.
I’m pretty sure that everyone in Afghanistan (at least where there’s electricity and TVs) saw that promo.
From then on everywhere I went people said, “I saw you on TV”. I did the stories in one take but for the
promo I did 5 or 6. Amin coached me through it. “Play the chord on the bass then turn your head slowly to
the camera.”. Afterwards he would say, “I am now a TV director” and laugh. “I was the only one with
English” and laugh again. Over lunch I confessed that I had always wanted to cross the Khyber pass. Amin
got this look in his eye and said, “Lets go. Why not? We’ll go to Jalalbad and play for non formal schools.
Boys and girls then we’ll drive to Peshawar Pakistan where my family lives. “I had thought that Jalalabad
was too dangerous, but he said. “You will dress in Afghan clothes. No problem.”
rest of the trip I just wore the afghan clothes. I recorded the ‘Lions of Ramallah’ because they wanted a
song in English, and then did ‘The Saddest Day’ in Dari and ‘Another Fairytale in Pashto’ and then sang the
song for the Women also in Pashto. Then I recorded a promo for the station that was played a couple of
times an hour for at least a week or two. I said in English “Hi, I’m Dobbs and I’m here in Afghanistan
playing songs and telling stories. I love this country and you people and I’m going to celebrate New Year’s
here,( March 21st ) and then in Pashto,”Ze Dobbs De Shamshad Sera.” I’m Dobbs and this is Shamshad
TV. They wanted me to say something in English because otherwise people wouldn’t know that I wasn’t
Afghan.
I’m pretty sure that everyone in Afghanistan (at least where there’s electricity and TVs) saw that promo.
From then on everywhere I went people said, “I saw you on TV”. I did the stories in one take but for the
promo I did 5 or 6. Amin coached me through it. “Play the chord on the bass then turn your head slowly to
the camera.”. Afterwards he would say, “I am now a TV director” and laugh. “I was the only one with
English” and laugh again. Over lunch I confessed that I had always wanted to cross the Khyber pass. Amin
got this look in his eye and said, “Lets go. Why not? We’ll go to Jalalbad and play for non formal schools.
Boys and girls then we’ll drive to Peshawar Pakistan where my family lives. “I had thought that Jalalabad
was too dangerous, but he said. “You will dress in Afghan clothes. No problem.”
office rounding up influence or greeting friends or both. I couldn't
always tell. I had my photo taken. We visited Prince Amanulas
palace and then scooted back to the office to play for the school.
The overwhelming smell of wet wool and about 60 boys and
their teachers greeted me. After I played the third suite and told
the story of Billy and Brenda I had an idea and asked the boys to
wave to the children in America. I said I would take that picture to
my wife's school and have the children there wave back. It
became a theme of the trip. Amin saw what a good idea it was
and organized it wherever I went. The coordinator for all the non
formal schools in that province, a woman, liked my performance
a lot and promised to try to convince one of the girls schools to
come the day after next when I returned from Peshawar. We
rushed back to the Consuls office and finally I was ushered into
his office. I was alone, all of the influence wielding friends were
left outside. Amin had told me. "You are a special advisor to
Wadan and you want to fly home on Pakistan Airlines because
you think that Ariana Afghan Airlines is unsafe." "Wait a minute I
flew in on Ariana"," I know you don't want to lie but sometimes....
"he shrugged. As it turned out, the Consul was starved for
conversation. We had a nice chat about politics and
I told him of the great work Wadan was doing on the grassroots
always tell. I had my photo taken. We visited Prince Amanulas
palace and then scooted back to the office to play for the school.
The overwhelming smell of wet wool and about 60 boys and
their teachers greeted me. After I played the third suite and told
the story of Billy and Brenda I had an idea and asked the boys to
wave to the children in America. I said I would take that picture to
my wife's school and have the children there wave back. It
became a theme of the trip. Amin saw what a good idea it was
and organized it wherever I went. The coordinator for all the non
formal schools in that province, a woman, liked my performance
a lot and promised to try to convince one of the girls schools to
come the day after next when I returned from Peshawar. We
rushed back to the Consuls office and finally I was ushered into
his office. I was alone, all of the influence wielding friends were
left outside. Amin had told me. "You are a special advisor to
Wadan and you want to fly home on Pakistan Airlines because
you think that Ariana Afghan Airlines is unsafe." "Wait a minute I
flew in on Ariana"," I know you don't want to lie but sometimes....
"he shrugged. As it turned out, the Consul was starved for
conversation. We had a nice chat about politics and
I told him of the great work Wadan was doing on the grassroots
We consulted with Nasib and then Amin and Khushal and he had a private meeting, which later I realized had to do with my safety and care during that trip. Then we set off.
