In the 1970s, they found it a place not too foreign
By Scott Matteson, '69
Lawrence Today magazine, Summer 2002
Afghanistan is once again disappearing from the radar screens of most Americans' lives. Soon our consciousness will revert to pre-9/11 days, when any mention of the country might evoke the simple response, "Where?"
Perhaps a better question might be, "What?" The virtual destruction of villages and cities and the horrific treatment the Afghan people endured under Taliban rule are beyond the comprehension of most Americans. After seeing some especially savage treatment of women on the evening news, a colleague asked me incredulously, "What were you doing there [in the first place]?"
The images and tales of brutality have stirred my emotions too. This was not the Afghanistan my wife and I had known during two-plus years of teaching and living in the country, after arriving there 28 years ago in June 1974. Again, what is Afghanistan, or from our perspective, what was the Afghanistan we had known? What were we doing there? Was the culture always so harsh and repressive? Perhaps I can provide a glimpse into a different time in a far-off place called Afghanistan and, yet, a place not too foreign.
Daily differences
First, let me acknowledge some of the differences we found. Foremost would be the sense that one had traveled back to biblical times, especially in the bazaars. Neighborhood vendors carried fruit and vegetables through the streets on burros, announcing their presence and their bounty in singsong rhythm. Camels bellowed in the streets, while men carried huge, heavy loads upon their backs, the least expensive method of local transport.
One could spend hours in small shops off narrow walkways, looking for and finding virtually anything desired -- and bartering over the final price was half the game.
Dust hung permanently in the air, and pungent odors, both pleasant and foul, permeated shops and streets, assaulting the senses. Money changers sat at tables piled high with different currencies -- just across the street from the mosque, as if Jesus had thrown them out of the temple only days before.
Cultural differences
The role and status of women was probably the biggest cultural difference confronting Americans. Girls often disappeared from public view when only 12 or 13 years of age, staying at home to help cook and care for smaller children, possibly even getting married and starting families of their own. The number of girls attending school dropped dramatically beyond the elementary level, and although wearing a chadri, or full-length veil, when going outside was not the universal requirement that it became during Taliban rule, students sometimes greeted me from beneath a chadri when shopping in the bazaar. The unwritten rule was not to be too friendly, because a woman could get in trouble if it appeared that you were more than acquaintances.
Arranged marriages were the norm, often between first cousins. Men were allowed to have multiple wives if they had the means to provide for all wives and their children. We found that the first wife and her children were sometimes left to fend for themselves. Our landlord's first wife, Magul, traveled 80 miles to Kandahar to buy cloth and embroidery floss, which she used to organize an informal cooperative for women, making Afghan dolls and embroidering tablecloths to sell to friends of the American teachers, thus providing for the first-wives' children.
When we lived in Afghanistan, we neither saw nor heard of such harsh treatment of women as that exacted by the Taliban's morality police, though many men did not think women should be in the bazaar, or even be seen by men other than relatives. We were told the general premise behind keeping women out of the public eye was that men could not control their baser emotions, so women had to be protected.
The fifth world
Development was sporadic and slow, and technological advances were few and infrequent. A single paved road circled the country like the ring-road of a major American city.
After the 9/11 attacks, I was surprised to hear that Osama bin Laden's satellite phone calls were being monitored. The only telephone in Lashkargah, the provincial capital where we taught, was at the post office. People would yell into the receiver, not certain their voice could be heard at the other end. The only television programs came from the Soviet Union and could be received only in Mazar-i-Sharif in northern Afghanistan, where some Soviet aid workers and their families lived.
With few large manufacturing facilities or natural resources that had been exploited, it was difficult to imagine Afghanistan becoming self-sufficient. Agriculture was the mainstay of the economy. Underground irrigation tunnels, originating in the mountains and sloping gently out onto the plains, had been dug centuries ago. Cotton, wheat, and rice were grown, although the country still needed to import wheat and rice, two staples in the Afghan diet. Fruits and vegetables were abundant and were among the best in the world. Dried fruits and nuts were found everywhere and were also exported.
While we were in Afghanistan, Time magazine published an article dividing the world's economies into five tiers. Fifth-world countries were deemed so poor, and lacking in natural resources, that the writers concluded such countries had no hope of ever becoming self-sufficient or developing viable economies. Afghanistan was one of those bottom-of-the-barrel nations.
The people as a whole
Despite the cultural differences and the lack of development so apparent in Afghanistan, our experiences during the two and one-half years we lived and worked there were quite positive.
