This story
I heard from a doctor.
He had been
to Afghanistan some years ago. I suppose it was after the end of the Soviet
occupation, and before 9/11 and the war on terrorism.
He was
working there as a doctor in a medical unit in the countryside somewhere.
Together with other doctors and nurses he was offering much needed medical help
to the local population. Once they had operated on a young man and saved his
life. His family, of course, was very thankful. They were rich and powerful
people, and they invited the team of doctors to visit them in their village in
the mountains.
The
following Saturday early in the morning a powerful four wheel drive truck came
to their camp to pick them up. They drove for several hours, the roads
gradually becoming more and more rugged while the truck with difficulty made its way through
the bare and deserted mountain landscape.
They were
talking among themselves, eagerly awaiting their arrival to a spot where maybe no
Europeans had been before, to see the authentic Afghan village and the way of
life there.
Finally
they arrived. The father of the son, whose life they had saved, was the chief
of the village. He welcomed them warmly and proposed to show them around the
village while a meal was being prepared for them. There was one main street in
the village. Traditional houses melting into the background of the mountains. “Come
inside” he said, “and let me show you what goods my village has to offer”. They
went into a house, expecting to find exotic medicines, magic potions and traditional
handicraft items of the sort that must have been made there for thousands of
years.
To their surprise
he proudly showed them huge amounts of fashion goods from Paris. All the
well-known perfume brands, the handbags otherwise found in the expensive shops
on the Champs-Elysées, and fashion clothing worthy of any European queen.
They were a
bit disappointed. He took them to another house. May this was where they would
see the authentic products of the mountain dwellers. But no. Here was
everything in the way of modern appliances. The most recent computers, the most
recent plasma television screens and everything a European teenage boy could ever dream
of (by way of hardware that is).
“Before we sit down to have our the
meal” the chief said, “there’s just one more shop you should see”. They went
into another house. On the shelves and on the floors there was a large array of
guns, pistols and weapons of every kind. “Would you like to buy that?” he asked
the doctor, and pointed at a Kalashnikov. The doctor didn’t, but asked “don’t
you have anything bigger than that?”.
“We do, of
course we do”, he said. He took him out to the back of the house. There was a
yard filled with military equipment. He pointed to a Soviet tank. “Is that what
you want?” he asked. “It is”, the doctor said, “but I am afraid that British
Airways will not allow me to take it on the plane.” “Don’t worry” the chief said. “Give
us three months. We will take it apart, have it shipped to Europe, and assemble
it for you”.
The meal
was a traditional one and very tasty at that.
