Mike said, “Lela, at this point in our business you need not be in Afghanistan. We have excellent contacts in Istanbul, and you can travel there or have them ship your orders directly to the States.”
Istanbul and Turkey were probably the most stable areas in the Middle East. Mike expected that most of the tribal art business would relocate to Istanbul, and much of the Middle East trade was already based in Istanbul. The Iranian Revolution had accelerated this process, and conditions in Afghanistan might add to the exodus.
As Mike, Noor, Nobby, and I were discussing business plans, my son played guitar in the background. Nobby showed us a cigarette trick and then a match trick where five matches are balanced between five finger tips, he’s quite an entertainer.
My son took a guitar break and joined us for Nobby’s finger magic. Rosy, from the U.S. Embassy, joined us at eight that evening. She told us that the Afghan government had given the U.S. a year to close its embassy, but that the Indian Embassy had agreed to house a U.S. Legation on their embassy grounds.
Conditions in Kabul were rapidly coming to a head. On the last day of school, my son told me the night before that he was determined to get everything in. He got up early of his own accord, ate a quick breakfast and took a taxi to school.
He finished all his course work and handed it all in. His school record will be mailed to his school in New Jersey. After his classes were completed, he played basketball with some school chums, completing the school day with a baseball game in which he scored a homer and a run.
Kirk finally got his chance at the electric guitar (axe) after the scheduled band session broke up. He was in his glory playing for a group of girls jumping on the trampoline while he played. Then he took a taxi back to the hotel, played Frisbee and ended the day at the teen center.
My son invited me to see a film with him and that’s a first. They were showing Mastermind with Charles Bronson and Vincent Price, king of the grade B films. The film was a real “schlepper,” with Price as the misguided genius in his giant space ship. Price was determined to end war by dropping bombs on all warring nations. Why didn’t I think of that?
At the last minute, with Price about to press the bomb release, the hostages led by Bronson stop the bombing, allowing the warring nations to continue warring. While the plot and dialog seem written by five-year olds, Bronson’s charisma shines through in this ridiculous film. The kids in the theatre were jeering and providing sound effects throughout the film and that turned out to be the most entertaining part of the film.
Today was yet another holy day and foreign visitors were advised to stay off the streets and out of the bazaars during the military parade scheduled between two and five this afternoon. The parade route was posted a few days ago. The parade would march down Chari Sedarat in front of our hotel, Neptune’s Inn.
With increasing Soviet support, the Kabul government was venting its nationalistic voice. We heard that Chinese Embassy recognition was going to be withdrawn by the Afghan government and thought the Russians had instigated this. The Chinese would be permitted a Trade Mission at the Pakistan Embassy.
It turned out that other western embassies would continue unchanged. Mike told us that a thousand Cuban medical volunteers would add their optical skills to the new clinics. Afghans suffered greatly from eye ailments, especially cataracts, and this was going to be helpful as the Cuban medical community had gained a world-wide reputation for innovations in eye care.
The Cubans perfected a five-minute cataract removal procedure that was nearly 100% successful, or so they said. Cuban medics restored the sight of thousands of people in Africa and the Middle East. The Cubans made a video Seeing the World with new Eyes shown daily on Kabul TV.
One of Mike’s cousins, Hedayat, was in town with a beautiful array of embroidered tribal clothing. In particular, I believe the vests were the star attractions. These are in varied designs and reasonably priced. Below is a photo of a vest modeled by my neighbor’s son, Colin. These vests are in varying sizes and are popular with my women customers in the States.
I’m showing this vest as it became one of my best sellers. One reason this vest sold so well was that there were seams at the shoulders and arm-pits. The vests were easily disassembled in three parts and sewn onto simple shift dresses or tunic blouses. I wore a cream tunic with the vest sewn on at shows. In six months back in the States I sold over 500 of these vests.
