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