The Afghan Queen: A True Story of an American Woman in Afghanistan

by Paul Meinhardt

  The final leg of the flight from Istanbul to Kabul, on ‘Scariana’ (Arianna) Airlines, featured a dreadful breakfast of sloppy powdered eggs, buns and jam. As we were famished, we ate it all. As we ‘inhaled’ breakfast, the blackness of early morning was lit by the gas fires over the vast oil fields of Iran. This spectacular sight was grander than the lights over Metro New York.

  The huge patches of light from the Iranian and Azerbaijani (Baku) oil refinery ‘burn-off’ gas gradually gave way to the snow-capped mountains of Afghanistan. The south-western Caspian Sea shoreline was outlined by the reflection of the refinery ‘burn-off gas.’

  A clear morning sunrise provided details of the massive mountains in northern Afghanistan. This was an amazing sight. Snow cover glistened on the northern slopes, while on the southern slopes fortress-like buildings were visible. These sights became clear as the 747 began its southerly descent toward Kabul.

  Kirk asked me if Kabul was a collection of stone fortresses and mud huts like on the mountainsides. I told him, “Kabul is the capital of Afghanistan; it’s full of palaces, museums, government buildings, and bazaars. You’re going to love Kabul, especially the bazaars.

  “You can wander the bazaars for days, and I know you will, but still not see everything. Things from all over the world are on display or under the counter. After a few hours of wandering through the bazaars, you’ll get the feeling that just around the next corner is something that’ll ‘knock-your-socks-off.’ Often, that’s exactly what happens, and it’s exciting.

  “I get that feeling whenever I’m in the bazaar. Of course, I am looking for items to sell, but I expect that will be your motivation as well. The type of things that will appeal to you, I shudder to think, is likely to be much different.

  “Everywhere, there are bake shops, drink stands, bread stands, food stalls, musicians, artists, and craft vendors, even magicians and fakirs demonstrating and selling their magic.” At the mention of music and magic, Kirk’s attention sharpened, noticeably.

  Martin Heemskerck’s16th-century engraving, “Hanging Gardens of Babylon” with Tower of Babel*

  The one postcard from the British Museum that I found most intriguing, I took with me on the flight to Kabul. I looked at the postcard as we flew over Iran and Afghanistan. Crazy as it seemed, I almost expected to see the ‘Hanging Gardens” visible off the wing of the 747.

  [We lost the postcard but I was able to find the painting again on Wikipedia.]

  The approach to Kabul revealed huts, roads, and terrace farms. We learned that while these terrace farms were rocky they were also quite fertile, producing substantial crops on tiny plots of land.

  Fruit trees and grape arbors anchored the terrace soil. It was said that the inspiration for these terraced farms was Alexander the Great, who persuaded his army and local farmers to rebuild the Hanging Gardens of Babylon on the terraced mountains.

  Terraced Afghan farms

  I told Kirk that the streets had open ditches for sewers when I first arrived in Kabul. The Revolution’s first priority was public sanitation and health. Most of the open ditches were eliminated and replaced with a modern sewer system. Health clinics were popping up all over Afghanistan, even if they began in shops and rural homes.

  Of course, my son was more interested in music and magic than public health. But I felt he needed to be aware of real human needs outside his own juvenile cravings. I told Kirk about the medical volunteers from all over the world.

  He needed to be aware of the competition between America, Russia, and China, as well as India, Pakistan, Iran, and other nations. Fortunately, competing nations built and supplied the clinics and schools. Nations that were usually at each other’s throats competed by providing funds and technicians for roads and sanitation.

  Our hotel was called Neptune’s Inn. The Inn featured hot showers, baths, carpets, a café bar, the inevitable gift stall, and now waterbeds. I had previously provided the waterbeds as gifts to the Inn owner, who was a business associate. In return, I was not allowed to pay for our stay.

