If you look in my gallery you will see pictures of a co-worker's engagement party. One of people killed in this attack was the brother of the groom.
Road Blast in Afghanistan Kills Three Aid Workers
Anti-Taliban Offensive Launched in 5 Provinces
By Pamela Constable
Washington Post Foreign Service
Sunday, September 17, 2006; Page A18
KABUL, Afghanistan, Sept. 16 -- Three Afghan aid workers were killed Saturday when their vehicle hit a bomb on a highway just south of the capital, while 7,000 Afghan and U.S. troops launched an operation against Taliban insurgents in five eastern and central provinces.
Police said the unidentified aid workers were killed and a fourth was injured when a remote-controlled bomb exploded under their vehicle. The attack was the fourth major bombing in eight days.
They said there were six VBIEDs in the city that the Taliban is just waiting to set off.
This morning's makes number two.
I was sitting at the computer when I heard the explosion (which must have been big because we are across town). Then I got a message from my friend at the Embassy: "Can't make it to dinner tonight--we have been attacked". She thought it was a rocket, but it was a suicide car bomb.
Kabul, you look more like Baghdad every day.
Dear Oprah,
I will preface this letter by saying that I appreciate your attention to what is going on in Afghanistan and I understand that you would like to squeeze every last drop of tear-jerking sympathy from the American people over 9/11 to increase your ratings. After all, you are a businesswoman; I appreciate that.
But the purpose of this letter is to inform you of what your staff has been doing to my staff over the past week. Approximately five days ago someone from Harpo contacted one of my employees--who happens to speak Persian--and asked her to go out and videotape some Afghan widows for a "surprise" story for some 9/11 widows who support said Afghan widows. My employee, being a nice person (although somewhat of a milquetoast at times), kindly agreed and loaded up her video camera and one of our public relations staff and went out into one of the futher districts of the capital to get the "story" for your show.
After four hours of sitting in the sun and prodding these poor, bashful Afghan widows to talk about how they feel about the donation these 9/11 widows gave to them, my employee returned with the tape. We had no problem doing the filming, although it took away from our busy schedules, because it is good publicity for our organization.
However, once we finished taping, your staff realized that it would take too long to DHL the tape, so sending over a satellite feed was the only option--but NO--your staff would not pony up the grand for the uplink. Instead, Harpo asked one of the handful of expatriate staff members of this organization (who supports about 1000 Afghan staff) to take time out of her day to transcribe what the widows said. Your staff had to find out what the widows said first to see if it was "worth" the $1000 to send via satellite!
After the tape was transcribed and your staff read the text, they proposed that my employee fly to fucking PAKISTAN to feed the tape because it would be "cheaper"! I am sorry, Oprah, but we have JOBS that involve helping the poor of Afghanistan to live in dignity and are not your lackeys who can drop everything and fly to Pakistan so you can get your story.
But, no matter: you will get your tape. I almost broke BOTH my legs getting to the Embassy to hand the tape off to some guy going to Washington tonight (Musharaff had the roads blocked so I had to hustle). So the tape will be there by the time you tape on the 12th. You can thank me later. I just hope that the donors for our other $25 million worth of projects do not drop our funding for getting our reports in late.
Sincerely,
Confection
P.S. I expect to be reimbursed for the postage.
At 3 am exactly: boom. It sounded like a thunderclap above my house but without the crackling sounds.
“Did you hear that?”, I asked my husband. Before he could answer, boom, boom, again in quick succession. The house shook. “Should we go downstairs?”
I grabbed my laptop (important work information) and we ran down the stairs, afraid to turn on the lights and possibly make our house a target (although strange that the one night we have electricity all night there are rocket attacks). At the bottom, I missed a stair and went flying on to my face and my laptop landed with a smack. We decided to turn on the lights and go back up to bed.
This was the second rocket attack in so many weeks, but this was close. It sounded like it hit district 10, over near Butcher Street. Last week the target was the district 5 police station.
It’s only been about five hours so no news yet on what happened or where the rockets hit.
There are only two fucking hills in Kabul. It looks like the ANA/ANP (Afghan National Police/Army) could get a few guys together for each hill to apprehend the motherfuckers when they shoot these off. You’ve let me down again, GoA!
Alright, Government of Afghanistan: I have turned a blind eye when you allowed one of my co-workers to be kidnapped, let it slide when you stood by as rioters looted my house and burned down my office, but the provision that has recently gone into effect is where I draw the line.
Yeah, I know about it. I found out when I spent 35 minutes in a hot car riding down the IED-prone Jalalabad Road to the PX to pick up some beer. The security guy at the door looked at my passport and pointed out the sign
Effective August 16, 2006, by decree of the Ministry of the Interior, only individuals with ISAF (International Security Assistance Force, aka Coalition), UN or diplomatic identification will be allowed to purchase alcohol.
You thought you had me, right? I know you've got something to prove: regular Afghan shops selling beer and the resurrection of Vice and Virtue Office mean that you have to cut back and show you have power. Plus, your new Minister of the Interior was a runner-up--the Parliament rejected him from the Supreme Court because he is a conservative whack job. Well listen up: nothing keeps me from my Pino Grigio, not a decree from the Ministry nor some South Asian cashier at the PX.
I bought my beer and liquor in open defiance of your decree (with a little flirting with a guy with an ISAF badge) and I will not be deterred. There are few things I am willing to fight for, and my dear friend Ron Bacardi is one of them. It's ON.
A two hour flight and I am in another universe. Stepping off the plane, I remembered the first time I ever arrived at the Almaty International Airport: June 15, 1999, 4:30am. Getting off the flight from Istanbul, still hung over from my “last night in America” drinking binge with my college friend Dan, I had no idea what I was about to get myself into. I didn’t realize that the two years I had pledged to spend in Kazakhstan would turn into five, that less than 24 hours before I had met my future husband in the elevator of a twenty-storey hotel blocks from the Sears Tower, or that what I was about to do would change the course of my life.
Back in 2006, I am jumping over deported Koreans (see post below) to be first off the bus to Passport Control (I am an expert at this) and then on to baggage claim. Aigul is there to meet us with her new 17-year-old girlfriend. My husband and I hop into her Neva and drive to the city. I was only there last year, but so much has changed. There are new apartment blocks on literally every corner, supermarkets are almost outnumbering the mom-and-pop shops and there are very few kiosks. Soviet and Russian cars are predominated by Lexuses, Hondas and Toyotas; Kazakhstanis are doing well. I couldn’t help but think about how far this sparsely populated country had come since the fall of the Soviet Union and since the first time I came seven years ago.
Seven years ago the hotel rooms had communal toilets and hot water for only two hours a day; there were only two supermarkets in town, Rossei and Ramstore; nobody wore deodorant and the only types of buildings were the constructivist Soviet-era blocks. All of the changes—the stylish young people, lack of beggars, consistent electricity and water, availability of every consumer product imaginable—made me think about Afghanistan. I wish that I could travel back in time to that moment in the early 1980’s when the CIA decided to intervene to make Afghanistan “the Soviet Union’s Vietnam”. I wish that I could somehow have convinced the US government to stop arming the Mujahadeen and fomenting the insurgency. Then I think about how things might have been. When the Soviets occupied Kabul there were tramvais. The thought of a tramvai (trolley) on the streets of Kabul, where cars can now barely go, blows my mind. They built apartment blocks, the set up infrastructure; there were hospitals, schools, electricity. I am by no means excusing the horrible atrocities that the Soviets committed against the Afghan people (land mines shaped like dolls, for example), but maybe, just maybe, all of the problems the world is facing with terrorism could have been mitigated if the Soviets had stayed.
