Tell Me, Why Afghanistan?
Pakistan/Afghanistan Border
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Kelly Sobczak’s travels have included Iran, Pakistan and, now, Afghanistan. |
20 August 2002
My mother warned me not to tell. For most people, there would be no logic, no understanding, no way in hell they would agree with my decision. Certainly not comfortable with my plans, she realizes the futility in trying to sway me. My mother reluctantly supports my travels, but others she fears will not. I shouldn’t tell, but I must. (OK, I don’t have to, but keeping secrets has never been a strong-suit of mine.)
The one question she doesn’t ask, which I expect most will, is “Why?” Other inquiries I reckon will fall under the “Are you crazy?” and “Do you have a death wish?” category. There are answers to the last two questions, with the first being “possibly a tad,” and the second being “no”
But “Why?” Now that’s a tough one.
Truth be told, I don’t feel capable of explaining this hell-bent driving force to myself, much less to others. Call it a combination of a search for adventure, a streak of stubbornness, and an attraction to the unusual and the eccentric. Most likely it will be called other things. Stupid. Na�ve. Irresponsible. Reckless.
The question I ask myself is “Why don’t I feel fear?” Fear for having returned to Pakistan. Fear for heading into Afghanistan in three day’s time.
That is not to say there aren’t moments when my toes tingle with apprehension or when my heart flutters with a whisper of worry. With their brown bullet eyes, steely stone expressions and wild Osama-like beards many Pakistani men appear scary and sinister. (Women in public are few and far between, all sporting headscarves, many completely or partially shrouding their faces.) Silently, men snake after me in the labyrinth alleyways of Peshawar’s Old City, walking when I walk, stopping when I stop. Young teens speak in hushed tones to me as we pass on city streets, and while I don’t understand the words, their suggestive meaning is quite clear. Heads whip around when I waltz into restaurants teeming with testosterone, only to have them stare when I join them, instead of hiding myself in the curtained-off sections reserved for the occasional women who eat out. (Foreign females are a third sex in many Muslim countries. Unlike foreign men, who are restricted from communicating with local women, we have contact with both sexes and aren’t entirely bound by the strict cultural chains weighing down native women.) A lone American, even one wearing the traditional dress of a shalwaar kameez and headscarf, is a strange and curious sight, especially during these tension-filled days when small bands of terrorists are targeting the few Westerners in this controversial country.
But, stony expressions transform into smiles, fierceness becomes friendliness as I am greeted everywhere I go with hospitality, graciousness and warmth. The men want to know where I am from, why I am here and where my husband is. An American in Pakistan raises a few bushy eyebrows. An American venturing into Afghanistan causes a couple of heads to nod in disbelief. A woman who is 33 and still single – horror! – now that is a cause for alarm.
Lost, little lady? Men go out of their way to escort me to bus stands, bazaars and even bathrooms. Heavy load you’re carrying? An old gent insists on toting my burgeoning backpack. Parched by the sultry afternoon sun? The free cups of tea flow endlessly. Need to buy a bus ticket? Please, they insist, let me pay your way. In the one week I have been in Pakistan, I have had more positive experiences with the locals than I did during the four weeks I recently spent in Thailand, the so-called “The Land of Smiles.”
I’m no fool, though many would strongly disagree. It only takes one jihadist, one split second for something to go horribly wrong. So, why this travel-version of Russian Roulette? Why Yemen, Sudan, Iran, Pakistan and now Afghanistan?
There is a zest to life on the road, which only intensifies and amplifies when in off-the-beaten-track countries, especially in Muslim ones. An affinity for Arab lands has been discovered and developed during these past 17 months. Even as I type this, I can still feel the cool carpets teasing my bare toes in Iran’s Emam Reza Shrine. My eyes close and I am now standing silently mesmerized by the one-of-a-kind architecture of the Yemeni capital of Sana’a. The Islamic call to prayer rings in my ears.
A friend recently asked, “How can you tell the good guys from the bad guys?” I can’t. I just have to trust in God, trust my instincts and trust I will make my flight back to the States on October 10. There are moments during this trip, some momentous, some mundane, when my heart swells with happiness and I truly believe I am the luckiest person alive. Moments when it is all I can do not to scream out to God, “Bring it on, Big Guy. Bring it on.” Just don’t bring on the bad guys, will ya.
P.S. I will be incommunicado during my Afghanistan days, but feel free to write. After I return to the U.S. in October, there will be more stories – and maybe I’ll even be able to answer that question: “Why?”
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