Time of Gifting

by Taki Drake

  The women murmured agreement and began to rearrange their belongings to find notebooks and other things they would use to take notes. At the last second, Mary decided to include various small items that she had packed. With a poignant stab of memory, the woman who was both bereft mother and widow remembered packing T-shirts and shiny pens to send to Matthew after he had told her that they were both an excellent way to make friends and handy bartering items.

  Mary moved to the front of the bus, so she could consult with Abdul on anything that the group should know in addition to what he had already covered. Sitting on the first right-side passenger seat had become her go-to spot when she and the young driver needed to speak. As she sat down, the tote bag that she carried when visiting a market tipped, and a few of the pens slid out.

  Abdul’s expression showed surprise, but he gave her an approving smile, asking, “Did you bring those to barter?”

  When Mary nodded, Abdul broadened his smile, saying enthusiastically, “Then you will have great success in your efforts. Most of the villagers are more comfortable with bartering anyway. And things such as the pens that you have are very valuable to them.”

  Looking at his open, happy expression, Mary found herself matching his grin. The woman was conscious of a rising thrill at the idea of going out and mentally tussling with someone who was accustomed to bargaining. She enjoyed the interaction but never wanted to feel like she had cheated the other person. A culture that accepted bargaining as part of its lifeblood was perfect.

  “Look! There is the village, and it looks like a postcard!” Pam shouted out. All the women crowded to the one side of the bus and stared their fill. Mary could see the impact on each of her friends, and she felt that same smash of different cultures clash as she looked over the small settlement.

  Sand-finished straight walls and impressive barricades made of stacked stone were the prevalent architectural features that made the first impression. Softened by an occasional cloth awning anchored with long poles, it was evident that it was market day in the village. Even from a distance, they could see piles of produce and baskets filled with various materials.

  Under one of the awnings, an assortment of rugs was displayed. Each carpet was positioned so that the prospective buyer could look at both top and bottom. Mary knew this was so that the technique used to create the rug could be verified while bargaining.

  Oh, the woman thought to herself, this is going to be so much fun!

  Chapter 7 – Proof of Senses

  The seven friends wandered back toward the bus, arms laden with filled tote bags and small rolled-up carpets. Mary was one of the first to climb into the waiting vehicle and happily dump her purchases on the bench next to where she usually sat. The woman was full of a surging sense of satisfaction, energized from the intense bargaining sessions, and pleased beyond her expectations at what she had seen and learned.

  The visit to the village had started out with the headman insisting on a formal welcome. Abdul had murmured to Mary that it was courteous to spend the few minutes necessary for the headman to talk about his village. With a small grin, their driver and guide had confided that the man was also using their visit to remind the inhabitants what a great job he was doing for them.

  The American women had murmured comments at the appropriate places in the man’s speech while examining the stark landscape with surprising bursts of color and foliage. They and the villagers were anxious to mingle, but the headman ran on for about ten minutes. Finally, he was finished, and the three groups of women scattered, each faithfully staying within sight of their interpreter.

  Patty and Pam had taken off with Juma, heading straight for the woven textile and rug displays. Naomi and Connie headed for the general market area, the photographer's ever-present camera in her hand. Haji walked confidently behind them, eyes continually searching for threats.

  Geri, Jean, and Mary wanted to start by visiting the weaving and rug artisans, hoping for clear explanations of techniques. Abdul was their interpreter, keeping up a cheerful running commentary as they walked.

  They were almost at the first place that Abdul had recommended when a dusty, older bearded man in the loose tunic and trousers that evidently was typical village apparel stepped out of a shadowed nook between two of the buildings, demanding something of Abdul in a sharp voice. Mary heard Jean gasp by her side but kept her focus on the confrontation between the two men.

  Mary was startled when their cheerful guide was transformed in an instant into a protector with a fierce scowl on his face. When Abdul stretched his left arm across their pathway, the three women silently and obediently stopped.

  The group leader was shocked even more to see that Abdul held a weapon, a pistol that looked very much like those their two escorts carried. The guide answered the man in a stern and assertive tone, taking an aggressive step forward while he spoke. Almost immediately, the stranger raised his hands up placating only and backed away, throwing several more sharp sentences of disdain like arrows that bounced off of the implacable Abdul.

  The guide walked as the man moved out of sight before turning to his charges and suggesting that they continue. “What was that about, Abdul?” Mary asked. The man sighed noisily before answering, saying, “There are many traditionalists in the villages. The thought of women traveling without their male protectors is something they consider an affront.”

  Geri asked him calmly, “What did you tell him? He looks still unhappy but marginally satisfied as he left.”

  An utterly charming grin showed on the younger man’s face as he answered, “I told him that my two friends and I had sworn on our honor to protect you ladies and that we considered you aunts. I reminded him that there is nothing wrong with someone delegating the protection of their female relatives to friends. He finally agreed but said this sort of behavior should not happen.”

  Mary felt the chill run over her and a small ache began to grow between her shoulder blades. The man’s attitude had disturbed her, and her feelings of looming danger and paranoia increased. Just then, a smiling woman popped her head out of the doorway in front of them and excitedly waved them to enter. She radiated such welcome and happiness to see the three women that the group leader let her fears and worries subside, at least for a while.

