Meet Shakib

UNITED NATIONS ASSOCIATION
“COFFEE TALKS” SPEAKER’S SERIES
celebrates International Education Week

Imagine that you are an Afghani teen who has never known life without war.
You are given the opportunity to live in the United States for a year 

with the intention to develop your leadership skills 

and return to Afghanistan to make a difference.
What would you do with that 

one precious year?
 

Meet Shakib, a high school junior, who is making the most of his year as an International Exchange Student through the YES: Afghanistan* program. Shakib will speak about his experiences growing up in war-torn Afghanistan, the cultural differences he has encountered in the U.S., and his hopes for a brighter future for his countrymen.



Shakib will be joined by his host parents, Jon and Maureen, who will speak about their experience as surrogate parents to this extraordinary young man and their choice to create an interfaith household where a Christian, a Jew, and a Muslim live in harmony.



A representative of American Councils for International Education will also be on hand to answer questions about the YES* program and the opportunity to host students from Afghanistan, Albania, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Bulgaria, Kosovo, Macedonia, Montenegro, Russia, Serbia, and Ukraine.


When: Tuesday, November 16th at 7:00 pm
Where: The New York Deli
25 N. Raymond Avenue, Pasadena, CA  91103

Suggested donation: $10 adults / $5 for students

Proceeds support the work of the United Nations Association.

For reservations and information contact (626) 449-1795 

or visit www.unapasadena.org

Parking is available just north of the Armory for a flat fee of $6.00.

*The Kennedy-Lugar Youth Exchange and Study (YES) Program was established in October, 2002, to provide scholarships for high school students (15-17 years) from countries with significant Muslim populations to spend up to one academic year in the US. Students live with host families, attend high school, engage in activities to learn about American society and values, acquire leadership skills, and help educate Americans about their countries and cultures.

Will you still need me? Will you still feed me?

Today is Jon’s birthday. He is 64.

It seems like only yesterday that we walked down the aisle together. But I guess it’s been a while.

On our wedding day in 1993, 64 seemed so far away. Who knew that at age 64, Jon would be parenting a 17-year-old Afghani boy? Or that he would be training for his 4^th full marathon, having graduated from running half marathons (13.1 miles) to the full 26.2 at age 60?

That I would still be in love with this man 17 years later was never in question.

I often say that I married the best man on the planet, and I mean it. For sheer goodness, I have yet to encounter his equal. Jon Charles is kind-hearted, generous and good-natured. He loves people, and he lets it show.

Marriage to Jon has exceeded my expectations. In him I have a partner and a best friend. He does the laundry, pays the bills, manages the auto maintenance, picks up the dry cleaning, shops for groceries, and runs me a bath when I can barely move another muscle. And he is so cheery about all of it.

Jon is a fabulous father. No, Shakib didn’t come to us in the usual way, and yes, we got to skip diapers, the terrible twos, broken bones, fistfights, and a host of other childhood milestones. But he is a teenager and there are challenges. We jumped into the middle of Shakib’s life, and I cannot imagine anyone I would rather have taken that leap with than Jon.

When Shakib was fasting during Ramadan, it was Jon who arose daily at 3:40 am to make him breakfast – for an entire month. And it is Jon – the morning person – who now gets up with Shakib at 6:00 am and sees to it that he gets off to school on time.

Because of Jon, I have a musical life.  He is a gifted musician and arranges and orchestrates music for television, films, and live performances.  He started out in his early 20s as the arranger for the Dick Cavett Show – working with living legends night after night – and recently finished his sixth season as an orchestrator on American Idol. You can read his professional bio here.

Not only do we attend wonderful shows and concerts, but we also share a love for good melodies and clever lyrics. What a boon to have married a straight guy who knows the lyrics to so many Broadway tunes!

Rarely does a day go by that we do not sing to each other. Sometimes one of us makes up lyrics to an existing song to fit a situation or topic of conversation; sometimes, we just make up melodies from scratch. Mine are usually terrible, Jon’s often brilliant.

Jon volunteers his time with the local United Nations Association where he served for 6 years as Board Secretary and is extremely active on committees. He has served as a precinct inspector, managing our local polling place and greeting voters with a smile, every election day, large or small, for 18 years. And he serves on the Board of the American Society of Music Arrangers and Composers, where he is also a past president.

My husband has other skills. One taste of his homemade cheesecake and you will want to marry him too. He is has a talent for drawing.  And he can name all Seven Dwarfs.

Anyone who knows Jon would acknowledge that he is very funny. And he is. But beyond that, Jon has a sense of humor about himself, about life, and about the world. It is hard to stay angry or upset around him and easy to laugh at yourself. In his world, all really is well.

For our wedding day, Jon wrote string quartet arrangements to be played before and after the ceremony including a phenomenal arrangement of Prince’s Kiss. Yes, with cello, viola and violins.

I’ll never forget walking up the aisle toward my future husband to a lively string arrangement of Chapel of Love as our wedding guests spontaneously broke into song: "Going to the Chapel and we're gonna get married..."

After the ceremony, we walked down the aisle as husband and wife to Jon’s arrangement of the Beatles’ When I’m 64.

So here we are, 17 years later, and one of us is indeed 64. Do I still need Jon? You bet.

So now it’s my turn to ask, with a little over 13 years to go, Jon:

When I get older losing my hair
Many years from now,
Will you still be sending me a valentine,
Birthday greeting, bottle of wine?

If I'd been out till quarter to three,
Would you lock the door?
Will you still need me?

Will you still feed me
When I'm sixty-four?

You'll be older too…

Send me a postcard, drop me a line,
Stating point of view.
Indicate precisely what you mean to say.
Yours sincerely, Wasting Away

Give me your answer. Fill in a form.
Mine for evermore?
Will you still need me?

Will you still feed me
When I'm sixty-four?

Babel

"What country are you from?" Shakib asked the boy behind the counter.

"Pakistan," came the reply.

"Do you speak Urdu?"

"Yes."

And that was the last word that Jon and I understood. As we waited in line at school for his ASB photo to be taken, we watched in awe as Shakib and Uzair, a student council officer, gabbed excitedly in Urdu, the national language of Pakistan.

Shakib has been in the US for 6 1/2 weeks now. When he arrived, we knew that he was multilingual, but we did not know the extent of his abilities.

It turns out that he is conversant in at least 8 languages. Besides Urdu, Shakib speaks the 2 official languages of Afghanistan - Dari and Pashto, the language of the Pashtun, his tribe; Hindi and Punjabi - Indian languages; Farsi - the Persian language spoken widely in Iran; Arabic - the language of the Qur'an; and English.

I have read enough to know that this is unusual for an Afghan - most of whom speak one, two, maybe three languages - so last night over dinner I asked Shakib how he had come to speak so many idioms. It turns out that, with the exception of English, which he studied formally, Arabic, which is read in the Mosque, and Dari, which is spoken in his home, he is pretty much self-taught.

