Kabul Diary

Reportages of Balkh region XI: Nazifa and Islam

2009-08-19T22:18:00.001-07:00

Fourteen year old Nazifa likes to study. She especially likes mathematics; even during her free time she tries to go through some lessons. Free time is of course scarce, because mother needs to be helped taking care of her little sisters and brothers. Nazifa dreams of working as an engineer or a doctor. The young girl believes that her dream can be a reality – for she has seen with her own eyes in the village clinic a female Afghan nurse working there.
Today Nazifa is bowing over the holy book. Over one book a bevy of girls is found, as there are not enough books for all of the students. Unfamiliar with the circumstances you may think that this is a singing class, actually it's a Koran class: the teacher sings the holy text first and the girls repeat together after the teacher.
Afghanistan is an Islamic republic, the religion plays a very important role in this country – and so the children start studying the Holy Koran already from the first class and until the ninth class. To understand the holy book in its original scripture and not as a translation, Arabic must be studied also.
Islam is not only important as book wisdom; it actually determines opportunities and gives behavioral guidelines for everyday life, whether it is marriage, eating or prayer. In Afghanistan it is customary for the women to pray at home. This rule has exceptions. For example, in Mazar-e Sharif, women and children also are allowed to enter the famous Shrine of Hazrat Ali (called Blue Mosque as well). Amazingly peaceful atmosphere of this shrine is the destination of many a family's pilgrimage; here you can meet people from all over Afghanistan. In this beautiful shrine built during Timurid era you can find serious men praying, children wearing their Sunday clothes eagerly feeding holy white doves, or women with their children heading towards the tomb of the saint Hazrat Ali.

Reportages X: Street children

2009-08-18T22:19:00.000-07:00

Looking at Farida, you're struck by her life experienced glare. It is difficult to believe that she is only a ten year old girl. Feriha is the same age, a gentle Hazara girl. They sit in a classroom full of eager children. This is no ordinary school; this is Ashiana center, a place that offers education to street children. These children have one thing in common; they have all had to earn a living on the streets from a very young age. In Afghanistan it is normal that children start helping support their families at a young age. Sometimes families are so poor they have to send their children to work on the streets.
Look at the picture of a little boy at Hazrat Ali Shrine in Mazar-e Sharif. He presents a good example of your regular child-salesman: he carries around his neck a box where chewing gum, biscuits and crisps are.
Ashiana aims to save children from work slavery through the help of a personal sponsor. To find a sponsor, Ashiana offers the families a contract: the family gets 260 US dollars a year (this is the amount the child could make in a year). After signing the contract the child is free of work and can devote his or her time to studying. Sometimes the family agrees later to transfer their children to regular schools, to continue their education. These children are very good students: usually after a year at Ashiana they go straight to state school to the second or third class. Today Ashiana has helped 2000 children become literate.
Sometimes you are left with the impression that the family is against educating their children, but the truth is in most cases the reason is poverty caused by extraordinary situations. Farida and Feriha talk about their life in the outskirts of Kabul, where the whole family is squeezed into a small rented room. Even a small room costs 2000 Afghanis (40 US dollars) a month. Both have six brothers and sisters who also work: some wash cars, others sell chewing gum.
Farida is a half time student to begin with: during the mornings she goes gathering paper and cardboard in the streets with her brother. For lunch Farida goes to the Ashiana center: the lunch given at the center is usually the only proper meal the street children get during the day. Farida likes to study, she especially likes the Koran lesson, secretly she dreams of becoming a teacher.
Feriha has been free from working the streets for the last year. She used to look for plastic with her brother in piles of garbage, which they sold to merchants, earning about 60 Afghanis (1.2 US dollars) a day.
Now the girl who dreams of becoming a doctor goes to a regular school, she especially likes Mathematics. She is happy that she has made many friends at school as well. Even others know about her past as a street child, no one makes fun of her: in impoverished Afghanistan, gathering garbage is a regular job.

Reportages of Balkh region IX: Hard life in Keshendeh

2009-08-18T22:12:00.000-07:00

Even though Ghulam Rassul is only in the fifth grade, he has a specific goal: he dreams of becoming a teacher. Today he is the class president and assists the teacher. He studies with great care, especially mathematics and physics. Ghulam Rassul is sure he wants to become a teacher in his village: the teachers of Apkupruk boys’ school in Keshendeh are mostly elderly and lack education.
In his free time Ghulam Rassul like every other school boy dreams of playing football. There is never enough time to play as much as he'd like, because he has to help his parents and brothers. He has seven brothers and they often need help working on the small plots of land around the village. Here they grow crops that don't require much water, like watermelon and melons.
Keshendeh village is 80 kilometers away from the center of the province Mazar-e Sharif, it takes four hours to drive there. A river must be crossed. There is no bridge and when the water is high then it's impossible to reach the village. On the narrow bumpy gravel road you meet a few trucks and village men on horses or camels. Because this year there has been plenty of rain, the hills are green and much grass can be gathered. Only the rain waters the hills. Rain water is gathered to keep in the sides of the mountains in special containers called kandas. Although the inhabitants of Keshendeh work very hard, they still face a poor life style – regardless of all their hard work, they only have one yield a year.
Different color fields form the Keshendeh braes just like a colorful quilt. Cultivating these little fields is very hard work. Usually this is done by hand. Sometimes donkeys can be seen plowing the fields. Stubborn donkeys are not a suitable animal for plowing, which is why usually oxen are used in Afghanistan. But what can you do when you are desperate and unable to buy an ox....

Reportages of Balkh region VIII: Life skills

2009-08-18T06:24:00.000-07:00

How do you make the people around you understand that a disabled child is just as capable as a child who is not disabled? This is a difficult question for many families. Especially in Afghanistan, where a disabled child is regarded as a source of shame to the family and is kept hidden away at home. With the help of foreign aid programs, some centers have been established in the bigger cities where blind, def and other disabled children are taught and given activities. Specialized and trained social workers go from home to home and to the surrounding areas to give consultations and explanations. Often the parents are amazed at how the child they thought to be stupid carefully memorizes a passage for school. Some good students go on to find a suitable job, such as a tailor or a mechanic.
Afghanistan's students appreciate the fact that they are able to go to school, especially those children who according to local tradition are regarded as hopeless member of the society. Shengan center for disabled children is a place where everyone is able to learn according to his or her ability: in one class a regular lesson is being given according to the governmental curriculum, and in another class students are being taught day to day skills – it is important to explain to people that one may be def, but still clever and able to work. In the third classroom puzzles are being put together and in the fourth classroom how to use a computer is being taught. The students dream of having the Internet and being able to communicate with children in far off schools. Unfortunately in Afghanistan this is only possible through a satellite connection, which is why it is extremely expensive.
It is rare to encounter such pure joy as the kind encountered in the Shengan center. It is wonderful to see how well the teachers and the children get along: whether in the classroom or in the playground. The 65 students here are special because they have to overcome obstacles day in and day out, obstacles regular people don't face. So how does a def person cross the road in a country where there are no pedestrian cross roads or traffic lights? The six people working at the center are also special, because it takes allot of patience to deal with disabled children. But patience is one thing the Afghans have...

Reportages of Balkh region VII: A story of Keshendeh girls' scool

2009-08-18T06:00:00.000-07:00

Foreign guests are squatting with fifty girls in the shade of the mountain, a hundred meters from the school house. The morning – girls shift – is over and now it's the boys shift. Usually boys and girls have separate schools in Afghanistan; in Keshendeh the girls don't have their own school.
Although The Prophet Mohamed, Peace Be upon him, said: “seeking knowledge is obligatory upon every Muslim, male or female”, in Afghanistan men's education is considered more important than that of a woman's. This is why the boy schools tend to be built before the girls’ schools are. Sometimes a school is not yet built for the girls and so the girls have to use the boys’ school. This is what happened in Keshendeh: the little old school high at the shore of the river has to accommodate three shifts. The classes are full. There are not enough stools and desks – the clever boys take plastic chairs with them from home. As the new boys school is being built the building of the girls school has been delayed due to arguments over land.
The direction of the Aqkupruk School is not happy with the fact that the foreign visitors want to talk with the girls. Finally they agree to the visitors talking to the girls, but pictures are not allowed to be taken. The foreign visitors’ explanations do not help - the wall of mistrust remains up. This can happen because the Afghans have different experiences with the outside world. What influences the foreigners bring with them? It is unknown so it's best to keep away from them...
How do you interview three classes of school girls at once? Especially when the on listening male teachers try to answer for the shy young girls? Some female teachers are also squatting here. But they are apathetic and don't answer any questions. It seems unbelievable that just forty kilometers away you can find Sholgara village girls school, where every female teacher seems to be bursting with good intentions and energy.
And then a miracle happens. One young girl stands up and asks the visitors for help. You foreigners have to help our village women, she says bravely. We need our school house. We need educated teachers. We need a laboratory to study biology. We need computers to get present day knowledge. And we need the Internet and English teachers to communicate with the outside world.

Reportages of Balkh region VI: Joy of the game

2009-08-18T05:32:00.000-07:00

Childhood in Afghanistan is short, because children start helping their parents at a very young age: they bring water, take care of their younger siblings, and wash the dishes. As the Afghan children have many work responsibilities and few toys, they are very good at utilizing every free moment. One little street girl who sells chewing gum says:” I don't have toys, but sometimes a like jumping around!” And so you find kites flying in the sky made of old plastic bags, little girls chase each other in hidden street corners and in every little open area there are boys kicking a ball around. Not every family can afford to buy a ball but when there is a group of children, one is sure to be found.
Keshendeh village is far and poor; here all the members in a family have to work hard. If in the evenings after work there is time, then school work is allowed. Helping the family is the main priority! The school boys do find time to run around between lessons. They play football and a unique jumping game: they jump on one leg trying to push the others down. The winner is the last one standing.
Although boys and men playing football is a usual site in Afghanistan, girls playing sport is not the case. Only few schools and centers facilitate sports for girls. It is hard to play sports when you are complying with all the regulations: away from sight and completely covered. But the girls enjoy running around just like the boys do. Behind the high walls of Shengan Center for disabled children def girls and boys play against each other in a match of volleyball. Actually the girls have a few male teachers on their side. The girls' shrieks of joy as they try to hit the ball with their henna decorated hands put everyone in a good mood: the children watching bashfully from the side lines or the classroom windows.

Reportages of Balkh region V: Far away from home

2009-08-18T05:17:00.000-07:00

Habibullah is curiously listening at the door – he also wants to take part in his mother’s conversation with their guests. The mother says that the oldest son is working in Iran, and the daughter’s family just returned from The United Arab Emirates. To a stranger this household looks like a little peaceful oasis: there are roses and lovely mulberry trees, inviting carpets put out on the veranda. Why do the local inhabitants need to leave this place – it is a peaceful and bountiful place?
A big Balkh river goes through Sholgara village, and there is more than one yield a year. Now in May the crops are being picked. As another crop profitable rice is grown. There is even a forest in the region, which is a rare and beautiful thing in Afghanistan. When the previous years have been dry and rain has been little, then spring 2009 has been very rainy. This year in Afghanistan all the farmers are looking forward to a fine crop. But a lot of rain does not always bring good news. The rains have also caused floods and destroyed homes and fields. At one point it was impossible to get to the village, because the high waters destroyed the bridge.
The floods are not the main cause behind many looking for work in other places than their village. The cause behind this evil is in land ownership – only a fifth of the families here own the land. There is not enough daily work to be found at the land owners. If the family has nothing to sell at the market, or does not teach at the schools, then there is very little chance to find work: try to find road work or try to find work even further, abroad.

