Human Terrain

Photos from the aforementioned picnic spot for Kabul residents, Lake Qargha.

R. at Qargha

It’s a man-made reservoir near the Kabul Golf Club where you can get a drink and rent a pedal boat or a horse to ride.

A boy came up and passed over me with the smoke of burning espan, a kind of incense from a desert plant. It serves to ward off the evil eye.

In the evening I came home and was very embarassed to fall asleep during a meeting in the sitting room with a Waziri emissary. He expressed confidence in U.S. strategy in Afghanistan and I expressed my face into my lap; pinching myself didn’t work.

On Fridays the people of Kabul spend the day on picnics. There are several popular places: the Salang Pass, the Paghman valley, Qargha lake… another spot is Babur’s Gardens (Bagh-e-Babur), a park in Kabul that is the site of the tomb of Zahiruddin Muhammad Babur, the Mughal emperor who ruled India in the 15th century. Badly damaged during the civil war of the 90s, it has been restored by a German firm. It mostly attracted tourists at first but has now become popular with locals.

I talked to a few young guys about their day in the garden visiting with friends and filmed them. There’s a nice view, flowers, and it was a clear day.

I didn’t film any women because it’s considered rude for me to do so. The subject of women in Afghanistan is a delicate one to discuss; for one I’m a man and I feel very relaxed here precisely for that reason. Feeling at ease anywhere rests on going with the flow: if men here would be offended if I tried to interview women in public, I really hesitate to do it, even though I am very interested in what women would have to say. It’s a little frustrating.

Similarly, even if I gloss over the history of my French forebears with the chador, it’s hard to know how to deal with the phenomenon of the burqa. On one hand the image of the burqa is intensely mediated and is shorthand for all kinds of ideas about Aghanistan. On the other hand they have an intense beauty and stick in the eye like a dart.

Anyways I feel daunted by an overflow of stories, history and stimuli (the rice here is supremely delicious). Time is stretching out under the deluge.

I am trying to ease into taking pictures– not to mention video– which does make me a little nervous around here.

Here is the lovely garden at the buro…

Halim walking through the garden.

Kabul Cinema

An example of common truck embellishment.

Famous Chicken Street, a shopper's paradise.

I made some purchases on Chicken Street, actually. I’m trying to keep a low profile. Me and R.:

Do you find the shalwar kemeez/pakul hat/scarf combo becoming?

Goodnight…

Well then, here I am.

I felt more out of place than I ever have in my life yesterday- I woke up groggy and found myself curled up in a knotty ball inside an aluminum tube hurtling through the air on the way to New Delhi… looking out the porthole I saw a forbidding carpet of arid mountains, with tiny settlements here and there like scratches in the dust, not knowing whether it was Iran or Pakistan I was flying over. Actually it was fear and doubt that kept me tied to the thread of my ordinary existence. Angst, and also the 25-channel video screen which was playing the end of “Live Free or Die Hard.” And also Star Magazine.

I love and hate traveling… I hate how airplane travel reduces the world and makes every country a franchise of Airportlandia, with overpriced food kiosks and exhausted people slumped over in uncomfortable waiting lounges getting sore necks… I was one of those people for a good long time (13 hours). However, the great thing is the people you meet. I forged soldarity with some of my fellow Kabul-bound passengers in that New Delhi transit lounge. Jean-Pierre, a bearded sojourner who told me of his Afghan and Nepalese days setting up clinics for Doctors Without Borders; Mr. Hani Shahgul, a Kabuli carpet salesman on his way back from Spain who impressed me by being my first live experience of fabled Afghan graciousness, forcing me to eat all his cashews and asking me which warlords I wanted to talk to in Afghanistan (he claimed to know them all), and also inviting me to dinner; and an assorted crew of French journalists on their way to embed with the French military.

Now I was feeling pretty nervous the whole time about this trip and everything else, but it did make me feel better that the sound guy with the TF1 crew (a major French TV station) got SO DRUNK that they had to put him IN A WHEELCHAIR to get him on the plane. I mean, if people are going in with that level of preparation I figured I was over-prepared.

It did hit me a bit as we landed, and I took in the rows of fighter aircraft and camo’d helicopters and bunches of soldiers all over the tarmac… shit, what did I get myself into.

Now it’s an hour later, and I’m sitting on a sofa with bowls of mixed nuts and a marble fireplace before me. A breeze is coming in from the garden beyond the french doors and a caged canary is chirping. I am staying at the New York Times bureau, and if it wasn’t enough that Ruhullah came to fetch me at the airport in a shimmering shalwar, grinning like mad, and brought me here and filled me with tea… if it wasn’t enough that something smells delicious coming from the kitchen… that they gave me a desk… and some of the world’s finest journalists and Afghanistan hands are about… and the kindest staff… if all that wasn’t enough, I have full-time internet access.

Dear Friends and family,

I’m leaving now for Kabul. I will try to keep you updated in this space for the span of my brief visit and include pictures and video if possible.

I’m flying via New Delhi and I will be traveling until Thursday morning.

My overarching goal is to shoot a short film based on the essay “Shooting Afghanistan: Beyond the Conflict” by Michael Bhatia.

While the situation in Afghanistan is far from stable and appears to be worsening, I don’t expect to personally experience the violence that’s been tearing the country apart for 30 years. I will do my best to stay safe.

I’ll be working with a very experienced young Afghan man who I trust deeply, and in the company of other very experienced folks.

Wish me luck and I’ll try to commit an act of journalism or two in the next few weeks. I will update as often as I can.