The week started like any other week that summer, hot and a full schedule of hospitality and serving ahead.
Sunday, September 9, 2001, Peshawar, Pakistan
We had our Sabbath worship, and played with our baby (Luke), and rested as we enjoyed our garden and iced frappuccinos. That Sunday night, the Afghan and Pakistan news headlines lit up with the announcement that Ahmad Shah Massoud, the leader of the northern alliance coalition, the main resistant group to the Taliban, had been assassinated. Two men had been given the permission to interview him, but they were Taliban disguised as journalists who had a bomb hidden in their camera. Later we learned they weren't Taliban, but al-Qaeda.
We all felt the impact of his death, as another hope among Afghans died along with Massoud.
I reflected on what a crazy summer it had been. The 110F heat had impacted me especially hard, because I was pregnant with our 2nd, and felt nauseated all the time. Things had been getting really difficult in Afghanistan and in Peshawar all summer, and even the Dari language students had been asked to finish school a chapter early and get out.
One day that summer I had been verbally accosted by a conservative looking man who had a fully veiled woman standing next to him. He spoke a language I didn't understand, (we knew Dari, but he wasn't speaking the local Urdu but something else). Even so, he made it clear that despite my long skirt, my head and arms were not covered and thus I was inappropriately dressed. I looked at him wide-eyed, but at the time, we had no idea that we were living in Taliban recruiting headquarters. We knew the history of the British Durand line and what it did to the Pashtun tribal areas, but we didn't understand on Sunday, Sept 9, 2001 the connections to al-Qaeda and the Pakistani ISI (intelligence agency). We could just feel the changes, and they weren't good.
Many of my friends working in Kabul and surrounding areas had been encouraged to take early vacations and home assignment, so much that the Peshawar guest houses were full, and we were constantly being asked to take another worker into our home - there simply were not enough (cheap) beds available for workers, and the flights were overbooked - almost no one could find a seat out of Peshawar.
Then in August, our own company had our work shut down and been accused by ISI of clandestine activities, so our guys were sitting around with not much to do in between appealing the decision to the ISI and trying to figure out where the crazy accusation had come from. Neal went to the office everyday to organize papers, but it was quite boring.
A few weeks earlier, friends in Kabul had been caught showing the Jesus film and put in jail in August, and finally Mullah Omar decreed that foreigners had 24 hours to get out of Afghanistan or be jailed along with the 8. Our colleagues had to plead for more time - it wasn't possible to get folks from the Hazarajat and other really remote areas out that fast. They needed at least 72 hours. He relented, and the race was on.
Vans were hastily loaded up as almost all the foreigners with the exception of just a few managed to stay, depending upon who their visas were with. I remember something about a cat that got itself loaded into a van and forgotten about for 12 hours on the bumpy ride from Kabul, through the Khyber Pass, and out to Peshawar. Poor thing must have been frightened to death. Everyone was surprised when they saw a dusty old cat come out of the van behind them when they finally unloaded in Peshawar.
Just a few folks were able to "stay under the radar" and stay in-country. It looked...and felt like the end of an era, and we all knew we were losing the valuables in our offices and homes in Afghanistan, along with the blood, sweat, and tears poured into these projects. We wept, as we also knew the needless suffering going on, and so many Afghan friends no longer had salary to feed their children because we weren't there.
Dr. Dudley Woodberry had recently flown to Peshawar to be with the 100+ of us to help us grieve the loss of our work and homes in Afghanistan. He conducted a memorial service, and helped us forgive as a community those we needed to forgive.
So by Sunday night, we knew things were changing, the changes weren't looking hopeful, and today's death of Massoud made it all even more hopeless and worse.
Monday, September 10, 2001 Peshawar, Pakistan
The news of death continued. I received an email Monday morning that my mom was being rushed to the Mayo Hospital in Rochester, MN. She may die, they said. She'd been visiting her doctor, because she was her doctor's lawyer, and she needed the doctor to sign some papers. While there, she began to have breathing problems, and her doctor evaluated her and said she had 70% blockage in her lungs.