We drove though the pass leading out of the Kabul valley as it got dark. The road which is new is spectacular, cutting through immense rock walled canyons with snow
covered peaks looming way overhead. There were sheets of rain pouring down the windshield as we passed lines of trucks. We were driving in the left lane, darting back in
line to go through tunnels. We arrived at the Jalalabad office at around 9:00 but everyone was still there waiting to greet me and have dinner. I wanted to play something for
them but I fell asleep nodding over my tea. The next day it turned out the rain had made the road to the non formal schools impassable. I was disappointed, but Amin said. No
problem they will come here. They will walk to the main road and then take a truck. Meanwhile we will start getting you a visa for Pakistan. We went from office to
We drove though the pass leading out of the Kabul valley as it got dark. The road which is new is spectacular, cutting through immense rock walled canyons with snow
covered peaks looming way overhead. There were sheets of rain pouring down the windshield as we passed lines of trucks. We were driving in the left lane, darting back in
line to go through tunnels. We arrived at the Jalalabad office at around 9:00 but everyone was still there waiting to greet me and have dinner. I wanted to play something for
them but I fell asleep nodding over my tea. The next day it turned out the rain had made the road to the non formal schools impassable. I was disappointed, but Amin said. No
problem they will come here. They will walk to the main road and then take a truck. Meanwhile we will start getting you a visa for Pakistan. We went from office to
level. His family came from Chetwar province in the north of Afghanistan and his grandfather had made Haj and
traveled to Mecca. It took him a year and a half. Then he asked me when I was thinking of traveling to Pakistan."
Today", I said. He nodded his assent. "We'll chat while they go to the bank." When I finally emerged my team let
out a cheer as I said,"Visa for today". It normally takes two days.
We set off after lunch. The chaos and turmoil of the border which is right at the beginning of the Khyber pass is
indescribable. Lines of trucks, horns, exhaust, pedestrians, everywhere. The consul had told me 20,000 people
cross every day. Only a few like me need a visa. It turns out I could have crossed without one as no one
recognized me as anything but an Afghan. A Wadan driver from Peshawar met us on the other side of this
‘border’ which is not recognized by either country. In his van we switched to driving on the left side of the road.
traveled to Mecca. It took him a year and a half. Then he asked me when I was thinking of traveling to Pakistan."
Today", I said. He nodded his assent. "We'll chat while they go to the bank." When I finally emerged my team let
out a cheer as I said,"Visa for today". It normally takes two days.
We set off after lunch. The chaos and turmoil of the border which is right at the beginning of the Khyber pass is
indescribable. Lines of trucks, horns, exhaust, pedestrians, everywhere. The consul had told me 20,000 people
cross every day. Only a few like me need a visa. It turns out I could have crossed without one as no one
recognized me as anything but an Afghan. A Wadan driver from Peshawar met us on the other side of this
‘border’ which is not recognized by either country. In his van we switched to driving on the left side of the road.
This meant of course that we drove mainly on the right side passing hundreds of trucks and buses. We
picked up an armed guard for travel though the tribal areas (a regulation for foreigners) but he started out
confused and thought I was a Priti tribesman and he was guarding the husband of one of the female
parlimentarians who was Afghan, but had a German passport, who was catching a ride with us to
Peshawar. Lots of laughter when he heard me speaking English. The Khyber pass is a forty something
kilometer groove in the mountains through which Alexander the Great and Ghengis Khan both attacked
India, and through which the British tried twice, unsuccessfully, to conquer Afghanistan . Within the pass is
the tribal area where everything is legal and available; drugs and weapons including missiles. the Pakistani
police are not allowed to enter. I’m having a lot of trouble understanding all of this. There are many different
tribes on the Pakistan side and the Afghan side but they are all Pashtun. So in addition to the Pashtun who
are Pakistani there are millions of refugees from Afghanistan; some living comfortably in Peshawar like
Amin and Kushal who work in Kabul but leave their families is Peshawar mainly for the good schools for
their children, and many living in squalid refugee camps. These people are being slowly repatriated and I
saw a staging ground for returning refugees and their animals, but this is a slow and difficult process. The
root causes of all this border mess is of course the British who wanted to split up the Pashtun into two
different countries to try to weaken them. At each end of the pass the views are spectacular. After crossing
the border into Pakistan, I see all the boys playing cricket instead of soccer and volleyball.
