Showing posts with label Kabul. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kabul. Show all posts

Tuesday, 29 November 2011

Kabul: A City At Work

In my trawls through blogs of note, I came across this one. Away from the news of the war and the political uncertainties, these short films offer a glimpse into life and work in Kabul, Afghanistan. I chose the film here because it features a version of a soundtrack that is connected to an early memory of mine. The song "Yema da Truck Driver" is a light-hearted song, that brings a little smile back to me as I remember hearing this on cassette tape way back when. The version that I know from the movie, Orbal, is available here.

Being a jingle truck painter, is a contemporary art form. What better than to recognise this here:



Tor_Khan تور خان

Wednesday, 20 July 2011

Textbook Conversations

Shuttling between Kabul, Islamabad, Rawalpindi, Attock, Karachi, Abu Dhabi and Manchester over a period of four days is pretty hectic. Several flights, taxi rides, meetings, dinners and family formalities later, I take the opportunity to reflect on conversations that I've had with people. Briefly I want to consider Pakistan - damaged by internal strife, poor international press and yet still trying to build an image for itself.

I'm always willing to learn in order to understand more, but that does not mean I passively accept everything that is said. I had an interesting dinner in Islamabad, where the host accepted that Pakistan had a poor public image but his view was that Pakistan survived despite aggressive policies by greater enemies because of Allah's protection and that the neighbours - India and Afghanistan could not be trusted. I heard a similar view in Karachi - that India was ready to 'attack' Pakistan. Rather than contemplate the failings within, the commonality was one of finger-pointing and feeling sorry that Pakistan had failed to live up to its founder's ideals. In short the view was that the country was misrepresented and misunderstood and that the leaders were little more than stooges for the UK and the US. 

I have a family connection to Pakistan, but I have always been a little ambivalent about what the country stands for - and whilst I always want it to be better for the common people, I don't claim to be automatically forgiving. As much as I try to understand the passions of the country, I see significant failures and widespread alienation. What emerged from the conversations I had with people is how commonly held values (myths?) about Pakistan are not questioned or challenged. These opinions form what may be considered the "textbook" view within Pakistan.  There are voices from beyond that ask legitimate questions, but these seem to be filtered out of the media within because they criticise the basis on which the country stands. I think that this fundamentally comes down to an education system that has operated much like the state's propaganda machine where critical thinking is not encouraged.

Most people in Pakistan think of survival, so I can forgive some of the apathetic acceptance of the way things are, but if an educational culture of critical thinking were to exist, then there could be serious questions asked about the status quo. A kind of enlightenment, no less.

Tuesday, 12 July 2011

Sunset on the Hindu Kush


Sunset on the Hindu Kush. A perfectly tranquil moment taken atop the mountains outside Kabul using an Olympus SP 800UZ.

Monday, 11 July 2011

Drug Treatment Centre

Afghanistan is a war-torn country, and has been for 30 years. It has been described in the many conversations that I have had of late, as a "bipolar" society. In many many ways it is a country at war with itself. Out of a population of 32 million, one million Afghans are drug addicts.

That would be just counting the men, of course. Gender roles mean that women may too be affected, but since they don't always step forwards, they are often not counted in the same way. 

I went to a WADAN drug treatment centre yesterday, and was humbled to follow the programme, which included a chance to sit in a group therapy session. Relapsing is all too real and there is a critical shortage of mental health workers, since invariably much of the addiction is spurned on by the various troubles this country faces. The dedicated workers and volunteers who make up the programme are truly soldiers of the best kind.

Sunday, 10 July 2011

Road to Jalalabad II

The 40-mile stretch, a breathtaking chasm of mountains and cliffs between Kabul and Jalalabad, claims so many lives so regularly that most people stopped counting long ago. Cars flip and flatten. Trucks soar to the valley floor. Buses collide.

On paper, the government of Afghanistan requires that drivers pass a test to get a license, but few people here seem to have one.Then there are the cars themselves, battered Toyota taxis and even Ladas from bygone Soviet days. A typical Afghan car has bald tires and squeaky brakes—not exactly ideal for zigging and zagging through the mountains.