I realize that there are a lot of ramifications from this line of thinking--the war in Afghanistan clearly had implications for the fall of the Soviet Union—but looking at a place like Kazakhstan, and more appropriately, Tajikistan, makes me wonder what might have happened. There is something to be said for authoritative development.
After being carried from the Midwest to South Central (Asia), I nearly lost my order when Schwig's housekeeper threw it in the trash. Luckily it was salvaged before garbage pick-up.
But it made it. I ordered large bottles of Queen of Sheba, Lady MacBeth, Persephone, Lolita and Embalming Fluid. There were also about 7 imps thrown in for free. I got Embalming Fluid smell unsniffed, but it turned out well: a little piney-limey on first application, but then it dried down to Body Shoppe's grapeseed soap. Not bad.
However, the imps I am not to sure about: it seems that many of them seem like 1980's Coty imposters (Emeraude, anyone?). Perhaps the new scents are retro, but they do not seem as innovative as the ones rolled out two years ago when there seemed not to be such a frenzy to put out new scents.
Not to offend, but this is my opinion. That's why I keep ordering the old standbys over and over.
There is a place for proselytizing (arguably). Kabul, Afghanistan is not it.
That whistling sound you will hear will be rockets heading for the Kabul Olympic Stadium:
Potential For Riots/Demonstrations - Kabul. Institute of Asian Culture and Development (IACD) intend to despatch up to 2,000 South Korean nationals who have already been granted visas to enter Afghanistan. At least 60+ are already in country and the remainder are expected over the next week.
Their aim is to hold Christian religious gatherings, the first at the Kabul Olympic stadium followed by a 5 km 'peace march' through Kabul on or around 5 Aug 06. They then plan to extend their religious activities to Mazar, Herat, Kandahar and Bamyan 7 Aug onwards. The IACD will initially be 'camping out' at the Kabul Olympic stadium.
• Most security and NGO actors are taking the threat from these marches as potentially extremely serious as they could easily trigger a violent backlash from elements of the local community.
First, I want to point out that one cannot listen to text; conversation or dialogue yes, but you can only read text.
Two-way radio training. Since the riots and our office was burned we are all about security. Part of this new initiative is radio training. Yesterday afternoon, my boss came to ask me to come to hand-held radio training. I told her that I had been to radio training last year and that I did not need to sit around for an hour and a half to learn how to hold a walkie talkie upright. “No, this is advanced radio training, you should go.”
On the way up the stairs back to my office, I encountered two colleagues: “I hope y’all brought your crack ‘cause this is going to be the most boring shit you have ever encountered”, I warned.
The training was held in one of the burned out containers that used to house part of the finance department. Hot is not the word, the temperature was at least 98 farenheit, and without air conditioning the container was like a toaster oven. I sat down and our Afghan IT guy launched into his presentation.
The first power point slide was entitled, “What is Communication?”. I just shook my head. This was the same drawn-out remedial bullshit I had to sit through last year. I felt like standing up and saying, “What is communication? I am so happy we are addressing this question. Here I have completed graduate school and worked professionally for five years and I had no idea what the fuck communication was!”, but I restrained myself. It got worse.
While the swarm of flies in the room settled on my face, toes and hands and sweat beaded up, the IT guy took ten minutes to talk about all of the different types of communication and specifically, the types of communication we use in our offices (CODAN, VHF radios, e-mail, cellular phones, smoke signals, carrier pigeons). My boss told him to cut to the chase, and was backed-up by the finance manager.
So we fast forwarded to the section about “How to Speak Over the Radio”. I swear to god, some of the bulleted points included, “do not shout” and “speak in short sentences”. Then, there were definitions of radio lingo that included, “hello: a greeting”, “out: the conversation is finished” and a stern lecture about not using phrases like “roger, over and out” because they are WRONG and anyone who says them will go to hell. Then we talked about the “wolume” (volume) control and were subjected to more slides sprinkled with misspellings and poor grammar.
Finally, my boss put her foot down: “What I need to know is not how to turn on the radio. I need to know if someone breaks into my house at night or if we have another situation like the riots, what do we do?!?” The IT guy sheepishly replied, “I only can give training on how to use the radio. Those systems are to be decided by the Security Specialist.” At that point, I got up and I walked out. Forty minutes of my life lost and two reports to submit. This is my life.
This was in the news today. And while all of the ISAF, American and British forces are focused on the Southern Provinces like Helmand, Uruzgan, Zabul and Kandahar, the Taliban has gone and set up it own governmental office in the Southeastern province of Ghazni.
This is a big deal: mostly because Ghazni is not on the front lines. While there have been bombings and assasinations in Ghazni this year, there are no foreign military troops there to keep peace, but this is the new front. Especially when these Southeastern provinces are on no one's radar (no pun intended) and the Taliban can hang out a shingle without anyone stopping them. There are also reports that the Taliban have met with men over 60 in Ghazni center to ask them to become suicide bombers.
What's more, in talking with some of the Afghans I work with, apparently in Peshawar (in Pakistan on the border with Afghanistan), the Taliban is openly recruiting people with storefronts to travel to Afghanistan to carry out bombings, kidnappings, etc.
All of this really saddens me. When I came to Afghanistan in spring 2005, Ghazni was the first place outside of Kabul that I visited. It was gorgeous: the fruit trees were in bloom and the fields were bright green. The mud walls of the buildings and the remnants of the ancient empire that once ruled parts of India made it seem like I was in another time. It bothers me that the little girls I visited in their classroom might not be able to go to school much longer and the peaceful, sleepy town I visited might be irrevocably changed for the worse.
This is the account that one of my co-workers wrote who stayed behind the day of the riots. Damn, this makes my stomach turn and just makes me mad all over again.
HRD Manager, account of the Monday, May 29, 2006 (Jawza 8, 1385) incident.
The demonstration that I found out about only a few minutes earlier was becoming more intensified by 11:00 am which is why we decided to send the international staff home.
To find out exactly what was happening, I took a rented car to Taimany where I faced a group of angry demonstrators on the 7th street. I returned to the office and asked Shah Mohammad to evacuate the office completely. Shoaib, Driver, and I accompanied the last two international staff to the International Guesthouse. On our way back to the office, we were caught in the middle of the demonstration in front of the Attorney General’s office. I asked Shoaib to take the car back to the guesthouse and I walked along the demonstrators to the office, pretending to be one of them. The demonstrators dismantled the security box in front of the Attorney General’s office and set it on fire in the middle of the road.
When I came back to the office, I found that a small number of the staff had not left the office, including two female staff, from Admin and an income generation staff and her children (later I found out the two kindergarten teachers and a handful of kids were hiding in the kindergarten). I asked Ramazan, our Admin Assistant, who had also remained behind, to take them to a safe location. He took them through Kolola Pushta to a safe place before returning to the office.
