HOWARD, VIRGINIA CARROLL, M.A. Igniting the Tinderbox (2011) Directed by Dr. Jeff Jones. 156 pp. “Igniting the Tinderbox” is intended as a nonfiction book and teacher’s guide for middle school students to supplement the texts in the social studies curriculum. The book is a snapshot of Afghanistan between 1989 and 1996 as seen through the eyes of a middle school-aged Afghan boy, his mother, sister and a friend. As the characters live and remember historical events, students learn how world politics and the Afghan culture have impacted Afghanistan then and now. In seeing the world through their eyes, the students also learn about the music, art, traditions and other aspects of the culture that is Afghanistan. The teacher’s guide provides background for each chapter, as well as suggested resources for further study, discussion questions and activities. All these help the students get into the characters’ minds and understand Afghanistan better, as well as relate the Afghan culture and events to their own lives. Online resources include videos, which use Adobe flash, with the exception of one using Apple Quick Time (.mov). Linked photographs are jpegs and easily viewed online. When the students conclude the unit, I want them to have learned about another culture by understanding not just the “what” but the “why.” They can extrapolate from the materials a better understanding of how decisions made today will affect generations to come and how one’s worldview is influenced by the past, traditions and culture. IGNITING THE TINDERBOX by Virginia Carroll Howard A Thesis Submitted to The Faculty of The Graduate School at The University of North Carolina at Greensboro in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree Master of Arts Greensboro 2011 Approved by Jeff Jones _________________________ Committee Chair © 2011 Virginia Carroll Howard To my mother, with thanks, for sharing her love of history and curiosity about other cultures ii APPROVAL PAGE This thesis has been approved by the following committee of the Faculty of The Graduate School of The University of North Carolina at Greensboro. Committee Chair __________________________________ Jeff Jones Committee Members __________________________________ William Hamilton __________________________________ Wayne Journell ____________________________ Date of Acceptance by Committee iii PREFACE The older I get, the less satisfied I am with simply knowing the “whats.” I want to know what led up to the “whats.” I want to know the “whys.” That is especially true in wanting to understand what is behind events taking place in today’s world. In fact, Jeff Jones’ “Contemporary World” class was that “ah-ha” moment that helped me to put the pieces together. Each class I took in the MALS program underscored the world’s interconnection across time and continents. I began to see patterns. One event might spark a war, a political movement, a flurry of discoveries or artistic school, but what ignites tinderboxes doesn’t occur in a vacuum. They are the culmination of years, sometimes decades or centuries of other, sometimes apparently unrelated, events. My goal in this thesis is to illuminate some of those faint threads that connect people, places and pivotal points in time. I truly believe that with understanding comes civil discourse and, if not all-out peace, at least a cessation of hostilities, whether on the global stage or local classroom. Understanding can break down barriers, strengthen ties that bind us to our common humanity and provide a counterpoint to the distrust, disaffection, dissatisfaction and general “dissing” of other perspectives and peoples. Not seeing these connections, not understanding other perspectives, perpetuates the same misunderstandings and missteps that have made our communities and world such dangerous places. Everyone wants to be understood. I hope this thesis will be the basis for understanding. iv TABLE OF CONTENTS Page CHAPTER I. THE END BEGINS .....................................................................................1 II. HANIF LEARNS THE TRUTH ................................................................10 III. MALIHA LOSES HER DREAM ..............................................................25 IV. KHATERAH HOLDS IT TOGETHER ....................................................31 V. THE MIRROR CRACKS ..........................................................................49 VI. HOME IS IN THE HEART .......................................................................59 VII. HANIF HEADS TOWARDS KABUL .....................................................69 VIII. HONOR IS A TWO-EDGED SWORD ....................................................76 IX. HANIF GOES TO WAR ...........................................................................82 X. ARMAN JOINS THE FIGHT ...................................................................86 XI. FORCES COLLIDE ..................................................................................89 XII. A NEW DAY DAWNS .............................................................................91 BIBLIOGRAPHY ..............................................................................................................93 APPENDIX A. TEACHER’S GUIDE ............................................................................100 APPENDIX B. DISCUSSION QUESTIONS, ACTIVITIES, OTHER RESOURCES ........................................................................140 APPENDIX C: GLOSSARY ...........................................................................................153 v CHAPTER I THE END BEGINS The drummer’s hands flew across his tabla, each beat a staccato explosion. Arman anticipated the familiar whine of the rubab’s strings that he knew would follow. August 19th was Independence Day, a celebration of music, dancing and food in Afghanistan. His mother’s sisters would visit, sequestering themselves and doing whatever it was women did. Laughter and good-natured scolding would drift from behind the curtained window on the scent of onions and herbs, eggplant and tomatoes. When the meal was ready, his brother would roll out the dastarkhan on the hard-packed floor, and his grandfather and father, uncles, cousins, brothers and he would sit cross-legged around the embroidered tablecloth, passing the savory dishes. They’d mold the rice into balls, deftly popping them into their mouths, along with the spicy sauce and lamb, without dropping a grain. Arman shifted in his sleep, and the dream of that carefree summer in 1979 faded into the grim realities of 1996. A rock from the bombed building jutted into his ribs and roused him, a rude reminder that the rat-a-tats came not from the instruments of Afghanistan’s past but from the music of today, Soviet Kalashnikovs spraying bullets and low-flying rockets tearing into homes and bodies. The sounds of war had been Arman’s lullaby for as long as he could remember. 1 His eyes were rimmed with exhaustion as he rose before dawn for his morning prayer. Arman’s fatigue stemmed as much from world-weariness as it did from a lack of sleep. He had seen what no man should see and felt what no child should feel. His senses had been blunted by a war that had been going on for 17 years. He thought he had been about four years old when the Soviets had invaded, although he wasn’t sure exactly how old he had been. Like most Afghans, Arman didn’t know when he was born. But as best he could remember, that sweltering Independence Day in 1979 was the last August without rockets. In the ruins of Afghanistan’s capital city, Arman faced Mecca and slipped his arms out of the heavy chapan. He placed the goatskin coat on the ground to prepare a clean place to pray. The 21-year-old brushed dust from the sleeves of his kamiz and dirt from the legs of his shalwar, pulling its drawstring more tightly around his waist. The thigh-length shirt and loose-fitting pants not only were cooler in the summer than Western-style clothes, they were more practical for moving quickly in Afghanistan’s rugged terrain. The traditional clothes also made it easier for the guerilla fighters to scatter after a battle, blending into nearby towns and villages. Arman tried to stop at the five proscribed times for prayer each day: before sunrise, midday, late in the afternoon, after sunset and before bedtime. The Muslim ritual calmed and centered him, giving his life focus and purpose. Hardships and loneliness fell away as he focused his attention on Allah. Islam was an integral part of who he was, a comforting constant in his life. If his day did not at least start and end with prayer, he felt out of sorts and off-track. 2 The young mujahid poured water from a flask. Starting with his right hand, he washed away impurities, then moved to his left hand, his nose, ears, mouth and finally his feet. Then Arman turned towards Mecca. Standing tall, he began the short prayer. He cupped his hands by his ears, palms facing forward. “Allaahu Akbar,” God is great, he intoned quietly in Arabic. “All glory to you. There is none worthy of worship except God,” he continued with his hands one over the other on his stomach, praising God and asked for his help. He bent from the waist with his back straight and hands on his knees. “God is great. Holy is my Lord.” Arman stood erect again, then dropped to his knees and touched his forehead to the ground, praying all the while. His body’s movements reflected his words. He sat back on his heels, “Allaahu Akbar.” Again, he prostrated himself. “Glory to God. God is great.” Arman