Afghan Vests
Some of the light-weight silk festive dresses, shadries and scarfs had similar embroideries and were also quite popular. Hedayat’s clothing was like the ‘cherry-on-the-sundae’ for my business. I think it was my last major purchase before Afghanistan was closed to me.
Marxists say that when it comes time to hang all the capitalists, the capitalists will fight with each other for the right to sell the rope. I think they had me in mind when they said that. During my last days in Kabul, the thrill and fear of impending danger became real enough to touch it.
After the military parade my son had the urge to go horse-back riding on the same mountain that was so painful for him—as they say, ‘hair of the dog.’ Kirk would fly home tomorrow. Mike and Noor finally persuaded him not to go as it is far too dangerous, no kidding.
Mike said, “Believe me, you don’t want to find out what happens when Mongolian troops get angry and they’ve set up check-points at all approaches to Kabul. Travel security is now in the hands of the Soviet Mongolians. As Minister, I had to issue documents putting all ground travel under Soviet control; I had no choice in the matter.”
Early the next day, Noor appeared at the hotel leading two horses. He woke my son, telling him he got the appaloosa mare Lucy for him and that they could ride inside Kabul for a couple of hours. The riding was limited to a few streets around the hotel. There were Afghan soldiers on all street corners, smiling and waving to the early morning riders, who happily waved back.
Noor and my son, sensing the friendly atmosphere, decided to race back to the hotel. As they galloped down Chicken Street the soldiers motioned them to slow down. They stopped to talk to a soldier at a street crossing. Rather Noor spoke in Pashto while my son listened and smiled politely. After a few minutes of friendly banter, Noor gave the soldier a pack of cigarettes and they returned the horses to the stable and walked back to the hotel.
At breakfast one morning before Kirk had left, Noor had shared some new information with us. He said that Afghan soldiers were on every street corner and they all carried Kalashnikovs, not the old standard issue bayonet rifles. The soldier Noor spoke with told him that they were warned that Pakistan militants were infiltrating the Kabul area from Islamabad and were entering as merchants.
We were told that Mongolian troops were stopping every vehicle approaching Kabul and searching every inch of the vehicles, baggage, and passengers. So far, six vehicles with grenades and bomb equipment had been stopped, and two of the vehicles were occupied with women only, as drivers and passengers.
I asked Noor what happened to the people with the grenades and bombs. “Lela, believe me you don’t want to know, and neither do I. The official I spoke with suggested that they would be ‘persuaded’ to map their route back to the source. The culprits will be photographed and publicized in the international media.”
My heart went out to the women captives. I wanted to help them, but could not think how. That same evening I was invited to the Italian Embassy reception, my last before leaving Kabul. Then, at the reception, I had an idea. My buddy, the Italian legate greeted me with a glass of champagne.
By now, all the embassies were buzzing with the news of the Pakistani captives. I asked my Italian buddy if the Italian Embassy could intervene on behalf of the women captives. They were obvious dupes, and someone had set them up. It would be great publicity for Italy to push this humanitarian effort. I prodded him with tears in my eyes.
“Lela, I will try; I too am sad about these women, but they are not the innocents you imagine. They were caught before smug
gling currency into Kabul. Pakistan has paid for their release from the Afghans before.
“But this time they were attempting to smuggle deadly weapons. They had the misfortune of getting caught by Soviet Mongolians and not more amenable Afghans. Let us see what we can do. I’ll let you know as soon as I have news.”
My Italian buddy mentioned that he too was a progressive-internationalist, as were most of the Italian Embassy people. He suggested it was less the Pakistanis and more the Agency (CIA) stirring up the border clashes.
Of course, we all understood that Pakistan was well paid. They were merely the bagmen in the Cold War. It was a proxy war between the Soviets and the Agency. As leftists became more powerful in the Middle East and South Asia, the Cold War was bound to heat up, as in Vietnam.
What we didn’t understand was why the arms smugglers used the main highway into Kabul. Most smuggling was not over major roads. It was an obvious setup. These women smugglers were meant to be caught.
