EDITOR'S NOTE: Bill Wright is a self-employed businessman turned photographer. He travels exotic locales and captures in photographs the lives, emotions and cultures of people for his love of art, and because it helps him make better business decisions. He was recently named one of Abilene's 10 Most Influential by the Abilene Reporter-News. Following is an e-mailed journal entry to family and friends about his newest adventure - a trip to Kabul, Afghanistan.

I had packed everything the night before so I was anxiously waiting for Fardeen and Sarah to pick me up and take me to the airport for my trip home via Dubai. I was glad for a day layover there in case the three hour trip was too much for my miserable back. I was also looking forward to staying in the net Twin Towers of Dubai, a swanky 4 star hotel that was part of the modern Arab world.

We arrived at the airport a couple of hours before flight time and parked in the lot designated. No curbside check-in at the Kabul international airport! Fortunately, there were porters available to carry luggage and off we went with me hobbling behind the Afghan track star and hoping my tip would offset the value of the luggage if he disappeared into the distance. The track star was waiting as I arrived at security and eagerly accepted my $5.00 tip, putting my bag on the conveyor belt and hurrying off for fresh customers.

I said good by to my friends, Sarah Johnston and Fardeen Hussami who had been so supportive of my work with the students and assisted me the last day at the hospital. They were terrific. I turned from the last minute hugs and entered the magic arch knowing it wouldn’t buzz because I had unloaded every conceivable metal source of concern.

Nevertheless, I was patted down anyway. Shoes were not removed as in the U.S, but the bags, carryon and checked were opened and examined thoroughly. At the last inspection, I opened my shaving kit to the inspectors request and he promptly confiscated my backpacking shaving mirror. It was a curious but minor loss. I passed on to the waiting room where I went through an identical examination and passport check, finally ending up in a waiting room with a couple of dozen Afghans.

It was a contrast between the modern and the ancient. The plain white plastered walls of the room were devoid of decoration of any kind. No pictures, no instructions, and the single sign was “Internet” with an arrow pointing down the hall. I thought it metaphorical. The entire city was a curious mix of the new and the old. The people and the buildings. I stayed in a modern hotel with beautiful gardens and outside the gate, adobe and ancient buildings and people with ancient customs.

Looking around, I found a seat opposite two Afghan men with long black beards wearing white. In fact, the entire room was filled with men wearing white or a light pastel dress like top that reached below the knees with a pair of white leggings underneath that came to the tops of the shoes. Most had “haj” caps on their heads and black or tan vests that were unbuttoned. The only other person wearing a “gimmie cap” in the entire room was an ex-marine contractor on his way for R&R. The Afghan men all struck identical postures: one leg folded under the other which was extended to to floor or hiked to the bench.

The atmosphere was thick with smoke and hot and humid. There was a long line at the counter where water could be purchased. The floor was dirty but the seats were good with lumbar support for my back which soon stopped hurting.

A few women with their children began to filter in. They were uniformly dressed in black with the veil covering their mouth and lower nose. All that showed were the eyes which were heavily decorated. They held their heads cast down and looked no one in the eye. A few Anglos began to enter and sat together in a group. The western women quickly placed their ear buds in place and hooked in the ipods, insulating themselves from everyone.

There was a buzz of conversation in the room. As I observed the men across from me I was startled to see the red stain on both their hands. I knew it was from Friday’s religious celebration but it looked as if they had just dressed a sheep. Perhaps the color fooled the flies also because they were buzzing about everywhere.

The flight to Sharja went quickly. Perhaps it was the medication because I slept most of the way which was unusual. We arrived in mid-afternoon and after more passport checks and x-rays, I quickly caught a cab to Dubai which was about 30 minutes away. The hotel was beautiful and I checked in quickly and continued my nap till time for dinner. I treated myself to a very fine martini in the 51st floor bar and planned the next day’s activities as the sun sank toward the horizon with the ubiquitous sandy tan sky.

The bar was modern and efficient and staffed by a tall, athletic black man with a shaved head and a commanding presence. Very polished. The waitress who came to my table was young and attractive. She had signed on with the hotel for a two year contract and came from Uzbekistan. It was her chance to see the world. The only flaw was the improbable use of photographs of the hotel on the walls which were hung over other wall decorations and the dirty windows that were the result of yesterdays sandstorm.