Reportages of Balkh region IV: Young teachers

2009-08-18T02:08:00.000-07:00

Young teachers gather curiously in the teachers’ room around the visitor from far away. The Slovakian Olympia shows pictures of twin schools from other countries and of Afghanistan children. The teacher’s room is comfortable: in the corner there is a coat hanger with burqas on it. There is a cabinet for the documents, a rug on the floor and hot milk in the thermos.
One of the teachers is Najiba, an 18-year old young lady with a delicate smile. In Bibi Khadija School for girls it is often difficult to tell the difference between the students and the teachers, because the teachers are so young. Najiba teaches Pushtu language, she also likes history and biology. She loves to read – mostly in the evening when the family and her little child are sleeping. Najiba has been married for three years already, proudly she shows off her young husband and child's pictures on her mobile phone.
Najiba's 22-year old college Koubra has been married for five years now. Koubra's husband is studying far away in Shebergan. He is studying science, with the aim of becoming a biology teacher. The married couple has two children who the mother helps to take care of. In Afghanistan it is usual to live in an extended family. Many different generations live together. That makes it easy to always depend on one another.
Both Koubra and Najiba studied to become teachers in Kjuja Sikander high school for boys in the same village. They started studying to become teachers while they were still students in high school themselves. In Afghanistan there is a shortage in female teachers. And girls must have a female teacher at the age of puberty or they are not aloud to attend school. This is why female teachers are very important. Koubra tells us about her routine back then, she would wake very early in the morning, first of all she would go to her school and then she would go to the teachers’ course. She would get home late at night; she would walk many hours everyday.
Bibi Khadija School for girls is the only school for girls in this region. The Swedish Committee for Afghanistan helped open this school here back in the 1990's, but back then due to security problems the school had to be closed. In 2002 the school was opened again. The conditions to begin with were bad. Six years later though, with the help of the Swedish Committee the school was ready. “It is so wonderful that we have a school house and no longer have to study in tents,” say the teachers.

Reportages of Balkh region III: Drinking water

2009-08-18T01:50:00.000-07:00

When you ask the girls at Bibi Khadija school for girls which water you can drink, they all answer: only from a pump water well. And if there is no pump water to be found then we take the water from the river and we boil it before drinking. It is great that these girls have basic hygienic knowledge. It is also great that their home village has clean drinking water, because in the last few years the Swedish Committee for Afghanistan has built 20 drill wells in Sholgara – one of which is found in the girl school's yard. They have also built some public toilets; toilets are a luxury that only a tenth of Afghan families have.
Only a sixth of the population has access to clean drinking water. Pump water wells are very expensive to build and very few have their own well. This is why usually natural water sources are used for drinking water. If basic hygiene is not practiced like boiling the water before drinking it or washing hands then disease is very easily spread. Half of the causes of death of children under the age of five is diarrhea. The building of pump water wells, the informing of the importance of washing hands on popular radio shows and the teaching of hygiene to children in schools certainly helps the reduction of the spread of disease.
The new shinny pump water wells are striking from a far in Sholgara village. Fetching water is usually the youngsters’ job in Afghanistan, which is why you usually meet large numbers of children around the wells. Everyone carries the water in their own manner, whether by donkey, by canister, by cart or by jug. And a little fun can always be had – whether it be chatting or running around.

Reportages of Balkh region II: Teachers' day

2009-08-18T01:19:00.000-07:00

On this Midday there is a certain excitement in the air. The young ladies arrive with homemade pies bulanis or pots of rice carried on their heads. One girl has some bread naan in a plastic bag; another girl is gently carrying another festivity dish mantus, raviolis. Many of them have brought plastic flowers, a popular decoration used at parties in Afghanistan.
At the gates of Bibi Khadija School for girls arrivals are received by some of the organizing committee members. At the same time the rest are hastily making last minute preparations: carrying stools from the classrooms to a narrow corridor, washing fruits and setting the table for the guests in the teachers building. Today is a celebration. Today is teachers’ day.
The party starts later than scheduled. This is usual in Afghanistan: a few of the male teachers and guests help put up the shiny decorations and posters, the amplifier refuses to function and finally they give up on it and start making speeches, reciting poems and singing with their natural voice. This makes it very hard to hear - all of the school girls don't fit into the building one way or another, the girls squatting tightly next to each other, or shoving each other behind the open doors trying to see over one another.
The speeches are grand though - each speaker stressing the importance of teachers in their own way. The speeches continue when the head of the shura (council of elders) and the guests are seated at the table to eat all the good food. At the end of the meal desert with the words “welcome” written on it is served. In Afghanistan there is a good habit of giving gifts to teachers, and of course on this important day, every family tries to send the teacher the best gift they can.

Reportages of Balkh region I: On way to school

2009-08-18T01:02:00.001-07:00

Two little giggling girls stand under the shade of a tree, waiting for the group of passing school girls. You can recognize the school girls from a distance because they wear dark clothing and a light head scarf. Usually they wear cheap plastic slippers. In the larger cities the streets are filled with a fluttering flow of a mixture of black and white after school. In the country all the children come from different areas so the groups are smaller. Women and girls in Afghanistan try to move in groups because it is safer that way.
When the girls are at an age where they are considered adults, they have to wear a chador or a burqa, which covers the whole body. Girls are considered adults at a very young age – two thirds of the girls are married before the age of sixteen. How much you need to cover depends on the region, the ethnicity, and the traditions. In the country it is more common to completely cover than it is in the capital Kabul.
Working in the fields women don't cover, when there is an approaching car or man then the burqa is pulled over the head. It is important to always behave decently. In Afghanistan this means that a woman should cover her self from the sight of strange men. This is why schools and homes are always behind high walls. Whether they are family or school girls their honor must always be protected.
Most of the students don't live near their schools, to get to school students usually have to walk many kilometers. Young girls are not driven to school; this is a privilege only married older women enjoy. The school girls do not complain, on the contrary. When I asked the girls when they miss a day of school, they are quiet, finally they answer:”only when we are sick”.

Travelling around Balkh province

2009-05-30T23:35:00.000-07:00

I am back from the trip to Balkh region. My job there is to compile eight photo reportages of schools. Those reportages will be shared between four countries: Estonia, Slovakia, Britain and Sweden. It was quite tricky to give agree because it is impossible to know if there is a possibility to take photos and what kind of stories one will find.
For example on one day we had to travel for four hours (and four hours back) to a remote village called Keshendi. There was no warm welcome – we were met by really mistrusting male teachers. There is a mixed school there, just the first shift is for girls. No pictures of female students or even of our village, the teachers stated. All female students were sent out of the school, under the shadow of the nearby foothill. One can imagine how it is to interview one hundred ladies when six male teachers are around, trying to answer all the questions themselves? At least I was able to talk to one boy and I took some photos of boys in classes…
This trip has been most exhausting I have ever experienced in Afghanistan - up to eight hours of driving per day on bumpy roads. But there were beautiful landscapes around: lush green areas on the bank of Balkh river and (every kind of green) hills near Keshendi. There has been a lot of rain this year, so the poppies and other small flowers color grasslands. For the first time here I saw a fox and I also got a glimpse of my favorite bird in Afghanistan - bright blue beauty named kabutar in Dari.
I was lucky to be accompanied to these villages by experts from Swedish Committee for Afghanistan. The committee has an excellent reputation among Afghans because of the splendid work they have done for education and health during the last 30 years. No doubt, their reputation is deserved.
After every workday, back in Mazar-e Sharif, I walked to Hazrat Ali shrine. I think that is the most peaceful place in this country: I have not seen any other place where the men pray in front of the medrese, females enjoying a gossip while sitting together and children running around at the same time. And everybody likes beautiful white doves at the courtyard of the shrine (have a look at my Kabul Diary archive from December 2006)

The life of the international community in Afghanistan is ruled by security companies

2009-05-17T21:19:00.000-07:00

I like the story of Shah Massoud as told by captain Attayee. They were friends, both from Pansjir Valley (I have seen photos of them together that were taken in our garden). Our landlord complained: “He visited me, accompanied by an army of men. Our neighbors didn’t like it, neither did my family. How can you be relaxed, surrounded by so many soldiers? I asked one of our friends (please note this small detail: it is not polite to ask directly) to beg Shah Massoud to leave his army behind. Next time he came together with couple of guys. But when I looked outside – there were 15 armed soldiers behind the gate...”
Every day I visit the nearby guesthouse in order to check my emails. The boring guards always ask me to open my bag in order to check the content. Da baks computar dorum, inja internet kar dorum - tufang nadorum, khatarnak nes - khoredja astum. I have a computer in my bag, I need to use internet here, I do not have a gun, I am not dangerous – I am a foreigner, I repeat my mantra every time until the day I refused to open my bag. What the hell – has anybody heard of a foreigner lady, who is walking around, bombs in her hand bag?
After my refusal the guards start to treat me with some respect. They just answer my greetings and open the huge metal doors without asking anything. Sometimes I see there guests, women wrapped in shawls and men wearing pullet-proof vests. They climb quickly into their huge white jeeps bearing UN signs. They look towards me in confusion while I walk away.
We have discussed the security issues with our friends. We came to a conclusion that to a large extent the security rules do not make sense. It is just a big business. Security companies have to pay an annual tax of 5000 dollars to get registered. Every guard with Kalashnikov is paid about 250 dollars per month - and one guy is never enough, but at least four are needed. We were told that the American University is spending 46% of their budget on security measures. Does it make sense?
I call briefly my mother to tell her that next week I am planning to travel to north of Afghanistan. Unexpectedly for me she responds: please do not go because the situation in Afghanistan is so bad! I and my husband, we look at each other in confusion. I try to explain that our understanding is different: for a quite a long time the situation in Kabul has been rather peaceful. My mother’s „objective” understanding of the situation is based on the news broadcasted in Estonia. How can I explain that if something is happening far away from Kabul then it does not affect us?
Every day I receive security messages. Many people seem to emphasize the number of incidents instead of trying to look deeper. It is quite obvious, that some parts of Afghanistan should be avoided. And there are some places (for example – governmental buildings) and people (important politicians, international soldiers) that should be avoided in Kabul as well. Otherwise it is quite safe.
Anyway, the security companies have promoted the situation in which major parts of international civilian community stay inside barb-wired compounds under the watchful eyes. I visit a house, which is rent by my husband’s colleagues. It is a nice well-kept house in the middle of a rose garden. But the walls are edged by shining barb-wires – it is a costly advice of a security company. Before the house looked like any other on that street, but now there is a clear message: attention please, this house is rent by foreigners! It cost more than 2000 dollars to install the barb-wire, but the price of wire cutters is probably 10 dollars...
In this blog entry you can see the photos that were taken at a market place behind the mosque named Pul-i Khesti. I invited along Inger, my former employer, to join me for a walk. She can afford to behave rebelliously as she is about to leave the country. Otherwise she risks being sent home for breaking the security rules.
Inger and I, we enjoyed the visit: the market is a place where Afghans among other things trade, drink tea, read books, play games, share gossip, eat kebab and even sleep. Cheap manufactured goods from China, Pakistan and Russia are on sale, also the huge piles of local rice, raisins, nuts and beans. We followed the flow of the crowd through the narrow labyrinths. After two-hours-long-crushing we head back to our car, full of emotions. It is not possible to visit the authentic place like Kabul old city bazaar by a car.

Visiting a morning prayer of Sufis

2009-05-13T22:26:00.000-07:00

After finishing my coffee at 5 a.m., I am ready to join our Afghan friend Karim. We are heading to mosque Shah-e do Shamshera (Mosque of the King of Two Swords in English), which was built by order of King Amanullah's (r. 1919-1929). Karim invites me to partake in the ritual of Sufis - simplest way to describe them is to call them Islamic mystics. The father-in-law of Karim was a well-known Sufi - leader in Afghanistan. We had planned to visit him, but unfortunately he passed away before it happened. Now the brother of Karim’s wife Farzana is the new leader.
The biggest Sufi ceremonies in Kabul are held on Wednesdays after the regular Morning Prayer, explains Karim to me. Women are not supposed to enter to mosques in Afghanistan, but Sufis are more liberal. Later I discover two ladies in the corner of the mosque. They lift their burkas to peek around and point to the carpet next to them in order to invite me to join them.
I liked Shah-e do Shamshera the first time I saw it three years ago. It is a small elegant building, which is different from otherwise titanic standards in Kabul. It is always surrounded by a crowd of prayers, street vendors and public buses. Unfortunately the traffic from one of the main streets was diverted past the building. Now the narrow street is in constant chaos.
We arrive when the Morning Prayer just started. The doorways of the mosque are jammed by Afghans. Inside there is not enough space, prayers outside can hear the mullah’s speech through loudspeakers while standing on the street or sitting on the bank of the Kabul River. There are lots of doves flying around. They are being fed by the prayers and vendors. Some people just hand few afghanis from the car window to a vendor who then hurls the seeds to the doves. After a while the mullah finished his speech and everyone in sight froze in order to pray.
Karim invites me to a small garden just across the street - Ziarat-i-Shah-do-Shamshira. According to Nancy Hatch Dupree, early Islamic sources tell us that in the 7th century, when Islam first entered Kabul, there was a very important Hindu temple. The Ziriat is dedicated to the memory of an early Islamic commander who fell here during a fierce battle against the Hindus, fighting with a sword in each hand.
Karim wants me to go inside the tiny crypt, but some of the visitors there object. Still other people kindly show me a green light. Karim wants to argue in order to get me inside, but I ask him not to proceed. I see no reason for debate just because of my curiosity.
Meanwhile most of the crowd had vanished from around the mosque and the doorkeeper waves us in. I take off my boots in order to place them on the top of shoes piled up next to the doorway. I am still skeptical about Karim’s idea to enter the mosque, so I ask cautiously: Edžoza as? (Can I?) Permission is given and I enter the lovely hall.
It is difficult for me to describe the ritual. The singing part alternates with reciting of the texts. Sharp rhythm repeats again and again until some kind of catharsis arrives. It reminds me of a flowing river: the prayers undulate as waves and some hands rise in ecstasy. I would like to follow the ritual until the end when Sufis start to whirl, but we have to leave because it is getting too late. Soon the working day will begin. I am looking forward to visit next Friday when with Karim I can visit the meetinghouse of Sufis – now my curiosity has increased and I want to see the entire ritual.