  Of course the Inn must provide the water, but I included adjustable fittings and hoses to fill the water-beds. The water-beds also needed heating pads under them. I still can’t believe it but we found suitable electric heating pads at the bazaar. The bazaars continue to surprise and delight me.

  Like all of Afghanistan, except the foreign embassies, no alcoholic drinks were served at the Inn; however, if requested, drinks could be laced with khat, a mild euphoric. I preferred khat to alcohol as it left me clear-headed and physically in full control, while allowing me to feel good. The only problem with khat is that overdoing it may leave a person with insomnia and sleep paralysis.

  I put the word out that my son was not to have any khat in any form. My government minister-partner, Mike, sent notices with Kirk’s picture to all the food and beverage sellers in Kabul. I thought it was best for Kirk and me if we avoided both khat and alcohol, and this I was resolved to do.

  Noor fixed us an Afghan feast with moshak, a type of ravioli with pungent yogurt and tomatoes as the appetizer. Tandoori chicken and lamb covered with curry rice followed, pickled raisins and passion fruit in the rice was a touch of genius. Noor, Kirk and I talked until midnight about business, the revolution and what I needed to buy for my customers.

  For my son, Kabul was a culture shock. He couldn’t run from the pizza parlor to the mall anymore. Even with the noisy, colorful bazaars, Kabul was peaceful in comparison with New Jersey. The big difference, I thought, was that there was little media impact and much less road traffic.

  Kirk was a bit surprised at how friendly people were in Kabul. Everyone was open and chatty. While we couldn’t understand most of what they were saying, they would smile and so would we, nodding pleasantly. Mostly, Pashto was spoken here. More and more English was spoken each time I returned to Kabul, however, and with the new schools, and young women attending, English was going to spread.

  Women’s education was the most gratifying change credited to the Revolution. At least that was my take on it. The schools taught Russian, Chinese, and German, in addition to English. The language programs were largely the result of funding from various nations.

  As women, girls really, are coerced into early marriage they teach their children. Mike told me that mothers with children were paid a family subsidy to bring their kids to family schools. This had become a popular pursuit for progressive families. The Kalq Party, with Soviet advisors, had moved into every portion of Afghan culture.

  I knew a little of the language at this point, like “Peace be with you; blessed be the name of Allah; what is the cost? Would you deceive a poor woman making her living as did Khadija the Great (Mohamed’s first wife and the first champion of Islam)?” That last phrase has helped me more than once!

  After breakfast, we walked to Mike’s shop, and I gave him the list of objects that had been ordered over the last few weeks. Mike and Noor discussed the list, each noting what they could supply. I needed twenty gross of the slipper socks and Noor could get these, as well as saddle bags and kilems.

  Mike took Kirk and me with him on his road travels which included stops for tribal jewelry and other art objects. As usual, Kim from the Chinese Embassy, and Kit the Australian health adviser, traveled with us in the large Russian vehicle.

  The first stop was a few miles south of Kabul where roads and a clinic had just been completed last year. It was a poor town of small farmers and many vendors. While not a bazaar by Kabul standards, it provided me with some lovely handmade crafts, mostly beautifully embroidered children’s clothes. We also found some wonderful fresh melons and locally grown fruit.

  Kit and Kim spent some time at the clinic, which had become a busy health center and a rare triumph of international aid. Brass plaques were everywhere, crediting the various donor nations. Most conspicuous were Russian, Chinese, American, and Swiss donations. So many nations wanted to get their foot in the door of this fiercely independent country.


  Dinner at the hotel café was bright and cheerful. Here we were: American, Australian, Russian, Chinese, and Afghan friends, rivals and business associates, chatting and feasting like a happy family. Scenes like that were rare, and I was not allowed to photograph such gatherings.

  While we talked, Kirk jammed on his guitar in the corner of the café. He was quite pleased with himself, having sold $30 worth of old T-shirts at the bazaar. Most of all, Kirk was aglow from the applause each time he finished a song. He was relishing the attention sorely missed in the States.

