Ben Arnoldy - Correspondent

Afghanistan has a biblical landscape. Mud-walled homes appear like ancient forts on rocky hills. Thin rivers dwindle to nothing in desert washes. Bells clank in the dusty air as Kuchi nomads drive herds of sheep.

Even urban Kabulis have a mind set shaped by the pastoral texture of this country. For example, at some point or another during a discussion, many Afghans will start to say, “We have a proverb ....”
 
Whenever I hear this phrase, I smile and prepare to spend a few moments lost in translation.

I was sipping green tea with the former dean of the faculty of journalism at Kabul University recently, discussing whether one of the more risqué Afghan television stations had broken too many cultural taboos. “There is a saying that whatever you throw down a salt mine, it will become salt,” he said. As I mulled over whether salt was metaphorically good or bad, I heard him drop the phrase “class society.”

Mixing Marx and minerals? I knew I was doomed.

After the interview, my interpreter suggested that the proverb meant: “The only thing you’ll ever get out of a salt mine is salt.”

I blinked a couple times back at him.

So whatever you have in your mind, it will come out,” he explained.

Sort of how “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife” can lead to “Thou shalt not commit adultery,” I guess.

Afghans usually launch into a proverb midway through an interesting line of thinking or a juicy quote that I’m furiously scribbling. The proverb inevitably spoils things, leaving a tantalizing but useless half-statement in my notebook. But the best setup for a proverb goes to Engineer Amir Shah Karger.
 
In explaining what he thought of a fellow politician, Mr. Karger said, “We have a kind of friendship, but I don’t like him.” He went on to explain, “We have a proverb. Keep your friendships, but don’t touch the problems of your friends.”

Even the Taliban dish out folk wisdom. “The sun cannot be covered by two fingers,” said a Taliban commander who had recently reconciled with the government. In other words, you cannot hide what is obvious. He continued, “Everybody knows those who attack Afghanistan are not Taliban. The world knows better than us who they are.” In this case, maybe there are more than a couple of fingers being raised.

I’ve been treated to some theological proverbs as well. Shahab Temori, a 19-year-old decked out in jeans and an enormous Harley Davidson belt buckle, explained to me that dressing in Western clothes doesn’t detract from being a good Muslim. “We have a proverb: Jesus Christ is in his own religion. Moses is in his own religion. No one can touch a man’s religion.”

And some Pashtuns consider themselves to be a lost tribe of Israel. But if Job had been an Afghan, Yahweh would not have been pleased with the following proverb offered by a police chief in Khost dealing with smugglers.  “There was a shepherd, and suddenly there was a very strong rain and a flood came and all the sheep drowned,” he said. “It was a time of fasting. The shepherd said to God, you killed all my sheep so I will break your fast now.”

The chief connected his proverb to local events. Last year, he said, the government sprayed some of the opium crops in the nearby Zadran Valley. The farmers then had no way to make money and feed their families, so they went out and chopped down forests to sell the wood. He was sympathetic to the Zadrans despite their opium and timber smuggling: “No one can take a bite of food from them. If they are stopped in one way, they should do something else to feed themselves.”

That’s as clear, I thought, as the waters of Panjshir after a storm.