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AFGHANISTAN DIARY 1970 ... Part 7July 26 , Puli Kumri - In the Home of Aziz An invitation last night to the home of an Afghani student became a happy and memorable experience. Tim was caught up in the search for his lost or stolen passport and travelers checks so was not there. Hans and Ira and I found ourselves exotically entertained reclining on the mauve mattresses and white silk cushions in the house of Aziz. Four brothers were the man entertainers, although we met two girls of the 17 children and the married daughter with her husband and children. They could have been an American family…the boys with their butch haircuts and the girls with hair in curlers under scarves. We played "Karambal" and than Tosha Kor (Thank you.), a card game that was lots of fun, especially due to our bilingual method of playing it. Deal out the deck and than X asks anyone for a card, for example, a 7, but only if he himself holds one or more in his hand. The Requestee must yield the card asked for if he has it and the Requester must say, "Thank you." If he forgets to do so, the card goes back to the owner and the owner can now request "one 7" and it is his turn to ask people for cards. The game gets exciting and funny because so often people who under ordinary circumstances automatically say “thank you” for the littlist thing, forget to in the heat of the game. Even more funny were the ludicrous and brazen attempts at cheating that we all employed. The game was interrupted for dinner, placed on the floor in front of us by the girls. Delicious, not because of elaborate preparation, but because of the food itself. Eggs, salad of tomatoes and onions with mint, soup, honeydew and water melons in heaps, juicy bunches of purple grapes, curd, chokka (“brother of yogurt”) and always more, more to be dipped into communally, each with our own piece of nan. The Afghani wine was amazingly potent. 40% proof I think. Homemade and impossible for me to consume greatly or quickly. After dinner, we finished our card game once we’d all got groups of fours by asking one another for the fours and using cheating methods to help us remember what cards each other had. Rather nice that Hans won. Out came the hash. Amazing stuff. Three puffs and I was high as a kite. So full of laughter. Couldn’t do a thing without laughing, and Ira, across the way, cracking up too. The whole family was enjoying the exhibition tremendously, each of them puffing contentedly on a joint as it came around to him. How many homes does one get into where the hospitality extends to having the old hash box brought out? Like offering a liquor or after dinner mints. Singing and all of us "dancing." Laughter. Leave around 1:30, stoned. Aziz and his brothers walk us home, and a pity it sort of disintegrated the lovely evening for me for they started patting me and squeezing me. One fellow passed me some hash as a gift and gave me a great squeeze on the breast. I got paranoid and started singing "Whenever I Feel Afraid", hoping that one of my boys would walk on the other side of me. Finally Hans and Ira got the idea, but didn’t fully comprehend. Touching western women must be practically a national action. Still, I just couldn’t hate the Afghan boys, they’d all been so fun and sweet all evening. I can’t understand, though, how they could become so entirely different once out in the dark street and after such an evening of what I had taken to be mutual respect and humorous rapport. Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8
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