Black, Red, and Green: A Look into Afghan Culture

         

Image: Afghan women dance the national dance, the attan, in their traditional clothing.

            Black, red, and green—each color of the flag of Afghanistan holds a significant meaning to the people that call Afghanistan home. Black symbolizes the dark past of a war-ridden nation. Red symbolizes the blood that was shed throughout each battle. Green, on the other hand, represents a hope for a brighter future despite the incessant warfare that crippled much of the once-prosperous nation. Afghans are known to be perseverant when it comes to defending their homeland, as Dr. Burke mentioned in her lectures about Afghanistan’s history with warfare. As an Afghan-American, I grew up witnessing the immense significance that Afghans attribute to honor or as we call it “ghairat.” A family’s honor and more importantly the nation’s honor are deemed vital to uphold for Afghans, regardless if they still live in Afghanistan or live in a foreign country. As the history of Afghanistan’s numerous victories attest to the fact that Afghans will do whatever it takes, physically or politically to defend their home. As Alexander the Great famously said, “May God keep you away from the venom of the cobra, teeth of the tiger, and revenge of the Afghans.”

            In addition to the crucial significance Afghans give to “ghairat” (honor), Afghanistan has a beautiful culture that is reflected in the traditional clothing. Contrary to many people’s beliefs, the famous blue burqa that veils the face (known as the “chadar”) attributed to Afghan culture is not the traditional clothing of the nation, but rather was imposed by the Taliban. Each pair of Afghan clothing is uniquely embedded with glitter, or as Afghan’s call it “zari,” mirrored sequins, coins, and vibrant colored threads. Traditionally, the women’s clothing is more intricate in detail and comes in various bright colors, whereas the male’s clothing is more neutral in color and plain in design. While women only wear Afghan clothing to special occasions because of the ostentatious design, men in Afghanistan usually wear their traditional clothes on a daily basis. Afghan women often adorn themselves with silver Afghan “kuchi” necklaces, headpieces, and rings that are all too often culturally appropriated nowadays by well-known brands such as ASOS and Urban Outfitters. To the Afghan women, these jewelry pieces represent the beauty of their rich history and culture.

            The national dance of Afghanistan, known as the “attan,” is also one of the most vital facets of Afghan culture. The attan which started in eastern Afghanistan in the Pashto speaking region began as a dance used in times of war. The attan was also danced in weddings and other celebratory gatherings. Men and women traditionally dance separately in this dance. The attan is danced to a traditional beat made specifically for it, sung with lyrics that commemorate the beauty of Afghanistan. The attan consists of people dancing in circle, with clapping, spinning, and jumping motions and props such as scarves are waved sometimes in addition. Like Afghan clothing, this facet of Afghan culture holds a deep meaning of the nation’s cultural past. It is not uncommon to hear Afghans claim that dancing the attan gives them a euphoric feeling of national pride and a strong love for their culture.

            While the detailed clothing, music, and dance are undoubtedly important aspects of the nation’s culture, it is imperative to realize that Afghan culture extends beyond that. Afghanistan to me is not just the birth place of my parents. It is the history of my family. It is resting place of my ancestors. It is the sanctuary of thousands of martyrs. It is the scene of my father’s war memories. It is home. The media often distorts the image of this beautiful nation and its people with their rich history and culture for its own political reasons. Images of terrorism, poverty, and anti-American sentiment is plastered on the media’s portrayal of Afghanistan. But, if the world takes a closer look at the real Afghanistan, they will realize that Afghanistan has one of the most hospitable, loving cultures. Afghanistan holds a beautiful past despite the destructive nature of its historical warfare. Through the collective efforts of the Afghan people, leaders, and neighboring allies, Afghanistan holds the potential for a beautiful future. As an Afghan-American who was born and raised in Los Angeles but whose heart is also greatly attached to the city of Herat, I yearn to see that beautiful future that will hopefully surpass the stories of the once-beautiful past that my parents tell me about.

Literary Journalism Pre-Drafting Plan

            The interview I conducted went very well as I believe I came out of the interview with a plethora of knowledge of not just someone’s personal story about a life-changing uprising, but also about a vital historical event that forever transformed the history of Herat, Afghanistan. I think the openness of my uncle in telling certain details of the story surprised me because I did not expect him to discuss that many of his memories about violent occurrences and bloodshed. I think next time, I would set up a video camera to record his facial expressions, pauses, and changing posture when telling his story because I think that would add an interesting element to the literary journalism piece overall. A follow-up question I’d like to ask is how this interview that brought up such brutal memories affected him—whether adversely or in a positive way—because I know that this event (24^th Hoot uprising) is one that my uncle and anyone else in my family do not really bring up unless asked about.

            I knew that my uncle had numerous different war stories from growing up in a nation inflicted with war, but after this interview, I realized that within story he chose to tell me—the story of the 24^th Hoot uprising—lies many stories of their own. My interview subject told me stories about internal battles and changes when he experienced certain things throughout the uprising. He was a young boy—aged 13—at the time of the war event, but the things he saw forever changed him in that they cultivated in him a desire to help people in whichever way he can—a quality that I see very evident in him today. The events also made him realize that he needs to leave Afghanistan and ultimately pushed him and his family towards escaping a nation ridden with bloodshed—which eventually led my family to immigrate to America (but the story stops after the desire to escape is established). This story is thus, a story of identity transformation and a story of how resisting ultimately led someone to realize the state of his country had gotten so depleted and corrupted with war that he had leave for the mere purpose of making it out alive.

