The Orchards (Part 1)

I posted a blog a couple of days ago that mentioned a trip to an apple orchard. The trip included a stop where I had a nice conversation with an elder (see my previous post). After that meeting, we continued on to the orchard and had the opportunity to interact with children of the village as the students had just been let out of the morning classes.

We stopped outside of the orchards to wait for the local agriculture leader to meet us. It was our intention to meet with him and some of the farmers to talk about the trees, their land, irrigation, water management, and any other topics we thought would be helpful to them. As is often the case in Afghanistan, we waited quite a while. There is a saying here, "Inshallah," which means "Allah willing." To many Afghans, it's just an excuse to be late or to avoid doing something they should. Our American idea of time and time management simply doesn't apply here in Afghanistan. I hear it often as I wait for hours to meet with someone who doesn't call or let me know they will be late. When they arrive, they apologize and tell me Allah didn't will us to meet at the time we arranged. I could go on, but that's not the topic for today.

While we were waiting, dozens of elementary school aged boys swarmed around us. They tried to impress us with their knowledge of English and math in the hopes that we'd reward them somehow. Some of the boys recited ABCs, some counted up to 10 and 20 and 100, and some tried to have a conversation, "Hello, name my Abdul is." It seemed genuine and there was a lot of laughter from both sides as they practiced their English and we practiced our Pashto. Believe me, our Pashto was probably just as funny to the boys.

The boys kept asking for "pens" while we were talking to them. Pens are apparently scarce in classrooms and the kids know soldiers always carry pens with them. One of our soldiers carries about a dozen or so for times like this. He's a tall, strong soldier who by all appearances could have played linebacker in the SEC had he not donned a uniform and come to Afghanistan. But the gentle giant would also insist the boys ask politely for a pen, one at a time, and would joke with those that tried to go back to the end of line and get a second pen. It was nice to witness the interact between the soldier and the boys as they and he laughed often and heartily.

The difference in the clothing, speech and posture of the boys told me even in this small village there was a distinct set of classes. One of the boys had a beautiful shirt of deep plum embroidered with a gold color thread that was distinctly Afghan. He was not only one of the most polite, but his English was the best. He stood taller and straighter than the other boys and never pushed or slouched the entire time. He kept a small but clearly evident grin on his face the whole time, careful not to show too much emotion.

Many of the other boys had clothing of similarly earthly and bright colors, but their clothes were stained and tattered, an obvious indication that after school they had work to do on the family farm. They were more easily excited and interacted with us both vocally and physically. These boys were milling around everywhere, happy to not be in school or at home doing chores. They laughed loud and challenged each other to demonstrate which of them had the better English.

We soon had to leave this group of students as we headed off of the roads onto the trails that lead to the orchards. Our Afghanistan leader never did arrive, having claimed security, phone calls, forgetfulness, and finally a dead battery as the reason for not being able to meet us. "Well, let's try and meet in the next day or two to go over what we find today," is what we told him when we realized it was futile to wait. "Inshallah," he replied.