I grew out a county-fair-blue-ribbon beard for this trip. My skin is pale, but within the range of Afghan skin tones. I'm dressed in sober, unobtrusive colors, a beat-to-hell leather bomber jacket, sunglasses, a black-and-white scarf I picked up in a bazaar at Camp Eggers back in the day, and a black pakol - the flat wool hat worn in the north of Afghanistan and Pakistan (where it's called a Chitrali cap) - that I've worn since 2005 (see photo below, taken by Jem Kelly in Kandahar in early 2006; my expression says 'I'm on the famous 40 Steps, far, far above ground level, and therefore my knees aren't working').
So why, I asked S finally, do I walk down Kabul streets only to have random strangers address me with the few words of English they know? (Typically, 'Hello, how are you,' or 'Hello, mister'; once yesterday, 'Hello, how is your head?')
S laughed. 'It is the pakol. It is black. This is not Afghan color. Afghans wear brown, maybe grey. This color,' touching my topper, 'is only for foreigners.'
Karen, in the back seat, couldn't contain herself: 'So for years, you've been walking around wearing Mickey Mouse ears.'
I understand, sometimes, the point of purdah.
The hat's in my duffel bag until we get home.
Who's the leader of the club that's made for you and me? J-A-C ...
ReplyDeleteJust to keep the record complete: within 10 minutes of S telling me this, we spotted a tall, dark-skinned man in shalwar kameez crossing the road underneath a black pakol. I said, 'What is that, then?' S shrugged, without taking his hands off the wheel, and said, 'Maybe Pakistani.'
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