He said that from a very young age - 3 or 4 - he was fascinated with the many languages that he heard around him - especially on the television and often tuned in to language-learning broadcasts on the education channel and followed along. As he grew older, he deliberately sought out people in his neighborhood who spoke other languages and attempted to converse with them. In Shakib they found an apt and enthusiastic pupil. In Kabul, where his satellite hookup receives 3500 stations, he watched movies and television shows in a variety of languages so as to improve his listening skills.

His aptitude is clearly enhanced and driven by his interest in people and his authentic desire to connect and communicate. During the month that he lived in Punjab, India, he was able to converse very well in Hindi and Punjabi and was often called upon by the other students to translate. He glows warmly when sharing about the relationships that he created with the local merchants and townspeople there.

Here in the US, when meeting friends of ours from Iran, he effortlessly switches to Farsi.

As for English, he studied in a private English language class for 3 years. In Central Asian languages, books are written from right to left and read from back to front so he had to reorient himself directionally in order to read and write. Mastering English also required learning a whole new script -- our alphabet, punctuation, numeric characters, and mathematical signs.

He told us that to sharpen his receptive language abilities in the months before he traveled to the US, he listened nightly to recordings of American dialogs.

So how good is his English? He gets along very well in conversation. Occasionally, he becomes frustrated because he does not know a word. However, in daily conversation most of the misunderstandings between us are due to pronunciation errors.

Of course, he has huge gaps in his vocabulary, but he is building it daily. Why just yesterday he asked me what the English word was for people who eat other people.

In his English immersion reading class he is zooming through the Accelerated Reading books he checks out from the library. He says that the other kids don't read during reading time but he does. He is competitive and enjoys being a star student. (Aha, he IS my long-lost Afghan son!)

Shakib is here to learn, and I expect him to improve rapidly. His first STAR Reading Exam score was 2.4 (2nd grade, 4th month). That means that Mom gets to work with him on his reading. 

Dual oral reading is recommended so that he gets practice and direct input as well as the opportunity to follow along with a good role model. A former bilingual educator, I am far more adept at teaching reading than algebra - which we are also working on - but that's another blog topic. Meanwhile, I can't wait to see how far he progresses by his next reading exam.

Want to experience just how different English is from his native Dari? Go to Dari: A dozen simple words for the linguistically challenged and see how you do.

As for Shakib, I don't think we have a comprehensive list of his linguistic accomplishments yet. 

I just discovered that for a few years he lived in a neighborhood with a lot of Turkic inhabitants. Turks reside in northern, central and western Asia, Mongolia, southern Siberia, northwestern China, and parts of eastern Europe. Those he knew came to Afghanistan from Uzbekistan. Shakib spent a lot of time with the Uzbeki Turks and picked up their language along the way.

I'll add that language to my list...

...as soon as I learn how to spell it.

Bacha Posh

Today the New York Times posted an eye-opening feature about the Afghan practice of disguising young girls as boys. In a society where boys are prized, these bacha posh ("dressed up as boy") girls allow families without male children to save face. They also give poor families another breadwinner.

Times reporter Jenny Noroberg interviewed a number of girls and their families about this custom and unconcealed a reality that is nearly inconceivable for westerners.

I asked Shakib if he knew any girls like this. He said that there are many in Kabul. "They do this because they prefer to dress like boys and to please their parents who have no son. Then they can say, 'Here is my son.'"

Shakib grew up with a neighbor girl in this situation. Now 18, she dresses like a woman. Shakib says that this is commonplace and didn't seem to think much of it.

The practice has nothing to do with sexual orientation but is rather a pretense born of societal pressures.

In a land where most girls are covered up and kept out of sight until they reach a marriageable age and being a boy ensures freedom of movement, employment opportunities, and other privileges, most bacha posh girls seem to welcome the opportunity to gender switch even for a short time. Wouldn't you?

Read the full story here.

Buff 'N' Tough

“Bodybuilding,” said Shakib.

“Bodybuilding? Really?” I asked.

“Yes, lifting weights. It is very popular in my country, and it is my favorite sport.”

“Not cricket? Not buzkashi? Not soccer?”

“No, bodybuilding.”

Looking at Shakib’s slight frame, I had my doubts. But I was impressed with his determination so we agreed to locate an appropriate gym for his after school workouts. At least he knew better than to take up weightlifting during Ramadan.

Why bodybuilding? 

Is it because…

    a)  Shakib admires Arnold Schwarzenneger and Sylvester Stallone?  
    b)  He wants to appear strong and able to hold his own in the streets of Kabul? 

    c)  Some of the Afghan girls teased him about being skinny, and he wants to put on some weight before he sees them again?
    d)  All of the above?

It’s d...all of the above.

Shakib’s favorite American movies are Rambo I, II, III, and IV. And he has already inquired as to the likelihood of meeting Sly, or perhaps the Governator, while he is here.

He has also spoken candidly about the mean streets of Kabul where boys are kidnapped and sold every day. In his country, it is prudent to be buff and tough.

Deciding that the YMCA within walking distance of his school was a wholesome choice, we arranged for a partial scholarship for Shakib. In his eagerness to bulk up quickly, he overdid it on the first day. Too many reps with too much weight left his arms stiff and sore. Of course, it didn't help that he also carried around a 5-pound Algebra book in a loaded backpack all week.

When we asked Shakib how he had determined how much weight to lift, we discovered that he had consulted his friends. So much for Plan A. Shakib now has an appointment with a trainer to design a sensible plan for his workouts...and he gets to leave his algebra book at home.

Shakib has asked a lot of questions about what he should eat to build muscle. Given his zeal, we will be vigilant about shortcuts, i.e. steroids.

On his first day, a big culture shock awaited Shakib in the locker room. “The men were naked,” he told us. Afghani standards for male modesty are very different from US norms, and Shakib acknowledged that he had never seen an unclothed man.

“Well now you have.” I said.

“Oh, no,” he said. “I looked away.”

School Daze

Shakib was nervous. It was 7:00 a.m., and he was due at school in 30 minutes. 

"Sit down and eat your breakfast," I commanded, and he obeyed. I knew that he would need all of his strength for what lay ahead – the first day of school.

Heeding the advice of our neighbor Kathy, a teacher at Shakib’s high school who volunteered to drive him in the mornings, Jon and I took him to school on that first day. A mother herself, Kathy knew that we would worry otherwise. She also suggested that we might want to take pictures. Remembering the excruciating embarrassment that parental hovering can cause, I skipped the photos. Let's face it: The universal goal for all 17-year-olds is to blend.

Fortunately, I’d had the prescience to set up a school tour for Shakib on the Friday before and to request that a buddy be assigned to assist him on the first day.  Although he looked like a deer caught in a headlight as we approached the campus, I knew that Shakib would be all right. Sure enough, his escort was waiting out front. The second Shakib spotted him, I no longer existed. Fair enough. Who wants your mother to walk you to class?

It was a long day for me – wondering how he was doing. When at last he came through the door, Shakib was exhausted. I know how fond teens are of being grilled by their parents, but I couldn’t resist. I wanted to know everything and bombarded him with questions.

