Tales From The Front: CU Development In Afghanistan

Lois Kitsch, regional manager of Europe and Asia for the World Council of Credit Unions, sends her regards from Afghanistan, where she’s exploring credit union development. Check in each month at creditunionmagazine.com for Lois’ latest dispatch.

Dear Friends,

I’m writing you from sunny but very chilly Kabul, Afghanistan. I have been in this interesting (notice I didn’t say beautiful) city for a couple of weeks. I have finalized the paperwork for our grant and now we wait. While I’m here I’m working with my proposed deputy director to interview staff, visit possible credit union locations, and have training materials reviewed and translated.

The weather has brought some white fluffy snow that only stays a short while, then it turns to mud. Everything I own, including my shoes, boots, coat, and purse, are crusted with mud. You can't get in or out of a car without getting covered. I have come to expect this as a way of life.

Things go from very quiet to three suicide bombings in two days, then quiet, then two explosions last night. The first one went off about 8 p.m. and was followed by a second at 8:20 p.m. A few people popped their heads out of their rooms to see what it was about, but quickly went back to whatever they were doing. I learned this morning someone was trying to blow up the TV tower. That would really stink. The only TV we get is CNN and, occasionally, BBC, so no news would be frustrating. Not to worry: The explosions were nowhere near me; they just sounded close.

Yesterday was a special day. It was the last day of Eid, a three-day religious celebration. People dress in new clothes and go visiting. We [Lois and her Afghani friends, Sherdil and Fraiba] went to a place called the Panjshir Valley. This is home to Mussod and the Northern Alliance, who fought against both the Russians and the Taliban.

The valley is very well protected and foreigners generally aren’t allowed in. Fraiba and I were allowed because she’s married to Sherdil, who was the youngest freedom fighter of the Northern Alliance. I became her sister. There’s a checkpoint with a very serious looking guard. Sherdil began his training as a freedom fighter at age 13.

The journey was spectacular. There were very high mountains that we climbed in our car. The 10-foot-wide road was perilous, as it was just a dirt path winding around the mountainside. Frequent snows had left the road full of huge puddles and mud. Along the roadside was a beautiful, rapidly flowing river coming down from the mountainside. The water is a beautiful aqua green and so clear you could see straight to the bottom. All along the way were huge rock cliffs and this quickly moving water. I miss the sound of the sea, so I opened my window to the frosty temperatures just to hear the water running.

Bombed-out Russian tanks were everywhere. Sherdil told many stories about battles he was a part of and where the lines were drawn. It was fascinating to hear him talk and to understand the pride he felt in serving his country.

Once we traveled about 30 miles into the valley, we stopped at a small village. We found the people there would use a credit union.

We left the car and walked down a narrow pathway and up a ladder—to reach higher ground. There we walked about a mile through rice fields on small dirt paths to the home of Sherdil’s family. We removed our shoes and entered a very modest house, which I’m finding is very much like most Afghan homes. There’s one major room with no furniture except a rug on the floor and pillows scattered around the outside walls. In the center of the room there was a low table covered with heavy quilts and blankets.

I was told to sit in a corner. They pulled the blankets up from the low table to allow me to put my feet under it—ah, toasty warm. They had a small grill under there with a wood-burning fire. This is how the room was kept warm.

I was happy to be a woman because it meant that all members of the family could gather together. If Sherdil had brought a man friend, the women would have been confined to the back of the house away from the male visitor. The conversation was quick and lively and filled with jokes. Sherdil was disappointed because they had no fresh fish from the river to feed him.

Shortly after, one of the older family members, a woman, joined the group. Asked where her husband was, she said something like, “Oh that man needs to learn patience.” When they translated the story to me, I said, “Ah, men”—which got a rousing laugh from men and women alike.

It was an interesting dynamic because I found the men would soon talk to him about minding his patience and the women would talk to the lady about being more tolerant. Families don’t want their family members to fight. They don’t like discord and will always try to resolve it. It’s interesting. I suspect we would say, “Mind your own business.”

I teased [one woman] that I’m single, too, and one of the gentlemen said we should find a husband for both of us to share. I said she’d have to clean and cook because I’m not good at that—my job would be to tell everyone what to do. That drew another big laugh because they secretly feel Americans always tell others what to do.

After a lunch of bread, potatoes, and meat (french fries and rice for me), we decided to get Sherdil some fish. It was a dynamite experience—seriously. We headed down to the river with four pounds of dynamite. It was wrapped in plastic, ignited, and tossed into the river. It doesn’t blow the fish up, it just stuns them.

The men stripped down to their shorts and waded into the river to pick up the stunned fish. Keep in mind there was snow on the ground and I was shivering with cold. I understand this isn’t good for the ecology. But one thing I have learned: Keep your mouth shut until you know people better. Added to the fact is that women now usually are allowed to participate in such things. There was an amazing camaraderie for both the men and Fraiba and I.

Heading back out of the valley, we stopped to see Mussod’s tomb. Mussod is a national hero who was killed in 2002 during the fight with the Taliban. He’s buried on a high mountaintop overlooking his family home. His funeral brought every person in the Panjshir valley, who to this day grieve his loss. His body guards continue to guard his tomb and probably will until the day they die.

The drive back was uneventful. It was a long but lovely day. The added benefit was we learned how to serve this group that would not otherwise be served.

I look forward to returning to the states for the Credit Union National Association’s Governmental Affairs Conference. While there, we’ll be looking for support for the World Council of Credit Unions’ Afghanistan project. We’d welcome your support.

Lois