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How can you help?
In the interim, I told him that we would collect as many instruments as possible and also spread the word though the media to
possible funders and music organizations in this country. Please stay tuned for future news on how you can contribute to our Music
For Afghanistan Campaign. Bringing music back to the children of Afghanistan after having it banned and the infrastructure destroyed
under the Taliban will do more to heal that country than anything I can think of. Please write me with any ideas you have of how we
can help.
In the interim, I told him that we would collect as many instruments as possible and also spread the word though the media to
possible funders and music organizations in this country. Please stay tuned for future news on how you can contribute to our Music
For Afghanistan Campaign. Bringing music back to the children of Afghanistan after having it banned and the infrastructure destroyed
under the Taliban will do more to heal that country than anything I can think of. Please write me with any ideas you have of how we
can help.
Afghanistan Tour Journal, May 2008
My first evening in Afghanistan, I was sitting dazed in my room at the guest
house, jet-lagged and hungry, realizing that I hadn’t asked about food. There
was a knock on the door and one of the kitchen boys motioned for me to
come with him. In the main room, there were 15 to 20 men wearing the
traditional Shamal Camiz lying around on cushions listening to two musicians:
one playing a Rabab (a plucked instrument with many sympathetic strings)
and the other a two-headed hand drum. They gave me tea and asked if I was
hungry. “No” I lied and sat back to listen to the music. The sound of the
Rabab is the sound of Afghanistan and I was suddenly really there.
Specifically, I wasn’t at all sure where I was. Niazi from WADAN (Welfare
Association for the Development of Afghanistan) had just dropped me here
saying “you will stay here,” but I was very much in Afghanistan. As the music
played, the men joked and told stories in Pashtu and it was clear that they
loved the music and that they were enjoying themselves tremendously. After
an hour or so, the musicians took a break and I offered to get my bass and
sing the song that I know in Pashtu. I was nervous and exhausted, but I
muddled through and when I finished one of the men said, “I saw you on
YouTube. I live in Maine.” Then another man said, “I’m his brother and you
were at my house last year in Peshawar.”
Yes, the world is a tiny place.
house, jet-lagged and hungry, realizing that I hadn’t asked about food. There
was a knock on the door and one of the kitchen boys motioned for me to
come with him. In the main room, there were 15 to 20 men wearing the
traditional Shamal Camiz lying around on cushions listening to two musicians:
one playing a Rabab (a plucked instrument with many sympathetic strings)
and the other a two-headed hand drum. They gave me tea and asked if I was
hungry. “No” I lied and sat back to listen to the music. The sound of the
Rabab is the sound of Afghanistan and I was suddenly really there.
Specifically, I wasn’t at all sure where I was. Niazi from WADAN (Welfare
Association for the Development of Afghanistan) had just dropped me here
saying “you will stay here,” but I was very much in Afghanistan. As the music
played, the men joked and told stories in Pashtu and it was clear that they
loved the music and that they were enjoying themselves tremendously. After
an hour or so, the musicians took a break and I offered to get my bass and
sing the song that I know in Pashtu. I was nervous and exhausted, but I
muddled through and when I finished one of the men said, “I saw you on
YouTube. I live in Maine.” Then another man said, “I’m his brother and you
were at my house last year in Peshawar.”
Yes, the world is a tiny place.
I discovered that I was living in the YAAR guest house. YAAR (Youth Assembly
for Afghanistan Rehabilitation), like WADAN, is an Afghan NGO and does many
different things including building schools. The guest house is available to men who
need a place to stay when they come to Kabul from the eastern provinces and
Peshawar. There is no charge and the criteria, like many things in Afghanistan,
seems to depend on who you know. Basically, it’s a service that YAAR provides.
Meals are served three times a day for anyone who happens to be there. A rubber
mat is rolled out and everyone gathers around and sits on the floor. The plate sized
breads are dealt out like cards to each place. Everything is eaten by grabbing it with
a piece of bread. Only yogurt is served with a spoon. The dishes are served one to
every two people or so. Afghans like to eat out of the same dish with someone else.
