Salaam!

I am finally learning Persian! (Well, I thought I was learning Farsi, but according to my sweet language tutor, Maryam, Farsi is the Arabic term for Persian, and Iranians (and Afghans) refer to their language as Persian.) After meeting an Afghan woman at the park this week, my understanding that Dari (the language spoken in Kabul) is a dialect of Persian was also confirmed. SO, I am well on my way to being able to say hello if I were to land right now in Tehran or Kabul. Salaam!

I have a long way to go. Turkish suddenly seems easy. There are sounds I physically cannot make with my throat! But I am delighted. I can't stop smiling. I am taking baby steps to fulfilling a dream.

Rest assured, my husband and brother (who just spent a year in Kabul) have strongly urged (read: forbidden) me to not go. And there are no plans. But one day that region will be different. One day I believe Iran will open up and Afghanistan will stabilize and the doors will fly off...

and I will be ready!

Junk for Afghanistan

Boxes and boxes of stuff have not made the cut of what gets to go in the moving truck next month. Instead of dumping it at Goodwill or painstakingly pricing it all for a garage sale, we decided to have our own fundraiser. The kids and I devoured the youth version of "Three Cups of Tea" this year and Greg Mortenson's work in Pakistan and Afghanistan captured our hearts. In honor of my brother who is stationed there this year, we decided to offer everything for FREE and accept donations to help build a school for girls.


The story goes that in Greg's early years of raising money to fulfill a promise he made to the people of Korphe, his first donation came from his mother's elementary class... $600 worth of pennies. "Pennies for Peace" is the educational arm of the Central Asia Institute.


And so, with the help of Ella and her friends (3 neighbors all yelling on the street corner at 8am), we made $130 in donations for a school in Afghanistan! We're pretty excited, given what was on our driveway that day!

(And yes, you'll notice that Ella IS wearing her winter coat on June 19 in Seattle.)

Victory!

Six months ago I thought it would be great "fun" to celebrate my 36th birthday and Mother's day by walking for my MA at graduation and running my first half marathon. Hmmm... the things I think are romantically good ideas! Two of the hardest things I've ever tried to do, completed in one weekend, was exhilarating. It was also emotionally taxing. In the days following, I felt lighter, freer... released.

However proud I am of these accomplishments, I found more pleasure in seeing my children proud of their Mom. In the last 50 yards of the race, they were there to run me in. As I was hooded on stage, I heard their cheers in the audience. My parents and husband were present too, and their approval is of course important... I've been seeking it the better part of my life. But to be an example to my children, to see the looks in their eyes... well, it was a treasure!

We celebrated it all at Kabul, an Afghan restaurant in Seattle. The things they do to humor me!

Why I do what I do

This excerpt from Kabul in Winter by Ann Jones is a haunting reminder to me of why participatory photography- cameras in the hands of community members- is so vital. The indignity of posing, as proof that the donated clothes from an American church had been properly used, is such a poignant example of how we view so many of the world's poor. What was her name? Where was her husband? What was their story? Did she want these clothes? What does she want? How would she tell her story if given the camera and time to put words to images that she wants to frame her life?

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I hung back, feeling the cold rising from the bare mud floor through my socks. The plastic at the window flapped in the wind. Lema gestured toward my digital camera, which she had asked me to bring along, and signaled that it was time to take pictures. She directed the mother and her daughters-in-law to squat on the floor, each one with her pile of old clothes. The three women did as they were told, stone-faced. They drew the corner of their headscarves over their faces and raised their eyes to the camera with the blank look of those who have already endured every indignity. I turned to Lema. Humiliating was the word I wanted, but it seemed beyond her English vocabulary.

"Do you think they feel bad?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "Make photos."
"But why?"
"We show we give these things. We show we not steal them. Very important. Donors want see. Make photos, please."

I too did as I was told, though I tried to lighten the moment. I coaxed the children into the pictures and passed the camera around so the women could see the images of their offspring on the tiny screen. I asked the women and children to pose for one last photo in the yard, a photo of all the family with Lema and Nasrin too. Lema told them to smile, and they did.

