I started to take interest in cooking when I joined UNICEF-Herat, Western Afghanistan (2007-2011). Vegetarians could survive in Kabul. The modern stores were stuffed with a variety of food: sauces, cheese, vegetables, greens, lentils, rice, whole wheat, spices, oils in addition to meat and fish. A large number of international agencies and diplomatic missions were based in Kabul and the demand for diverse food soared. I guess ISAF (International Security Assistance Force–NATO led Military mission in Afghanistan) was a customer as well. In Herat being a vegetarian was next to “committing suicide” of the palate . . .
So, my cooking practice began on weekends. At the time I was forced to move to the UNHCR guesthouse with our International Child Protection officer after repeated RPG attacks on our UN multi-agency living quarters. Relentlessly I cooked fried rice, noodles and potato curry lunches for my five housemates. I tried to “spice” my vegetarian life . . .
Herat is dry, land locked. The RPGs fell constantly, conflicts continued. The supply trucks from Kabul required almost a week to reach Herat. The road was dangerous, especially at night because of the Taliban. They would kill and loot. It was an active war-zone. At night, drivers took refuge in safer places. Fresh products weren’t easy to transport from Kabul. Summers were extremely hot; winters were freezing.
Throughout the year we could get carrots, potatoes and onions in Herat. Spinach was sold for some months during summer. At the beginning of winter, Cauliflowers were available but after some time they looked shriveled, dirtied by the dust. We stopped eating them at that point. The vegetables came from far-flung villages in the region that had access to water sources. The markets didn’t sell lentils or bread but the locally made naan (flat bread baked in clay ovens) was delicious––fluffy, soft, and large. The naan stores exploded with naans, 24/7. There were many flies. And dust.
After office on my way to the guesthouse, our driver used to pick up two freshly baked naans for me while I waited in the armored vehicle, all doors locked, windows rolled up. Luckily the wait was brief as the ovens constantly churned out fresh naans. We did our “naan adventure” twice a week mostly. Didn’t want to take too much risk, as no one knew when the situation would turn life threatening. People carried heaps of naan at the back carriers of their bi-cycles, uncovered–– not in packets or plastic bags. It was the common way. I watched from inside the land cruiser with my naans, wrapped smugly inside a cloth bag. No matter how much I loved eating them my heart often cried for a slice of toasted bread with cheese spread!
The R&Rs after every six weeks broke the “impotent-food regime” for me. I used to fly to Washington D.C. for ten days––seven days R&R combined with three days of leave. It became a routine for four years. I flew thousands of miles to “freedom,” charged with endorphins flooding my brain. At those times Herat seemed unreal––a fantasy land!
We ate one kind of Iranian rice popular in Herat. But I wanted Basmati now and then, which wasn’t available. While I was in Kabul on a mission, I met with a couple of Bangladeshi UN security (UNDSS) guys. They were compassionate and began to send me Basmati, and lentils often via the UNHAS flights.
We hosted lunches by monthly rotation in the office. However, if there were any good news to celebrate like a wedding or birth or educational achievement of a family member there would be an additional lunch. Once I hosted extra ones to celebrate my son’s birthday and my parents’ wedding anniversary––gave me a sense of joy from a distant land–– wrapped in heartaches. We lived in different continents, strange times . . .
Like the Bengalee culture, food is an important element in Afghani society. In a country torn by chronic conflict and ethnic violence, food played a crucial role to normalize the war outside, at the doorstep (?!). The shadow of death was constant. Food was solace, eating together was a sign of normalcy.
Our young, feisty education officer, Friba hosted a lunch right after she joined. As a new comer she wanted to show her appreciation. She was promptly briefed about my food-boundaries. She ordered several items of meat, spinach (it was the “must” item whenever I was invited), naan, potatoes fried in butter, (specially for me), eggplants cooked in yogurt, tomatoes and garlic, and “Palaw”––fatty lamb meat and rice cooked together lavishly in butter oil.
Herat is dry, land locked. The RPGs fell constantly, conflicts continued. The supply trucks from Kabul required almost a week to reach Herat. The road was dangerous, especially at night because of the Taliban. They would kill and loot. It was an active war-zone. At night, drivers took refuge in safer places. Fresh products weren’t easy to transport from Kabul. Summers were extremely hot; winters were freezing.
