NO REGRETS ~ An American Adventure in Afghanistan (16 page)

“Nothing. Don’t worry.”

“They didn’t look like they were being very nice,” I said.

“They called me a whore for talking to Westerners. They said that I should be talking to my people.” I stood up and she grabbed my arm. “No, David, please sit down.”

Alan had stood up as well. He shouted to them, “Fuck you!.”

Fortunately, they kept walking. I’m certain that Alan and I could have handled that group of pricks. However, I’m not certain that we’d have been fighting only them.

Ameera had just volunteered to meet me in this same place.

At noon, she walked in followed by the girl who had cut my hair and a bodyguard carrying an AK-47. Ameera and Jahanam sat with me. Her body guard stood the whole time. He constantly surveyed the cafe. He made me nervous.

“So, Ameera, who are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You are not afraid to be seen with me in public. You have an escort and a bodyguard here. Sher Ahmed, who is obviously a powerful man, is your benefactor and protector. The other day was obviously some kind of interview to make sure that I was safe for you. You must be someone.”

“Oh, David, this is just how it is in Afghanistan. My family has friends and want to make sure that I’m safe while I’m living here and learning about my country. That is all. I am no one special.”

“I don’t believe you.” I resolved to ask Sher Ahmed about her. She was obviously someone to somebody.

For the rest of the hour, we sat and chatted.

Ameera had lived most of her life in London. She’d traveled to New York City and to Canada to see family. I kept wondering who this family was. After we finished our tea, Ameera stood up followed by Jahanam. Her bodyguard walked over to her and stood behind and to the left of us.

“David, it has been good getting to know you. I would like to see you again. I will call you in a few days.”

“Okay, I’d like that.” With that, she was off. Bodyguard in tow and constantly alert. As for me, I felt like I’d sat in on some covert meeting to plan an attack. The whole time that Ameera and I were talking, I noticed the bodyguard giving people looks as if to say “Come no closer.” One guy did a complete about face and scurried off like he was fearful for his life.

The next day, Sher Ahmed called me. “David, let’s meet at the cafe where you met Ameera.”

“Sure thing. Same time?”

“No, I’ll be there at 1700 or 1730.”

“Gotch ya. Sounds good to me.”

I arrived at the cafe with Alan at 1645hrs. Sher Ahmed was already there.

“Sher, this is Alan. He’s going to be heading up to your neck of the woods soon. He’ll be based out of Mazar-e Sharif. I’ll be heading out to Herat.”

“Nice to meet you, Alan. We have a place up in Mez. I will invite you to our house for dinner when you arrive.”

“I’m not sure that they’ll let me off post but if I can, I’ll let you know.”

Sher then turned to me and said, “As you know, David, I am Uzbek. Dostum is the head of the Uzbek clans in Afghanistan. We rule the north.”

I knew all of this. I’d read about Dostum before I’d come to Kabul. Dostum had been on again, off again with the Coalition over the past few years. He had refused to give up all of his weaponry. He’d broken into the home of a fellow minister, beaten him, and then repaired to his home province and threatened to unleash his army of ten thousand men on the Karzai government if retaliation occurred. The man was a wild card. One never knew what he’d do. Even so, he was the most secular of the Afghan leaders. I preferred him over any of the fundamentalists in the government. There was a chance that I’d meet people like him or his supporters in an official capacity, so I’d studied the various factions of Afghan politics. Dostum and his Uzbeks. Massoud and the Panjsheeris. Ismail Khan and Herat. There was a guy named Abdul Haq whom the CIA had been trying to support prior to the 9/11 attacks. He’d been killed by the Taliban during the buildup to the invasion, despite CIA attempts to locate and protect him. There are some who believe that he would have been the better choice for president had he survived. There were power factions based upon the charisma of men like Dostum that crisscrossed the Afghan landscape. Loyalties were ever-changing based upon perception. If you were thought to be a winner, Afghans flocked to you. If not, your power base eroded, sometimes swiftly. The men who survive will decide the ultimate fate of Afghanistan.

Sher and I talked for twenty minutes or so but the conversation was really subterfuge while I built up the courage to ask about Ameera. I was curious about her. She was young, beautiful, and intelligent. They protected her but let her associate with a foreigner as if this was natural. This was far from the normal state of affairs for Afghan women in my experience. Usually, they are shuttered away. A non-familial male who shows too much interest in an Afghan female risks violence. Sher treated me like a family friend, though. My association with her didn’t seem to bother him or anyone else. Finally, I bit the bullet.

“Okay, Sher, I have a question for you.”

“Go ahead.”

“Who is Ameera? I mean she seems to be well protected as well as highly educated.”

“She’s a cousin of the Aga Khan.”

The Aga Khan is the head of the Ismaili clan. The Ismailis are a Shi’a branch of Islam. They have a worldwide population of some 20 million members. From what I’ve read, they’re a close knit bunch. They pay a special tax. The Aga Khan Foundation sets up scholarships for them. The Aga Khan is said to be one of the most powerful persons on the planet. I’ve heard that he has his own bank and consulates in some countries.

“Okay. What if, theoretically, Ameera and I fell in love and I wanted to marry her?”

“They would kill you. She has been promised. She is a sort of minor princess among the Ismaili. She will marry for political and religious reasons. She cannot marry outside of her clan.” I thought holy fuck! That was blunt.

“Well, I guess I won’t be asking to marry her anytime soon.”

Sher laughed.

“So, what are the chances of me meeting General Dostum?”

“He is out of the country right now. When he returns, I can arrange it.”

“Sher, my man, that would be awesome. I don’t care what Western liberal bleeding heart fools say about him. I love the guy.” That made Sher smile.

I met with both Sher and Ameera a few more times before I departed for Herat. Ameera and I kept in touch for a few years. Eventually, though, she dropped off. I figured that she had married and was no longer free to talk to men outside of her family. That happens sometimes with Afghan women. I can’t fault that, though, as I’ve known married women in America to do the same thing to male friends. When they get married, they no longer feel free to have male friends. Even so, I can’t help but wonder about her sometimes. What is it like being an Ismaili princess? We were always in the presence of someone else when we spoke. Even so, I felt a bond develop with her. When I met Ameera, I assumed that she was in her mid- to late- twenties. It turned out that she was only twenty years old. The last time I heard from her was mid-2009. Out of the blue, I received a short e-mail. “David, I miss you so much,” was the only thing she wrote. I never heard from her again.

Wolverine, me and his assistant whose name I could never remember. Wolverine was the Ammunition OIC (Officer in Charge). The Ammo storage and inventory was a mess. Wolverine was fond of napping.

General Mulham and me. I asked for this photo on the first day that I met the General. For some reason, he took to calling me “Doctor.”

Shephards in Chaghcharan taking their sheep to market. Chaghcharan is high in the mountains of Ghor.

Jalil, Ali and Nahida ~ I gave them Kentucky sweatshirts as an Eid gift for the upcoming winter. Nahida is such a beauty. Numerous visitors to the Herat Regional Police Headquarters attempted to adopt her and take her to their home.

An artisan of the Herat Masjid-e Jami. The great Friday Mosque of Herat was a magnificent and historic edifice. I was humbled and thankful to have been given a tour by the Imam.

Standing inside the Masjid-e Jami of Herat. I was one of the few foreigners to be given a tour of the mosque. My interpreters were awestricken that we were taken inside and treated as honored guests.