I, along with 14 other staff, stayed at the office during the looting and the fire. Those who had stayed behind did not to hesitate to protect the office. Their courageous actions saved much of the organization’s properties, assets and the entire adjacent building, about 50 rooms, along with furniture and equipments. They rescued more than 20 vehicles, 6 large generators, approximately 90 computers, 55 printers, 9 stores (containers) 2 of which were storage of fuel, oils and vehicle’s spare parts etc. The credit of having all the remaining stuff in our office goes to these people.
We locked all the entrance doors to the office. The crowd was approaching from two sides: Kolola Pushta and Qala-I- Fathullah. I was in front of the transport gate which was locked from inside. I watch as their leader pointed to buildings to be attacked. They damaged the security box in front of WFP office (located next to the office). Next, they tried to attack our gate but the transport gate was too strong for them to break down so they moved on to join the crowd coming from Qala-i– Fathullah toward Shar-I- Naw, all the while breaking our windows around the corner. As this was happening, I managed to move to the other end of the building, in front of the mosque, watching them move away. When they cleared our building, I went back to the office and assured my colleagues that the mob was gone.
At 12:30 the mob returned from Shar-I- Naw, and broke the wooden gates located in north side of the main office. Over 100 people raided the office in looting what they could and destroying the rest. Later, one of my colleagues told me that a gunman was standing next to the finance department, his head wrapped in a handkerchief. I soon realized that, even though we were doing our best, we could not resist them because they were a handful of people with guns among the crowd. I did not want to risk any of our colleagues’ lives. I though that they were a group of thieves, who would leave after they took what they wanted. I never thought that they would finish their action by setting the office on fire.
I could hear the flames but was not able to see them. I kept looking all around to see where it was coming from. And suddenly there it was, all powerful and engulfing everything in its path. The steel bars on the windows, meant for protection, had now become an obstacle against salvaging equipments.
The fire was soon raging out of control and no matter how hard we tried we could not put it out. The staff was looking to me for guidance, but I was concerned for their safety. I had to tell them to back away. Watching the office burn was like watching my own home burn and not be able to do anything about it. This will be one of the worst memories that I will carry through life; the office bunt as I looked on helplessly.
While we were fighting the fire, one of the looters was stealing a laptop and a DVD player but was not able to go through the main gate which was on fire. Assuming we too were looters, he asked us for help over the western wall. We gave him a hand and more before we locked him up in the transport department.
Another young looter who was throwing items to his gang from the kindergarten roof , was apprehended by one of our colleagues and joined the other looter at our makeshift jail.
Three invaders entered the car park and tried to steal a Corolla when Yama, our Mechanic, ran after them and told to get out of the car. They found the car first and that there are plenty more for him to choose from. At this point Yama reached in through the open window and pulled out of the driver. A group of our staff joined him and rescued the car. Yama ceased another car-thief who told him that he was a staff member. He joined the rest at the transport department.
Nasim, the Head of IT and Communication, did his best to save the finance department’s server from, but despite his heroic act that brought him to a few feet from the fire, he was not able to save the server.
Nasim was fighting the fire off from the generators and three guards were fighting the fire away from the next building. I sent the cars out of the office, we carried the damaged cars away from the wall of the burned building and succeeded to pull out one the generators but we couldn’t take out the second one.
To prevent the spread of the fire to the next building we pulled out all the cloths and furniture from the office’s shop. I asked the staff to take out all remaining materials out of the office. We took out 14 laptops, 2 satellite phones, 1 IT Server, radio sets and computers and put them all in a car which driver Hanif took to Mr. Ebadi’s house who is an employee of the Parwan office; we sent 8 cars to Shir’s house.
I asked Ehsan and Satar, a Guard, to keep a watch from the Kindergarten’s roof and I went outside to stand by the mosque next to the office. I watched as a small group of looters returned back from Haji Yaqoob square and broke into the reception. I followed them and with the help of a group of our staff ceased them. Our staff continued their heroic acts and after throwing the mob out of the reception and removed a couch that they had set on the fire. It was timely act that protected the second building and offices from the fire.
The Fire Department refused to get involved without protection. So we all watched as our dear home burnt.
1. Shir, Driver; took 8 vehicles and some other stuff to his house, resisted the looters on the street and retuned them back to THE OFFICE in good condition.
2. Yama, Assistant Mechanic, beside saving a laptop and a VCD player that he took from the looters, he saved 3 vehicles by taking them out of the office.
3. Humayon, Guard; despite his disability, he acted bravely.
4. Ihsanullah, managed to grab a camera from a looter and take pictures of the office while burning.
5. Shafi, Guard, he acted bravely
6. Satar, Guard, he acted bravely and he was very active and became very tired in that day
7. Abdul Wahab, Guard; he acted bravely.
8. Khoja Sayed Jan, he acted bravely by pushing back the rioters from reception.
9. Baseer, Mechanic, took coaster van full of shop stuff and some other things for safe keeping
10. Shoaib driver; he acted bravely
11. Fazel Guard he acted bravely
12. Nasim, Head of IT and Communications, did his best to save properties and collected about 13 laptops, sat phones, radio sets and a few desktops and put them in a car and took to Mr. Ebadi’s house, we received it back in good condition
13. Wahab Mechanic; he acted bravely and saved a vehicle by taking it for safe keeping during the riot
14. Ramazan; he took Samira, Misha and Ferozan with her children from the office to their houses in very bad condition. Also he assisted others in pushing back the rioters from reception.
1. Sayed Khalil
2. Fazel Haq
3. Musharaf driver
4. Hanif driver
5. Abdul Sabor
6. Karim,
7. Hafiz
8. Eng Sulaiman
Summertime is wedding time in Afghanistan. Long, boring, hot, segregated wedding parties are as unavoidable as dirt and scorpions this time of year. While the men sit downstairs drinking tea, eating mutton and listening to music at the wedding hall, me and the other “females” are upstairs, all painted up, dancing to the live band and trying to avoid the children running buck wild all over the place. While I have always been skillfully adept at fleeing Afghan weddings, I have seen enough to know that few social events anywhere in the world are as strange and tediously predictable.
Things to know when you go to an Afghan wedding:
1. There will be no ceremony. The ceremony takes place in a mosque a few days before. The “wedding” you are going to is really just dancing, food, music and no alcohol (while the men can get away with sneaking a few sips, this is strictly taboo for women).
2. If you bring your significant other and he/she is of the opposite sex, you are not going to see him/her all night. Men sit downstairs, women sit upstairs. Don’t ask questions.
3. If you are a woman, wear the brightest outfit you have, the highest heels and lots of make-up (when in Rome…).
4. Expect to see the bride and groom together for only a few minutes, after they have greeted guests for hours.
5. The bride and groom will be related.
The weddings are always held at a huge wedding hall that is covered in mirrored glass and neon colored bas-reliefs. The hall is rented out solely for such occasions. The food is thrown at you by 15-year-old Afghan boys on large, communal plates. Dishes at weddings always include rice, mutton, chicken, a salad of tomatoes, hot peppers and cucumbers, fried eggplant, spinach and some type of gelatin dessert. Green tea will be served without fail.
While I cringe when I see the pink frilly wedding invitation on my desk, sometimes it is good to get out and see what the Afghans are up to. It is refreshing to see women dressed in their finest, talking and laughing with each other without being self-conscious. For many of them with houses to keep and children to look after, weddings are the one event where they can come and (literally) let their hair down.