The bottom line is that he liked some classes and was a little skeptical of others. The first day of school being mostly about ground rules, syllabi and school supplies, I reminded him to stay open and taught him the old axiom: Don’t judge a book by its cover.  

Shakib likes all of his teachers, and as the week progressed he found something to like about all of his subjects as well, all except algebra. He was very intimidated by a series of tests that he took in algebra class, but I have since learned that the purpose of these benchmark exams is to find a starting point for each student. No student moves on to the next skill until he succeeds. Shakib will be just fine.

His favorite class so far is the computer class, which turned out to be focused on Film Making and Video Production. Perfect. Like drama, a close second in Shakib's estimation, Film class will entail cooperative learning.

He is also making friends in English class where most of the students are native Spanish speakers. I had to explain that they were not from Spain.

It turned out that Shakib had no homework on that first day. Mom was not so lucky. There were papers to read, sign and return to his teachers, supplies to compile for each class, and the first request that I contact a faculty member.

Shakib's US history teacher had told him she didn’t think that her class was the right placement for him due to his English proficiency. I was concerned since the US State Department requires Shakib to take US history or government. But when I spoke to his teacher the next day, all became clear. He had been placed in a history class for English learners. She felt that his English was too good for the class and wanted to transfer him to mainstream history. Proud Momma syndrome instantly ensued.

We expected some culture shock with the onset of school. And we were right. His biggest surprise on the first day of school was the aggressiveness of the girls. 

“A girl laughed at me," he said. “She saw me in the hallway and said ‘You look lost.’ I wasn’t lost. And she walked right up to me and laughed.” He has a lot to learn about American mating rituals.

Once again, Shakib revealed his empathy and compassion as he contrasted the girls in his US high school with the female exchange students from Afghanistan whom he met at the program orientation in India. He described quiet girls who cover their heads, segregate themselves, and do not easily make eye contact. He said that he now understood why the Afghan girls were so homesick.

More opportunities for cultural understanding unfolded during the course of the week, including a misunderstanding with his drama teacher. He thought that she had used the term “Muslim terrorists” in an offensive manner and communicated this to Jon.

When I spoke with the teacher the next day, it became clear that she had actually been distinguishing stereotypes as part of a lesson on improvisation and had said, “We know that all Muslims are not terrorists. This is a stereotype, and stereotypes are not the truth about people.” A professional, enthusiastic and dedicated teacher, she was completely willing to straighten out the misunderstanding. She also recommended that I write a letter to the entire faculty informing them of Shakib’s presence in the school and his unique background.  

I ended up directly contacting 3 out of 5 teachers this week with issues to resolve so I paused to check in with myself. Was I being one of those dreaded helicopter parents that teachers complain about – the kind that hover close and swoop in to protect their children at a moment’s notice? Maybe. But Shakib is not used to standing up for himself with adults or talking something through with a teacher. Twelve years of schooling in Afghanistan have taught him that teachers are to be feared.

In Kabul, Shakib’s school day is shorter -- 7:00 am to 12:00 noon. The averages class size is 200. All 200 students sit together on the floor in one room for the entire five hours. No breaks are given for any reason. The teachers are strict. And they carry whips.

Shakib showed me scars where he had been injured by these whippings. I asked if he had been whipped because he did not know an answer. “No,” he said. “If a teacher hears a noise in the class, he will go around whipping all of the boys.”

Shakib demonstrated having his fingers forced back with a pencil woven between them. He also talked about his first year of school at age four. The teachers in that school whipped the boys on the bottoms of their feet. He says that this infuriated his mother, a teacher who does not whip her students, and that his feet have never been the same.

“This is why the Afghan students want to stay in America,” said Shakib. “I tell them that we must go back. I tell them also that it is possible to return to the US. I tell them that everything is possible.”

Cancer

"I never met anyone with cancer before," said Shakib. "Children in Afghanistan do not get cancer."

We were on our way home from a Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (LLS) potluck - following an 8.5 mile run. The event was an opportunity for our marathon team to meet our “honored teammates” - blood cancer patients in various stages of treatment - giving those without such ties a direct connection to the cause.

Jon and I have known far too many people with cancer. Some have won the battle. Some are still fighting. Others have lost their lives to cancer including Jon's sister Wendy. 

But this was Shakib's first encounter with cancer patients. He got to meet 8-year-old Tyler Cordova who has been in treatment for Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma since 2007 and hear his mother speak of the many breakthroughs and set backs that the family has weathered. The mother of Alessandra Sanchez spoke of her teenage daughter's courage as she faces a relapse of Hodgkin's disease and prepares for an impending bone marrow transplant. 70-year-old Roger Klinkhart spoke of living with chronic CLL, a form of leukemia. Roger, who has been through a research study and 2 clinical trials, acknowledged that without the funds raised by people like us, these studies would not be possible.

A pair of physicians from City of Hope - Dr. Ravi Bhatia and his wife Dr. Smita Bhatia spoke of their research efforts. A pediatric oncologist, Smitra’s particular area of interest is long term cancer survivorship. Ravi conducts bone marrow transplants and stem cell and leukemia research. 

A representative was on hand to register people for the Bone Marrow Registry. This effort is critical to blood cancer treatments. While millions of people are registered to donate marrow, matches are not easily made. What a gift it would be to be able to extend someone’s life by donating blood stem cells or marrow! Recovery is quick and the discomfort is short-lived. 

And of course Shakib got to meet our dear friend and Mission Captain Virginia Garner, a chronic myelogenous leukemia patient who - thanks to a clinical trial funded by LLS - has been effectively treating her disease with a drug called Gleevec for 11 years. While CLL is not curable, hundreds of thousands of people now live with chronic CLL thanks to Gleevec. While Virginia has herself run dozens of marathons, half-marathons, and other races, personally raising hundreds of thousands of dollars for LLS, and mentors newly diagnosed leukemia patients on a regular basis, perhaps her greatest gift has been in championing thousands of marathoners in our community over the last 10 years. We all know that if Virginia can do it, we can do it.

So there we were on our way home from this inspiring afternoon, and Shakib told us what he knew about cancer. "I never met anyone with cancer before," said Shakib. "Children in Afghanistan do not get cancer." He also believes that only people with great sorrow in their lives develop the disease. He was especially insistent that Afghani children do not get cancer: “I have lived in Afghanistan. I would know.”

Shakib and I will have to have a conversation about his personal test for reality. Meanwhile, we did explain that this business of cancer being caused by sorrow is a superstition. But you have to be careful of taking away people’s superstitions. He thought he was protected from harm. Now he wanted to know how people got cancer. Our explanations further shook his confidence in his immunity, and his insistence that Afghani children do not get cancer grew stronger.

Ultimately, I know that the truth shall set you free. So I did a little research. 

