Three Cups Of Tea Part 22

Twenty minutes before Baharak, the river gorge opened into lush benchland between rolling hills. Bands of farmers blanketed the slopes, planting poppies on every arable surface. "Except for the poppies, we could have been driving up the mouth of the s.h.i.+gar Valley," Mortenson says, "heading for Korphe. I realized how close to Pakistan we were and even though I'd never been in that spot before, it felt like a homecoming, like I was among my people again."

The town of Baharak reinforced that feeling. Ringed by the snowy peaks of the Hindu Kush, Baharak was the gateway to the Wakhan. The mouth of its narrow valley was only a few kilometers to the east, and Mortenson was warmed with the knowledge that so many people he cared about in Zuudkhan were so close by. peaks of the Hindu Kush, Baharak was the gateway to the Wakhan. The mouth of its narrow valley was only a few kilometers to the east, and Mortenson was warmed with the knowledge that so many people he cared about in Zuudkhan were so close by.

The driver and his son drove to Baharak's bazaar, to ask the way to Sadhar Khan's home. In the bazaar, Mortenson could see that the people of Baharak, who grew, rather than trafficked, opium, lived in a subsistence economy like the Balti. Food in the stalls was simple and scarce and the overburdened miniature donkeys that carried wares to and from the market looked unhealthy and underfed. From his reading, Mortenson knew how cut off all of Badakshan had been from the world during the reign of the Taliban. But he hadn't realized just how poor a place it was.

Through the middle of the market, where the only other traffic traveled on four hooves, a well-worn white Russian jeep rolled toward them. Mortenson flagged it down, figuring anyone who could afford such a vehicle in Baharak would know the way to Sadhar Khan.

The jeep was packed with menacing-looking mujahadeen, mujahadeen, but the driver, a man of middle age with piercing eyes and a precisely trimmed black beard, got out to address Mortenson. but the driver, a man of middle age with piercing eyes and a precisely trimmed black beard, got out to address Mortenson.

"I'm looking for Sadhar Khan," Mortenson said, in the rudimentary Dari he'd coaxed Kais to teach him on the drive out of Kabul.

"He is here," the man said, in English.

"Where?"

"I am he. I am Commandhan Commandhan Khan." Khan."

On the roof of Sadhar Khan's compound, under the browned hills of Baharak, Mortenson paced nervously around the chair he'd been led to, waiting for the commandhan commandhan to return from to return from Juma Juma prayers. Khan lived simply, but the apparatus of his power was everywhere apparent. The antenna of a powerful radio transmitter jutted up beyond the edge of the roof like a flagless pole, announcing Khan's affiliation with modernity. Several small satellite dishes were trained toward the southern sky. And on the rooftops of surrounding buildings, Mortenson watched Khan's gunmen watching him through the scopes of their sniper rifles. prayers. Khan lived simply, but the apparatus of his power was everywhere apparent. The antenna of a powerful radio transmitter jutted up beyond the edge of the roof like a flagless pole, announcing Khan's affiliation with modernity. Several small satellite dishes were trained toward the southern sky. And on the rooftops of surrounding buildings, Mortenson watched Khan's gunmen watching him through the scopes of their sniper rifles.

To the southeast, he could see the snow peaks of his Pakistan, and made himself imagine Faisal Baig standing guard beneath them, so that the snipers wouldn't unnerve him. From Faisal, Mortenson drew a mental line from school to school, community to community, down the Hunza Valley, to Gilgit, across the Indus Gorge all the way to Skardu, connecting people and places he knew and loved to this lonely rooftop, telling himself he was far from alone.

Just before sunset, Mortenson saw hundreds of men streaming out of Baharak's plain bunkerlike mosque, which looked more like a military barracks than a house of wors.h.i.+p. Khan was the last to leave, deep in conversation with the village mullah. He bent to embrace the elderly man and turned to walk toward the foreigner waiting on his roof.

"Sadhar Khan came up without any guards. He only brought one of his young lieutenants to translate. I know the gunmen watching me would have dropped me in a second if I even looked at him the wrong way, but I appreciated the gesture," Mortenson says. "Just as he had when he met me in the bazaar, he was willing to tackle things head on, by himself."

