We crossed the suspension bridge to the village on the other side
…because I wanted to see the holly oaks there, and Dana hoped to find plants on the rocky scree that hadn’t been eaten by goats. I knew the trees were oaks, because Najib had asked a guard at the last checkpoint. Wild almonds bloomed amid the oaks. I felt the tough, thorny leaves of the live oaks, then bent down to gather some acorns. One of them had the telltale hole of acorn weevils. I could develop a lesson from this.
A young boy was playing on the packed dirt in front of his home and ran out to join us as walked up a goat trail (Dana wouldn’t find any plants here) above the Panshir River. The waters of the river rushed gray with sediment through the gorge and mountains rose on all sides, layers of limestone tilted sideways. The trail was gravelly and our shoes slipped underneath us as we scrambled up the slope. The boy pointed across the river to his school. It was a lovely new building with trees planted in the courtyard and window sills painted a cheerful green. He asked if I could come teach science at their school; his teachers didn’t seem to know very much. I told him, yes I could imagine building a small home on this side of the river near his house and crossing the bridge to teach every day.
A gaggle of girls ran out their front door. One of them, dressed in a long red dress and pants, waved and smiled; then she galloped up to meet us and stuck her hand out right at me in a greeting. I grinned broadly. “Chai mekwahid?” (Will you take tea with us?) she asked, and we accepted. Her sisters led us through the large wooden door of their compound into a courtyard. A boulder with a sledge hammer laying nearby was in the center. Someone had been breaking it up the hard way. A smoky door led into the kitchen. We were ushered into a greeting room, spread with carpets and pads against the wall. The ceiling was covered with bright cloth. There was nothing else in the simple room, nothing but cleanliness and fresh air. We sat on the cushions until the mother and other sisters came in to join us. Suddenly Dana asked if it was really appropriate that we had come into this home – especially he and Najib – without a male present. He turned out to be prescient because shortly afterward, a young man entered the room and we stood up to greet him. He was the eldest son. He didn’t smile as he greeted us. He spoke to the mother and they left the room together with the girls. We sat in the room with a younger brother, whom we had met on the other side of the bridge. He continued smiling, but outside we could hear shouting.
We stood up to take our exit, apologizing to the younger son. As we left the house, more yelling and this time, the sounds of hitting. I looked back at the doorway of the house and the small boy who had joined us on our hike came running out, crying and holding the back of his head. Who knows what was happening to the bright young girl who had bounded up the hill to meet us.
Najib was very disturbed. He said in all his travels he had never met such a man. Neither had I. Afghans are overwhelmingly welcoming. However, in this country, it is the men who rule the household and they can behave as they wish. As I watched, the elder son came out of the door and stood gazing at us near the bridge. I stared back. Then I shook my finger back and forth in the age-old gesture, “For shame!”
