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Journey to Afghanistan - Chapter 2, page 6

Night and Day - by Ken Magee

As I crossed that open area I couldn't help but pause a bit to view the impressive ramparts of the Hindu Kush Mountains looming to the South. The blowing sand had mostly obscured them the day before. It was a rugged range of mountains. Snow extended from the high peaks to near the edge of the desert at its feet. No timber appeared in the valleys between crags, such as we would expect at home. I thought, "This sight would certainly excite a mountain climbers heart!"

Briefly I noted the surrounding buildings, adobe or brick-walled, mostly with adobe roofs. Some roofs had grown grass in warmer weather, which was now dry and yellowed. High adobe walls enclosed the small back yards of many. A few thin lines of smoke ascended from some of the houses to mingle in a slight haze. To my right rose the walls of an ancient fortress with eroding gun emplacements showing the effects of time and weather. In a small yard about a hundred feet distant, a man, turbaned and with a thick coat paced back and forth. Mud clung to his shoes. A rifle was slung over one shoulder. He occasionally glanced my way. I remember thinking, "this is Afghanistan" and hoping that our bombers hadn't destroyed some of his family.

Hurrying on to the eating area I passed through a small enclosed room at the top of the stairs with its long row of outdoor shoes. My fleece-lined boots were there. Opening the door to the eating area I viewed an old table with chairs for about 8 people. At the opposite end of the room was a long purple and very worn sofa. It appeared to have severe scoliosis and was near terminal. Close by was a small diesel stove, a replica of the one in the men's sleeping room. And it was cold! Although I could hear stirrings from the kitchen I was the first to the dining area and so the ritual was repeated: diesel started - drip, drip, .... Many matches - scratch, scratch, ...., and finally a burst of flame. It would make a good place to huddle.

Hamayoun entered the room quietly with his stack of fresh-baked bread and two thermos pitchers, one with hot tea and the other with hot water. We greeted each other with "Salaam a lakum," and "w lakum a salaam," and with our right hands quickly crossed our hearts and then shook hands. I was learning. I liked the sparkle in his eyes. He was a smiler and eager to help me in my fumbling. His English was as nonexistent as my Dari so we had considerable fun trying to understand each other and considerable reason to smile. He returned to the kitchen to get some goat cheese, a butter-like spread, marmalade, and chunky peanut butter. Others of our group were quickly appearing and after greetings and considerable chuckling over the previous day's events, we seated ourselves, and someone prayed our meal's grace.

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