David James, Kabul.
http://www.mountainunity.org/
It’s a beautiful bright winter morning. The sun is hanging low in the sky casting an astonishing golden glow which makes the snow crystals gleam like polished diamonds. A glacial stream babbles at our feet as we cross from a wooded glade to the terraced hillside on the opposite bank.
The local villagers we pass exchange polite greetings with us, some inviting us to eat and drink at their homes, but we are enjoying being outside too much and gratefully decline.
I am walking with my friends in a setting that wouldn’t look out of place in some of the more remote parts of the Lake District. However these pleasant rolling foothills that teem with pastoral and agricultural life are framed by the backdrop of the massive and forbidding Hindu Kush mountains. The melodic refrain of a Koranic recital from a nearby village reminds us this is Afghanistan not Ambleside.
It is a great affirmation for us to be out amongst the beautiful Afghan scenery and hospitable people. After the attacks in Kabul and the constant barrage of reporting that Afghanistan is a lost cause and that there’s no hope it is heartening to remind ourselves that there is. It just depends where you look and what you focus on.
There is something ancient and magical in the air as we follow the stream and the call to prayer towards the nearby village. The dry stone walls, terracing and stone and mud buildings are the only human marks on the landscape. Life in these hills probably hasn’t changed too much in the last 500 years. The men in their turbans and shawls look as though they could have stepped out of any period of Afghan history.
We are not the only ones enjoying the sun and the snow. As we near the village two boys are snowballing. A reminder that in a country known only for war and suffering there is still time for moments of fun.
Of course you can’t go anywhere in Afghanistan and naively assume nothing bad could happen but if you aren’t willing to take a measured risk to make some friends all you’ll have is enemies. As we walk up the muddy street through the village bazaar we are acutely aware we are entirely dependent on the goodwill of the people for our security. We greet everyone we pass and extend as much respect as we can manage with our limited Dari to the elders we encounter.
We don’t ignore anyone who speaks to us, even if we don’t understand and take the time to at least exchange the traditional salutations.
As we pass the teahouse we are invited in and having been out in the cold for some time and having wet feet we gratefully accept the chance for a hot drink and to sit by the wood burning stove.
The tea house is sparsely furnished with a concrete floor and a raised carpeted platform to sit upon. Golden sunlight streams through the windows illuminating photographs of local commanders and a row of brightly coloured teapots. The elderly owner accepts our greetings and begins heating a large kettle over a gas picnic stove.
The only other customer is an ancient man sitting cross legged who looks like he hasn’t moved in a decade. He places his hand on his heart and slowly bows his head in acknowledgement of our presence but makes no other move or sound. It is like he is Afghanistan and we are the international community, we come, we stay awhile, chatter excitedly amongst ourselves and then we leave whilst life for Afghanistan goes on much as it did before.
The beautiful melody of the Koranic recital has come to an end and there is a flurry of new comers as the nearby Mosque empties. At their head is a man we take to be the Mullah because he is followed by an earnest attendant who is carrying the holy Koran wrapped in finely embodied cloth. The Koran is placed with some gravitas upon a small table. I try to gauge how this new dynamic might affect our situation but don’t have time to come to any conclusions before the Mullah greets with a smile that is as warm and welcoming as the dancing sunlight.
I can’t say I’ve met many village Mullahs but this one certainly doesn’t fit the stereotype. He asks us about our health, our families and if we would like anything to eat. He is interested without prying, hospitable without being overbearing, engaging whilst giving us the space to enjoy our own conversation. This is the fine art of Afghan hospitality. Once upon a time the Afghan kindness to guests was as famous as their more notorious savagery towards enemies. It seems to me Afghan society is like a myriad of mirror shards if you arrive open handed as a respectful guest you can find a thousand friends. If you come with fists clenched you’ll find a thousand enemies.
With the tea drunk and our bodies warmed we rise to pay and continue our adventure. There is a sudden clamour of protestations and I wonder if we have committed some inadvertent cultural faux pas. The issue, it becomes clear, is that there is no question of us paying. We are guests, uninvited guests but guests none the less, and in Afghanistan guests don’t pay. The Mullah slaps his own money down and dismisses us with a wave, making it entirely clear that was the end of the matter.
We can give nothing but thanks which are heartfelt and genuine.
