The Afghan Queen: A True Story of an American Woman in Afghanistan (35 page)

I told Kit that I thought this would be my last trip to Kabul, but now that I was officially a merchant friend, I would like to return in the spring. Kit was happy about my decision and kissed me on both cheeks.

My son wrote in his journal about his last day in Kabul:

“Sentimentalities come and go. It’s hard to choose if I prefer living in Kabul, in the face of the dangers or to return to the States and the radiation hazards.”

Mike and Noor assure me that the violence will grow as Mujahideen from Pakistan continue to infiltrate. They tell me that no one is safe. Foreigners, and especially Americans, are becoming prime targets.

That settles it for me. Mom knows what’s coming and wants me out of the way. Mom says she will return to Kabul in the spring and that is likely to be her last trip to Kabul. Every time she comes home she says that, “For sure, that was my last trip.”

Mom believes the present government will last through this year at least. But she insists that the Islamic radicals are more of a threat then the Afghans realize. Kim, the Chinese U.N. observer, said that the Russians will either invade in full force or pull out entirely by the end of the year.

Kim thinks that American support for the radical Muslims will grow as long as Russian presence grows. Mom asked Kim what China will do. Kim believes China will sit this one out. China will continue to supply humanitarian aid, but will sit on the sidelines, as far as taking political sides. She insists that China is now fully independent of Soviet influence.

Yes, I want to go back to the States, but Dad’s latest aerogram informed us that he’s going to Atlanta on business for a week or so. Dad considers Atlanta his home town and has many friends and kin there. That doesn’t bother me. By now I’m kind of used to Dad’s weekly business trips. In fact, I’m somewhat relieved that Dad will not need to question me.

I will provide Dad with my Afghan diary. This will give him a daily account of my life in Kabul. Mom and Dad insisted that I keep a detailed daily diary and I’m glad I did. Like Dad, I enjoy writing and it relieves much of my nervousness.

Mom prepared me for the reality that my vacation is over and I will no longer be the “star” of Kabul. I’ll no longer be the center of attention. I’ve listed my friend’s addresses in my journal and plan to write often.

The morning of our departure, I emerged from my room all packed from the night before. Noor was standing at the café entrance, greeting me with his usual salute and bow, his morning comedy act, which always cracked me up. After I stopped laughing, I asked for corn-pops and chi for my last breakfast at Neptune’s Inn.

Noor told me that Nobby is staring in the first Afghan comedy film and that he will also be in the film as Nobby’s side-kick. Noor asked if it was OK to use some of the jokes and tricks I gave him in the film. I’d be honored, I replied. He will try to send me a copy of the film. The title is “Two Fools.”

Noor sat down with me, bringing a glass of juice and a parting gift of posters for my walls at home. In return, I gave Noor all the tricks I had left, including the stink bombs and farting pillow. Our farewells complete, we piled into Jaloni’s VW and drove to the airport. It seemed like everyone on Chicken Street was waving, and I was half-way out the window waving back.

The U.S. Embassy woman I was accompanying back to the States was waiting for me in the airport lounge when we arrived. Some of the embassy staff was there to see her off. Between her friends and mine, we were quite a large group.

We zipped through the red tape in record time. I jokingly asked Mom if they were trying to get rid of us. She said, “Yes, they’re in a hurry to get rid of you—pain in the ass.” Ma kissed and hugged me then we both burst out laughing.

LELA:
I remained in Kabul until the last week in December. Leaving Kabul for the last time, my first stop was Tehran, then Istanbul, Frankfurt and London. I did one day of business in the last three cities. At Heathrow I stayed at the Skyways Hotel. The Afghan Ambassador to England took me to dinner that night.

For me, the Skyway Hotel was a palace. The hotel had legal slot machines, as well as soda and liquor machines. There was also a bazaar of shops, cafés, movie theaters, a bowling alley and an excellent swimming pool. I didn’t have time to explore all those, but I did get in a swim at the hotel pool. Thankfully, they didn’t make a chlorine bath out of it as does the Y.

The photo below shows me arranging a museum display of Afghan crafts. Since there was only a small space allotted for the display, everything looks crowded. I was pissed at the space limitations, but did the best I could in arranging and tagging things.

London Museum Display

The next day, after five phone calls and another business dinner, I finally caught a flight to Newark. After two days at home, Paul and I attended a cousin’s wedding.

Lela and Paul at a Wedding Dance

You can read about my war experiences and last days in Afghanistan in the first chapter,
How It Ends.

In 1978, with the start of the Afghan revolution, Lela and her business partners realized their enterprise was drawing to a close. Over the next two years, when Lela returned to the States, it would be with Afghan ‘tourists.’ The ‘tourists’ were her business partners who needed to seek residency in the States while making preparations to immigrate to other nations.