"I'm sorry I can't offer you any tea," Khan said through his translator, who spoke excellent English. "But in a few moments," he said, indicating the sun sinking behind a boulderfield to the west, "you may have whatever you wish."

"That's fine," Mortenson said. "I've come a long way to speak with you. I'm just honored to be here."

"And what has an American come so far from Kabul to talk about?" Khan said, straightening the brown woolen robe, embroidered with scarlet seams, that served as his badge of office.

So Mortenson told the commandhan commandhan his story, beginning with the arrival of the Kirghiz hors.e.m.e.n, in a dust cloud descending the Irshad Pa.s.s, and finis.h.i.+ng with an account of the firefight he had pa.s.sed through the evening before, and his escape under goatskins. Then, to Mortenson's astonishment, the fearsome leader of Badakshan's his story, beginning with the arrival of the Kirghiz hors.e.m.e.n, in a dust cloud descending the Irshad Pa.s.s, and finis.h.i.+ng with an account of the firefight he had pa.s.sed through the evening before, and his escape under goatskins. Then, to Mortenson's astonishment, the fearsome leader of Badakshan's mujahadeen mujahadeen shouted with joy and wrapped the startled American in an embrace. shouted with joy and wrapped the startled American in an embrace.

"Yes! Yes! You're Dr. Greg! My commandhan commandhan Abdul Ras.h.i.+d has told me about you. This is incredible," Khan said, pacing with excitement, "and to think, I didn't even arrange a meal or a welcome from the village elders. Forgive me." Abdul Ras.h.i.+d has told me about you. This is incredible," Khan said, pacing with excitement, "and to think, I didn't even arrange a meal or a welcome from the village elders. Forgive me."

Mortenson grinned. And the tension of the terrible trip north, if not the dust and goat smell, melted away. Khan pulled a late-model satellite phone out of the pocket of the photographer's vest he wore under his robe and ordered his staff to start preparing a feast. Then he and Mortenson paced circles in the roof, discussing potential sites for schools. under his robe and ordered his staff to start preparing a feast. Then he and Mortenson paced circles in the roof, discussing potential sites for schools.

Khan's knowledge of the Wakhan Corridor, where Mortenson was most anxious to begin working, was encyclopedic. And he ticked off the five communities that would benefit immediately from primary education. Then Khan catalogued a sea of schoolless girls, far more vast than anything Mortenson had imagined. In Faizabad alone, Khan said, five thousand teenaged girls were attempting to hold cla.s.ses in a field beside the boys' high school. The story was the same, he said, across Badakshan, and he detailed a vast litany of need that could keep Mortenson busy for decades.

As the sun slipped behind the western ridges, Khan placed one hand on Mortenson's back as he pointed with the other. "We fought with Americans, here in these mountains, against the Russians. And though we heard many promises, they never returned to help us when the dying was done."

"Look here, look at these hills." Khan indicated the boulderfields that marched up from the dirt streets of Baharak like irregularly s.p.a.ced headstones, arrayed like a vast army of the dead as they climbed toward the deepening sunset. "There has been far too much dying in these hills," Sadhar Khan said, somberly. "Every rock, every boulder that you see before you is one of my mujahadeen, shahids, mujahadeen, shahids, martyrs, who sacrificed their lives fighting the Russians and the Taliban. Now we must make their sacrifice worthwhile," Khan said, turning to face Mortenson. "We must turn these stones into schools." martyrs, who sacrificed their lives fighting the Russians and the Taliban. Now we must make their sacrifice worthwhile," Khan said, turning to face Mortenson. "We must turn these stones into schools."

Mortenson had always doubted that the entire life a person led could flash before him in the moment before death. There didn't seem to be enough time. But in the second it took to look into Sadhar Khan's dark eyes, and then through them, as he contemplated the vow he was being asked to take, Mortenson saw the rest of the life he had yet to live unreel before him.

