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

by Paul Meinhardt

  School events are easy to get accustomed to. Gym is now 2:15 each day and I played at grinding a softball 200 feet diagonally toward third base. I reached first base but did not get batted home. After the game I checked out an electrical transformer to amplify my electric guitar, my ax. I jammed about thirty minutes, drawing a dozen or so people.

  My secret admirer phoned today. Jan and I agreed to meet at AID, a local Kabul theatre. AID is showing the film Network. Jan did not show up, it’s the kidnapping fear, I guess. Now that I have a clearer picture of the American fear of kidnapping, I don’t feel “stood-up” and I’m not angry or hurt. As Mom says, “It’s all part of the Great Game here in Kabul.”

  Events of this sort provide incentive to practice guitar and spend more time with my Afghan friends. I play cards with Noor, Mike and their kids. I teach them to “count cards” in black-jack and poker, deal from the bottom of the deck and other American gaming techniques.

  I told my Afghan buddies the W. C. Fields story that dad is so fond of. In one of Field’s films he’s on a train and, to pass the time, offers to play cards with a traveling salesman. The salesman asks “Is this a game of chance” and Field says, “No, not the way I play it.”

  Of course, the Afghans never heard of Fields and did not understand any part of the story. First, Noor asked, “What’s a traveling salesman?” I said, “He’s a merchant who travels from town to town selling goods and bads.” Then he asked, “What’s a game of chance?” So I told him, “It’s like a gambling card game where you take a chance to win or lose.”

  Now the conversation really got funny and I began to see that no matter how good their English is, the special meaning of jokes completely escapes them. Noor asked, “What are goods and bads?” I began to think how my teachers must feel with my questions in class. I replied that goods and bads refer to good merchandise and bad merchandise.

  I was about to use the word “bogus” to describe bad merchandise, but decided to use “bad” instead. I thought that I’d finally explained an American joke when Mike asks, “What does he mean when he says “No, not the way I play it?”

  So I tried to be patient and explained slowly that the ‘way Fields plays it,’ other card players have no chance of winning. Now my friends laugh politely. I tell them that if they were to tell me an Afghan joke I would probably have similar problems understanding.”

  My son and I were getting homesick, especially Kirk. While my Afghan business associates and friends put on a great show of cheerful friendliness, to other Americans my son and I were treated with noticeable reserve. The embassy staff knew I’d been in business here going on five years, but they were suspicious of my ties to Afghan Kalq party officials.

  It was obvious, at least to me, that Afghan cheerfulness was increasingly forced. My friends never missed an opportunity to praise the government, and it began to sound like some sort of political mantra. My mantra was to reply, “Yes, new clinics are wonderful. More schools, better roads, women’s rights, and ending serfdom; all are great improvements.”

  I’m a progressive-internationalist, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that the freedom to speak, act, and travel out of the country was evaporating. All the bazaars, shops and stalls had to display a picture of the new president.

  Red banners everywhere were at first comforting, but now it was getting tiresome and Kabul was looking as bloodshot as my eyes. It was getting to be just plain sickening. Kirk told me one day that after his last class some classmates told him that “Tonight we’re going to kill their flags on top of the hill and add blue and white lights to the red ones. Want to come along?”

  Kirk replied “sure” but had no intention of showing up. I suggested to Mike that armed soldiers be planted to guard the lights as mischief was afoot. We didn’t need any more diplomatic trouble, and I certainly did not want a bunch of stupid kids getting hurt. Amazingly, no one asked me about my source of information, and it would turn out that no one was hurt or embarrassed that night, which was a relief.

  School here is a new event each day, mostly triggered by the political changes taking place. None of the kids at school asked me why I didn’t show up for their “light-show.” One girl told me that they were all “grounded” last night. “Me too,” I added. She figured that parents were alerted to keep their kids at home.

  Mom and I had lunch with Nazur, one of her dealers. The red banners in the café and all over Kabul now had gold lettering that translated to “Peace, Bread and Land.” Mom said that was the motto Lenin used in the Russian revolution.