Are Afghans the most photogenic nation in the world?

2009-05-11T23:39:00.001-07:00

Last week we had a great possibility to meet Steve McCurry, the photographer who 24 years ago took a picture of an Afghan girl for the National Geographic magazine. The rest is a well-known history: the photo of the refugee girl with heavenly looks became a hit around the world, published in tens of millions. Years later McCurry went back to the region in order to find his model and miraculously they met again – he by now a worldwide known photographer and her a strict looking woman.
The McCurry’s presentation took place at the American Institute for Afghanistan Studies. We have been guests here before: we attended a lecture on tombstones and another one about the Durand Line. Once we watched here the first Afghan movie. Dating back to 1946, it is a funny piece of art mirroring the tastes of Bollywood: a naive love story with dancing and singing!
I liked the informal presentation by Steve. He showed us his pictures he had taken during his many visits to Afghanistan, explaining the stories behind the photos: sometimes he liked the colours or it was just a wonderful moment or many fabulous portraits. The audience was small (the meeting was announced only three hours before – it is difficult to respond so quickly in Kabul), so everybody had a possibility to ask questions.
During my stay in Afghanistan, I got the feeling that many Afghans have a very special - even ancient – look about them. They have is some kind of depth what feels sometimes almost desperate : I have not taken photos for months back at home, but I feel like a „photoholic” in Afghanistan. So I was happy to hear from Steve McCurry who has travelled around the world: probably Afghans have most photogenic faces I have ever seen, he argued.
During McCurry’s presentation I got a feeling that we have met before. It seemed to be impossible until he showed some pictures of Band-e Amir lakes. I had a flashback: me and my husband met him on the beach of Band-e Haibat, the biggest lake. He introduced himself as a journalist Steve from National Geographic. He looked at our tent and made a sarcastic joke that one can write two phrases on our tent: “kill me” and “rape me”. (For more read the Kabul Diary archives for June 2007)

Does the number of picnics match the living standards of Afghans?

2009-05-04T23:10:00.000-07:00

Waiting for kebab, we lodge on a wooden platform just above the foaming Paghman River. Definitely it is now the most beautiful season in Afghanistan. Under trees full of pale white blossoms, everybody seems so relaxed: men smoking water pipes, giggling women, young football players, dressed in pink shalwar khameezes. This year the spring is different: there has been a lot of rain and it is now very green. Good crop is expected.
I am back in Afghanistan for a month. It is exciting to be here: to settle down again in “our” lovely garden house at an Afghan family compound, to meet our Kabul friends (both Afghans and internationals), to visit familiar shops on Chicken Street. Sad part is that after one and a half year my Dari language has almost vanished. At first I struggle even with the words for vegetables: Bubakshed, ba dari chi megan? – sorry, how do you call it in Dari?
We have a very special guest at our first picnic in Paghman: my husband’s former driver Karim, who has been our good friend for a long time. He had helped us with everyday problems (and believe me, there are a lot of minor headaches in Kabul). Even more, often he spent his only off days – Fridays - in order to wander together with us around Kargha Lake or at some other lovely place close to Kabul. Sometimes he took along with him some of his lovely children, but never his wife. For Farzana it is not acceptable to go out in a company of a foreign man, my husband. But as a woman I have been lucky to meet her: I was invited as Farzana’s guest into a traditional wedding party at their house (sorry, no pictures).
Karim found a new job that matches better his qualifications, as once he studied law at Kabul University. Now he is working for an NGO as an attorney in order to help Afghans in prisons. His job is quite complicated: there are laws made by the government, but he has to consider the laws of Islam as well. But so far he seems to be much more satisfied as I have ever seen him: his wife is happy with his improved reputation and four of his children are studying in a private school (the smallest one is still at home).
We walk up by the river away from the picnic area. We have done it before, but every time the walk has been different. This time the road upstream is under water. Some cars (full of young modern Afghans) race through the water, so we have to cling to the rocks alongside.
I notice that there are now many more picnic areas when compared to the season three years ago. The terraces, once King’s gardens, are full of people again. A playground has been built for children and the ruins are turned into a mosque. “There are now more wealthy Afghans who can afford to go for a picnic,” is Karim’s opinion. Just so you know: we paid $10 for the kebab, tea and yogurt.

Beloved Afghanistan II

2009-03-28T05:04:00.000-07:00

"It was a very interesting and educational display, expanding my understanding of the Afghan culture. Now I understand the sentence: Afghanistan is a very beautiful country. I got a lot of new information from your exhibition: now I am interested to learn more about this country. Thank you for the touching and beautiful images. Watching those photos I hope that there is a better future for Afghans. I felt melancholy and sadness thinking about the suffering of Afghans. What a pride and dignity on the faces of the people! Thank you for your devotion to Afghans. Great photos, fantastic – I was there, but I never saw this country like you did. Visiting this exhibition made me forget the typical media picture of “everyday war” in Afghanistan."
These are just some of the inscriptions in the guest book of my photo exhibition. There are comments in Estonian and in Russian (Russians are a big minority in Estonia), but also in English, in Italian, in Finnish, in German... Furthest visitors seemed to be from US, Australia and Guatemala.
The exhibition has been to five museums and it is now in Pärnu, our summer capital on the coast of the Baltic Sea. The exhibition has been quite popular. In addition, I have received a number of invitations to give lectures: students, teachers, librarians, clubs or non-profit organizations. Even Estonian military forces seem to be interested.
My book Beloved Afghanistan was published half a year ago. Generally the feedback has been nice (by the way, it has been called the most beautiful travel book ever published in Estonia). Sales have gone reasonably, but not as well as expected. Why? In my opinion there are two reasons: first, the larger audience is more interested in personal survival – neutral portrayal style is not so common. The other reason is related to stereotyping. One librarian wrote in her blog: "I recommended Beloved Afghanistan to my reader and he responded: I am not interested to read about war! But there is everything else - with the exception of war – in this book…"
Anyway, I am satisfied with the results so far - it is making good progress slowly, but surely. There are more and more people interested in culture of Afghans, but also in Islam and Central Asia. Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Estonia decided to support the project Beloved Afghanistan once again: two more exhibitions will be held in different towns of Estonia and book will be sent to every college and school in Estonia.

Beloved Afghanistan

2008-08-10T00:25:00.000-07:00

I am back in Estonia, still dreaming about Afghanistan. I spent last months, rewriting texts for my book Beloved Afghanistan (Armastatud Afganistan in Estonian). Basically I used my Kabul Diary texts that I wrote in Estonian. I spent some months arguing with my editor and even more months working together with my layout designer. The layout of the book is very important, because I decided to publish a large format book where the texts and the photos are supporting each other.
Now the book is in printing house and I feel empty. But I have to pull myself together very soon, because I have to decide which images to use for photo exhibitions. Three exhibitions – the first one will start in our capital next month – all named Beloved Afghanistan will be held in major towns of Estonia.
Although the feedback has been very supporting so far – I got financial support from Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Estonia, I feel uncertain. Popular image of Afghanistan is so different to my experience, so I do not know what to expect. In Estonia it is the first attempt to describe Afghanistan from another point of view. Unfortunately Estonians have only military experiences – some time ago a lot of young men had to fight with Afghans because they had to serve in Soviet Army, now they are back again as ISAF soldiers in Helmand.
I hope that this first attempt will show if there is any chance for this kind of book or exhibition to be interesting for larger audiences. If the feedback is good then I will try to find an agent in order to publish my book in English.

Back to school

2007-11-16T06:57:00.000-08:00

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.
PS. The PDF of brochure Fighting for Children's Rights in Afghanistan for Save the Children Sweden-Norway is available in internet: www.reddbarna.no/default.asp?HMFILE=103012

Kite runners of Kabul

2007-10-30T04:36:00.000-07:00

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.

Back in Kabul

2007-10-21T07:35:00.000-07:00

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.

After kidnapping

2007-08-22T01:09:00.000-07:00

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.

Walking in dusk

2007-08-22T00:30:00.002-07:00

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.

Holidays in Kashmir

2007-08-15T06:05:00.000-07:00

Why are you planning to go to Srinagar? It is unsafe like Kabul, said one Indian guy. Other colleague of my husband – a young guy from Pakistan - remarked that Srinagar is “occupied territory”. Well, I have never seen so many men with guns as in Kashmir – far more than in Afghanistan. And there were four security checks at a small building of Srinagar Airport before we boarded our plane to Delhi.
Most of foreigners working in Afghanistan have their short holidays in Dubai, because there are two flights a day and you can do those things what are almost impossible in Kabul: shopping, swimming, sunbathing, drinking. Personally I do not like Dubai, it seems to me like a weird Arab style Disneyland. So we decided to go to northern India. Srinagar is quite close to Kabul – same distance like Mazar-e Sharif. But we had to take two planes, because there is no possibility to travel directly.
We found some similarities, but lots of differences as well. First of all, there are lush green landscapes: lots of trees, lakes and rivers. We stayed on a boathouse on lake Dal. It is an extraordinary lake with islands, countless birds and more than thousand houseboats for every taste and price level as well. Boathouses have funny names like Aristoteles, Miss America, Hollywood etc. Our houseboat name was Chicago – it was hard to imagine a more unsuitable name for such a lovely carved piece of art.
I was surprised about local wooden architecture: it reminded me old houses in Europe. We took a rides on water taxis – shikaras – in order to see locals’ marketplace in the early morning in the middle of lake and to admire lotuses and floating gardens. And a fort built by an Afghan governor towered on the hill on the other side of lake.
There are marvellous gardens next to the lake. Indian Moslem lords – moguls – used to build terraced gardens with fountains, flowers, maple trees and garden pavilions. Gardens are opened to visitors. Ladies frolic around the fountains, such kind of behaviour is out of question in Kabul.
Although the Kashmir is mainly a Moslem region, ladies do not cover themselves with burkas. Instead there are colourful veils and dresses. The atmosphere in Srinagar is relaxed.
Our boathouse manager advised us to go for trekking in the mountains near Pahalgam Valley. I have done a lot of hiking during in my life, but never in in such a luxury. We had three horses, two horsemen and a guide who was also a cook. There were two tents and lots of food on horsebacks. Even two chickens were taken along with us. And water pipe was important for our guides, as we discovered soon.
The people look similar to Afghans, especially men. Women’s scarves are more colourful but otherwise they are quite reserved and do not like photographing. They have small huts up in the mountains where they pasture horses, cows (for milk) and sheep.
We had some sort of intellectual game to find familiar words in Kashmiri and Dari languages. Kashmiri language is influenced by 14 languages, so we heard often similar words: sardi (sard – cold in Dari), garmi (garm – warm is Dari), bacha (guy in Dari).
It was like a journey to paradise: we walked under high old pine forests. Trees were so tall and strait that reminds me of redwood trees in northern California. There were lots of wild flowers along Liddar River. And I stop worrying about possible mines around on the second day of our hike.
PS. More images can be found on website Kabuli päevik http://qnne.blogspot.com/ (August 2007)

Separated worlds of women and men

2007-07-13T23:47:00.000-07:00

Afghan landlord holds a party in our shared garden. After thorough preparations nokar (servant) sets two tables: one for women and the other for men. We can hear a dignified talking through our living room window and there is endless cheerful laugh coming from our bedroom window. Even if it is a modern Afghan family, men and women are separated.
There is one favorite question, often asked: do you really believe that one can find happy women in Afghanistan? Of course I do. From my point of view, local traditions are so different from west, but it does not mean that all women are automatically miserable. Feminists like to tell sad stories about western ladies who had married to Muslims and moved to Muslim countries. I read some of those books in Estonia and unavoidably the question emerged: where is a story about normal marriage? There is one basic problem with those biographies: they are written by persons who were not prepared to live in Muslim environment. It is a different culture, which has strict customs and ancient traditions. It is naive to believe that family will change because of a foreigner.
The biggest difference – in my mind – is the fact that most of the time he or she is with people of the same sex. In western world it is common that we spend most of the (spare) time with our spouses. But here, in Afghanistan, the wife spends her time with her husband’s mother, sisters, aunts and other female relatives. It can be quite difficult, even unimaginable for a lady grown up in west.
The second biggest difference is living in an expanded family. I know of only one family in Afghanistan who lives in their own: my friend Waheed lives with his wife and a little daughter. Uncharacteristically he took care of his little daughter while her wife was at a conference in Iran. Generally speaking, different generations live together. I met on high official in Kunduz who has 22 children, all of them born to one wife. He complained that he cannot even remember his children names, but there are daughter-in laws and grandchildren living in his house as well…
Old people enjoy the advantages of expanded families. The oldest male – head of household – decides all-important questions. Also he manages family budget. For example, if a married young son works, then he gives his salary to his father. Father decides how much the son will receive for his needs and how much will go to others. The grandmothers I have met in Afghanistan were very dignified. Their experience is valued; younger family members serve them with respect and their orders are followed quickly. If I compare the old generation here to our grandmothers in Estonia, then I see that Afghans get much more love and support because there are always younger generations around them.

