Preparations for this trip started before we left India. Well Alex and Neville had been working on it for quite a while. For me it involved not shaving though to be honest not sure what difference that would make. The object was to spend at least a night with the Hezb-e-Islami Gulbuddin militant group (kinda Mujahedeen started up by Gulbuddin Hekmatyar in 1977) near the border with Pakistan in Kunar province. We had been granted full access to the community and our safety guaranteed by them. The day before had been sorting out everything required, car – Toyota Surf, translator ‘Mr H’, route and various other logistical stuff.
Though only a couple of hundred miles away it would be a 5 hour drive to the meeting point which meant leaving at 6.30am. We would also wear local attire so as to draw less attention. I had bought a kurta pyjama set (£3) in Delhi which had to be died a mucky green colour (£2) as they only had white ones. And very little is white in Afghanistan. Another issue being a slight style difference. Pakistani and Afghan shalwaar kameez having much looser fit around the legs as opposed to the Indian version which is much tighter – as they tend to be very skinny. Not the easiest of things to move my tree trunks around in but better than nothing.
Up at 6am and having had breakfast in the room I got dressed. First in my new mucky green threads and then trousers, jumper and fleece over that, leaving the hotel as ‘normal’.
Not too much further on we stopped to pick up some bottles of water as business’s opened up for the day. Young and old starting their chores.
Leaving the city there was a parked convoy of new military equipment on one side of the road and old burnt out Russian wrecks on the other. We passed effortlessly through the city limit checkpoint which marked the edge of Kabul in and headed into a valley and started to weave our way down through ever impressive and taller canyons.
Impressive doesn’t really cut it. The size and steepness very reminiscent of the 3 Gorges Valley in China but here a much narrower gully, so presumably a younger river which still seemed to be cutting through the mountain with ease.
On the way up hill in the opposite direction an endless flow of (successfully) invading traffic, lorry after lorry many with Pakistani plates bringing supplies heading towards the capital. At one point we were stopped by army for about 15 minutes. As the cars stopped it was obvioulsy a cue to take the the opportunity to go for a quick walk and find a good looking rock or patch of ground to water – as every occupant who spilled out seemed to be doing this. The reason for stopping it turned out, there was a security issue a bit further down. A mile or two further down the road we passed a couple of US army vehicles – who had obviously been following something up.
Eventually the seemingly endless gorge ended and the landscape turned softer flatter and we could see the green hues of still water and cultivation. The odd ruined village nestled in the foreground with the ever present mountains looming in the not too distance. Thinking back to my A Level days this gentle landscape was ex-glacial indicated by lots of large rounded stones embedded throughout the sides of the hills. Smoothed by the pressure and movement of the glacier on top. (Or that's what I think I remember). This gave way to yet another incredibly steep valley just after the town of Sarubi.
This tank was raised on a plinth by the side of the road. Most of the time the rusting hulks are just left there – and are a constant reminder to all who pass of how tough the Afghani’s are and the respect they need to be given against invaders.
Three hours after setting off we reached Jalalabad and then texted Neville to update him on our progress. Alex woke up from her slumber throughout most of the journey so far as we stopped so the driver could grab some breakfast. When he returned to the car with freshly cooked chicken and a small plastic tub of salad it made our snack of nuts and Pringles look decidedly unhealthy.
We headed on north now towards our meeting point. It was very hard to know how far we had gone none of the villages we travelled through had signs – in English or Urdu. All we knew was there was an American base we had to go past but didn’t know where it was either.
Finally we reached a large settlement which I presumed was Village A which was our first geographical marker. As it turned out - not! This was Town B. Knowing that Town B was further than we needed to be we had passed through the Village A on the way unnoticed. Mr H asked it we would stop here. No, we would turnaround and go back – but how far. Our Mr H who now proceeded to show all the endearing qualities of Inspector Clouseau in being completely indiscreet and asking for the Village C where we would meet up with our contact. First we had to go to Village A and this was 10 miles back down the road but there were militants there and this would be dangerous – yup we know that. Back in the car we headed back down that way. After about 3 miles we stopped to fill up with petrol as the tank was half full. Again rather sitting quietly Mr H decided to get some local knowledge. Again he asked for the Village C despite us asking him not too. The American base came up again and concern as there where more militant groups in the area. Nothing like keeping a low profile – nothing like it at all. With a flurry of phone calls we established that we would be met at Village D now which was just the other side of the base. Finally we set off for Village A. On the way we were stopped at a police checkpoint outside a US base. You could tell that by the 16ft walls, razor wire and huge white blimp that was tethered albeit at ground level – looking for all intents and purposes like a beached whale. Classic Clouseau, Mr H asked direction from the policeman! Alex and I looked at each other with utter bemusement.
Finally we reached Village A. Stopped again and Mr H asked for directions to Village D now. The response that came back was Village E. Noooooooo. Village D – the one you wrote down in Urdu just now when you spoke to the contact. Why would we want to go to Village E. But Village D is dangerous – many militants. Ahhhhh. I need to point out that Mr H did know what and where we were going. Also very importantly that once we met our contact at Village D our safety was guaranteed – if not this would be a foolish thing to do. Turning off the main road headed now towards Village D.
After about a mile we came across a barrier in the road which as we came closer was part of the Amercian bases’ defences. Driving up there was a sign announcing this was COP Badel. COP standing for Combat Outpost. Underneath that those humorous Yanks had written ‘Welcome to the Thunderdome. World best two way live firing range’. Nothing like winning hearts and minds!!
