In May I was in Kabul, Afghanistan. We declined to stay in the safe house and instead we enjoyed the hospitality of the Mustafa Hotel. http://www.mustafahotel.com/
The hotel didn’t have armed guards with AK-47s patrolling its perimeter, but I was assured that it was a safe place.
On Sunday, I returned an hour before sunset to the hotel and decided to check out the shopping on Chicken Street, alone. I had my wallet in a front pocket and my knife on my belt. Chicken Street is a one way, one-lane street, approximately a half mile long. It is lined with carpet, jewelry and antiques stores. Most often they were a combination of all three.
I entered the street with my senses on alert. Ready for most anything. My presence was immediately detected and young boys ran down the street creating a wave of susurrus that rolled down the street. I think they were saying “An American tourist is coming, get ready”!
I entered several shops looking for old brass items. I finally found some things I liked and started the bargaining process. You have to have patience and start real low.
Anyhow a blue nun (Afghan woman in a blue burka) stuck her head in the door and started an emphatic speech. I didn’t know what she was saying since I don’t speak Afghani, but I figured that she wanted some money. This went on with for a few minutes and I ignored her still she started
ing and wailing. She was annoying enough and put on a good enough show, so I asked the boy in the shop, what is her problem. He said “husband dead, war”. I gave her a dollar and she left.
Three minutes later another blue nun showed up. I asked the boy “is this the same woman”? He said “No, husband dead, war”. I didn’t want her to start whining so I gave her a dollar and she left.
One minute later a teenaged girl comes to the door. This is really interrupting my bargaining now. She had a week old English language paper. I said “How much”. She said “Twenty dollars”. I gave her a buck and she left.
I concluded by business and walked back to the hotel in the darkness. My three dollars made three people happy. That would not be possible in the USA.
The hotel didn’t have armed guards with AK-47s patrolling its perimeter, but I was assured that it was a safe place.
On Sunday, I returned an hour before sunset to the hotel and decided to check out the shopping on Chicken Street, alone. I had my wallet in a front pocket and my knife on my belt. Chicken Street is a one way, one-lane street, approximately a half mile long. It is lined with carpet, jewelry and antiques stores. Most often they were a combination of all three.
I entered the street with my senses on alert. Ready for most anything. My presence was immediately detected and young boys ran down the street creating a wave of susurrus that rolled down the street. I think they were saying “An American tourist is coming, get ready”!
I entered several shops looking for old brass items. I finally found some things I liked and started the bargaining process. You have to have patience and start real low.
Anyhow a blue nun (Afghan woman in a blue burka) stuck her head in the door and started an emphatic speech. I didn’t know what she was saying since I don’t speak Afghani, but I figured that she wanted some money. This went on with for a few minutes and I ignored her still she started
ing and wailing. She was annoying enough and put on a good enough show, so I asked the boy in the shop, what is her problem. He said “husband dead, war”. I gave her a dollar and she left. Three minutes later another blue nun showed up. I asked the boy “is this the same woman”? He said “No, husband dead, war”. I didn’t want her to start whining so I gave her a dollar and she left.
One minute later a teenaged girl comes to the door. This is really interrupting my bargaining now. She had a week old English language paper. I said “How much”. She said “Twenty dollars”. I gave her a buck and she left.
I concluded by business and walked back to the hotel in the darkness. My three dollars made three people happy. That would not be possible in the USA.
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