  The following couple of hours were hectic as the seven friends were guided through the making of typical textiles and the rug techniques that have been practiced for centuries. Visits to the market were illuminating, the startling difference between shopping in the city and here very apparent. All of the women had made some purchases, although many of them seem to be saving the majority of their funds for a later time.

  Tiring of the shopping, Naomi and Connie ranged further afield with their faithful shadow, Haji. When they returned, it was evident that their exploration for pictures had been very fruitful. Mary caught a fragment of their conversation, something about capturing the image of a swooping eagle in midflight that had Connie exclaiming to Naomi, “You have to submit that to National Geographic! It is an awesome shot, and the fact that you could get it is unbelievable.”

  However, Mary was very focused on a bargaining session, one where she felt like she was engaging in a contest with an expert. The American woman was determined not to be outclassed but knew that someone who survived only by narrow margins would have more finely honed skills than she had developed. She thought to herself as she watched the other woman’s face, In some ways, it is frightening how close these people live to the knife edge between survival and starvation. Despite that ever-present danger, they have cheerfulness and strength that many supposedly more civilized areas do not display.

  As the bargaining session went on, Mary noticed that Abdul’s regard for her was changing. He had always been respectful and pleasant to all seven of his charges. Still, as she continued to negotiate tenaciously with the other determined woman, that expression slowly turned to admiration. It was not just the driver whose attitude was changing.

  Mo
re of the villagers had come to encircle the two embattled women, standing a respectful distance back but avidly following the ebb and flow of their discussion. At first, Abdul had meticulously translated each of their comments to the other. After a while, clear spoken communication was no longer needed. At this point, the two women were negotiating primarily by pointing, hand gestures, and facial expressions.

  There were only a few variations between the offer and rebuttal now, but Mary was feeling stubborn. Crossing her arms and leaning back, the group leader was unwilling to move any further in her bid. Sensing this, the other woman finally smiled, pushing the contested pile of goods across the table to Mary’s side and slipping the US currency and two T-shirts onto hers.

  Smiling and bowing her head, Mary concealed her triumphant feeling inside with amusement that the other woman was doing the same. The Afghani woman called out in an imperious voice. A young girl came out of a nearby building carrying a tray holding flat folds of browned food garnished with fresh herbs and looking to Mary’s inexperienced eyes like tortillas that had been folded and slashed in parallel strips about an inch and a half wide. Placing the tray carefully in the center of the now cleared bargaining table, the young girl bowed and backed away.

  Speaking slowly and carefully, the older woman pointed to herself and said distinctly, “Bibi Ghulam” before adding while indicating the food, “Bolani Bolani.” She then picked up one of the strips and took a bite, showing Mary that the food was safe to eat. The American woman immediately picked up a piece and tasted it, an involuntary gasp of pleasure escaping her.

  Bibi grinned in pleasure at the implied compliment, gesturing encouragement to eat more. Abdul quickly advised her, saying, “This is a great honor. She is declaring you a trade partner worth the effort.”

  Grinning over at Abdul, Mary asked, “Do you know what they are?” The guide answered immediately, saying, “They are traditional turnovers and usually filled with leek, potatoes, onions, and herbs. They are only served to important customers and partners.”

  Turning fully to look at Abdul in the face, Mary asked, “What is an appropriate token of my esteem? I would like to return the favor but wanted it to be something that will communicate how much I thoroughly enjoyed our bargaining session.”

  The young man thought for a while as the young girl, who Bibi referred to as Fatima, rushed up to refresh the mint tea the two women had been sipping. As she slipped back into the cool shadows of the building, Abdul suggested with a grin on his face, “One of those sparkling pens would be perfect. It is nothing anyone around here has ever seen before, and the woman, this Bibi Ghulam, will treasure it probably for the rest of her life.”

  Mary thanked Abdul and was about to turn back to the woman and present her with one of the pens when she caught a glimpse of Patty’s pleading face. Fighting down a jolt of laughter, the group leader thought to herself, I never knew that someone with bright green eyes could look just like a pleading puppy dog before. I know she is dying to taste the food. I wonder how I can arrange that.

  Rather than asking Abdul to translate for her, Mary looked directly at Bibi, indicated the food, and then turned and pointed to Patty before touching her own lips. Lifting her hands up, palms on the top in a familiar gesture of question, the American woman tilted her head to the side and waited. Letting out a full belly laugh, the Afghani elder shouted something out, setting off a ripple effect of actions.

  Women scurried back into their buildings, and men pulled up benches and crudely made stools. Another table was carried over and set down, abutting the bargaining table to extend its length. Within a few moments, room for another twelve people had been created.

  Bibi made a circling gesture that encompassed where all the American women were standing and pointed to the table with an open hand. Simultaneously, she called out names, and six more Afghani women moved toward the table. When the headman asked something in an unbelieving tone, Bibi stabbed him with a sharp glance and uttered a short phrase. The chastened man immediately walked over to stand with Jumal, Haji, and the rest of the villagers.

