Aerial Roots

The famous banyan tree in India has aerial roots.  That means small seedlings growing on its branches send down vine-like extensions that upon hitting dirt, take root and anchor the tree.  If left unchecked, a single banyan can expand into a maze-like thicket of its own creation.  A tree intertwined around another tree, creating shadow trees.

I’m living in a similar metaphoric spiral right now.  Thoughts shooting straight downward, leading to confusion, leading to pause, leading to insights, leading to growth.

 

 

I’m like the little guy at the bottom of the illustration; feeling my way through, tripping over the bumps.

The people I meet, my family and their friends are like the tree – patient and generous.

 

At my worst, I feel wholly unprepared to spend the next 8 months here.  I feel like everything I brought with me is useless, my miniscule language skills are useless and I stick out no matter where I go.  Though when I get that low, something happens to reassure me that I’m fine. Like the two big men who ended up sitting across from me on my 16 hour train ride from Mumbai to New Delhi.  I was a little nervous about sharing an overnight train berth surrounded by men so I was sitting there trying to look stoic, listening to my headphones.  I soon realized that they weren’t speaking in Hindi and I recognized many of their words.  In fact, it sounded like Farsi.  So I started speaking to them in broken Farsi.  It turns out they are from Kabul, here in India on some business.

What’s with the pole in this cab? I have a hundred questions.

One of the guys had traveled all over Iran.  In New Delhi, they carried my bags off the train, called my driver to tell him where we were standing and waited with me until he came.

 

It’s been a roller coaster and my knuckles are white from gripping the bars tight.  (On a side note, I was talking to someone and I referred to myself as brown.  She said, “No you’re not, you’re very white”.  This led me to reply, “Trust me, in America I’m not white”.)

Back to me and the banyan tree and feeling rootless amid a forest of roots.  What is the difference between feeling lost and feeling rootless?  Does being rootless lead one to be lost? What does being lost lead to? Liberation or nothingness?  Why such angst after only a week?  I’m not just dislocated, I’m anxious about the fact that I feel dislocated.  This coupled with the energy and pace of Bombay can make someone go mad.

To give you an example, getting to a destination on foot means you have to first negotiate the traffic – cars, scooters, motorbikes, pedestrians, dogs, oxen and men with hand carts loaded with goods.  You then have to negotiate the rivers of people walking on the sidewalk and spilling on to the gully since the sidewalk is covered with hawkers’ stalls and improvised huts.

A relatively mellow street near my aunt’s home. It’s the navrata season where the various aspects of the goddess are honored.

When you get close to the location you have to puzzle over an amazing kaleidoscope of signs, old and new in all colors and shapes, attached to the building in all directions to find the place you are looking for.

But good luck finding a place to stand and read the signs because you’re never out of the traffic, you’re always in it, trying to hold on to your own singular desire like a lifebuoy being steadily shaken and drenched by the waves of all the other human beings who want something too.

And the tension is palpable.  The middle and upper classes demand things now, quickly, to my liking.  The working and poor argue, steal, stall and walk out.

Complexity everywhere.

There is a great tension between obligation and freedom; sacrifice and care.  Dedicated family members denounce one another when things get hard.  Educated women verbally (and physically) abuse servants to get out their resentment.  Selflessness and dedication meet control and sadism in strange ways.

Another gift came in the form of a book by my friend and brilliant author Arshia Sattar.  “Lost Loves – Exploring Rama’s Anguish” is a reading of the Hindu epic, the Ramayana, as a love story.  I’ve read the first few chapters and one thing that stood out was the thought that Rama was a god who oftentimes didn’t remember, didn’t recognize that he was a god.  He was living as a human, but that didn’t negate his divinity.  And so, we are we all in a way.  We can’t recognize our own divine light nor the light of others and so we battle on this earth for a little place to stand.  A footprint in the sand.

I am learning to see what I am looking at and not to make snap judgments.  Just like I learned how to approach an address I will learn how to approach a culture.  To see it as it is, not as I think it should be.  And like the banyan tree, my roots will continue to grow in many directions.

Here’s an image I created after being inspired by “Lost Loves”

 

 

How to value difference?

How do I talk about difference without putting a value judgment on it?   If one thing is different than another, must one thing be better than the other?  How can I value multiple experiences, approaches and perspectives while keeping a sense of self?  Must I choose one as better so that I can hold on to something familiar?