Foreign as that seems to us, it was clear that they feel most comfortable doing this.
After the meal, the mat is rolled up with the food scraps in it and then green tea is
served. I drank gallons of tea. What was interesting for me was seeing the
constantly changing cast of characters. There were four rooms with several beds in
each and people also slept on the big cushions in the main room. Every Afghan
home and office has a room like that one with a carpet on the floor and cushions
against the walls. The cushions are for sitting, lounging, sleeping and drinking tea,
but you move off them onto the floor for eating. For three weeks, I spent a lot of
time in that room listening to conversations in Pashtu, watching facial reactions and
trying to imagine what they were talking about. Sometimes Nassim would translate
for me, and I had short conversations in English with many different guests. But
mostly I just watched. Pacha later described me as “watching us with your laser
eyes.” There was a constant flow of people, some of whom reappeared
periodically. The director, Amir, was very gracious to me and the four kitchen and
garden boys adopted me. One of them, Zargul, asked me one day when I would
stop playing my big guitar. I replied, “When I’m dead.” So he wrote out in English
for me that he didn’t want me to die. Amir was particularly happy when I was in
Afghan dress because he thought I looked like the attorney general who has fair
skin and white hair and beard. On one occasion the real Attorney General came to
YAAR for a meeting and I met him briefly. Neither of us thought we looked like the
other, but before he arrived a couple of people mistook me for him and came
rushing over to shake my hand. Amir thought this was the funniest thing he’d ever
seen. From then on when I needed a laugh I mentioned my twin -- the attorney
general.
for Afghanistan Rehabilitation), like WADAN, is an Afghan NGO and does many
different things including building schools. The guest house is available to men who
need a place to stay when they come to Kabul from the eastern provinces and
Peshawar. There is no charge and the criteria, like many things in Afghanistan,
seems to depend on who you know. Basically, it’s a service that YAAR provides.
Meals are served three times a day for anyone who happens to be there. A rubber
mat is rolled out and everyone gathers around and sits on the floor. The plate sized
breads are dealt out like cards to each place. Everything is eaten by grabbing it with
a piece of bread. Only yogurt is served with a spoon. The dishes are served one to
every two people or so. Afghans like to eat out of the same dish with someone else.
Foreign as that seems to us, it was clear that they feel most comfortable doing this.
After the meal, the mat is rolled up with the food scraps in it and then green tea is
served. I drank gallons of tea. What was interesting for me was seeing the
constantly changing cast of characters. There were four rooms with several beds in
each and people also slept on the big cushions in the main room. Every Afghan
home and office has a room like that one with a carpet on the floor and cushions
against the walls. The cushions are for sitting, lounging, sleeping and drinking tea,
but you move off them onto the floor for eating. For three weeks, I spent a lot of
time in that room listening to conversations in Pashtu, watching facial reactions and
trying to imagine what they were talking about. Sometimes Nassim would translate
for me, and I had short conversations in English with many different guests. But
mostly I just watched. Pacha later described me as “watching us with your laser
eyes.” There was a constant flow of people, some of whom reappeared
periodically. The director, Amir, was very gracious to me and the four kitchen and
garden boys adopted me. One of them, Zargul, asked me one day when I would
stop playing my big guitar. I replied, “When I’m dead.” So he wrote out in English
for me that he didn’t want me to die. Amir was particularly happy when I was in
Afghan dress because he thought I looked like the attorney general who has fair
skin and white hair and beard. On one occasion the real Attorney General came to
YAAR for a meeting and I met him briefly. Neither of us thought we looked like the
other, but before he arrived a couple of people mistook me for him and came
rushing over to shake my hand. Amir thought this was the funniest thing he’d ever
seen. From then on when I needed a laugh I mentioned my twin -- the attorney
general.