This rooftop, surrounded by these harsh, stony hills, was a fork where he had to choose his way. And if he turned in the direction of this man, and these stones, he could see the path ahead painted more vividly than the decade-long detour he'd begun one distant day in Korphe.

There would be new languages to learn, new customs to blunder through before they could be mastered. There were months of absences from his family, scattered like blank spots on the bright canvas that stretched before him, this sunlit prospect that rose like an untrodden snowfield, and dangers he couldn't yet imagine, which loomed over his route like thunderheads. He saw this life rising before him as clearly as he'd seen the summit of Kilimanjaro as a boy, as brilliantly as the peerless pyramid of K2 still haunted his dreams. through before they could be mastered. There were months of absences from his family, scattered like blank spots on the bright canvas that stretched before him, this sunlit prospect that rose like an untrodden snowfield, and dangers he couldn't yet imagine, which loomed over his route like thunderheads. He saw this life rising before him as clearly as he'd seen the summit of Kilimanjaro as a boy, as brilliantly as the peerless pyramid of K2 still haunted his dreams.

Mortenson put his hands on the shoulders of Sadhar Khan's brown robe, as he'd done a decade earlier, among other mountains, with another leader, named Haji Ali, conscious, not of the gunmen still observing him through their sniperscopes, nor of the shahid shahid stones, warmed to amber by the sun's late rays, but of the inner mountain he'd committed, in that instant, to climb. stones, warmed to amber by the sun's late rays, but of the inner mountain he'd committed, in that instant, to climb.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

"When your heart speaks, take good notes."

Judith Campbell

It is my vision that all people of our planet will dedicate the next decade to achieve universal literacy and education for all children, especially for girls. Over 145 million children in the world remain deprived of education due to poverty, exploitation, slavery, religious extremism, and corrupt governments. May this book, Three Cups of Tea Three Cups of Tea, be a catalyst to bring the gift of literacy to those deprived children who all deserve a chance to go to school.

In the tribal custom of many indigenous societies, it is appropriate to either begin or end a meeting with an apology, and request to forgiveness for any ill feelings or transgressions one might have caused in an encounter or relations.h.i.+p. It is important that I honor and respect this tradition. In my resolve to get the job done, often in a most peculiar way, I have offended or hurt a few people. I am sorry and ask for your forgiveness. Teri asees chaunde. Teri asees chaunde.

All the pages of this entire book could easily be filled with acknowledgments to the thousands of incredible souls who were a vital part of this phenomenal journey, which began with a thwarted trip to the Field of Dreams in Dyersville, Iowa, and ended in a wheat field halfway around the world in Korphe, Pakistan. I regret-and will lose many nights of sleep-that I cannot acknowledge each one of you in this limited s.p.a.ce. Thank you for blessing my life's mission each day. Please know a tribute to you lives on in the education a child, made possible by your empathy and benevolence.

I especially wish to thank the masterful author of this book, David Oliver Relin, for his steadfast dedication and perseverance over two years of his life to create the prose that brings years of his life to create the prose that brings Three Cups of Tea Three Cups of Tea to fruition and life. Without you, this story in its entirety would have never been revealed. to fruition and life. Without you, this story in its entirety would have never been revealed. Commandhan Commandhan Relin, here's to you! Relin, here's to you!

Our literary agent, Elizabeth Kaplan, was a stalwart force that guided Three Cups of Tea Three Cups of Tea over two years from a mere proposal to full publication. To me, getting this book written was often more arduous than to live it out. For your patient guidance and gracious calm through each step, I am forever grateful. over two years from a mere proposal to full publication. To me, getting this book written was often more arduous than to live it out. For your patient guidance and gracious calm through each step, I am forever grateful.

Viking Penguin colleagues Ray Roberts, Carolyn Coleburn, Nancy Sheppard, Judi Powers, and Sharon Gonzalez are extraordinary beings. In the process of watching this book unfold, your professional wisdom and guidance taught me much. You were unflagging in your encouragement from start to finish on this endeavor. Thank you.