The garden in my guest house. Sometimes different can be just fine!

 

This project is different than the rest of my work in Afghanistan.  I am not working directly with a theater group, I am working with media makers; writers, producers, researchers from Equal Access, Afghanistan.  I am training them in methods of participatory storytelling for community engagement and social change.  In some ways, it’s very much like the T.V. show I created at the NYC Mayor’s Office of Adult Education.

 

It’s different working with highly educated, sophisticated men from the capital city versus men with different levels of education from outlying provinces.  How have I experienced the difference?  There is a warmness and familiarity with the men from the provinces.  A sweetness and a homey-ness that comes through in my interactions.  With the men in the city … there’s a distance some more formality.  I could chalk it up to being busy, being movers and shakers, being pulled in many directions.  I could also say it’s because the city-folk are treading new ground.  Working closely with women on a daily basis means they must be extra careful to avoid criticism of mixed sex workplaces.

Zabiullah and Arman discuss things. Arman (right) has an amazing voice and sang some verses of the Koran as an auspicious opening for our workshop. He also showed me his Afghan pop music video!

Massoumeh, one of the community leaders and advisers involved in our process, offered another thought.  She said in the cities, people are connected only through work.  In the village, people are connected through daily life so they know how to be together easily.  Profound words.

All this considered, we’ve had a lot of fun and made real connections.  An interesting discussion of leadership came up after playing a game called Colombian Hypnosis where one person leads another around the room using only the the palm of their hand.  Most of the participants said that they didn’t like leading because they felt that they didn’t know what their partner was thinking and therefore felt strange about just leading their partner anywhere in the room, they said it felt pointless.  This got us talking about the relationship between leader and follower.   What is the relationship?  How are each responsible to the other?  What do you need to think about in order to lead well?  Where do you have power as the follower?

(L-R) Michael, Bashirat, Arman. Working on the issue of youth oppression.

At the end of the last day of the workshop we went around the room and said what concepts were most interesting and engaging for us personally.  Basharat said that the discussion on leadership was the most useful for him.  He said that when he went home he realized that as a father, he doesn’t have to take a commanding attitude.  He can talk to his children and tell them what’s happening and hear what they’d like to do.

It’s amazing to see how personally this work reaches in such a short period of time.  I think that maybe in our few days together, we’ve figured out how to be together easily.

 

 

 

Eid Mubarak – Happy Eid

Dear Friends –

As I prepare to return to Kabul for a short project with the US Institute for Peace, I wanted to take the time to wish everyone a very happy Eid.  May it be filled with closeness, kindness and a renewed hope for human liberation. May the best and brightest parts of your spirit shine.

The end of Ramadan (marked by Eid) this year coincides with the Zoroastrian time of prayer and reflection for our dearly departed.  The prayers we held at my parent’s home fell one week after the death anniversary of my maternal grandmother.  As a girl growing up in India when she did, Dina Arjani was not to be educated past middle school, but her family relented after her insistence. 

She never once believed that she was small or that she didn’t matter because she was a girl. She knew from an early age that she had something to contribute to this world and she would not be stopped.  After all, each one of us is inherently powerful and creative.  We just have to step out of our fear and timidity and do those things that demonstrate our true brilliance.

Dina Arjani became a school teacher as did my mother, Teshtar Irani.  I follow in their footsteps by using theater and creative arts for critical thinking and human liberation.

My father’s father and mother: Jehangir and Shera Irani. She’s an amazingly courageous woman, too.

For this next project, I’ll be working with script writers and youth leaders in Afghanistan to build listener engagement and interaction for a radio drama.  I’ll also help create a framework for community listening groups where people can listen together and discuss important issues in an informal setting.

When I get back to the US, I’ll lead a training in Little Rock, Arkansas for community leaders who want to create storytelling and listening groups around race and racism.  Then, I partner with the Afrooz School to create an online introductory course to participatory theater for school teachers in Iran. 

From the very personal seeds my grandmother Dina planted, multiple shoots and roots have grown.  By believing in herself, and acting from that reality (not the reality of those around her) she has created the space for countless other acts of beauty and truth.  So, what are you waiting for?  The fear may not subside, the doubt may never become clear but do it anyway.  The future believes in you!