On the way home bouncing along the dirt roads in our four-by-four I stare out the window at this other Afghanistan. I feel privileged for the opportunities I get to engage with the real Afghan people, opportunities which are denied to most expats by their security protocols. Often it is only the armed forces that get to move amongst the local people.
I can only imagine the different response we might have provoked if we’d arrived in the village bazaar with two 80 ton armoured vehicles and 50 calibre machine guns.
The exact Afghan population and the number of Taliban fighters can only be estimated but whoever you listen to there are around 30 million Afghans and 30,000 Taliban. That makes the Taliban about 0.1% of the population. Now we shouldn’t underestimate the bad that 0.1% of the population can do if so motivated but also we should consider the good that the other 99.9% could achieve.
I couldn’t for a second suggest that Afghanistan isn’t a country with tremendous difficulties, conflict and suffering but we need to remind ourselves that it is not the whole story.
David James is the Director of Mountain Unity International. Please get in touch if you would like him to write an article for your publication or speak at your event.
http://www.mountainunity.org/It’s a beautiful bright winter morning. The sun is hanging low in the sky casting an astonishing golden glow which makes the snow crystals gleam like polished diamonds. A glacial stream babbles at our feet as we cross from a wooded glade to the terraced hillside on the opposite bank.
The local villagers we pass exchange polite greetings with us, some inviting us to eat and drink at their homes, but we are enjoying being outside too much and gratefully decline.
I am walking with my friends in a setting that wouldn’t look out of place in some of the more remote parts of the Lake District. However these pleasant rolling foothills that teem with pastoral and agricultural life are framed by the backdrop of the massive and forbidding Hindu Kush mountains. The melodic refrain of a Koranic recital from a nearby village reminds us this is Afghanistan not Ambleside.
There is something ancient and magical in the air as we follow the stream and the call to prayer towards the nearby village. The dry stone walls, terracing and stone and mud buildings are the only human marks on the landscape. Life in these hills probably hasn’t changed too much in the last 500 years. The men in their turbans and shawls look as though they could have stepped out of any period of Afghan history.
Of course you can’t go anywhere in Afghanistan and naively assume nothing bad could happen but if you aren’t willing to take a measured risk to make some friends all you’ll have is enemies. As we walk up the muddy street through the village bazaar we are acutely aware we are entirely dependent on the goodwill of the people for our security. We greet everyone we pass and extend as much respect as we can manage with our limited Dari to the elders we encounter.
As we pass the teahouse we are invited in and having been out in the cold for some time and having wet feet we gratefully accept the chance for a hot drink and to sit by the wood burning stove.
The tea house is sparsely furnished with a concrete floor and a raised carpeted platform to sit upon. Golden sunlight streams through the windows illuminating photographs of local commanders and a row of brightly coloured teapots. The elderly owner accepts our greetings and begins heating a large kettle over a gas picnic stove.
The beautiful melody of the Koranic recital has come to an end and there is a flurry of new comers as the nearby Mosque empties. At their head is a man we take to be the Mullah because he is followed by an earnest attendant who is carrying the holy Koran wrapped in finely embodied cloth. The Koran is placed with some gravitas upon a small table. I try to gauge how this new dynamic might affect our situation but don’t have time to come to any conclusions before the Mullah greets with a smile that is as warm and welcoming as the dancing sunlight.
With the tea drunk and our bodies warmed we rise to pay and continue our adventure. There is a sudden clamour of protestations and I wonder if we have committed some inadvertent cultural faux pas. The issue, it becomes clear, is that there is no question of us paying. We are guests, uninvited guests but guests none the less, and in Afghanistan guests don’t pay. The Mullah slaps his own money down and dismisses us with a wave, making it entirely clear that was the end of the matter.
On the way home bouncing along the dirt roads in our four-by-four I stare out the window at this other Afghanistan. I feel privileged for the opportunities I get to engage with the real Afghan people, opportunities which are denied to most expats by their security protocols. Often it is only the armed forces that get to move amongst the local people.
I can only imagine the different response we might have provoked if we’d arrived in the village bazaar with two 80 ton armoured vehicles and 50 calibre machine guns.
I couldn’t for a second suggest that Afghanistan isn’t a country with tremendous difficulties, conflict and suffering but we need to remind ourselves that it is not the whole story.
David James is the Director of Mountain Unity International. Please get in touch if you would like him to write an article for your publication or speak at your event.