  Abdul looked toward Mary and then to where all the other men were observing. Unwilling to be the only male still standing by the table that excluded the village men, his sense of duty and caring forced him to maintain his position. As soon as Mary noticed his discomfort, she said quietly to him, “Thank you, Abdul, but I believe that you will do more good over with the men. If we require sudden translation, I promise we will call you. However, this looks like it is a women’s party, and you are definitely not female.” Grinning in mirth-filled relief, Abdul made his escape to go and stand by the headman.

  Younger women and girls flooded out of the surrounding houses carrying containers of tea and glasses. No longer trying to avoid the American visitors, the younger females were bright-eyed and curious, watching everything the older visiting women did. The same young woman emerged from what Mary thought was probably Bibi’s home, arms piled high with the delicious Afghani turnovers on plates.

  Patty had grabbed a seat next to Mary, and the weaver that the group leader had met early in the visit sat on the chef’s other side. The rest of the tour group scattered around the table, happily taking places that let them sit next to the villagers rather than clumping for protection.

  Mary felt a brief stinging in her eyes as an immense feeling of pride flooded her. Such a long way we have come, she thought to herself, since the first day that we met, and all we could do was share our pain.

  Passing the plates of Bolani around, the tasty strips disappeared quickly. However, before the food was totally gone, other young women began to emerge from the houses carrying different foods. The sharing of the dishes opened the floodgates of exchange between the American women and the villagers. Patty looked like she was in heaven, excitedly tasting the dishes and discussing flavors and techniques with increasingly adept gestures.

  At first, Mary kept track of the few that she was tasting. Kabob Murgh melted in her mouth, the chicken perfectly broiled, and the spices subtle and complex. The Qabuli Palau had her moaning in pleasure as the tender chunks of lamb nestled under the seasoned rice with sweet carrot strips and raisins surprised her tastebuds even while it warmed her throat.

  The dishes came quickly and became too many for her to differentiate, although Mary was pretty sure that Patty would have all of them memorized. Vignettes of activity registered in Mary’s mind, providing memories that she knew she would carry the rest of her life.

  Connie trying to learn dance steps from one of the Afghani women while two others beat the table like a drum was unforgettable. Naomi and Geri showed off the pictures they had taken, amazing the villagers, and provided the two photographers with names and some understanding of the animals and flowers they had immortalized.

  The group leader found herself watching her friends and smiling gently. A hand on her forearm brought her attention back to Bibi, and the American realize that her Afghani counterpart was doing the same for the women of her village. The two exchanged understanding smiles, and Mary realized it was time to leave. Part of her wanted never to go, to keep this sense of connection alive. But that was not possible, not in the real world.

  As she had come to learn during the months they had supported each other in their journey through the swamp of grief, being greedy for what you had does not work. Seeing the same recognition in Bibi’s eyes, Mary reached into her tote bag and pulled out two items. Holding them partially concealed in one hand, the American women pointed at her eyes and then at Bibi’s. Sliding her hand back to rest over her heart, she extended the other one toward the woman that had been first an adversary and had transformed somehow into a friend.

  In her palm was a ballpoint pen with a case glittering with metallic gems. Beside it was a small snap-top evening purse that hung from a sturdy but finely-made chain handle. It was heavily embroidered in rich saturated colors. Worked into a floral display, the small bag caught the eye.

  It also brought a b
linding smile of pleasure to Bibi’s face. The weathered and worn countenance of the other woman was transformed for a moment, and Mary realized with the shock that Bibi was much younger than any of the Americans. The two women looked at each other and clasped hands. Mentally promising herself, Mary thought, I do not want this to be the last time I interact with this wonderful woman!

  Resolutely standing up, Mary told the assembled group, “I am sorry to say it is time for us to go. I hope sometime in the future we will once again be able to see our sisters here.” Cheers and enthusiastic comments came from both the Afghani villagers and the American women.

  Looking relieved, Abdul and Jumal began to herd the women back to the bus. Laughing and talking with the women’s escorts, the village men cheerfully helped carry Mary’s purchases to stow. As the last of her goods was packed into the bus, Abdul stopped Mary with a hand on her arm. When she looked up at him in question, the driver indicated the hurrying young woman that had emerged from Bibi’s house before.

  Arriving out of breath and gasping, Fatima handed the astonished American three painted tokens. Flinging her arms around Mary in a shocking move, the young woman delivered several rapid-fire comments before turning and sprinting back toward the village.

  Somewhat stunned, Mary watched as the young woman disappeared into the gathering dusk. Hearing a choked sound from Abdul, the group leader turned her attention to them, asking, “What was that all about?”

  Holding her elbow gently, Abdul assisted Mary into the bus, saying, “Part of what she said was that her grandmother is deeply touched by the beautiful gifts you gave her. Fatima added in her own thanks, saying that Bibi always takes care of everyone else and no one seems to think to do nice things for her.” His voice even more amused, the driver added, “I told you that a pen would be special, something that she would remember for the rest of her days.”