The media played a significant role to bring this quest to the public. Thank you each and every one, from hometown newspaper, to state NPR public radio, to national TV, AM radio, and magazine, to international wires. Thank you Kathy Gannon, the previous Pakistan/Afghanistan AP bureau chief and Ahmed Ras.h.i.+d, author of Taliban, Taliban, for the decade-long sounding board of your encyclopedic knowledge from mountains to for the decade-long sounding board of your encyclopedic knowledge from mountains to madra.s.sas madra.s.sas to to mujahadeen mujahadeen. I also thank Outside Outside magazine, Hal Espen, Elizabeth Hightower, and Mark Jenkins, for the insightful features on K2, the Siachen glacier war, and Afghanistan's Wakhan corridor that shed a humanistic light on places known previously for war or adventure. magazine, Hal Espen, Elizabeth Hightower, and Mark Jenkins, for the insightful features on K2, the Siachen glacier war, and Afghanistan's Wakhan corridor that shed a humanistic light on places known previously for war or adventure.

Nineteen months after 9/11, when Parade Parade magazine featured an article by Kevin Fedarko, "He Fights Terror with Books," America resounded with over fourteen thousand letters and e-mails to our tiny Montana office. From all across America, from conservatives to liberals, from Muslims, Christians, Jews, Hindus to agnostics, from Capital Hill to D.C. think tanks and Des Moines trailer courts, America embraced the simple concept to fight terror with books and promote peace through the pen. Thank you, Kevin, and a special thanks to magazine featured an article by Kevin Fedarko, "He Fights Terror with Books," America resounded with over fourteen thousand letters and e-mails to our tiny Montana office. From all across America, from conservatives to liberals, from Muslims, Christians, Jews, Hindus to agnostics, from Capital Hill to D.C. think tanks and Des Moines trailer courts, America embraced the simple concept to fight terror with books and promote peace through the pen. Thank you, Kevin, and a special thanks to Parade Parade editors Lee Kravitz and Lamar Graham for opening up American hearts and minds. editors Lee Kravitz and Lamar Graham for opening up American hearts and minds.

In twelve years, we've never used a dollar of federal money to build a school or provide a pen. But I do owe a deep debt of grat.i.tude to Representative Mary Bono (R-Calif.) who taught me how to advocate and lobby the cause of girls' education in Pakistan and Afghanistan as a cost-effective way to reverse the perpetual abyss of the war on terror. Thanks also to Mark Udall (D-Colo.) for your help.

From South Dakota, and my USD alma mater, I thank four noteworthy individuals who touched my life: Lars Overskei, Tom Brokaw, Dr. Dan Birkeland, and Al Neuharth, founder of USA Today USA Today, and the D.C.based Freedom Forum, from which I received the 2004 Free Spirit Award.

To my beloved friends, mentors, elders, teachers, guides, and brothers and sisters in Pakistan and Afghanistan: There are no words adequate to express my grat.i.tude, except to say that each of you are a star that lights up the night sky, and that your loyalty, ardor, and perseverance bring education to your children. Shukuria, Rahmat, Manana, Shakkeram, Baf, Baks.h.i.+sh, thanks! Shukuria, Rahmat, Manana, Shakkeram, Baf, Baks.h.i.+sh, thanks!

As a military veteran, I salute our armed forces, who serve our country with honor and valor. As a humanitarian, I also thank the dedicated aid workers who combat illiteracy, disease, environmental degradation, human rights violations, and more, often against staggering odds.

Thank you Westside Elementary School, River Falls, Wisconsin, for starting "Pennies for Peace" (www.penniesforpeace.org) in 1994. Today, your 62,340 pennies have sparked more than 350 schools with 80,000-plus students to raise at least 12 million pennies, to bring pencils and hope to the students of Pakistan and Afghanistan.

Many thanks to the devoted Central Asia Inst.i.tute (CAI) staff Jennifer Sipes, Kelli Taylor, and Christiane Leitinger and CAI board directors Dr. Abdul Jabbar, Julia Bergman, and Karen McCown; you are a vital part of this journey. Your steadfast support, encouragement, and commitment are the reason for our continued success.