Breadmaking

2007-07-11T03:07:00.001-07:00

I walk into a local bakery - just around the corner – to buy a naan-e usbeki (flat round bread). Giuseppe, Italian colleague of my husband, suggested me to use this type of bread to make pizza. I get a hot bread what was a moment ago pulled out of a stove; so I dandle it between my fingers when walking back to our house. Price of bread is 8 afs (ca 16 US cents) – so I got change of 2 afs from 10 afs note.

During my first half-year in Kabul, I never saw any Afghan coins. It seemed that the smallest unit of currency is one US dollar. Now, when I walk around to buy vegetables and fruits from small local stands, the shopkeepers often give me back coins. If I refuse, then they offer me a fruit as a bakshesh (gift).

Bread is the main foodstuff for poor Afghans, so on rush hours there is even a queue in front of bakeries. One can see beggars or soldiers buying their main meal, but there are as well rich guys with their fancy four-wheel drive cars. Bread is unavoidable part of diet in Afghanistan. Rory Stewart, who walked from Herat to Kabul, had mainly eaten only bread.

In Bamian kind Hazaras invited me inside their bakery. Half a dozen men were shaping different kind of breads at unbelievable speed. In the middle of the room there was an oven what looks like a glowing hell. One young skilful guy placed bread – in just half of a second - to inner wall of the oven. After some minutes another person pulled bead out. He used special fork and spatula and his moves looked like a sophisticated way of dancing.

Their motions were so fast that I was not able to focus my camera properly.

Back to Bamiyan III: a night at Band-e Amir

2007-06-20T23:01:00.001-07:00

We stroll down the pathway over high cliffs along the waterside, trying to find an access path to the lakes. Finally we reach a canyon through where we can walk down to water level. Sunshine is too bright; so we just relax in shade. The playful hamsters are nearby; there are no human beings around during next four hours.
Back at Band-e Haibat, we try find out about possibilities to stay overnight. First we are shown a smelly cellar in chaikhana. It doesn’t look like an inviting place. Near bazaar there is another possibility: four rooms are available in a long narrow house. All rooms have a window and even a door with a bolt. There are mats on the floor and blankets in the corner as well. But the atmosphere is as damp as in the cellar we already saw.
The owner understands our hesitations and he offers us haima. What is a haima? It turns out; that it is tent – quite a new one. We look at each other: do we really wish to stay in a tent? There was a warning example when two camping German journalist were killed. Inja jang nes, hatarnak nes, nafara hub as – there is no fight or danger, here are good people, the Hazaras persuade us. Of course, the situation is different: the journalists were camping away from village near a riverside in Wardak province. The tent is erected in front of the house and our driver is going to sleep in his car, just two steps from us. We agree the price – 14 dollars -, and we are supplied with a huge pile of blankets. Later we meet with the journalist of National Geographic Magazine, who is going to sleep in the room we rejected. The journalist proposes sarcastically that one can write two phrases on our tent: “kill me” and “rape me”. This moment I do not know that one year later I meet same journalist - famous Steve McCurry - in Kabul. Well, we both are still alive...
Our night in tent turns out not dangerous, but miserable. First there are curious children around the tent; their movement looks like a shadow theatre. At ten o’clock in the night the Afghan family next to us decides to boil water in order to have a tea. Gas burner is placed next to our tent; so I am ready to rush out in the case our tent catches fire. During the night family members who visit toilet, stumble on our tent. At four a clock in the morning there is time for tea again and I decide to stop to pretend that I am sleeping.
I go to walk around Band-e Haibat. The water from numerous waterfalls is sparkling in the morning sun and the colourful mountains are reflecting in azure blue abyss (an average depth of the lakes is more than 80 meters). There are lots of fish. I heard that it is common to fish using electricity from batteries and explosives such as grenades.
After chai-e subh (breakfast) we drive to the place where the lakes are joined with a white travertine dams. Our driver Safiullah lies down while we ramble around the tiny shallow lake containing the light greenish water. But burning sun is high again and there is no place to hide. We are both quite exhausted because of poor sleeping, so we decide to return back to Bamiyan.
Our driver offers us to visit some other places on the road, but I feel really sick – it seems like I got a sunstroke. Back in hotel, I fall down into bed. Aga Sher, the caring owner of hotel, serves me a cup of herbs tea and a mango.
(End)

Back to Bamiyan II: Band-e Amir lakes, the greatest natures wonder in Afghanistan

2007-06-15T03:12:00.000-07:00

When speaking to Afghans about sightseeing, they ask at first: “Have you been to Band-e Amir?” These well-known lakes in the middle of the Koha-e-Baba Mountains are one of the few tourist places in Afghanistan. Thousands of locals bundle up the whole family and make a long journey up to the lakes. It takes one and half days from Kabul to reach this place. Furthermore there are a lot of mines left in this area. Three years ago one minibus got blasted next to the main road. Thirteen men were killed on the spot.
Band-e Amir (Dam of Amir in Dari language) is actually a chain of lakes, connected by limestone dams. There are six lakes, namely Band-e Gholaman (Dam of slaves), Band-e Qamber (Dam of Caliph Ali’s slave), Band-e Haibat (Dam of grandiose), Band-e Panir (Dam of cheese), Band-e Pudina (Dam of wild mint) and Band-e Zulfiqar (Dam of sword of Ali). The lakes are now declared a wildlife conservation area. But honestly, it seems to me that only sign of special status of the area is the new public bathroom.
Early morning we are picked up by a brisk old man Safiullah with his four wheel drive car. He knows some words in English. Our Dari vocabulary is a little bit bigger – by all means we manage to communicate during those two days we are going to spend together.
During the first part of the journey we pass through valleys full of trees. An hour later there is no sign of trees or settlements. Just huge herds of sheep and cows are spread out on the green hills. Taliban took most of animals; only now, after five years, the new herds are forming again, Safiullah explains.
Three hours later we see a colourful mountain massive. For the first time we see the lakes. When I see the colour of the water I realize that photos cannot truly convey this deep rich blue tint. We stop on the cliff, which towers over Band-e Haibat. There are some cars, a chaikhana (teahouse), a small shrine and a tiny bazaar on the side of the lake. High rockcliffs surround the most of the lake. The lower part reminds me of a spill over the edge of a bath. The long crescent edge of the lake is bordered with countless waterfalls.
Some families paddle near the waterfalls; I can hear shrieks of the children and women. We were told that up to 200 cars visit Band-e Amir in a day. But during our stay there were maybe twenty, not more. It depends on a weekday as there are more guests on Thursdays and Fridays when local minibuses bring Afghans from Bamiyan.
After eating kebab we ask Safiullah to take us to another lake. We explain to our driver that we will walk back (4-5 kilometres). Safiullah leaves and we are without a guide – for the first time in Afghanistan. Of course we have walked on our own in cities and villages, but here – in the middle of nowhere – it is a really splendid feeling.
(Continuing)

Back to Bamiyan I: the discreet charm of Hazaras

2007-06-14T07:48:00.000-07:00

Last year we spent our spring holidays in Bamiyan. We had some friends over there, midwives from US Siri and Marion. They were working in Aga Khan hospital. My husband and I, we stayed at hospital guesthouse and enjoyed the hospitality of the staff.
Bamiyan is one of the most beautiful valleys I have seen in my life; even when the statues of Buddhas have gone. The colourful mountain massive displays thousands of niches and caves. Hsuan-Tsang, the Chinese pilgrim who visited Bamiyan in 632, reported about ten monasteries and over 1000 priests.
We climbed up the ancient staircase inside the small Buddha’s niche (38 meters high).Large Buddha was 55m high. There is a complicated system of caves and grottos around Buddhas. Nancy Hutch Dupree describes different kinds of paintings on the walls. Unfortunately Taliban destroyed not only statues, but most of the paintings as well. Only small richly coloured fragments of flowers can be found in some places.
We walked up the steep hill of Shahr-e Zohak (City of Zohak or Red City), the fortress of Shansabani Kings. The remains date from 1221. Genghis Khan’s favourite grandson fell mortally wounded by the defenders of the fortress. Genghis Khan got so angry that he destroyed everything in the Bamian Valley.
We also visited the famous Darya Ajdahar (Valley of the Dragon). It is an interestingly split hill. A legend says that there was a dragon in this valley, demanding each day one beautiful young lady, two camels and 600 pounds of other foodstuff. One morning the dragon found a young warrior, sword in hand. It was Hazrat Ali, the Prophet Mohammad son-in-law. He split the dragon in two, down the entire length of his huge body. We arrived at this hill at a very certain moment: there was sun and rain and rainbow and murky clouds all at the same time. It was an unbelievable view from the top of this hill to yellow, red and even green hills around us and to snowy peaks of mountain range Koha-e Baba.
Now we are back again for holidays. It is a relieving feeling to step out from the small plane. Twenty minutes ago we were in dusty and noisy Kabul; now there are only sounds of singing birds and yelling donkeys. Our midwife friends have left so we stay in a well-known guesthouse Roof of Bamian.
We walk a lot between fields, enjoying the greenery and friendly smiles of Hazaras. Mostly they grow potato (90%) and wheat; short summer is suitable only for these weather resistant crops. Climate of Bamiyan is severe. There are long cold winters and a lot of snow. Loafs of dung are drying everywhere on the roofs around villages. Those smelly loafs are used instead of wood for heating in harsh wintertime.
On the fields one can see bright dresses and headscarves of Hazara women. They never cover their heads with burkas while working. Last year I made a lot of photos secretly from inside car. This year I try to avoid photographing; Hazara ladies do not like that. Instead I practice my Dari language - to put to test greetings and small talk. And sometimes miracles happen: after a conversation and showing of pictures on the small screen of my camera the green light for photographing is given.