I waited anxiously to hear what would happen at Mayo with mom. Could the week get any worse, I wondered?
To be continued.
Sunday, September 9, 2001, Peshawar, Pakistan
We had our Sabbath worship, and played with our baby (Luke), and rested as we enjoyed our garden and iced frappuccinos. That Sunday night, the Afghan and Pakistan news headlines lit up with the announcement that Ahmad Shah Massoud, the leader of the northern alliance coalition, the main resistant group to the Taliban, had been assassinated. Two men had been given the permission to interview him, but they were Taliban disguised as journalists who had a bomb hidden in their camera. Later we learned they weren't Taliban, but al-Qaeda.
I reflected on what a crazy summer it had been. The 110F heat had impacted me especially hard, because I was pregnant with our 2nd, and felt nauseated all the time. Things had been getting really difficult in Afghanistan and in Peshawar all summer, and even the Dari language students had been asked to finish school a chapter early and get out.
One day that summer I had been verbally accosted by a conservative looking man who had a fully veiled woman standing next to him. He spoke a language I didn't understand, (we knew Dari, but he wasn't speaking the local Urdu but something else). Even so, he made it clear that despite my long skirt, my head and arms were not covered and thus I was inappropriately dressed. I looked at him wide-eyed, but at the time, we had no idea that we were living in Taliban recruiting headquarters. We knew the history of the British Durand line and what it did to the Pashtun tribal areas, but we didn't understand on Sunday, Sept 9, 2001 the connections to al-Qaeda and the Pakistani ISI (intelligence agency). We could just feel the changes, and they weren't good.
Many of my friends working in Kabul and surrounding areas had been encouraged to take early vacations and home assignment, so much that the Peshawar guest houses were full, and we were constantly being asked to take another worker into our home - there simply were not enough (cheap) beds available for workers, and the flights were overbooked - almost no one could find a seat out of Peshawar.
Then in August, our own company had our work shut down and been accused by ISI of clandestine activities, so our guys were sitting around with not much to do in between appealing the decision to the ISI and trying to figure out where the crazy accusation had come from. Neal went to the office everyday to organize papers, but it was quite boring.
A few weeks earlier, friends in Kabul had been caught showing the Jesus film and put in jail in August, and finally Mullah Omar decreed that foreigners had 24 hours to get out of Afghanistan or be jailed along with the 8. Our colleagues had to plead for more time - it wasn't possible to get folks from the Hazarajat and other really remote areas out that fast. They needed at least 72 hours. He relented, and the race was on.
Vans were hastily loaded up as almost all the foreigners with the exception of just a few managed to stay, depending upon who their visas were with. I remember something about a cat that got itself loaded into a van and forgotten about for 12 hours on the bumpy ride from Kabul, through the Khyber Pass, and out to Peshawar. Poor thing must have been frightened to death. Everyone was surprised when they saw a dusty old cat come out of the van behind them when they finally unloaded in Peshawar.
Just a few folks were able to "stay under the radar" and stay in-country. It looked...and felt like the end of an era, and we all knew we were losing the valuables in our offices and homes in Afghanistan, along with the blood, sweat, and tears poured into these projects. We wept, as we also knew the needless suffering going on, and so many Afghan friends no longer had salary to feed their children because we weren't there.
Dr. Dudley Woodberry had recently flown to Peshawar to be with the 100+ of us to help us grieve the loss of our work and homes in Afghanistan. He conducted a memorial service, and helped us forgive as a community those we needed to forgive.
So by Sunday night, we knew things were changing, the changes weren't looking hopeful, and today's death of Massoud made it all even more hopeless and worse.
Monday, September 10, 2001 Peshawar, Pakistan
The news of death continued. I received an email Monday morning that my mom was being rushed to the Mayo Hospital in Rochester, MN. She may die, they said. She'd been visiting her doctor, because she was her doctor's lawyer, and she needed the doctor to sign some papers. While there, she began to have breathing problems, and her doctor evaluated her and said she had 70% blockage in her lungs.
I waited anxiously to hear what would happen at Mayo with mom. Could the week get any worse, I wondered?
To be continued.
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