My first encounter with female students came a few days ago, when Wahida arranged for us to visit the local Bagrami school during the hours of women's instruction. Because there are no co-ed classrooms, the females take the school in the early morning, and the males in the afternoon. Despite the division of gender in the seats, coeducational faculty is permissible. Whether this is due to the scarcity of female teachers or patriarchal authoritarianism (or some zesty combination of both) I am not sure.
The first classroom we visited, Wahida talked about the FabLab, why girls especially should come and learn about computers. After she had finished, I also asked the girls what they want to be when they grow up: The responses, in order of popularity:
Doctor
Teacher
Engineer (!)
"Your Colleagues, The Boys, are all coming every day after classes, and they are very smart." I said. "So I am sure you must be even smarter." This got some giggles. Not a fair statement, but sometimes girls need to have some fun at the expense of boys.
One young lady stuck out in my mind. In a class of students ranging in age from (I'm guessing) 11 to 14, she was one of the youngest (People here are a little on the smaller side, so when I estimate a child's age I tack on 2-3 years, depending on how happy they look. sad, stressed out people age faster everywhere on the planet) But she stood at her desk and spoke passionately in a loud and squeaky voice that in the Quaran the prophet Mohammed (peace be upon him) said that women and men were to be equal. But men do not want us to be equal. I had to argue with my dad just to come here. And it's not fair, dammit. There was much applause.
Adriana made a very good point in all of the classes - "Women have always had to work hard for equality. Even in the united states, equality with men is still relatively new. Everyone must work hard to maintain it." We were left with lingering promises - "I will come, but I must get permission from my father" the girls all said. Not just the students - the female teachers also required permission from their families to come to the lab, probably only 5 blocks away.
In our followup with the principal, I had the opportunity to meet some of the male instructors, who filed in for tea when the bell rang. Some of them were religious, old fashioned hardliners, and had pointed questions for us.
"Why should I let my daughter go? How do I know she will be safe?" One old gentleman asked.
I had Wahida translate for me - "Sir, my father is very strict. At first, he did not want me to come here. But I showed him pictures and let him talk to my boss (an embellishment, but whatever), and now he is happy that I am here and is convinced of my safety halfway across the world." This seemed to placate them. There are some closed-minded folks, but these we can work with. It's the zealots and extremists, whom we can never hope to convince of anything, that are the real danger. And you don't find those people teaching sums to fifth grade girls. You find them sending death threats to the girls whose families want them to learn math.
Our visit must have worked because as of a couple days ago, the Fab Lab was packed with a batch of... little girls! And some older girls! This was a heartening development, although it underscored the sore need for parity.
I was frustrated that two of the female instructors who had promised to come were not there. This left us with three rooms of waiting young ladies, without even an instructor in their native tongue. One room occupied itself by appointing a sort of drill instructor, who would shout out the names of computer components as her classmates repeated after her:
"Mouse!" She would shout
"MOUSE!" They all rejoined
"Keyboard!"
"KEYBOARD!"
"Monitor!"
"MONITOR"
"CPU!"
"CPU!"
"Mouse!"... and on and on. For an hour.
To make matters worse, there were some network problems that day - so there was no internet. And I, in my stupidity, had failed as yet to familiarize myself with the Sugar OS. When I walked into a class full of ten year old girls, huddled four to an OLPC, I was ashamed and frustrated to be unable even to help them take pictures with it. So instead I fired up iTunes on my mac book. Because if there is one thing that transcends language it is Roadrunner Cartoons. Sitting on the floor, surrounded by 15 little Afghan girls making "meep meep" noises, instilling in them a simultaneous love of Chuck Jones and technology... this is so deeply gratifying I can't even put it into words. I will treasure this moment until I die.
And then, there's Sadia.
Meeting this young woman was simultaneously inspiring and heartbreaking. The day after the girls came for the first time, Mehrab came to my room to let me know that there was a tenth form girl who wanted to learn algebra. She was accompanied by one younger girl on the first day, and two more younger girls on the second day. What is most disheartening is the difference between Sadia and The Boys. She is widely considered by her peers to be the cleverest girl in her form, yet her skills lag her male counterparts by at least a year. She brought the tenth form book, and wanted help with what I assume was her homework. Yet we couldn't move ahead to manipulating single variable rational equations. She hadn't mastered fractions.
Keep in mind, this is a problem I encounter frequently in American classrooms, boys and girls alike. Students are shuffled ahead into more advanced classes, awarded marginally passing grades for performance that by any reasonable metric would be considered failure, and then expected to keep pace with curricula they're clearly unprepared for. It's unfair to everybody, and this attitude of "preserve the student's ego at any expense" has led to our pathetic national losses in education. If anyone wonders why our infrastructure at home is failing, why our public science programs are languishing and why everyone in the first world has better broadband than we do - look no further than our dismal math and science performance, compared even to developing countries like China and India.