The bar began to fill up with young attractive men and women, well dressed with expensive clothes worn casually. The men were tie-less and had their shirttails hanging out. The women had everything hanging out. Not too appropriate for a Moslem country
I thought of the enormous gulf that separated the tribal culture of Afghanistan from the modern Arab world of Dubai. It was bigger than the Gulf of Arabia that I had flown over that day and I wondered if it would last as long.

Monday

After breakfast in the room, I dressed and began to explore the hotel. It was vast with convention rooms, spas, exercise gyms---the works. I scheduled a massage for the afternoon hoping it would be beneficial for my back. Alice would like a small present, I knew, so my first stop would be the famous gold souk that contained hundreds of shops. Most of the goods were similar: elaborate gold necklaces, earrings, rings and bracelets [called bangles]. All were made from 22 caret gold. Each store posted the price of gold by weight and the items were sold based on weight.

The gold souk was famous. Alice and I had visited there 25 years before and little had changed. I enjoyed walking down the interior aisles and looking in the windows. The place was a hive of activity. Many Europeans and Arabs from Saudi Arabia, other states of the U.A.E. and Asia came there to shop for gold and diamonds. Many of the diamond cutters from Brussels and other European centers have moved to Dubai and it was now one of the main centers of the world for fine jewelry.

I saw an unusual bracelet in a window that I thought Alice might like so I went in and made the purchase. Unlike Afghanistan, credit cards were accepted and the business style was definitely western.

My flight to Zurich left from Sharja so I returned the next morning in time for a 1:50 am depature. I was able to sleep for most of the 7 hour journey to Zurich and after about a four hour wait, I boarded American Airlines with business class seating for the 11 hour flight to Dallas. It gave me ample time to meditate on the experiences of the week.

I recognize that my contacts with Afghan and Dubai people were limited and the time of contact only a week, but certain things emerged.

First the children:

They were uniformly courteous and attentive and as the week progressed, more and more comfortable with my presence. They laughed and teased as easily as American kids but seemed more focused on the work and less on other things. They were “after it!”. When I conducted my one on one interviews, I found they had vary similar backgrounds: large families, one or both parent s missing or ill, and dependent on work to help support the family. They were artistic, liked Americans but were scared of our military and the news reports of so many Afghan deaths in our pursuit of the Taliban.

They were appreciative of American support of their country but had no idea where the money went but everyone thought it was mostly lost due to local corruption in the political system. The last thing they told me was, “Don’t leave us!”

The country:

Terribly backward by first world standards. The country has been devastated by repeated wars for the last 25 years. Electricity spasmodic, streets unpaved, infrastructure degraded. The country survives, however, because the people are survivors. They have met adversity and have managed to wrestle it to the ground. The people I met were very friendly to westerners, or at least, to me. The teachers in the school, the shop keepers, the staff in restaurants---all were uniformly polite and happy to serve me or help me in some way.

Politically, they all are tainted by the Arab press in their hatred for Israel and our support for Israel. They view Israel as the invader who has wrestled the land from the legitimate owners and it is one of the bases for the current radical hatred of things western.

Headlines in the Dubai newspaper shouted “Nasrallah: US pushing for Lebanon war to rage”
In the body of the paper, they wondered why we couldn’t understand why they [Arabs] hated us.

“[Karen Hughes] was to improve the image of the United States in the Arab world and win the hearts and minds of Arabs, lost for some time because of Washington’s blind support of Israel and its bloody invasion of Iraq. With the outrageous policy Washington is now espousing, in the Israeli war on Lebanon, Hughes’ job is indeed mission impossible.”

Other negatives are our culture and religion although our culture is pervasive in Arab countries. Everywhere are western tee shirts and music, MP-3 players and internet cafes. They have absorbed our technology and hate us for it. Not as individuals, but as a blanket condemnation of the west. This hatred is created and nurtured by the Mullahs who preach constantly of a return to the basic life as structured by the Koran.

In Dubai and other more westernized Arab countries they are happy to do business with us but this attitude lies under the surface everywhere.

Strangely, the ethics of Islam do not seem to play out everywhere in the culture. Corruption is rampant and just as in Christian societies, there are bad people.