With love and affection,

Kayhan

Friday, Friday

Shamim in the garden.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s a Friday full of sweetness and sadness for me.  I leave in a couple of days and I am spending this lazy Friday visiting friends to say goodbye … until we meet again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everything about the city seems magical today.   The mountains are glowing white, circled by grey clouds.

 

 

 

The streets are calm and people are out and about.

 

Yes, this is Kabul too.

 

 

I visited a lovely part of the city today.  Nouria who is the housekeeper invited me to her home and I also had lunch at the home of my colleague – and training assistant – Sepas.

 

 

 

 

 

Their neighborhood is green, tranquil and full of old homes made in the traditional style with natural mud called gila.

 

Nouria walks ahead.

 

 

An old door.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chickens in Nouria's yard.

 

Sepas and his kind father.

 

 

Sepas has worked with me for the last two years and I finally got to meet his lovely and gracious family.  He loves theater and is passionate about Theater of the Oppressed.

 

 

Yesterday, the last day of the training, he said that this theater is a theater that people can trust and he thought it could be the strongest form of theater in Afghanistan.  I cried.

 

 

 

The groups from Herat, Khost and Baghlan were amazing during the final performance and I was so proud of their audience facilitation.  They were able to get people talking, sharing ideas and even had a few audience interventions on stage.

Audience member steps in as the daughter to convince "her" uncles to send her to university.

 

 

During our evaluation I asked each member to say one new thing they learned – a concept, game, technique.  One actor said previous to this training, he saw the oppressed as the loser; killed, beaten, or otherwise defeated.  Now he sees that the oppressed are always trying; the struggle always continues.

 

I am sad to leave Kabul but proud that the main concepts of artistic liberation have take root with groups in 6 different provinces.  The groups are strong, creative and dedicated to making society more human despite the inhuman conditions all around them.  I hope that we can continue to teach each other and learn together.

 

Next big plan: bringing groups from Afghanistan, Iran and Pakistan together to share community arts practices and discuss how local culture and arts initiatives can be used to address issues that are common in all three countries.

Any ideas for support, let me know!

Haydari is on the far left. he made me this amazing dress, pants and scarf.

 

Oh, one more thing … this morning I had a great surprise.  I was visited by my former students from Jalalabad who came up to Kabul with a parting gift for me.  Haydari – who is a tailor as well as an actor – made me a traditional Afghan outfit and I cried.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You Can’t Have It

The kids cheer after seeing their cousin on TV.

 

 

 

Tomorrow is my last day of training.  The actors from Khost, Baghlan and Herat are going to perform two short Forum Theater plays for a limited audience of friends and colleagues.

At the core of both stories is the question of whose decisions are respected?  Who has the power to make a life choice, and who doesn’t.

 

 

The eldest uncle shows his displeasure.

 

 

The first story is that of a young girl, Faribah, and her widowed mother.  Faribah’s excited that she passed her exams and her mother is unsure but proud that she’ll go to university.

 

However, there are two uncles standing in the way.  They are afraid that a girl in the world will sully their reputation, besides, this is the first time such a thing would be happening in this family.

In the end, mother and daughter have no say in the matter … or do they?

 

The second story is one of a young man whose dream it is to be an actor.  His uncle sees him in a drama on TV and threatens to kick him out of the house.  The boy’s father supports him but he has no money nor resources to rely on should they be kicked out of the house.

 

Will Mirza be forced to abandon his dreams for a roof overhead?  Can a young man choose to be an artist?

 

Our discussions around the play have been about choice.  Who gets to make the choice, which choices are respected and how long is the distance is between law and customary practice.

 

 

When someone is threatening your livelihood – you aren’t cavalier with the outcome.  Especially not in a country like Afghanistan where many family members live under one roof and off of one income.

 

 

What is the value of the arts in society?  Other careers are respected, but art is overlooked.  (Seems like Afghanistan isn’t that different from many places in this regard.)

 

How can we redefine the value of arts in society – not just in terms of money but in terms of how art feeds society and makes it healthy.

 

 

In the case of the mother and daughter, how does someone access rights they don’t know they have?

How to bring the culture, values and norms in line with formal law … or create mechanisms of justice that are rooted in culturally respected practice?

