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Afghanistan, In Praise of Your Propriety: A Story In Picturesque Verse and Photography

Kabul, Afghanistan
Kabul, Afghanistan

My account of wanderings in Afghanistan and my many colourful conversations with my Afghan friends, detailing their lives and surroundings. Photos courtesy of my dear friends in the bold and beautiful land of AFGHANISTAN and from one of my visits to Pakistan.

Oh, Land of Majesty!
I call you Mother Brother Friend
You called me to your end
Lifted me in flight
Granted my eyes a grand sight

Oh, Bamiyan!
Wondrous reaches of spectacular peaks
The sky spread in praise doth speaks
There the remains of the silent Buddha’s great seat

Oh, Kabul!
How your parakeets do chatter
As the tanks and passersby do scatter
You keep aloof of the whole matter

Oh, Blue Mosque of Mazar!
How many doves there are Cooing and flocking
The whole world left stalking

Oh, Badakhshan!
The whole Universe cannot possibly contain
The beauty that you possess and maintain
Even the stars compete in vain

Oh, Nation of Lions!
The eyes of jealousy surround you I do see
Bombarding with wars of frivolity upon thee

Oh, Afghanistan!
How unjustly you so bleed!
War racketeers my ears do heed
What doth keep you strong

Oh, Marvelous Steed!

© 2015 Rebecca Martin

My decision to finally take a leap of faith and travel to Afghanistan, was after many years of trepidation and warning from friends and family. Due to the country’s turmoil for the past decade, many were concerned for my safety, and understandably so. Security is a never-ending and very real issue for Afghans and non Afghans alike. This in mind, I’ve always had precise intuition that lead me to the conclusion that it was ‘meant to be’.

Images © 2015 Niazmina

I was unable to witness all of Afghanistan due to the security issue, what I did see was rough and rugged beauty, without a doubt. The mountains were beckoning and bold. Rivers and lakes surround to refresh your soul, while it seems the rest of you is greeted with heat and parched ground. The discrepancies in weather are most clever, leaving the sub-arctic northeastern reaches at odds with the drought-ridden southwestern regions.

Village Children Images © 2015 Niazmina

I had never before encountered a village or it’s inhabitants but had an idea of what it might be like. I can’t say that I was too far off in my assumption that it would be a lot like camping, boiling your water for the luxury of a hot shower, toilets virtually non-existent, defecating outdoors (a given) interesting cooking methods and hospitality. The hospitality of Afghans is their pride and honor. It outweighs any downside to village living and is so endearing one finds themselves adapting to the lifestyle rather quickly.

The family I was staying with while in Afghanistan had just shifted homes from Pakistan. Their home wasn't complete, this was the kitchen at the time. Images © 2013 Rebecca Martin
Quroot (or Qoroot) is a reconstituted dairy product. It was traditionally a by-product of butter made from sheep or goat milk. The residual buttermilk remaining after churning of the butter is soured further by keeping it at room temperature for a few days, treated with salt, and then boiled. The precipitated casein is filtered through cheesecloth, pressed to remove liquid, and shaped into balls. The product is thus a very sour cottage cheese. Quroot is hard and can be eaten raw. It is typically served with cooked Afghan dishes such as Ashak, Mantu, and Qeshla Qoroot, among others. Info Source http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Afghan_cuisine#Quroot Images © 2015 Niazmina
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The family home wasn’t complete, this was the kitchen at the time. Images © 2015 Niazmina
Afghan Boys Images © 2015 Niazmina

My arrival at this particular village was welcomed with smiles and laughter from the village children and adults. I was sheltered, feasted, cherished, warmly received and treated as an honored guest. I became family, a distant relative. Daughter. Sister. I was enveloped with love and had much fun watching and learning their culture and traditions. The girls  from various homes would come each morning and stay until dusk or later, offering to do my hair and make up, smiling and attempting to communicate through various means. At times causing bursts of uncontrollable laughter at our many failed attempts to understand one another. Speech wasn’t necessary amidst smiles and laughter. One of the sisters loved doing my make up for me. Each morning I would awake, wash my face and draw my eyebrows in or apply under eye concealer so that I wouldn’t look like a downtrodden traveler. This routine I was wishing to do in secret, as I was the only one doing so and felt somewhat vain. I must have sparked some hidden creative talent within one of the girls, as she insisted she apply full make up for me whenever she caught me mid-coverage. I was pleasantly surprised to see the finished product in the mirror. Absolutely artistic display of perfection!

