Dark Chronicles of Nooria 17
Friday being lousy weather, I give Shauzia another English lesson. As always, the crowd gathers. As we take a break, Nabila asks, "wanna be an English teacher when you grow up?"
"No, had my heart set on being a technician."
"You prefer patrolling? I mean, compared to being in camp."
"Yeah, feel alive out there, fresh air, wind, sometimes sun, magnificent ocean, terrain so ugly it's beautiful. Here, ok but lacks any zing."
"Yeah, I hear you. Very artificial. Still, think about schools back home. Kids lose time for lots of reasons: family trouble, weather, no bus fare, work in field or shop, daughter forbidden to go. Here, they boast of 99.7% attendance. No wonder it gets such good results, an education greenhouse."
"Good analogy. Ever think of being a writer?"
"Yes, like to write anything that helps people. Health, political, even fiction. Now take yourself for example. Want proof of the power of the press? After the donation story, donations as a whole went way up. People see a ten-year-old girl drop in all she has, they think, donate more themselves. So, you and the story writer are both heroes."
"Left lotsa egg on the CO's face."
"Part of the catch. Humor gives a story more punch. They laughed at her, but still donated more."
"You gonna write in English or Dari?"
"Both, that's why I like listening to you, good example in English."
"Thanks."
"You don't mind we all listen in?"
"Actually feel proud. You gonna write for the AAW newsletter?"
"Freedom of the press is sadly lacking here, like Albania before the thaw. Still, if it's here or nowhere, I'd write here. Things change slowly over time."
"I certainly wish you the best of luck."
"Funny, your face rings a bell, bigtime. Like a mirage in the desert, never get there. And first day you arrived, I saw the recognition wash all over your face. So?"
"Long story, take days in the telling, some other time."
"Just one hint."
"The number 83 mean anything to you?"
She gasps as the recognition comes, lowers her voice, "Poland, Hungary, Yugoslavia. Those were the days. Our convoys rolled, the very earth shook. Now look at us."
"Considering everything we did, we got off easy. Think leprosy colony in Bangladesh or untouchable sweeping the road in India."
"Yeah, guess we did ok. Ironic, you led the way playing bad; now, gotta lead playing good."
"Hindus call it the circle of life."
"As I recall, you were the sane one. Pulled people back from the ragged edge of insanity. Some of the people, some of the time. Without you, woulda been a lot more sinful. Guess I owe you. Like a little help with Dari composition?"
"Your kind offer is cheerfully and gratefully accepted. I am weak."
"Yeah Nooria, once you're an officer, lotsa paper, gotta at least be able to spell."
"Or have a sgt who does."
"No such thing, no sgt anywhere who can spell. On your own. So, get to work. Page 17 ..."
And so it was Nabila and I started as friends.
Dari teacher starts, "now here's how writing should be. Nabila, read your story to the class."
It's funny, yet touching. On the gay teahouse crowd in Kandahar. Characters are alive, setting good, way beyond anything I could do. I thank the fates Nabila is my friend. If even 1/10 of that talent rubs off, I'll be a better person.
There's loud applause as she's done.
Teacher smiles, "Shauzia, Bobogal, Fereshta, Nooria, front and center. Now you 4 are distinguished by too much repression in your writing. Isn't just grammar and spelling. Got to loosen up a bit, put some of yourself in your writing. Now take these scripts, you're playing actors in Nabila's story."
I gasp, "ma'am, you mean now?"
"Sure, improv is good for you. Shauzia, sit there. Nooria, on her knee. Fereshta, that chair. Bobogal, on her knee. Come on, move, it's show time."
I doubt if I've ever blushed more. Still we do get laughter and applause.
Story over, teacher says, "truth is Nooria's was the worst of the lot. Really needs to loosen up. And rest of you, wipe those superior smirks, you aren't far ahead of her."
As we exit Fereshta jokes, "I been cheated. Shoulda been Nooria on my knee, not Bobogal."
Shauzia laughs, "we were playing men, you remember?"
"Oh, forgot. Wonder what the gays would say bout us?"
"Not a thing. Too busy with their own stuff. Hafta wonder though, if God made a mistake. The whole man-woman thing is so ridiculous."
"Nooria, you's awful quiet. Your take."
"Yeah, gotta be a better way. Eggs or laboratory or such. Whole man-woman thing is stupid."
"But then, there's already way too many people in the world. World could stand a few years of no kids."
"Yeah, but everything is habit. Once people got the extra money for dope or travel or scooters, maybe they never have kids again. Maybe whole human race dies out."
"You make that sound like a bad thing. And you Nooria, awful quiet again."
"Human race will hafta go on without me. I don't plan to contribute."
"For every one of you, there's also a guy with 2 wives and 14 children. You won't be missed."
Thursday morning, MP sgt slides in next to Amina and me, "our illustrious CO has 2 options. If she proclaims parking to be CO's orders, can do it anytime. Drawback, her successor can cancel or amend at will. If she goes for a bylaw, hasta go through the HQ Bylaw Committee. Advantage, it stays valid until Committee itself repeals it. Understand so far?"
