September 19, 2004 - Life During Post-War Time

Posted: 19 September 2004

by Nathaniel Raymond

Hanging out on the street in Kabul is something aid workers and other foreigners very rarely get to do these days because of security restrictions. What you can see of how Afghans live is limited because most of our time here is spent behind closed doors. One colleague I have met used to ride his bike everywhere earlier this year—now he travels in an anonymous SUV to and from the Afghan government installation where he works.

Houses in Afghanistan, even among the rural poor, are walled compounds with high gates and, in many cases, armed guards in camouflage sitting in plastic lawn chairs on the sidewalk. This is especially true for Afghans in government, UN and diplomatic staff, and aid workers, whose time is largely spent inside a compound, or traveling to and from various compounds in a Land Cruiser with the windows up and the doors locked.

Afghanistan, as I have said in previous entries, is in the midst of momentous rejuvenation, in terms of both morale and economic growth. This is not Iraq. In the American media and political discourse, Afghanistan and Iraq are too often lumped together into the magical country of "Iraqistan," as if the people, the cultures, the contexts, and the challenges facing each country are somehow identical.

Wrong. Wrong. And wrong.

Unlike Iraqis, the overwhelming majority of Afghans want more international forces present in their country, according to a survey by the Human Rights Research in Afghanistan Consortium, which Oxfam helps support. Forty-four percent of women, according to the report, want to see international troops near the polling stations to feel safe when they vote next month.

The responses from the HRRAC survey and others are in stark contrast to the Pew surveys from Iraq that show wide-based support among Iraqis for a US/Coalition withdrawal. Some days you wouldn't even think you were living in a post-conflict, or even semi-conflict, zone—just another country struggling with poverty and the cultural conflicts caused by rapid change. But because the election looms and attacks continue in the provinces, the mood here is definitely on edge.

It is important to note, though, that, according to ISAF, the international force here, not a single foreign civilian has been attacked in Kabul since the fall of the Taliban. In Afghanistan, no foreigner has been beheaded, and nobody has been kidnapped and killed. In fact, everyone has a story to tell about aid agencies that have been protected on the community level by the Afghans with whom they work. If major attacks against foreigners start to occur, as many people fear they will, the consequences for Afghans will be severe. Aid agencies will suspend or end their programs, pulling them from the country for longer than just the period surrounding the first round of elections slated to take place in two weeks.

As someone who enjoys nothing more than interacting with people on their terms in the places where they live, I get frustrated by these types of restrictions. My usual habit of walking out on the street to see what is being sold in shops, eaten at restaurants or even listened to on the radio has had to be seriously curtailed. Needless to say, leg cramps and claustrophobia are inevitable outcomes of living in such an environment.

Though it is true, as Otis Reading famously said, "Security, baby, it's what I need."

Be things as they are, there is much to see inside the many compounds we have visited. The center of the compounds can be as varied as an expanse of concrete with a drain in the middle or grassy lawns surrounded by rosebushes and shaded by the ever-so-common grape arbor, or even wide parklands, as is the case of the Sederat, Hamid Karzai's compound—Afghanistan's equivalent of the White House.

At the Kabul Inn, where we stay, the courtyard is decorated in plastic strings of orange lights. An old swimming pool has been covered up at the Oxfam compound, but the metal ladder that once led to the deep end still sticks out of the ground. At the Afghan Independent Human Rights Commission, some cats prowl around their yard.

Like their ornately painted buses and colorful clothing, Afghans take great pride in the places where they live and the hospitality that people offer to those visiting their homes, whatever their nationality. Kenny told me the story of being in Ghazni Province a while back in a rural village where he was offered green tea, the Afghan equivalent of saying, "Can I get you a cup of coffee or something?" Being ever so gracious and culturally sensitive, Kenny humbly accepted. So the man whose house they were visiting sent a relative outside to slaughter a sheep, a huge sacrifice for such a poor community.

Do you want sugar with that?

In the meetings we have had with local partners, Afghan government officials, other NGOs and members of the burgeoning Afghan civil society, there are always partitioned circular trays from which to nibble while listening to serious talk. The different sections are filled with plain or roasted pistachios, almonds, some unidentifiable white cluster thing, hard or coconut candies, and raisins, for which Afghanistan—especially the regions of Kandahar and Shomali—is well known.

To see the diversity of grapes and other fruits, flowers and vegetables that are grown in this country, the image of Afghanistan as only a dusty and barren place producing war more than produce doesn't tell the whole story. It was easy sitting at my desk in the United States, deluged by e-mail after e-mail of bad news about Afghanistan, to hold fast to pessimism about its prospects for stability and reconstruction. Now, I have a surprising degree of hope about this country and its people.

Do I have statistics to back this bold assertion up? No.

But I know that Afghans want what Americans want: peace.