On the hill, cold hits us sooner than the people in the village, but the sun lasts longer, deceiving us into believing the night will not be as harsh. It is.
In the distance we see small lights, the checkpoints on even taller mountain peaks ringing the valley. They will be colder tonight. They have been out there for months, coming down occasionally and taking their supplies. They truly stand fast as guardians of the night, guardians against those who would bully their way into dominance with violence and intimidation. They are the obvious targets.
Earlier today I had lunch with the governor of a frontier district. His office is in a building on a hill just up the street from the town market. The building was built with the idea that far more governing would take place inside. There are numerous offices, most of which have been converted into squatters quarters for security forces. Under a stair sits a propane stove, a pot boiling on top. It has been some time since this building was cleaned, if it ever was. Electricity is an occasional luxury.
The governor paid from his own pocket for a soldier to run into town to secure some food. He came back with far too much. I don’t ask questions such as what exactly the meat was. I imagine it was goat kabob. And there was the nân… the flat bread. We noted the bread was very good, but we wondered why the nân being taken to the sentries on the mountains wasn’t nearly as high of quality. The governor told us it had to do with the wheat supplied for their food. A person in town was paid to make the soldiers’ food, but could only do so much with the flour he had. It was the poorest of the quality.
And of his concerns, the governor most wanted help with a road and with schools. The dirt track into town runs through a stream wash. And he wants schools. We had a chance to visit one. No children were there, the school open to anyone to enter, situated behind the shops and stalls of the main road in town on a patch of land.
The school has the most basic of equipment, and yet is still lacking. There was no desk for a teacher. The children’s desks were well worn. Only one window pane in the entire school had any glass and that pane was broken. It will be an impossible place to learn in this winter if improvements aren’t made. But on the blackboards there were still lessons. I recognize the math going on in one corner and the grammar covering the rest of the board in spite of the strange characters.
We assure them we will do our best to try to secure something, to get these simple things running again. In my head I do a little math. For the amount of money we spend sending one child to a public school in a city in the US, we could more than cover the costs of outfitting this school, building a wall all the way around, hiring the teachers, many of whom have volunteered their time teaching so far, maybe even find a heater for the whole school and still have money left over. And it would put local tradesmen to work as well.
But these people are also scared. What happens when we go away? We don’t man the checkpoints, some of their people do. We try to assist in making things happen, being present to hopefully reduce the corruption. And when we are no longer around, when it gets dark out and we cannot be called on when the real monsters return in the night, what then? They want to live. If they can improve their situation, so much the better, but without the basics, it’s still survival existence.
While the children always want balls or candy, many of our soldiers prefer to hand out simple school supplies such as pencils, small notebooks. Watching their faces light up at the sight of a colored pen melts our hearts. Something so simple.
Literacy here is very low, less than 30%, women less literate than men because of the previous regime. In remote villages such as these, it is dramatically lower. But the parents want their children to learn.
Back in our camp, we ward off the night. One of our vehicles has ac power. Someone thought to bring along a projector and laptop. We set up an impromptu movie theater along a tent wall. Some folks sit on the gravel, some on broken folding chairs. Kelly’s Heroes sets a glow from the tent that attracts the attention of others who are not on duty. A few of the local forces timidly enter, shy at first, and look for a place to sit once we recognize and acknowledge them. They don’t understand the words, but they understand our laughter. It’s a moment to bond.
I found a spot in the corner on a cot next to a table. While watching the movie, I also had my laptop open to Dari lessons. The squiggles and dots are becoming more recognizable. A very young soldier sat next to me, unsure at first if it was acceptable behavior. I nodded. He watched the movie for a few minutes, then started looking as I worked my way through another lesson. The glow from the screens highlighted the intensity of his concentration. I was merely trying to figure out which forms of the letters were missing from the sentences. It seemed that he was trying to sound out each of the words, careful to whisper his way through. With reading and writing skills so rare, they mean better positions and promotions. He was determined to learn. When I glanced at him to see how he was doing, he looked shocked and then apologetic. I had to break my warrior stare to smile and let him know it was alright. Tashakor. Thank you.
But soon enough the movie ended. We packed up our equipment. I found a spot away from the wind, curled up and went to sleep. Even as an officer, I was still on the roster to pull a few hours of guard duty. We were only a few men out here. And I requested the middle of the night, the least liked time, the interrupted sleep.
And I, with others, kept cold watch over my trusting soldiers. And little lights blinked from the mountains as the others kept watch with us through the night.
I’m… well, speechless would be a good choice of words. You make it all come so alive. Thank you so much for sharing what you can.
You remain in my thoughts and prayers my friend. May you find a way, all of you, to meet the needs of those kids and families longing to learn.
So much that we take for granted here is luxury to them. Very sobering.
Love this.
Thank you so much for the commentary. The reality makes my heart hurt. Please let us know what can help the small micro world where you are.
As someone who has taught overseas, I know the thirst for knowledge, those who have been deprived from learning, have and the drive to learn any way they can.
While you may see all that’s missing, I see the possibilities. And in them comes a memory of a day when I taught a group of eager, crazy and thirsty students who braved a cold snap to prepare for TOEFL for the possibility of getting into an American College.
That day is pretty much like today. The freezing cold (35F), steady rain and fierce wind forced us to shove newspapers under the door to try and keep the cold and wind out. That day we spent 6 hrs in that classroom, me standing and pacing (in an effort to stay warm), the women crowded on on 2 small benches, while the men sat on thin mats on the floor.
I still remember that day fondly because it was a day in which we felt we had made great progress. Though tired, We all emerged from the classroom smiling. They over having triumphed over their circumstances to gain some treasured and priceless knowledge; me from being able to squash out ignorance and teaching them how to learn independently, in the process of teaching.
IN that instance, Knowledge was its own reward.