First Impressions: Afghanistan

This from the backseat on my recent trip....

I have now been in-country for about 18-hours. Crammed in the back of a Toyta Land Cruiser circa presumably somewhere post-1987, we speed north from Kabul toward the town of Phuli Khumbri in Baghlan province, through the majestic Salang pass. It is not so much a highway as a slab of tarmac at times roughly the width of two lanes, that snake through a landscape composing mostly mud-type dwellings, farmland and hundreds of little shops with hanging bags of flour and sugar and bottles of warm Fanta.

It is abundantly clear from my back seat where the sun is punishing my right cheek, that the driving in fact poses the greatest threat to life and limb. Apart from the potholes that could swallow a motorcycle, we also share the surface with bicycles, donkey carts, amputee adolescents, kids pushing barrows, women in blue burkas, and men on tractors. As in the middle east, driving in Afghanistan should also be considered a contact sport, and treated with the utmost respect at all times. As our driver alternates between his forever-ringing mobile and the buzzing of the comms system in the cruiser, we go between a dodgy 110km (I know we have reached this speed every time the annoying ding-ding-ding alarm goes off), suspension wobbling around the unsuspecting bends, and very abrupt stoppages, mostly to navigate one of the incredibly high speed bumps (for which I am increasingly thankful), or simply to avoid the oncoming Corolla with lights now flashing. And as in the middle east, remember, you can always drive a car without a steering wheel, but you cannot ever, attempt to operate a vehicle sans horn.

The dust has formed a caked layer of insulation in my nose. My scarf provides some protection from the baking sun, while my white linen pants looks even more starkly white draped across the Afghan carpet that serves as a seat cover. We swerve for a vehicle of some sort, slam on the brakes for another bump, and straight ahead lie the absolutely majestic Hindokush mountain range, still adorned in snow from the long harsh winter endured this year. At the base of the mountain the driver stops at his favorite stop to pick up some sodas (Pepsi seems to be a favorite breakfast cereal for workaholic NGO-types). We hit the "road" again, and this time drive parallel to the river now in full flood after recent rains, unnecessarily augmented by the massive snowmelts. Everywhere the destruction is evident, washed out bridges, missing pieces of road. Men in turbans and bulging pilazzo pants are knee high in water collecting and breaking stones which they load into large wire-mesh cubes that line the side of the road, presumably to repair the broken road, and hopefully to provide some retainment for future floods.

The pass is beautiful though, with mud dwellings built directly into the walls and people making their way to and fro. Kids walk along the side of the road with their bright backpacks over black uniforms, on their way to school. I wonder who funded the road, with its tunnel-like structures to try and keep the integrity of the road in the most daring corners, I think it was the Japanese.

We arrive at our destination after the four hour journey. The meeting is in full swing. We are first brought to the base manager's office where the house manager serves us a breakfast of fresh flat bread and two fried eggs with lots of salt and pepper. Heaven. The coffee is still bad, black Nescafe can only go so far - we will have to find the coffee plunger and procure some descent coffee, or it is going to be a loooong six months. The meeting goes well, there are about ten expats and twenty-five Afghan staff, all long-time employees of the organizations with tons of experience. I learn a lot. Can almost navigate my way through most of the new flavor of alphabet soup I was exposed to like CDCs, PMs, PMUs, CDPs.... but much more to come. Oh, and my assigned based was changed from the sleepy, rural town of Kunduz to the historical town of Mazar i-Sharif. Stay tuned for a write-up on Mazar and more impressions from Afghanistan in a day or so.

Coming to Afghanistan

I have been in Afghanistan for exactly two days now, though it feels more like two months. I am in our office in Phuli Khumbri, a town where the road splits to go north west to Mazar i-Sharif, and northeast to Kunduz. I am here for the senior staff meeting of one of our largest programs, and this has given me an immediate jump into the work and the people. How immediate you ask?

Well, to give an idea of my travel schedule of the past week...I arrived Paris on Tuesday morning, had training Wednesday and Thursday and departed with my Afghan visa in hand on Friday afternoon. A 0200 arrival at Dubai international on Saturday morning, saw me navigate a very crowded and humid arrivals hall only to learn that there is no easy way to transfer to Terminal 2, rather it requires a taxi ride for the 10km or so to the other side of the airport. Inside Terminal 2 it reminded me of a small airport in any remote town. At least it was clean. There I spent the hours between 0200 and 0630 uncomfortably balancing on a coffee shop chair eating hummus and drinking coffee, before I could clear security after purchasing a one-way ticket from Kam Air to Kabul for $225.

A few more hours in a stuffy terminal coffee shop where the cups leak and the smoke ventilators don't work, and I boarded the plane with a large contingent of British Personal Security Details (PSDs) a few diplomats, a smattering of NGO-folks and a bunch of Afghans who must have come to Dubai to shop for their businesses, because not even I, the queen of large carry-ons, have ever packed a bag that was so heavy I could hardly move it.

The flight was uneventful, the food scary, and the coffee terrible. I dozed in and out of a trance-like sleep as I wondered who would eventually pick me up at the airport, since that was still up in the air due to the expected lock-down in Kabul at the time (read my piece: the Landing and the Lockdown). At my last discussion with Chris in Paris I finally gave him my country director's mobile number and asked him to sort it out with her since I knew I would have limited access to telecommunications for the next 24-hours. On approach I had a huge knot in my stomach as the mountain grew bigger and bigger in the window to my left. I must say, if I had my choice between landing with a local airline between the mountains surrounding Kabul, or flying with a twin-prop over Baghdad for the 20,000 foot spiral drop, I'll take the spiral - it doesn't involve anything we can fly into.

The arrivals hall was the usual absolute chaos as expats and nationals fought their way through passport control and the always-too-small baggage collection room to search for luggage convinced lost. In addition to the baggage-scramble, all the expats are required to complete a "foreigners registration card" which, I am told, one hands in when you leave the country, only to complete another one upon re-entry. No copy is made nor record kept that I could gather.

But can you imagine my joy when I saw the friendliest of faces in the parking lot when Chris came to collect me! Going on three months and three continents later, we meet again, in another "exotic destination". I got clearance from my country director to spend the night at his guesthouse, since we were not allowed to go up and back...with one condition, she would be picking me up the next morning at 0500 for a field trip to Phuli Khumbri, my current position, for a three-day intensive meeting. Yeah! No rest for the weary. And so, I give you "First Impressions: Afghanistan"