During the early years one of the most exciting, challenging, and remote places in the Peace Corps world was the country of Afghanistan. The first contingent of volunteers entered the country in 1962 with many of them admitting they had to look it up on a world map to find out where they were heading. The last contingent left in 1978 as a 30-plus-year period of violent military, political, and religious turmoil began. As everyone who pays the slightest attention to current events knows, that situation remains unchanged – although some of the players have changed – and Afghanistan desperately needs a ‘fix.’

How very different that is from the situation volunteers encountered during the 60s and 70s. Based on the ‘official’ visits I made as Regional Director and Deputy Director and the extended visit my family and I made on our way back from the Philippines ( like most Peace Corps folks we took the long way home) Afghanistan not only tested volunteers’ resolve and but it also rewarded them with an eye-opening and heart-warming experience.

For virtually all of the volunteers and staff this was their first encounter with a Muslim culture, let alone a very traditional one. And it was an encounter, unlike today, where few had ever given any serious thought to what being a Muslim might mean. Couple that with the rather dramatic changes that were occurring in American culture as the sixties progressed – think sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll – and the term ‘culture clash’ takes on a much more profound meaning.

Almost all of us were fooled by the ‘modernity’ of Kabul. Many men wore coats and ties, women were in the workforce and dressed as an American would expect, cars and trucks plied the roadways, alcoholic drinks could be found, hundreds of young WT’s – which stood for ‘world travelers’ – roamed the streets looking for readily available marijuana and stronger stuff if one wished, and electricity was in abundance. One could even keep up with fashion trends at the local markets where used American-made clothing was sold.

A provincial gathering spot; not a woman in sight

A provincial gathering spot; not a woman in sight

Of course all of that changed when we ventured beyond the city limits. Western dress disappeared; women were uniformly covered from head to foot, if they were seen at all; motorized transport was replaced by animal power; and those of us ‘from away’ learned to pay special attention to the ‘don’t drink the water, don’t eat the food’ advice we had been given by the old hands. One of the most memorable ‘tricks’ we learned was to start out each day with a large supply of the ubiquitous cucumbers, which could be peeled and eaten without worry as a source of water.  

In time what was so exotic in the beginning became ordinary. Volunteers soon learned to cherish the famed Afghani hospitality. Local friends could be counted on to help out when things got tough, communication became easier as language skills improved, and the recognition of similarities replaced the emphasis on differences. One day several of us were hiking along a path that paralleled a steep cliff in which there were several caves. We were startled to see that families made their homes in the caves. I couldn’t resist the thought, ‘How primitive.’ Then, while we exchanged smiles with a young mother holding her infant, the child began to cry. Without a moment’s hesitation the mother reached into her bodice, pulled out a plastic pacifier, and popped it into the baby’s mouth. Obviously ‘primitive’ was the wrong word.

Much of the Afghani landscape is austere, arid, even frightening. These days we often hear news people and commentators refer to it as being like a ‘moonscape,’ and that is fitting. On one of my trips to Afghanistan the American Embassy kindly provided an aging DC3 to ferry me about while visiting volunteer sites. On the way back to Kabul we ‘lost’ one of the plane’s two engines. Looking out the window I could see two things: a propeller holding shockingly still, and a pock-marked, mountainous terrain below. All I could think was “We’re going down into that wasteland never to be found again!” Not to worry. The pilot, knowing that DC3s can fly on one engine, had purposely cut off the silent engine when it overheated, and we landed safely. (I have always wondered if the Embassy provided the plane, as an embassy earlier had done in Africa, because it wanted a cover for an aerial mapping operation of an increasingly important part of the world.  Who knows?)

For a wonderful collection of memories of the Peace Corps in Afghanistan go to http://peacecorpsonline.org/messages/messages/2629/2016140.html and read Walter Blass’s account of his time there as Country Director. The stories are uniquely Afghani while simultaneously being typical Peace Corps narratives.

The Peace Corps program in Afghanistan was a good one. Like all programs it had its successes and its failures but on balance it did what the Peace Corps does best: it provided meaningful assistance to a country and people in need; it created goodwill among peoples of different cultures; and, it gave some Americans a life-changing experience from which they and the country that sent them abroad still benefit. I was genuinely troubled when I learned in 1978 that the program had been cancelled because of volunteer safety concerns. Surely, I thought, we – Peace Corps folks never stop using the word ‘we’ – could have stuck it out. Thirty-plus years of experience show how wrong I was, but still . . . ?

Today Afghanistan starts and ends every newscast. I wish I believed that some of the reporters had the deeper understanding of the country and its people that RPCVs have. I fear that they don’t. Maybe as a start we could help the radio and TV reporters learn how to pronounce ‘Kabul.’ We were taught to think of the word ‘cobble’ (as in ‘cobblestone’). Is that right? Let’s hear from some of the people who made PC/A a reality!