Flower in My Hand - ګل مي پە لاس

Flower in My Hand

I share a landay - a Pashto couplet. Often landay are not attributed to any particular poet or writer, but exist as part of the folklore, forming a rich part of Pashtoon heritage. Enjoy ګل مي پە لاس - Flower in My Hand.

Gul me pa laas darta walara

Ya me gul wakhla, ya rukhsat raka chi zama
I stand before you with flower in my hand;
Either take the flower or let me go.

Tor_Khan تور خان

Postcards from the Desert

Some snapshots of Abu Dhabi and the surrounding areas that were taken using my cell phone. I thought I'd share these. Enjoy.

Nowruz - نوروز

Nowruz
نوروز

نوى كال مبارك

Tor_Khan تور خان

I Wish You Enough!

Dear Readers, I wish you enough!

This dropped into my email Inbox a short while ago and whilst it's done the circuit and many may have read it, I think this is brilliant.

"I Wish You Enough!"©
By Bob Perks

I have great difficulties with saying goodbye. Even as I write this I am experiencing that pounding sensation in my heart. If I am watching such a scene in a movie I am affected so much that I need to sit up and take a few deep breaths. So when faced with a challenge in my life I have been known to go to our local airport and watch people say goodbye. I figure nothing that is happening to me at the time could be as bad as having to say goodbye.

Watching people cling to each other, crying, and holding each other in that last embrace makes me appreciate what I have even more. Seeing them finally pull apart, extending their arms until the tips of their fingers are the last to let go, is an image that stays forefront in my mind throughout the day. On one of my recent business trips, when I arrived at the counter to check in, the woman said, "How are you today?" I replied, "I am missing my wife already and I haven't even said goodbye."

She then looked at my ticket and remarked, "You will only be gone three days!" We all laughed. My problem was I still had to say goodbye. But I learn from goodbye moments, too.

Recently I overheard a father and daughter in their last moments together.

They had announced her departure and standing near the security gate, they hugged and he said, "I love you. I wish you enough." She in turn said, "Daddy, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Daddy."

They kissed and she left. He walked over toward the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see he wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on his privacy, but he welcomed me in by asking, "Did you ever say goodbye to someone knowing it would be forever?"

"Yes, I have," I replied. Saying that brought back memories I had of expressing my love and appreciation for all my Dad had done for me. Recognizing that his days were limited, I took the time to tell him face to face how much he meant to me. So I knew what this man was experiencing.

"Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever goodbye?" I asked.

"I am old and she lives much too far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is, the next trip back could be for my funeral," he said.

"When you were saying goodbye I heard you say, "I wish you enough." May I ask what that means?"

He began to smile. "That's a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone." He paused for a moment and looking up as if trying to remember it in detail, he smiled even more. "When we said 'I wish you enough,' we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain them," he continued and then turning toward me he shared the following as if he were reciting it from memory.

"I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.

I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish enough "Hellos" to get you through the final "Goodbye."

... He then began to sob and walked away.

The Colour of Blood

I have a friend* who has a done a most wonderful thing. A month ago he added to his family by travelling to Africa and adopting an orphaned child.

There will always be the argument about taking children out of their cultures - but there can never wholly be an absolute right or an absolute wrong when what stares you back in the face is a two month old child, severely undernourished, sick and weak. What choice do we make when faced with this dilemma?

Perhaps the 'ideal' solution is to move to the country so that a child can be raised amongst their own cultural kind, but it is never that easy - conflict zones have their own dangers and people often make the choice to move to places where opportunities and resources are more plentiful.

Anyway, here in the UAE, there are the usual immigration rules. The child was allowed in, but yesterday, the now three month old child had to leave the country to make a border crossing to revalidate his visa. Three months old. This would not be the case had the child been a British, US, Canadian, Australian or New Zealand national.

Intercontinental adoptions aside, one day, I hope, that extra privileges are not determined by things like colour of skin, passport or national identity. After all, African, Asian or white European cut the surface and then observe underneath - we all have the same colour of blood.

*he is a Pashtoon, point of fact

Afghan Folkore

Three brothers had children born the same year.

To Mohammad Ayub, a son named Khadi.
To Mohammad Akbar, a son named Aslam.
To Mohammad Sufi, a daughter named Marghalai.

Mohammad Akbar and Mohammad Sufi were wealthy farmers,but Mohammad Ayub had lost all his land in a flash flood by the Khash Rud, and he worked as a labourer for his two younger brothers.

As Khadi and Marghalai grew up together, they fell in love and would often meet secretly in a clump of trees near Koh-i-Duzdan (Mountain of Thieves). Their love was as pure as they were young,and one day Khadi asked his father to ask his uncle for Marghalai in marriage. The father tried to gently persuade his son, but could not.

So Mohammad Ayub set out on his impossible task, for he knew that Marghalai had already been promised to her wealthy cousin, Aslam.

When the young lovers met for the first time after the sad news, they both wept, and Khadi announced his decision to leave and seek his fortune in Hindustan.

"I shall return wealthy and we shall be married," he said.

"And I shall wait," said Marghalai.

Khadi left in the darkness, followed by the eyes of Marghalai, flooded with tears.