  Kirk had brought some Frisbees along and played in the courtyard garden with Noor and some of his staff. The Frisbees were so popular that they now played daily for an hour or so. Within a week, Frisbees became quite the rage. The Afghans were wild for them.

  I was not aware of this at the time, but Kirk had packed dozens of Frisbees that were sent ahead to Kabul Airport. He asked me how much he should sell them for, and I suggested that he give Mike and Noor each one as gifts. I told Kirk he would do much better by trading then by selling them.

  For once Kirk took my advice and traded his Frisbees for Afghan hats and socks. When we returned to the States, Kirk sold these to friends and at flea markets. He became quite an enterprising guy and loved to buy and sell at garage sales and flea markets. I encouraged him to “Take it easy, but take it.”

  My son became quite popular among our circle of Afghans and embassy people. With his guitar, magic tricks, and card playing, he was constantly invited to gatherings, ping pong at the Chinese Embassy; poker games, swimming, and gym at the U.S. Embassy; basketball and horse-back riding with the Russians. I suspect they find Kirk a convenient information source.

  Kirk was especially happy that he kept winning at poker. For that reason I was suspicious about embassy staff pumping him for information. My son was delighted that they laughed at his awful jokes and encouraged him to tell more. I knew his jokes to be tiresome, though, and that’s why I believe he was popular as an information source.

  He was having such a glorious time, getting lots of attention, and was so consistently happy that I did not want to break the news to him. I kept telling myself: ‘There’s little he can say. What tidbits of information can he provide? Let everyone fuss over him. What does it matter?’

  Not that any of this was any great surprise. I had learned that we were all part of the great game of trading information. Sometimes I thought that all the merchants, traders, business, and embassy people are in the great game first, and other pursuits second.

  On one of our road trips with Kim, she spoke openly of the great game, adding, “We might as well be open about it. That’s why we’re really here. All we want is information. Is there oil or not? And, does it really matter?

  “I mean, really do you think our leaders care more about oil or just maintaining the power balance? I believe the balance of power, equilibrium, and global stability are their primary concerns. What do you think?”

  At that, Kit burst out laughing, “OK, there’s no denying that, but we are truly friends also. We like each other and there is much information we can safely share. Kim, you’re absolutely right. Global stability is what everyone wants.”

  After a few days, I registered Kirk at the American School. Here also he was popular and loved it. The students were mostly embassy kids, but there were some other European and Afghan children also. I was delighted, since he had had a difficult time socializing back in the States. I was thinking that perhaps he should remain in Kabul, but then again, I didn’t believe that would work in the long run.

  Early one morning a lovely woman American Embassy staffer took Kirk horseback riding. He met me for breakfast and then dragged me to an American Embassy students’ league baseball game. While Noor and I spoke with some of the embassy people, Kirk talked to the embassy kids, especially the young ‘lovelies’ from the American school.

  My son was enjoying his popularity among the American School students, especially the girls. He took his guitar with him much of the time and was delighted to play when asked. Guitar music seemed a common language among all the people we encountered. Something about the way Kirk played Blackbird made that song a particular favorite.

  This was baseball season, but they played basketball, soccer which they called football, and also cricket, a favorite with British Commonwealth people such as the Australians, Indians, and Pakistanis. Of course football was the great international favorite.

  Kirk brought me over to meet some of his classmates. I was mostly interested in what they were wearing. The common fashion seemed to be jeans, t-shirts, and sneakers. This seemed to be the extent of American fashion influence throughout the Middle East. They favored the heavy Afghan socks and hats, and the socks were worn especially for protection when playing football.

  After the baseball game, some of the girls took Kirk to an American “Teen-center.” They spent time there dancing, singing, practicing plays for school and playing games, mostly ping-pong. One of the girls Kirk got friendly with was captain of a football team, that had won a game that day, so she was the center of attention along with Kirk and his guitar.

