A day in Kabul

This is my second trip to Afghanistan in about as many months. On my first trip out here, I was in based in a province called Baghlan, about 4 hours from Kabul, for a month. This time however, I have spent more time in Kabul. I have to admit I was a bit nervous coming out here. All of my information on Afghanistan had come from the scary media reports of NATO troops being attacked by suicide bombers, foreign aid workers being kidnapped by militant groups, and instability and chaos reigning supreme.

Although there are many problems in Afghanistan, security issues being top on that list, I was pleasantly surprised to find that Kabul does not look like a war zone. It is a hustling and bustling city with lots of cars, shops, restaurants, people, homes, trees, etc. In other words, it looks like many of the cities in this region, namely Karachi, Pakistan. Although if you ever come here, you shouldn't really say that as most Afghanis have not yet confirmed how they feel about Pakistanis, but most of that feeling is quite negative. Anyhow, last night I went to a Lebanese restaurant with some work colleagues and sitting outdoors in a giant tent eating our shish tawook and sipping on mint lemonade under the warmth of outdoor heat lamps, I forgot that I was in Kabul. But then I stepped outside and saw the two security guards with their AK 47s and the sign posted on the restaurant that said: No Locals Allowed.

The divide between the expats and locals is quite obvious. Expats live in the richest part of town, eat at the most expensive restaurants (a typical dinner in Kabul at one of these restaurants can cost as much as 20USD, which is a crime, I think!), and have the higher paying jobs. Foreigners are running the Ministries of Health, Education, Interior with the support and blessings of the Afghan govt. of course but I wonder how the locals feel about this. And there is rampant poverty everywhere. Little children scamper on the busy streets, selling everything from chewing gum to used clothing. Of the 31 million people in Afghanistan, almost 44% are under the age of 14.

Today, when we went out to get lunch, a group of small children huddled around us, peering at me and my two Tajik female colleagues. They may have been staring because we were speaking in English, but I think it was just because they were surprised to see women who looked Afghani but were dressed differently and speaking a different language. They didn't try to sell us anything, or ask for money. They ranged in age from 4 (rosy cheeks and the longest eyelashes I have seen on a little boy!) to 10 (a young girl, dressed in rags, with eyes that looked much older than her age). We asked them their ages, whether they went to school, where they lived. The girl said she had never been to school and didn't know how to read or write. She said she has to take care of her two younger brothers and stayed out on the streets all day. She said she lived with her mom; her dad had died. What could we do? I didn't want to give them money, and we couldn't just buy food for one or two of them. During the time that we waited for our sandwiches more than 12 of them had gathered around us. The young son of the sandwich shop owner finally came over and shooed the children away. One of the little boys followed us to the gate of the park, but didn't come out. I couldn't help but look back and saw him standing between the iron posts of the gate, a pair of filthy men's slippers in his hand, and a sad look on his face. This has been a day in Kabul for me.