I'm not convinced that this is the fault of dependence on standardized testing, necessarily - though I'm no fan of "teaching to the test." I am, however, convinced that part of our problem is cultural. At home, when I ask a class full of regular kids (i.e., not gifted, not accelerated in any way) what they want to be when they grow up, I get
Professional Athlete
Singer
Regular kids are informed by the media - and our media is the shallowest, most vapid media on the planet. It's purposefully designed to shorten attention spans and make people want to buy shit they don't need - and the best way to do this is with images of sex and violence. Film and television - really, advertising - have elevated the art of materialism to a science. And it has made our children very stupid indeed. This combined with the comforts of industrialization have also made them lazy. No wonder we are considered "the great satan."
Our cultural differences are reflected in the marvelous performance of the boys' math class. The boys are dynamic, focused, anxious to participate, eager to succeed. I am led to understand that their normal coursework is very rote, which is not how I do things. I talk for a while, then we all participate - the students come to the board to solve problems, and the ones who get stuck are assisted by peers. It is often difficult to get kids to come to the board in the US (depending on the class) but here the kids eat it up. They do their homework. They bring questions from their other class. They correct me when I forget an exponent. These are fantastic students, because they value the opportunity to learn more. I wish kids back in the states did as well.
What's interesting is, the boys seem to have no problem learning from me because I am female. It could be because the impression of competence endowed by my American-ness overrides gender biases. I also talk and act with confidence, not deference - it's amazing how simple postural cues can be used to manipulate teenage boys - in any language. I'm sure some portion of them are coming for the simple novelty of interacting with a girl of any nationality who is smart and looks them in the eye.
In talking to some of the NGO workers, I have learned more about the achievement disparity here. Even men who are college-educated professionals often marry women who are pig-ignorant: illiterate, uncurious, unable even to identify their own country on a map. One of the guests here at the Taj is a woman named Cecelia - she has worked with many local families and expressed some frustration that the husbands do not hire tutors for their wives. But in my opinion it is too late for tutors once a woman becomes a wife and mother. Not that tutoring for these (nominally) grown women would be bad - education is my short answer for everything. But those resources would be far better invested in the daughters of these worldly men - as much as they are willing to provide, and the earlier the better.
Sadia has the same drive and desire to learn as the boys, but if other girls have it they are slow in coming. Perhaps their families are unwilling to let them consort with us - perhaps they are shy. I suspect that the critical period has passed for many, and that they will never have this desire. After all, many girls are married by the time they are 18 or 19 here (some as young as menarche). I know I didn't really focus on what I wanted to do with my brain until I was 17, and I grew up with every advantage in the world. But then, I can expect to live about twice as long as the average Afghan. Which makes the need for education so very urgent.
So even if they can't remember how to find the roots of an nth degree polynomial, I would still like to leave "my" young men with higher expectations of the women in their life. I want them to think that intelligence is a virtue in girls. Even if there is a tragic shortage of educated women for their mothers to select for them, when they are fathers in a few short years I hope my students will encourage their daughters the same way they will their sons.
What is pleasing is the knowledge that the people we are turning out at the Fab Lab will be the Best and Brightest of tomorrow. These are the kids who are going to rebuild this country. We've already got them on the internet, sending out feelers, talking to people all over the world, learning that there is more to life than the way things have always been done here at home. The promise of technolgy and freedom is tangible to them.
And never doubt it, kids. Freedom IS our primary export. For good or for ill.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Like a suit and tie, except if you don't wear it they kill you.
Wahida is the coordinator of the Fab Lab. She's an extremely competent english speaker, and has been teaching me the Pashto alphabet. On the third or fourth day we were here, she invited Adriana and me to come to her home and meet her family.
Adriana and I, hijabed to the nines, waited inside the gate of the Fab Lab for a taxi to arrive. Wahida herself arrived on foot, wearing a burka (what I have taken to referring to as "The Blue Blankie"). She was escorted by a much younger cousin or brother, who rode on her lap in the taxi.
Once inside the densely carpeted cab, she threw back the veil and greeted us with three kisses each. "I am so happy today that you are coming to my home." she said. She looked sideways at Adriana, and asked "Are you angry?"
"No! Of course not. I'm happy." Adriana is observant and sometimes reserved (though far from shy). Not what we'd think of as angry, but her pensive demeanor is sometimes off-putting to Afghans. People would spend the rest of the day asking, "Sister - why are you so upset?"
Wahida's father is the head of the Veterinary faculty at the local university. Their entire family lives in a sort of condo complex attached to the campus. We headed upstairs, through a courtyard with chickens and children, into a room lined with the pinkest curtains imaginable and comfy low cushions on the floor. This, Wahida explained, was the study where she and her sisters do their homework.
"Why are you so angry today?" She asked us both. "Please, this is my home and you are my sisters. You must be comfortable here." I guess we must have been a little high-strung, in our eagerness not to be rude. I got the message and explained, "It's an honor to be invited to your house, and we don't want to embarrass you. We're still learning how not to be jerky americans. We'll try to relax."