Do more good than harm and run another mile

So I've been training for a half marathon. It has not been fun because I'm not a runner- haven't run a race since Middle School when I joined cross country because I didn't make the cheerleading squad. This time I joined up because a friend talked me into it. She was very persuasive. And we were finishing our degree and I had just realized how I thrive with tasks I can check off and have completed. I mean, what in the life of a young mother is check off-able? Raise godly kids, instill moral character, enforce discipline, love your husband, eat well, walk with God... it just keeps on going with NO day of completion! I need to be able to check off a few things in life. Like May 9, 7:30am, ran Kirkland Half. Check.

In light of this training, forgive me for using the tiresome running analogy for life. I figure I am owed this right of metaphor as one of the few benefits of all these miles. It's not like there is physical evidence, aside from a nurse who recently told me I had a runner's pulse! (I think I worked that into every conversation I had that day.)

Now, before I begin, there is back story. It has to do with a book I recently finished, Kabul in Winter, which left me deeply saddened and grieved for Afghanistan and her people and even more confused about my own desire and ability to do good there. This alone deserves another blog entry. Suffice it to say, I've been thrown off course and struggling to persist... almost paralyzed in my own fear of doing more harm than good. Thankfully, wonderful hubby reminded me that my goal should merely be to try to do more good than harm, knowing I will do harm. It released me for some reason. Of course perfectionist self!

Back to running. The first two miles are always the hardest. I feel certain I'm going to quit, that my knees are going to grind into dust, that my ankles will collapse in the next bend. I am thinking of my persuasive friend- the one who broke her leg a week after we registered for the run- and the consequence of being both frugal (I was not going to have my fee go to waste) and hard headed (I will follow thru with or without her!) I am overwhelmingly full of doubt and despair and am not enjoying myself.

But something happens in mile 3. I get this tingly feeling like my legs just woke up, got into the game, agreed to cooperate. I find my stride. My thoughts are less cluttered. I hear the lyrics of the music I'm listening to and I am proud, happy, running! Until mile 5. Mile 5 is a wake up call. My knees remind me they are 36 years old. I start to feel itchy, uncomfortable. For a few minutes I must look like a duck with flees. But I'm on a new playing field now. I know I won't quit. I know it will pass. And it does. My stride comes back. I look like a runner again, not a duck. Now I'm focused. Bathroom. Latte. Mile 6 feels like mile 7 and mile 8 and I realize, I might actually do this thing! Check.

Kabul. Do more good than harm. I'm in the first two miles with A Face to Reframe. My head is full of all the ways well-intentioned people like myself end up doing harm without realizing it. I am overwhelmed with doubt and despair, even though I'm hard headed. I'm tempted to quit. But I know mile 3 is up ahead, somewhere. Right? But this time, unfortunately, it's not going to be check off-able.

Afghanistan

Though the papers have ceased, the reading has not. Since graduating in December, I've created my own curriculum of filling in all the gaps and deepening my understanding in the many areas my Masters degree touched on. More specifically, I'm trying to figure out the direction in which to take A Face to Reframe.

Increasingly, I'm drawn to the Middle East and women. You might think that broad, but I've already been able to narrow in on an area (as opposed to Southeast Asia, Africa, and Central America) and focus on a population... maybe! :)

For some reason, I am recently fascinated by Iraq, Pakistan, Iran and Afghanistan. I'm intrigued, angered, and emotional about the U.S. presence there... so many mixed opinions. To complicate matters, my little brother was unexpectedly deployed to Kabul in January! Of all the places I'd love to go, but all the places I'd rather my brother in fatigues not be...

Greg Mortenson has written a fabulous sequel to Three Cups of Tea entitled Stones into Schools. He painted a picture of Afghani people that is so contrary to the Taliban and so alluring. I long to get to know an Afghani woman who has continued her education in secret and her supportive father who would do anything to bring a school to his village! Of course, the famous Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini followed by A Thousand Splendid Suns describes a land and a people diverse and complicated, tormented and hopeful. These are good primers on Afghanistan.

This week my brother alerted me to a blog/vlog, "30 Days Through Afghanistan," that is somewhat a PR campaign of the military, but alternatively another perspective from the ground. I wanted to see Afghani people, hear them talk, watch them sit to a meal and my brother provided. My curiosity cannot be satiated.

If you or anyone you know share an interest in this part of the world, I would love to hear from you or have you connect me to them.

In the midst of a tearful goodbye, my brother said that he hoped the work he does this year in Kabul will open the door for me to go in the future. Inshallah.