picked up an armed guard for travel though the tribal areas (a regulation for foreigners) but he started out
confused and thought I was a Priti tribesman and he was guarding the husband of one of the female
parlimentarians who was Afghan, but had a German passport, who was catching a ride with us to
Peshawar. Lots of laughter when he heard me speaking English. The Khyber pass is a forty something
kilometer groove in the mountains through which Alexander the Great and Ghengis Khan both attacked
India, and through which the British tried twice, unsuccessfully, to conquer Afghanistan . Within the pass is
the tribal area where everything is legal and available; drugs and weapons including missiles. the Pakistani
police are not allowed to enter. I’m having a lot of trouble understanding all of this. There are many different
tribes on the Pakistan side and the Afghan side but they are all Pashtun. So in addition to the Pashtun who
are Pakistani there are millions of refugees from Afghanistan; some living comfortably in Peshawar like
Amin and Kushal who work in Kabul but leave their families is Peshawar mainly for the good schools for
their children, and many living in squalid refugee camps. These people are being slowly repatriated and I
saw a staging ground for returning refugees and their animals, but this is a slow and difficult process. The
root causes of all this border mess is of course the British who wanted to split up the Pashtun into two
different countries to try to weaken them. At each end of the pass the views are spectacular. After crossing
the border into Pakistan, I see all the boys playing cricket instead of soccer and volleyball.
We have dinner in a wonderful restaurant and then I spend the night at a house belonging to Nasib, where his
sister lives, but I stay in an empty part of the house and see only a nephew who brings tea. I had been expecting to
visit either Amins’ or Kushals’ house and meet their wives and children but I realize that these are traditional
families and it just isn’t done.
The next day we go to the old city and Amin and Kushal finish dressing me. First with a white shamal kamiz and
then a white hat and a white vest and a white blanket. Because I am a man of peace. When they are finished some
passersby speak to me calling me Haji. I mumble something and Amin says “It took the consuls’ father a year and
a half to make Haj. Dobbs did it in an hour and a half. “He tells this story alot. I fall in love with the outrageously over
decorated busses and spend a lot of time trying to get pictures of them out the car windows. The next morning we
return to Jalalabad and find out, to my great disappointment, that the girls school will not be coming. Everyone tried
really hard to convince them but it was too much. A man playing music. “Maybe next year “, says Amin. We are an
hour out of Jalalabad on our way to Kabul when I ask, “But aren’t there any other non formal schools that I could
play for?” “Of course”, says Amin, “But you wanted girls”. Mostly I just wanted to play. “We can go back”, and he
reaches for his cell phone, but it really is too late in the day and we have a long trip and then tomorrow we go to
Gardez. I would like to come back and play for 20 or so of those schools and travel to their sites.
sister lives, but I stay in an empty part of the house and see only a nephew who brings tea. I had been expecting to
visit either Amins’ or Kushals’ house and meet their wives and children but I realize that these are traditional
families and it just isn’t done.
The next day we go to the old city and Amin and Kushal finish dressing me. First with a white shamal kamiz and
then a white hat and a white vest and a white blanket. Because I am a man of peace. When they are finished some
passersby speak to me calling me Haji. I mumble something and Amin says “It took the consuls’ father a year and
a half to make Haj. Dobbs did it in an hour and a half. “He tells this story alot. I fall in love with the outrageously over
decorated busses and spend a lot of time trying to get pictures of them out the car windows. The next morning we
return to Jalalabad and find out, to my great disappointment, that the girls school will not be coming. Everyone tried
really hard to convince them but it was too much. A man playing music. “Maybe next year “, says Amin. We are an
hour out of Jalalabad on our way to Kabul when I ask, “But aren’t there any other non formal schools that I could
play for?” “Of course”, says Amin, “But you wanted girls”. Mostly I just wanted to play. “We can go back”, and he
reaches for his cell phone, but it really is too late in the day and we have a long trip and then tomorrow we go to
Gardez. I would like to come back and play for 20 or so of those schools and travel to their sites.
Some have buildings and some meet in mosques or outside in tents. Jean told me a story of one village that didn’t have a school and the children were crossing the river to
attend at another village. During high water one of the girls was determined to go to school any way and she drowned holding her school books over her head. Her village
then decided to build a school on their side of the river and name it after her.
attend at another village. During high water one of the girls was determined to go to school any way and she drowned holding her school books over her head. Her village
then decided to build a school on their side of the river and name it after her.
| Kushal Buying Dobbs a Hat |
| Peshawar Market |
| Khyber Pass |
| Khyber Pass Traffic |
| Amin and Dobbs |
| Women's Day Event |
| Shamshat TV |
| Road To Jalalabad |
| Nonformal School |
| Boys Waving |
| BACH WITH VERSE |
