Upon exiting the Mullah's compound, I was confronted with an irate neighbor—a

man in middle-age, clean and apparently relatively wealthy in appearance... He

expressed his horror that I, a woman, was present with the patrol. He would not

make eye contact with me or shake my hand, but instead only referred to me with

angry gestures. I maintained a respectful distance while he sat nearby to engage

the men of the patrol.

When formally addressing the men, his demeanor changed. He shook hands with

each, with every display of gentleness and respect. The traditional first handshake

between Pashtun men grips only the first joints of the fingers, and he used this

with each, along with much bowing. It was explained to him that I was present in

order that men would not enter a compound where women might be seen, and he

was significantly appeased...

After this conversation, as the group said their goodbyes and began to move away,

the neighbor approached me and extended his hand. I took this to be an invitation

to a handshake, offered now that he understood that I was there out of respect for

the traditions of his culture rather than in an attempt to disrupt them. When I

offered my hand, he took it in a crushing grip and with unexpected strength bent

my wrist back into a painful joint lock.

I ultimately wrenched myself from his grip, and as I sought to rejoin my patrol, I

was mobbed by the village boys, who I had previously showered with gifts of

candy and school necessities, led by the neighbor's oldest son. This boy appeared

to be approximately 11 years old. Grabbing my arm, he attempted to practice the

same maneuver his father had demonstrated, to the delight and cheers of the

younger boys.

The noise of the children caught the attention of our American interpreter, who

returned and scolded them for their behavior. He attempted to shame them by

asking “is this the way you would behave at home?” The oldest boy proudly

answered that it was, indicating that his mother and sisters were treated with the

same violence and disdain. While the encounter with the father hurt my wrist, the