It could just as easily been arranged by the Soviet KGB as the CIA or Pakistanis.
The day before I flew out of Kabul, after Russian tanks entered Afghanistan days earlier, a press conference was held by the Afghan Trade Ministry. Media and press from the international community crowded into a large auditorium. It was featured on TV. We all watched the media extravaganza on the café TV.
Doctor Wali, the Afghan spokeswoman, introduced the event with a short statement. In effect, she summarized the events of the last week. She noted that six women had been stopped at a border crossing and were found to be smuggling explosives into Afghanistan.
The spokeswoman mentioned, “In exchange for their cooperation and public statements, they will be released at twelve noon tomorrow at the Afghan-Pakistan border. The press conference is now open to questions for the next two hours. You may address your questions directly to the prisoners or to our staff.”
The TV scene was exciting. The six prisoners were seated at the edge of the stage with women guards behind each one. I could almost see the press salivating in anticipation.
I counted 28 TV cameras. The stage lighting was painfully bright; but after a few minutes the lighting was reduced to a comfortable level. There was no shouting match from the press. One by one, with the utmost dignity, they addressed their questions to the women captives.
Translators related each question and answer slowly and clearly. The Q & A’s were repeated loudly by translators. The captives appeared unharmed and comfortably seated. They even smiled when a question was addressed to them.
We, in the café, hung on every word. The Q & A’s proceeded slowly enough so I could jot-down most of it in my journal. In general, the women prisoners answered to the point. There was no beating-around-the-bush. They seemed well rehearsed.
The first questioner asked how they were treated. The prisoners replied they were well treated. Then they were asked if they were tortured, abused or coerced. Again, they stressed that they were well treated.
When asked why they tried to smuggle explosives, they replied angrily that they had no idea what the sealed containers held. They were each paid $100 American in advance to drive the six vans across the border into Afghanistan. They were told it was jewelry.
Each van crossed two hours apart. The prisoners admitted smuggling cash and jewels numerous times before. When asked if they thought it strange they were directed to use the main road, the prisoners said that they were assured the border guards were paid-off and would let them pass without trouble.
All the prisoners insisted they were not political, but had to support large families. All admitted they were smugglers, but had never been stopped before and thought this was a routine operation. They insisted they would have refused if they had any idea explosives were packed under the jewelry.
An American reporter asked if they considered this might be a trap. They responded that they were recruited by the same elderly woman that hired them numerous times before. It all seemed as it did many times before—they all agreed. They insisted that they had no way of knowing it was different this time.
Asked if they were promised anything by the authorities for their cooperation, they replied that they were promised a quick release and that they could keep the money they had, if they told the truth as they knew it.
Similar questions and answers were elaborated with variations for two hours. During the last few minutes of the Q & A’s, the prisoners became noticeably agitated and angry. They insisted that the media interrogation was far more stressful than that of the authorities.
The prisoners assured the media they had told the truth, repeatedly, and would answer no further inquiries. The spokeswoman for the authorities affirmed that they were quite satisfied that the prisoners told the truth as they knew it.
The spokes-woman was asked if the Afghan authorities suspected any group behind this event. She replied, “Yes, we have more than suspicions, but cannot elaborate at this time. As soon as we have gathered definitive evidence, we will release it to the world. Thank you all for attending. This ends the press conference.”
The remainder of the day I spent with my business partners in and around the bazaars. Business in the Bazaars was booming. With the appearance of armed troops, everyone was stocking up, not knowing what will happen next. Back at the hotel, Hajji’s kids played Frisbee and climbed the Apricot trees in the garden. We had fresh apricots with afternoon tea.
I still found unusual odds and ends, purchasing what I could and telling the merchants that I hoped to return in the spring. But we all had our doubts. My merchant friends insisted on “gifting” me. They tell me, “Lela, my sister, we all pray for your return to Kabul, but if it is not to be, please accept these small gifts as tokens of our esteem and love.”