  Nazur gave me a large copper plate that was beautifully embossed. At his shop, Mom told me to buy an antique oil lamp that looked really ancient. The lamp is unusual and eye-catching. I never saw anything like it before.

  I should have been at school today, so I excused myself from Mom and Nazur and rushed to the school library to complete my Chemistry homework. When any of us miss school the teachers only say that they missed us and ask if everything is OK, that’s the extent of punishment for absence and tardiness. Later in the day we had a game of baseball and I got two runs.

  Being sweaty and tired from the ball game, I took a shower and checked out an ax for group guitar practice. After fifteen minutes of practice the music instructor made me give up the ax to another kid that signed the list after I did. This angered me and I had a long face all the way to the hotel.

  That night Rosy phoned from the American Embassy asking if I wanted to go riding with her in the morning, I replied, “Great, can I have that roan appaloosa mare, Lucy?” The next morning, just as the sun rose, we rode up the mountains and onto an ancient burial site. I gave Lucy an apple and a carrot before we started and she nuzzled me every chance she got.

  From the top of the mountain (the Afghans call it a hill) we could see all of Kabul. It was beautiful with the sun rising over the light-colored buildings. Ridding up the hill required pains taking zigzagging up to the peak.

  As we watched the sun rise, Rosy thanked me for tipping-off Mom about the planned prank. “You saved us a lot of trouble, Kirk, and we are truly grateful to you and Lela. I guess it pays to have friends with a foot in both camps,” she told me.

  We descended the mountain slowly and carefully, especially around the hair-pin curves. It was far scarier going down than going up. I kept scratching Lucy’s ears since the deer-flies began pestering the poor mare as well as us. Rosy sprayed her horse’s head and herself; then handed me the spray to do the same. Lucy snorted what sounded like a thank you.

  As we trotted through small villages on the way down the dusty mountain trail, kids ran alongside our horses, screaming and waving, patting the horses flanks as we waved to them. Rosy reached into her saddle bags, tossing out candy and gum. She always seems well prepared and, in my view, she’s an awesome Greek goddess.

  Passing a small army post, we waved and cheerfully wished them good morning in Pashto. Rosy stopped and gave them a bag of candy. The soldiers were delighted; they seemed about my age and were happy for the gift. Continuing on, Rosy said, “That candy is probably their breakfast.” The way they rushed at the candy, I think she was right.

  My inner thighs and upper leg muscles were sore for days afterwards. Rosy said I grasped the horse too tightly with my legs; I should relax more to relieve the muscle strain. So I asked her, “How can I stay on my horse going down those steep trails?” She told me to press my heels forward in the stirrups for better control. That’s enough cowboys and Indians for a while.

  Rosy took me for breakfast after returning the horses to the stable. She paid the stable boy 200 AFs (less than $5) and he returned 50 AFs, so she gave him a bag of candy and he was delighted.

  I joked with Rosy, “If you’re giving out so much candy, you should provide dentists along with the candy.” She laughed and leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. She rides so well and is really agile in the saddle. Maybe she can teach me.

  Later that day Rosy took me to the AID center to watch anoth
er American film, Bell, Book and Candle—it’s about witchcraft and magic, which I love. As far as I’m concerned, Ernie Kovacs and Jack Lemon are the stars of that film. James Steward is boring in that film. I think he’s supposed to be that way. Kim Novak is a delicious witch, just my type.

  Perhaps the whole point of the film is that witches, by comparison, make ordinary people seem like they’re made of wood. Maybe that’s what makes witchery and magic so popular; drawing us away from the hum-drum into a temporary world we want to believe is real. Well I do anyway. On the other hand, Kabul is exciting enough for now.

  I asked Rosy what Bell, Book and Candle refer to. She explained, “To start a witch coven conclave a two ring circle must be cast, usually with white chalk. In the circle a five-pointed star is drawn with each star-point reaching the border of the inner circle ring. The five star points represent the human head, arms and legs, as well as the geometry of the Cosmos.”