Finally, the trip was very worthwhile in my view. I remember the starfish story where the man on the beach said, “... it made a difference to that one!” If my visit made a difference to even one of the kids or one of the persons I came in contact with while there, it would make it successful. If even one of them related to me as an American Christian who cared enough to come at my own expense to help them and if that person remembers that we aren’t all demons, it would be enough. I hope to keep in touch with the kids and ASCHIANA and follow their progress. I am now working on an exhibition of the children’s photography to show in the United States.

Bill Wright
August 2006

Posted by · August 13, 2006 12:52 AM · Comments (0)

EDITOR'S NOTE: Bill Wright is a self-employed businessman turned photographer. He travels exotic locales and captures in photographs the lives, emotions and cultures of people for his love of art, and because it helps him make better business decisions. He was recently named one of Abilene's 10 Most Influential by the Abilene Reporter-News. Following is an e-mailed journal entry to family and friends about his newest adventure - a trip to Kabul, Afghanistan.

Sarah and Faideen arrived on schedule to pick me up and deliver me to the Kabul hospital for some help with my back. The pain had not diminished but was being controlled somewhat by the Advil I fortunately had in my kit. I took the back seat of the van so that I could stretch out my legs and we started off through the heavy morning traffic.

The hospital was located some distance from the hotel so I had a chance to seen more of the city as we traveled along. I opened the window and shot a few pictures of the roadside vendors as we stopped periodically for traffic.

The main streets in Kabul are paved but much of the city is not. There is a persistent dusty atmosphere that casts every view in a light tan wash. Everyone seems to have a dry mouth. Business is being done everywhere. It seems the Afghans are a nation of merchants from my view from the back of the van. Much of their goods are displayed on the sidewalk which results in a profusion of color where the goods are fabrics and plastic, Auto parts and equipment of various types cast a more somber values of black and gray.

The traffic cleared somewhat as we neared the hospital and we pulled up in front of the security gate. I was dismayed at the large crowd of perhaps 300 or more people waiting to enter.

There was a lot of pushing and shoving and Fardeen parked the car and while I waited, he walked to the gate and talked with the guard. Soon I saw him wave and Sarah and I made our way through the crowd and slipped inside. As I turned to see the gate close behind me, I saw it slammed on the arm of a man desperately trying to enter. I don’t think I made any friends among the crowd.

Walking to the main building, Sarah whispered, “ I hate the class system that gives us the ability to move ahead of all these people.” I felt bad about it also but with my back hurting, I felt that maybe is was a legitimate triage that allowed me to go ahead. At least I didn’t feel guilty enough to go back to the end of the line.

I quickly made my mind up that I would not trade my comfortable bed at the Serena Hotel for anything the hospital had to offer. The pain couldn’t be bad enough to lay my head down in this primitive facility. People were laying on the floor, I couldn’t determine if there was any air conditioning and there was a discouraging smell of sickness in the air.

I positioned myself at the end of a line before the entrance window while Fardeen disappeared down the hall. Soon he returned and guided me down a corridor and up a flight of stairs to the treatment rooms. Dr. Green appeared and greeted me and said that he would see that I was seen immediately. I was taken to a treatment room that was remarkable clean and organized and soon another doctor arrived who was a volunteer from the mid-western U.S. He was an osteopath by training and a member of a evangelical Christian congregation in his home town. He told me that he volunteered each year in this hospital. He had my deepest respect for attempting to bring modern medicine to the people of Kabul.

As I lay on the table he poked my back and told me he thought that the problem would eventually go away with anti-inflamatory drugs and he said that they had recently received some back braces that he also thought would help. He gently gave my back an “adjustment” crack or two and went to get the brace. The door was open to the examining room and I could see and hear the traffic outside in the hall. People were coming and going and all seemed to be in order---a contradictory space in all the outside chaos.

Soon, he returned with the brace and gave me some stronger pain medication that I could use on the airplane if things got too bad. I was grateful and walked out to meet Sarah and Fardeen. We paid our bill of $80 and left. The crowd had cleared at the gate, whether they were all admitted or not, I do not know but I wished them luck as I left.

I continued taking photographs through the window of the van on my way back to the hotel and hopped the trip tomorrow would be easy. I was already feeling more confident about the trip home.