For the next three weeks Nassim from Maine and his brother Nazif from
Peshawar and their friends Pacha and Zuber from Nangahar adopted me. We
went to dinner and on a picnic. We walked in the rose gardens behind the
Intercontinental Hotel and we visited all of Nazif’s warehouses and offices in
Kabul. They in turn followed me around to hear me play and laughed harder
than anyone. I got a window into Afghanistan that few of the thousands of
foreigners living there ever get and I vowed to learn Pashtu before next year.
As I was writing this in New Hampshire, Zuber called me this morning from
Nangahar just to say hello.
Peshawar and their friends Pacha and Zuber from Nangahar adopted me. We
went to dinner and on a picnic. We walked in the rose gardens behind the
Intercontinental Hotel and we visited all of Nazif’s warehouses and offices in
Kabul. They in turn followed me around to hear me play and laughed harder
than anyone. I got a window into Afghanistan that few of the thousands of
foreigners living there ever get and I vowed to learn Pashtu before next year.
As I was writing this in New Hampshire, Zuber called me this morning from
Nangahar just to say hello.
My time was filled with days of frantic activity and days of nothing, but it evened
out to 21 performances. My hosts, WADAN, were fantastic like last year, but my
events planner, Amin, had just been named Governor of Farak province and I saw
him only briefly as he left to take up his post soon after I arrived. It’s a very
important position with a difficult constituency and no small amount of danger, but
he will be fantastic at it. His skill at bringing people together is monumental. Khushal
who was part of “team Dobbs” last year did wonderfully but he was extremely
busy. It was Khushal who solved the mystery of my lack of success with my
fairytale in Pashtu. When he looked closely at the translation he said “These are
words no one uses. It’s someone showing off his vocabulary. It’s not everyday
language. And the central theme of the story is the circus which we don’t have.”
Well, no wonder I got a lot of blank looks at first. He translated my other story,
out to 21 performances. My hosts, WADAN, were fantastic like last year, but my
events planner, Amin, had just been named Governor of Farak province and I saw
him only briefly as he left to take up his post soon after I arrived. It’s a very
important position with a difficult constituency and no small amount of danger, but
he will be fantastic at it. His skill at bringing people together is monumental. Khushal
who was part of “team Dobbs” last year did wonderfully but he was extremely
busy. It was Khushal who solved the mystery of my lack of success with my
fairytale in Pashtu. When he looked closely at the translation he said “These are
words no one uses. It’s someone showing off his vocabulary. It’s not everyday
language. And the central theme of the story is the circus which we don’t have.”
Well, no wonder I got a lot of blank looks at first. He translated my other story,
I played at three private schools in Kabul and I had time to do many more,
but couldn’t figure out how to get access to government schools. One day
Nazif suggested that we visit his Alma Mater, one of the biggest schools in
Kabul with something like 15,000 students in three shifts. “Karzai also went
here,” he said proudly. Nazif is an importer of medical equipment and
works in London and Tokyo as well as Peshawar. One of his employees
who also does security work at the presidential palace accompanied us. We
met with the director of the school who was very gracious and said they
would love to have me come and play for the students, but I needed a paper
from the ministry with approval and the dates of my performances. Sayed
who works for the president said, “No problem I can do it. One day. No
more.” It was too late for this year, so we agreed that next year he would
get the papers in advance even. I could play 30 or more concerts just in that
school. On my only trip out of Kabul, I traveled to Jalalabad and there
played in two government schools where the local office of WADAN had
already gotten that permission from the ministry. They were one step ahead
of us. In the morning, I played for all the third class boys and girls in one
room. They were a wonderful audience and the administration was
welcoming and appreciative. In the afternoon, at another smaller school it
was another story. I played for a small group of very young girls and the
principal sat next to me.