I’m scheduled to fly out at 10 p.m. this Saturday, so Noor and his hotel staff planned a grand departure party. Kit, the Australian nurse, arrived with her woman friend, a Russian Major. Kim, from the Chinese Embassy, and Rosy, the American Cultural Attaché, walked in together chatting amiably.
Rosy towered above all of us, women and men. She told me about a conversation with Kirk after they saw Bell, Book and Candle. He wanted to know how come she knew so much about magic and witchcraft.
As Rosy told me the story, I became embarrassed. He often does stuff like that, but all heads turned toward Rosy expectantly. Rosy was prepared and smiled broadly:
“I told him, after we saw the film that I expected a question of this sort sooner or later. But I’m surprised that he waited this long. I explained that I have a degree in Anthropology and did my doctoral work in Cultural Anthropology.
“My specialty was Nature Religion or Natural Religion, as I prefer to call it. My thesis dealt with the ‘Manifestations of Nature in Religion.’ In the process of devoting years to my research, I’ve become a believer in Natural Religion. So that was the short answer to his question.
“Natural Religion, Why we are All Believers is my most recent book and has become something of a best seller. The Embassy recruited me because of my research into tribal societies, as well as my background in geology. The Afghan effort to become part of the global political scene has not been without difficulties for other nations.
“Afghanistan has long been a magical place, mainly because this nation is so poorly understood, even by the Afghans. If we consider magic as that which is not yet understood, then Afghanistan remains a truly magical place. Calling Afghanistan a nation is a “stretch;” more nearly it’s a hodge-podge of tribes. The Afghan tribes need little excuse to battle each other.
“Specifically, what makes this nation so magical is the fact that it has been, along with Turkey, the pivotal point on the Silk Road for thousands of years. More significant from a global perspective, Afghanistan shares borders with Iran, Pakistan, and the Soviet Republics of Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, as well as China and India.
“In a sense, it’s strange that a landlocked nation is the gateway to both the East and the West. S
tranger still is Afghanistan independence through the ages even though the nation is strongly influenced by all its neighbors. And the neighbor nations are just as strongly influenced by Afghanistan.
“Afghanistan shares many cultural influences with India, Iran, and Pakistan. Turkmen, Uzbek and Tajik influence is strong in the north, as is China’s influence in the northeast. Pakistan and India provide a major influence in the south and east.”
Even with the short lectures by the various embassy representatives, the party was great fun. Kit pledged eternal friendship and support from “our Soviet friends.” Mike added that support and expansion of international commerce remained a primary goal of the new Afghan government. Other embassy staff offered similar promises of support—promises, promises.
My merchant partners were well represented. Principally, Mike and Noor, Hedayat, Nobby, and John, the Uzbek jeweler, were also present. Mike’s brother Hyder attended with samples of embroidered silk wall hangings. My Italian admirer, now a world-renown artist, stopped by, as did Razzi, my copper and brass supplier.
I wore a beautiful green silk dress with a light, diaphanous hood and neck scarf. Kim had given me this dress since I admired it so much on her. Kim wore a gold embroidered vest I’d given her.
Laughter was in the air, as was hash and Bamiyan Green. Nobby’s dancing inspired many of us to dance. Toward the end of the evening, we were all like teens, joking and singing old songs. The gathering broke up after two in the morning as the guests said their goodbyes and we all wished each other well.
As I sat down exhausted, Kit sat next to me. She assured me that I was welcome to return to Kabul whenever I liked. I told her that it was my understanding that foreigners and especially Americans would no longer be welcome.
Kit assured me that she and the Russian Major had prevailed on the Ministry of Trade and Commerce to provide visas for selected merchant friends of Afghanistan, and that I was at the top of that list. I was flattered and said so.
The Afghan Queen: A True Story of an American Woman in Afghanistan Page 28