Next: Dubai and home

Posted by · August 11, 2006 6:31 PM · Comments (0)

EDITOR'S NOTE: Bill Wright is a self-employed businessman turned photographer. He travels exotic locales and captures in photographs the lives, emotions and cultures of people for his love of art, and because it helps him make better business decisions. He was recently named one of Abilene's 10 Most Influential by the Abilene Reporter-News. Following is an e-mailed journal entry to family and friends about his newest adventure - a trip to Kabul, Afghanistan.

Fardeen was about fifteen minutes late today. He was very apologetic. The traffic clotted all the roads into a slow moving viscous stream and all you could do was go with the flow, he said. This day my plan was to interview all of the students about their home and family and other issues that might come to mind during the discussion.

While the students downloaded their files from the previous day’s shooting, I scouted the building with Sarah to find a quiet corner that could be used for the interviews. I planned to use Fardeen to translate my questions and the answers so that there would be less chance for misunderstanding. We finally settled on the big gallery room and brought in three chairs to pull to the small table in one corner of the room.

The system worked pretty well. My little Sony digital recorder picked up the voices pretty good and Fardeen’s voice was strong and clear. I knew the spelling and unfamiliarity with the names would be a problem for my assistant, Kimberly, when she began to transcribe the files in Abilene, but we would just have to do the best we could.

I developed a short format for the questions beginning with the date and time and the name of the respondent. Then I began asking questions about the family---how many children, what the parents did, where they lived--- etc. I found that the students had many similarities.

They all came from large families and all had at least one parent living with them. Often that parent was not able to work. Many were disabled from gunshot wounds or illness. One from mental illness. Income from other family members was all the kept them afloat. Most of my students were in school now that they had been “rescued” by ASCHIANA and were progressing through the system. When asked about their vocational plans, most wanted to be doctors or other higher income professionals, one dreamed of being a pilot for an airline, and of course, all wanted photography to be a part of their life. Public service---helping others---seemed important to each of them.

Since one of my hoped for personal outcomes from the trip was to learn more about what was actually happening in Afghanistan, I always threw in a couple of questions about the war and its impact on their lives. Their answers were reasonably uniform. Life was more settled under the Taliban. That they liked. There was less uncertainity. Life was stable. That was the end of the plusses. The Taliban’s harsh religious hand made life for those with knowledge of the outside world, difficult to understand. However, most of the students were very young during the times of the Taliban so they remembered little of what it was really like.

The oldest student, now attending Kabul University, grew up in a village near the Iranian border. During the war with Russia, his family moved to Iran and stayed there till it was over. They moved back to their old village where the brothers all had small businesses and the father was a farmer. [I didn’t ask what he raised…] Mohammed announced after graduating from public school there that he wanted to go to college but his father said he didn’t need that and wanted him to begin work. He left for Kabul anyway and supported himself on the street while attending the university.

Mohammed says that his family has accepted his decision now and that he receives a small amount of money from them for assistance. When he returns to the village to visit, he has to grow a full beard because the Taliban have re-occupied the territory.

My final question was to ask the students to tell me what they would like to say to America.

They all were pleased that I had come a long way to work with them and wanted to express their appreciation for the many donors that had made the acquisition of the digital cameras for ASCHIANA possible. Most of them were aware of and grateful for the aid and support America had provided their country and wanted to say thank you on behalf of their country. Finally, as they got up to leave, their eyes met mine and they said, “don’t leave us.” They dreaded the instability that they knew would follow until their government grew strong enough to protect the people.

It was a sobering thought to know that one of these days we WILL be leaving Afghanistan.

I was thinking about these issues as I undressed for bed. In just a few short minutes later, my thoughts turned to pain relief. It had been a hot, tiring, but focused day. I showered, and sat down a bit too hard on the firm mattress and immediately I felt a shooting pain in my back, hip and leg. My old tennis injury had come back with a vengeance. It didn’t take a physical exam to tell me something was seriously wrong. I tried every position to relieve the burning, throbbing leg and back. Nothing worked although standing seemed to be the best position so I was up and down the rest of the night and taking as much Advil and I thought my stomach could stand. It seemed the morning and the chance to get some stronger medicine, would never come.

While I was tossing and turning, another thought burst into my consciousness. How was I going to get home on Sunday. It was obvious to me that I could not tolerate the pain of squeezing my 6’3” frame into the tiny coach seats for over 23 hours of flying plus the waiting time between flights.

Tomorrow: The solution

Posted by · August 7, 2006 5:08 PM · Comments (0)