road trips

      Last night’s conversations created some new uncertainties and sadness. Currently undergoing peace talks between US and Taliban may end almost 20 year old war but may as well cause even more problems and make unwanted changes to the present situation in the country. Some people don’t believe any kind of truce will ever bring peace to this country and would rather leave it for good.

I was suddenly struck how unnerving living in Afghanistan is. Every journey is a stressful experience (Taliban on the roads), every public gathering in Kabul is a risk (target for bombing). Constant flow of phone calls monitor every step of a person (I personally would receive up to 20 calls per day in Kabul, from different people who wanted to make sure I wasn’t lost, I reached the destination, I was still alive etc.). Nobody speaks about it but everyone knows that every “good bye” could be the last one heard.

      I know about the danger, I know that very bad things happen in this country. I don’t accept it, though. I don’t think about it, because if I did, I would never come to Afghanistan. And, again, my exceptional trust and belief in good people take over. I deny to accept that Afghan people are worse than other nations. That they hate foreigners and only want them dead. I refuse to believe that some ethnic groups are friendly and welcoming while with others you shouldn’t have anything in common.

     The only reactions from locals I got was curiosity, generosity, helpfulness and concern. Everyone was trying to help me, direct me, and ask about my opinion on the country. I got invited to various houses multiple times, for food or even for a night (I felt so sorry every time I had to refuse). Shopkeepers, sellers and drivers would make effort to make sure I understand what they tried to say (using body language). How could I ever say those people are bad, dangerous and vicious? Call me naïve and stupid but that’s how I am.

      I took a plane from Dubai to Kabul and then from Kabul to Bamyan. I was told this is THE ONLY way for foreigners and that the roads are impassable due to Taliban activity. There was a man sitting next to me in the plane who told me that “normal people don’t take planes”. That got me. I told myself I don’t want to be any VIP in this country (ironically there was some man from the government on the same plane, who was awaited by crowds at the airport and would give a speech straight after getting of the place). I told myself I will gather information about travelling by road and I will do the same.

      Every mention of my “road trip” places was welcomed with anger and disbelief. I’ve heard the stories of people being dragged out of cars, executed on the road side, being kidnapped etc. I was told as soon as I get on the bus some locals would call for the Taliban. I am not saying it doesn’t happen. I does. But not every day, not to every foreigner (as I found out later, it has almost never happened, also because usually foreigners don’t take public transportation, so nobody is looking for them there). Most of the checks of Taliban are aimed at people working for US, government or the army. If some lone foreigner, simply travelling in the country happens to be on the checked bus, then, well… shit happens.   

     It happened that the very same moment of my first thought of going to Kabul by road, the election committee travelling from Ghor to Kabul has stopped for breakfast in the school. After multiple discouraging phone calls, discussion and being scolded I decided to join them. Twenty minutes later I was sitting at the back of a Toyota Prado and 10 hours later I arrived to Kabul. Dressed in local clothes, wearing hijab and big sunglasses.

      As I had more than 10 days off until the school started again I couldn’t just sit in Kabul all this time and be accompanied by somebody every time I was out. I wanted to go to Mazar-e-Sharif – the city in the northern Afghanistan, around 8-10 hours by bus from Kabul. The idea, as usual, caused another scolding and anger. Coincidentally my friend was also going to Mazar the same day (in fact, 3 am in the morning) which made a perfect opportunity for me. At midnight the final decision was made and at 3 am I was in the taxi to the bus station where I would meet my travel mates.

Again dressed as a local, I was seated at the back of the bus (the last available tickets), didn’t speak much nor loud and for the most of the journey nobody noticed there was a foreigner on board. The trip was tiring more than anything, so any thoughts about danger were secondary. After 10 hours we arrived to Mazar.

       I made the way back in the same way, again coincidentally accompanied by the very same friend, taking the night bus and arriving to Kabul in the early morning. The way back to Lal was slightly more complicated because it required a few changes of transportation and my own arrangements. I was traveling on my own for the first time (which of course caused an avalanche of concern), first from Kabul to Bamyan and then (the safe road) to Yakavlang and finally to Lal. Made it all without a single problem, at two checkpoints we had passed I wasn’t even recognized to be a foreigner.

         I don’t recommend it. I don’t encourage anyone to do it. I made it, and I would do it again, though. 

out of city life.

I live in Lal, Sarjangal, Ghor Province, Afghanistan. Central province of the country, neighbour to Bamyan – a place famous for the world’s biggest Buddhas (now it’s the empty space in the place of Buddhas). A province with not a single paved road, high altitude (Lal is located 2800 meters above the sea level) and high Taliban activity (not where I live, though). In Lal there is no running water and electricity is provided by solar energy. In the center of the area there are shops and restaurants locally called “bazaar”, around the place smaller settlements are located. Most of the buildings are made of mud, in winters the main fuel to heat and cook is animals dung made into round “cakes”.

                And there is the school. Rahnaward-e-Noor Private High School. The only private school in the whole province. The school in which I agreed to volunteer as an English teacher, starting from August 2019. The school is supported by ROYA organization which sponsors some of the students here along with 3 other provinces of Afghanistan. Having around 500 students, Rahnaward is by far the biggest school in the region and the best equipped as well. 15 teachers teach 16 different subjects, including IT and English.

 It is the only co-educative high school in the province, teaching in the spirit of humanity instead of religion or nationalism. From time to time the school is participating in different development projects sponsored by NGOs and/or embassies and other programs, for example celebrations of Independence (100^th anniversary in 2019) or poetry nights.