We first met her father, who had been translating English textbooks into Pashto for his students. He came and sat with us, welcomed us to his home, and asked about our mission.
"We are not bad people," He told us, apologetically. "We have had much fighting here, but only some Afghans are bad. They ruin things for everyone. There is so much destruction here, but we are not all bad." It's funny - I wanted to tell him the same thing about Americans.
We would come to learn that Wahida's family is very erudite and cosmopolitan by Afghan standards. Still, our next destination from the girly study (complete with exactly seventeen stuffed animals, Wahida told us) was the outside oven. Her mother and aunt were baking nan in the mud oven outside - pictures are attached. Her mom embraced us both like we had grown up next door and were coming home for the first time in a decade. We also met some small cousins and Wahida's youngest sister, who is a firecracker. I didn't have a chance to meet any brothers.
Heading back upstairs, we visited a next-door neighbor, the wife of one of the professors. She must have been about our age - What was interesting to me was, after Wahida introduced us, she felt compelled to explain that her neighbor had no children. They were both almost apologetic about it. Her neighbor even gestured to her womb, and made some explanation about possibly being sick. I wasn't sure what to say. She showed us the lovely view of the neighborhood from her patio. Overhead, helicopters buzzed. American? Blackwater? I'm not the expert. "A bird for every ghetto," I thought.
I was struck by the homey, open nature of the complex. Doors were open, neighbors were like family. This is almost impossibly precious and rare in Los Angeles. Here, it's the norm.
We headed back for tea and a sit with Wahida's female relatives. It was a delightful, girly day. One of her cousins, a tenth-grader named Soroyia, came to ply some english on us. Soroyia is an aspiring dentist. As we sat, drank tea, and applied henna, I asked questions about the subjective experience of females. "Wahida, what happens if you don't wear the Blue Blanket?"
"The Burka? People make problems for you. My parents don't want me to wear it."
"No?"
"No. There was a time when I did not, but people sent a letter to my father. He became very afraid. I was sent to Kabul."
Over the course of the afternoon, we heard more of her family's story. There are competing political factions at the local university: old-guard holdovers from the communist days (Wahida's dad and the University chancellor fall into this category) vs. the kind of militant extremists Faux News would have us believe Afghanistan is peopled with exclusively. What few moderates there are suffer the derision of both. Elections are coming at the end of summer, and tensions are high.
All of the girls in Wahida's family are attending school, and this is not easy for them. Their house has been set on fire. While there are surely more nuanced politics at work, the women are an easy target for the aggression of the "narrow minded religious people", many of whom are classmates and professors within the university community. People they know personally, and see on a daily basis. Even when you know exactly who the bad guys are, it's not so easy as just killing them, if they're your neighbors and you know their brothers and maybe their brothers are ok, but if you take out one extremist now his brother has your fucking number and if you have made an enemy of an Afghan, you have made an error.
These are old grudges, complicated by history and an endless parade of would-be colonists. The Greeks, the English, the Germans, the Russians, the Americans... As we sat eating an enormous spread of food, in which Adriana and I felt we barely made enough of a dent to be marginally polite, Wahida's mom talked to us in Pashto. She said many of the same things her husband told us when we arrived: We are not all bad people. We are happy you have come. People try to make trouble with us. They say because we allow our daughters to go out, we are not muslim. They make problems for us. Sixteen of my family gone in one day, to a Taliban bomb. I am so happy you are here today. We have slaughtered a hen for you. Please, you are my daughters now, you must eat more.
Wahida, why are your sisters so upset?
Adriana and I, hijabed to the nines, waited inside the gate of the Fab Lab for a taxi to arrive. Wahida herself arrived on foot, wearing a burka (what I have taken to referring to as "The Blue Blankie"). She was escorted by a much younger cousin or brother, who rode on her lap in the taxi.
Once inside the densely carpeted cab, she threw back the veil and greeted us with three kisses each. "I am so happy today that you are coming to my home." she said. She looked sideways at Adriana, and asked "Are you angry?"
"No! Of course not. I'm happy." Adriana is observant and sometimes reserved (though far from shy). Not what we'd think of as angry, but her pensive demeanor is sometimes off-putting to Afghans. People would spend the rest of the day asking, "Sister - why are you so upset?"
Wahida's father is the head of the Veterinary faculty at the local university. Their entire family lives in a sort of condo complex attached to the campus. We headed upstairs, through a courtyard with chickens and children, into a room lined with the pinkest curtains imaginable and comfy low cushions on the floor. This, Wahida explained, was the study where she and her sisters do their homework.
"Why are you so angry today?" She asked us both. "Please, this is my home and you are my sisters. You must be comfortable here." I guess we must have been a little high-strung, in our eagerness not to be rude. I got the message and explained, "It's an honor to be invited to your house, and we don't want to embarrass you. We're still learning how not to be jerky americans. We'll try to relax."
We first met her father, who had been translating English textbooks into Pashto for his students. He came and sat with us, welcomed us to his home, and asked about our mission.