Village Life Images © 2015 Niazmina

I will never forget the warm, genuine hearts of the Afghans I met. Their care was genuine. Their smiles were broad. Their laughter touched the soul. Their stories were inviting. Their innovativeness motivating. Everybody in the village was generous and lovely. All spent time visiting me and caring for my every need. I suffered from giardiasis (an intestinal infection caused by a microscopic parasite that’s found worldwide, especially in areas with poor sanitation and unsafe water. Marked by abdominal cramps, bloating, nausea and bouts of watery diarrhea) so everybody’s patience was surely tested with my subsequent complaints and discomfort.

I was excited to try on an Afghan Burqa. A burqa (Urdu: بُرقع‎), (Arabic pronunciation: [ˈbʊrqʊʕ, ˈbʊrqɑʕ]a (also transliterated]burkha, bourkha, burka or burqu' from Arabic: برقع‎ burquʻ or burqaʻ), also known as chadri or paranja in Central Asia) is an enveloping outer garment worn by women in some Islamic traditions to cover their bodies when in public. Info Source http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burqa Images © 2013 Rebecca Martin
I was excited to try on an Afghan Burqa. A burqa (Urdu: بُرقع‎), (Arabic pronunciation: [ˈbʊrqʊʕ, ˈbʊrqɑʕ]a (also transliterated]burkha, bourkha, burka or burqu’ from Arabic: برقع‎ burquʻ or burqaʻ), also known as chadri or paranja in Central Asia) is an enveloping outer garment worn by women in some Islamic traditions to cover their bodies when in public. Info Source http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burqa Images © 2015 Niazmina
I was far from perfecting my fluency in either Pashto or Dari, the two officially recognized languages of Afghanistan. This placed a huge wedge in the area of communication without a translator, but Kaka was not deterred. He would without hesitation start conversation with vivid illustration and depiction using his whole body as language. Flailing arms and boisterous words left us all rolling in laughter as Kaka expressed his life, adventures and stories to me. He was attentive and kind. A great man, not only in my mind.

My Little Buddies Images © 2015 Niazmina
Brothers In Arms Images © 2015 Niazmina
Images © 2013 Rebecca Martin
Images © 2015 Niazmina
Qargha Lake, Kabul Images © 2013 Rebecca Martin
Qargha Lake, Kabul
Images © 2015 Niazmina
Qargha Lake, Kabul Images © 2013 Rebecca Martin
Qargha Lake, Kabul Images © 2015 Niazmina
(Kabul Ride) Although alcohol consumption is banned and taboo in Afghanistan, foreigners can purchase it in certain shops upon showing their passport. Images © 2013 Rebecca Martin
(Kabul Ride) Although alcohol consumption is banned and taboo in Afghanistan, foreigners can purchase it in certain shops upon showing their passport. Images © 2015 Niazmina
Kabuli bacha (boy) in Kabul traffic Images © 2013 Rebecca Martin
Kabuli bacha (boy) in Kabul traffic Images © 2015 Niazmina
Kabul  hillside across from center of town. Home built here are significantly less expensive than the homes built on flatter ground. Images © 2013 Rebecca Martin
Kabul hillside across from center of town. Home built here are significantly less expensive than the homes built on flatter ground. Images © 2015 Niazmina
Jalalabad Images © 2015 Niazmina
Entering Jalalabad Images © 2015 Niazmina
Balloon seller. Jalalabad, Afghanistan Images © 2013 Rebecca Martin
Balloon seller. Jalalabad, Afghanistan Images © 2015 Niazmina
Images © 2013 Rebecca Martin
Images © 2015 Niazmina
Images © 2013 Rebecca Martin
Images © 2015 Niazmina
Salang, Afghanistan Images © 2013 Rebecca Martin
Salang, Afghanistan Images © 2015 Niazmina
Salang, Afghanistan Images © 2013 Rebecca Martin
Salang, Afghanistan Images © 2015 Niazmina
Salang, Afghanistan Images © 2015 Niazmina
Salang, Afghanistan Images © 2015 Niazmina