The school was established in 2011. The founder of the school, Azizullah Mahdi, for 6 years was donating his own savings (more than $30000) to keep the school running. The last 3 years student fees started to give profit to the school, however, Azizullah and some other people from the school board of directors still work here voluntarily not receiving a salary. The idea to establish the school was born while Mahdi was working for a NGO and noticed the hunger for education among local people. As governmental schools were lacking most of the facilities and professionalism, he decided to dedicate himself to creating an opportunity for those who wanted to change their lives by the means of education.

                I could say I got to this place almost by a chance. By randomly posting a question about any volunteer/work opportunities in Afghanistan, not really hoping to get an answer. Almost instantly I got a contact to the school founder and the whole machine has started. As being located in China at that time, all the agreements where made via Internet, mostly by trust and belief. Then I went to Dubai, UAE to apply for the visa and got stuck there for 3 weeks (it could be another topic form a story “from hate to love” time in Dubai). Many people and offices had to be involved in the process of issuing a visa but finally I got it. What’s more, just recently, I also got the visa extension for (unexpected) 6 months.

                Long, long time ago it has all started. Unexplained need to go to Afghanistan, to discover the unknown and untold. To see the other side of the stories, not just blood, bombs and tears. I knew there have always been more to that. And now I am finding it.

                Last year, during my trip in Tajikistan I went to the magnificent land of Pamir. I was standing on the river bank barely 50 meters across from Afghanistan. I told myself “next year I’ll be on the other side”, believing in it just a little bit more than if I had said “I’ll go to the Moon next year”.  

                A few months ago, in China, in a dimly lit bar filled with cigarette smoke, I was asked by Ben – an English guy also living and working in the city – what would my prefect day be like. After a few minutes of thinking I said I would love to wake up in the early morning in an Afghan village, eat some freshly baked bread and stay with the locals. Again, it was this kind of thoughts/things that sound so impossible that you never believe could happen. But then again, here I am. And again, I remind myself to be careful what I wish for…

More about the school:

http://bamyanfoundation.org/rahnawardenoor-high-school-ghor-province

https://royamentorshipprogram.wordpress.com/partner-schools/rahnaward-e-noor-high-school/

Kabul / Ka-boom

Finally, after years and years of thoughts, greedily absorbed news and books about the country, I-AM-HERE. Yet another bucket list point checked (and I should call myself damn lucky to be able to be doing it in this pace), but it’s more than that. A dream, a mysterious place, an undiscovered land with such a miserable history. I didn’t cry when I got there as I previously expected to do, but I did shed a tear in a few different situations during my first month in the country.

I’ve been to Kabul three times in a one month. First time, first days was a full paranoia implemented on me by locals. Locals who would always move by cars with private driver, would never walk on the streets and would talk about Afghanistan as the worst place on the Earth. And it is definitely NOT the worst. It is actually quite a regular place with those few exceptions of bomb blasts and Taliban. The rest of dangers of the country could be probably applied to half of the world (i.e. robbery, mugging, snatching, kidnapping, assaults).

I (actually “we” as I was constantly accompanied by somebody) managed to walk a little in the “good area” and did a hike in the mountains south of the city. I went to the coffee shop which will later become one of my favourite spots in the city. The rest of the tour around the city was made by car which would stop as near the entrance to the place where we were going as possible, as to avoid walking on the open street. We’ve covered the most “picturesque” sights in the city – Darul Aman palace (currently under reconstruction), National Museum (with around 70% of exhibits destroyed), a park with a newly reconstructed palace. The first bomb blast while I was in Kabul happened 10 minutes before we entered the park. It was mentioned as a matter of fact.

The second time in Kabul was a brief visit, between coming back from Lal and leaving for Maza-e-Sharif (all the roads go to Kabul in this country, so everywhere I go I need to pass through the capital). I was invited to a 3^rd anniversary of ROYA – a foundation which provides scholarships for the poorest kids in 4 provinces of Afghanistan. They also help in the school I volunteer in – the place which is the reason why I am in the country and will stay for the next half a year. More about this in some other post.  The second blast happened a day before I got back to Kabul.

The third time in Kabul was MY time. I started to do things my way, mostly ignoring the warnings and being culturally incorrect. I took local transportation, walked alone on the streets, made friends with random people and hung out with them, tried to use as much of Farsi as I learned, ate street food, bargained with just about every shopkeeper, ended up at the house party and crashed in the house of somebody I have just met. This is the city life I loved. The third blast happened in the area I was staying in. Too far to notice though.

It’s the rush, the pollution, constant inhaling car fumes, crowds of people dressed from a fancy style to a traditional Afghan blue burka, street food so cheap that you simply have to buy it, curious people looking at your foreign face and teenagers showing off with English sentences. It’s a country of youth. Majority of population is below 35 years of age. Most of the people I’ve met were my age or younger. The generation which doesn’t care about nationality and doesn’t follow their elders’ mindsets. There was a time in Afghanistan when people who spoke foreign language could be killed. Now, the language courses and schools in the country are blooming.

 It’s a city with a constant flow of barbed wire and protective fences, with armed police and patrols of every big street, with checkpoints and body searches and with people living normal lives, as much as they can. Fun parks, restaurants, coffee shops, VIP restaurants and bazaars.

Taxis and mini vans used as public transportation. Mass of second or third hand cars, often imported from Germany or Poland (sic), with their original license plates simply covered with the Afghan ones.

Kabul is a story to be continued. As well as the rest of Afghanistan…