El Universal passion
The nascent Afghan television by Barry Bearak
• THE NEW YORK TIMES
El Universal Monday August 6, 2007
seven years ago, in a different time, in a different Afghanistan, Daoud Sediqi, a medical student, was returning from the campus on his bicycle when he was detained by Taliban religious police. Fear gripped the young man, he knew he had violated at least two laws. KABUL
.- Seven years ago, in a different time, in a different Afghanistan, Daoud Sediqi, medical student, was returning from the campus on his bicycle when he was detained by Taliban religious police. Fear gripped the young man, he knew he had violated at least two laws.
first offense, it was also obvious was the length of his hair. Although the Taliban insisted that men should not trim his beard, opposed the "sloppiness" and the student had the shaggy locks. His other transgression was more serious. If his captors sift through their possessions, they would find a CD with an X-rated film
"Fortunately, they did not realize, my only punishment was to shave my beard, my hair long," recalled Sediqi, now, at age 26, is one of the most famous of the country, not for being a guerrilla or a mullah, but for being a television celebrity, host of Afghan Star, Afghanistan's version of American Idol.
Since the fall of the Taliban regime in late 2001, Afghanistan has developed in fits and starts. Among the things have not changed and that affect people, is the continuing war, inept leaders, corrupt police and the difficult living conditions. According to the latest government survey, only 43% of homes have windows and roofs destroyed, 31% have safe drinking water and adequate toilets 7%.
But television has received a phenomenal boost in a country where Afghans seeking some escape, and the rest of the world: soap operas that pit the good with the bad, the chefs who prepare food that most people never eat in kitchens they could never have, since they could not pay, the talk-show hosts, extracting Secrets of a nerve, which can not be saved the trouble themselves.
The most recent national survey, which dates back to 2005 shows that 19% of Afghan households have a television, a considerable figure, not only by the fact that having a television during the Taliban regime was a crime, but because only 14 % of the population has access to electricity. In a study this year on the five most urbanized provinces of Afghanistan, two thirds of respondents said they watched TV every day or almost every day.
"Maybe Afghanistan is not so different from other places," said Muhammad Qaseem Akhgar, a major social analyst and newspaper editor. "People watch television because there is nothing else to do."
Reading is a most unlikely option: only 28% of the population is literate. "What else can you have fun," said Akhgar.
Each night, residents of Kabul turn on the TV in prime time clocks, and respond, in other circumstances, the call to prayer. "As you can see, the TV tells the truth, because all over the world are engaged in-law to seek litigation," said Muhammad Farid, an Afghan sitting in a restaurant near the mosque Pul-i-Khishti Mosque, his attention fixed a Indian soap opera dubbed in Dari.
Women, whose public appearances are limited by custom, often see their favorite shows at home instead. In contrast, men are free to turn to television in a communal ritual. In restaurants, customers sit on carpeted platforms, attentive to the television set near the ceiling. Overwhelm deeply metaphysical questions: Prerna find happiness with Mr. Bajaj, who, after all not the father of her child?
"These are problems that teach you things about life," said Sayed Agha, who by day sells fresh vegetables from a cart, and at night usually see melodramas.
do see is not for discussion. At 7:30, Prerna, an Indian soap opera known by the name of its female protagonist.
The nascent Afghan television by Barry Bearak
• THE NEW YORK TIMES
El Universal Monday August 6, 2007
seven years ago, in a different time, in a different Afghanistan, Daoud Sediqi, a medical student, was returning from the campus on his bicycle when he was detained by Taliban religious police. Fear gripped the young man, he knew he had violated at least two laws. KABUL
.- Seven years ago, in a different time, in a different Afghanistan, Daoud Sediqi, medical student, was returning from the campus on his bicycle when he was detained by Taliban religious police. Fear gripped the young man, he knew he had violated at least two laws.
first offense, it was also obvious was the length of his hair. Although the Taliban insisted that men should not trim his beard, opposed the "sloppiness" and the student had the shaggy locks. His other transgression was more serious. If his captors sift through their possessions, they would find a CD with an X-rated film
"Fortunately, they did not realize, my only punishment was to shave my beard, my hair long," recalled Sediqi, now, at age 26, is one of the most famous of the country, not for being a guerrilla or a mullah, but for being a television celebrity, host of Afghan Star, Afghanistan's version of American Idol.
Since the fall of the Taliban regime in late 2001, Afghanistan has developed in fits and starts. Among the things have not changed and that affect people, is the continuing war, inept leaders, corrupt police and the difficult living conditions. According to the latest government survey, only 43% of homes have windows and roofs destroyed, 31% have safe drinking water and adequate toilets 7%.
But television has received a phenomenal boost in a country where Afghans seeking some escape, and the rest of the world: soap operas that pit the good with the bad, the chefs who prepare food that most people never eat in kitchens they could never have, since they could not pay, the talk-show hosts, extracting Secrets of a nerve, which can not be saved the trouble themselves.
The most recent national survey, which dates back to 2005 shows that 19% of Afghan households have a television, a considerable figure, not only by the fact that having a television during the Taliban regime was a crime, but because only 14 % of the population has access to electricity. In a study this year on the five most urbanized provinces of Afghanistan, two thirds of respondents said they watched TV every day or almost every day.
"Maybe Afghanistan is not so different from other places," said Muhammad Qaseem Akhgar, a major social analyst and newspaper editor. "People watch television because there is nothing else to do."
Reading is a most unlikely option: only 28% of the population is literate. "What else can you have fun," said Akhgar.
Each night, residents of Kabul turn on the TV in prime time clocks, and respond, in other circumstances, the call to prayer. "As you can see, the TV tells the truth, because all over the world are engaged in-law to seek litigation," said Muhammad Farid, an Afghan sitting in a restaurant near the mosque Pul-i-Khishti Mosque, his attention fixed a Indian soap opera dubbed in Dari.
Women, whose public appearances are limited by custom, often see their favorite shows at home instead. In contrast, men are free to turn to television in a communal ritual. In restaurants, customers sit on carpeted platforms, attentive to the television set near the ceiling. Overwhelm deeply metaphysical questions: Prerna find happiness with Mr. Bajaj, who, after all not the father of her child?
"These are problems that teach you things about life," said Sayed Agha, who by day sells fresh vegetables from a cart, and at night usually see melodramas.
do see is not for discussion. At 7:30, Prerna, an Indian soap opera known by the name of its female protagonist.
0 comments:
Post a Comment