Faribah sulks while her mother tries to push for her education.

 

 

How to fight oppression and internalized oppression so that people feel worthy of accessing justice?

 

 

Our discussions have been robust and I am pleased that the actors are engaging in thinking and rethinking their assumptions.  Often times they start out with the “P.C.” answer, then express a non-P.C. answer, and then have lively discussion about why each side is wrong!

 

 

They head out to their provinces on Friday where they will perform these shows and then create a brand new one with their full groups.  I can’t wait to hear what they do, what discussions they have, and how theater is bringing about discussion, debate and self reflection. 

 

I am off to an Afghan wedding tonight … stay tuned for photos!

Love K

Life Interrupted

Rustom trying to fly away.

 

 

 

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?

 

 

This week was a long week with lots of prodding and pushing. We were telling stories about oppression, personal experiences of oppression, something simple, clear. I started by asking them to make a frozen body sculpture of one such experience.  After the activity, we spoke about what they were showing.

Rahella and Zahra making an image.

 

It turns out no one made an image of something from their own life! They made images from other people’s lives, images from stories they heard, or things they saw. They were finding it hard to access those personal stories, without compounding them with others.

 

 

I asked my translator Walizada if it was the translation. We tried a few different times but it didn’t seem like it was working. Then some folks said they weren’t oppressed!

Who me, oppressed? I'm chilling!

 

Hmmm … let’s see where we go with this.

 

 

 

Or fester like a sore—

And then run?

 

The next day I had them make group sculptures of an oppression seen in society. Poverty, unemployment, lack of education – they named the issues. They created 4 or 5 frozen scenes to show a problem playing out. This time, almost every one of them included weapons, force, and violence on top of the social issue shown.

Zarmuhammed and Noorwali take an image. In the background, similar stances are seen.

 

 

When we discussed these images, it turns out that everyone’s lives have been interrupted by decades of war.

 

Mirzagul and Noorwali showing an image of a suicide bomb attack.

Their educational opportunities, their opportunities to work and the simple ability to live in stability and peace are things that were torn from them and the lives of their families. Stories were of kidnappings, gunshots, fleeing armies, and enduring the Taliban.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Their lives are like a body whose parts are chopped off by the cleaver of war and the effects of war. It is only recently that they’ve tried to put those pieces back together.

 

 

 

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over—

like a syrupy sweet?

 

But how can a society of amputees be expected to get up and run a marathon? They need to heal, to gather themselves together, to become whole.

Sami leading Tagobi and Ziamurad.

 

 

Rahella tries to see what's on the other side.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe it just sags

like a heavy load.

 

Or does it explode?

 

Finally, I had them do a visualization of a desire they once had but weren’t able to fulfill – a simple desire from childhood or early in their lives.

They were to then imagine a journey to find that lost desire, what would they have to do to get to it? Would they have to climb a mountain, swim in the ocean, walk a long road?

And lastly, when they reclaimed that desire, what animal would it turn into?

 

 

 

This brought out such wonderful imagery and rich explorations. Rather than speaking of problems, which are MANY, we spoke about lost desire. This allowed them to dig under the trauma, the constant instability, the uncertainty, to a place where they dreamed of a better future.

 

Fariba leads with her whole self.

 

The stories that they expressed were simple desires of a time when they could consider going after small, personal desires.  One person spoke of wanting to learn to swim, another spoke of wanting to ride a bicycle all over her town,  a third person shared their desire to be an artist but was forced to start working at age 12.

 

One person wanted to be an archeologist but this knowledge and course of study wasn’t offered.  Another spoke of wanting to walk to a neighboring village to see an eagle that was said to live there.

 

Ajmal looks back to find his lost dream.

 

 

It was wonderful to be able to have them reconnect with a part of themselves buried under the rubble of violence and war.

 

 

 

From these desires we are going to build our play.  There was a definite change in the air after they embodied their animals and many spoke of regaining a sense of dreaming.

 

 

Mirzagul exploring the activity.

 

 

These men, women and girls all have figured out how to use creativity, intelligence and the few resources they can get to bring art and goodness to their society.  They are transforming into birds of freedom, bringing messages of life, vibrant hopes and collective endeavor to their communities.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Monira summarizes some of the history of the Theater of the Oppressed.