Dr. Nadera Hayat Borhani was one of the few doctors able to treat women under the Taliban rule.  She is now the Afghan Deputy Minister of Public Health. Dr. Borhani says: 

“Nobody in Afghanistan has access to health facilities for cancer. It’s the same situation for the children, the men, the women, the elderly -- nobody has access. Thirty years ago we had a centre for radiotherapy and a centre for diagnosis. But unfortunately during the war everything was destroyed...the infrastructure, the equipment, everything....So nearly we are starting at zero again.

“When the doctor sees some sign or symptom that a patient has cancer – the option is to send the patient to Iran, or to go to Pakistan, or to India, as their economic situation allows. But Afghanistan has a low economic situation, and most of the people are very poor, so most of them don’t go….

“We need a cancer registry in Afghanistan to see the numbers and different types of cancers in the country. Sadly in Afghanistan we do not know this. We need this information to make our policy. We have some data from the pediatric hospital in Kabul. They now have about 75 children with leukemia. But the real number I think is much greater, because the doctors send cancer patients to the foreign countries for treatment, or home to die.”

This is a country of 26 million. Life expectancy at birth is 42-43 years. 26% of the nation’s children do not make it to age 5, giving Afghanistan the highest infant mortality rate in the world. Maternal health is a national crisis. As for cancer rates, nobody knows. (Source: World Health Organization) 

I explained all of this to Shakib and suggested that perhaps he might study to be a physician. When one is 17, seven years of college can be daunting, but who knows where his interests and kind heart will lead him?

The great thing about life with Shakib is not that he has all the answers about Afghanistan, but rather that he gives rise to great questions.

“I was born in June. I was born under cancer. Do you know what is this?” he asked. 

“Yes. The word cancer has more than one meaning. In this case, Cancer refers to a giant crab. Do you know what a crab is?” Jon and I make claws with our hands. No pass. “Well, Cancer is the name of a constellation of stars that look like a giant crab.” Still no pass. 

[Note to self: Take Shakib to the Griffith Park Observatory and the Long Beach Aquarium.]

“Is there an immunization against cancer?” Shakib wanted to know. 

“No, not yet, but they are working on it. That is why we run marathons and raise money for research.”

Inshallah – God willing – we will have one soon.

Eid, Rosh Hashanah, and Ordinary Time

September 10, 2010, is the first day of Eid and the last day of Rosh Hashanah. In our home, both will be honored.

In a recent Washington Post article, "The Spiritual Convergence of Rosh Hashanah, Eid al-Fitr and 9/11," co-authors Rabbi Marc Schneier and Imam Shamsi Ali compare the two holy days and find much common ground: Ramadan and Rosh Hashanah are both based on timeless principles of the unity and brotherhood of all human beings. Rosh Hashanah commemorates the creation of humankind itself and reminds us that all people, regardless of ethnic or religious background, are created in God's image. As President Obama noted in a recent message to the American Muslim community, Ramadan is a time when Muslims "reflect on the responsibility human beings have to each other and to God."

They continue: Both of our faiths teach us that every person, whatever his or her station in life, has the power to make a positive difference in the world. The shofar (ram's horn) which is sounded during the Rosh Hashana service, is meant as a goad to conscience; to awaken each of us to our moral obligation to raise our voices on behalf of justice. During Eid-al-Fitr, Muslims are urged to reach out to people with whom they have become estranged and to do good deeds on behalf of the poor and unfortunate.

Indeed, in our own interfaith household we find common ground every day. A Muslim, a Jew, and a Roman Catholic by birth, we have all experienced religious intolerance.

At dinner last night, we discussed anti-Muslim sentiment in America and the tiny group in Florida who are inciting others to burn the Qur'an on 9/11. Shakib noted that, unlike him, many people in Afghanistan believe that the Qu'ran burning is widespread. They do not understand that the pastor inciting these actions has a flock of only 50 people. Such news gets to them in broad strokes and their anger is fueled by Taliban insurgents.

Shakib has been looking forward to Eid which is the happiest day in the Islamic calendar and typically celebrated with feasting and gift giving over a 3-day period. 

When we asked the local mosque about their plans, they said that they will have Eid prayers and a breakfast on Friday morning but nothing more. So I went online to search for possible Eid celebrations in the area. I found nothing. 

Digging a little deeper, I began to understand what was happening. Most US Mosques and Islamic Centers are not celebrating Eid over the 3-day weekend because of the 9/11 anniversary. They are both fearful of being misunderstood - a fear grounded in recent experience - and committed to respecting the national mood. They are also Americans in mourning. Innocent Muslim-Americans died in the 9/11 conflagration too.

Over dinner, Shakib shared with us some of the rumors that he had heard in Afghanistan -- that Osama bin Laden had already been killed by Americans and that some Americans had directly participated in the 9/11 plot. He also wanted to know if we had heard of Guantanamo. 

We did our best to answer his questions. He was thoughtful and interested. And I could sense the despair beneath the surface as he spoke of his people, the violence he has seen and his sense that things have only worsened in his short lifetime. 

"People who get out don't want to go back," he said. "Why would they when it is better everywhere else? But I will go back and help. I do not fear death. I only worry about what will happen to my mother if I die."

For now, Shakib is safe. Tonight he will break his Ramadan fast. And Jon will finally sleep past 3:40 am. 

Shakib will go to the mosque on Friday morning for the local Eid celebration. On Friday night, we will take him to the circus. 

For Jon, who does not attend services, it is nonetheless Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. He will exchange greetings with family and friends and reflect on his responsibility to raise his voice on behalf of justice.

Not wanting to be left out, I consulted the Catholic Liturgical Calendar. September 10th is Friday of the Twenty-third Week in Ordinary Time.

Everybody else gets a holy day and I get Ordinary Time? I was disappointed. Then I found the Gospel reading for Friday. It was perfect. 

And he told them a parable, "Can a blind person guide a blind person? Will not both fall into a pit?...How can you say to your brother, 'Brother, let me remove that splinter in your eye,' when you do not even notice the wooden beam in your own eye? You hypocrite! Remove the wooden beam from your eye first; then you will see clearly to remove the splinter in your brother's eye. (Luke 6:39-42)

Eid Mubarak! Happy Eid! 

L'Shana Tova! Happy New Year!

Peace be with you. And may your eyes be open to all expressions of love and faith in this Ordinary Time.

An Old Wives Tale

"I saw a strange thing tonight," said Shakib. "Two womans are married to each other."

We were on our way home from a party where Shakib met our friends, Diane and Vicki, who are, albeit unsanctioned by the State of California, married. Diane and Vicki made history in the mid '90s as the first GLBT couple to legally co-adopt children in Los Angeles County. We explained to Shakib that same sex unions are common here and that, yes, Tony and Ethan have two Moms. Diane told Shakib that while not all people are accepting of their lifestyle, Jon and I have been great friends to them.

The subject of marriage has been a topic of much discussion in our household since Shakib's arrival, and this week it was compounded by both his introduction to a lesbian couple and his attendance at the wedding of our good friends Timothy and Terra, which he greatly enjoyed.