  I think I really started something because she continued, “To summon cosmic power, celebrants must be sky-clad, naked and exposed to moonlight, preferably a full or glabrous fat moon. When all is ready, the celebrants step into the circle. Then the coven mistress becomes the Moon Goddess, Diana the Huntress. She represents the spirit of Mother Nature.

  “Usually there is a horned god representing Great Pan, the nature spirit, disguised as a stag, white bull or some other horned critter. Next one must ring the bell, open the Book of Shadows and light the candle, to summon the power. The Book is read aloud according to the season and the powers to be invoked.

  “Often there’s a ritual mime in which the Huntress stalks horned Pan. The pantomime ends when Diana snares Pan and a celestial marriage occurs. In the celestial marriage, Huntress and Pan are often lovers. They may couple as part of the ceremony, ending the ‘marriage’ by holding crossed hands and kissing crossed cheeks.

  “The conclave ends in reverse order. The Candle is snuffed, the Book is closed and the Bell is rung. Often the circle and star are pre-drawn on a large blue bed-sheet. The circle may contain a square to represent the four elements: Earth, Air, Fire and Water. Every coven handwrites their own unique Book of Shadows. These may be similar, but no two are exactly alike.”

  “Rosy, that’s beautiful. It sounds like a religious ceremony. You know so much.”

  “Yes, I read a lot. What I described is a religious ceremony. It’s a nature religion, showing respect for the forces of nature. Nature worshippers believe that the Great Cosmic Mother perpetually recreates the Cosmos, all energy, all stuff, including us. That’s what we mean when we refer to Mother Nature.”

  Looking at the refrigerators in the cafés of Kabul reminds me of home. Noor’s new fridge in his hotel bar set him back a bundle. It’s the centerpiece of the bar. The fridge is brushed stainless steel, decked out with flowers, more like a religious shrine. It gives the impression that everything is cleaner and fresher; at least that’s my sense of it.

  I took one of the new hotel business cards, with the address: Neptune’s Inn, Chari Sedarat, Shari Nau, Kabul, Afghanistan. The card has a small embossed trident, as well as phone and telex numbers. These cards are like little reminders of Kabul.

  Hot showers helped relax my tense, aching muscles, but I continued to feel the effects of horsing-around up and down that mountain. My back was throbbing days after ridding. After halfan-hour rest I was able to complete my Chemistry assignment.

  The only part of school that interests me today is playing the electric guitar. I know it’s reserved for scheduled group practice, so without the guitar and not feeling well enough to play baseball or chase girls I figured I might as well skip school and feel sorry for myself.

  My mind goes at about 3,000 rpm whenever I read another book about ghosts. I’m really suckered into Things that Go Bump in the Night. I’m thinking that dead people may leave some kind of energy behind. Mom and Noor saw me reading in the garden.

  Mom asked what’s got me hypnotized this time. I showed the book cover and they started laughing. She said, “Come on, take a break, let’s play some poker before dinner. John is waiting in the game room so we will be a foursome.”

  I replied, “Always glad to take your money.” John is mom’s Uzbek jewelry maker. His name is really Nobby Uz-Gaheer Ali, so I don’t know how the name John fits in. The poker lasted about an hour when we all folded for dinner. I was ahead $10, not bad for an hour’s work.

  Noor brought in a large tray with spiced rice and pieces of lamb. They all cracked-up laughing when I asked, “Is this sheep meat?” Nobby said, “The word you want is mutton.” I asked if that was like lamb. Mom said mutton is an adult sheep. The meal was excellent, especially with the flat-crisp cumin bread.

  We ate Afghan style, sitting cross-leg on a thick rug with the food tray in the middle. We took turns taking rice and meat with our right hand, eating it, and then taking some watercress from a bowl of mint-vinegar. After we ate our fill watermelon provided a perfect ending. The custom is to take food with your right hand and with your left hand—I’ll leave that to your imagination.

