Reportage from Kunduz river area

I have recently spent some days in Kunduz region. My husband’s employer Landell Mills asked me to visit their other project in Afghanistan – Kunduz River Base Project – to take photos and to write a reportage about the situation on ground. It is a fresh approach. Usually the organizations in Afghanistan communicate, using formal language: one can find many reports, figures, and schedules on Internet. But there is almost no information available, from individual point of view. I liked the idea; so I gladly traveled to Kunduz.
First day I visited village Aqtepa (I was there in before in October of 2006) to see the new irrigation canal construction works. Second day I spent on wonderful green hills of reforestation area near Khanabad. Third day was the saddest. While I had a nice meeting with the village elders surrounding Changarok in Baghlan province, there was a suicide bomber attack at Kunduz bazaar. Lots of people – three German military troops, but Afghans as well – were killed. On last day I visited some small villages in Takhar province, to see small pistachio trees that have been planted on deep hills.
It was a good trip from Kabul to Kunduz and back as well –we bought tut (mulberry) from children in Khenjan. We traveled safely over Salang pass, covered by great snowcap on the top. We saw new power masts on the way – there is hope that next winter electricity will be imported from Tadjikistan. But I saw a reminder of the spring flood as well: on the way back of Salang to Kabul all bridges are gone and some houses as well.
It takes some time to finish my reportage. I hope that when my reportage is ready, Landell Mills will place it on Internet and everyone can read stories and see images about the development in Kunduz river area.
PS. Welcome to read the reportage on website http://www.krbp.blogspot.com/

Walking upstream by Paghman River

Rory Stewart wrote: when other nations of Asia have romantic legends about the places, then the stories of Afghans are always associated with fighting or death. It is true. Some day ago my husband pointed out to our driver Karim - who is telling us another bloodcurdling story about Paghman – that his stories are always about death. On other hand, it is understandable in this country where every family has lost relative(s) because of attacks of soviets, mudjahedin or talibs. Or in other violent way.
We go to walk to Paghman, the place what was known because of its gardens and villas. Our company is northern: our Estonian-Swedish friend Wiiu takes with her Norwegian friend Inger, who is working with children in Jalalabad.
King Amir Habibullah (1901-19) had a summer palace here. (There are some photos of Paghman in Photoalbum from 1925). Nancy Hutch-Dupree describes the charming village with terrace gardens, fountains, cafes and villas. She advises to park the car and to walk under famous cherry trees, known from Babur times in this region.
Unfortunately, glorious times finished thirty years ago. Because of the fighting there is almost nothing left: the villas are in ruins and the terraces covered by grass. Only a white triumph arch from the times of king Amanullah (1919-29) is recalling the lost glory of this place, standing like a weird rudiment in the middle of the village.
First time we had a picnic by Paghman River on a chilly morning in March one year ago. It was off-season and we were lucky to find some warm tea and kebab. Karim parks our car at the end of the road. Now we discover that there are lots of tiny restaurants and picnic places; one can see preparations are going on for expected visitors.
We pass the picnic place and follow the river. It is a fabulous walk by crystal clear foaming water, coming down from the high peaks of Hindu Kush. Air is bright; only some shady clouds cover the snowy peaks ahead. As early as we turn around next corner, the cultivated fields end. Only some narrow bridges – in fact the pair of tree trunks are set side by side - remind the nearby settlement. We bridge the river; it takes some effort to glimpse down turbulent steam.
Soon the riverbed is narrowing. We meet a lonely young kuchi (the nomad of Afghanistan), guarding a huge bundle of smelly cloth and one chicken. Later we meet the kuchi women in colorful cloth in picnic place, consistently begging for money.
Back in picnic place, we are surprised by mass of cars and people. The parking is close to chaos, so we are quite happy to get Karim’s car out of this. We conquer the family tent just by the river and order some tea and kebab. It is a lovely day: the children are playing along the river, the young Afghans play football and the grown-up men are smoking water pipe. Far away one can see the Afghan ladies sitting on the carpet, chatting.
In short, just that kind of a day I am ready to live for in Kabul.

Parade and fair

We receive on our Estonian mobiles SMS from Estonian Government: please stay at home and stay calm. This strange message is sent because of extraordinary situation in Estonia. There are riots in our little country. Mass of drunken vandals uses the removal of a soviet military statue as an excuse to trash all on their way. Next morning we see unbelievable shots of youngsters robbing shops and fighting each other: there are tens of injured and one killed. Estonian police is too weak to handle the situation. It is first time like this after Second World War…
Here in Kabul, we stay at home as well. Because of the mudjahedin parade in Kabul, there are suggestions to “keep low profile”. We see helicopters flying noisily over our heads, but it is the only thing what looks different. We are watching for two days the BBC News Channel, where drunken mob pull down our capital in Estonia. What an irony.
There was an interesting event in Kabul, the agricultural fair AgFair. We heard about millions dollars being donated by some organizations in order to build up the fair place: the round exhibition ground and huge tents,
We visit the Agfair on the last day, when families are expected. Almost three kilometres before the exhibition place the police refuses to let our car pass. We leave our car just on road side and tread under blazing sun towards the place where the new complex was built. Last part of the walk is really impressive when we are joined with the crowds of Afghans. It so nice to see that in addition to men there are so many women and children, nice dressed.
Agfair is organized superbly, by Afghan standards: there is an entertainment program presented by children circus, dancers and singers, the diners and WCs are opened as well. Firms are presenting their goods in stands, equipped with electricity and internet. A number of participants are connected with agriculture – as sellers of seeds, dried fruits or nuts -, but there are other companies as well: handicraft, packaged food etc.
The most surreal moment arrives when we arrive back at our car. Some policemen are suspecting that it might be a bomb car! Every car that stands for too long without a driver in Kabul, seems to be under suspecion… We wait for quite a long time aside our driver Karim, while irritated policemen scold him.