If you are un/fortunate enough to be invited to an Afghan wedding in your lifetime and decide to go, be prepared: practice your basic Dari, make sure you look good (everyone will be staring) and get ready to eat. It will be an event you will never forget.
Here are the rules that were in effect in Afghanistan until November 2001:
General Presidency of Amr Bil Maruf. Kabul, December 1996.
1. To prevent sedition and female uncovers (Be Hejabi). No drivers are allowed to pick up women who are using Iranian burqa. In case of violation the driver will be imprisoned. If such kind of female are observed in the street their house will be found and their husband punished. If the women use stimulating and attractive cloth and there is no accompany of close male relative with them, the drivers should not pick them up.
2. To prevent music. To be broadcasted by the public information resources. In shops, hotels, vehicles and rickshaws cassettes and music are prohibited. This matter should be monitored within five days. If any music cassette found in a shop, the shopkeeper should be imprisoned and the shop locked. If five people guarantee the shop should be opened the criminal released later. If cassette found in the vehicle, the vehicle and the driver will be imprisoned. If five people guarantee the vehicle will be released and the criminal released later.
3. To prevent beard shaving and its cutting. After one and a half months if anyone
observed who has shaved and/or cut his beard, they should be arrested and imprisoned until their beard gets bushy.
4. To prevent keeping pigeons and playing with birds. Within ten days this habit/
hobby should stop. After ten days this should be monitored and the pigeons and any other playing birds should be killed.
5. To prevent kite-flying. The kite shops in the city should be abolished.
6. To prevent idolatory. In vehicles, shops, hotels, room and any other place pictures/portraits should be abolished. The monitors should tear up all pictures in the above places.
7. To prevent gambling. In collaboration with the security police the main centres
should be found and the gamblers imprisoned for one month.
8. To eradicate the use or addiction. Addicts should be imprisoned and investigation made to find the supplier and the shop. The shop should be locked and the owner and user should be imprisoned and punished.
9. To prevent the British and American hairstyle. People with long hair should be arrested and taken to the Religious Police department to shave their hair. The criminal has to pay the barber.
10. To prevent interest on loans, charge on changing small denomination notes and
charge on money orders. All money exchangers should be informed that the above three types of exchanging the money should be prohibited. In case of violation criminals will be imprisoned for a long time.
11. To prevent washing cloth by young ladies along the water streams in the city. Violator ladies should ‘be picked up with respectful Islamic manner, taken to their houses and their husbands severely punished.
12. To prevent music and dances in wedding parties. In the case of violation the head of the family will be arrested and punished.
13. To prevent the playing of music drum. The prohibition of this should be an-
nounced. If anybody does this then the religious elders can decide about it.
14. To prevent sewing ladies clothes and taking female body measures by tailor. If women or fashion magazines are seen in the shop the tailor should be imprisoned.
15. To prevent sorcery. All the related books should be burnt and the magician should be imprisoned until his repentance.
16. To prevent not praying and order gathering pray at the bazaar. Prayer should be done on their due times in all districts. Transportation should be strictly prohibited and all people are obliged to go to the mosque. If young people are seen in the shops they will be immediately imprisoned.
Yes, indeed: Fuck the World.
I have been really pissy today with due cause: some of the stuff which was not stolen in the riots has since gone missing although we packed it up and brought it to the new house ourselves. My brand spanking new mandolin (no Shaker pie any time soon), brand new frying pan and knives. All imported from the US, of course. Fucking brilliant that I got my shipment from the states exactly four days before the riots. Allowing me time to unpack everything and lay it out in neat little rows for hoodlum Spandi kids to get their grubby mits on after they busted through my front door.
Adding to the irritation is work. There is a certain foreigner with whom I work who is about to find out what time it is. Maybe I am placing all of my frustration on her, but other people I work with are corroborating my assumptions and it is not long before there will be a mutiny. She (being in a position of authority higher than me) hired her friend for a senior expatriate position, takes the credit for every time I bust my ass and turn out something extraordinary, alienates the Afghan staff and talks shit about them when they are not around, and has personally attacked me. What can I do?
So, fuck the world. At least this anger is fueling three mile runs after work.
A colleague just called, it is 9am here and already three explosions (there were two yesterday). One hit an Afghan Army bus and there were a high number of casualties.
I am at home today, however; I am not sure why, but sometimes I get migraines and I start vomiting for hours. After everything is out of my system I am OK. It doesn't matter what I eat or drink or my stress level, it just happens. Anyone have any ideas what could be causing this?
It's going to be a long summer.
Damn--the rundown as of 1:30 pm:
1. 0725hrs. Location. District 2, Asay Watt area, close to the Ministry of Communication. A Remote-Control Device/bomb (RCIED) in a trash bin beside the road exploded and 39 Afghan National Army (ANA) personnel were wounded. The bus then went out of control crashing into a shop selling gas bottles and fuel, causing an explosion and a fire.
2. 0800hrs.
Incident report: C2606015- 0049, Lab-e-Jar Khair Khana, District 11
Location: Lab-e-Jar Khair Khana , Kabul City, District 11,
Incident type: RCIED attack
Date/Time: 05 July, approximately 0800 hrs
Report status: Confirmed
Information: Reports received indicate that a handcart packed with explosives was detonated via remote control in the above mentioned area. The intended target was a bus belonging to the Ministry of Commerce. As a result of the explosion, 4 passengers were reportedly injured and one killed. No further information at this stage.
Casualties: 4 wounded and 1 killed
Arrest: Nil
Assessment: The exact motive behind this attack is unknown however these types of attacks are usually carried out by Anti-Government Elements (AGE’s). This is the second attack this week which has been targeted at government structures. More attacks of this nature; particularly targeted at Government facets should be expected in the near future.
3. 0840hrs. The US Embassy is allowing official Americans to travel in Kabul only for essential reasons. The Consular Section encourages all Americans to limit their travel in the city as well, and cautions Americans who do move about Kabul, to avoid those neighborhoods and to be particularly vigilant.
4. 0925hrs. British Military & ISAF have just placed the city Out Of Bounds (OOB) to non-armored vehicles, further emphasizing an increased threat across the city for at least the rest of the day.
5. 1200hrs. According to unconfirmed information received, the Terror Network Al-Quaida has allegedly claimed responsibility for the 2 explosions this morning in Kabul city. As reported the statement included that another 26 explosive attacks would follow today in Kabul city. This report is as unconfirmed as it gets in the moment but already circulating around Kabul city. In order to mitigate risk to our staff in case there is some credibility to this, I have advised our staff to stay clear of all Military/Government vehicles and compounds as they would be the most likely target and restrict movement to essential only for the time being.
6. 1230hrs. ISAF report that to date, 2 x Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs) detonated and 1 x IED was found and controlled detonated in PDs 1/2. A further 3 x IEDs have been found around the city at undisclosed locations. No details of the IEDs have been released.
OK, I try not to talk about domestic issues, because this is a blog about my experiences in Afghanistan, but this is very alarming.
So let me get this straight, seven months before September 11 my government decided to start spying on me? I hope a motherfucker gets impeached and thrown out of office on his monkey ass if this is true.