  Nobby wanted to win back his money, so we played poker again for about an hour, while sipping chi. He won back a few dollars and was happy. By that time I was dozing off and Mom walked me to my room and bed. She was determined that I get to school the next day.

  Nobby’s Wall Hanging

  28

  ENDINGS - NOVEMBER - DECEMBER, 1979

  Rosy met me for breakfast at the hotel café one morning and told me one of the embassy staff was flying back to New York on compassionate leave, as her mother was dying of cancer. It was embassy practice to send a travel companion with the person. Rosy asked if I would consider sending Kirk with the young woman.

  “Lela, as the Soviets consolidate their occupation it’s going to get increasingly difficult for you and Kirk to function freely in this country. Now that school is out for the year, why not think about sending Kirk back home? The embassy will pay all travel expenses. What do you think?”

  “I was thinking the same way, Rosy. I’ve got a lot more business to attend to and Kirk is getting homesick. You’re right. It feels like the walls are closing in. I think he’s had enough of Kabul, and Kabul has certainly had enough of him. Let’s do it!”

  While we talked, Kirk came down to breakfast. As he sat between us, I nodded to Rosy and she explained the situation to him. Not only did he accept the proposal, he was enthusiastic and joyful about it.

  “Kirk, I explained the situation to your mom just a few minutes ago. We all agree it’s a good idea. When would you be ready to leave?”

  “Rosy, I can be ready in an hour.”

  “That’s great, Kirk, but we’ll need a couple of days to make arrangements. I told Lela that the embassy will pay all your travel expenses and provide you with some spending money also.”

  “Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! That’ll work for me.”

  The travel arrangements were completed in one day. As soon as we had firm data, I telexed Paul to meet Kirk’s flight. Paul sent me an acknowledgement by late afternoon. We took Kirk to the airport two days later with his embassy travel companion and watched as their Lufthansa flight left the runway.

  Prior to his flight home, our friends showered Kirk with gifts and a going away party. Kirk was ecstatic with all the attention and I told him to enjoy it while he could, since he wasn’t likely to get this kind of attention back in the States.

  “I know that, Mom. I may be a little dense, but I’m not stupid. It was great while it lasted, but enough is enough. I really want to get back to my life in New Jersey. It’s getting scary around here, and I want out. Mom, you should come with us. You may be in danger.”

  We all assured Kirk that I’d be fine and would be home for the holidays. I promised him that I would finalize business in a week or so and would then be right behind him.

  Before leaving, we talked about his plans once he was home. My son figured he could sell film and TV rights to his experiences in Kabul.

&
nbsp; I told him not to count on it, but give it a try; it’s up to him. I won’t have the time to help him. Certainly he has commanded a great deal of my time already.

  When I got back to the States, I planned to give most of my time to Paul, Erik, of course, Kirk, and my business, in that order. I also wanted to shape all our aerograms, photos, journals and letters into a book. I was hoping Paul would take on this project as he loves to write and I didn’t expect to have much time.

  With the political situation ripening daily, I expected that my Afghan business was entering a countdown phase. I asked business associates Nobby and Mike what they expected our business prospects would be if Afghanistan became fully Sovietized.

  Nobby planned to move his family and business to Istanbul. Mike expected to remain as long as his export business was viable, perhaps a year or so. I asked about Noor. Mike thought Noor would return to Nuristan and his clan.

  My business associates believed that whoever was in power would want to keep the flow of foreign income intact. I hoped that was the case, but I needed to prepare for other possibilities.

  The night of Kirk’s going away party we had a great time at Neptune’s Inn Café. My son played guitar for us and Nobby did a hilarious dance to Kirk’s folk rock tunes. Nobby was a funny man, as well as a savvy businessman, and we all enjoyed his antics.

  Nobby’s crazy dance

  It’s great that we were discussing business plans and having a wonderful time, as there was no way of knowing how many more of these evenings we would have, and we were all well aware of the uncertainty.

  From government gossip, Mike believed that Westerners might be expelled within the next year, with Americans the first to go.