My Friend From Afghanistan

Metra Night Club in London, England. I went outside for a smoke…

August 13, 2008
Unknown Friend from Afghanistan,

“Where are you from mate?” he said in slurred speech as he swayed from side to side, taking drags from his cigarette. “New York City” I replied proudly. I’m not actually from NYC, I’m from Connecticut, but considering people from The States don’t know shit about CT, I wouldn’t expect a foreigner from London to know shit about CT either.

“No…where are you from?” He kept repeating; I couldn’t answer the question. Where the hell was I from? I insisted that I was American, born and raised, same with my parents and grandparents and so on and so. Where did the lineage end? Well, my Mothers parent’s are actually from Haiti but I don’t identify myself as Haitian American or anything like that. I’ve never been to Haiti, don’t know shit about the country other than what I learned in French class. So what am I?

“Where are you from?” I asked to turn the question on him. “Afghanistan” he replied proudly. What? Now didn’t I just open up a can of worms. I remember reading somewhere that it was impolite to ask someone where they were from and I think it was for this specific reason. I can honestly say, I didn’t judge the man because he said he was from Afghanistan, not initially, I just felt bad for asking. Obviously if you tell someone you’re from Afghanistan, you’re welcoming an endless list of stereotypes and prejudice and if you ask someone that’s from Afghanistan where they’re from, you’re just an asshole.

This kid didn’t stop there. He went onto list all the people in his family that he lost, presumably from acts of violence. This many brothers, that many sister, uncles, aunts, grandparents, close to a dozen relatives he named.

I thought about my own life. The only person I’d lost was my grandfather, essentially from old age. I cried at my grandfathers funeral, we all did, but suddenly my grandfather being dead seemed insignificant. Atleast he lived a long life, I couldn’t even begin to imagine burying my brothers or sisters. It was hard to react to what he was saying, normally when someone says they lost a member of their family you reply by saying, “I’m sorry to hear that”. That cliché bullshit of a response didn’t seem appropriate in this situation, nothing did. I imagine I probably said something like, “wow”, or maybe nothing at all, but the guy wasn’t looking for anything from me, he was just fucked up.

“And I still love my country”

What!?!? I was mesmerized. His country had taken so much away from him, and yet, he had the balls to tell me he still loved his country.

That’s more than I could say about my country.

pop/ular/GURU