America! Heck Yeah!

August 5, 2009

Last Friday night on my ride back into the city I was stuck in a taxi full of boys.

“Wait, you’re AMERICAN?” one of the guys in the car asked. “I have a relative who lives in America. He’s a singer! Do you know him?”

The boy was Beluch, from our neighbor to the south in Afghanistan and as great as my Afghan music collection is, I couldn’t say I recognized the singer’s name. I was tired and irritated, and not in the mood to make random conversation.

“Come to the bazaar tomorrow!” the boy said as he was getting off in a small village outside Yoloten.

“Yeah, sure whatever,” I replied. I always tell people I’ll come around and visit after I meet them but it’s all talk and no action. Especially for a Saturday morning. The summer heat really adds to my laziness.

But then the next morning as I was doing my laundry there was a knock on our gate. I opened it up to find my new Beluch friend standing there with a big smile on his face.

“You didn’t come to the bazaar today!” he exclaimed.

How the hell did he find my house? He doesn’t even live in Yoloten.

“Angela, I want to go to America! How can I go?”

Standing there in shorts and a tank top (the most possible inappropriate clothes to be talking to boys in a conservative Muslim country) holding a pile of wet clothes I stared at him in disbelief. Did he really track me down and find my house on a Saturday morning to ask me how he can go to America?

“Uhhh…I’m just an English teacher, dude,” I replied. “I don’t actually work for the consulate and have no freaking clue how you would even begin to do that. I guess you need to apply for a visa or something.”

“I really wanted to see you!” he said. “I want to talk with you! I want to go to America. My relative lives there. He’s a singer!”

“Yes, yes you already told me this. Do you know any English?” I asked politely.

“I can learn English!” he said.

“Well let’s start with that and then work on you getting to America,” I said.

That was five days ago, and he’s proceeded to call me every day since.

“Angela! This is my phone number!” he said the first time he called.

“Yeah okay cool, dude. See ya.”

Two hours later:

“Angela! Do you know who this is?” he asked happily.

“Uhhh…who is this?”

“Hassan! Wait, you didn’t save my number?”

“Okay, okay I’ll save it now,” I said.

One hour later:

“Angela! Do you know who this is?”

“Yes, yes Hassan. I have your number.”

“Great! I really want to go to America!”

Ohhh boy.

“Good luck with that, yo.”