The mayhem unfolds on one of the most bewitching stretches of scenery on all the earth. The gorge, in some places no more than a few hundred yards wide, is framed by vertical rock cliffs that soar more than 2,000 feet above the Kabul River below.


Over the centuries, countless invading forces passed through or near the gorge on their way to the Khyber Pass. Among them were a group of 17,000 British troops and civilians, who were massacred as they beat a retreat from Kabul at the end of the first Anglo-Afghan War in 1842. Dr. William Brydon, who rode into Jalalabad on a horse, was the only European to survive.

The Kabul-to-Jalalabad road was paved for the first time by the West German government in 1960. In the 1980s, it was obliterated during the insurrection against the Soviet invasion. In the decade that followed, when the Taliban and other armed groups fought to control the country, the road was blasted and the craters were so large that taxis would disappear for minutes at a time, only to reappear as they struggled to climb out.

It was a tough road, and it had its own dangers — stretches of roadway often collapsed or washed away — but speed was not among them. That changed in 2006, when a European Union-backed project finally smoothed the road all the way through. Now Afghans could finally drive as fast as they wanted.

The cars zoom at astonishing speeds and most of the time they make it. But perhaps the gravest threat, apart from speed of the cars, is the slowness of the trucks. The massive tractor-trailers that move cargo in and out of Pakistan are often overloaded by thousands of pounds. They cannot move fast; if they are climbing one of the gorge’s thousand-foot hills, they cannot move at all. They get stuck. They fall back. They fall over.

“The fighting with the Taliban lasts only for a day or two, but the crashes are every day,” said Juma Gul, who owns a fabric shop in Sarobi that looks directly out onto the highway. “It’s a kind of theatre. Sometimes, a car will fly by in the air.”

Edited from this article from the New York Times.

Friday, 8 July 2011

Road to Jalalabad I


We are all on a journey of some description and since arriving in Afghanistan, it has been a series of conversations; sitting in on meetings, chairing meetings, having social discussions, writing reports and working on the project that I am here to support. It continues to be an incredible experience and one that has allowed me to learn as much as has allowed me to share.

This is Afghanistan. Security is on everyone's agenda and means that it is wise to be low key. When the reasons for being here were discussed with the British Ambassador, William Patey, the message was about stark warnings regarding travel and the millions being poured into education in the country. Said with a confidence that I respect, but one that generates other sets of questions about how and why - which incidentally, I did put to him. I got some slightly  vague answer that I'm still not sure of.

The education statistics paint a picture that shows ongoing needs and even here in Kabul, children begging, selling bits of bread on the street and picking through rubbish heaps shows how very far from the ideal that we are.

I took the road to Jalalabad the day before yesterday and stayed overnight at a very fine guest house. The reason for the journey was not about comforting day trips, but a chance to explore what will be the setting up of a school. The road to Jalalabad is precarious because of the driving and the insurgency and the trip was not announced early, as per local sensibility regarding security. Scenery along the mountain passes is breathtaking. The map at the head of this posting and this slide-show are from the New York Times. I share below a snapshot or two of the journey.

More on the school project in another posting.
Tor_Khan تور خان



Sunday, 3 July 2011

Kabul Jan - کابل جان









Ah! How beautiful is Kabul encircled by her arid mountains
And Rose, of the trails of thorns she envies
Her gusts of powdered soil, slightly sting my eyes
But I love her, for knowing and loving are born of this same dust

My song exhalts her dazzling tulips
And at the beauty of her trees, I blush
How sparkling the water flows from Pul-e-Mastaan!
May Allah protect such beauty from the evil eye of man!

Khizr chose the path to Kabul in order to reach Paradise
For her mountains brought him close to the delights of heaven
From the fort with sprawling walls, a dragon of protection
Each stone is there more precious than the treasure of Shayagan

Every street of Kabul is enthralling to the eye
Through the bazaars, caravans of Egypt pass
One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs
And the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls

Her laughter of mornings has the joy of flowers
Her nights of darkness, the reflections of lustrous hair
Her melodious nightingales, with passion sing their songs
Ardent tunes, as leaves enflamed, cascading from their throats

And I, I sing in the gardens of Jahanara, of Sharbara
And even the trumpets of heaven envy their green pastures.


