For Part 1 of this series, see Kung Fu in Kabul: Part 1: Kung Fu Masters, Job Creation, Refugees and the Free Press. For Part 2, see Kung Fu in Kabul: Part 2: Grandmaster Abdul “Rahim Kung Fu” and a Refugee Camp.
February 15, 2015: Abbas Alizada, the Afghan Bruce Lee
It’s always the process that defines the trip, and the road to Abbas Alizada’s house was an interesting one. The first long road Shuja told me was built by Turkey. It went by the Darul-Aman Palace, which was King Abdullah’s fabulous home once upon a time. Now it’s a shot-up, bombed-out ruin that somehow remains standing. Shuja and Mohiuddin told me stories about people collecting money from students and teachers to rebuild it, but they said “Nothing happened.” This dark gray hulking skeleton of a former palace is also where Abbas trains sometimes, but we were very fortunate indeed to be invited to his family home, quite a ways up several roads, each with its own history.
It’s necessary to add at this point that I’ve been here three days already and Shuja has proven himself again and again to know the history, culture and languages of every part of Kabul, and to have friends and relatives everywhere too (except maybe the refugee camp; but I’m pretty sure some distant relatives are there; he just doesn’t know it). He’s also a simultaneous translator with an enormous English language vocabulary who always seems to say the right thing in the right way to open every door we knock on. He makes the whole meeting, interviewing and researching of people and places, as well as the follow-up process, a pleasure.
At one intersection going up a hill Shuja told me, “This was a place for killing during the war.” I asked him which war. “The Civil War in 1993 and 1994 between the Soviet and American-backed Mujahedeen,” he answered. Though people here are very appreciative of foreign help in freeing Afghanistan from tyranny, they also feel that foreigners have been the cause of the vast majority of their problems.
Soon we turned onto a smaller, older, paved but very rutted road going further up into the hills, and Shuja told me this road was built by the Russians during their war here in 1995.
I mentioned that it was only a couple of weeks earlier that Russia had formally installed an ambassador in Kabul, and my new friend Mohiuddin who was bravely driving quipped that, “There are no friends or enemies forever.” How true, how true.
After asking directions a few times, we found Abbas’ house and met him outside his comfortable flat which he shares with his father and two of his five (older) brothers. Though he’s about the same size as “Bruce Lee, he looks bigger in person, or maybe it’s because his house is on a small hill (among bigger hills), so he looked huge coming down to greet us.
He greeted us in a very warm and friendly manner, genuinely happy to meet us. His apartment is one of several flats on the first floor of this large pretty nice house. We all sat on the floor in a circle, except his father who sat on a raised platform usually reserved for eating or smaller meetings. The two brothers wandered in and out, sometimes with tea, or as per their nature.
First I asked Abbas how he first became famous. He said, “I didn’t know it happened until after it happened. My cousin called me in December (three months ago) and told me.”
“But how did your image first become known? Something you posted?”
Abbas explained, “There’s a social networking site called Afghanistan My Passion, and some photos of mine were posted there. They got passed around Facebook.” (By the way, almost everyone I talked to in Kabul seemed to be on Facebook via their phones.)
“How about the videos?”
“They came after I became famous.”
“I’ve seen so many stories about you; how many international journalists have come to interview you?”
“One hundred international reporters from different countries came to visit me at home or the old palace.”
Abbas then recited the names of around a dozen different news agencies, newspapers, magazines, broadcast stations and countries from around the world in their native languages. That was impressive. “I can’t remember them all,” he said.
He’s not employed at this time as he takes care of his elderly father. His family is originally from Ghorband District of the mostly rural Parwan Province. His oldest brother is a construction worker, the second brother is jobless, the third is a manager at the Traffic Department, the fourth is in real estate, the fifth is jobless, and Abbas (the sixth) takes care of his father, but his dream is to become a true Kung Fu master, the “Afghan Bruce Lee,” act in Hollywood movies, be famous and, most importantly, help his family and nation.
So he trains every day at “The Fitness Club” near his home with Master Nabibulian Razae.
When I asked if he had a girlfriend, he said “No, I don’t want one now. I just live to train and take care of my father.”
In Afghanistan, getting married for men is exceedingly difficult and expensive. I was told earlier by Shaja that the dowry the groom must pay to the lady’s father to get married in Kabul is around USD $25,000; strangely, the dowry in villages is double that. Dating in Afghanistan is a serious kind of business, and not something someone would want to take lightly. “Intercourse” is illegal in Afghanistan unless the couple is married and can get a person five years in prison. His decision certainly seems a wise one.
I found out he likes to swim sometimes too. He is “Bruce Lee lean.”
“I’ve heard you might be in a movie in the U.S. Is that right?”
“I was contacted by Linda Lee’s secretary a couple of weeks after I became famous, but I haven’t heard from them since.”
I also found out he’d gotten a call from the office of Afghan President Ashraf Ghani regarding a possible invitation to visit, but again he’s waiting. A flash in the pan?
I don’t think so. I’m sure something will come through. As a matter of fact, I’d asked Shi Yan Pei, head monk of the “North Shaolin Monastery, to write a letter to invite Abbas to live for free there this year, which he happily did, with the appropriate red seal and everything. So I gave that to Abbas, along with an extra copy of Kung Fu Tai Chi magazine that I’d brought.
He said his dream is to go to the Shaolin Monastery to learn Kung Fu, but he can’t go until next year and he was very anxious to know if the invitation could be changed. I assured him it was no problem at all; when he’s ready, they will welcome him, and I or he can get another letter very easily.
I tried to find out why he wanted to delay, but didn’t exactly get an answer. It could be several things; maybe he’s waiting for the President or a movie offer. The grapevine in Kabul has it that he may be wanted to help make a better finish to “The Game of Death,” Bruce Lee’s final and unfinished movie. There’s no doubt that Abbas does look and move pretty much like the real Bruce Lee (though he’s still quite young at only 21 years of age). It’s also possible his father made him promise to wait for some reason, possibly to ensure that he’s mature enough to go overseas alone. Abbas does speak English a bit, but it still needs a lot of work.
My final question was, “Where do you see yourself 30 years in the future?”
“I want to be a famous master of Kung Fu, then a Hollywood Kung Fu star, and help my family.”
I invited him and his family out to dinner, but he politely declined, so Shaja, Mohiuddin and I took our leave.
I must say at this point that Mohiuddin had an uncanny ability to remember and effortlessly navigate extremely rutted dirt roads after dark in an unlit part of his district. But as I learned over time, there’s a lot more to all these men than meets the eye. They are young supermen, in my opinion.
Afghan Dinner
Back downtown close to my hotel is the kind of restaurant only locals know and usually don’t talk much about – keeping it on the “low low” as they say. We had a spectacular dinner of truly delicious spiced rice and unbelievably tasty beef called “Qabeli Palaw,” and after that they saw me off at the hotel as it was a bit of a long day and I always like to type notes and sort and edit photos before sleep so the details don’t get blurred with the next day’s events.
Stay tuned to KungFuMagazine.com for the final installment of Kung Fu in Kabul by Gregory Brundage