There are a few special friends who truly understand my idiosyncrasies. In my frequent migrations between two distinct worlds, they are the ones who embrace the circular way I negotiate the world to overcome cross-cultural challenges. For their realistic, rock-solid support, I thank: George McCown, Talat Jabbar, Nancy Block, Anne Beyersdorfer, Ben Rice, Charley s.h.i.+mansky, Bill Galloway, Dr. Louis Reichardt, Jim Wickwire, Steve Swenson, Dr. Andrew Marcus, Jennifer Wilson, Kim Klein, Burke (Catherine) Keegan, Vince and Louise La.r.s.en, Lila and Brent Bishop, John and Anne Rigby, Tony O'Brien, Vickie Cain, Keith Hamburg, Jeff McMillian, Andrew Lawson, Brynn Breuner, John Guza, Stefeni Freese, CPA, Tom and Judy Vaughan, Louise Forrest, Pam Heibert, MD, Haji Fida Mohammed Nashad sahib, Saeed Abbas sahib, Brigadier General Bas.h.i.+r Baz, Colonel Ilyas Mirza, Captain Wa.s.sim Ifthakhar Janjua, Commandhan Sardhar Khan, Wohid Khan, Twaha, Eliza, and the late Patsy Collins and Jose Forquet. John Guza, Stefeni Freese, CPA, Tom and Judy Vaughan, Louise Forrest, Pam Heibert, MD, Haji Fida Mohammed Nashad sahib, Saeed Abbas sahib, Brigadier General Bas.h.i.+r Baz, Colonel Ilyas Mirza, Captain Wa.s.sim Ifthakhar Janjua, Commandhan Sardhar Khan, Wohid Khan, Twaha, Eliza, and the late Patsy Collins and Jose Forquet.

The unlikely, indefatigable CAI staff in Pakistan move mountains tirelessly to keep the ball rolling. Bohot Shukuria Bohot Shukuria to the enduring Apo Cha Cha Abdul Razak sahib, the unstoppable Ghulam Parvi sahib, the indomitable Suleman Minhas, the astute Saidullah Baig, and the vigilant Faisal Baig, and in Afghanistan, to the invincible Sarfraz Khan, the adroit Abdul Waqil, the enlightened Parvin Bibi, and the fastidious Mullah Mohammed. to the enduring Apo Cha Cha Abdul Razak sahib, the unstoppable Ghulam Parvi sahib, the indomitable Suleman Minhas, the astute Saidullah Baig, and the vigilant Faisal Baig, and in Afghanistan, to the invincible Sarfraz Khan, the adroit Abdul Waqil, the enlightened Parvin Bibi, and the fastidious Mullah Mohammed.

To Jean h.o.e.rni and Haji Ali-I hope I did not screw up in honoring your legacies!

As a child in Tanzania, my parents, Dempsey and Jerene Mortenson, read to my sisters, Sonja, Kari, and Christa, and me each evening by lantern and later electricity. Those stories filled me with curiosity about the world and other cultures. They inspired the humanitarian adventure that shaped my life. My mother's lifelong dedication to education immensely inspires me. Although cancer took my forty-eight-year-old father in 1980, his infinite compa.s.sion, tolerance, and spirit live on in all that I do.

What motivates me to do this? The answer is simple: When I look into the eyes of the children in Pakistan and Afghanistan, I see my own children's eyes full of wonder-and I hope that we will each do our part to leave them all a legacy of peace instead of the perpetual cycle of violence, war, terrorism, racism, and bigotry that we adults have yet to conquer.

To my amazing children, Amira Eliana and Khyber, you always give me constant, unconditional love. Your love inspires me to make a difference in the world, to leave it a better place for you in some small way.

Most of all, I owe immeasurable grat.i.tude to my incredible wife, Tara. I'm glad we took a leap of faith together. You are an amazing companion, confidante, mother, and friend. During my frequent absences over the ten years of our marriage, in the rugged Pakistan and Afghan hinterland, your love has made it possible for me to follow my heart.

-Greg Mortenson ***

I'd like to thank Greg Mortenson, both for telling me one of the most remarkable stories I've ever heard, and then for inviting me to tell it to others. I'd also like to thank Tara, Amira, Khyber, and the entire extended Mortenson/Bishop clan, for making my frequent visits to Bozeman such a family affair.