Years passed, and a rich caravan from Hindustan approached the village. The leader was Khadi, now handsome and wealthy, by the will of Allah. The caravan camped near the same clump of trees, and Khadi, disguised as a peddlar, entered the village and asked about Marghalai.

The people told him, "She is alive and well. She is happy, the wife of Aslam and the mother of Jamila, Ayub, Akbar, and Khadi. Allah has been gracious to her."

"And what of Mohammad Ayub?"

"Dead, dead many years ago. He died of a broken heart because his son, Khadi, left without a word, the ungrateful wretch?"

Khadi sadly returned to the clump of trees. The caravan left and slowly made its way back to Hindustan with all its riches, and with Khadi, and his broken heart.

taken from the retelling by Louis Dupree

Proxy Wars

"Without Pakistan and without its co-operation with Afghanistan, Afghanistan cannot be stable or peaceful," Afghan President Hamid Karzai told a news conference in Islamabad yesterday.

"It is also, I believe, recognised in Pakistan that without a stable and peaceful Afghanistan there cannot be stability or peace in Pakistan.

"Afghanistan does not want a proxy war between India and Pakistan on its soil. It does not want a proxy war between Iran and the United States in Afghanistan," he said.

Are they listening?

The Great Game

The 'Great Game' (covering the period between 1813-1907) was the historic rivalry between Russia and Britain over influence in Central Asia, including Persia and Afghanistan.

For a while there were less aggressive policies by the Imperial Powers, however following the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917 a second phase of rivalry between the Soviet and British influence ensued in Afghanistan.

Fast forward to the present. Today Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad accused the US of playing a "double game" in Afghanistan. He said the US had "created terrorists and now say they are fighting them", as he appeared with Afghan President Hamid Karzai in Kabul.

Hamid Karzai, on the surface remain US-friendly. Defence Secretary Robert Gates, also in Kabul today, has too accused Iran of a "double game" by stating that they were giving the Taliban low-level support.

Meanwhile Pakistan continues with it's double policy of support/fight the Taliban.

The Great Game(s) continue.

The Enemy of My Enemy ...

The Enemy of My Enemy ... is My Friend?

In the way that NATO, Afghanistan and Pakistan sometimes speak of "good" Taleban and "bad" Taleban; one set to be supported, the other set to be opposed, you have in and amongst them, a new regional emergence - the Lashkars. Today they are "good", because they are pitted against Taleban forces.

The Lashkars may have their point, but they are armed, angry and they are dangerous and operate outside the realm of the state but claiming that they are there to restore order. I shouldn't even have to explain the connection between vigilantism and mob 'law'. Tribal militias may occupy a kind of popular romanticism in the minds of those suspicious of the the Taleban, but however we look at it the fact that militias exist at all points squarely at the failure of the state to be able to protect its people in the first place.

When a frustrated mob takes over, unless they organise themselves quickly, they remain just that - a frustrated mob. Pakistan continues with a dangerous policy that may come back and hurt. The enemy of my enemy might not necessarily be my friend either.

The militia claim that they "have not had a minute's help" from the government

An Inspector Calls

Education is About Reaching People

I'm an educationalist. Currently, I'm an Education Advisor; previously I served in the classroom, at the chalkface as a teacher; primary, secondary, adult education - I've worked in many differing schools and situations. I still teach when needed though most of my current work is in teacher development. Jokingly, my family and friends say, "a teacher for teachers" - I sometimes use this idea to explain my work.

I do not claim, however, that I am the best teacher and nor are my methods the exclusive way to do the job. I follow some of the tried and tested theory, tied in with my own beliefs about what is right and wrong within a classroom setting and reject a whole load of the temporary fads that are prevalent with a certain brand of education theorists/management-types in education. Mostly, I am led by the heart and the mind, and whilst I judge critically, openly and (hopefully) honestly, I believe in keeping people intact. In education, as in politics or in life in general, it is my belief that it is better to keep people on your side.

There's a moral purpose with regards to the role of education and my personal motto has always been that "Education is About Reaching People".

There's no copyright on that idea - I don't claim to be the only one who feels that way. Education for me is not about test scores, 'ideal' three-part lessons, having the right coloured felt tips in your pencil case or what the inspector thinks following a snapshot of what goes on. Education does not fit into neat patterns and that's precisely why I think that education is about reaching people. For some a quality educational exercise is about teaching women in African villages about basic child nutrition - for others it is about engaging students in a shared/independent learning process.

An Inspector Calls ...

Today the school had a mini internal inspection organised by our education service provider and the ICT department and teacher for whom I am responsible for was considered "good". I should be pleased, and in truth, I am. However, I retain a measured scepticism - one good lesson does not make one a good teacher as a bad lesson does not make a bad teacher.

Remembering this, is key. And this is my advice to school inspectors, whom, as I have written about before, I have some reasons to be cautious of. Ultimately, too many people in "educational" ivory towers lose sight of the facts on the ground. Theory is all well and good, but reality is a different story altogether. For me, once again, if a teacher reaches people, a one-off lesson, whether technically speaking "good" or otherwise, is, in the big picture of eduction, neither here, nor there.