I am in Kabul, Afghanistan - both in the historic and the personal sense - I am at home.

Tuesday, 19 January 2010

Pashtunistan Square

I despair sometimes.

Yesterday's bloodshed in Kabul's Chahr Rahe Pashtunistan [Pashtunistan Square] is an absolute example of our sorry state. A tragic waste of young life (and another blight on the name of the Pashtoons).

From the Wall Street Journal:

"We locked our shops and rushed outside. As we were running down, the armed men ran up the stairs to take positions on the top floor," said Mohammad Farooq, a 29-year-old shopkeeper. "Some vendors claimed to have seen these attackers, Pashto-speaking men in their 20s, visiting the center's top floor the previous day."

A thought from Bacha Khan: "O Pathans! Your house has fallen into ruin. Arise and rebuild it and remember to what race you belong."

Sunday, 16 August 2009

A Tale of Two Summers and a Place In-Between


Some things burn in the back of your mind and for a long time, I have wanted to mention an essential piece of reading. Last summer, an old colleague of mine recommended a book that even beyond reading, I have continued to find inspirational. In fact, in many ways, it stands as an example of some of the things that I want achieve, InshAllah. The Places In-Between is a rather unconventional travelogue by Rory Stewart, a Scottish writer in which he documents the 2002 winter walk that he undertook from Herat* to Kabul (though his travels actually went beyond Afghanistan). He walked cross country at a time when bombs reigned down from the skies following the US invasion. Sometimes he was accompanied, often not; a non-Muslim stranger in a Muslim land, following in the intrepid footsteps of the Mughal Emperor Babur's journey across Afghanistan.

Rory Stewart now heads the Turquoise Mountain Foundation in Kabul which sets out to equip Afghans with the skills, knowledge and enterprise to bring commercial viability to traditional crafts. At a time when people have mixed feelings on the foreign occupation in Afghanistan, I take much inspiration from people like Rory.

And here is where this summer comes in. Exactly one summer ago, I made the decision that travel to Afghanistan was a possibility. Last week, just as I was about to depart for Kabul, the Taleban took control of a semi-constructed building in Pul-e-Alam, Logar and started firing missiles and rocket launchers into a nearby government target. This summer happens to be election season in Afghanistan, and violence has reached a dangerous level.

My destination was Logar where I intended to stay with a very dear friend who had been asking me to visit all summer. Three hours before I was due to board my plane from Dubai, I was advised by very well meaning Afghan friends, not to go. The irony? I, a Pashtoon, who can blend in and am ethnic Afghan, am caught in that place in-between.

*Qutb Shah father of my paternal ancestors, the Awan, was a ruler of Herat.

Friday, 15 May 2009

A Song For Peace

Pa Pekhawar Ke Parhar Ma Jorawa, La Da Kabul Parhar Warghaley Na De (Don’t Wound Peshawar as the Wound of Kabul Has Not Yet Healed)

In the face of the reality of the Pashtoon plight today, the song serves as both a lament and an appeal. When I sit and listen to the words, away from the distractions around me, the power of the message stirs me to the core.

The song is sung by Hashmat Sahar and penned by Subhan Abid, a Dubai-based driver who hails from Darga, Malakand Agency.

Tor_Khan تور خان

Thursday, 19 March 2009

Ustad Awal Mir استاد اولمير

Ustad Awal Mir, استاد اولمیر, celebrated composer, musician, singer and poet continues to be a legendary figure in Pashto music. He was born in 1931 Peshawar, British India where studied music under Ustad Jafar in Peshawar and began to perform initially for radio broadcasts. His first song for Radio Peshawar was زړگى مې شو ټوټې ټوټې  Zrgee Me Sho Tttottai Ttottai (My Heart Has Broken Pieces).

At 18, he visited Kabul, Afghanistan to perform at the Independence Day concert where he remained until his death in 1982. The title, Ustad, was later conferred upon Awal Mir by the Ministry of Culture and Information, Afghanistan.

The clip shows him performing ستا د سترګو بلا واخلم Sta Da Stergo Bala Wakhlam (Let Me Take the Pain from Your Eyes) written by Amanullah Sailab Sapi and remains one of my all time favourites.

Tor_Khan تور خان
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