Shakib was astounded to learn that Jon had divorced his first wife, Ellen. I explained, that indeed, this is the same Ellen who asked if she could be his honorary "Aunt Ellen" on my Facebook page and that he will certainly meet both Ellen and Allen, her husband of 33 years, since we are all great friends. Such amicable, mutual partings are simply unheard of in his country.

In Afghanistan, only a minuscule number of marriages end in divorce. Although a man may divorce his wife simply by proclaiming talaq ("I divorce you") three times in front of witnesses for a divorce to become effective, very few men divorce their wives because of the social stigma and economic burden attached. The term zantalaq ("one who divorced his wife") is considered an insult.

In addition to public humiliation, divorced men must pay the mahr - an amount agreed upon in the marriage contract. For example, Shakib's brother would have to pay his wife's family $90,000 should he choose to divorce her -- a huge sum in Afghanistan where the average annual income for an Afghan worker is $426.

When men do divorce their wives, they tend to blame the woman for any irreconcilable differences -- often citing an illicit love affair, illegitimate pregnancy, or abuse by the woman. In truth, women are usually the victims in these situations. However, they receive harsh punishments, even when sexual behavior has been forced upon them.

A woman may seek a divorce herself on the grounds that her husband is absent for extended periods, cannot adequately provide for the family (either financially or because he is physically incapable), is impotent, or abuses her to the point where her life is at risk. However, it is exceedingly rare for Afghan women - 87% of whom are illiterate - to seek divorce. 

A woman is required to produce at least two male witnesses to testify on her behalf in a court of law. If like most Afghan women she does not possess an identity card, she also needs two male witnesses to testify as to her identity. Since family members almost always object to divorce and most Afghan women do not associate with men who are not their relatives, this is nearly impossible.

In addition, a divorced woman usually has nowhere to go. With a 40% unemployment rate, a job is nearly impossible for a single woman to come by in Afghanistan. Her family is unlikely to welcome her back. And remarriage is rarely an option. 

She must also agree to be separated from her children. Following a divorce, fathers get custody of the older children while infants remain with their mothers. When they no longer require a mother's sole care, they too join their fathers. Once children are in the father's custody, the mother is prohibited from visiting them.

The final blow? Even if she manages all of the above, her husband must still file a formal divorce application in court. Otherwise, in the eyes of the law, she is still considered his spouse. 

While, in Kabul, Afghan women are gaining ground, outside of the capital they remain a commodity to be bartered, sold and fought over. Although it is illegal, some parents still force daughters as young as 8 years old into marriages in order to settle debts or family feuds. According to UK-based NGO Womankind, 60-80% of marriages are forced, 57% of brides are under the age of 16, and 87% complain of domestic violence. "There are no reliable stats on rape, as most women will never report it. This is because women can be convicted of zina, extramarital sex, if knowledge of the rape becomes public."

Victims of early and forced marriages, rape, and domestic violence generally opt for suicide or self-immolation rather than seek a divorce, and 2300 Afghan women and girls commit suicide each year. However, a growing number of women are fighting back. 

As for the men…Want to keep your unsatisfactory wife and upgrade to a new model? No problem as long as you can afford the upkeep. Afghan men may marry multiple wives as long as they can support them financially, and polygamy is widely practiced among the wealthy. 

The law requires a husband to treat his wives equally and provide evidence of his ability to adequately support them. However, in practice, wives are often subjected to grossly disparate treatment and frequently receive insufficient financial support.

While four wives is the legal maximum, Shakib has informed us that government ministers have up to 10 wives.

Shakib says that he intends to marry only one woman. He believes that the practice of polygamy is cruel and unjust. 

He learned this from his mother, the first of his father's three wives.

Madrid 1981

It was January 1981. Ronald Reagan had just succeeded Jimmy Carter as the 40th President of the United States. After 444 days in captivity, the US hostages in Iran were set free. In Ireland, the first DeLorean automobile rolled off the assembly line. The Western World was abuzz with the news that Prince Charles was taking a bride. And I was going to Spain.

Since Shakib's arrival, I have been flooded with memories of my own study abroad program during my junior year at Marquette University. What I remember most about the weeks immediately preceding and following my departure for Spain is how unreal it all felt. Surely I would wake up and find it had all been a dream.

I knew of no one from Nipomo, CA, population 3000, where I'd grown up, who had ever studied at a university abroad. One of 5 children, 3 of whom were in college, I was completely dependent on academic scholarships, loans and a small work-study check to pay my tuition and living expenses. As I made my preparations to leave for Madrid over the Christmas holiday, I was sure that The Fates would soon intervene and set me straight: Madrid was a fantasy, too expensive, too far away, impossible for the likes of me.

Even as I winged my way over the Atlantic on that eastbound DC-10, I could not fully grok what was about to happen. I was going to live and study in Madrid. It was early 1981, a mere 5 years post-Franco, and I was on my way to another world.

The Spanish people were just waking up to the freedom and responsibility that comes with being a democratic monarchy. In Madrid, I experienced a myriad of cultural, political and societal differences including very different standards for female dress and behavior. I witnessed an attempted military coup. I got a new perspective on my own country and its place among nations. And I learned to honor, appreciate and embrace the societal expectations, the foods, the siestas, the fiestas, and many other facets of Spanish life so much that, once back in the US, I longed to return to Spain.

And I learned the language. Although I had been studying Spanish since the 5th grade, I do not easily pick up languages. But after 10 years of Spanish classes (I was now a Spanish major), my reading and writing were good enough that I could recognize many authors by their style.

My expressive and receptive language skills were another matter. They sucked. Fear of looking bad had always kept me from speaking up in class, and I now found myself at the Universidad Complutense with professors who arrived 10 minutes late for a 60 minute class, rushed through their lectures, and spoke not one word of English.

It was do or die. So I did.

I learned to take notes without translating, letting the words flow through me onto the page. I learned to jump into rowdy political discussions at the family dinner table or over tapas and beer in neighborhood bars. And I learned to negotiate with my señora (landlady) about such touchy subjects as the toilet paper supply and the length of my showers.

All of us American students were starved for contact with family and friends. This was pre-Internet and the cost of international calls far exceeded my meager budget. Therefore, every letter from home was like manna from heaven. ("Letters, we've got letters...")

I was 4 years older than Shakib is now. I had lived 2000 miles from my family home for over 2 years -- attending school in Milwaukee -- which was almost as much of a culture shock for a girl from the central California coast as Madrid would prove to be.

The many adventures and lessons learned were worth the anxiety and intermittent homesickness. Still I remember the fear: Would I like the foods? Would I get lost? Would I say the wrong thing and be misunderstood? Would I make friends? Would I offend someone? Would I fail my classes? Would I make the most of this amazing opportunity?

Contemplating my own experiences at age 21 magnifies my appreciation for 17-year-old Shakib who had never spent a single night away from home before leaving for India 6 weeks ago; Shakib whose English reading and writing scores - like mine - are much higher than his scores for speaking and listening; Shakib who is not - as I was - participating in a program run by and for his countrymen but must fully integrate into a US high school; Shakib who greets each day with a smile on his face and courage in his heart.

