The Afghan Queen: A True Story of an American Woman in Afghanistan by Paul Meinhardt
Authors: Paul Meinhardt
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in befriending Mike and Kit. She copied most of her daily log to the aerograms she sent Paul, often two to three a week. Similarly, Paul sent aerograms to Lela, describing the events of family household, as well as the interactions of Kirk, Erik, Dan and himself.
In one of her early aerograms, Lela mentioned that as soon as they drove away from a host, they would stop along the road where Kit and Mike would unfold their map and, with a red pencil, circle the areas where natural petroleum was reported.
6
REFLECTIONS - SPRING, 1975
The altitude and landscape in Kabul is reminiscent of Denver, Colorado. For a few weeks in fall and spring the heavens open and turn Kabul into a huge mud slide. The rains came a week after I arrived. Within the first few hours my jeans were mud splattered to the waist.
During the first few weeks I was so involved in business activities continually, there was no time to give the weather much thought. The merchants I dealt with were urban extensions of their tribes. As I familiarized myself with the shopkeepers, their commercial sophistication was evident. I was delighted with the variety and quality of the objects in the shops and bazaars.
I learned that every transaction required a complex social exchange. A feature and fault of these dealings required that most of my meals be with merchant families. It took some getting used to, but I began to realize that social exchange was as important as business exchange. Merchant families stressed that social links paved the way to business success.
Social links are not taken lightly. Once adopted into the extended merchant family, I was treated as kin to all their tribal kin. The tribal connections often extended outside of Afghanistan, into Turkey, Pakistan, India, Iran, Russia, China and Western Europe.
Some of the merchants and traders I encountered along the way were crafty, patronizing, and wary. On the other hand, those who I did business with were friendly, kind, and exuberantly helpful. Once money changed hands, the Afghans insisted on adopting me into their families. This was usually a pleasant and warm experience, especially with the women and children of the clan.
The hospitality was especially warm with Mike’s clan. As we followed Mike’s engineering itinerary, all the families we visited had something to sell or trade. After five years in Afghanistan, it would seem as if buying selling-trading was the principle occupation and pastime.
Over the years, I’ve become kin to many merchants. Each trade, gift, meeting, meal, wedding, and birth strengthens our ties. Typically, I spend two months or so trading in Afghanistan and Europe and two months in the States, selling my tribal treasures.
Lately, I’ve taken some of my business associates back to the States. They live with my family at our ranch in New Jersey, much as I live with them when we return to Afghanistan. Our ranch has become a wait-station for refugees. Some are referred to us by the Unitarians and Quakers in our area, but most are Afghan political refugees.
When I stay with my Afghan family they treat me like a daughter. There was a time when I offered to pay for my room and board, and they laughed at me saying:
“Would we charge our daughter Fatima? We are all family. When we stayed with your family in New Jersey, we were treated like your own family, and we felt at home. Why spoil what we have so rewardingly built? We have all benefited and prospered. Why should we disrupt that?”
ON THE ROAD AGAIN:
This time we were en route to Kandahar when the back right tire rolled off the axle after hitting a rock on the other side of a blind curve. Mike was prepared for this. He jacked up the rear right axle by pulling one of four knobs below the dash.
The knob released a pneumatic jack that slowly raised the rear-right of the vehicle. It was the first time I’d seen an automatic jack, marvelous, I thought. It was Russian military technology that worked for a change.
We
In one of her early aerograms, Lela mentioned that as soon as they drove away from a host, they would stop along the road where Kit and Mike would unfold their map and, with a red pencil, circle the areas where natural petroleum was reported.
6
REFLECTIONS - SPRING, 1975
The altitude and landscape in Kabul is reminiscent of Denver, Colorado. For a few weeks in fall and spring the heavens open and turn Kabul into a huge mud slide. The rains came a week after I arrived. Within the first few hours my jeans were mud splattered to the waist.
During the first few weeks I was so involved in business activities continually, there was no time to give the weather much thought. The merchants I dealt with were urban extensions of their tribes. As I familiarized myself with the shopkeepers, their commercial sophistication was evident. I was delighted with the variety and quality of the objects in the shops and bazaars.
I learned that every transaction required a complex social exchange. A feature and fault of these dealings required that most of my meals be with merchant families. It took some getting used to, but I began to realize that social exchange was as important as business exchange. Merchant families stressed that social links paved the way to business success.
Social links are not taken lightly. Once adopted into the extended merchant family, I was treated as kin to all their tribal kin. The tribal connections often extended outside of Afghanistan, into Turkey, Pakistan, India, Iran, Russia, China and Western Europe.
Some of the merchants and traders I encountered along the way were crafty, patronizing, and wary. On the other hand, those who I did business with were friendly, kind, and exuberantly helpful. Once money changed hands, the Afghans insisted on adopting me into their families. This was usually a pleasant and warm experience, especially with the women and children of the clan.
The hospitality was especially warm with Mike’s clan. As we followed Mike’s engineering itinerary, all the families we visited had something to sell or trade. After five years in Afghanistan, it would seem as if buying selling-trading was the principle occupation and pastime.
Over the years, I’ve become kin to many merchants. Each trade, gift, meeting, meal, wedding, and birth strengthens our ties. Typically, I spend two months or so trading in Afghanistan and Europe and two months in the States, selling my tribal treasures.
Lately, I’ve taken some of my business associates back to the States. They live with my family at our ranch in New Jersey, much as I live with them when we return to Afghanistan. Our ranch has become a wait-station for refugees. Some are referred to us by the Unitarians and Quakers in our area, but most are Afghan political refugees.
When I stay with my Afghan family they treat me like a daughter. There was a time when I offered to pay for my room and board, and they laughed at me saying:
“Would we charge our daughter Fatima? We are all family. When we stayed with your family in New Jersey, we were treated like your own family, and we felt at home. Why spoil what we have so rewardingly built? We have all benefited and prospered. Why should we disrupt that?”
ON THE ROAD AGAIN:
This time we were en route to Kandahar when the back right tire rolled off the axle after hitting a rock on the other side of a blind curve. Mike was prepared for this. He jacked up the rear right axle by pulling one of four knobs below the dash.
The knob released a pneumatic jack that slowly raised the rear-right of the vehicle. It was the first time I’d seen an automatic jack, marvelous, I thought. It was Russian military technology that worked for a change.
We
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