Brigadier General Bas.h.i.+r Baz and Colonel Ilyas Mirza at Askari Aviation not only arranged for me to reach some of the most remote valleys of the Northern Areas, they also helped me reach at least a rudimentary understanding of the challenges currently facing Pak-istan's military. Brigadier General Bhangoo flew me to the high-alti-tude treasures of the Karakoram and Hindu Kush in his trusty Alouette and entertained me late into the night with high-minded conversation about his country's future.

Suleman Minhas sped me past police barricades and into the most interesting areas of Islamabad and Rawalpindi, where, with great good humor, he helped an outsider to see more clearly. Ghulam Parvi worked tirelessly as both tutor and translator, making the rich culture of the Balti people bristle with life. Apo, Faisal, n.a.z.ir, and Sarfraz antic.i.p.ated and catered to my every need as I traveled throughout the Northern Areas. Twaha, Jahan, and Tahira, along with the other rightly proud people of Korphe, helped me understand that isolation and poverty can't prevent a determined community from achieving the goals it sets for its children. And, repeatedly, relentlessly, the people of Pakistan proved to me that there is no more hospitable country anywhere on earth.

In Madrid, Ahmed Ras.h.i.+d was good enough to sneak away from the podium at the world summit on terrorism and treat me to a crash course in both the intricacies of Pakistan's political system and the relation between the rise of the madra.s.sas madra.s.sas and extremism. Conrad Anker, Doug Chabot, Scott Darsney, Jon Krakauer, Jenny Lowe, Dan Mazur, and Charlie s.h.i.+manski each gave me meaningful glimpses into the high-wire world of mountaineering. Jim "Mapman" McMahon deserves kudos for both the professional job he did drawing the book's maps and for his offer to mud wrestle anyone at Fox News who doesn't like and extremism. Conrad Anker, Doug Chabot, Scott Darsney, Jon Krakauer, Jenny Lowe, Dan Mazur, and Charlie s.h.i.+manski each gave me meaningful glimpses into the high-wire world of mountaineering. Jim "Mapman" McMahon deserves kudos for both the professional job he did drawing the book's maps and for his offer to mud wrestle anyone at Fox News who doesn't like Three Cups of Tea Three Cups of Tea's message.

I owe my old friend Lee Kravitz at Parade Parade a debt for the day he said, "There's someone I think you should meet," and for his wise counsel as the book came together. I'd like to thank him also for having the good sense to marry Elizabeth Kaplan, who gracefully shepherded this book through the publis.h.i.+ng process and educated a rube about the book business, all while simultaneously eating, walking, talking on her cell phone, and caring for her children. I'm grateful to Ray Roberts at Viking both for his erudition and his courtly att.i.tude toward all the minor catastrophes involved in preparing this book for publication. a debt for the day he said, "There's someone I think you should meet," and for his wise counsel as the book came together. I'd like to thank him also for having the good sense to marry Elizabeth Kaplan, who gracefully shepherded this book through the publis.h.i.+ng process and educated a rube about the book business, all while simultaneously eating, walking, talking on her cell phone, and caring for her children. I'm grateful to Ray Roberts at Viking both for his erudition and his courtly att.i.tude toward all the minor catastrophes involved in preparing this book for publication.

I need to thank the Murphy-Goode Winery, for lubricating so much of the interview process. Thanks also to Victor Ichioka at Mountain Hardwear for outfitting our trips to the Northern Areas. And I'm grateful to the coffee shops of Portland, Oregon, some of the finest on earth, for allowing an overcaffeinated writer to mutter to himself throughout so many long afternoons.

Finally, I want to thank Dawn, for far too many things to list here, but especially for the look on her lovely fire-lit face that evening in the Salmon-Huckleberry Wilderness when I read her the first few completed chapters.

-David Oliver Relin

For more information contact: Central Asia Inst.i.tute P.O. Box 7209Bozeman, MT 59771 406-585-7841 www.ikat.org