"We are not bad people," He told us, apologetically. "We have had much fighting here, but only some Afghans are bad. They ruin things for everyone. There is so much destruction here, but we are not all bad." It's funny - I wanted to tell him the same thing about Americans.
We would come to learn that Wahida's family is very erudite and cosmopolitan by Afghan standards. Still, our next destination from the girly study (complete with exactly seventeen stuffed animals, Wahida told us) was the outside oven. Her mother and aunt were baking nan in the mud oven outside - pictures are attached. Her mom embraced us both like we had grown up next door and were coming home for the first time in a decade. We also met some small cousins and Wahida's youngest sister, who is a firecracker. I didn't have a chance to meet any brothers.
Heading back upstairs, we visited a next-door neighbor, the wife of one of the professors. She must have been about our age - What was interesting to me was, after Wahida introduced us, she felt compelled to explain that her neighbor had no children. They were both almost apologetic about it. Her neighbor even gestured to her womb, and made some explanation about possibly being sick. I wasn't sure what to say. She showed us the lovely view of the neighborhood from her patio. Overhead, helicopters buzzed. American? Blackwater? I'm not the expert. "A bird for every ghetto," I thought.
I was struck by the homey, open nature of the complex. Doors were open, neighbors were like family. This is almost impossibly precious and rare in Los Angeles. Here, it's the norm.
We headed back for tea and a sit with Wahida's female relatives. It was a delightful, girly day. One of her cousins, a tenth-grader named Soroyia, came to ply some english on us. Soroyia is an aspiring dentist. As we sat, drank tea, and applied henna, I asked questions about the subjective experience of females. "Wahida, what happens if you don't wear the Blue Blanket?"
"The Burka? People make problems for you. My parents don't want me to wear it."
"No?"
"No. There was a time when I did not, but people sent a letter to my father. He became very afraid. I was sent to Kabul."
Over the course of the afternoon, we heard more of her family's story. There are competing political factions at the local university: old-guard holdovers from the communist days (Wahida's dad and the University chancellor fall into this category) vs. the kind of militant extremists Faux News would have us believe Afghanistan is peopled with exclusively. What few moderates there are suffer the derision of both. Elections are coming at the end of summer, and tensions are high.
All of the girls in Wahida's family are attending school, and this is not easy for them. Their house has been set on fire. While there are surely more nuanced politics at work, the women are an easy target for the aggression of the "narrow minded religious people", many of whom are classmates and professors within the university community. People they know personally, and see on a daily basis. Even when you know exactly who the bad guys are, it's not so easy as just killing them, if they're your neighbors and you know their brothers and maybe their brothers are ok, but if you take out one extremist now his brother has your fucking number and if you have made an enemy of an Afghan, you have made an error.
These are old grudges, complicated by history and an endless parade of would-be colonists. The Greeks, the English, the Germans, the Russians, the Americans... As we sat eating an enormous spread of food, in which Adriana and I felt we barely made enough of a dent to be marginally polite, Wahida's mom talked to us in Pashto. She said many of the same things her husband told us when we arrived: We are not all bad people. We are happy you have come. People try to make trouble with us. They say because we allow our daughters to go out, we are not muslim. They make problems for us. Sixteen of my family gone in one day, to a Taliban bomb. I am so happy you are here today. We have slaughtered a hen for you. Please, you are my daughters now, you must eat more.
Wahida, why are your sisters so upset?
Sunday, April 5, 2009
The Hospital
We visited almost a week ago, but in that time, I feel ill. There are some pictures posted. Unfortunately, I was unable to collect very many, due to the sensitive nature of the location - that and people kind of freak a little when they see women with cameras, or so I'm told.
I've struggled with how to present this experience, because the state of health care is so complex in this region, and in the country at large. There are so many NGOs (Non-Government Organizations), so many government agencies, so many charities, so many conflicting agendas... and the only thing that ties them together is the scarcity of funding.
There are two hospitals in Jalalabad - the National Health Hospital, and the University Hospital. They are 600 yards apart, and run by two different Government agencies - The Ministry of Public Health and the Ministry of Education. Because these are different (one could say competing) agencies, they are unallowed to share resources.
Our visit to the National Health Hospital was occasioned by the arrival of Pete and Kim of MedWeb, a telemedicine company.
MedWeb's telemedicine devices allow practitioners in rural areas to upload biometric data, images and medical files directly to major hospitals via servers. Some of the more clever devices for use in the field include a portable ultrasound that can be run via laptop and an EKG glove - instead of meticulously placing electrodes every time, a patient can be asked to wear the glove and lay it over their chest, which situates the 'trodes in their proper location without fuss.
While at the hospital, Pete gave a quick presentation for the department heads of the hospital. There were two female doctors, both OB/GYN (not a shock), and probably 12 male physicians, trained all over the world. Norway, Korea, Pakistan, Russia, UK.