During the 1978 to 1980 period, Lela helped her business friends relocate their assets to the States, resolve their health issues, and apply for immigration status at various consulates. It seemed only fitting that, just as Lela had been the guest of Afghan families in their country, they would be her guests in the States.

By 1978, it was evident Russian support for Afghanistan was less a threat than tribal rivalry. Russian presence was merely an excuse for tribal war lords to renew their endless attempts at gaining the upper hand.

At that time, tribal war lords adopted the guise of sectarian Islam. Tribal wars became jihads, wars against unbelievers, and jihadists aligned with tribal war lords. Few understood the overall situation, least of all the war lords and jihadists. The international community suspected each other of instigating the violence. What did they all want?

With Lela’s last exit from Kabul in December, 1979, it was no longer safe for Westerners in Afghanistan. As the Russians became increasingly entrenched in Afghanistan over the next decade, tribal warfare increased, and Russians and their Afghan allies became targets.

Support for tribal religious antagonists arrived from the recently successful Iranian Islamic Revolution, Pakistan, China, and covert sources. During the 1980s, Afghan business people began to leave Afghanistan, mostly for Turkey where they could live in relative peace.

Those associated with Lela’s tribal art business trickled into the States on established visas, staying at our ranch in New Jersey. These Afghan visitors would remain at the ranch for weeks or months, until they were allowed to immigrate to various nations.

One question remains: Is there an ocean of oil under the Afghans? As of this writing, there’s still a war going on in Afghanistan. Why are they fighting? The belief persists: Afghanistan floats on an ocean of oil. Are there still people who believe this? You bet.

As the book describes, Lela and I communicated often while she was in Afghanistan and I in New Jersey. Our aerograms dealt with: her business on the Middle East Silk Road; love on the Mating Road; the human need for adventure; pursuit of hidden knowledge; and going walkabout.

Some go walkabout physically like Lela. Some, like me, do it in their head. In any case, we all journey on the great cosmic road, in one form or another.

I believe the creative nurturing of feminine energy is the prime cosmic mover. Fortunately, in most families women are not only the creative force, but also the ultimate decision makers. To the extent humanity survives and progresses, credit must be given to the women and mothers creating families and recreating humanity.

Perhaps this is why
The Afghan Queen
is about powerful, loving women. Lela created this story, and the bold brilliance of many women and a few men have fleshed it out. I, the stay-at-home writer-husband, fashioned what she provided into a story that is about one woman, but is meant to inspire many. It is the power of love that wrote Lela’s story.

I imagine the Cosmos as the
Great Mother
, creating and nurturing all her offspring. I can hear Lela say, for the umpteenth time, “Now honey-love, don’t go mental on me. You’ve got a lot of work to do before we meet again.”

I hear her voice in my dreams singing her favorite song: “We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when, but I know we’ll meet again someday.”

I’m still here and working, but Lela has moved on. I believe she is watching, and I hope her story is an inspiration. Lela would say, ‘Follow your dreams, quests, walkabouts, whatever and wherever they may be.’

Paul Meinhardt, March 6, 2013

*
Photo / text from
Wikipedia.org
.

ⁱ
The cruel indifference of Soviet Mongolian soldiers, providing crowd control at Afghan Buzkhazi games, exceeded the excesses of the Buzkhazi players and that was saying a lot. Given the prospect of Mongolian ’engineers,’ the landlord completed all repairs in three days using local Afghan craftsmen.

ⁱⁱ
Rather than pull out, the Soviet Union occupied Afghanistan in full late in December, 1979, and did not completely withdraw until 1991. The major was most likely not informed or was providing a cover story for public consumption.

ⁱⁱⁱ
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soviet_war_in_Afghanistan
.

^iv
Historical note: Soviet Mongolian soldiers, while officially regular army, functioned as mercenaries. They were brought into situations of a severe or threatening nature and given free reign. They rarely knew the host language or customs and were seldom concerned or sympathetic to host people.

^v
An important part of Paul Meinhardt’s family research involved in-depth examination of mating rituals. The basic purpose of the family household formation, he believed, was to produce offspring. Lela and her gang friends, although married, continued wearing the Red Hook Sharks jacket at social gettogethers. It reminded Paul of a grand display of peacock feathers. In fact, there was no denying that sporting the Red Hook Sharks jacket gave the women an aura of exciting sex appeal. He realized that the jacket was part mating ritual as well as self-protection.

^vi
Real names have not been used in order to protect all those involved.

^vii
Petroleum has greased humanity since the first people found surface petroleum tar pits. It didn’t take long for primal people to discover that the waxy petrolatum kept their skin warm and also the skins they wore. About the same time people discovered that wounds healed faster with the waxy-stuff.