24 SEP 2007 – War and Peace
As I write this, there is a sense of peace in the air. I’m sitting on my patio, the sun has started to set, and the last bit of evening breeze has brought with it the evening outing of the kites. From my where I sit, at least a dozen kites made of brightly colored tissue paper and thin wood dowels can seen at various altitudes, spinning and diving. Some are engaged in a battle – an event involving string covered in fine bits of glass, the idea, to slice through the opponents string and send his kite floating to the ground like a leaf. Others are so high that at first glance it looks like a bird taking its chances with an airplane on its way in or out of Kabul International – but with further examination the bird doesn’t move, and I think it will probably take the better part of an hour to bring it back down to earth. The rapid fluttering of tissue paper as the kites catch the wind and the steady hum of the house generator five floors below are the only sounds I hear.
The breeze is warm, and of course with it comes the dust. Not a lot tonight, but enough to make the white keys of my iBook turn a grimy brown and give each keystroke the texture of super fine sandpaper. Nothing a little window cleaner and a Q-Tip can’t take care of though. A recent BBQ left behind a plastic outdoor table and a couple of chairs – after a few days nobody had claimed them so I took it upon myself to move them to my patio.
The peace and quiet. The aerial display. The warm breeze. The occasional mosquito. All of which might sound like a tropical vacation; and if I close my eyes, I can almost imagine it is…
A low-flying Russian Mi-8 helicopter quickly snaps me out of my tropical daydream, followed closely by a second. It usually means there is some kind of VIP movement, be it Karzai, or whoever. A couple weeks ago they flew low-level orbits around the city while the president of Iran was in town, before then it was the peace jirga with Pakistan. The green camouflage paint scheme tells me it’s military. So much for the sense of peace – I guess this is a war zone after all.
The warm breeze this evening is a nice surprise. The nights have been growing cooler and the days have gotten shorter over the past couple of weeks, and early morning rides to the airport have recently included a lightweight jacket, compliments of AirServ.
Kabul is nestled 5,800 feet above sea level in a basin at the foot of the Hindu Kush mountain range. The pollution is at times choking – cars, busses, and trucks that should have been scraped years ago continue to chug along, many spewing out clouds of black diesel exhaust. Mountains on nearly all sides keep the pollution and dust contained, compounding the problem. The wind only seems to circulate it all, spinning it around like a big washing machine. The pollution, uncontrollable traffic, poverty, just about all the things that make up any given big city, Kabul has in spades. Most flights to various locations are simply a drop-off or pick-up, and rarely does time present itself to leave the airport. But every once in awhile we have some downtime, and it’s the downtime that makes the daily Kabul grind a little easier to cope with.
A couple weeks ago I had several hours to visit Bamyan, and more specifically, the site where the Taliban destroyed the Buddha statues. Signs warning visitors not to enter and watch for falling rock are ignored and for $6 the guard unlocked the gate and allowed us to go explore inside the mountain – filled with tunnels, rooms, and steep stairways – all carved into the mountain by monks.
Originally there were two standing Buddhas, one at 55 meters, the other at 39 meters. The Japanese government and others have been working on preserving the site and began an excavation to try and find the lost “sleeping” Buddha. The actual location of the buried statue is still unknown or, if it has been found, has been kept hush-hush for fear that it would be destroyed if the area ever again fell under control of the Taliban. Some believe there could be up to seven Buddhas total – one for every day of the week. The story behind their destruction is an interesting one – that the Taliban was originally opposed to the destruction, citing possible tourist income. But at some point they changed their mind and began the month-long barrage of dynamite and tank artillery and eventually knocked them down. I was told several possible theories on why they were destroyed: the worshiping of un-Islamic idols, the greater international concern for statues then the Afghan people, retaliation for economic sanctions, even that it was ordered by Osama Bin Laden. Everyone has his or her opinion.
Trips to Bayman, Mazar-I-Sharif, Fizabad, and Herat each have their unique qualities that make the trips special. Photographs do not do the scenery, landscape, and people justice and I’ve realized that capturing the spirit of Afghanistan on camera is a near impossible task – not that I have any intention to stop trying. Despite the unique qualities – one common characteristic has caught my attention: the kites.
The Taliban had outlawed kite flying, claiming it “promoted truancy,” and I suppose it might, as my parents could certainly attest to the direct correlation of building model airplanes and my lack of stellar grades. But as I look down into the yards and neighborhood below me, there are easily as many adults flying the fragile kites as there are children.
The flying is about the same as it has been. Both KingAir’s are operational and I’ve been keeping reasonably busy. New threats however have raised eyebrows – specifically the Taliban’s acquisition of Vietnam era Soviet made SA-7’s, rumored to have been smuggled in from Iran and possibly China. The SA-7 is a shoulder-mounted surface-to-air missile that has taken several shots at military aircraft the past few months; the likelihood of the Taliban firing on a civilian target is still under debate. So in addition to recent suicide bombings and kidnappings here in Kabul, the air threat is the latest in events forcing me to ask myself, what am I doing here? Why am I STILL here? And most important, how much more of this am I willing to take?