 

 

 

 

I keep reading articles on the international failure to turn around Afghanistan, on the increasing Talibanisation, on the decreasing women’s rights.  But you never hear of artists taking their lives and their futures into their own hands and setting off to create new avenues of change.

 

Please tell people about this work.  About the thousands of Afghans who are healing their society, who are working for whole communities, who are making a way where there is none.

 

It won’t happen over night, not even in 10 years.  But slowly and surely these birds are gonna take flight.  Let’s support their soaring ambitions.

Fly high.

 

 

 

 

Poetry of Life

The pear tree in the AEPO office garden.

 

 

 

Through struggle we bring forth the ripened fruit of a changed tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

We never stand still; motionless as life breezes by.

The roots of the problem tree looking at the lack of security in Afghans' lives. They know just what they're facing.

Circle of Knots. The actors try to unwind themselves from each other. How do we move together towards a common goal?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We move in the wind.

Sometimes with it,

Sometimes against it.

Siddiqi explaining his idea to Ibrahimi.

 

Ever changing, we remake our reality.

 

 

This past week I have been changed by the fortitude, brilliance and endless capacity of Afghan artists.

Sepas explaining the idea of constant action and reflection in life as well as in the theater.

 

 

 

They use their creativity to make the impossible possible.  Both through their art and through the inventive strategies they deploy in order to do their work safely, effectively and with maximum resonance with local audiences.

Writing out a storyline together.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The group from Kandahar has hired a “white beard”, an elder to join their group.  He has a small acting role but more than that, he is a way they project their respectability to the communities they visit. Elders are treated with reverence and having one in your group tells people that this group must be alright.

Hands passing cookies, making tea.

 

 

 

 

The group from Nangarhar was greeted with a remote explosion as they left a village who wasn’t keen on their play.  Still they move forward.

There is something Haydari wants you to know.

 

 

 

They want to keep working and learning.  They want to travel the world, they want the world to see their work.

 

 

 

When I asked them what makes them hopeful they told me that there is much hope where they live.  They spoke about the talented, creative people who live in Afghanistan and do so much with so little.  They only want a chance to do well, to be allowed to succeed.

It's a bright, new day.

Haydari and Neda.

 

 

 

 

The groups talked a great deal about who they should work with in the field, how to find allies.

 

They spoke about how they can use these techniques not just to create plays with their groups, but with everyday people who want to make the world a better place.

It was with teary eyes that I said goodbye to my brothers.

 

I know that they are going to do huge things to transform their world through theater.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I can’t wait to be their student … well, I already am.

 

Ibrahimi summed it up well with this poem he composed:

This is an improvisational poem in Pashto.
It’s so difficult to translate poetry. You can’t do it word for word. This is the general feeling:
“It is only through the grace of love that we are here together. Just think! What separate lives we have. You from where, and I from where?”

We have made a connection, and we are responsible to love.  More soon.

Working Hard for the Money

Soul Train line ... Afghan style!

 

 

 

It’s hard, hard work here in Kabul.

 

 

 

 

This is a very important step in the process. Hard, hard work!

 

 

 

 

Oh, yes.  Theater of the Oppressed, it can be so challenging to figure out how to end oppression.

 

 

 

Grrr. I forgot to write his name down so now I can't remember it. He's one of the general caretakers at the office.

 

 

 

But some people really do have to work hard.

 

 

 

Safiullah, a driver at AEPO. He has 6 girls and 2 boys. He told me when I'm ready to have kids, I should only have two!

 

 

 

 

I get to live a dream. I have a career that I have chosen, and in fact created, for myself.

Others have to work to feed their families.

The tea manager fuels our engines!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Through this blog you get to hear about my work (which I consider a joy and a blessing), and the work of the different Afghan theater groups.

 

Baba jaan is re-seeding the grass at the guest house.

 

 

 

 

 

 

What you don’t see are all the hard working people who make my job easier; who help me to be comfortable and who support me with warm smiles and a thousand small acts of kindness.

Aman, my awesome driver!

Gul Agha and Wali Bhai, part of the kitchen staff.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This post goes out to all the people who work so hard behind the scenes so I can do my best.  Without you, there is no me.

My amazing translator Walizada.

The gate keeper or doorman, Jalah.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Farid the program coordinator. He makes sure all my needs, and whims, are met!