Reportage from Kunduz river area

2007-05-28T03:07:00.000-07:00

I have recently spent some days in Kunduz region. My husband’s employer Landell Mills asked me to visit their other project in Afghanistan – Kunduz River Base Project – to take photos and to write a reportage about the situation on ground. It is a fresh approach. Usually the organizations in Afghanistan communicate, using formal language: one can find many reports, figures, and schedules on Internet. But there is almost no information available, from individual point of view. I liked the idea; so I gladly traveled to Kunduz.
First day I visited village Aqtepa (I was there in before in October of 2006) to see the new irrigation canal construction works. Second day I spent on wonderful green hills of reforestation area near Khanabad. Third day was the saddest. While I had a nice meeting with the village elders surrounding Changarok in Baghlan province, there was a suicide bomber attack at Kunduz bazaar. Lots of people – three German military troops, but Afghans as well – were killed. On last day I visited some small villages in Takhar province, to see small pistachio trees that have been planted on deep hills.
It was a good trip from Kabul to Kunduz and back as well –we bought tut (mulberry) from children in Khenjan. We traveled safely over Salang pass, covered by great snowcap on the top. We saw new power masts on the way – there is hope that next winter electricity will be imported from Tadjikistan. But I saw a reminder of the spring flood as well: on the way back of Salang to Kabul all bridges are gone and some houses as well.
It takes some time to finish my reportage. I hope that when my reportage is ready, Landell Mills will place it on Internet and everyone can read stories and see images about the development in Kunduz river area.
PS. Welcome to read the reportage on website http://www.krbp.blogspot.com/

Walking upstream by Paghman River

2007-05-05T21:37:00.000-07:00

Rory Stewart wrote: when other nations of Asia have romantic legends about the places, then the stories of Afghans are always associated with fighting or death. It is true. Some day ago my husband pointed out to our driver Karim - who is telling us another bloodcurdling story about Paghman – that his stories are always about death. On other hand, it is understandable in this country where every family has lost relative(s) because of attacks of soviets, mudjahedin or talibs. Or in other violent way.
We go to walk to Paghman, the place what was known because of its gardens and villas. Our company is northern: our Estonian-Swedish friend Wiiu takes with her Norwegian friend Inger, who is working with children in Jalalabad.
King Amir Habibullah (1901-19) had a summer palace here. (There are some photos of Paghman in Photoalbum from 1925). Nancy Hutch-Dupree describes the charming village with terrace gardens, fountains, cafes and villas. She advises to park the car and to walk under famous cherry trees, known from Babur times in this region.
Unfortunately, glorious times finished thirty years ago. Because of the fighting there is almost nothing left: the villas are in ruins and the terraces covered by grass. Only a white triumph arch from the times of king Amanullah (1919-29) is recalling the lost glory of this place, standing like a weird rudiment in the middle of the village.
First time we had a picnic by Paghman River on a chilly morning in March one year ago. It was off-season and we were lucky to find some warm tea and kebab. Karim parks our car at the end of the road. Now we discover that there are lots of tiny restaurants and picnic places; one can see preparations are going on for expected visitors.
We pass the picnic place and follow the river. It is a fabulous walk by crystal clear foaming water, coming down from the high peaks of Hindu Kush. Air is bright; only some shady clouds cover the snowy peaks ahead. As early as we turn around next corner, the cultivated fields end. Only some narrow bridges – in fact the pair of tree trunks are set side by side - remind the nearby settlement. We bridge the river; it takes some effort to glimpse down turbulent steam.
Soon the riverbed is narrowing. We meet a lonely young kuchi (the nomad of Afghanistan), guarding a huge bundle of smelly cloth and one chicken. Later we meet the kuchi women in colorful cloth in picnic place, consistently begging for money.
Back in picnic place, we are surprised by mass of cars and people. The parking is close to chaos, so we are quite happy to get Karim’s car out of this. We conquer the family tent just by the river and order some tea and kebab. It is a lovely day: the children are playing along the river, the young Afghans play football and the grown-up men are smoking water pipe. Far away one can see the Afghan ladies sitting on the carpet, chatting.
In short, just that kind of a day I am ready to live for in Kabul.

Parade and fair

2007-05-01T04:18:00.000-07:00

We receive on our Estonian mobiles SMS from Estonian Government: please stay at home and stay calm. This strange message is sent because of extraordinary situation in Estonia. There are riots in our little country. Mass of drunken vandals uses the removal of a soviet military statue as an excuse to trash all on their way. Next morning we see unbelievable shots of youngsters robbing shops and fighting each other: there are tens of injured and one killed. Estonian police is too weak to handle the situation. It is first time like this after Second World War…
Here in Kabul, we stay at home as well. Because of the mudjahedin parade in Kabul, there are suggestions to “keep low profile”. We see helicopters flying noisily over our heads, but it is the only thing what looks different. We are watching for two days the BBC News Channel, where drunken mob pull down our capital in Estonia. What an irony.
There was an interesting event in Kabul, the agricultural fair AgFair. We heard about millions dollars being donated by some organizations in order to build up the fair place: the round exhibition ground and huge tents,
We visit the Agfair on the last day, when families are expected. Almost three kilometres before the exhibition place the police refuses to let our car pass. We leave our car just on road side and tread under blazing sun towards the place where the new complex was built. Last part of the walk is really impressive when we are joined with the crowds of Afghans. It so nice to see that in addition to men there are so many women and children, nice dressed.
Agfair is organized superbly, by Afghan standards: there is an entertainment program presented by children circus, dancers and singers, the diners and WCs are opened as well. Firms are presenting their goods in stands, equipped with electricity and internet. A number of participants are connected with agriculture – as sellers of seeds, dried fruits or nuts -, but there are other companies as well: handicraft, packaged food etc.
The most surreal moment arrives when we arrive back at our car. Some policemen are suspecting that it might be a bomb car! Every car that stands for too long without a driver in Kabul, seems to be under suspecion… We wait for quite a long time aside our driver Karim, while irritated policemen scold him.

Buzkashi in Panjsher Valley

2007-04-15T19:45:00.000-07:00

In wintertime we tried go to see buzkashi (goat grabbing in Dari), the legendary sport from times of Genghis Khan. The game is typical for nomadic people of Central Asia. In Afghanistan – in fact only in Northern regions - buzkashi season runs from October to March. We fail two times: once there is too much snow on the playground. It looks more promising the second time: even audience gathers, but at last one lonely rider gallops to the spot and informs us that all buzkashi players are in Panjsher Valley. I am disappointed: to live in Afghanistan and not to see buzkashi seems so silly...
My husband’s colleague Steven organized on Friday a trip to Panjsher Valley, the base for legendary Tadjik Ahmed Shah Massoud and his Northern Alliance. Both the Soviets and the Taliban were not able to conquer the Panjsher valley. The Soviets attacked nine times the valley and failed every time.
We start our journey at 6.30 a.m. After 2,5 hours drive we enter the valley through a narrow canyon. It is a magnificent view because there is a lot of foaming water in the river at springtime. The road has been renovated recently, so it is unusually easy ride over green hills. Lots of red-white-pink tulips are feast for the eyes as well. Instead of lovely small white shrine a new pompous one on Massoud’s grave is being built. We pass it at first, our driver asks for directions and locals tell him about buzkashi.
Buzkashi has two forms: the traditional game tudabarai and modern garajal, promoted by government. Traditional game involves hundreds of riders. Chapandazans (or expert riders) are a major force, but everyone has the right to participate as well. Such kind of game we see in Panjsher. There are two villages competing with each other and it seems that at least hundred of horses and players have gathered in the wide natural arena of the river loop.
By accident we arrived at the right time – it is 9 a.m. The sharpest observers are already occupying the best places – some branches of trees and roof of the nearby house. Crowd has conquered the roof of a nearby sea container – a great view and a safe place, as I see later. Players are gathering, horses are brushed, small boys are riding them to warm them up. I can feel anticipation in the air.
At one discretionary moment the game starts. The task is to ride around the flag that is some hundred meters away and to take the carcass of a calf to a certain point marked on the ground by chalk. I can see only chaos of men and horses, surrounded by a dust cloud. Next moment horses rush towards the crowd – it is a full-blooded feeling, but quite dangerous as well. Horses are coming like flood toward us. Riders can’t stop their horses so rapidly, so we have to run from their way.
I look around and see that some guys on the top of the minibus wave to me. I close to the bus, shouting: “Salam! Chi al dared? Man journalist astum. Edzjoza ast?” (Hello? How are you? I am journalist. Can I climb up? in Dari). The Afghans give me green light and I clamber to the roof of the bus. It is a good decision: I admire the beauty of the wild game and the skilful riders glued to horses backs. I am safe when horses stampede into the crowd and people dash apart as quickly as they can.

Stone and kiss

2007-04-09T00:24:00.000-07:00

I go for a walk with my friend Viiu, who is interested to visit a distant shop of afghan handicraft. It seems that we tread forever on dusty streets. I try to follow shade because of sharp midday sun. Only one month back I tried to follow the sunny side. When we walk on the street full of men – it is a place where generators and spare parts for cars are sold – I am hit by a little stone. I look around, quite surprised, but I see nothing special. Was it just an accidental stone?
Some minutes later some ladies in burkas with a little boy, pretty as a picture, pass us. Suddenly boy stops, says “salam” and reaches out his hand. I take his hand and surprisingly he kisses my hand respectfully.
There are some moments it seems that I can understand afghans. Hans, professor of Cambridge University, tells about his talented Pakistani-origin student, who just disappears in the middle of his academic studies. Later he shows up with an excuse of solving family problems. For Hans it is obvious, that this guy spoilt his academic career. But we, living in Afghanistan, get used with “vanishing” - when afghan family has a problem, every member has to do his/her best to help.
However, sometimes I am confused because even the simplest thing can have another meaning. One day I was walking along the street alone. In front of me there was a man, carrying the armful of naan usbeki (rounded thin bread in dari language). He dropped some naan and I automatically stooped to help him. The next moment I realized that this guy was really irritated because of my unbidden help.

Spring in our garden

2007-04-09T00:00:00.000-07:00

After spending one month long holiday in Estonia, Kabul greets us with warm and sunny weather. There has been lots of rain in recent time, so rivers are full of water – time after many years. Kabul has 24-hours electricity supply. Kabul River has even flooded over his banks for the first.
After cold winter life looks like in paradise – quiet (no generators’ noise), green and warm.

Our shared garden is full of workers, who build complicated arches on landlord’s house terrace. Our landlord, captain Attayee, sits like overbearing padishah, leading forces. Sometimes I think that the gentlemen who survived a severe flight accident forty years ago at Gatwick Airport, would have a better fortune for old age. He has lost his leg because of advanced diabetes, but his mind seems to be unbreakable.

Out on a Friday II

2007-03-05T03:51:00.000-08:00

After visiting cemetery we drive towards Bala Hissar Fort. Unfortunately there is no possibility to visit fort because it is a military place. Nearby there is a lovely shrine - it the place for the only working fountain I have seen in Kabul - it is located south from the fort. There a lots of graves on neighbouring hills. It is a lovely peaceful place with view to a shallow lake and the snowy peaks of surrounding mountains. We have been here some weeks ago: it seems that afghan families like to visit graves, to sit and have a tea or climb nearest hills.
After more than a hour of climbing on steep hills we reach the summit. Mountain Sher Darwaza is not high (2200m), but we started out from ca 1600m. It has been quite a tiresome ascent.
There are quite a few of us: my husband, his colleagues Willy and Stephen. Our driver Karim brings along his little son and daughter. They look like Teletubbies in their colourful costumes, but they are amazingly tough. Sometimes Karim and Stephen carry the children on their shoulders, but most of the time the kids just push forward bravely, without any whining.
Time to time we stop on stony platforms, built by mudjahedins. The platforms were used to fire missiles at Kabul city. There is a magnificent view from the top of the mountain: I can see the ruins of Darulaman’s king palace in south, the airport to the north and the main stadium to the east. To the west, there is mountain called Asamayi, with TV-masts on top. Usually masts tower above our heads, but today we look down at them…
One can hear city noise from the distance, mixed with voices of mullahs calling. We walk down alongside the ruins of ancient city walls.

Out on a Friday I

2007-03-05T03:46:00.000-08:00

The saddest part of winter was that there ware no possibilities to go to a walk outside Kabul on Fridays. How you can walk if you can’t see even the signs that indicate mines. Two weeks ago there was another reason: there were demonstrations organized by mudjahedins. The so-called “white city” was declared, which means that international staff was prohibited from movement outside of their compounds. Last Friday was a beautiful clear day and we decided to spend it in a sporty way.
First we go to wander in British Cemetery. It is a nice garden on foot of Bibi Mahro hill, founded in 1839. Cemetery is hidden behind a high mud brick wall and it is well maintained by an old guard named Rahman.
It is quite interesting to read texts on tombstones. There are buried some famous explorers like Hungarian-born sir Mark Aurel Stein or dane Henning Haslund-Christensen. There are also graves of French archaeologists and of lots of children. There are tombs of Henley’s family, killed in a car accident on Salang pass in 1969. American engineer, employee of Chinese embassy, Jesuit from India.
One wall is covered with names of ISAF soldiers who have been recently killed in Afghanistan. And there is another wall with names of British military officers who fell in battles during British-Afghan wars. But the most popular place seems to be Bettina’s grave. This young lady was killed some years ago in Ghazni.

