
For a split second the room seems to vibrate under the pressure of the shock wave. Ears ring, heads retract, and muscles contract. Your mind jump-starts: Did the explosion sound big or small? Where did it come from? You hesitate, wait for another sound, but hear nothing. You jump to your feet, grabbing a camera on the way to the terrace.
Barely a half-mile away, the cloud of debris billows into the sky. The air fills with sirens, and people pour into the street, climbing on top of otherwise never-used pedestrian bridges, craning to make out something in the distance. A pickup truck piled with bloody bodies passes by from the site of the explosion as the cloud slowly descends, losing its shape and covering the city with a new layer of dust and sand.
This is Kandahar, and no one is surprised anymore. Seven times during the past year, blast waves from huge car bombs have ripped through town, shattering windows and throwing up similar clouds of debris. A few weeks ago, a bomb targeting a police convoy tore a huge crater into the street just outside our door. Not long after that, a massive car explosion devastated downtown Kandahar, killing more than 40 and wounding dozens. It was 20 minutes after the call to prayer, when everyone in Kandahar was sitting down to break the Ramadan fast. The blast blew out our windows, shaking plaster from the ceiling and sending glass flying through the room in thousands of pieces. Gunfire ensued. Once the dust settled, you could see the bomb site, just three blocks from our house, streaks of flames shooting into the night sky.
This is our life, and as the only two Westerners living permanently in Kandahar without blast walls and intrusive security restrictions to protect us, it has been a mix of isolation, boredom, disarmingly potent realizations, and outright depression in the face of what is happening. In our 18 months here, we have witnessed up close the ruinous consequences of a conflict in which no party has clean hands. We have spent countless hours talking with people of all persuasions in Kandahar, from mujahedeen who fought against the Soviets in the 1980s, to guerrillas who fought alongside the Taliban in the 1990s, to Afghans who fight against the Kabul government and foreign forces today. And we have learned that Kandahar defies simple categorization; far more understanding is necessary before we can appreciate how (and how many) mistakes have been made by the Western countries waging war here, let alone begin crafting a vision for the future.
Our Kandahar has many faces, though, not all branded by conflict. Life here is also about swimming in the nearby Arghandab River, enjoying the cool caramel taste of sheer yakh, and sitting among the branches of a friend's pomegranate orchard. It's listening to tales of the past 30 years told by those who directly influenced the course of history, and it's watching the traditional atan dance at wedding celebrations.
Still, violence affects most aspects of life in Kandahar now, and the city has become used to the bombings. For smaller attacks it takes less than an hour for things to return to normal; the people absorb violence like a sponge. After the recent blast that blew out our windows, one of our Afghan friends turned to us and said, "There are those Afghans who migrated to the West who say they miss Afghanistan." He burst into laughter. "This is what they are missing!"
Photos by PHILIP POUPIN
Alex Strick van Linschoten and Felix Kuehn are Afghanistan-based researchers who edited the forthcoming memoirs of Mullah Abdul Salam Zaeef, My Life with the Taliban.
Hi ...
It has been quite a time since I have read such a sincere, insightful and moving material. I wish the ones who are responsible for what's happening now in Afghanistan could see and hear not only what you are saying, but what you are feeling. Unfortunately I am not optimistic about that. And it seems to be one of the many cases in history when people like us, reading reports like yours from our safe homes, feel true sympathy for the sufferings and ruined lives of the ordinary people trapped in the conflict zone. But at the end of the day we think sadly that nothing depends on us and there's nothing we can do. Then we just brush the oppressing thoughts away feeling happy that at least we and our families are safe. But maybe, just maybe, people like you can make a difference. Even if the risks you have taken may never be publicly acclaimed. Even if your words may not be heard by the powerful and mighty ones. Even if your lines touch the hearts of only ordinary people reading them in the safety of their European homes. You maybe still can make a difference. For the sake of Afghan people and for our own sake I wish you can.
With all my respect for what you are doing,
Stela
As an Afghan mentor for the US Army who lives in the Kabul bubble, I take my hat off to the authors for going it alone in Kandahar. I spend my days with Afghans and regularly encounter their fatalism and its results that the authors appropriately described. I deeply respect the tough fighters I work with daily and hope we do not run out on them, as they expect us to do. Afghanistan is broken in ways that the West cannot conceive; we, in the West, do not understand the depth of the responsibility that we purchased when we began "nation building" here. A nation where everyone knows someone in the TB, and can pick up the phone and "call the Taliban" for a quick talk or to ask/buy a favor defies Washintonian logic. Kudos for the authors for their love of this place and their guts.
And guys, when that little voice says, "Get out," listen to it.
All the best.
Liz
"See You Soon, If We’re Still Alive"
It is hard to believe that the Afghans will ever stop fighting! This nation of warriors has always been at daggers drawn either with the foreigners or amongst themselves. There is not much else ever going on in Afghanistan and hence fighting seems to be the main thriving business! One is not trying to make fun of the placidness of the country's landscape or its people, the problem is that Afghans are 'hot' folks who have 'killed' their nation and blown away its soul. The Western countries are wasting their time, money, and resources - reforming Afghanistan is not worth it. The authors of this piece are brave guys - one salutes their bravery and courage whole-heartedly.
Much of the reportage on Afghanistan focuses on the American and coalition forces military efforts, so it was refreshing to read your on-the-ground, first hand, up-close-and-personal perspective. My take on events there has always been jaundiced. I mean, we rushed in with too much bravado and not much strategy. We lacked knowledge of the people, their customs and traditions and were consequently foiled by the country's vast, remote expanses. Our strategy apparently has been a feckless one given we now supposedly "need" an additional 40k troops to more effectively "protect" the people from the combined vicissitudes of the Taliban, rampant corruption, its own army and police and endemic violence. McChrystal's "compassionate civilian-centered" strategy, in light of your chronicle, appears naive and dangerous. We can not hope to win either the hearts or minds of the Afghan peoples. What would our continuing presence accomplish? What are our short-term and long-term goals? I have a feeling we will be forced to turn our attentions toward Pakistan much like the retreating Russians before us were forced to mobilize against Chechnya. I don't subscribe to the Domino Theory. I do believe the US should get out now.
Afghanistan is a country not a war
Great to read an article by someone else living amongst the generous and hospitable Afghan people. The international community really needs to recognise there are over 28 million people living in Afghanistan who are not in the Taliban. If we keep focusing all our effort on a war involving 0.05%* of the population we will certainly lose the peace the other 99.95% were expecting from us.
* based on CIA figures for population and Afghan Minister of Interior's estimate of number of Taliban fighters in Afghanistan.
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