Really, the thing to do is point you to Kim's Blog for MedWeb. The reality is that I am in many ways ignorant of the delicate political dances that must be performed by and for officials here in order to get anything done, and I don't want to misrepresent MedWeb's fine work. They also ran around and did a lot of stuff while I was down for the count. Kim's blog may be found here:
http://medwebcpo.blogspot.com/
If you're interested in more detailed insights into the health care situation on the ground, I would strongly suggest clicking the above link. Kim's reportage is sometimes inspiring, sometimes appalling, always interesting. I am glad to have had the opportunity to work with Pete and Kim.
I've struggled with how to present this experience, because the state of health care is so complex in this region, and in the country at large. There are so many NGOs (Non-Government Organizations), so many government agencies, so many charities, so many conflicting agendas... and the only thing that ties them together is the scarcity of funding.
There are two hospitals in Jalalabad - the National Health Hospital, and the University Hospital. They are 600 yards apart, and run by two different Government agencies - The Ministry of Public Health and the Ministry of Education. Because these are different (one could say competing) agencies, they are unallowed to share resources.
Our visit to the National Health Hospital was occasioned by the arrival of Pete and Kim of MedWeb, a telemedicine company.
MedWeb's telemedicine devices allow practitioners in rural areas to upload biometric data, images and medical files directly to major hospitals via servers. Some of the more clever devices for use in the field include a portable ultrasound that can be run via laptop and an EKG glove - instead of meticulously placing electrodes every time, a patient can be asked to wear the glove and lay it over their chest, which situates the 'trodes in their proper location without fuss.
While at the hospital, Pete gave a quick presentation for the department heads of the hospital. There were two female doctors, both OB/GYN (not a shock), and probably 12 male physicians, trained all over the world. Norway, Korea, Pakistan, Russia, UK.
Really, the thing to do is point you to Kim's Blog for MedWeb. The reality is that I am in many ways ignorant of the delicate political dances that must be performed by and for officials here in order to get anything done, and I don't want to misrepresent MedWeb's fine work. They also ran around and did a lot of stuff while I was down for the count. Kim's blog may be found here:
http://medwebcpo.blogspot.
If you're interested in more detailed insights into the health care situation on the ground, I would strongly suggest clicking the above link. Kim's reportage is sometimes inspiring, sometimes appalling, always interesting. I am glad to have had the opportunity to work with Pete and Kim.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
I'm 23, I think
I'm not sure if the hesitance in answering such a simple question, "How old are you?" comes from people genuinely not being sure - or if there is some sort of translational hitch. Dealing with numbers in a nonnative language is notoriously difficult. Be that as it may, none of the visitors to the Fab Lab were able to answer me immediately, and with certainty.
The Fab Lab hosts a cadre of students from the local secondary school every day at 2 pm (except Friday, the sabbath). Today was my first day - as promised, I learned how to use a laser cutter.
The Fab Lab, according to the Wikipedia site, is "a small-scale workshop with an array of computer controlled tools that cover several different length scales and various materials, with the aim to make "almost anything". This includes technology-enabled products generally perceived as limited to mass production."
Wikipedia goes on to mention that the Fab Lab initiative was inspired, at least in part, by a course called "How to Make (Almost) Anything" (MAS.863). Thanks MIT OpencourseWare! I might have to look at your syllabus. I'm sure there are many suitable Fab Lab Projects contained therein. The kids here are already building satellite dishes... but maybe there are other things we could try.
So there is a laser cutter, a 3D wax (plastic?) printer, a vinyl cutter, and a bigass shop-bot that can cut wood - along with several computers. There arent enough chairs, however. I suggested that this might be a fine project for some of the students to take on - let's make chairs with the shop bot! But alas, there is not enough juice to run the shop bot. It's a power whore, and all of the power here comes from diesel. Which means that just to keep the lights on here costs about 9000 USD per month.
Of course, for the cost of a single month's operation a top of the line solar system could be installed - but the up-front funding simply isn't there. There are also local rivers whose potential energy could be hydrodynamically harnessed - but if there is not enough money for chairs, where are we going to get the money for the technology that would entail?
It was interesting to meet and interact with local students. Many do not have any English, but some are quite fluent. I met one young lady - Wahida. She taught me the first several letters of the Pashto alphabet and invited Adriana and myself to visit her home on Friday, which Dr. Dave assures us is a good thing.
Possibly the most heartening experience I had in the Fab Lab today was watching the nephew of M (our guide from the last installment) as he surfed the internet, in the manner of little boys. By little, I mean - he looks 13 or 14... It's hard to tell. One of the things I have noticed is that even the people who estimate themselves in their early twenties look to be in their thirties. In a country where the life expectancy is 41.5, the latest acceptable age for a girl to be married is 24 (I think).
Anyway, so, M's nephew. When I head in to the Laser Cutter room, homeboy is in there playing a first person shooter over the internet. With some other kids, who knows where. And my first thought is, "Hell yeah. THIS is what kids your age should be doing with a fatty internet connection." Unfortunately, I was unable to get a picture of him playing the game, because he saw me and kind of freaked a little and shut it down. I didn't even have a chance to ask him what he was playing.
