Jaweed, right, and his brothers, Farhad, middle, and Favat, left, tend the stall their father opened in Mazar-e-Sharif 10 years ago. Their father was killed in a bombing on July 20.
MAZAR-E-SHARIF,
Afghanistan — The provincial police spokesman called the bombing "unplanned."
As though the bomb had strapped itself to the back of a bicycle last month and then went off on its own volition in Dasht-e-Shor, a neighborhood of dusty walled compounds in working-class, northern Mazar-e-Sharif. As though this palliates the deaths of the man and three boys who were killed when the explosion ripped through an unpaved intersection.
As though there is anything left to be gained from another year of magical thinking as the Taliban methodically expand their reach in northern Afghanistan.
Since last summer the Taliban have been rapidly gaining control of Balkh province, which until then had been one of the safest regions in the country. Village by drought-stricken village they advanced, virtually undeterred, from the peripheries toward the provincial capital, where the shimmering turquoise tiles of the 15th-century Blue Mosque quiver in diffraction beneath an undulating, sinister billow of smog. Village by village, my friends and hosts told me of masked motorcyclists who arrived at night, summoned the elders, and announced their dominion over the withering cornfields, the parched orchards, the people fatigued by a lifetime of violence that torments their land.
Several days before I last left Balkh, in June, the Taliban claimed sovereignty over villages just a few miles outside of Mazar-e-Sharif.
Last month, initiating a gradual transition that, according to the Obama administration's plans, should somehow wind down America's war in Afghanistan by 2014, NATO troops transferred responsibility over security of Mazar-e-Sharif and six other provinces and cities to Afghan forces. NATO officials have picked Mazar-e-Sharif because they consider it safe.
* * *
I returned to the city last weekend. My bus from Kabul, the 2:30 to the Blue Mosque, crept through the granite scallop of the gorge at Balkh's southeastern border, zigzagged past the ancient pomegranate orchards of Kholm, and wheeled out onto the alkaline Khorasan plains. Cauterized desert unscrolled before us and curved toward the northern horizon. Hot air throbbed under the merciless summer sun.
I called my friends.
"The situation is not good," said Mohammad Alemi, one of the country's leading psychiatrists who runs a psychiatric hospital in Mazar-e-Sharif, immediately after we exchanged the mandatory long, synchronic string of polite Farsi greetings. "But we have to live here."
"Security is getting bad," said Amanullah, a hunter in Oqa, a village about 35 miles north of the city. "There are lots of Taliban."
"It is not safe as it was before," said Qaqa Satar, who works as my driver, as I climbed into his beat-up Toyota Corolla. "Even in Mazar-e-Sharif things are bad."
Shir Jan Durani, the provincial police spokesman, said the transition has gone "well." When I asked about the bicycle bombing in Dasht-e-Shor, which took place on July 20, three days before Afghan officials took over security from German-led NATO troops stationed in the city, he replied:
"Things like this happen even in developed countries. There was an explosion in Norway recently, too."
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