Security briefs come from all directions but all generally agree things will get worse in Kabul before they get better, and there already seems to be some evidence of that. The why’s and how’s are some of the questions I am going to spend some time trying to answer when I return to the US in early October to visit my family in Minneapolis and Oregon – unfortunately no San Diego stop this time. The hope is to take a step back, decompress, and look at the situation from another angle. The plan right now is to return to Kabul, but that may change as AirServ is aware of my concerns and may be sending me to Africa to finish my contract in Entebbe, Uganda.
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For those of you that don’t know, I don’t write these blog entries all in one sitting. A little bit here, a little bit there, and eventually I come up with something I feel someone might like to read. This one in particular I actually began on August 21st. Today is September 26th. So between finding the right words and simple laziness, each entry takes time.
Today is one of those days where we have some downtime, this time in Kunduz, just south of the Tajikistan border. Eight hours worth of downtime infact, and for the first time I decided to bring my laptop on a trip in lieu of a book. Mainly because I wanted to get the latest entry posted before I have to answer another e-mail wondering if I’m still alive.
We left a chilly Kabul this morning at 7am and arrived at Kunduz a little less then an hour later. The sound of machine gun fire in the distance was an attention-getter, but as it turned out it was the Afghan National Army running drills. Our UN contact Kamal, dressed in a white suit with dark pinstripes, picked us up in an armored UN Toyota pick-up truck, and from the airport we ventured into town for a little sightseeing. Kunduz doesn’t have a lot in the way of much to look at – the majority of the town was all but destroyed and rebuilding has only taken place in the past couple of years. Kamal took us to the local market via a paved, two-lane road with farmland on both sides. When we arrived, the busy hustle and bustle of everyday commerce was underway and in full swing. Women in blue burkas, children close in tow, shopped the clothing stores and the produce stands. The men were more concentrated around the masonry, brick, and general building supplies area. The shops are setup like small districts, where you can find all the clothing shops in one area, fruits and vegetables in another, meats and home improvement in another, and so on. Covered alleys held in the aromas of the goods on display – at times quite foul, other times quite pleasant.
Sometimes I find myself a little shy to pull out my camera and take photos. Americans can legally extend the right to privacy to the public arena and often do not appreciate having their photo taken by a stranger, and heaven forbid you take a photo of a child; you could wind up in jail. In Afghanistan I have found the opposite to be true – people love to have their photo taken, especially the children. This morning at the market I took a photo of a young boy and his face immediately lit up with a big grin when I showed him the image of himself on the small LCD display. He then pulled over a friend and said something I didn’t understand; a man next to us said the boy asked if I would take another with the both of them. Of course I did, and again the boys lit up with delight at seeing an image of themselves taken just seconds before.
Moments later I was surrounded by kids and adults, all wanting their photo taken and to see what they looked like on the small digital screen. The attention didn’t bother me at all, but it seemed to bother Kamal, and he pulled me away with a firm grasp and announced, “we must go now!” He shoo’d the group away and I reluctantly followed. I wondered with that suit of his, his job, two cell phones constantly ringing, and a perpetual walking dance in a futile effort to keep his shoes clean, if he felt in someway superior to his local Kunduz neighbors, was embarrassed, or concerned for my safety.
After about an hour Kamal was ready to head back, which was fine. I’m sure his UN job description has no mention of tour guide, so I didn’t really mind. On the way back to the UN guest house, he pointed out the Governor’s mansion, his high school, and a telecommunications company – all of which he was very proud of.
UN guest houses, while aesthetically different from place to place, all contain the same basic elements: a couple of horribly uncomfortable beds, a table or two, and a TV – which may or may not be connected to a satellite. And so here I sit, at a green, square, plastic table, big enough for one plastic chair on each end, my laptop keeping my attention and iTunes doing its thing. A fuzzy South African channel on the television is showing something about great white sharks, but neither one of us are really watching it. Deo, the other pilot, is making use of one of the lumpy beds, but his only complaint so far has been that of a pesky housefly.
And such is my life.
So these little day-trips have become something to look forward to. As I mentioned, they make the daily Kabul grind considerably easier to deal with. The kindness, generosity, and hospitality of the Afghan people – to see the real Afghanistan, one that hasn’t been watered-down or glorified by the media, or obscured by a foggy military agenda has been something to cherish. And why the questions I need to answer and the decisions I need to make when I’m back in the States are so difficult.
Until next time,
~dj
photos on flickr:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/djhorton/sets/72157602146098341/
Posted by djhorton 