Speaking of "domestic spying", we have moved into a new house (our old house was looted and almost set on fire) and there are guys coming and going to do repairs. Last night about 7:00, one of the neighbors (an old, white-bearded Afghan) came over to talk to my husband (who had been drinking since noon because he had the day off). They were outside talking for at least 45 minutes--in times like these I am glad I am a woman in Afghanistan--and the purpose of the meeting? The neighbor asked my husband to inform him when people will be on our roof because he has daughters and the men could see them!
(Honestly, I was quite relieved because I thought for sure he had come to admonish me for prancing around the house and yard in my underwear.)
Meanwhile, just got a phone call that two improvised explosive devices have blown up at the Ministries of Internal Affairs and Finance.
Nothing left to do but post a little GET YOUR WAR ON:
The funny thing about the latter comic strip is that international donors (UNDP, for example) have poured millions of dollars into programs to disarm former militia members, and now Karzai wants them armed again because apparently the program was a fuck up and a little too premature, no?
I know what you are thinking: Yes, you live in a shit hole, but what do you smell like? So, since this is a forum about BPAL after all, my top ten:
1. June Gloom
2. Persephone
3. Grog
4. Lady MacBeth
5. Queen of Sheba (which I named--look it up)
6. Bordello
7. Black Pearl
8. Jailbait
9. Trick or Treat
10. Maiden
I also wanted to share something cute I saw yesterday. Strangely enough, it rained for about 20 minutes in Kabul yesterday which never happens in July. While I was driving home, I saw a little girl about eight years old standing on a balcony with her pink and blue child's umbrella. She was out in the rain singing to the people on the street. It is refreshing to see a kid act like a kid for once in a country where most children are working and not going to school.
I was reading Christina Lamb's blog and came across this.
My favorite quote is about the Ariana Airlines hijacking: A few years ago when a group of Afghans hijacked an Ariana plane and flew it to Stansted to demand asylum, I called the Ariana head office in Kabul for a reaction. The man I spoke to was stunned. “I didn’t think any of our planes could fly that far”, he said.
True.
If you don't know much about Afghanistan, especially under the Taliban, I suggest you pick up Lamb's book The Sewing Circles of Herat.
To the Diners at the Mac Restaurant, White Sands Beach, Koh Chang, Trat Province, Thailand:
I am writing to apologize for the involuntary act I perpetrated at 8:30pm, Thursday, June 22, 2006. If I had been given a choice, I would not have projectile vomited without notice in front of at least twenty individuals who were enjoying their dinners, facing the sea, when I walked across their field of vision, yakked, and then kept on going without pause. Yes, it was rude; but I maintain that I had no control at that point and I thought that I was safe to walk the few hundred meters back to my bungalow as I had vomited less than 90 seconds earlier behind a palm tree at the Lagoon restaurant (adjacent to the Mac).
No, I was not drunk. I had consumed less than half of a (small) Singha that evening. Also, I had not overeaten, as I had only taken two bites of my red curry vegetables before the obscene event took place (which was done just to appease my husband who was offended that I ordered food which I had no intention of eating). I blame the amount of sun I had been exposed to that day; while living in Afghanistan I rarely have the chance to run around bare-assed naked all the time, everywhere, so my body was not able to process the copious amounts of Vitamin D in my system.
In sum, I am sorry for ruining your meals. I hope this incident was not the worst of your vacation.
Sincerely,
Confection
P.S. Confidential to the lady who said “revolting” as I shuffled past: fuck off.
Not sure why, but all last Monday and every day since, I have that song "Terror!" by The Rakes in my head:
And my job in the city won't matter no more
When the network is down and my flesh is all torn
Every plane is a missile
Every suitcase a bomb
There's no reason in my head now
Only fear in my bones
So now things are getting back to normal. I am packed into a cramped office with my colleagues, with no air conditioning, bad connectivity and no privacy. Oh yes, and there is lots of B.O. too. I am becoming an involuntary mouth-breather to survive.
There are lots of promises about which agency will pay for all the stuff I lost. But really, I am not that concerned. Every morning we sit out on the lawn and have a meeting (finance took over the conference room) and talk about what is going on. It is what is revealed in these meetings that is foremost in my mind. Some of our staff were tied up and all of their computers taken out of town and set on fire in one of the provinces last night. They were warned not to associate with international organizations (these staff implement an education program). There have been more aid workers killed in the first six months of this year than probably the last three years put together and I can't help but wonder, was this riot an abberration or is something worse on the horizon?
I have been in Afghanistan for over 14 months now. I have dealt with the kidnapping of a colleague, the riots, daily stares and harrassment and yet it has not even occurred to me until now that maybe it is time to pack it up. But packing it up is not that easy. I love what I do. I really feel like I contribute, like I am helping people. I like the Afghans and the foreigners I work with (except for one, but more on that later) and my husband, for once, likes what he does as well.
A few weeks ago I was compiling the results of a survey from our widows' program. One of the beneficiaries wrote, "God bless you people. I pray for you every day". Is it worth it, to have job satisfaction if I have to deal with the potential of having all of my shit looted, my office burned and to be kidnapped? I honestly do not know.
This isn't Iraq--things get done. We are building houses for returnees, digging wells so schoolchildren have clean water, educating little girls and boys, helping widows to live in dignity and trying, generally, to get the people of Afghanistan back on their feet again after all of these conflicts. It's like it doesn't matter anymore who you are or what you do; if you are preceived to be on the wrong side you could get killed. I think that is the part I am having problems with.
Maybe this is just an expected after-effect of all of the "Terror!" I've been through lately. But the good news is that on Sunday the old man and I are off to Bangkok for a conference and then a week on Koh Samet. Hopefully my pallid ass in a bikini will not incite some terror of its own.
The next day (today) was the day of reckoning. Today I had to go and see for myself just what had happened. I choked down some Nescafe and went to my office. It was like a scene out of a war movie. The entire building was burned; the roof had caved in and there was the smell of an electrical fire in the air. I walked around to the side of my office and saw that it was still smoldering. There were papers and parts of computers scattered all over the ground. A few Afghan colleagues came up with sad faces and put their arms around me. I started to cry. It was so sad, all of the things that we do to help people in this country and this is what happens.
After the office visit, it was time to survey the house. A crowd of neighbors watched us drive up and walk through the gate. It was a complete mess. The windows were broken, there were chocolate chips smashed into the carpet, cans thrown around, furniture broken. The pearl necklace my parents gave me for my birthday was gone, but luckily my diamonds were still there. They had taken everything out of the cabinets and closets and turned them over. They stole mine and my husband’s shoes, our DVDs, our laptop, two digital cameras, two DVD players, two TVs, an iron, two satellite receivers and dishes and an external hard drive. I was so mad. It wasn’t as bad as I had imagined, but it was still terrible.
We cleaned up what we could and decided to never stay in that house again. I guess this is what it feels like to be robbed—you just feel so violated. I came back to the guesthouse and that’s where I am writing from now.
This is the official news of what happened:
Police sources have reported the following detail regarding the civil disturbances in Kabul on the 29 May 06.
The initial RTA involved 22 vehicles, several of which were overloaded buses. Six persons were killed as a result of the RTA and a further 5 were killed in SAF that immediately followed.
A total of 300 individuals were detained during the disturbances, of these 92 remain in custody. ANP claim that 12 of these persons were 'ringleaders' and 3 of them were armed at the time of there arrest.
