Into the dust: Afghanistan
My dream has finally come true! We were upgraded to business class on our flight to Kabul. The perks were minimal but I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. The seats were nice and broad and the cups of tea larger than economy for sure! Hasina spent three days trying to get our tickets in Delhi and therefore, made friends with the folks at Ariana Airlines. One of them was a the airport in Delhi and made sure that we went through customs and got on the flight without a problem. My mom couldn't wait for us to put on our hijabs. The first thing they did before making any sort of safety announcement was to pray. I didn't call the place the land of Bismillah for nothing. The sterwardesses had extremely powdered complexions a la Michael Jackson.
Arriving in Kabul was a bit of a surreal experience. The city is sand coloured and the airport has more UN choppers than jets. The terminal is small and once again we had the good fortune of being fast tracked through customs. This time it was the man we met on our way to Ajmer on the train. Turns out he is a head of police at the airport. We didn't wait in line and he made sure our passports were stamped and our luggage collected. The first thing I saw stepping out of the airport was an American with a handgun and several war journalists. I don't know if that is true.... They looked like war journalists to me, so we'll go with that. Our cousin came to meet us and we got into a cab and drove out into the city.
Kabul lies in a valley surrounded by mountains. The streets are mostly unpaved and kick up a lot of dust. People scurry about and women, of course, are covered from head to toe. We switched cars and rented a van that would drive us north toward Jallalabad and toward the border. The scenery was once again out of this world beautiful. The honey-combed mountains of Afghanistan are quite the sight. We drove through the mountains on unpaved roads and were surprised by American military choppers flying through the valley. I don't know why I was surprised because I expected it all along.
Once we had passed the mountains we reached olive groves and a river. The water was a clear blue and at prayer time the car stopped and several men gathered near the river and held evening prayers. Driving on we noticed hundreds of clusters of white paint spots on the side of the road on hills and in fields. Each one of the white paint spots represented a mine that was cleared. That was a sobering reminder that these inviting hills and fields were off limits. Driving through the olive groves we could not see the trucks in front of us because of the dust. "It's been five years and the roads have not yet been paved in this country." My cousin remarked. It does make you wonder where the money is going. All those billions being pledged by nations around the world. There's some interesting stories of what is really happening in the country. About jewels and precious stones being mined and exported to the States, about weapons being smuggled through Pakistan, about the search for natural gas and oil near Kandahar. You have three guesses as to which country is behind all that.
"At night you can hear children screaming and women crying there" explained my cousin. He pointed out of the window toward the mountains, in the direction of Tora Bora. You will all remember that name. The caves near the small town became famous because the U.S. thought Osama was hiding there. They pretty much flattened the entire town with bombs and killed most of the population of the city but not Osama. People here still talk about it. The locals now tells stories of the screams of people dying in the darkness when one passes by the town at night.
My mother's mood has shifted. It's a complete 180. She's much more chipper and happy and smiling and not worried and chatty. It's like I've suddenly gotten married or something and all her worries have disappeared.
The border crossing was interesting. We pulled the scarves over our faces and only our eyes were visible. We had to cross on foot through a mountain gorge. I looked up "Khyber Rifles" it said on the side of the mountain. The van pulled over, our luggage was packed onto two carts that were pushed along by two little boys and we started walking through the sea of trucks and men toward the other side. One small bribe later we were in Pakistan being greeted by another cousin and ushered into a waiting red car. A few hours after that we arrived in Peshawar also known as Little Afghanistan. I just made that up. It's a city filled with Afghans. Quite conservative.
Arriving in Kabul was a bit of a surreal experience. The city is sand coloured and the airport has more UN choppers than jets. The terminal is small and once again we had the good fortune of being fast tracked through customs. This time it was the man we met on our way to Ajmer on the train. Turns out he is a head of police at the airport. We didn't wait in line and he made sure our passports were stamped and our luggage collected. The first thing I saw stepping out of the airport was an American with a handgun and several war journalists. I don't know if that is true.... They looked like war journalists to me, so we'll go with that. Our cousin came to meet us and we got into a cab and drove out into the city.
Kabul lies in a valley surrounded by mountains. The streets are mostly unpaved and kick up a lot of dust. People scurry about and women, of course, are covered from head to toe. We switched cars and rented a van that would drive us north toward Jallalabad and toward the border. The scenery was once again out of this world beautiful. The honey-combed mountains of Afghanistan are quite the sight. We drove through the mountains on unpaved roads and were surprised by American military choppers flying through the valley. I don't know why I was surprised because I expected it all along.
Once we had passed the mountains we reached olive groves and a river. The water was a clear blue and at prayer time the car stopped and several men gathered near the river and held evening prayers. Driving on we noticed hundreds of clusters of white paint spots on the side of the road on hills and in fields. Each one of the white paint spots represented a mine that was cleared. That was a sobering reminder that these inviting hills and fields were off limits. Driving through the olive groves we could not see the trucks in front of us because of the dust. "It's been five years and the roads have not yet been paved in this country." My cousin remarked. It does make you wonder where the money is going. All those billions being pledged by nations around the world. There's some interesting stories of what is really happening in the country. About jewels and precious stones being mined and exported to the States, about weapons being smuggled through Pakistan, about the search for natural gas and oil near Kandahar. You have three guesses as to which country is behind all that.
"At night you can hear children screaming and women crying there" explained my cousin. He pointed out of the window toward the mountains, in the direction of Tora Bora. You will all remember that name. The caves near the small town became famous because the U.S. thought Osama was hiding there. They pretty much flattened the entire town with bombs and killed most of the population of the city but not Osama. People here still talk about it. The locals now tells stories of the screams of people dying in the darkness when one passes by the town at night.
My mother's mood has shifted. It's a complete 180. She's much more chipper and happy and smiling and not worried and chatty. It's like I've suddenly gotten married or something and all her worries have disappeared.
The border crossing was interesting. We pulled the scarves over our faces and only our eyes were visible. We had to cross on foot through a mountain gorge. I looked up "Khyber Rifles" it said on the side of the mountain. The van pulled over, our luggage was packed onto two carts that were pushed along by two little boys and we started walking through the sea of trucks and men toward the other side. One small bribe later we were in Pakistan being greeted by another cousin and ushered into a waiting red car. A few hours after that we arrived in Peshawar also known as Little Afghanistan. I just made that up. It's a city filled with Afghans. Quite conservative.
posted by LOTC at 8:36 AM
3 Comments:
I need to have a photo of the Jamala 3 in their burkas!
...but they have to be giving the finger a la mr. lahey
Much better than the Q&A section.
but how's the hummus?
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