Firouza, 36, and her children Sakina, 19, Zahra, 15, and Ali, 16, had been fasting all day when I met them and Sakina’s husband Aman, 24, and Firouza’s brother, Mohammed, 25, on top of the mountain. The Afghan women’s fashionable manteaus and head scarves were striking along the austere granite landscape in 88 degrees, and the men were allowed to wear jeans and T-shirts. Originally from Kabul, Afghanistan, Firouza and her children have lived in Clarkston, GA, only the past two years, and before that, they lived in Iran for sixteen. Aman had actually fled Afghanistan, too, but lived in Moscow and Ukraine, and only recently met his wife Sakira in the U.S. They all speak Persian, Farsi, and English, but Aman also knows Russian.
“Our people are very friendly,” began Aman when I asked the group if there was anything they’d like others to know about their culture, especially since the people of any country are hardly ever their governments. “And everyone there knows his neighbor and is connected to at least 200 people…you always know what’s going on and can help,” he continued.
“It’s like Facebook incarnate,” I joked.
“I like to connect face to face," insisted Aman. “Most people [here] are not friendly.” He just meant not friendly in the same way he feels Afghans are, that Americans tend to keep to themselves more (but apparently not me!).
A man named James Tingley was flying a big traction kite overhead while we talked (he’s on YouTube, and I also filmed him), and so I asked them if they’d ever heard of The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini.
“I know him! I have his phone number!” Mohammed interjected proudly and then proceeded to tell me Mr. Hosseini’s whereabouts now in Virginia (or was it West Virginia?).
“Wow, you really weren’t kidding about everybody staying connected!”
They were true to their word about being friendly, too. Talking with them was one of the warmest and most spirited exchanges I’ve had thus far. They even asked me what my hobbies were but did look at me like some sort of strange curiosity that I didn’t have children yet (that generations of families don't all live together here also strikes them as odd). “Yep, I’m older than your mom!” I teased. Crazy to think Sakira, Zahra, and Ali could be my children, and that in the lottery of birth, I could have been born in Afghanistan. Instead I grew up in Stone Mountain, and here we all were on top of this big rock.