but couldn’t figure out how to get access to government schools. One day
Nazif suggested that we visit his Alma Mater, one of the biggest schools in
Kabul with something like 15,000 students in three shifts. “Karzai also went
here,” he said proudly. Nazif is an importer of medical equipment and
works in London and Tokyo as well as Peshawar. One of his employees
who also does security work at the presidential palace accompanied us. We
met with the director of the school who was very gracious and said they
would love to have me come and play for the students, but I needed a paper
from the ministry with approval and the dates of my performances. Sayed
who works for the president said, “No problem I can do it. One day. No
more.” It was too late for this year, so we agreed that next year he would
get the papers in advance even. I could play 30 or more concerts just in that
school. On my only trip out of Kabul, I traveled to Jalalabad and there
played in two government schools where the local office of WADAN had
already gotten that permission from the ministry. They were one step ahead
of us. In the morning, I played for all the third class boys and girls in one
room. They were a wonderful audience and the administration was
welcoming and appreciative. In the afternoon, at another smaller school it
was another story. I played for a small group of very young girls and the
principal sat next to me.
As I played Bach, the girls were quiet and listening very well, but the principal
kept talking to them in a loud voice; admonishing them or instructing them.
Who knows? In situations like that, all my political skills go out the window
and I shushed him three times. Usually when I do this, teachers making noise
eventually get the idea, but he stood up and left the room taking my translator
from WADAN with him. My driver from Kabul, Gabeer, continued
translating even though he doesn’t speak much English, but he knew what I
was saying from having heard the presentation before. He’s very sharp. I
finished Bach and was mostly through the turtle, or “kisiff,” story and the
girls were laughing so hard they were in paroxysms, but still being very
attentive. I was almost finished and the principal walked in and tried to stop
me, but I ignored him and finished the song. The girls didn’t make a sound,
their faces etched in horror and fear. It was an amazing transformation:
engaged enjoyment to total shutdown. We slinked out of there. It was a
shame. The translator and Gabeer just shrugged and said, “What can you do
with people like that.” Thinking about it, I realized that those girls had
probably never in their lives seen a man being silly for their enjoyment and
clearly not in that school. It just makes me more determined to give as many
children as possible that experience.
kept talking to them in a loud voice; admonishing them or instructing them.
Who knows? In situations like that, all my political skills go out the window
and I shushed him three times. Usually when I do this, teachers making noise
eventually get the idea, but he stood up and left the room taking my translator
from WADAN with him. My driver from Kabul, Gabeer, continued
translating even though he doesn’t speak much English, but he knew what I
was saying from having heard the presentation before. He’s very sharp. I
finished Bach and was mostly through the turtle, or “kisiff,” story and the
girls were laughing so hard they were in paroxysms, but still being very
attentive. I was almost finished and the principal walked in and tried to stop
me, but I ignored him and finished the song. The girls didn’t make a sound,
their faces etched in horror and fear. It was an amazing transformation:
engaged enjoyment to total shutdown. We slinked out of there. It was a
shame. The translator and Gabeer just shrugged and said, “What can you do
with people like that.” Thinking about it, I realized that those girls had
probably never in their lives seen a man being silly for their enjoyment and
clearly not in that school. It just makes me more determined to give as many
children as possible that experience.