NDS state that they arrested 6 Pakistani males in the Karte Char area (PD3). The individuals are believed to have been rioting in the area and were in possession of combustibles at the time of their arrest.
So far today the city has remained calm, a planned demonstration at the Kabul University has been dispersed through negotiation between ANP and rally leaders. A second demonstration in the vicinity of the Serena hotel has also been dispersed.
The immediate area of Sarae Shamali (RTA location) has been sealed of by a large number of Afghan Security forces in order to prevent any demonstrations in the area.
A curfew will be in place tonight 2200-0400hrs. Any persons stopped after this time will be detained at an ANP station until the reason they have broken the curfew is ascertained.
There are a lot of stories from my ten colleagues who stayed behind to fight. More on those in the next few days.
I picked the wrong day to wear my sandals with four-inch heels.
Yesterday started out like any other: I went to work at 7:15, had meetings until 10:00 and then left the office to go four blocks to another meeting on gender issues. On the way out of the office, I saw three German ISAF (International Security Assistance Force) tanks moving down the road away from the Hanzalla Mosque in the direction of Taimani street. While an odd sight, I didn’t think anything of it.
I got to my meeting at the Agency Coordinating Body for Afghan Relief and proceeded to totally walk all over the condescending Afghan man holding the meeting (hence the four-inch heels, if you are going to railroad someone you need to wear stylish shoes). Basically, this guy wants to merge meetings on gender in the Afghanistan Development Strategy with meetings on programmatic gender issues which I oppose because in the past he was in charge of the meetings and nothing got done. When I got up to explain my position he acted like I shot his dog and then tried to ignore everything I had to say.
At 10:20 the phone rang, it was my husband but I didn’t answer because I was in the meeting. A few minutes afterward, I got a message from him that read: “I was told to stay inside rogur in streets because of car accident”. I had no idea what “rogur” meant so I sent back the message, “what?” but it didn’t send. I didn’t know it, but the network was overloaded which is what happens in Afghanistan when there is a bombing or kidnapping. At 10:40 someone at the meeting from Counterpart received a call that there were riots (aka "rogur") and that we needed to either leave for our offices or stay there. I called a car.
While waiting for the car I tried to call my husband but kept getting the “network busy” sign. As I got into the car, I asked Fraidoon, the driver, what was going on. He said that there had been a car accident with American troops and some people were killed. On the way back to the office I got a hold of my husband, “Where are you?” he demanded. I told him I was on my way back to the office. He said that there was a mob moving up Taimani street (the street my house is on, by the way) and to stay at the office.
When I arrived at my office, I went to talk to some of the people who were leaving from an earlier meeting I had left to go to ACBAR. I asked what was going on and they said 30 people were dead. The Americans shot at a group of people in Sarai Shomali (a place at the end of Taimani street where I buy plants and flowers) and the group decided to take the demonstration to the Parliament, the Ministries and any international group they could find.
I searched out our security guy—he was a mujahadeen back in the day—he acted totally nonchalant and told me to stay at the office, that it would pass. Besides, the group was far away. I turned on my four-inch heel with a “I am going home, I don’t know about y’all” and walked to my office to get my laptop. My husband called again and told me to get out of my office and come to his office across the street. “There are armed guards,” he reasoned, “you will be safe here”. I gathered my things and left my office for what would be the last time. At the door, a group of staff from Administration asked where I was going and a coworker urged me to go to her house. They told me not to go to my house on Taimani. The protesters were coming that way. I went to my husband’s office to wait.
At about 11:45 the shots started. We heard shouting and it sounded like there was gunfire coming from all directions. I kept searching google news to try to find out what was going on. There was an intense firefight around the corner. We thought it was DynCorp (big security firm with a bad rep among Afghans) but we found out later it was at the German Embassy. I stole looks out the window of my husband’s office. I tried calling everyone I knew, but AWCC, one of the only two mobile service providers in Afghanistan, was down. I tried to call my boss who was at the American Embassy when everything happened, but I found out later he was on “lockdown” in a secure place in the center of the Embassy and could not answer his phone. I called over the radio to let my organization know that I was OK. I heard a barely audible response—something about bombs and fire at my office. I tried to call two of my coworkers who live together to make sure they were safe at home but they both had AWCC phones. I called over the hand-held radio and got a short response from a woman I work with: “radio about to die”. I tried calling again over the next few hours but there was no response.
At 12:30 my husband and I joined his coworkers for lunch at the guesthouse adjoining his office. About ten minutes later we heard shouting and chanting and then loud booms against the side of the building. The crowd, taking advantage of a construction site across the street, was throwing rocks. One of the Afghan women who was there collapsed on the floor and started moaning and screaming. She obviously was terrified by the noise which brought back memories of past conflicts.
Once the group passed, we went upstairs to inspect the damage. A few broken windows, but that was about it. We went back to my husband’s office to wait. During this time, I was emailing my other boss who is in Bangkok at a workshop. Her partner (who is still in Kabul) had sent her an email saying that our office had been breached. I went out on the balcony to see what was happening. There was white smoke coming from the direction of my office building. My husband and I went back inside where it was safe and heard gunshots and explosions and saw people running from that direction.
I called my boss in Kabul and was able to get through. I told him what I knew and he said he would try to get in contact with the people still at the office over the radio. He said that quite a few organizations had their offices burned: IOM, UNOPS and a few guesthouses as well. There was smoke visible in different parts of the city. It seemed like there was shouting, gunfire and smoke everywhere I looked.
At 3:00, a former colleague of mine who just moved to Kabul called. “Your office is on fire and it’s on Yahoo news!” she yelled, with a little too much glee in her voice. I quickly got online and pulled up the slideshow she was referring to. There it was, my office, in flames. The crowd had looted it and set the computers and files in the middle of the street and set them on fire. The loud explosions we had heard earlier were gas cylinders in the kitchen being set alight. I started to cry. Then I saw something on the slideshow even more upsetting: houses were being looted. I panicked. At 4:00 one of the drivers from my husband’s organization agreed to take an unmarked taxi (all of his organization’s cars are marked with company tags) to the house to see what was going on. 30 minutes later he returned with the bad news: our house had been looted. They took the TVs, DVD players, satellite dishes and our laptop into the street and burned them. Nothing was left but the carpet, he said.
At this point the stress level was so high I was not sure how I could handle it. My husband, trying to find out as much as possible, sent the driver back with a camera because we were not allowed to leave the compound. He brought back the camera and we finally got to see how bad it was. Everything was turned over and smashed. They broke the windows, the dumped out our clothes, they broke dishes; everything was messed up. Then I realized I did not have my passport. It was in the living room at home. There was nothing to do, I got a drink.
I continued to check CNN and BBC to try to find out what was going on. There, on the front page, was a specific reference to my organization’s offices being burned down. I decided to call my parents because if they saw this and didn’t hear from me they would have assumed the worst. I told my mom all about the office and my house but told her not to worry. She laughed sarcastically. She was glad that I called, though, and I promised to keep her posted.
The person at my organization who manages the houses called and told me they would secure the house. I asked him to look for my passport and for my husband’s. He said that the group who looted the house tried to set it on fire but a neighbor intervened. Things could have been worse, I decided.