Shakib Meets the Sea

I grew up in Southern California. I have no memory of my first encounter with the ocean. Not so Shakib. On Saturday he met the Pacific.

How do you prepare someone for such an event? It's rather like arranging a blind date. You know they're going to fall in love, so you set things in motion and let nature take its course.

Having risen to 102 degrees earlier in the week, the weather turned cold and cloudy on Saturday. But none of that mattered. It was love at first sight, goose bumps and all.

What a treat it was to watch Shakib's wonder at the strength of the waves and the vastness of the ocean!

At one point he asked "Is there land out there?" I said, "Yes, Japan and China." That put things into perspective.

We brought along his friend John who introduced him to all of the rites of beachdom -- frisbee, football, sand sculpting, and of course, burying each other.

I fear his mother's reaction when she sees the photo of her son up to his neck in sand. Will she misunderstand? Nah. The ecstatic look on his face says it all.

It was a day of firsts: Shakib's first glimpse of live girls in bikinis, his first beach bonfire, his first s'mores, his first sandwich that actually included sand, his first time in a swim suit, his first time being knocked off his feet by a wave, and his first gulp of salt water.

I told him that salt water in the eyes, up the nose, and down the gullet was a local rite of passage. He's now an official Southern Californian.

What do we do for an encore? For blind date number two?

Disneyland anyone? 

Sorry I can't post the close ups...

Registration Day

Shakib registered for school today.

He is attending an International Baccalaureate® school -- a public high school with a twist.

According to their website, IB schools offer a curriculum which helps "develop the intellectual, personal, emotional and social skills to live, learn and work in a rapidly globalizing world."

The New York Times ran a good article about IB in July. IB is a unique international collaboration blending the best practices from many nations into their educational methodology. More than 855,000 IB students attend 3,036 schools in 139 countries.  IB core values include international-mindedness and teaching students how to think and learn.

Shakib is required to complete 30 hours of community service, and IB students have a similar requirement so the school provides many volunteer opportunities during the school year.

This high school also has a uniform dress code. Given the difference in culture, we believe that a dress code will ease the transition to American school life, both helping Shakib to fit in and limiting the distractions that come with attending a co-ed school for the first time.

Given these advantages, we were eager to get Shakib into this school and were quite pleased when after 3 months of discussion we got a green light from the school district.

The school counselor who registered Shakib could not have been more helpful. She met with Shakib, Donna (the Regional Coordinator for American Councils), Jon, and me, answering all of our questions and giving us direction regarding everything from backpacks to school lunches. She took her time and really made us feel welcome.

Then there was the matter of his classes. Shakib is required by American Councils to take English and US History or Civics while he is here. Otherwise, class choices are up to him. His English assessment revealed that he is proficient but not yet fluent in English and resulted in a recommendation that he be placed in a Structured English Immersion / English Language Development class rather than English Literature.

The English Immersion path takes up two of Shakib's six periods. So after the addition of US History, he was able to choose 3 subjects. He chose Algebra I, Computers, and Spanish.

I wanted Shakib to choose his classes freely but had been hoping he'd pick at least one artsy class. He expressed an interest in music and drama from the moment he arrived here and said that wants to learn to sing and play piano. While at the Pre-Departure Orientation (PDO) in India, he competed in a singing contest and acted in a play.

When he looked back over his class list, I could tell that Shakib was a bit uneasy about something. He said that he was worried about US History since he had no background in that subject. While assuring him that he would do fine, we suggested he consider lightening his load by replacing the Spanish class with something fun.

He picked Drama, and it turns out that the drama class not only puts on 2 shows during the year but also takes field trips to a number of performances. Perfect! This class will be fun, exciting, and social - just what he needs.

As for Shakib's musical education, I am sure that Jon, a professional arranger, orchestrator and composer, and his father, Ray, a celebrated vocal arranger, will give Shakib an unforgettable musical education over the coming year.

Meanwhile, last night, I pulled out my guitar and Shakib and I sang together. He only knows a few American songs, which he learned at the PDO. All are easy to play standards: Oh What A Beautiful Morning; Oh My Darling Clementine; Shoo Fly; You Are My Sunshine; Bicycle Built For Two; Deep In The Heart Of Texas; Take Me Out To The Ballgame; Home On The Range; She'll Be Comin' Round The Mountain; Obladi Oblada; and Oh Susanna.

Alas, he also knows some Shakira and Rihanna songs, but that's where the generation gap comes in.

Maybe I can interest him in the Beatles.

"I will be a teacher"

I told the man at the US Embassy that I want to come back to Afghanistan and be a teacher. He said if I will be a teacher he will give me a visa. My country needs teachers. There are not enough and the people need to be educated. - Shakib

Sunday night was Family Movie Night at our house. We ordered pizza and watched "Speed." It was the only action movie that I found in our collection. And Shakib, whose favorite actor is Sylvester Stallone (i.e. Rambo), wanted action -- either that or horror.

He loved the movie, laughing at the jokes and enjoying the suspense as a busload of people careened down LA city streets and freeways with a bomb on board. He is clearly able to distinguish a fictional film from the daily threat of suicide bombs that he faced at home. Of course, the good guys prevailed. And the most uncomfortable scene for Shakib turned out to be the big kiss between Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock at the end.

After the movie, Shakib was especially talkative, sharing his vision for his life. It was the first time that he mentioned teaching as a possible career.

He says that in Afghanistan, he was chosen to teach English at his school. He earned extra money this way and enjoyed teaching. Many of his students were adult women. This is unusual for an Afghan teenager. Then again, Shakib is not a typical Afghan boy.

My impression after 12 days together is that Shakib is gentle, sensitive and kind. He says that he prefers the company of a few close friends because he finds most of his peers to be bullies. He does not like how they fight with each other nor how they taunt and tease the girls.

Although most Afghan students still attend unisex schools, Shakib says that they are now able to intermingle and develop friendships - at least in the capital where he lives. He often distinguishes between life in Kabul and life in the provinces, some of which are currently under Taliban control. Other provinces, though secure from the insurgents, are still very conservative in their practices.

While Kabul is currently secure from the Taliban and human rights have been restored, that was not the case when Shakib was a child.

The Taliban took power in Kabul in 1996. They targeted women for extreme repression, virtually placing them under house arrest. They issued edicts forbidding women to work outside the home, attend school, or to leave their homes unless accompanied by a male relative. In public, women had to be covered from head to toe in a burqa. Houses and buildings had to have their windows painted over so women could not be seen inside. Women were practically banned from public life, and denied access to health care, education, and work. They were not even allowed to laugh in a manner that could be heard by others. These edicts remained in force until the end of 2001 when Afghan Northern Alliance troops with American air support took back the capital after 9/11.

As a child, Shakib witnessed the beating of his mother and other women in the streets of Kabul. He was 8 years old when the Taliban were ousted from his city.

Shakib is the son of university-educated parents. His mother is an educator who continued to teach girls in her home during the reign of the Taliban. This was no secret school; however, she was required to teach only the state mandated curriculum for girls.