I nod.
"Well, on its way, HQ."
I grin, "meaning, lucky if it gets looked at in a year, let alone actioned."
"Amazing how you grasp these things. Such a contrast you are Nooria. Some things, so wise, so savvy, so grownup. Others, so naive, so little-girl."
"Sarge, could say the same about every 10-y-o on earth."
"Yes you could. But you take it to more extremes than any others I've seen."
Amina shrugs, "into our world of insanity, more comes. Think school experiment, the electromagnet and iron filings. HQ, the electromagnet. Ordinary garden-variety loons, the iron filings. But don't be disappointed Nooria. I'm sure the Foreign Legion is just as crackers."
I assert, "sure hope so. Don't do boring well."
MP sgt grins, "I'm guessing they're more so. More money to splash around."
The B14 door opens. Arifa calls, "girls, everyone stand." It's the CO and doctor, a Captain.
CO asks, "anyone here heard of the Special Air Service Survival Manual? Publication of the British forces. Two versions, internal only and external one, for sale to the public."
I have, but would rather not say. CO and I seem to have a star-crossed relationship.
Nabila the aspiring writer is more bold, "ma'am I have."
"Good, what have you heard of it?"
"Ma'am, say it's most complete, best in the world."
"That seems to be the consensus. How did you hear of it?"
"Ma'am, friend back home, her uncle was in the British Army."
"What group, specialty?"
"1 Para, ma'am, that's First Battalion, Parachute Regiment."
"This para. An Afghan in the British Army? Or a Brit who married an Afghan girl?"
"British, ma'am."
"So what did he say of the contents of it?"
"Ma'am, said stuff in there so bad, lots of guys would rather die than do it."
"Doesn't that seem odd? Why not go all the way, do anything to survive? Isn't it a basic human instinct?"
"Ma'am, maybe addiction, troubled relationships. Maybe feeling outcast compared to mainline British society. Yet being sort of Christian, can't actually commit suicide. In the gray zone, where people get to choose."
"Right. Everyone here who feels they're better off than the British Army, raise your hand."
Not one hand.
"Everyone who believes they're worse off than the British Army, raise your hand."
Forest of hands, everyone, including Arifa.
CO smiles gently, "now there is a contradiction that defies logic. These better-off people set all sorts of limits. They'll do this but not that. Yet every girl here went all the way, right out to the ultimate taboo. So, that means the girls in B14 are a tougher lot than the guys in 1 Para."
I see huge smiles all around.
"No, had my heart set on being a technician."
"You prefer patrolling? I mean, compared to being in camp."
"Yeah, feel alive out there, fresh air, wind, sometimes sun, magnificent ocean, terrain so ugly it's beautiful. Here, ok but lacks any zing."
"Yeah, I hear you. Very artificial. Still, think about schools back home. Kids lose time for lots of reasons: family trouble, weather, no bus fare, work in field or shop, daughter forbidden to go. Here, they boast of 99.7% attendance. No wonder it gets such good results, an education greenhouse."
"Good analogy. Ever think of being a writer?"
"Yes, like to write anything that helps people. Health, political, even fiction. Now take yourself for example. Want proof of the power of the press? After the donation story, donations as a whole went way up. People see a ten-year-old girl drop in all she has, they think, donate more themselves. So, you and the story writer are both heroes."
"Left lotsa egg on the CO's face."
"Part of the catch. Humor gives a story more punch. They laughed at her, but still donated more."
"You gonna write in English or Dari?"
"Both, that's why I like listening to you, good example in English."
"Thanks."
"You don't mind we all listen in?"
"Actually feel proud. You gonna write for the AAW newsletter?"
"Freedom of the press is sadly lacking here, like Albania before the thaw. Still, if it's here or nowhere, I'd write here. Things change slowly over time."
"I certainly wish you the best of luck."
"Funny, your face rings a bell, bigtime. Like a mirage in the desert, never get there. And first day you arrived, I saw the recognition wash all over your face. So?"
"Long story, take days in the telling, some other time."
"Just one hint."
"The number 83 mean anything to you?"
She gasps as the recognition comes, lowers her voice, "Poland, Hungary, Yugoslavia. Those were the days. Our convoys rolled, the very earth shook. Now look at us."
"Considering everything we did, we got off easy. Think leprosy colony in Bangladesh or untouchable sweeping the road in India."
"Yeah, guess we did ok. Ironic, you led the way playing bad; now, gotta lead playing good."
"Hindus call it the circle of life."
"As I recall, you were the sane one. Pulled people back from the ragged edge of insanity. Some of the people, some of the time. Without you, woulda been a lot more sinful. Guess I owe you. Like a little help with Dari composition?"
"Your kind offer is cheerfully and gratefully accepted. I am weak."
"Yeah Nooria, once you're an officer, lotsa paper, gotta at least be able to spell."
"Or have a sgt who does."