My husband’s organization gave us a room at the guesthouse for the night. I had a few more gin and tonics, all the while getting phone calls from friends and colleagues to ask if we were OK. Right before falling asleep, the guy at my house called to report that he had found our passports. I went to bed about 9, but woke up at 2 and could not go back to sleep. I kept wondering what had been taken, what did they want, how did this happen, and what could I have done to have prevented it. Without any sleeping pills at my disposal, I went downstairs to try to get my hands on some chamomile tea but the closest thing available was Horlicks (which is really gross and is non-narcotic so I am not really sure about all of those sleep-inducing claims). I went into the kitchen and struck gold: NyQuil. I knocked back a shot and went back upstairs. My husband was in the bathroom puking from all the stress.
I hate flying. Don’t get me wrong, I am not afraid of a terrorist attack or mechanical problems or the plane being shot out of the sky; I hate the process of flying. Going to the airport two hours before the flight, checking in bags, going through security, standing in line at passport control and customs, sitting around in the waiting area. And then, once I get on the plane, having to deal with people standing in the aisle putting bags away (unable to move for three seconds for me to pass), sitting next to the middle-aged Indian guy who farts and snores the whole ten hour flight, dealing with the toilets at the end of the flight with pee all over every possible surface and used tissues sticking out of every nook and cranny. The crying babies with the parents who act like I should give a shit that their kid is crying, while I put in earplugs and wait for the Xanax to kick in. Then getting off the plane somewhere in Europe, sitting around an airport for five hours and then doing it all over again.
And while I absolutely hate flying for these reasons, my hatred has suddenly become acute. Why? Ariana Afghan Airlines. Now if these three words do not make your blood run cold, consider the facts: in its 25 years Ariana has had one hijacking (in 2000 five Afghans took an internal flight to London—you probably heard about this on the news recently as all of the hijackers were granted asylum) and five crashes. Since moving to Afghanistan last year, I have been forced, repeatedly, to take Ariana Airlines when I want to get the fuck out of Kabul and each time has been a terrifying, humiliating and life-changing experience.
I must say that I am no light-weight when it comes to traveling. I have flown on Yak-40s, Tupelovs, and planes decommissioned by the Democratic Republic of Congo for christssakes, but nothing prepared me for the deep, irrevocable fear I feel when flying Ariana. This fear emerges when you first get to the gate. When traveling from Dubai to Kabul, you must go to Terminal Two. Terminal Two has none of the restaurants, shops and aesthetic touches of Terminal One. Indeed, Terminal Two is at the gateway to hell; a small hallway that looks like a series of trailers slapped together. The flights that leave from Terminal Two are only to god-forsaken places like Afghanistan: there are flights to Baghdad, Djabouti, and remote areas of Iran from Terminal Two, but never to any place with consistent electricity, running water, or a lack of armed conflict for the past 5 years. While purchasing alcohol at the one duty free shop in Terminal Two, I ALWAYS see the Russian pilot of my plane (he’s wearing an Ariana badge) buying vodka, which I pray he does not consume in-flight, but realize it might not be a bad idea. While checking out with my liquor stash the Phillipina behind the register asks me with wide eyes, “where are you going?” and “is it safe there?”
The atmosphere of Terminal Two is a microcosm of the situation in the Middle East and Central Asia: there are fatties from the Midwest with their “Operation Freedom” shirts, African American men wearing jeans and sneakers, white women who look like they took a flight from Wal-Mart to the UAE, Afghan men in their shalwar kamezes and wool caps, and Arabs in traditional headdresses. I always try to bury my head in a book and distance myself from the Americans, they are so culturally inept and embarrassing. I mean, you are going to the Middle East for fuck’s sake—do you think it is a good idea to wear a “Christ’s Gym” t-shirt?!?!
Once you check in it’s every woman for herself. In the waiting area, you will hear stupid British mercenaries go on and on about what happened recently in Kandahar while the Afghans (all male) sit and stare at everyone in silence. Once the airline worker walks through with a radio you know you’d better jump-the-fuck-up and run hell for leather to the door to be sure that you are the first motherfucker on the bus to the plane. Once on the plane, I notice that I am only one of about three women—all foreign—of the 150 passengers. The plane is hot, it smells like body odor and three-day old dahl. It’s an old Soviet plane, probably built in the 1960’s or 1970’s and it appears to be held together with duct tape. As I walk down the aisle the Afghan men eye me in fear that I will sit down next to them. Invariably, my assigned seat is broken, so I usually park it next to some pasty old Western dude. The Afghan men all stare at me like I am going to jump up and take off my top as we taxi.
Once in the air, I dare not look out the window at the jagged mountain tops mere feet below us. If I do, I start wondering how in the hell we could make an emergency landing if we needed to and every small tremor of turbulence makes me put a death grip on the armrests. I take more Xanax and try to sleep. Soon the food is brought around: a greasy chicken leg, a half a lemon, a hot pepper, some potatoes, and Afghan naan. I eat the hot pepper in naan and wonder, did they prepare this in Dubai? Before realizing that in fact the food had come from Kabul the day before and had been transported across Iran twice before it reached my folding tray.
The decent into Kabul is sharp; there are mountains all around and it is a quick two minutes till the plane is on the ground. As soon as we touch down, five Afghans stand up and open the overhead compartments while the crew yells over the loudspeakers in Dari for them to sit down. After we stop, I put on my head scarf and maneuver as quickly as possible to get off the plane. I have spent two hours in passport control before (a supervisor slapped a border worker, causing a work slow-down) and I wish never to repeat it.
Once I am off the plane, it doesn’t all seem that bad. We made it. But I know it is just a matter of time before the inevitable happens with Ariana; after all, it has happened five times before. So next month, on my way to Bangkok, you can bet your ass I will not be flying Ariana. I will be safe and sound on a UN plane.
Man, shit. I posted this then learned about an IED explosion in Wardak province that hit the vehicle of an organization that does humanitarian medical aid. A doctor, two nurses and the driver were killed. Remote controlled IED--hit the car head on and only the transmission is left. In Wardak? What the fuck is going on?
Usually it is only the military that is targeted, I guess that is all changing now. Gee, you might wonder why people are getting so pissed off:
mounts over civilian deaths in Afghanistan
1 hour, 1 minute ago
KANDAHAR, Afghanistan (AFP) - Villagers have insisted that dozens of civilians were killed in a coalition strike in Afghanistan, as rights groups voiced concern about mounting civilian casualties in days of fighting.
The governor of southern Kandahar province, Asadullah Khalid, said Monday that at least 16 civilians were killed early Monday in an air and ground strike in the province's Panjwayi district.
But a teacher in nearby Tulakhan village told AFP by telephone that he saw the bodies of 40 civilians, including children, and that about 50 others had been wounded.
The US-coalition said up to 80 suspected Taliban had died in the raid targeting Azizi village in Panjwayi, adding it was investigating claims of civilian casualties.
The teacher, named Abdullah, said he had assisted in burying 28 people and saw the bodies of 12 others being returned to their home village from other areas.
Eight houses in his village were destroyed in the bombing, several damaged and scores of animals were killed, he said from the area, which was still off-limits to journalists.
Other residents told AFP at the main hospital in Kandahar city on Monday that they had seen scores of dead and wounded.