Memoirs of A Desperate Housewife: My Resolve

Why did I marry? That is the question I so often hear, not only from myself, but from others who are as perplexed as I am. What possible reason was enough for me to give up everything my future could’ve held. Of course I had a choice, but did I make the wrong choice? Was it just the pheromones embrace? I have pondered that question, among others for many years. I am no closer to an answer now as when the haunting question arose within my tattered mind. It was a decision I naturally took to heart and spent a great deal of time, energy, prayers and tears deciding. So why the eventual despairingly lonesome state?

It was from this rock bottom emotional state, that I made a decision to break free from my lonely prison, which was what I had come to view my life within the walls of my marriage as, I felt as free as a bird just learning to spread it’s wings and fly. I had made yet another heart felt decision, this time a dash in the opposite direction of my gradual emotional and mental decay. I had openly embrace the big monster divorce. It was liberating and at the same time frightening. I had lost so much of myself during my marriage that I wasn’t sure who I was, probably more frightening was that I didn’t know who I wanted to be. I felt a sense of urgency as one been cooped up for many years and finally set free, having an overwhelming feeling to take action and move onward with my life, shaking off my stagnant existence.

“It was from this rock bottom emotional state, that I made a decision to break free from my lonely prison, which was what I had come to view my life within the walls of my marriage as, I felt as free as a bird just learning to spread it’s wings and fly.”

In my case, hope was the only option. Considering I had survived an inward desolation for sometime, and hadn’t deployed into the dark abyss that results from a total loss of a saving grace. I choose to move onward and upward and thus allowed opportunity to envelope my existence. It was at the moment that I embraced my circumstances, not as a consequence, but as a catalyst and lesson, that set forth my awakening, my emancipation, my resolve. It was I who created the illusion of marital bliss, and it was I who refused to let go of the imagery of exalted weakness in our sufferings. Thus, I was perpetually surviving rather than thriving. In essence, my house of cards was bound to fall. So it did, and mighty was it’s fall, but during it’s fall, I was lifted up.

It is at our lowest points in life where our hearts seem to be open and alert to our surroundings and can either emit a sense of hope or hopelessness. Suffering, when embraced, has a way of bringing you to your absolute lowest at which point it proceeds to bring you to your absolute best. Dwelling on your supposed failures and shortcomings do nothing to propel you into a furtherance of existence and higher state of being. Taking this fact to heart, I enthusiastically thrust myself into social outings of informal and formal gatherings. Upon doing so I met people of similar circumstances, although placed there by different situations. This deliberate social distraction proved to benefit me by influencing and restructuring my sense of self and well being. Not to say that there weren’t any negative aspects to this new found freedom. On the contrary, there were many, but they all served there own purpose in the renewal of my mind and spirit.

“It is at our lowest points in life where our hearts seem to be open and alert to our surroundings and can either emit a sense of hope or hopelessness.”

One such aspect came with the resurgence of my sexuality, no holds bar….

To Be Continued….

To Look Back Or Not: The Ultimate Question

Does looking back make us stronger
Or make the pain last longer
I wish I had understood
The feelings you shared
All misunderstood

image

I didn’t believe
I didn’t see
Everything you meant to me
My heart really concealed
My eyes didn’t see
Now in my awareness of things unseen
I am trapped in what could have been
Was it illusion
Was it just a dream

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Images © 2013-2015

Copyright © 2013-2015 Niazmina