"No such thing, no sgt anywhere who can spell. On your own. So, get to work. Page 17 ..."
And so it was Nabila and I started as friends.
Dari teacher starts, "now here's how writing should be. Nabila, read your story to the class."
It's funny, yet touching. On the gay teahouse crowd in Kandahar. Characters are alive, setting good, way beyond anything I could do. I thank the fates Nabila is my friend. If even 1/10 of that talent rubs off, I'll be a better person.
There's loud applause as she's done.
Teacher smiles, "Shauzia, Bobogal, Fereshta, Nooria, front and center. Now you 4 are distinguished by too much repression in your writing. Isn't just grammar and spelling. Got to loosen up a bit, put some of yourself in your writing. Now take these scripts, you're playing actors in Nabila's story."
I gasp, "ma'am, you mean now?"
"Sure, improv is good for you. Shauzia, sit there. Nooria, on her knee. Fereshta, that chair. Bobogal, on her knee. Come on, move, it's show time."
I doubt if I've ever blushed more. Still we do get laughter and applause.
Story over, teacher says, "truth is Nooria's was the worst of the lot. Really needs to loosen up. And rest of you, wipe those superior smirks, you aren't far ahead of her."
As we exit Fereshta jokes, "I been cheated. Shoulda been Nooria on my knee, not Bobogal."
Shauzia laughs, "we were playing men, you remember?"
"Oh, forgot. Wonder what the gays would say bout us?"
"Not a thing. Too busy with their own stuff. Hafta wonder though, if God made a mistake. The whole man-woman thing is so ridiculous."
"Nooria, you's awful quiet. Your take."
"Yeah, gotta be a better way. Eggs or laboratory or such. Whole man-woman thing is stupid."
"But then, there's already way too many people in the world. World could stand a few years of no kids."
"Yeah, but everything is habit. Once people got the extra money for dope or travel or scooters, maybe they never have kids again. Maybe whole human race dies out."
"You make that sound like a bad thing. And you Nooria, awful quiet again."
"Human race will hafta go on without me. I don't plan to contribute."
"For every one of you, there's also a guy with 2 wives and 14 children. You won't be missed."
Thursday morning, MP sgt slides in next to Amina and me, "our illustrious CO has 2 options. If she proclaims parking to be CO's orders, can do it anytime. Drawback, her successor can cancel or amend at will. If she goes for a bylaw, hasta go through the HQ Bylaw Committee. Advantage, it stays valid until Committee itself repeals it. Understand so far?"
I nod.
"Well, on its way, HQ."
I grin, "meaning, lucky if it gets looked at in a year, let alone actioned."
"Amazing how you grasp these things. Such a contrast you are Nooria. Some things, so wise, so savvy, so grownup. Others, so naive, so little-girl."
"Sarge, could say the same about every 10-y-o on earth."
"Yes you could. But you take it to more extremes than any others I've seen."
Amina shrugs, "into our world of insanity, more comes. Think school experiment, the electromagnet and iron filings. HQ, the electromagnet. Ordinary garden-variety loons, the iron filings. But don't be disappointed Nooria. I'm sure the Foreign Legion is just as crackers."
I assert, "sure hope so. Don't do boring well."
MP sgt grins, "I'm guessing they're more so. More money to splash around."
The B14 door opens. Arifa calls, "girls, everyone stand." It's the CO and doctor, a Captain.
CO asks, "anyone here heard of the Special Air Service Survival Manual? Publication of the British forces. Two versions, internal only and external one, for sale to the public."
I have, but would rather not say. CO and I seem to have a star-crossed relationship.
Nabila the aspiring writer is more bold, "ma'am I have."
"Good, what have you heard of it?"
"Ma'am, say it's most complete, best in the world."
"That seems to be the consensus. How did you hear of it?"
"Ma'am, friend back home, her uncle was in the British Army."
"What group, specialty?"
"1 Para, ma'am, that's First Battalion, Parachute Regiment."
"This para. An Afghan in the British Army? Or a Brit who married an Afghan girl?"
"British, ma'am."
"So what did he say of the contents of it?"
"Ma'am, said stuff in there so bad, lots of guys would rather die than do it."
"Doesn't that seem odd? Why not go all the way, do anything to survive? Isn't it a basic human instinct?"
"Ma'am, maybe addiction, troubled relationships. Maybe feeling outcast compared to mainline British society. Yet being sort of Christian, can't actually commit suicide. In the gray zone, where people get to choose."
"Right. Everyone here who feels they're better off than the British Army, raise your hand."
Not one hand.
"Everyone who believes they're worse off than the British Army, raise your hand."
Forest of hands, everyone, including Arifa.
CO smiles gently, "now there is a contradiction that defies logic. These better-off people set all sorts of limits. They'll do this but not that. Yet every girl here went all the way, right out to the ultimate taboo. So, that means the girls in B14 are a tougher lot than the guys in 1 Para."
I see huge smiles all around.
posted by afghangirlscifi @ 1:23 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home