The Dark Ages

After Ishkashem we felt led to travel to a small village called Zebak and do another teacher training. We were able to rent a small house and quickly got permission from the school superintendent. We also were blessed to have the translator we used in Ishkashem come with us, a very bright 18 year old guy named Rahmat.

We had about 20 hours to move in and get settled before we had to throw ourselves into another teacher training. Apparently there was a mis-communication because at promptly 1 PM the next day thirty teachers showed up at our door. At a loss, we quietly ushered them into our small living room and as per Afghan rules, gave them tea and candy. They ate an ENTIRE bag of my favorite candy. They were unabashedly stuffing their pockets with it. I still hold it against them. Arg. So after conducting the first day of training( in our living room) we immediately went to the Principle and demanded a school room. And we got it, thank the good lord.

The training itself was again very successful, but we were forced to condense ten days of teaching into six, since it was harvest season and the teachers needed time to harvest, thresh, and store their wheat. Which they do as their ancient forefathers did before them, with sickles and oxen and separating the chafe. It's fascinating to watch a method that has remained unchanged for thousands of years. No tractors in this part of the world.

I think I speak for the whole team when I say that Zebak was probably the darkest time of outreach. There was no running water, electricity, or decent toilet. The kitchen was a dark mud and straw hovel and I had to wash all the dishes outside with freezing cold spring water that the boys hauled to the house a dozen times a day. Sanitation was impossible, and we had to keep the door bolted at all times or strangers would just walk in and stare at us. And worst of all, we had no cell phone reception, so there was no contact with the outside world for 17 days. Our only option was the single landline in town, which only worked twice in the whole time we were there. And even then you had to wait in line 45 minutes to use it, and bear the stares of a dozen afghan men who were in line as well, listening in as you try to talk to your boyfriend on your one year anniversary. Awk. Ward.

Once the seminar was over we still had 12 days to go before we were due to leave. 12 days, trapped in our tiny little compound, a horde of children loitering outside for a glimpse at us. We didn't know anyone there and houses were pretty spread out, so there was no real way to get out in the community and visit people. We did befriend one girl who visited a few times, but she spoke little English so she conversed mostly with the Pakistani family. I spent most of those days re-reading the Lord of the Rings trilogy and watching The Office on my computer.

Zebak's only redeeming quality was its gorgeous scenery. It is set alongside a beautiful river in a narrow valley with towering mountains all around. There are Taliban hiding in those towering mountains, but I gave that little thought. Not much else happened, other than me having to spurn the advances of our translator. In a culture when men and women have little to no contact, it only takes about one conversation with a western woman before they're madly in love. There were a few young afghan men I had to keep a distance from, poor lovesick fellows.

From Zebak we made plans to go to a bigger village called Jurm, but things, as usual, didn't turn out as we expected. Stay tuned for next week's installment!