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.

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.

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.