Alcohol policy in Islamic Republic of Afghanistan

2007-02-28T01:30:00.000-08:00

I remember my first Friday outside of Kabul: it was a sunny day in March that we spent at Quargha lake, eating kebab at a local picnic place. We were sitting in a Pakistani-style shelter, enjoying our meal. Next to us four young Afghans were drinking vodka, trying to shelter the bottle with their coats. When the bottle was finished, Afghans just threw it away. The empty vodka bottle rolled down the hill, stopping just alongside our shelter. I really didn’t like this situation: it seems like we just finished the bottle.
Some days ago I got an email containing information about police raids in Kabul restaurants. As a result many of Chinese “restaurants” (actually, bordellos) and Samarkand bar – popular dancing place among young internationals – were closed down. Nine internationals were arrested. There are rumours about new law waiting for approval in parliament. After its acceptance police can arrest any international who seems to be drunk.
Actually, I have been expected something like this. It was really weird to visit supermarkets for internationals (like Blue or Supreme), filled with alcohol bottles. Choice was superb and prices were cheap. Markets were full of men wearing bullet-proof vests and helmets, buying alcohol by boxes.
One can hear two versions why alcohol disappeared from the markets in last autumn. First, Islamic Government is really concerned with availability of alcohol. Secondly: it is a question of money. Considering the low prices, it was clear, that taxes were not included. When government started taxing alcohol, shops refused to pay. Alcohol moved out or it is just hidden, as informed people tell.
Sometimes we go to eat at an Indian restaurant close to our house. This place needs some cleaning, because it is really dirty. But in some odd way, food is excellent. There are always plenty of Sikhs or Afghans drinking whisky by bottles. The restaurant is selling bottles to everyone as well. We have witnessed a situation when Afghan bought a bottle of vodka, poured down the vodka into an empty plastic bottle signed as mineral water and cycled away….

The day when Soviet army left Afghanistan

2007-02-16T23:05:00.000-08:00

This Thursday there was a public holiday in order to celebrate the day on which the Soviet army left Afghanistan. There were hundreds of Estonians who fought in Afghanistan as Soviet army soldiers. Around fifty of them died and many were injured. Soviet-Afghanistan war is still painful topic for our little country of 1,5 million people.
I have met three Soviet army Afghan veterans. First was my fellow student at university while we were studying geology. He is now a politician. I remember a special night when he told bloodcurdling stories about his soldier-career. Afghanistan associated for me only with words “you must kill or you will be killed” for years.
Second meeting took place in my hometown Tartu last year. Taxi driver was asking about my destination of the trip and I answered “Kabul”. It was a short discussion, but still memorable. Driver showed me his neck marked with gruesome scars. He encouraged me to leave this country where “everybody dreams to jag your neck”.
Third man is writing to me from time to time. His letters engender the feeling of recognition. He writes me about smells and flavors, wind and rain. I would like to meet this guy.

Masculine Friday with dog fighting

2007-02-04T02:59:00.000-08:00

Standing on the steep slope, I try to press my feet into slippery mud. There are thousands of Afghans – no women except me – around. Afghans are whistling and shouting. Boys walk in the crowd, carrying baskets with cigarettes, boiled eggs or sweets. Some soldiers with kalashnikovs and truncheons are going around; they are pushing back the crowds. All men stare at the dogs and their masters in the middle of natural arena: it is a dog fighting time.
Karim, my husband’s driver, asked us to join him to see the traditional winter entertainment in Afghanistan. He is driving us on Friday morning. Little daughter and son are with him, sitting on first seat (once we went on a joyride with all five of Karim’s children packed on the first seat). Approaching the fighting place, we see lots of cars and thousands of men. Dog fighting is popular among Afghans; many are coming from far away parts of the country.
Fighting dogs or war dogs in dari language (sag e jangi) recall me the dog named Babur, the companion of Rory. (The places in between by Rory Stewart) The old dog has been received as a gift from villagers of Ghor province. Those dogs look similar: muscular mixed breeds. Some of them have cut down ears and some of them don’t have tails. Those dogs look surprisingly well groomed: their claws are coloured with henna and collars are made from colourful fabric or leather. Their masters, sitting aside, pat and caress their wards. This is a really unusual view in Afghanistan where dogs are usually humiliated and avoided.
I don’t see bleeding or fighting to death. Karim says with smile that sometimes there is a quarrel between the owners and soldiers have to take care that angry men don’t shoot each other. Later I witness such a situation: the owners start to squabble in the middle of the fighting place, completely forgetting their fighting dogs.
When the owner decides to cross swords then an announcer with wooden stick starts going around. Sometimes the announcer is holding a bet of cash money in his hands. Then men drag colourful cloth in the middle of arena. When the cloth falls down, the dogs are dashing towards each other like fireballs. There is not much biting. It rather looks like wrestling: one dog tries to press another dog to the ground. The owners stand by, patting or drawing away (if winner is clear or there is a danger of injury) their dogs. Public sympathize and the waiting dogs as well. They try to rip off their leashes to join the fighting as well.
By midday the fighting is over – soon there will be praying time and everyone goes to the mosque to hear mulla’s speech. We are moving back to our car when Karim says suddenly: Actually, the dog fighting is a violation of islamic law.

About the significance of ankles

2007-01-17T22:11:00.000-08:00

“You can tell if a girl's young or old, beautiful or ugly by the way she walks, by her shoes, her hands, and her ankles. Actually, everything you want to know about a girl can be seen in her ankles,” says Abdullah¹. This reminds me of a moment during calligraphy class: accidentally I look to the ground and I notice a strict-looking girl wearing black sexy hoses.
I walk along the quiet side-street. There are two females in burquas ahead me. They wear spacious pleated skirts and high heels (how they manage with those fashionable shoes on a frozen and bumpy road?). Slacks with lacy borders of are flashing under their skirts. Bare feet - while I am wearing warm winter boots - can be seen while they promenade. Ladies are young and desirable, because young guys they pass by are whistling.
Females in Afghanistan are usually hidden. An image of a naked woman can even cause the feeling of physical sickness.
I remember a strange situation that happened during the flight from Kabul to Herat. Stewardesses wore short skirts. It would be hard to wear more unsuitable clothes in the airplane full of Afghans. One stewardess asked in a sternly loud voice one Afghan men to apply his safety belt. This guy looked really irritated: improperly dressed woman is shouting at him. What an undignified situation!
Swedish girl Ester was my companion during our hamam-visit. After seeing so many naked women who seemed to feel quite relaxed, Ester asked me: “ Isn’t it so that western culture is sometimes weird? These female here veil themselves in public, but they feel quite comfortable being naked in hamam. Western ladies are almost naked in public, but they are afraid to be naked in a bathhouse…"
--
¹Love and War in Afghanistan by Alex Klaits and Gulchin Gulmamadova-Klaits

Winter!

2007-01-12T00:43:00.000-08:00

It is really frosty now. Every morning when I jump out from bed I try to put on my six layers of clothes as quickly as I can. There is hardly 9º C in the bedroom and the curtains are frozen to icy windows. While the sun is rising, the ice flowers are melting rapidly.
Cold is the main topic among Afghans and internationals as well. We suffer together. Afghans don’t seem to know what are double glazes windows, so we covered our windows with plastic. It is a common tradition here.
We bought two sawdust ovens made by local master. Actually they are just metal buckets with some decoration outside. We use another, smaller bucket to fill it with sawdust. Actually, I need to compress sawdust quite a lot. I put smaller bucket inside the bigger one, light fire and – voilá! – oven runs for eight hours. At least theoretically.
The water pipes are usually installed outside of house walls. During night time (ca –10ºC to –15ºC) they freeze. So, most of houses – and many offices as well – don’t have running water and sewage system is often frozen as well.
At the beginning of this year, I went to Noborja Fort, to photograph in the headquarters of the Turquoise Mountain Foundation. Most of Kabul’s internationals left home for Christmas. Only fragile young lady Molly was left there, pushing local staff to solve the problems with frozen pipes and unusable toilets... I have some previous experience from hiking in Siberia during wintertime, but Kabul reality seems to me much more frustrating. Body gets tired of everlasting fighting with cold.
At the other hand it has been so nice: lots of snow, bright sunshine during the daytime and transparent air (no dust at all!). Of course, there is lots of work connected with snow as well: every day somebody must climb up on roof to tidy up snow (because snow is heavy and flat mud roof is not waterproof) and there are lots of problems with traffic (afghans do not use winter tires and suitable non-freezing car liquids).
We missed the Christmas, but we got the local holidays instead, Eid-e Quorban. Andres’s colleague Elias tells us the story from Holy Quran: God ordered Abram to sacrifice his son. When Abram was about to start the sacrifice, the God stopped him and ordered him to sacrifice a lamb instead of his child. God said to Abram that he just wanted to understand how strong is Abram’s faith.
During sacrifice holidays, there are herds of sheep everywhere on the streets of Kabul. And one can see lots of taxis stuffed with sheep on back seat. Our landlord sacrifices a lamb as well and sends us some meat. This is a good time for beggars and for poor: rich must provide poorer ones with food. And hordes of men with bloody knives and axes roam on the streets, knocking on the doors and asking for meat…

Trip to North III: Wonderful Hazrat Ali

2006-12-17T23:40:00.000-08:00

Weather changes dramatically at Mazar. If there was nice summer climate (in Estonian standards) at Kunduz, then there is heavy wind. Next morning is really very cold and rainy. But it can't disturb me to arrange three pilgrimage to Hazrat Ali Shrine during next three days.
My afghan friend Waheed, whos family lives here, has been told me repeatedly about beauty of this shrine. After seeing Friday Mosque in Herart I was quite sure that mosque in Mazar can't surprise me. Of course, I was wrong again.
I have agreed with my husband's colleague Steven to walk through town at very early morning. We walk belong muddy tiny streets through awaken town and hit the mosque at the sunrise.
It is Friday and there are crowds around the garden. First we just wander around the mosque when first shy daylight is pouring the astonishing deep turquoise colour buildings. Actually, it is huge complex: various size of buildings, minarets, fountains, benches, roses and trees.
We go back in the evening with our local drivers. It is extremely cold and rainy. First we visit spot of thousands of white doves. There is legend that ordinary grey doves turn white doves during fourty days. Doves of Hazrat Ali are well groomed and loved. It is something extraordinary: to see how the afghans respect the doves.
We take off our shoes in one of the gateway house and leave them to guard's responsibility. First step on marbled square, covered with icy-cold water, is great. Although my feet reminds me current situation, the surrounding is stunning.
Hazrat Ali have been built by sultan Seljuk. Of course, it was destroyed by Thingish-Khaan. Hussain Aiqara, sultan of Timurid dynasty, rebuilt it again at 15th century.
There is local legend, that the Hazrat Ali, son-in-law of Muhammad, is buried here. (Actually he is buried at Kufa, Iran.) His body has been carried by white female camel, who fall down because of exhaustion. The place where she dropped, was body of Hazrat Ali buried.
Hazrat Ali is always full of people: pretty dressed children, woman in different coloured burkas, couples, saints, beggars, handicapped, soldiers. All people seemed to feel comfort and enjoy lovely atmosphere of this fabulous place.

Trip to North II: Ellaha and her daughters

2006-11-20T05:05:00.000-08:00

We drove seven hours from Kunduz to Mazar-e Sharif. It is a long journey, but landscape is stunning. We pass the terraces of Surkh Kotal, which was the acropolis of King Kanishka, who ruled 1900 years ago. Landscape varies from desert to oasis. After the mountain range there is an interesting narrow gorge.
While driving I am thinking about Ellaha. I met this Badakshan-born lady at the birthday party of Nirvana, daughter of my friend Waheed. I was impressed with Ellaha and her four daughters. Ellaha has been working for Swedish NGO and she has been abroad many times. Older daughter Farangis worked as an English language teacher and dreamed about the career of a lawyer.
Second time we meet in Kunduz. Ellaha is asking me to visit her house. The family seems to be glad to see me: there is plenty of food on the table and even busy husband Bahman is at home to see the guest. The walls of the hall are covered with large papers. Poetry of famous Persian poets as Umar Hajjami, Saadi or Rumi is written there. Some poems are written by landlord Bahman himself.
Bahman seems to be very interested about our life in Estonia: he looks through the book about Estonia what I bring as a present. Still I can feel melancholy in the air.
Cheerless younger daughters, as fragile gazelles, sit in the corner. I already know why the older daughter Farangis is unhuppy: she didn’t pass the test to enter the university. I try to cheer her up that there will be another possibility next year.
After husband Bahman leaves, Ellaha explains the situation. Her husband has been a chief of Kunduz province administration for a couple of years. It is a high position; he is the most important officer after governor. Ellaha and her daughters stayed at Kabul. As husband and farther, Bahman felt lonely. He asked her family to move to Kunduz as well. Ellaha had to quit her job, because of a delicate subject of gender issues.
It seems that there are not many educated people to communicate with. And there are no possibilities to practice English language. Conservatism is the most difficult to accept for the family. Ellaha says that women of only 3-4 families who doesn’t wear burkas. And citizens of Kunduz don’t like it.
I told my husband that I will never put on a burka, says Ellaha fervently. Therefore the ladies of Ellaha family prefer to stay at home. The husband of Ellaha promised her that if the ladies won’t adapt to the conditions of Kunduz, then they can move back to Kabul a year later.
The whole day while driving from Kunduz to Mazar I meditate about this family. How vast is the gap between western style family and local traditions?