  The American school and all schools in Kabul hold class from Sunday to Thursday, with Friday and Saturday off. Since Friday is the Muslim Sabbath and Sunday has been kind of a “downer” day, the Muslim school week works well for us.

  The American kids favor football and few like cricket. They say it’s too slow, complicated and boring. I asked if there was any interest in American football, but there was little interest among the kids. They did say that the American Embassy staffers sometimes played touch football, but not often.

  Strolling through a nearby bazaar, we found an embroidery stall, with beautiful embroidered silk hangings and cloth. I purchased some of these along with turquoise and lapis beads.

  Kirk complained about carrying my purchases and began nagging: “Why do I have to tag along with you?” I explained repeatedly that if he wants a career in this business, he must pay attention to what I buy and what to look for.

  I keep explaining that I want him to have fun, and he does every day, but he must spend time learning my business as the basis for any enterprise he might develop later on. On the whole, he’s been pretty good about all this—that is to say he has some genuine interest in my business. But occasionally he gets cranky when I’m too demanding. I think that’s normal.

  Kirk spent much of his spare time hanging out at the Teen Center when not with me and my business group. He was happy with his popularity with the girls and even some of the guys. “It’s my guitar playing they like the most, I think, but when we talk they ask lots of questions, some about my family and relatives, but mostly about you, Mom.”

  27

  THE GREAT GAME - FALL, 1979

  Our little group drove to Istalif, an ancient town about 20 miles northwest of Kabul. It’s famous for its glazed pottery and this is what we came to see. Mike and his wife were visiting family as they were both from this town.

  Mike’s family had business interests in Istalif pottery and wanted me to see if any of the small decorative pottery would appeal to my clientele. The smaller blue turquoise ceramics were definitely appealing. While the cost was reasonable, shipping was my main concern, and it was difficult to visualize these lovely ceramics arriving intact.

  They showed me the Styrofoam form fit packing, and I ordered a dozen pieces to see the initial reception in the States. I picked out some bowls and pitchers. They paid for special handling, insurance, and shipping. Seeing the shipping-labeling arrangements made me think that this could work, but we would see.

  Istalif ceramics

  Thinking that the turquoise ceramics would be an attractive addition to my displays and shows, I was less concerned about selling them than displaying them. In any case, I believed the museums would find that the ceramics added a fine touch to their Islamic art exhibits.

  Mike arranged for a dinner at his cousin’s here in Istalif. He said that Kit an
d Kim would also be at the dinner. This did not surprise me in the least. Those two “observers” have been like ‘white on rice,’ studying the Afghans, the health clinics, foreign visitors, but mostly each other.

  This is my first experience with professional “observers.” Like me, they constantly take copious notes and photos. Gathering information is what we are all about. Admittedly, I have a journalist inclination, perhaps newspaper and magazine articles, even a book.

  Mainly I gather information for my business, buying and selling, making friends in both business-family and political circles. Speaking of which, I’ve gotten quite friendly with the Australian nurse and the Chinese U.N. observer.

  So we all gather information, I for business and my two women friends are constantly sniffing around for information concerning what? Well it’s best we don’t go there again. While my time in Afghanistan is purely business, I’m also part of the ‘Great Game,’ there’s no avoiding it.

  The Great Game is all about information. We gather it, trade it, buy it and sell it. Even my son at the American school, at the teen-center, at embassy recreations, at film and information centers; even teens chasing each other; it’s all part of the Great Game. In my years in Afghanistan I have never heard the words “spook” or “spy” used.

  Today my son returned from the American information center after seeing a Disney film. He experienced the disappointment of seeing a girl he liked go off with her boyfriend.

  Kirk returned to the hotel to help Noor paint a huge sign. The sign has a large picture of Neptune with a trident and in English: “Neptune’s Inn, Food, Lodging, Water Beds and Garden.”

  Neptune’s Inn is almost complete, except for installing six more water beds. Kirk’s first installation filled a water bed with water before setting an electric heating pad under it. Now he follows a checklist before each step and all the water beds are properly installed.