So, as Jalal taught me the specifics of taking a black and white image into cad and sending it to the laser cutter, M's nephew opens a Yahoo! chat client and starts chatting with... people. Girl people! In English! One of the people he had a window going with was named - wait for it - BIG TITTYS. And I'm thinking, "Attaboy." He must have seen me watching, though, because he signs off with "ok I must go now talk with you leter." And then - like a professional slacker - homeboy opens up an excel spreadsheet and starts clicking around randomly, like he's actually doing shit.
I know that trick, kid. I'm just glad you know it too.
As for me, I'm feeling a little better. Sharp stomach pains still, but no fever and no more puking. Now my tonsils are sore. The bugs are on the move. Was considering heading down to the bar, as there are some interesting guests tonight, but Tim promised to take us out shooting at the range, so I kind of want to make sure I'm 100%. Carbines are the best kind of incentive.
We'll probably make a trip out the the university in a day or two.
Part of me really wants to kick this bug (or, these several bugs) but part of me is also in no hurry. Without arranging for an escort, there is no way to leave the Taj and wander around safely. That's the only real bummer. The accommodations here are world class, but it's not like I can just take to the city on foot, by myself. I'm obliged to spend a lot of time here. Which is a fine experience in and of itself.
The Fab Lab hosts a cadre of students from the local secondary school every day at 2 pm (except Friday, the sabbath). Today was my first day - as promised, I learned how to use a laser cutter.
The Fab Lab, according to the Wikipedia site, is "a small-scale workshop with an array of computer controlled tools that cover several different length scales and various materials, with the aim to make "almost anything". This includes technology-enabled products generally perceived as limited to mass production."
Wikipedia goes on to mention that the Fab Lab initiative was inspired, at least in part, by a course called "How to Make (Almost) Anything" (MAS.863). Thanks MIT OpencourseWare! I might have to look at your syllabus. I'm sure there are many suitable Fab Lab Projects contained therein. The kids here are already building satellite dishes... but maybe there are other things we could try.
So there is a laser cutter, a 3D wax (plastic?) printer, a vinyl cutter, and a bigass shop-bot that can cut wood - along with several computers. There arent enough chairs, however. I suggested that this might be a fine project for some of the students to take on - let's make chairs with the shop bot! But alas, there is not enough juice to run the shop bot. It's a power whore, and all of the power here comes from diesel. Which means that just to keep the lights on here costs about 9000 USD per month.
Of course, for the cost of a single month's operation a top of the line solar system could be installed - but the up-front funding simply isn't there. There are also local rivers whose potential energy could be hydrodynamically harnessed - but if there is not enough money for chairs, where are we going to get the money for the technology that would entail?
It was interesting to meet and interact with local students. Many do not have any English, but some are quite fluent. I met one young lady - Wahida. She taught me the first several letters of the Pashto alphabet and invited Adriana and myself to visit her home on Friday, which Dr. Dave assures us is a good thing.
Possibly the most heartening experience I had in the Fab Lab today was watching the nephew of M (our guide from the last installment) as he surfed the internet, in the manner of little boys. By little, I mean - he looks 13 or 14... It's hard to tell. One of the things I have noticed is that even the people who estimate themselves in their early twenties look to be in their thirties. In a country where the life expectancy is 41.5, the latest acceptable age for a girl to be married is 24 (I think).
Anyway, so, M's nephew. When I head in to the Laser Cutter room, homeboy is in there playing a first person shooter over the internet. With some other kids, who knows where. And my first thought is, "Hell yeah. THIS is what kids your age should be doing with a fatty internet connection." Unfortunately, I was unable to get a picture of him playing the game, because he saw me and kind of freaked a little and shut it down. I didn't even have a chance to ask him what he was playing.
So, as Jalal taught me the specifics of taking a black and white image into cad and sending it to the laser cutter, M's nephew opens a Yahoo! chat client and starts chatting with... people. Girl people! In English! One of the people he had a window going with was named - wait for it - BIG TITTYS. And I'm thinking, "Attaboy." He must have seen me watching, though, because he signs off with "ok I must go now talk with you leter." And then - like a professional slacker - homeboy opens up an excel spreadsheet and starts clicking around randomly, like he's actually doing shit.
I know that trick, kid. I'm just glad you know it too.
As for me, I'm feeling a little better. Sharp stomach pains still, but no fever and no more puking. Now my tonsils are sore. The bugs are on the move. Was considering heading down to the bar, as there are some interesting guests tonight, but Tim promised to take us out shooting at the range, so I kind of want to make sure I'm 100%. Carbines are the best kind of incentive.
We'll probably make a trip out the the university in a day or two.