His mother has clearly been a big influence on him. He says she taught him that he must give back to his society and contribute. This is his duty. All of her children have attended university, and Shakib will too. After all, Afghanistan needs teachers.

Just how great is the need? According to UNICEF, the adult literacy rate (2003-2008) is only 28% and only 18% of girls age 15-24 can read.

I do not know if Shakib will become a school teacher. I am certain that he will go back and teach.

Mangia!

I have come to a profound conclusion about motherhood: Worrying is in the DNA. It can lie dormant for years. Then, enter a child, and all hell breaks loose. Worry flows through your bloodstream like heroin.

And what's the first thing Moms worry about? Food. Is he eating enough? Mangia! Mangia!

Shakib's mother called the other day ranting loudly about how skinny he is in his current photos and wondering if we were starving him.  Poor dear woman. Imagine sending your son halfway around the world into the hands of strangers, and then seeing in photos that he is much thinner than when he left home.

I swear this is not my fault. He arrived in LA skinny. He says that he barely ate during the month he was in India. He was homesick, and he did not like the food.

So now we have the task of fattening him up while he observes a 30-day fast.

Shakib assured his mom that we were forcing as much food on him as he could stand. He misses Afghani food so I got him a huge meal from the local Afghani restaurant for Saturday night. That was a big hit with both Shakib and Mom. Especially the rice. I also picked up chai and baklava.

OK, so it took me a week to learn New Mom Lesson 101: Feed them what they like and introduce new foods slowly.

But I am in the zone now.  I will be shopping this week at the local middle eastern grocery stores. Meanwhile, last night we had pizza...lots of pizza. And molten chocolate cake. This child has a sweet tooth!

Jon and I have the meal responsibilities divvied up. I do dinner, and Jon does the pre-dawn breakfast. This is how Jon described his morning routine in a recent email to a friend:

"At 3:40 a.m. my alarm goes off and I saunter into the kitchen to make breakfast for Shakib:

• Two fried eggs - over medium, cooked in butter (he can tell the difference from margarine)
• One bowl of Quaker oatmeal
• One peanut butter & butter sandwich on whole wheat bread 
• One banana
• One glass of milk
• One glass of orange juice
• One glass of water

"It takes him about a half hour to consume this. At 4:15 a.m., I fall down on the couch and sleep until 6:00 a.m., at which time a second alarm goes off and I start my formerly normal day."

Knowing that I, Mama Bear, will grill him on exactly how much porridge Baby Bear has consumed, Jon usually leaves a detailed note on my desk.

To all of our friends who have arisen for hundreds of midnight feedings while we slept soundly: We bow to you and grant you full permission to laugh at us, thankful that Ramadan ends on September 10th.

Meanwhile, I worry.

I survived Shakib's first bicycle excursion with a friend (oy vey!), and so did he.

As for the first day of school, maybe I should just bite all my nails now.

Grab your goat and get your hat...

"What kind of sports do you have in Afghanistan?" Jane asked Shakib the other night.

After reeling off a list of familiar activities -- soccer, tennis, golf, cricket, boxing, weightlifting -- Shakib mentioned one that none of us had ever heard of -- Buzkashi, the Afghan national sport.

Buzkashi (pronounced booze-kah-shee) literally means "goat grabbing." It takes place on horseback like polo, only it is played with a goat or calf carcass instead of a ball...seriously.

According to Afghanistan Online:  "In Buzkashi, a headless carcass is placed in the center of a circle and surrounded by the players of two opposing teams. The object of the game, is to get control of the carcass and bring it to the scoring area. Although it seems like a simple task, it is not. Only the most masterful players, (called chapandaz) ever even get close to the carcass. The competition is fierce, and the winner of a match receives prizes that have been donated by a sponsor. These prizes range from money, to fine turbans and clothes. In order for someone to become a chapandaz, one must undergo a tremendous amount of difficult training. In fact, the best chapandaz, are usually over the age of forty.

"The players are not the only ones who undergo arduous training; the horses that participate in Buzkashi must train for five years before ever making it to the playing field. Buzkashi, is indeed a dangerous sport, but intensive training and excellent communication between the horse and rider can help minimize the risk of injury."

The chapandaz make polo players look like wimps. Shakib, who has never played the sport, says that Buzkashi players actually whip the guy with the calf and "sometimes people die." The Wikipedia entry for Buzkashi states that "players may use any force short of tripping the horse in order to thwart scoring attempts. Riders usually wear heavy clothing and head protection to protect themselves against other players' whips and boots."

Although a short, tournament version of Buzkashi exists, games can last for several days. Go to Youtube and search on "Buzkashi" to see videos.

I don't think we'll be attempting Buzkashi any time soon, but the Charles Family does have a new theme song:

Grab your goat,
And get your hat.
Leave your woolies on the door steppe.
Life can be so sweet
On the Sunni side of the street.

What were we THINKING?

"Since you cannot do good to all, you are to pay special attention to those who, by accidents of time, or place, or circumstance, are brought into closer connection with you." — St. Augustine, Algeria

It all began with an email.

The message was forwarded by Sherry Simpson Dean, Executive Director of the United Nations Association Pasadena/Foothills Chapter, to Jon, who served as Board Secretary of the UNA for the past 6 years. Jon read the message then sent it to me where it sat in my inbox. Then I opened it and our lives changed.

The message was from Kara Lozier, a representative of American Councils which manages and implements the YES Afghanistan program for the US Department of State. She was looking for host families to provide homes for Afghan high school students for 2010-2011. It was mid-May, and the students would be arriving in August.

I instantly knew that I wanted to do this, but waited about an hour before I said anything to Jon. It turned out that Jon was all for it. So I called Kara and got the ball rolling.

We had to ensure that our school district would hold a place for a student before we could even apply to host. Once that was established, we rapidly moved through the process which included a lengthy application, a background check, reference checks with people who had been in our home (thanks Micki and Sherry), and an interview with Donna, the local area coordinator.

The Kennedy-Lugar Youth Exchange and Study (YES) Program was established in October, 2002, to provide scholarships for high school students (15-17 years) from countries with significant Muslim populations to spend up to one academic year in the US. Students live with host families, attend high school, engage in activities to learn about American society and values, acquire leadership skills, and help educate Americans about their countries and cultures.

While here, they are required to complete 30 hours of community service and to deliver at least 2 presentations educating others about their home country. Upon returning home, they join alumni associations, create opportunities to share their experiences with their countrymen, and conduct community service projects in their own cities and villages.

In Afghanistan this year approximately 4000 boys and girls applied for 40 scholarships. They wrote essays, submitted recommendations from their teachers, took English tests, and passed interviews with both American Councils representatives and officials at the US Embassy in Kabul.

All YES students are academically accomplished, bright, and talented. We were provided with the profiles of 4 wonderful boys (all of the girls were already placed). We chose Shakib. Lucky us!

What were we thinking on that day in May when we responded to Kara's email?