An elderly man, Attah Mohammad, said he had lost 24 members of his family, including some children.
The strike was the latest incident in nearly a week that has seen some of the heaviest fighting in Afghanistan since the Taliban were removed in 2001 -- clashes that have left around 300 people dead, most of them rebels.
The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) and the United Nations expressed concern about reports of civilians being caught up in the violence.
The ICRC urged "the parties to exercise constant care in the conduct of military operations," describing the situation in the south as "worsening".
"At all times they must take all feasible precautions to protect civilians against the effects of any attacks," it said.
A UN spokesman in Kabul said Monday that "it is clearly important that everything possible is done to ensure the safety of civilians, as well as ensuring safety for UN and other humanitarian workers."
The insecurity was hampering the world body's work in the south, spokesman Adrian Edwards told reporters, but noted there were no plans to evacuate the area.
The coalition said it had targeted only compounds harbouring "extremists".
It said Monday it had called in warplanes after troops who were trying to capture insurgents in the area came under fire, while the governor said some of the militants had hidden in local people's houses.
There have been several major battles with insurgents during the past week, including a clash in Panjwayi last Wednesday and Thursday which Khalid said left 100 Taliban dead and netted some senior Taliban commanders.
The fighting has also claimed the lives of about 50 Afghans, besides those killed in the latest coalition raid, most of them from the fledgling police and army.
Five foreign nationals have been killed: two French special forces soldiers, a Canadian female soldier, an American soldier and one US civilian killed in a suicide bombing in the western city of Herat on Thursday.
Today is the one-year anniversary of when it all happened.
At 8:30 pm on Monday, May 16, 2005 I got the call. Mark, a guy who works for me, phoned crying and said, “there’s been a kidnapping. It was C”. C was the manager of a program for vulnerable women and widows at my organization. I didn’t know what to do. I felt helpless and distraught and phoned a friend I’ve had for years who is also living in Kabul. I was screaming and shouting and my friend, and having heard that someone from my organization had been abducted, she thought it was me. I calmed down enough to let her know what was really going on and to let her know the details: C was traveling back from yoga class. Mark and another woman had been dropped off when two white Corollas blocked the road, men with Kalashnikovs broke the passenger side window and dragged her out. They went in the direction of the British Cemetery—that’s all we knew.
Although there had been warnings and at least three prior attempts, we were not sure who had taken her or what they wanted. Was it the Taliban? Was it a gang? I sat on the patio in the Qalala Pushta house and drank wine and smoked cigarettes all night, waiting for the phone to ring. My husband came out and put his arms around me. “It’s going to get worse, so prepare yourself”, he said.
I thought back to the staff meeting we had had that morning. I remember seeing her there, all of us crowded around the table in my cramped office. She looked great; wearing a new black blouse that she got from my favorite shop, Crystal Light. I wondered what would happen to her. Would they rape her or kill her? What did they want? I kept saying to myself that she was such a nice person, how could this happen? The ironic thing was, she was supposed to leave Afghanistan three weeks earlier but had decided to extend her contract. The morning that it happened I went to Chicken Street to buy her a silver bracelet for her birthday party on Wednesday night. We were going to have a cookout for her 33rd birthday.
The next day at work was useless. All of the international staff walked in, zombie-like and feigned being busy. I went out on the back stoop to sit with the guys while they chain smoked. The Director called a staff meeting at 9 to tell everyone what he knew. He had been up all night—in contact with the Embassy, with ISAF (International Security Assistance Force), with C’s family and with our headquarters in the states. No one had any idea what was happening. We filed into the conference room and the Director explained the situation: no demands have been made; we do not know where she is or who has her; two groups are claiming responsibility. While the Afghans in the room were threatening to find the people responsible and do all kinds of nasty things to them the Director’s phone rang. It was the kidnappers. The negotiations began.
I felt like I was in an action movie or a documentary: sitting around the table in the dining room at the office talking about what had happened and what we were going to do. The head of security for our organization came out from the states and took over my office; two people from International Risk arrived to develop a strategy; there were reporters. Different groups started making demands: remove international troops from Afghanistan, shut down Arman Radio (a progressive radio station that plays heathen music such as Britney Spears); but soon we were able to determine that Timur Shah had her. He was calling from her cell phone.
Timur Shah was a murderer. He had killed and been found guilty, but since the police could not find him and put him away they had incarcerated his mother instead, hoping that this measure would force him to turn himself in. However, he did not turn himself in, but decided to kidnap a foreigner instead to secure his mother’s release.
The next few weeks were a nightmare. Timur Shah had said that he had strangled her at one point (which all the media in Afghanistan reported), then took it back. The guys at my work bought time with the local cell phone company to send instant messages to all subscribers asking for information. Stickers and posters were made and distributed. The widows from C’s program rallied. (One funny point was when the widows carried a sign at one of the demonstrations that read, in English, “C made us widows!”) We were on the international news. Consultants came and went. Negotiations dragged on. Two times in the first two weeks we were close to a release and then nothing.
The only reprieve for me was a trip to Bangkok for a conference. I thought that I had gotten away from all of the stress and anxiety until I picked up a Wall Street Journal during a coffee break. There, on the front page, was a short paragraph stating that a video had been released. It was on the news that night, but I refused to watch it. I just couldn’t take it because I knew what the inevitable next step would be. In the video, which I saw later, she was rolled in a carpet with a scarf on her head (which she never wore) and an AK-47 pointed at her. They asked her to state her father’s name and then her brother’s. When she said her brother’s name Timur Shah replied, “I am your brother now”.
After 25 days, she was finally released on June 9. No one called; I saw it on CNN. She was immediately whisked out of the country. We watched Euronews as her plane landed and she was greeted by her Prime Minister. Surrounded by her family as she walked off the plane, she was wearing the black blouse that I had envied at our staff meeting nearly a month before.
Two weeks after her release, we got an email from her telling us what had happened. After being abducted she was taken to a house not far from the spot where the kidnapping took place, in the same neighborhood where many of our staff live. The kidnappers did not hurt her in any way; she had only lost weight and gotten a lot of mosquito bites. There were children in the house who would come and peek at her from time to time and she could hear women’s voices. She tried to time her bathroom visits (the toilet was a latrine across the courtyard) to the sound of passing helicopters, but soon they caught on. Timur Shah would ride his bike far away to use her cell phone so that he could not be tracked. And, most amazingly, she saw on television the rallies the widows were having for her release.
All of us at work signed big banners to be sent to her in Europe wishing her well. Although the worst was over, some of us will always remember what happened on May 16. Mark still feels guilty that he was dropped off first that night (a consultant in Kabul when it happened placed the blame squarely on Mark) and many people from my work feel terrible that it happened and they could not do anything about it. C says she wants to come back to Afghanistan, but her government will not let her, at least in the near term.
Now whenever I go out after dark, I am wary. Kidnappings still happen; one Nepali died in captivity not long ago after being abducted with a colleague at dawn in Kabul, and there have been several kidnappings and murders linked to the Taliban throughout the South since the beginning of the year. There is a fine line between living your life and playing it safe. While you won’t see me at the Coca Cabana [sic], the local “club”, anytime soon, I still have my share of nights getting drunk and playing pool at the Uzbek place or going out for dinner with friends. It’s a risk I have to take.