Part of me really wants to kick this bug (or, these several bugs) but part of me is also in no hurry. Without arranging for an escort, there is no way to leave the Taj and wander around safely. That's the only real bummer. The accommodations here are world class, but it's not like I can just take to the city on foot, by myself. I'm obliged to spend a lot of time here. Which is a fine experience in and of itself.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Hey, Mister -
Remember that whole thing about being within 2 lbs of my goal weight? Fuck that. After traveling for 2 straight days, and then landing in a guest house with a full time cook and a lot of delicious nan, let's just say I am glad there is a weight room here.
The house I'm currently staying in was a UN compound, which is interesting because it was built to meet Minimum Operational Security Standards (MOSS). This means that there are some government agencies who are allowed to come visit the Taj (as we affectionately call it), who are not allowed to do things like, f'rinstance, go to the store without an armed escort. Which makes it hard to gather intelligence - cultural, military or otherwise. We have a lot of interesting guests. Thursday night the bar is open. I spent most of the evening chatting with some Blackwater dudes who were perfectly lovely people with wives and dogs, whip smart with a good sense of humor, sick of being in the field.
Unlike a lot of those guys, we can totally go to the store. We went today. Todd wanted to pick up a cellphone. A chinese cellphone. A chinese cellphone that takes two sim cards. And also can record video. Todd is what you would call a "power nerd."
Tim, our badass security detail, advised us that when we go afield we will be stared at. A lot.
I was in the circus, so I assured him that staring is not so much a problem. We were driven by the manager of the guest house, a local named M (I can pronounce, but not spell his name. I don't want to butcher it). So Todd and Adriana and I piled into the SUV with Virginia plates (most of the cars here were stolen. Also, most of them are Toyotas. Make of that what you will) and headed to downtown J-Bad, to the market.
I neglected to bring my camera, but Adriana brought hers. Mea culpa. Pictures later.
We parked on the side of the dirt road, weaved through sidewalk salesmen, buskers, begging children. It's damp and muddy right now. We took a flight of stairs into these catacombs - an electronics market. M led us to a specific booth - I'm guessing one run by his friend.
Now, Todd was in fairly native garb. Adriana and I, while wearing hijab, were also in sweatshirts and jeans. As we waited for the cellphone transaction to complete, we didn't just attract stares, we drew a crowd. In a subterranean space, this can be unnerving. A young guy behind me gave me a jostle - "Hey mister! Hey, mister!" I ignored him - unsure whether he was talking to me (he was) and not wanting to attract more attention. An older guy waiting in line told him off - so he came around the other side of the counter to look us the eye. "Hey mister - why you don't want to talk to me?"
I should mention that while there is a lot of poverty, and a lot of hungry and dirty people, there is a cross section of Afghan men who are wicked handsome. (M is one) And everyone is charming. Hey-Mister was young, maybe around 20 or a little older, and dedicated the next several minutes to giving us dazzling grins and slapping Todd on the back good-naturedly while Todd disassembled and inspected ten different chinese cell phones.
There was a dense crowd of around 30 folks - all men, all ages. Adriana took her camera out and asked M if it would be ok to take some shots. "Sure," he says. "No problem." As soon as she took her camera out, everyone was smiles and handshakes and posing for pictures. There was absolutely zero resentment or hostility. Everyone just wanted to make friends. Turns out Hey-Mister is an english teacher, attending university, and likes Mike Tyson.
We did head from the electronics market to the dressmaker, however. If moving quickly and subtly is of the essence, i want to blend. Adriana and I both got some highly modest native garb - the jeans and sneakers would be a dead giveaway, but with Todd's crazy beard I daresay we might be able to get a little lost in a crowd, if there is a need.
Out in the open streets we got some long stares, sure. But there was none of the claustrophobic mobbing like there had been underground. I guess it was a feature of the architecture but it was a strange place to land in the market.
The in-flight magazine from Dubai to Kabul, poorly translated from Pashto, contained a comic strip depicting the ten different kinds of beggars one is likely to meet in Afghanistan. It was sad, and funny. I'm pretty sure I saw some of them. Hell, I recognized some of them from Hollywood. But when we go back to the market to pick up our dresses from the tailor I won't be nearly so reserved. I am looking forward to shaking more hands, and taking more pictures.
The house I'm currently staying in was a UN compound, which is interesting because it was built to meet Minimum Operational Security Standards (MOSS). This means that there are some government agencies who are allowed to come visit the Taj (as we affectionately call it), who are not allowed to do things like, f'rinstance, go to the store without an armed escort. Which makes it hard to gather intelligence - cultural, military or otherwise. We have a lot of interesting guests. Thursday night the bar is open. I spent most of the evening chatting with some Blackwater dudes who were perfectly lovely people with wives and dogs, whip smart with a good sense of humor, sick of being in the field.
Unlike a lot of those guys, we can totally go to the store. We went today. Todd wanted to pick up a cellphone. A chinese cellphone. A chinese cellphone that takes two sim cards. And also can record video. Todd is what you would call a "power nerd."
Tim, our badass security detail, advised us that when we go afield we will be stared at. A lot.
