Afghanistan Really

There are many reasons I’m grateful for my job. One of them is that my journey through the world allows me to meet people who shatter my stereotypes and simple preconceptions by sharing with me a piece of their reality.

The first time I thought about Afghanistan was at my best friend Dwight’s house when we were growing up in Jersey. His Dad had the epic VHS collection and we found Rambo 3 in the midst of it. John Rambo’s run through the Afghani mountains fighting off Russian choppers with a bow and arrow still registers as classic 80’s action cinema.

It wasn’t until years later that Afghanistan took on any kind of real meaning for me and even then it was limited. Following 9-11 the world renewed its gaze on the country, learning about post-Soviet power struggles, the reign of the Taliban, Islamic extremism and the dope industry. But even with the news plastering headlines and the regular video rolling in, Afghanistan has always seemed a place that existed only in movies and in the television. Even a reading a recent National Geographic article about archeology in Afghanistan didn’t help bring it all into focus in real terms.

With this perception I arrived into my class on Leadership, Values and Action at St. Joseph’s College in Bangalore. I didn’t expect an Indian Catholic school to be so diverse. I met students from all parts of India and visiting students from Nepal, Kenya, Cote D’Ivoire and, yes, Afghanistan.

For reasons on which I’m still unclear, the class of 22 had 5 Afghanis, each articulate and eager to be key players in class discussions. Given their proportion and their single-mindedness on the issue of Afghanistan, I couldn’t help but begin to live into their experience. We had tea together and talked frequently after class ended each day. They were more than eager to share their experience of their country with those who had their ears available to listen. Given my country’s involvement in Afghanistan for the past 20+ years, I thought to get ready to receive a new dose of information.

The stories they shared about the past 30 years of civil war were heartbreaking. No one has been unaffected by the ongoing feuds between ethnic groups, religious ideologies and foreign power plays. I heard about the sights that no eyes should witness unfolding in front of a 10 year old. The sounds –a caucophony of suffering – aired for the ears of children. I was shocked to hear the students give an overview of their life from 0 to 18 as a steady downward slope (blamed entirely on the demise of his country), only redeemed by the opportunity to study in India. While many felt the strong urge to return to their countries and play a part in re-establishing Afghanistan, I felt an underlying despair for the situation at home. Three of them wanted to return and become politicians, when asked why, the salary and the stability seemed more enticing than the prospect of civil service.

The main national concern for them as men and women in their young 20’s is unity. The divided factions throughout the country are prey to the power-thirsty and unscrupulous. Hopelessness plays a major role in these divides. People tend to cling to those who can give them the smallest glimpse of an advantage, whether it be an empty promise or not. Even as they pointed out that Afghanistan has increased its national security (though it still suffers from the lawless tribal regions on the Afghani-Pakistani border) they said the biggest brewing conflict is over language – with major language groups squaring off over national language rights. Casually, they said, “another reason to fight.”

When asked about the US involvement, the answers I got were unsurprisingly muted. The nation that received the biggest criticism was Pakistan (not surprising for Afghanis studying in India. Note: Anti-Pakistan sentiment has completely inflamed in India since the Mumbai attacks. Tension continues to escalate along the line of control in Kashmir).

Last Sunday I received an invitation to spend the evening with them at their flat. Our host’s wife spent near on 9 hours preparing the meal and the gorgeous spread stoked our taste buds and inspired our stomachs. Over delicious and heaping servings of chicken, mutton and rice we discussed life in Afghanistan, a country full of real people doing things that all people do. Going to work each morning. Dealing with family problems. Cooking dinner together. Singing songs. As their faces and voices became more a part of my daily, their stories came closer to my heart. Just young people looking at their past, considering the present and moving into the future.

I walked out of the dinner with friends.

Lord Have Mercy! Catholic Mosquitoes in Bangalore

I’ve learned one interesting fact about mosquitoes this past month. It surprised me. Only female mosquitoes bite.

The point is not to make a case for what this says about females in general (pointing out generalizations in females is a topic I learned to avoid altogether many years ago), its all to say that I’m learning about mosquitoes because they are playing an increasingly important role in my life.