The people as a whole were very generous, and strong bonds of friendship were forged between us and several families. Because we were married, we were often invited to visit students' and teachers' homes, and I was usually able to meet all members of the family, rather than just the father and brothers.
Their appreciation for our being there was openly expressed by an Afghan employee of the U.S. Agency for International Development (AID), who said that Peace Corps volunteers were the best representatives of the United States because we worked and lived directly among the Afghan people, and at their level.
A deep love of art, music, and poetry was also readily apparent. Herat, in western Afghanistan, had been one of the world centers of learning as part of the Persian Empire, while Europe was stagnating during the Middle Ages.
Afghans are devout Muslims and, as we have become aware, some are more fundamentalist than others. Afghanistan has a long history of opposing ideologies pushing back and forth at each other, especially as related to women, marriage, and education for girls. During the past century, different kings attempted to relax the rules or change the customs, and each time violent protests resulted.
A second underlying conflict exists between the two major branches of Islam in Afghanistan, the majority Sunni and the Shia Muslims. The fact that the Shiites are primarily Persian speakers, while the Sunni speak Pashtu (and are largely people from the Pashtun tribe), exacerbates the situation further. Many Pashtuns live in Pakistan, and when we lived in Afghanistan, there was always talk of the formation of a new country, a "push for Pashtunistan."
Yet, we were often told that Afghans could respect people of the Christian and Jewish faiths, because these religions each have a "book," as opposed to the "godless Russians." Large parties were always held to celebrate Eid, which marked the end of Ramadan, the month of fasting from sunrise to sunset to which Muslims commit each year. We were invited to literal feasts at several homes along with our Afghan friends and neighbors. Congratulations were always extended to us when we celebrated Christmas.
Lashkargah life
Kit and I taught at the high school in Lashkargah, the provincial capital of Helmand Province in southern Afghanistan, approximately 450 miles southwest of Kabul.
We lived outside Lashkargah in a small village, Karte Lagon, a mile from the school where we taught. Although we had electricity, we drew water from a well inside our walled compound. Fifty buckets watered Kit's garden, but much less was used to bathe in our small outdoor bathing room, which we transformed into a sauna by heating water on top of a sheet metal stove. The house had a cellar, where we would spend spring and summer afternoons to escape the heat -- after all, we lived on the edge of the Desert of Death, with no visible vegetation in sight and where temperatures reached 125 degrees Fahrenheit.
Lashkargah Lycee had at one time been the crown jewel of Afghan high schools. There was a large library with books donated from the United States, and the science lab had oscilloscopes and other equipment to rival American schools of that time. There were a few women teachers, and more importantly, one class section at each grade level was coeducational, although girls comprised only a tenth of the student population. The level of instruction was high enough that in the 1960s, the top two graduating students from each class had received scholarships to study at the American University of Beirut.
Unfortunately, by the time Kit and I were there, all of the electrical fixtures had been taken out of the school and the science equipment sat in locked cabinets, unusable.
And then it changed
Afghanistan was already changing during our second year. The new provincial governor had been trained in the Soviet Union, and he wasn't very certain that he wanted an American influence at the school or in the community. Our progressive principal at the high school, Barialai, was transferred to an elementary school far out in the desert, and a purportedly communist teacher took his place.
With less than two months left in the school year, we were informed that we should move into the city for our own protection; we were able to delay the move because of our relatively imminent departure. Then, just before we left Lashkargah for the final time, it was announced that no more Peace Corps volunteers would be stationed in the provinces. We said our goodbyes to our many Afghan friends and helped organize cross-cultural training for new volunteers in Kabul that summer.
In 1984, living in Denver, Kit and I sponsored one of her former students, Mohammed Hassan, as a refugee. Time and circumstance would add first a brother, then Hassan's wife and two young sons. Most of Hassan's family finally gained refugee status and came to America, after living as refugees in Pakistan for years after the communists and the Soviet Union took control in Afghanistan in the late 1970s. Last month, Hassan's two sons graduated from Colorado College, and one wants to help rebuild Afghanistan before going to medical school. As they say in Afghanistan, "Go with God!"
Scott Matteson and his wife, Kit Alff, served as Peace Corps volunteers in Afghanistan in the mid-1970s, teaching English as a foreign language. His was not Lawrence's only link to the country, as several alumni from the Class of 1971 also served there, including John Behnke, Erik and Gail Johnson Ibele, and Wayne ('73) and Jean St. Pierre Beyer.