Marrakech: and a tale of a birthday

It was a birthday.  So I wore an ivory satin coat and a glamorous ring because birthdays are occasions to do that sort of thing.

We piled into the car and arrived at a cottage in downtown Marrakech.  Everything was aglow.

I even spied my book in the candle light on the coffee table.

There was drinking at this birthday.

And plenty of it.

And there was special musical accompaniment by local talent.

The music was required, you see, because there was dancing.  The birthday boy loved to dance.

And so did everyone else.  

And although his wardrobe had remained identical, many birthdays had past since this picture was taken of the birthday boy. {His hair was longer, there were a few more wrinkles, the baby now went to art school in France} ...

Nonetheless, the years had undoubtedly served to remind him, that in the end all that really mattered was this.... 

Amour cushion by Zid Zid Kids.

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Kabul and the quest for beauty: a tale of the Afghan jewelers

My grandmother Jean was a very tall woman who wore heels. Her clothes were tailored, and she was always dressed for visitors {as who knew, after all, what the day might bring?}.  One of the keys to her inimitable style was her jewelry. Not layers of pearls or discreet gold chains. Not charm bracelets or diamond rings. But tribal jewelry. Indeed, very often my grandmother could be found wearing weighty ethnic neck pieces. Against the black sheaths she favored, the tribal jewels seemed to channel intrigue - as if she had bought each piece from a turbaned dealer in a saffron scented souk somewhere. And sometimes she actually had.

And so it was with a sense of longing and nostalgia, that I watched the student jewelers of Kabul. As they melted, filed, and soddered, I couldn't help but think of my grandmother Jean.

In my mind's eye, I could see my Grandmother Jean weighing that bracelet in her palm or holding up those earrings to the light....

Yes, I could almost hear her say, Asalam-aleikum. Could I possibly trouble you for the price? 

Images taken at Turquoise Mountain in Kabul, Afghanistan.

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Kabul and the quest for beauty: a tale of the Taliban and a musical interlude

Under the Taliban, we weren't allowed to listen to music, he said.

Oh, I replied. 

If we were found listening to a song, there was a special punishment, he explained.

What was it?  I asked.

The Taliban would would unravel the offending person's music cassette ribbon and wrap it around his neck and then cover his face with black ash.  Then they would tie the person sitting backwards on a donkey.  They would hand out potatoes to all the children and encourage them to pelt him with the potatoes.  The donkey would be led through the city for several hours with a loud speaker that cried out, "This is the punishment for those who listen to music!  And after that, the person would be locked up in jail. "

Oh, how terrible, I said.  And how sad to live without music.

Shall we go to the Winter Festival tonight in Kabul?  They're playing a concert, he explained.

I think we should.  Yes, I definitely think we should, I said.

Thankfully, the Taliban weren't invited.

Lives and music.  Yes, music and lives.  

And music lives on in Afghanistan.

Note:  These same Afghanistan National Institute of Music students are about to tour the US (including Carnegie Hall!)!  Read about it here. AMAZING.

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Kabul: and a tale of venturing and adventure

My husband's eyes looked tired when I told him; perhaps he secretly wished he had married the girl next door.  My 13 year old son said imperiously, No, sorry, you can't go, before adding, Can you bring me back a bullet proof vest?  My 11 year old daughter hopped on one foot and then the other and simply said, Mommy, you won't miss the school play will you?

I patted my husband on the arm and told him not to worry.  I informed my son in no uncertain terms that I wouldn't be bringing him back a bullet proof vest.  And I told my daughter that I wouldn't dream of missing her in the school play.  

And so it is that I am leaving for Afghanistan.  Tomorrow.  I'm waiting to write new tales.  And I am looking back on those I've already written, like:

A tale of shopping with the bodyguard.

A tale of when the taliban came to town.

A tale of Kabul and remembering.

I'll be tweeting what I'm seeing if you'd like to come along. 

PS So thrilled to learn that I'm a finalist for Best Writing on a Design Blog.  I'd love it if you'd vote for me here and spread the word. Thank you and shoukran:-)