Trip to North I: Kunduz

2006-11-18T00:49:00.000-08:00

We had a wonderful trip to North: we got hot weather at Kunduz, mist at Pul-i Khumri, chilly rain at Mazar-e Sharif and snow on Salang Pass.
First we drove to Kunduz, which is known for its fertility. Although watershed of Amudarja (Oxus) River covers only 14% of the territory of Afghanistan, it gives 57% of water. Afghans can afford two crops a year at lower parts of this area. There was a proverb: “If you want to become a rich, come to Kunduz.”
Thsingish-Khan devastated Kunduz at 1220. And the area never recovered. There was a little bit of better times in the 19th century, but then another trouble emerged: malaria. The new proverb was :”If you want to die, come to Kunduz.”
The pushtus were resettled here by King Abdur Rahman in the 1930ties. The value of land was really almost nothing: people came from the South of Hindukush and refugees of Russian Revolution came from North.
I respect farmers of Kunduz: they are hard-workers. When I was there in May, it was already the time to harvest wheat. Now it is the time of autumn ploughing. Other popular crops seem to be maize, rice and cotton. Roads are swamped by camels, donkeys and men, dragging colossal bags stuffed with snow-white cotton tufts.
I drove to a little village Aqtepa with Jelle, the leader of Kunduz River Base project. First we race along the straight highway to North. At certain moment we turn to half desert and start to drive across dunes. There is nothing at the horizon but sand and clumps of thorny plants.
Aqtepa oasis is situated at the crossing of Taloqan and Kunduz Rivers. There are big old trees, plenty of canals and mudbrick walls and houses. Jelle says that during the last one and a half year the situation has improved; he can hardly recognize the village. There are lots of people in the narrow street and a row of tiny shops. There is even a mobile mast at the edge of the village.
Today an important event takes place: the water master – who is responsible for distribution of water in canals - is elected. Jelle explains that first the drinking water needs must be covered, agriculture is the next priority and only after that come other needs like energy etc.
First we reach the place where the council of farmers is gathered. It is lunch time and delicious fish from Amudarja is being served. After eating the discussion follows. Jelle is informed that former water master has been elected back: there is no competition this year. Another issue: the locals are asking for a new dam with gates to regulate the amount of water in canal.
We drive to see the place. The canal is situated on the edge of the oasis: there is magnificent view to crossing of the rivers and another view to expansible marsh. Even frogs are croaking. Jelle is promising support to the construction of building before the new vegetative season. He states his terms as well: the villagers have to monitor the condition of the dam and gather some money for repairing of the foundation.
Tadjik Turamurod, the head of the construction company, discover my Russian language competence on the way back to Kunduz,. He invites us to his office. Very soon me and Jelle, we are sitting behind the table, carrying a remarkable amount of food. Bottle of Tadijk wine can be found as well. I try to be a translator (Jelle doesn’t know Russian and Turamurod doesn’t know English), but soon I am totally confused because of crafty Tadjik wine.

Fabulous Murad Khane

2006-11-02T07:36:00.000-08:00

I spend another wonderful evening, photographing at Murad Khane quarter. First time I was here, I just concentrated on architectural details. This time I try to capture the special atmosphere of this place.
The guide from Turquoise Mountain Foundation refers us (there are some other rubbernecks as well) to different households. We clamber up cranky stairs to admire the view from windows without glasses. We spy local ladies at the kitchen hut and try freshly cooked bulani’s (the stuffed pies cooked in hot oil).
It seems that typically locals don’t live on ground floor. At first house we are invited in, there is a hall without walls were our hostess is trying to scrub the mountain of dishes. The only living room is empty, just covered with cheap matting. There is a TV-set in the corner and the poster of movie Titanic give hints that there is twenty first century outside.
A young lady from other house has heard about coming guests. She is wearing a make up. Lots of bracelets are around her hands. She really seems to like posing for photos – what an uncommon view!
We visit the house of a local elder, too. There is a tiny courtyard in the middle of his house. There are lots of authentic details like wooden shutters, paneling and doors. He has marvelous children. When I look around me, it is surprising to see their handsome colorful dresses, carefully washed hair and even earrings.
One guests asks for the explanation: how can local people survive cold winter time in those uninsulated houses. In response the local men demonstrate us their tradition. In middle of the room a low wooden table is placed and covered by a bed sheet. Under the table warm stone is inserted. Family is lieing around this table: they place their feet under the table and cover themselves by the bed sheet.
And now we are ready to listen to the stories of our grandmothers and grandfathers, says the elder with a smile.

Dedicated to Kunduz

2006-11-01T03:39:00.000-08:00

My husband has to travel to Nothern provinces, to visit local centres Kunduz and Mazar. It is not clear at the moment if we will be allowed to travel by car. Or we have to take a plane.
Dreaming about this trip, I am excited. Even local people say that you have to go to Mazar during spring-time when fields are covered by red tulips, I am quite happy to go in autumn time as well. It is a thrilling possibility to see Blue Mosque, the most famous sanctuary in Afghanistan.
My trip to Kunduz over Salang pass in springtime was something very special. Also I liked the rural atmosphere of Kunduz. I only grieved that I didn't see the irritation area that is located near of the town.
The book I liked most about this country is Love and war in Afghanistan by Alex Klaits and Gulchin Gulmamadova-Klaits. Tadjik-American couple collected the biographies in the northern provinces of Kunduz and Takhar. They collected 150 stories; 12 of them are chosen for publishing in the book.
Compering to some celebrated and carefully composed books as Kite Runner (which one is on the top of Amazon bestseller list according to Economist), this book is a real treasure. There are just life stories that are told mostly by simple men, but the tales told by former soviet army soldier or Taliban fighter as well. Is seems that there has been no way to avoid anarcy. Everyone's family was affected by different regimes.
It is a good book for understanding the history of last decades of Afhganistan. Young generation don't know how to live in traditional way, they know only violence and disorder. The memories of older generation can be quite different: some ladies wore western clothes, studied in universities or even chose their spouses. It was real tragedy for them to put on a burka as the situation became unsafe. And there are some stories of ladies who lived in very traditional way, following rigid Moslem rules.
It is a good book to understand how different is life here, comparing to European lifestyle. One story was about a young guy who was for many years attracted to one young lady. Everyone presumed their marriage. But somehow it happened that he sent some sweets (it expresses the wish to engage) to another lady. Some time later he understood that he has done the worst mistake. But it was too late: there is no possibility to withdraw from marriage. This guy has spoiled the life of the first lady (because nobody wants to marry her now), the life of second lady (because she knows that her future husband doesn't love her) and his own life as well.

Zoo story

2006-10-29T06:17:00.001-08:00

Some days ago there were rumors going around Kabul about another “successful” operation near Kandahar: lots of civilians had been killed again. First it seemed that NATO agrees to take responsibility for couple of deaths. But now they accept officially that they have been killed 12 innocent persons. But afghans talk about 30-80 deceased.
Next morning we decide with Andres’s colleague Stephen to go to the Kabul Zoo. I am a little bit frightened about the last news. Maybe some citizens of Kabul will take revenge on us? Fortunately it seems that nobody looks angrily at us. At least not in open.
I enter the zoo with some prejudices, because I have heard sad stories about Kabul Zoo. Reality seems sunnier: the old and uglier part of zoo is in ruins. Last summer we visited Riga Zoo in Latvia. The gardens look quite similar. Lions, bears, macacos and antelopes live in a large slab of land surrounded with water. Old star of Kabul Zoo, lion Marion, is now dead. But instead there is couple of new lions. Six bears climb on stumpy logs.
I was a dedicated aquarium keeper at home. Before we arrived to Kabul I sadly gave away my old scalars. It is nice to see the new aquarium house in the zoo: the aquariums seem to be clean and tropical fish are in good condition.
It was a chaos in Riga Zoo. It seemed that every person packed some kilos of sausages in their bags to be hurled at lion. Nobody feeds animals here; they seemed to be more relaxed and follow their normal habits.
It is Friday, last day of long Eid holidays. Officially Eid lasted for three days, but nobody worked on Thursday either. There are lots of families at the zoo. It is interesting to see that some women raise their burkas to have a better look at the animals. Some patrons ask me to take photos of their children, who are smartly dressed. There is other entertaiment as well: you can buy coloured eggs to knock against each other in a sort of game. Stephen puts his skills to the test: how to drive a toy car on the mini-rally course.
One huge swing is installed as well. Stephen and our driver Massoud persuade me to try it. It is a mistake: there is no possibility to fasten itself, there are just some metal benches inside. I grab the metal edge of the swing, press my foot under the next bench and say my prayer not to fall off the swing. Fortunately the flying lasts only for a few minutes. I reel down with shivering feet.

Walk around the lake

2006-10-26T06:34:00.000-07:00

On the third day of Eid we go to walk around Quargha lake. There are four of us: the initiator of the walking Viiu, me, Andres and his colleague Stephen.
It is quite hard to reach even city limits: all streets are so crowded and the stream of cars is endless. It seems that all four million residents of Kabul are on wheels.
Last time we went to Quargha lake was in springtime. Now there is little water left : the level of water has dropped some meters. Actually, Quargha is important water reservoir for Kabul, constructed during drought years of 1999-2001. There are far too few lakes in Afghanistan – deep turquoise color has magic power to attract the residents of Kabul.
We start our walk from Kabul Golf Club. Kabul Golf Club is quite different from a normal golf club.There is no grass in the hills and the golf players are followed by their jeeps and armed bodyguards as well.
We pass main tourist area: there are lots of shelters covered by colorful fabric. Some afghans are waiting for customers near butcher stands and cold drink boxes. Even little harbor for rowing boats is situated on the shore.
Soon we can enjoy just glittering water and dark clouds coming closer over mountains. I only can see a bunch of houses in the distance and some jaded old trees hold their dramatic positions on the top of hills.
Along the shoreline there are lots of deep holes – those are mud brick “factories”. Mud is mashed to the shape of a brick and stowed into regular lines. Afterwards sun will dry the bricks; it is a very common building material for local houses.
We meet some locals: father with his curious children is walking around the lake as well. Crowd of boys wearing their new Salwar Kameez’is (traditional cloth for afghan men) are playing with glass balls. And aggressive shepherd girls who ask me money even for taking photos of goats and sheep. To punish them for their behavior, I secretly take an image of them.
After one and half hour our walk is finished. As we step over the doorstep of our house, something extraordinary starts outside. Thunderstorm and hail are coming down at the same time.

Eid mubarak - happy holidays!

2006-10-23T08:48:00.000-07:00

Our landlord’s wife sent us some interesting homemade sweets with raisins and nuts. It is a local tradition because of the end of Ramadan. I cook a pizza and navigate slowly through the garden – because there is no city power and our garden is without lights – to their door. Our landlord seems to be satisfied with my baking. Actually, he has told me a number of times how much he likes pizza.
Today there is the first day of Eid holidays. There has been the feeling of upcoming holidays for some weeks already. Numerous ladies are shopping because there is a tradition that everyone must have new clothes for Eid. There are some other traditions as well: relatives are visiting each other, a lot of eating and gifts for poor people.
Today I go to ramble around the streets with Viiu, our friend who is working for Swedish Committee fo Afghanistan. She lives in Sweden, but she was born in Estonia. During Second World War many Estonians fled over sea in little boats. Many of those boats wrecked, but 6-month old Viiu survived. Until recently it was our only possibility to talk in Estonian: there are our military forces in Lashkar Gah, but no other civilians. Just one month ago the first Estonian diplomat arrived here, but unfortunately he was sent to the south as well.
Today the city is quiet and peaceful: shops are closed and streets are empty. First time I see that there is no sign of life even in “tourist trap” of Kabul, Chicken Street. Only some dusty carpets hang on a mud brick wall. The families wearing beautiful new clothes pack themselves into cars. Boys are running around, brandishing their new toy guns. Innocent bangs are being heard when boys are testing the maroons.
Eid Mubarak – happy holidays, we say to passing people. Almost all answer politely, too. Only beggars seem to be working hard: it is best time for asking alms.