The driver, Mr H and myself had to get out of the car and be frisked quickly. Alex was left alone. The fact that they ignored the bags in the back, as is often done, always gets me. Once more Mr H was told that past the gate the Taliban where waiting – obviously just for us. To ease his concern he phoned our contact who was waiting for us up the road to see if it was safe. This was done in front of the soldier with the car window open. Not understanding what he was saying but in terms of being discreet, sensitive even secretive – in any way shape or form this was not the way to go about it. The coast was clear, the barrier raised and we passed through.
Safely at Village D we were met, packed up what we needed and started off for our walk to Village C through well tended paddy fields, across a dry river bed and past houses, some derelict some not. After about 15 minutes at most and no more than about 3 miles from the US base we came up to an small patch of flat land about the size of a badminton court half shaded by trees. Here we were met by the local Commander and a few of his men.
This band was distinctly unimpressive too. Only one AK47 and two walkie-talkies between them. Climbing up to meet them I heard the familiar rip of fabric. I had just split my trousers. (Yes familiar as I have been through a few pairs of jeans lately. But thats because Asda prices at £6 a pair is unbeatable – though they don’t last very well.) Fantastic. For once I was very glad that I had brought the trousers I had walked out of the hotel with as spending two nights with our friends as well as walking for hours up mountains in ripped trousers would have been horrendous. After a quick bit of filming I nipped off to a secluded spot a hundred yards away changed – and had a pee too. With great relief I returned to the group feeling so much better and not having my bum hanging out.
The Commander asked what the programme was a we explained that we were planning on staying with him for a night at least so we could see how they live, prepare and generally conduct their daily lives. Hmm he thought. This would not be possible. Alex made a phone call to a contact and we waited. In the mean time however we interviewed the Commander and in a surreal turn up for the books a couple of the foot soldiers started to take videos and photos of us. In particular Alex, including a very close tilt up and down her body. Not that she was wearing a bikini but may as well have been.
Finally after a long hour of waiting in what was a beautiful peaceful valley, this would be the end of the programme – even with Mr H stating he was a very good translator to us, yeah right. But to give him his due he was once a Mujahedeen and fought against the Russian and spent 7 years in a Russian prison being tortured. More frantic phone calls followed but something had spooked our guests and what we thought was going to happen wasn’t. All they said is that it was too dangerous for us, there were Taliban around and they could not guarantee our safety. What is really was we won’t know but most likely a combination of things. Mainly our indiscreet entrance and probably my presence.
In the middle of this I received a text from my Dad letting me know that the cache near his house back in Devon had been fixed. When I went to see him before coming out we had an unsuccessful session as the clue had gone missing. Oh the things that make you smile.
Any way that was it and wanting a photo in what remained of my unconvincing bid to look local I had my photo taken looking down the valley. Despite being filmed the group refused to have a group photo with us. Though they were very proud to let Alex know that this was the furthest a female foreigner had ever come up the valley. But would not be going any further.
And with that we were led back to the village where we had left the car and driver. Passing by houses with children gathering along the way watching us leave. Alex, as ever on the phone, but this time letting the office know that we we on the way back.
Just before we crossed the dried up river bed the sound of a short burst of small arms fire made its way up the valley towards us. Either AK47 or it may have been a 50mm machine gun. It lasted for about 20 seconds may be –but was a single weapon. This our guide told us was the Taliban firing at the American base. Great. Hopefully it wouldn’t last long. Thankfully it didn’t and was replied to with a quick succession of three mortar rounds on to the hill top in front of us, less than a mile away. You could see dust rising were the rounds hit rocky crags and then the sound of the explosion washed over us and rumbled onwards up the valley.
After a few minutes waiting no more activity occurred from either side and we continued to the car. As we entered the village we were guided to rope bed, name of which escapes me at the moment and forced to have tea. Not my preference as we had to get back to Kabul before nightfall and wanted to crack on. Anyway the tea was ready and being poured, placed in front of us with some nibbles.
Quickly a large group had come to watch these foreigners have tea. Starting with the men folk they appeared.
The boys, curious and shy.
The young and the old.
And despite how tempting they were, the blue sweets just seem to attract the flies. And they seemed to enjoy them. Alex and I left them, the flies obviously content in being sick over them and sucking up the remains.
The crowd grew, we finished our tea and made to leave. Smiling at the kids, the guy in the dark brown clothes who we had met up the valley and came back with us turned and spoke to me directly. Mr H with a huge smile translated this as ‘He says you are an American soldier who like to kill our children and women’. To be honest left me a little speechless. Thankfully once this has sunk in Alex defended our position. And without wanting to get into the discussion any deeper it was now definitely time to leave. This definitely gave ground to them seeing my presence as a threat. In a society where all the men fight – why would that not be the case anywhere else. I was simply being viewed as a soldier or spy.
As we waited at the American base for the barrier to be raised, a US soldier had his M16 trained on the car. Passing through we all waved and with the gun now lowered he and his comrades waved back.
Not sure if it was the tea or not but both of us seemed to get headaches as soon as we left. The last couple of bottles of water were soon necked, and chicken was put on the menu. A quick stop to refuel our bodies in Jalalabad was planned as we hadn’t had lunch yet.
The road rules being as soon as you emerge from the tunnel its your chance to overtake whatever was slowing you down. Here we have one truck over taking another, with us in tow, while on coming traffic free wheels down the hill.
And at least a thousand feet drop on the other side.
Back in Kabul showered and freshly, clean shaven we headed out for the last pizza and a drink at Gandamack. No drinks being available at the hotel. Well only juice or tea or coffee or water or something missing a vital ingredient to wash the day down with.
No doubt we this would be set up again and we’d have another go visiting ‘friends’. And that’s another story.
No comments:
Post a Comment