Soon after my arrival, I returned to the Vocational High School for the Artists
and noticed the sign out front had changed to Vocational Music School. It’s
not unusual for some signs to be in English. There was a new principal, Daud
Mohsin, who spoke English, a very welcome change, although the previous
principal was a very nice man. Some changes had been made and the visual
arts students had gone somewhere else. I played in the corridor again and
everyone was very glad to see me for the third time. A man in the front row
who I did not know began helping to translate some of the more technical
musical terms. Afterwards, we met officially. His name is Ahmad Sarmast and
he is an Afghan who teaches at Monash University in Australia. He is working
with the Afghan Ministry of Education, along with Monash and the
international donor community to turn that high school into a real conservatory
of music. In the long term, it means building a brand new residential facility on
land that has been donated near where the present inadequate building stands,
bringing a full faculty of teachers for all the Western orchestral instruments
and noticed the sign out front had changed to Vocational Music School. It’s
not unusual for some signs to be in English. There was a new principal, Daud
Mohsin, who spoke English, a very welcome change, although the previous
principal was a very nice man. Some changes had been made and the visual
arts students had gone somewhere else. I played in the corridor again and
everyone was very glad to see me for the third time. A man in the front row
who I did not know began helping to translate some of the more technical
musical terms. Afterwards, we met officially. His name is Ahmad Sarmast and
he is an Afghan who teaches at Monash University in Australia. He is working
with the Afghan Ministry of Education, along with Monash and the
international donor community to turn that high school into a real conservatory
of music. In the long term, it means building a brand new residential facility on
land that has been donated near where the present inadequate building stands,
bringing a full faculty of teachers for all the Western orchestral instruments
including guitar and piano, but also the traditional Afghan instruments and developing a curriculum to teach them. He was aware that I
had brought 16 instruments with me last year, so I told him that I was reluctant to bring more instruments until I knew exactly what
they needed. He laughed and said, “We presently have 162 students and 45 instruments, so we need everything. I will work here for
as long as it takes. The minister has already approved an interim plan to build a concert/dining hall attached to the present building. I
won’t rest until we have a conservatory and then we’ll move to the other cities and then when there are Afghans trained we will
reinvent a music curriculum for all the government schools in Afghanistan.” Ahmad lives in Australia, but travels periodically to Kabul.
He is the son of the great Afghan composer of the fifties and sixties, Ustad Sarmast, who also conducted the National Symphony
(when there was one) and collected and arranged hundreds and hundreds of folk songs for orchestra. Ahmad studied at the Moscow
Conservatory and because of the renown of his father everyone in the country knows him. He is the perfect person to do this. We
met several times and he arranged some performances for me. In return, I introduced him to WADAN who offered to help him set up
an NGO so that he could accept donations independently of the Ministry of Education. It’s a bold plan, but in the context of the huge
amount of aid money flowing into that country it is a small potato. For me, the best part of the project is Ahmad’s idea to recruit the
student body from the hundreds of thousands of orphans created by 35 years of war. Many orphans end up in the cycle of crime
drugs and prostitution. Music would give them a way out. He is familiar with the Venezuelan program “el sistema” and was very
interested in “Al Kamandjati” in Palestine who also draw their students from the poorest communities.
had brought 16 instruments with me last year, so I told him that I was reluctant to bring more instruments until I knew exactly what
they needed. He laughed and said, “We presently have 162 students and 45 instruments, so we need everything. I will work here for
as long as it takes. The minister has already approved an interim plan to build a concert/dining hall attached to the present building. I
won’t rest until we have a conservatory and then we’ll move to the other cities and then when there are Afghans trained we will
reinvent a music curriculum for all the government schools in Afghanistan.” Ahmad lives in Australia, but travels periodically to Kabul.
He is the son of the great Afghan composer of the fifties and sixties, Ustad Sarmast, who also conducted the National Symphony
(when there was one) and collected and arranged hundreds and hundreds of folk songs for orchestra. Ahmad studied at the Moscow
Conservatory and because of the renown of his father everyone in the country knows him. He is the perfect person to do this. We
met several times and he arranged some performances for me. In return, I introduced him to WADAN who offered to help him set up
an NGO so that he could accept donations independently of the Ministry of Education. It’s a bold plan, but in the context of the huge
amount of aid money flowing into that country it is a small potato. For me, the best part of the project is Ahmad’s idea to recruit the
student body from the hundreds of thousands of orphans created by 35 years of war. Many orphans end up in the cycle of crime
drugs and prostitution. Music would give them a way out. He is familiar with the Venezuelan program “el sistema” and was very
interested in “Al Kamandjati” in Palestine who also draw their students from the poorest communities.