This may have started in 5th grade when I used a mosquito net for the first time and found it remarkably effective in protecting me from those mammoth beasts of New Hampshire. Or maybe its my friend Jeff and his doctoral work with mosquito genetics. Or at the very least the insufferable swarms that camp out at home during the summer in Va Beach. All said, I’ve made no friends of these bugs. I find them ruthless and senseless and have no issue giving them the squash. But in the land of karma, one could say that I just got bit…bad…

St Joseph’s college in Bangalore is a great spot. In fact, its one of the top 10 colleges in the country and I feel honored to be in residence here for two weeks delivering a course with my colleagues. But top colleges in India don’t look like the Swarthmores and Princetons of the US. This one looks great on the outside, but the inside is meager and my boarding space in the hostel is spartan. In fact, its meant to be a leg up (as I am a guest in the hostel). My friend Martin and I share a 10’x10’ space with a bathroom. It’s not bad for my standards, so we crashed in on Sunday night when we arrived. The few swirling mosquitoes seemed no problem.

Now I’d spent the last week hearing about malaria and anti-malaria medications and methods. Given my areas of travel, I decided on taking the “low-risk” of infection to the somewhat toxic anti-malaria drugs. But I did grab a mosquito net to bugger off anything that might come my way. Not surprisingly and to my subsequent regret, I was exhausted when I arrived into town, so I took one look at my bed and crashcd out.

It’s kind of hard to explain what happened to my face overnight. I actually didn’t even know until about midday Monday. I took one look in the mirror around lunchtime and noticed that my entire forehead was covered in red spots. It looked like a five year old had just learned how to make dots, found a red marker and used my head to test it out. I tried to look at it from every angle to see if it was as bad as I thought. It was and while the blankets had spared my body from the neck down, my friend Cheng confirmed that I received about 100 bites overnight. Somewhere between the thought and the actuality of that fact, I felt woozy. It didn’t help when I read back-to-back news articles, one about the rat fever currently in post-monsoon Bangalore, as well as the dangerously big packs of stray dogs in some sectors of town. Surely, I’d contacted some disease overnight – impossibly not. All these thoughts just in time for me to deliver the opening presentation at the college!

Despite the weakness, we delivered a crack workshop and I soon set to work on my battle plans for the evening showdown. Amazingly, I had my first experience in understanding excessive defense spending. When you’ve been burned and you think you got a method to deliver the knockout blow, you spend accordingly. Knowing that I couldn’t take another 10 bites, much less another hundred, I manifested my three-fold plan. First, seal all windows and doors and use a mosquito coil to smoke ‘em out. Second, acquire repellant and cover forehead vigorously with the highest DEET formula available (turned out to be high-quality Australian Bush DEET). And third, gerry-rig the mosquito net for ultimo protection. It took about 30 minutes to get everything right and I set off to bed feeling secure in my measures.

Amazingly, the plan worked to perfection. I woke up in the morning with my forehead still spattered like a Jackson Pollock painting, but no worse than the day before. I took my spotted forehead and headed out into a new morning.

Southbound

Getting on an Indian train is an experience I wish you all to have at some point in your life. It’s amazing really.

The train service is nationaliazed and is actually one of the biggest businesses in the whole world. It was made over by a corrupt minister from Bihar during his tenure as minister of the railway. Legally, he turned it into a massive money-making enterprise and by far the preferred method of travel for the large majority of Indians. To put it in perspective, it’s said that 2 million people are always traveling on Indian trains. 24 hours a day. 365 days a year. It’s a staggering figure.

That success in mind, it’s no perfect system. For one, the railway over books the trains. There are a couple of waiting list cars, but they attract few clients. Instead, those who have been waitlisted for “sleeper cars” often search out a spot to bunk, hoping that a properly ticketed customer won’t chase them off. More often, the ticket inspector accepts bribes from those with no tickets who just hop on for passage without paying for the fare. They tend to fill up the cabins and with corrupted authority, there is little that can be done to remedy a situation.

So with those two groups searching for any available room, space aboard the train is most precious. When the Mumbai-Bangalore showed up in Pune at 11:40, it was a hyper dash in.

It’s essential to get your luggage stowed and your seat properly accounted. Traveling with 6 neophyte Indian travelers was no picnic either, as I’ve only just honed my Indian traveling skills after 6 months and several train journeys across the subcontinent. We scrambled in, bashing our way through a crowd as dense as the polluted Pune air. All said and done (by miracle) we got all the luggage down and only struggled for 3 of the 9 seats (even with proper tickets, one gets smushed 4 into a 3 seater).