Estalef jai-e besyar maghbul as

2006-10-20T07:33:00.002-07:00

“Istalef is a very beautiful place”, is written in my dari language workbook published in 1977. It was a touristic place known because of it’s beauty and traditional pottery.
Story about Istalef is good enough to represent typical story of an afghan village. Once it was surrounded by lush orchards growing grapes, roses and wheat. Timuride emperor Babur wrote about its beauty and colours. Zahir Shah, the last king of Afghanistan, used Istalef as a vacation spot.
In the 1998-2002 Taliban ruled Istalef: the trees were cut down and thousands of the villagers left their homes behind. Nowadays someone can hardly find more than ruins. But some families are beginning to return: they build up their homes and kilns, trying to continue their traditional pottery business.
I drive to Istalef with Ester and Shoshana, employees of Turquoise Mountain Foundation. Young ladies have to fulfill a hard task. They have a meeting with villagers to discuss how to find some gifted students for TMF craft school. But they are quite sure that the elder of village already have some names in the students’ list – his closest relatives...
The translator advises not to speak about the choice during the meeting. “Just concentrate on introducing the school,” suggests the afghan. In Afghanistan you must proceed very slowly, almost gingerly.
Istalef is situated in the hillsides with great wide scenery onto Somali plain. There is a hidden little teahouse in the middle of the grove. And the next moment I see something truly unusual in Afghanistan: a group of oriental tourists is stepping down the staircase along the hillsides...
Ahead there is the villagers’ meeting place: under the shed there are some carpets. Even some flowers are planted around. It is interesting to see how two fragile westerns ladies, wrapped in veils, hold speeches to a large crowd of afghan men. Their talk is politely, respectful and sustained. I think that special oral skills gained in Afghanistan are useful, especially in politics.
After school introduction, most lucrative moment arrives for the local people. Foundation gives away to every person present a bag of glaze. Some of the glazes the potters use contain lead, which is very dangerous. The foundation is trying to encourage to use lead-free glazes.
Before the guy can heave the heavy bag, he must leave his thumbprint on the list. After procedure long steam of villagers waddle towards their houses. Only some of them have a donkey.
Before we leave for Kabul, we stop at the village bazaar. Only for few dollars I buy some pottery. I really like the simple form of the bowls and vases. The deep blue or green color is very impressive, too. The experts say that basic shapes and designs of Afghan pottery have changed a little in 5,000 years. Unfortunately the materials used are low quality: it is hard to find an item without a defect.

Minutiae of living

2006-10-15T02:14:00.000-07:00

When we came back to Afghanistan, we had long list of necessary equipment for dark and cold wintertime. We started out with looking for generator, inverter and stoves as urgently needed items. And our list ends with things for entertainment like guitar, Sat-TV and exercise machine.
And, of course, we started from the easiest end. We bought the only exercise machine what seems to be too strong enough not to crumble the first day. And we got satellite-TV: for four dollars per month we can see channels as BBC, CNN, Discovery etc.
We bought the radiotelephone too. Now there is possibility to have dial-up internet connection using Afghan Telecom. Connection seems to be tricky: I need to move the radiotelephone quite a lot because of the poor signal caused by metal mosquito net in the front of the windows.
Far more serious is electricity business. We bought a little inverter (700 W) with one battery (100Ah), which is enough to keep my laptop and telephone working during daytime.
There is city power for some hours in the evening and in the early morning around two o’clock (because Moslems have to eat before sunrise during Ramadan). Our landlord supplies our house with the electricity during the remaining evening hours in the late evenings. He has a inverter with ten batteries which are powerful enough to have lights. But we can switch on our refrigerator or water heater only when there is city power.
We don’t like the generators – not us, but our landlord as well. But is seems there is no choice. There is less and less electricity with every day and soon there will be no possibility to charge our inverters.
Yesterday we visited Kim to see her alternative solar energy system. She has two solar panels on the roof (a 75 W) connected with batteries (7*100 Ah) and a 2-KW inverter. She has the transformer which switches automatically between solar or city or generator power. The system is good enough to provide lighs and refrigerator. Only the water heater can’t be run by this solar power.
We liked the solar system a lot, but the cost is too high, ca 4000 dollars. For the unstable country like Afghanistan there is always the question of balance.

Stealing the beauty

2006-10-11T07:18:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I spent some hours photographing the students of calligraphy and woodworking classes at the Turquoise Mountain Foundation. Actually, it is my first job in Afghanistan.
While my husband Andres has been working as an IT-expert on an animal health project, I spent months before I understood that is not easy to get a job that meets my qualifications. First of all, I am not an English native-speaker. Also I don’t speak Dari and Pushtu, the official languages of Afghanistan. Secondly, I have worked as a journalist and editor in printed media. But here is more need for radio specialists, because illiteracy is so high.
Some days ago I met Rory Stewart, head of the Turquoise Mountain Foundation. Former diplomat Rory walked 6,000 miles across Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, India and Nepal during 2000-2002. His book about Afghanistan, The Places In Between is highly recommended.
Our meeting takes place in an old part of Kabul city where foundation just started to renovate the whole quarter, Murad Khane. Rory is trying to persuade the owners of some 30 surviving buildings to accept free restoration. The remaining sites would then be rebuilt in traditional style.
At the moment the garbage is being removed from the streets. It is a titanic work – the level of the streets has been lowered up to 2 meters... I try to listen Rory, but I am too amazed about atmosphere. I just stand and admire: the yard of Great Serai and the House of Peacocks are most artistic I have seen in Afghanistan yet.
After visiting Murad Khane, Rory invited me to his office situating in the 18th Century Royal Fort in the Parwan quarter of Kabul. This fort is one of the last surviving traditional forts or qal’a within the city of Kabul. The calligraphy and woodwork schools run by foundation are currently located around the fort, too.
I show to Rory my work: the photographs of Afghanistan and some magazines. After short conversation Rory offers me a job: to take photos once a week about restoration work in Murad Khane quarter, and to photograph the students of the handicraft schools as well. I leave the fort, really pleased.

House-hunting-odysseia II

2006-10-06T09:01:00.000-07:00

We started to look for houses with the help of local real estate agents. First it looked quite interesting to see afghan houses hidden inside the walls. After seeing five houses each day we became quite exhausted. There was one principle problem: because afghan families are very big, the houses have plenty of rooms too. If I asked agent to show us some really small houses, we ended up seeing houses with “only” eight-rooms or so.

There are more problems related to renting a house in Afghanistan. First of all, you are responsible for your own security (ie you must hire guards), you must run the house yourselves (ie to manage water pump, heating, generator, etc).

Secondly, most of the afghan landowners ask for six months of rent before you can move in. We liked a lot one house in Karte Se district (near Afghan parliament Lloya Jirga), but meeting with landlord was really a disaster. He demanded that we pay him one year of rent in advance. He was not interested to hear our explanations. What can we do with a house in Kabul if we have to leave the country for security reasons? But landlord of the house was not interested to negotiate.

Khabir, who is a colleague of Andres, offered us to see a garden house that was sharing a compound with afghan family. First the idea seemed funny to us, but we later decided to see the house. When we entered lovely garden filled with pelargons and roses, it seemed like a miracle in the middle of noisy and dusty Kabul. The singing of dozens of exotic caged birds was relaxing. And little green garden house – fully equipped with not only kitchen stuff but also with local style furniture and carpets - seemed to be so cozy after those empty bleak rooms we have seen a lot previously. It was not hard to say “yes” to landlord.

House-hunting-odysseia I

2006-10-05T23:28:00.000-07:00

There is an anecdote going around among the internationals of Kabul. Suicide terrorists are promised 40 virgins after their death. When yet another terrorist arrives to the gate of heaven, he was told: “There are too many of you. Sorry, we have run out of virgins…”

Despite the ramadan-time, recently there have been many attacks of suicide-bombers. Fortunately, some of them are not very skilled and blast themselves before they harm anybody. We heard that some of them blast themselves during the preparation. Unfortunately, almost always some afghan passengers-by are killed. They just happened to be too close.

It looks dangerous, but as the civilians, we don’t really feel that we are in constant danger. Suicide-terrorists are more attracted to military convoys or important ministries than just any internationals.

Internationals-civilians living in Kabul try to build up their own little secure world: there are lots of restaurants (but quality of food is always a subject) and some entertainment (hash-club runners, Monday quiz, even a night club).

But most important for people staying here for a long time, is the question of home. Easiest way is to live in guesthouses, but it is not a good solution to stay for a long period. After eating same guesthouse food for months it doesn’t seem so attractive. And hearing the same story – with some variations – for the third time could become quite boring…

Some internationals form their own communities where they live together in the same compound. We lived in such compound for some months: there were five houses fully equipped. We shared the garden, guards and running costs. It was a reasonable solution and good alternative to renting a separate house. Unfortunately, our compound was overtaken by another organization and we had to move out. So we started our own house–hunting-odysseia in Kabul.

Kabul Blues

2006-09-30T03:03:00.000-07:00

Babur, the great warrior of timurids, destroyed all while heading to India. But he saved Kabul because of it’s beauty. He even ordered that after his death his heart must be buried in the soil of Kabul. Nowadays, five hundred years later, the Babur gardens are the one of the few places in Kabule where you can really sit down to relax.
To be honest, Kabul is an awful place to live. There is very high pollution and almost no infrastructure. Everyone is responsible for their own water well or electricity because there is only some hours city power per day. Huge piles of garbage are on the every corner and sewage water runs in deep concrete ditches beside the streets. There is no city transport, only minibuses dash around like bees. Only wide avenues give hints that there had been some good ideas when this city was planned.
Old residents of Kabul have told me that before the last war it was a beautiful city: huge trees lined the streets, there were many beautiful worship places (even for jews and sikhks), trolleybuses rattled around. Russians who were afraid of snipers cut all big trees, worship places were destroyed and Taliban took down all the wires necessary for trolleys. Only huge "graveyards" of trolleys or roots of cut trees remind those times.
But the worst thing is that there is an atmosphere of fear. You can feel it. You can see it. You can smell it. It just surrounds you wherever you go.
I met one young lovely afghan lady from Canada at the airport. She just visited her relatives in Kabul. She was born in Afghanistan, she knew very well both dari and pushtu languages. But she was afraid. She never went out alone and felt all the time oppressed. "It was not the same country I remember," she told me sadly.

Prologue

2006-09-27T21:35:00.000-07:00

After being in Afghanistan for months we took a break. My husband and me stayed at the house of lovely Latvian lady during our holidays. We talked a lot about Afghanistan. “You are egoist,” accused this lady me. “Why only Estonians have the possibility to read your diary? We would like it too.”

I have been describing our everyday life in Kabuli päevik (Kabul Diary in Estonian) http://qnne.blogspot.com/for five months now. I was amazed how many people are interested about our experiences: to read stories and to look at my images.

It has been an interesting wandering. We started like lonely westerners in hostile land. Now we have find some good friends not only among international community but among some afghan people as well. We started our living in a tiny room of the guesthouse, continuing in a small house at the compound of internationals. We ended living with afghan family in their garden house.

For me, personally, most important has been the disappearance of the feeling of fear. After our first security training I thought that I will go mad. How can we live next years behind wires and walls as prisoners? It seemed impossible to go out even just for a walk. But walking for me is something self-evident, part of normal everyday life in Estonia. When I go now to shopping down the street, trying to use my elementary dari language as much as I can it is somehow ridiculous to remember very first days.

Afghan people are the most patient I have ever seen in my life. I envy their dignity. And something - despite a quarter of hundred years of war - is left about their hospidality. The way how poor farmer from outskirts of Kabul is offering tea, is something to learn about.

And, especially, I am impressed with Afghanistan landscapes: the majestic look of medieval minarets and mosques in Herat, the peaceful agricultural views of Kunduz river irritation area, the ruthless snowy mountains near Salang pass or breathtaking beauty of the colorful hills in Bamian Valley.

There are lots of news about Afghanistan on every TV-channel. But whenever I see news I can’t recognize the country I live. Still I have seen another, human side of Afghanistan. And I hope to share my experience with you.