Throughout the year we could get carrots, potatoes and onions in Herat. Spinach was sold for some months during summer. At the beginning of winter, Cauliflowers were available but after some time they looked shriveled, dirtied by the dust. We stopped eating them at that point. The vegetables came from far-flung villages in the region that had access to water sources. The markets didn’t sell lentils or bread but the locally made naan (flat bread baked in clay ovens) was delicious––fluffy, soft, and large. The naan stores exploded with naans, 24/7. There were many flies. And dust.
©UNHCR
After office on my way to the guesthouse, our driver used to pick up two freshly baked naans for me while I waited in the armored vehicle, all doors locked, windows rolled up. Luckily the wait was brief as the ovens constantly churned out fresh naans. We did our “naan adventure” twice a week mostly. Didn’t want to take too much risk, as no one knew when the situation would turn life threatening. People carried heaps of naan at the back carriers of their bi-cycles, uncovered–– not in packets or plastic bags. It was the common way. I watched from inside the land cruiser with my naans, wrapped smugly inside a cloth bag. No matter how much I loved eating them my heart often cried for a slice of toasted bread with cheese spread!
The R&Rs after every six weeks broke the “impotent-food regime” for me. I used to fly to Washington D.C. for ten days––seven days R&R combined with three days of leave. It became a routine for four years. I flew thousands of miles to “freedom,” charged with endorphins flooding my brain. At those times Herat seemed unreal––a fantasy land!
We ate one kind of Iranian rice popular in Herat. But I wanted Basmati now and then, which wasn’t available. While I was in Kabul on a mission, I met with a couple of Bangladeshi UN security (UNDSS) guys. They were compassionate and began to send me Basmati, and lentils often via the UNHAS flights.
We hosted lunches by monthly rotation in the office. However, if there were any good news to celebrate like a wedding or birth or educational achievement of a family member there would be an additional lunch. Once I hosted extra ones to celebrate my son’s birthday and my parents’ wedding anniversary––gave me a sense of joy from a distant land–– wrapped in heartaches. We lived in different continents, strange times . . .
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| ©BBC |
Like the Bengalee culture, food is an important element in Afghani society. In a country torn by chronic conflict and ethnic violence, food played a crucial role to normalize the war outside, at the doorstep (?!). The shadow of death was constant. Food was solace, eating together was a sign of normalcy.
Our young, feisty education officer, Friba hosted a lunch right after she joined. As a new comer she wanted to show her appreciation. She was promptly briefed about my food-boundaries. She ordered several items of meat, spinach (it was the “must” item whenever I was invited), naan, potatoes fried in butter, (specially for me), eggplants cooked in yogurt, tomatoes and garlic, and “Palaw”––fatty lamb meat and rice cooked together lavishly in butter oil.
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Foreigners are considered precious guests in Afghanistan. Friba personally served the food to us––three international women officials. She served me “Pawlaw,” minus the meat.
“I’ve taken the meat out, Nuzhat Jaan. It’s only rice. Totally vegetarian now,” Friba beamed in kindness. I hated to curb her enthusiasm . . .
I had to give it a pass.
“I’ve taken the meat out, Nuzhat Jaan. It’s only rice. Totally vegetarian now,” Friba beamed in kindness. I hated to curb her enthusiasm . . .
I had to give it a pass.
Hi,
ReplyDeleteNaan in west Asian countries really delicious. Basmati rice cannot compete with Iranian rice, so said an Indian Minister visiting Iran, But best is to mix the two and you get a great combination
Being vegetarian in the Middle East is sometimes a challenge. I was always sensitive to vegetarian guests who participated in meetings and workshops set up in Tehran. I too became a vegetarian, with exception of fish a couple of years before being imprisoned. But in prison in became very difficult and I would have to stick to yogurt and rice, which was not a helpful diet when I was increasingly lost strength, and my health was declining. However, I stayed away from red meat Kebabs served in prison, especially koobedeh (minced meat). And the cats that kept us company were delighted to take the kebab off my hands. Enjoy your stories. Keep healthy and happy
Bless you and your kind heart
Baquer Namazi
Thank you!
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