I smiled with satisfaction as we pulled out. There is nothing like the Indian train 2nd Class when it comes to traveling. Some might prefer the cushy AC 1st class, but for the real experience of India, you gots to ride with the real people. Everything from the open doors where you can hang your legs out the side and take in the passing farms, villages and sunsets to the stench of the latrine that lingers after 20 hours or so. It’s just a magical and raw place the Indian train.

The layout of the cars is simple. Each has eight six-person berths. Three sit on each side with a bunked bed on top. The bench will serve as a bed at night, as will an identical fold-down for the middle bed. At the foot of these beds is the walkway. On the other side are two more bunked beds.

This makes for exceptional theatre, as one finds that at least 8 people (up to 12) are focused in on the same spot at a time. Nothing goes unnoticed and everyone shares this experience of being together. It’s remarkable community and one can really see the genuine friendship and rapport that Indians build so well between each other. A train partner (s) can make or break a 30-hour journey. Indians almost always aim to establish the former.

My berth of 11 got very excited once I decided to start playing along after a couple of hours. I asked my neighbor about some snack being offered by one of the constant vendors patrolling the corridor. When I laid my 10 rupees down for the treat, I seemed to earn some street cred and it opened up a jovial hour on the train which included conversations on insurance, stealing water-wells (yes the things in the ground), Bush, the financial crisis and Obama. At one point we even discussed the differences between cricket and baseball. Here’s an idea of me trying to explain the differences between the two bats

“:You see, the baseball bat is about the same length, but skinnier, lighter and round. It makes hitting the ball a much more difficult job.”
“Yes,” my neighbor exclaimed, “I understand. But what you use for sport we give to the police to hit people with.”
Chuckling with the rest of the crowd, I admitted that it was true. But my neighbor wasn’t finished with his attempts at laugh.
“You can also use it to give your wife a good whack!”
I didn’t laugh, but everyone else did. I feared where this was going and tried to move off it.
“Yes, well,” I stumbled, “I think we can all agree that it’s best used for playing baeeball.”
Seeing my displeasure with his last comment, he concluded, mimicking the actions, “you can also use it to roll chipati (Indian flatbread)!”
Cue more uproarious laughter. You see what I mean. Theatre in the round

Station stops can be 5 to 35 minutes in length. It’s always enough time to hop off the train and survey the new station for a cup of chai, a new book or some travel grub. Typically one can find some puri (fried Indian flat bread) that comes along with a kind of spicy yellow dal or bhaji (buttered and grilled rolls with a red lentil masala). Both taste so good that you can’t resist. But you should unless you really believe in your iron gut. A bad bahjji can cost you on a long train journey. But a good cup of station chai can change the course of a day. Rolling on…

As I mentioned, there is also an omnipresent parade of people on the corridor. You name it – they show up. You’ve got your expected ticket inspector and occasional guard, but you also see any number of other randoms.

• The tea and chai-wallahs hawking their goods in unmistakably annoying tones
• The guy selling the random and lame toys parents buy to keep their kids quiet
• The kitchen man moving the train’s catering products up and down the corridor
• The dalit woman sweeping the floors hoping for a few rupees tip from her patrons
• A boy with no legs, using his hands to carry himself along the floor or ask for change.
• The blind man selling chains to lock up your luggage
• A boy with a painted on mustache, doing a stage show to collect a couple rupees for his owner
  

It’s raw India.

Another group you see on the train are those men, eunuchs or transgendered who dress up as women. Superstitiously thought to have magical powers, they are both loved and hated in Indian society. Loved because their wish can bring blessings on a child at a naming ceremony or hated because they can curse your existence and embarrass you in front of your loved ones. They clap up and down the train, bothering the men, who often toss them a few rupees just to go away. I tend to get away with playing the innocent bystander who doesn’t understand this culture (and its true, I don’t understand it, but I actually find them to be quite unshocking most of the time – I’ll save the shocking stories for another time). In fact, I had to laugh when I bumped into a couple on the way to the toilet. I asked if it was empty and they said yes. We even had a formal introduction of names when I came out – though I did move on rather quickly. The next morning, I went to the bathroom, first thing, with my eyes barely open. When I walked out, I saw them again.

“Good morning beautiful!” they shouted down the corridor.
“Good morning ladies,” I responded.
“We love you!” they replied with a laugh.
“Have a safe trip,” I said quickly heading back to my seat.
“You are leaving so soon?”
“I’m off at Bangalore.”
“Okay. Bye handsome!”

