Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
official at the Culture Ministry in Kabul, with responsibility for museums across the country.
It crossed my mind that this culture czar might not be able to read or write. And that the cost
of his sleek black SUV and of maintaining his various flunkies could not have come out of a
government salary.
The commander told me that the essence of cockfighting was
showq
, or love—love of
the fight, of the fraternity, and of the valiant birds themselves. I had heard similar senti-
mentsfromownersandgamblersbackinKabul.Thegrandeesofthepit,distinguishedwhite-
bearded gentlemen, had called for enough
showq
to “turn our woes into flowers!”
Hafizsurvivedon
showq
thatday.Helostmorethan$200,whichwassplitamongthefive-
man syndicate of which he is a member. Still, he had Friday to look forward to.
Theoldtilefactoryfilledup.Theownersgatheredinthepit,settingtheirbirdsontheground,
sizing up prospective adversaries, arranging the fighting order. Bets were placed. Someone
exclaimed, “Whoever is not true to his word is a pimp and a cuckold!” A younger man pro-
tested: “If I am not true to my word, stone me to death!”
A bear of a man named Bagho got impatient. He seized a stick and began circling the pit,
whacking the ground and sending up clouds of dust, shouting at people to take their seats.
Bagho is a fixture of the Kabul cockfighting scene. He used to be an
abdar
, but the birds he
was allotted generally lost, and it was said that Bagho had brought them bad luck. In the end,
people stopped asking Bagho to be an
abdar
.
Abdar
means “he who has water,” a name that evokes one of the
abdar
's key functions,
whichistoensurehisbirddoesnotoverheat.Atregularintervalshefillshisownmouthwith
water, separates his bird from his adversary, and sprays the bird's head and anus. Using a
cloth that he keeps slung over his shoulder, he fans the bird and wipes him clean of sweat
and blood. Curling the cloth tightly, he puts it down the bird's throat and retrieves potentially
hazardous feathers that he has swallowed while pecking his rival. The
abdar
replaces broken
spurs and beaks with spares that have been lifted from dead warriors. He uses his tongue to
clean bloody eyes, and he stitches up chest wounds. His job is not for the squeamish.
The first and second fights began, proceeding in alternating 20-minute periods. Every so
often I glanced at Hafiz, who was sitting on the lowest step, his bird under his coat, confer-
ringwithothermembersofthesyndicate.HafizhadbeenpairedagainstZilgaiandSaburand
was more pensive than I had seen him up to this point.
The second fight ended with the withdrawal of one of the birds. I went out for tea, and
when I came back the third fight was underway. There was much excitement, not only be-
cause the contestants were evenly matched but because one of the cocks, a sturdy, black-
flecked creature, was owned by the nephew of one of Afghanistan's most powerful warlords.
The nephew in question, a thin man of about 40, sat impassively, but his young companions