During my last few days, the TV show that I had recorded on
one of my first days was broadcast. It seemed like everyone in
the country saw it. It was me being interviewed and overdubbed
into Pashtu against a red background with stars spinning and
then me playing and singing a song in Pashtu outside under the
portico by the main door in front of some flowers. (While we
were doing takes there were a couple workers doing something
on top of the portico hammering and shouting and going up and
down the ladder, but you couldn’t hear it on the mike.) It
concluded with a pastiche of the concerts I did last year taken
from my YouTube film “Dobbs in Afghanistan.” 15 million
people know of the work that Bach With Verse is doing in
Afghanistan. My last concert was at a residential drug rehab
treatment center for women. It’s the first one in Afghanistan and
has a wonderful, caring staff. The women are allowed to bring
their children, so I had a nice mixed age audience. I played Bach
and then asked which language they wanted for the story. More
people were saying Dari, so I told the story of the turtle in Dari
(the sangposht) and afterwards they wanted it again but this time
in Pashtu -- the kissef. So I did it again. It was a wonderful
morning and I can’t wait to get back next year.
Dobbs
one of my first days was broadcast. It seemed like everyone in
the country saw it. It was me being interviewed and overdubbed
into Pashtu against a red background with stars spinning and
then me playing and singing a song in Pashtu outside under the
portico by the main door in front of some flowers. (While we
were doing takes there were a couple workers doing something
on top of the portico hammering and shouting and going up and
down the ladder, but you couldn’t hear it on the mike.) It
concluded with a pastiche of the concerts I did last year taken
from my YouTube film “Dobbs in Afghanistan.” 15 million
people know of the work that Bach With Verse is doing in
Afghanistan. My last concert was at a residential drug rehab
treatment center for women. It’s the first one in Afghanistan and
has a wonderful, caring staff. The women are allowed to bring
their children, so I had a nice mixed age audience. I played Bach
and then asked which language they wanted for the story. More
people were saying Dari, so I told the story of the turtle in Dari
(the sangposht) and afterwards they wanted it again but this time
in Pashtu -- the kissef. So I did it again. It was a wonderful
morning and I can’t wait to get back next year.
Dobbs
| Shafiq Samin, me and Nazif at YAAR guest house |
| Rabab on right |
| Nassim, Pacha and Zuber |
| Rose gardens |
| YAAR guest house |
| Dinner |
| Picnic with Nassim, Pacha and Zuber |
| Pacha on the river |
| Nassim and Nazif at WADAN office |
| Zargul's letter |
| Zargul |
| Pacha, me and Zuber at the rose gardens |
| Morning school in Jalalabad |
| Audience at YAAR school |
| Morning school in Jalalabad |
| Morning school in Jalalabad |
| Afternoon school in Jalalabad |
| Daud Mohsin, me and Ahmad Sarmast |
| Women's drug rehabilitation center |
| YAAR guest house staff |
which had been very successful for Dari speaking audiences. I recorded him saying the words and was able to give a clean
performance in Pashtu. But on the night of the first concert (at the WADAN office after dinner for a large group that the director,
Nasib, had gathered) there was a pretty big glitch. The comedy of the story is that my turtle ran away and must have run really fast.
A turtle running at warp speed is funny. Well Khushal translated turtle as “shamshatai” which is lizard. Nothing funny about a fast
lizard they’re all fast- no comedy. When I stopped playing, there was a long argument. I kept hearing the word “sangposht” which is
turtle in Dari. Finally, Biarzai, my contact at the TV station who knew the story, drew a picture of a lizard and then a picture of a
turtle. I pointed to the turtle and he said “kissif.” That settled it. From then on it got big laughs.
performance in Pashtu. But on the night of the first concert (at the WADAN office after dinner for a large group that the director,
Nasib, had gathered) there was a pretty big glitch. The comedy of the story is that my turtle ran away and must have run really fast.
A turtle running at warp speed is funny. Well Khushal translated turtle as “shamshatai” which is lizard. Nothing funny about a fast
lizard they’re all fast- no comedy. When I stopped playing, there was a long argument. I kept hearing the word “sangposht” which is
turtle in Dari. Finally, Biarzai, my contact at the TV station who knew the story, drew a picture of a lizard and then a picture of a
turtle. I pointed to the turtle and he said “kissif.” That settled it. From then on it got big laughs.