The action never ends. You can dream out the window for hours. Read heaps of a book. Talk about Indian current events. Meet a new friend. And on you go.

I’m off to Bangalore. And I’m looking forward to a couple more trains before this southern adventure wraps up.

India’s 9/11

I spoke with my family on Thanksgiving Day and they were eager to hear news of the events in Mumbai from the Indian perspective.

I showed them the headline from the Times of India, a highly circulated national newspaper.

“IT’S WAR ON MUMBAI”

The words read full across the whole page with a number of informative sub-headlines above the fold and the main headline.

Since I’m not in Mumbai, all of my reports have been either 2nd hand through conversation or through the newspaper. I’ve had no chance to watch any of it on television. They only time I’ve seen a television in the past week has been the New Zealand-Australia cricket match while I had my haircut Saturday afternoon.

But even in that flash of sport I heard the news advert interrupt and refer to this past week as “India’s 9/11”. It’s a country known for its sensationalized press (I’d say more so than the US), but the phrase rang true in many ways.

In a country fairly accustomed to bombings of public places in the name of politics or religion this event has stirred the social consciousness of the nation. It will being a change. It just a matter of when and how…

A few things I’ve noticed…

24-Hour Coverage. It’s been the first time (I believe) that India has live streamed this kind of event in their own country through their own television stations. Friends in Pune told me that people have been glued to their TV sets, even while at work, checking facts and seeing how the story would unfold. For most it’s been a harrowing experience to watch the tragedy come to life on camera, for others it has become violent entertainment, watched with the twisted curiosity that grows inside us when we see such things.

More Religious Conflict. On another level, there’s been an extremely angry response. Those who have not been shaken have often responded with anger. It’s a potentially disastrous cocktail. With Muslims claiming responsibility for the assault, it has injected those predisposed to religious conflict (which is quite a few) with a dose of unneeded adrenaline. Other’s I’ve spoken with have said that their quite ecumenical work colleagues have spoken about taking arms to fight in the battle. It’s a strange but, to some degree, an understandable comment with only a remote chance of manifestation. The problem would be (as has happened in the past) if the violent wing of the Hindu Nationalist ideology responds to this violence against innocents with equal violence towards innocents. Given that the country looks on this as a national tragedy, I would hope it’s a time when Indians stand together. We’ll see…

India-Pakistan. Whether it was intended or not (and reports have been very disparate so far) the violence occurred during a recent warming of relations between India and Pakistan, longtime rivals (and recently nuclear armed rivals) still quarreling over a number of issues, particularly the disputed territory of Kashmir. Recently, the new Prime Minister of Pakistan had made some important concessions regarding a “no first” nuclear policy – which means his government would not fire the first nuclear missile in a military conflict. He also made some statements about the rights of the Kashmiri people to their own government. These bold strides were received well in Delhi and on Tuesday the Home Ministers of each country had met to continue the quickly-thawing conversation. Those talks are now iced, with many pointing the finger at Pakistan as the origin for the militants.

Where Next? The US and the UK responded dramatically to major terrorist attacks on their home soil. How will India respond? With major international conflicts already underway in Iraq and Afghanistan, will India decide to make a bold move on the global level? Will the government seek to centralize power and tighten their authority and security over India (which happened once in the 70’s when martial law left all authority in Indira Gandhi’s hands during The Emergency)? Indian politicians have condemned the violence, but where will they lead the country?

I received this email from a supporter of Action for Life:

“Being born and brought up in Mumbai, what is happening there now has left me benumbed. I am saddened and aghast at the heedless violence, unprovoked and uncalled for. Life in Mumbai is no longer safe, as it used to be when I grew up. I am afraid now to move out in public, to mix with strangers or to trust people.”

It’s a different time in India. Some say this is a watershed moment from which Indians will mark time, like 9-11. But from the looks of Bangalore, nothing seems different on the street and aside from tonight’s candle light vigil at the local college, I haven’t seen the impact change life in the street. It’s wait and see here…

I myself have little to say on the events. I’ve been nervous, knowing I’m responsible for a number of people traveling throughout the country, but more than anything I’ve had a deep sadness.

I’ve also felt a strange desire to pray not only for the situation, the victims and families and the greater repercussions of these acts, but also for the militants themselves. It’s a profoundly disturbing moment when a young man loses his soul. All I can do is ask for a miracle to return hope, truth and love to that void of despair.

I ask you, please keep India in your prayers.