Had breakfast with a trio of Americans who had an odd job—two of them owned their own private sector sociology research companies. They’ve been hired by the US Army to collect data on the locals. Judging by the results, either the research has been crap or the army hasn’t bothered to look at it. There are always interesting oddballs in these international NGO hotels... here's Naheed but behind her is a Japanese guy hesitantly singing and learning to play Simon and Garfunkel.
Our fixer Mokhtar took us to the market and bazaar. Thousands of people buying and selling. Lots of carrots and raw animals. The people were surprisingly friendly to me and didn’t mind being filmed—some even clamored for it. But for some reason Naheed was targeted for abuse, despite her looking almost like an Afghan and her wearing a head covering. One threw water at her and drenched her new camera, another grabbed her privates, and the women at the mosque we visited angrily denounced her presence there. I’m not sure why there was all this hostility—was it because she was a foreign infidel woman with loose morals? A woman with a fancy camera? A Pakistani (Afghans don’t really like them for historical reasons)?
At the mosque we met a Hazara man for my story. He was begging with his four young sons and wife. When we talked to him he started crying because he’d been beaten by his Pashtun employer. He’ll be in my story but it was a sad demonstration of tribal prejudice. But (always the cynical journalist) great tape.
At another market I saw an innovative form of street gambling called fighting eggs. Two guys square off with spoiled eggs--one man, one egg--and after carefully selecting just the right egg by tapping it against their teeth, the men then tap their egg against the other's. Whoever’s doesn’t break wins. The loser has to pay for the egg. Then you pick up another egg and start again. Mokhtar demonstrated it for me and lost by 4 eggs to 2.
In the evening I went to see Mum’s friend of a friend who lives in the swank International Monetary Fund digs. You have to pass through 3 or 4 concrete and machine gunned checkpoints to get there and it’s behind enormous barbed wired walls. She regaled us with tales of aid waste by CIDA, the UN and other groups. I’m hoping she’ll be part of my story about aid effectiveness. The highlight was seeing her IMF standard issue body armor hanging up in the corner. Sweeeet.
I got moved to a new room WITH a SHOWER. I’m very excited. It’s primitive but there’s electricity and water… already a step above Sweet Salone.