I was in the circus, so I assured him that staring is not so much a problem. We were driven by the manager of the guest house, a local named M (I can pronounce, but not spell his name. I don't want to butcher it). So Todd and Adriana and I piled into the SUV with Virginia plates (most of the cars here were stolen. Also, most of them are Toyotas. Make of that what you will) and headed to downtown J-Bad, to the market.
I neglected to bring my camera, but Adriana brought hers. Mea culpa. Pictures later.
We parked on the side of the dirt road, weaved through sidewalk salesmen, buskers, begging children. It's damp and muddy right now. We took a flight of stairs into these catacombs - an electronics market. M led us to a specific booth - I'm guessing one run by his friend.
Now, Todd was in fairly native garb. Adriana and I, while wearing hijab, were also in sweatshirts and jeans. As we waited for the cellphone transaction to complete, we didn't just attract stares, we drew a crowd. In a subterranean space, this can be unnerving. A young guy behind me gave me a jostle - "Hey mister! Hey, mister!" I ignored him - unsure whether he was talking to me (he was) and not wanting to attract more attention. An older guy waiting in line told him off - so he came around the other side of the counter to look us the eye. "Hey mister - why you don't want to talk to me?"
I should mention that while there is a lot of poverty, and a lot of hungry and dirty people, there is a cross section of Afghan men who are wicked handsome. (M is one) And everyone is charming. Hey-Mister was young, maybe around 20 or a little older, and dedicated the next several minutes to giving us dazzling grins and slapping Todd on the back good-naturedly while Todd disassembled and inspected ten different chinese cell phones.
There was a dense crowd of around 30 folks - all men, all ages. Adriana took her camera out and asked M if it would be ok to take some shots. "Sure," he says. "No problem." As soon as she took her camera out, everyone was smiles and handshakes and posing for pictures. There was absolutely zero resentment or hostility. Everyone just wanted to make friends. Turns out Hey-Mister is an english teacher, attending university, and likes Mike Tyson.
We did head from the electronics market to the dressmaker, however. If moving quickly and subtly is of the essence, i want to blend. Adriana and I both got some highly modest native garb - the jeans and sneakers would be a dead giveaway, but with Todd's crazy beard I daresay we might be able to get a little lost in a crowd, if there is a need.
Out in the open streets we got some long stares, sure. But there was none of the claustrophobic mobbing like there had been underground. I guess it was a feature of the architecture but it was a strange place to land in the market.
The in-flight magazine from Dubai to Kabul, poorly translated from Pashto, contained a comic strip depicting the ten different kinds of beggars one is likely to meet in Afghanistan. It was sad, and funny. I'm pretty sure I saw some of them. Hell, I recognized some of them from Hollywood. But when we go back to the market to pick up our dresses from the tailor I won't be nearly so reserved. I am looking forward to shaking more hands, and taking more pictures.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
1. Never get involved in a land war in Asia.
2. Don't make fun of Blackwater on the Dubai-Kabul flight. All those big surly white dudes you see? Not on vacation.
3. Jalalabad Road, which connects Kabul and J-Bad, isn't as deadly for nimble civilian vehicles as it is for armored caravans of military personnel.
4. The nimble part is important, however. You do not want to get stuck behind donkeys. Or armored caravans of military personnel.
5. Taliban may be identified by their style of shoes and pants.
6. For some tribes, illiteracy is considered a virtue. Ironically, these are the ones whose attitude toward women is most egalitarian. The reason being: if you're nomadic sheep farmers, losing half of your work force is not an option.
7. The guest house where I am staying is currently providing the internet access for both the university and the hospital in J-Bad. The satellite dish is INFLATABLE! Pictures soon.
8. We are also the only bar in eastern Afghanistan. The firepit is made of mud. And love.
9. There is a tribe from Nepal who so impressed the British with their mercenary skills (100 years ago) that they have become a de facto race of assassins, and are chosen for security applications by westerners throughout asia still today. They are politically distinct from locals and dedicated professionals, as one would expect.
10. Call to prayer at 4:30 in the morning? Really? Really.
3. Jalalabad Road, which connects Kabul and J-Bad, isn't as deadly for nimble civilian vehicles as it is for armored caravans of military personnel.
4. The nimble part is important, however. You do not want to get stuck behind donkeys. Or armored caravans of military personnel.
5. Taliban may be identified by their style of shoes and pants.
6. For some tribes, illiteracy is considered a virtue. Ironically, these are the ones whose attitude toward women is most egalitarian. The reason being: if you're nomadic sheep farmers, losing half of your work force is not an option.
7. The guest house where I am staying is currently providing the internet access for both the university and the hospital in J-Bad. The satellite dish is INFLATABLE! Pictures soon.
8. We are also the only bar in eastern Afghanistan. The firepit is made of mud. And love.
9. There is a tribe from Nepal who so impressed the British with their mercenary skills (100 years ago) that they have become a de facto race of assassins, and are chosen for security applications by westerners throughout asia still today. They are politically distinct from locals and dedicated professionals, as one would expect.
10. Call to prayer at 4:30 in the morning? Really? Really.
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