We were thinking: We have the resources. We are not wealthy by US standards but we are wealthier than 99% of the people who live on our planet. Over 1 billion people live on less than $1 a day. Over 2 billion live on less than $2 a day. We can do this.

We were thinking: We can provide love, support and guidance to a real person rather than just worry about the situation in Afghanistan.

We were thinking: We are surrounded by an extraordinary community of people who will welcome, appreciate and connect with our "son."

We were thinking: We can make a difference that ripples out to others in unforeseen directions and unimaginable ways.

We were thinking: Why not?

So we stopped thinking. And we acted.

"I can't smell that"

Every year, most of the world's 1.5 billion Muslims observe Ramadan - the month of fasting.

"Ramadan is the name of the ninth month of the Islamic lunar calendar and is the most respected and blessed month of the Islamic year....Participating Muslims abstain from food, drink and intimate relations with their spouses from dawn until sunset. They also refrain from impure or immoral actions, thoughts and words. Fasting is meant to purify the soul, refocus one’s attention on Allah (God), and teach the person patience, sacrifice and humility. Ramadan is a time to fast for the sake of Allah (God), to increase one’s prayers and acts of charity, as well as to place greater attention on self-accountability and self-restraint." [Excerpted from Ramadan in America by Imam Mohamad Bashar Arafat.]

This year Ramadan started on August 11 and will continue until September 10. Guess what that means? That's right. Shakib is fasting. Every day. From dawn until sunset.

Muslims do not have to fast while traveling.  In addition, he chose not to fast during his first 48 hours here so he could adjust to the time zone, eat, hydrate and recover from that long trip. He will, however, have to make up the missed days.

So early Monday morning Shakib began his official observance of the holy month.

I too arose at 4:15 a.m. in what I thought was plenty of time to prepare and serve a large breakfast. I assumed that he had to finish eating before sunrise and I had looked up the time online.

Not so. Shakib has to stop eating at first light. As the first glimmers of daylight filtered through the dining room window, our first parent-child tug of war commenced -- with Mom coaxing him to eat some more and Shakib succumbing for a few more bites, then firmly ending the meal.

I respect his beliefs and his commitment. At the same time, I knew that we were in for a rough day.

Shakib had an English assessment scheduled with the school district at 1:00 pm. On our way there, he reported that he felt dizzy. After the test, he came home and napped until dinner. I was out last night, but Jon fed him a big meal. Then he prepared himself for today's adventure.

I arrived home at 12:30 am to a note in my office proclaiming: "The Prince arises at 3:40 am. Breakfast is served at 3:45 am." I love my husband.

Shakib got plenty to eat and drink this morning with Jon pushing the fluids and the foodstuffs. Today went much smoother, and Shakib was strong enough to spend the evening with friends of our family - Doris, Joseph, and their teenage son, John - where he got his first taste of virtual Rock Band - playing electric bass on a simulator.

Of course, new details keep emerging.

On our way to Doris and Joseph's, we picked up a large urn of freshly made coffee for the United Nations Association "Coffee Talk" on Haiti that Jon was coordinating tonight. That's when Shakib announced, "I can't smell that. It will break my fast. My imam in Kabul told me."

What to do? Shakib covered his nose and rolled down the window until we reached our destination.

Does that mean it will be a problem for him if I throw a roast in the oven or simmer something smelly on the stove tomorrow?  Perhaps.

Stay tuned for new developments. Only 24 days until Eid.

"Get the Vans!"

On Saturday we shopped.

Well, first Jon and I got up early to meet our Team In Training group at the Rose Bowl for a run. We are training for the Honolulu Marathon in December.

We left Shakib at home with no mishaps. He simply ate his leftover pizza cold. Haven't we all? However, the cold pizza became the impetus for a microwave lesson.

Then we assessed his wardrobe. He was only allowed 1 suitcase and like young people the world over, some of his packing choices were a bit imbalanced -- 3 sets of pajamas, 1 pair of boxers.

In addition to spending money for incidentals, he also receives a modest clothing allowance. We set up a "teen" bank account and cashed his stipend check. Having heard horror stories of overspending, we declined the debit card and set up safeguards so that we control the account.

Our first stop at the mall was in the food court where we lunched on Chinese food. Then we hit the sale at JC Penny where we selected basics like socks, underwear, jeans and polo shirts (his school uniform code mandates collared shirts in specific colors).

I insisted that he purchase a bathing suit. Shakib chose a solid-colored, knee-length blue suit and modeled it for us. He seemed a bit embarrassed wearing it, but I stood firm.  This is Southern California…water, water everywhere. He will start swimming lessons this month. I want him to be water safe as soon as possible.

The last item on our list was tennis shoes. When we got to the shoe department, I realized that I needed expert advice so I called my older sister Jennifer. I knew that my fashionista niece and nephew -- Brenna 13 and Trevor 16 -- were with her. In fact, the family was driving through San Francisco in sight of the Golden Gate Bridge when she answered.

I explained what I was doing, and Jen asked the kids what brand of shoes were cool. The response from Trev and Brenna was unambiguous -- "Get the Vans!"

So we did.

And yes, Shakib looks uber-cool in his new shoes.

The Landing

Jon and I stood waiting in baggage claim with a welcome sign. As we scrutinized every face that appeared at the top of the escalator, we both acknowledged that we were nervous. And then there he was, our "son."

His journey to the US had taken 3 days. It started with a 13 hour bus ride from the American Councils orientation camp in Punjab, India, to the Delhi airport. Flights and layovers from Delhi to Dubai to Washington DC to LA took another 33 hours.

As we made our introductions, I was relieved to discover that his English is quite proficient and his accent did not get in the way much. 

My friend, Robin, passed on some great advice that she got before traveling to Tibet: "If you want to understand someone with an accent, don't listen to the accent." I'm taking that on.

We drove straight to Pasadena, then stopped for an early dinner. Shakib wanted pizza, so Calfornia Pizza Kitchen it was. It turned out that he hadn't eaten for 13 hours and was ravenous. He liked the pizza and the pasta that we ordered. We started to serve him some of our chopped salad then realized that it contained salami, i.e. pork. Oops!

Shakib is charming, confident, polite and very bright, and chatted easily with us over dinner. Upon arriving at our home, he presented us with gifts: Afghan and Indian jewelry for me and traditional Afghan clothing -  a perahan tunban and matching pants for Jon. It fit perfectly.

He met his first American girls - the granddaughters of our neighbor who are visiting from Vegas. Then he and Jon went to an outdoor concert in the park where Jon is manning the United Nations Association booth.

All day, I've been thinking about his parents in Afghanistan. It takes courage to send your teenage child (the youngest of 7) to the other side of the planet and trust that others will care and provide for him. It also takes great love to give him such an opportunity. They haven't seen Shakib since he left for the orientation camp a month ago and must be missing him terribly. I am sure that an empty nest feels the same all over the world. Kabul time is 11 1/2 hours ahead of us so I'll have him Skype them before bed.

We have learned other things about his background, but I'll save that for another day. He might be wide awake, but I'm exhausted.