Najeeb, the program assistant. Farid and Najeeb share an office. Their office is my second home.

Jawed, one of the drivers. He lives and works in Kabul and his family is in Pakistan.

Back to Life

After the latest barrage of bad news and cynical commentary on Afghanistan I was conflicted about returning – scared that this time I’ll really encounter all the awful things the news tells me I’ll encounter.  I was nervous and doubting myself.  Hopelessness was pushing in.  But I have insisted on life; choosing to believe in the particular truth that comes from observing and interacting with real human beings.  People with histories and futures not portrayed in the mass media.

So here I am, in the middle of it all.  The snowy mountains watch over me, the sun bright in the sky.  Soaking in the goodness of Kabul I come back to life, back to reality.

What waits for me?  Girls walking to school, men and women waiting on a corner for taxis, vendors calling out their wares, a herd of sheep.

It’s spring and the trees are budding with fresh life.  Yes, that’s what I’m met with in this city of dusty dreams; pulsing life.  Text messages come in from colleagues to tell me they miss me.   I fall in love all over again.

Bread, bread, bread!

Yesterday was Jumm’e the day of rest and Zabi, the cook and houseman, took me on a walk of the neighborhood.  Not much was happening today, the streets are quiet.

Hey? ... Hay!

We pass through a small street with a stall selling straw, another selling chopped wood for the bukhari (a little metal stove used to heat the house in winter), a stall with a machine which looks like it bats down cotton, a prolific bread shop, and some auto repair shops.

One street was filled with tailors’ shops, kind of like a mini garment district.

No bunkers here.  No hiding from life.  No retreating nor surrender.  Only life, transformation, movement.

Cynicism and hopelessness is dealt a mortal blow by people’s will to create their own futures.  Ooooh yes, I’m back, and the reality of being here resurrects my faith in positive transformation.  I suppose it’s right on time for Easter and Passover.  Coming out from the dark, transcending oppression, reveling in life.

Hello, kind man.

On Sunday my advanced workshop starts.  I am excited for the actors to take the lead and explore how these techniques help people to articulate their hopes and dreams for a better tomorrow.

From the theater’s stage to life’s stage – they can’t stop and won’t stop … so neither will I!

Keep on truckin'

So while you are eating that matzoh or painting that egg, remember life is growing here.  There is freshness and green and much goodness to come.

More soon … K

P.S. – tell a friend about this work.  We need people to have images of life in Afghanistan, rather than death.

Zabi models the new hoodie I bought him.

I’m Full of It

Full of JOY!  I feel like I’m walking on clouds, slowly climbing higher and higher till I reach my cruising altitude.

I am preparing to go back to Kabul for a month of trainings and am thrilled to see my work build on itself.  The first two groups I trained are coming back and I will be offering them new cultural tools for community engagement, collective problem solving and local healing.  After this advanced workshop, a few members will stay with me to co-facilitate a brand new training with 3 new groups!

By Luba Lukova

Just like a creeping vine, the roots are spreading downwards and the leaves are climbing upward.  Radical theory and technique are getting a chance to take root and adapt in a new place.  A few more rounds of this and a network of culture workers in Afghanistan will be able to collectively work together to address larger scale issues!   And isn’t that what it’s all about?  Big change, big dreams, having a big life?

And speaking of having a big life, I have BIG NEWS!  My proposal to the Fulbright Commission was accepted and I will be in India, for 7 months next year, doing research on traditional Parsi embroidery for my new play “Paisley”!  I’ll be a Fulbright Scholar.

This will allow me to work more closely with South and West Asian artists and scholars broadening networks of cultural activists!

Blimey that's a big bloom!

Slowly and deliberately creative change takes root.  When it blossoms, our static reality is transformed into something living!

So how can you support this work, simply and freely? 

– I’m going to end my emails blasts so sign up on the blog.  No passwords, no B.S. just new updates every so often.

– Tell someone about these projects and get them excited.  The more information people have about cultural activism, the more more likely it is to succeed.

– Hope springs eternal so don’t believe the hype about Afghanistan, or any other place or people, being hopeless.  Cynicism is a form of oppression and it paralyzes us.  You don’t have to believe in magic but do believe in deliberate, thoughtful action.

See you in Kabul ….

Kayhan.