            I think towards the end of the interview my uncle put a lot of emphasis on how this event changed how he viewed people in need and made him want to help innocent victims of war and corruption in whichever way he could after leaving and how witnessing such horrific brutality affected him. Therefore, I want to write about a story of his identity transformation but also include elements of how what began as resistance made him see his war-torn reality in a new light—one that made him realize that there was no place in Afghanistan for him and his family if they wanted to survive. My uncle has a lot of different war stories, including his immigration story, but when I asked him what he’d personally like to tell, he suggested we talk about this particular event because it not only changed him but it was also crucial to the resistance movements in Afghanistan overall. Thus, I want to highlight how in the midst of resistance and violence, as a young boy who was exposed to horrid violence, my uncle’s identity and outlook on war and resistance changed and shaped him to the person he is today—which is reflected in his personality and lifestyle.

            Like in any interview, the interviewer still doesn’t have every single answer to the questions in their minds. I think after conducting this interview, I don’t know how telling the story and freshening the memories of the violence and injustice he witnessed affects him. I wonder if talking about it eases the burden of holding innumerable memories of the events to himself. Or, does talking about it bring up pain from the past and images he may have tried to erase from his mind? These are questions that I don’t know the answer to, but could probably get the answer to by following up.

            In order to better show my subject’s story, I need additional research on the historical/political history behind the uprising. I think by researching the nature of the Communist-infiltrated government in Afghanistan and how it came to power and how citizens were affected by it, I could supplement my uncle’s account of the history and better show his story, rather than merely telling it. The two books I checked out from the library contain valuable information about this history and the political nature of this uprising in Herat, and therefore, I could use those books and perhaps some online resources to conduct this additional research.

Image: Herat’s War Museum showcases exhibits that depict the 24th Hoot Uprising

 

The Beautiful Lie

            My mother was 3 months old when her mother died of cancer. But for half of her life, she did not know she had lost her mother. To her, her mother was alive and well, which was the beautiful lie her family had fed her growing up.

            When my grandmother past away in August of 1978, my grandfather was left with six adult sons, a seven-year-old daughter, and a newborn, my mother, Veda. But days following my grandmother’s burial, my mother was separated from her siblings and father and was taken into custody by her grandmother, who outlived her daughter. This was my grandmother’s dying mother’s wish on her death bed.

            As my mother narrated this story to me, I noticed how she worked hard to recollect the pieces of this story that she had acquired as the truths of her life had gradually unfolded with time. Perhaps the most vital facet of this story, she tells me, is my grandmother’s plea to her own mother as she lay in her hospital bed in Kabul, Afghanistan. Moments after the doctor informed my grandmother that her cancer had spread too far and it was too late to save her, my grandmother called her mother to her bedside. As she held onto her mother, who refused to accept the news of her daughters expected death, my grandmother asked her mother to raise her newborn daughter after she died. Knowing that her husband would be unable to raise their daughter without her, my grandmother wholly entrusted her daughter to her mother—making her promise never to raise a hand on her daughter. When she tells me this story, my mother always emphasizes that part. After her mother took her last breath, my great-grandmother returned to her home in Herat, Afghanistan for the funeral processions and to pick my mother up and take her to her new home.

            Growing up, my mother explains to me, she believed that her grandmother, whom she lovingly called “Bobo,” was her blood mother. The story she was told was that her father had passed away and she was an only child who lived with her mother. She tells me how she always wondered why her mother looked older than her friends’ mothers, but she never questioned that her life was any different than what it appeared. Despite the occasional taunts of having an older looking mother and not having a father by her classmates, my mother never felt like she lacked anything in her life. As for her father, he would check in on her, but she was told that he was just her maternal uncle, her “Kaka,” she explains. Until she was 16, my mother believed that everything in her life was as it seemed. However, upon reaching 16, which was typical age in which a young girl could get married in Afghanistan, the truths in her life began to unravel.

            The day her father came to her home and asked her grandmother for his daughter back was the day that forever changed my mother’s life. He told my great-grandmother that my mother was old enough now and that it was his duty as her father to take on the responsibility of getting her married. My grandmother was conflicted. On one hand, she couldn’t separate a father from his biological daughter and on the other hand, she couldn’t bare to separate from the precious granddaughter she had raised and become so deeply attached to. But, she realized she could not lie to my mother forever and chose then to reveal the truth that was hidden for so many years.

            The truth came like a storm, stirring up confusion, anger, fear and unprecedented change in my mother’s life. Following her grandmother’s wishes, my mother moved into her father’s house and was introduced to her siblings for the first time. She tells me that the first night of separation from her grandmother was excruciatingly painful for both of them and as she cried herself to sleep the following nights, it became clear to her father that she needed her grandmother. So, upon the request of her father, her grandmother moved into a small house on the same plot of land as her father’s home. My mother describes the place as a simple house, not like the more extravagant home her father and his new wife and children lived in. But, the simplicity of the home never bothered my mother. For her, her grandmother’s presence was all she could ever ask for.

            At the age of 16, her marriage was arranged with my father, and shortly after she moved to America with him, leaving behind her grandmother who was diagnosed with cancer soon after. Little did she know that her emotional goodbye to her grandmother before she left Afghanistan would be the last time she would ever see her.

            When we took a family trip to Afghanistan in 2004, I remember watching my mother sob hysterically as she embraced her family who hid her grandmother’s death from her for years, in order to protect her. It wasn’t until years later when I had matured that my mother revealed her story to me. When I ask her if she’s angry at her family for lying to her for years, she looks at me with a million feelings reflecting in her eyes, but always explains how this lie was the most beautiful lie of her life as this lie saved her from being deprived of a mother all her life and this lie cultivated the undying bond between the one she calls her “everything”—her “Bobo.”