Kabul Diary

I look, charmed, as a fragile girl in pink is writing her name on ablackboard in three different alphabets: Latin, Arabic and Sanskrit. I am in a two-storied building surrounding a courtyard, full of chicken and strings with drying clothes. In the middle of this mess there are dozen of fragile young Sikh girls, busy with their lessons.
It is my third day in Jalalabad. I am here because I promised to Inger from Save the Children Norway-Sweden to collect the material for a presentation of their job. For the organisation focusing on rights of children in Afghanistan, it is unavoidable to handle education problems. Because of this I have visited different schools around Jalalabad.
Sometimes I compare Estonia to Afghanistan; my homeland is more or less agricultural country as well. But there is at least one big difference: almost all our ancestors were already literate by the end of 19^th of century. It seems for me that the most important is general literacy: to read the text and to basic calculus. My grandmother managed to get through her life with only four years of village schooling in her tiny home island.
Literacy is not something self-evident in Afghanistan. For example, my husband’s project employs a friendly and hard-working cleaner, Muhammad Zaher. One of my his colleagues had an idea to send this nice guy to an English language course in order for him to have the better job possibilities in the future. But there is one obstacle: Muhammad is not literate.

There is a unique sound without it I cannot imagine our home in Afghanistan. When I close my eyes and think about Kabul, it is always the sound of flying kites what comes to my mind.
As we just moved to Afghanistan, I used to climb on the roof of our guesthouse: it was then the only possibility to see around. My favorite memory is about boys who just started to practice as kite runners with their primitive self-made plastic kites.
As winter is closing more and more kites flutter in the sky. The top event is Kite Festival that takes place around New Year, i.e. in March. My husband’s driver Massoud offered us to see the festival. There were thousands of men and boys – flying their kites over Kabul Stadium. We were greenhorns in Afghanistan, so we were afraid of the crowd. We preferred to stay in the car and looked at the kite runners from distance.
As a matter of fact, the string of the kite can be dangerous. Najeeb, colleague from Pakistan, tell us that Pakistanis use the small bits of glass to make the string sharper. It is a really nasty idea: those dangerous strings have caused fatal accidents.
Late Friday afternoon young relatives are visiting our landlord and trying to fly their colourful kites in our yard. The first attempt on the ground is not successful, so they move on to the balcony. I join them as an observer.
Youngsters need just one minute to send the kite up in the sky. After some time I can only see a small dot and five minutes later it is gone. Obviously somebody cut the string…

It is a fantastic feeling to sit on the balcony and to look at all those colourful pieces of joy everywhere in the sky. There is somebody on almost every roof. I try to count, but I stop after twenty. Just before the darkness falls, the experienced looking guy on the roof of the neighbour’s house draws down the last kite. The kite fighting is over.

Last Friday we drove to Paghman with our friend Jean. Driver Karim, the father of five, takes his oldest shy daughter with us as well. We have a wonderful walk up to Paghman River, enjoying warm sunshine and murmur of the stream. I wonder that there are almost no people in the popular picnic place; the season seems to be over. Just some jaded kebab-offers have a tedious time while some families eat their kebab, mast and chai under the trees covered with golden leaves.
We have had a long holiday – one and half month – in our home back in Estonia. I am always amazed about the metamorphosis inside myself, moving from my homeland in Northern Europe to Afghanistan. And opposite. For example, it takes some days to become used to the fact that we can buy frozen foodstuff like ice cream – because there is all-time electricity. Back in our lovely Kabul home, after one day I have already the feeling as if I lived here forever.
After one-month routine in Estonia, Kabul seems dangerous and unattractive. Especially thanks to media – there is a lot of coverage as there are more than one hundred Estonian troops in Helmand. After a while I stop reading the articles about Afghanistan written by Estonian journalists, spending one-week war-tourism-trips in south. Last one I tried to read began with sentence: ´”There is no doubt that military helicopter is the most preferred transportation in Afghanistan.” Really?!
I am the only Estonian journalist living in Afghanistan. I am not very beloved by my homeland defence forces because I have not praised the foreign forces. They dislike me so much that I was not allowed to listen to NATO conference about Afghanistan in my hometown. There is not enough room, was their answer.
Conversations in Estonia about our living here are almost always the same: how can you live in that horrible country? My replay is: it is beautiful country. I spend so much energy explaining the simplest facts. There are big differences between south and north. There is a different climate. There are different landscapes. There are different tribes and traditions. And definitely all Afghans are not interested to kidnap or kill me...
To explain my point of view I started to organize photo exhibitions in biggest cities of Estonia. The official to whome I showed my photos, seemed really confused. It can’t be Afghanistan, she just murmured. Also I decided to publish a book (in Estonian) with my own photos. In order to counterbalance fear and hatred, that is generally connected to Afghanistan-topic, the title will be Beloved Afghanistan.

Some days ago our foreign community of Kabul was alarmed: a German lady was kidnapped from a small fast food restaurant. This place is close to parliament and to my husband’s working place. Only fifteen minutes earlier my husband Andres bought bread from a bakery, just around the corner.
Although the Afghan police’s operation succeeds – the kidnappers are captured a day later – I feel quite uncomfortable. There are some rumors that some other foreign ladies have been targeted as well. Maybe those rumors are produced by fear? Was it only one gang or are there some more criminals who got now a bright idea how to earn money?
Yes, at the moment we are saturated with kidnapping stories – there are no news about nineteen Korean or a German engineer -, but those incidents happened outside of Kabul. Last kidnapping in Kabul took place two years ago. Until recently I have been quite relaxed about walking around alone here.
I remember what we were told during security training just after we landed. Is it good news that statistically I have 60% chance of survival? Or the fact that mostly the kidnappers are interested in men– but last incidents show that kidnappers are have started to target females. I have followed the basic rules: always be cautious and not to walk the same streets at the same time. But I have ignored the recommendations about going out alone or not walking in dusk.
It is for the first time - after one and half year – which I am sitting voluntary behind walls, reading books and feeling, bored. I need to wait for some more days to be sure that the crisis is over. But the worst thing is that you never know. It is Afghanistan. Things just happen here.

Before going to Afghanistan, I had the same dream for many nights. I walked alone in darkness in the middle of narrow quiet streets, surrounded by high walls. Somehow I knew that it is Kabul. At that time I had no idea how the streets of Kabul look like in daytime, not to mention the night time. I remember clearly my feeling of despair after security training: it seems that there is no possibility to walk around. Fortunately, we overcame our fears shortly.
My husband and me, we walk quite often at sunset time: to visit friend, for shopping or to go to restaurant. It has been a little bit dangerous not because of criminal gangs, but because of undeveloped city environment: there are no streetlights and deep canalization ditches edge the streets. In addition there is breathtaking stench, those ditches are truly terrifying: one can easily to step into sewage water or even break a leg.
Huts of chaokidars’ (guards in Dari language) block the sidewalks, so one has to step on motorway. Usually there is some light coming from their cabins: guards are looking at their TVs. I really wonder when this idiotic practice will finish that an army of young Afghans spends their days “guarding”, i.e. lazing in their huts, drinking tea, watching TV or playing with their guns. We have seen how bored guys just hurl their guns in the air – like a circus artists do.
Summer nights in Kabul are somehow charming as heat of the day is gone. The wind weakens and breathing is easier. There is some illumination at the vegetable and fruit stalls and windows of bakeries. Hurrying clients buy last pieces of naan while the bakers are preparing for the night, brushing cheap carpets. They sleep where they work.