INCOGNITO

 

 Diary of french women who sent two weeks in Afghanistan to make a news story on the oldest profession in the world, necessary to the survival of thousands of women. In the month of June 2007, the country is still prey to the attacks, under the firing of the coalition forces against the civilians, corruption, hostage-taking and the rise of the Taliban.

She will face, in contact with the population, the unthinkable by making a discovery, which will add an additional note to all the horrors of this war.

“We had already heard about in Iraq, Bosnia, Kosovo, all this info often denied by the authorities, they were read, views. Wars “clean” to “surgical strikes” they were followed on CNN, feet under the cover, without understanding what was happening. “

ISBN : 978-2-9531657-0-8

French language

17 euros

golmard.documentaires@hotmail.fr

 

I put on web the first four chapters of the book, have a good reading.

WEDNESDAY 06 13 2007 (Chapter 1)

WEDNESDAY 06 13  2007

 

Breaking News:

The Orne (french area) swept by violent storms.
Immigration in Savoie (French area), a man found dead in a truck, probably Kurdish nationality.

Shimon Peres, 83, was elected chairman of the State of Israel in a vote in parliament.

The CNIL denounces economic espionage by the USA. The establishment since September 11, 2001, monitoring of financial transactions globally, would encourage U.S. companies in sectors, construction, petroleum, pharmaceuticals, armaments and space. LCI

 

 

Latest customary checks completed. Gas cut, position switch off, the shit of the cat emptied into the garbage and the trash in my hand. My airline ticket, my passport, my dollars, my computer, my Sony camera, two solar panels to reload the batteries, two microphones, a removable hard disk containing all our work. Jeans, sweaters, T-shirts and MP3 in my backpack and a few items to be taken : pens, perfume samples, and lighters. That’s it! I was ready.
I closed the door of my apartment and down the stairs with Pompidou (my cat) in the arm, jammed between my belongings.
I left the cat and the keys to the caretaker who flooded me recommendations, while signing myself, to say goodbye. Have I done well to accept this story? Yes, one hundred times.

 

 

It was not necessary to think about the “probable” attacks that I could cross, Paris was little more secure.

“The Nebulous” could strike anywhere! Everything was a matter of chance, not to be there at the wrong time, that’s all. Fortunately, the family farewell took place yesterday, because I believe that my mother would have paid its tear.

 The cab was already there.

– It is where my little lady?

– To Charles-de-Gaulle my little man. Charles de Gaulle 2, Terminal F, I must register at 11 h 15
– Where are you going my little lady?

 

 It started me run with his third person. I did not want to answer, I watched the town, peripherals, pub signs, asphalt and white stripes scrolled. These small minutes isolate me of hypnosis, I was in the back of the taxi soft, the sun heated my forehead, like a kiss. A micro absence evaporates soon with a :

–It is where my little girl?

– I go to Kabul Sir.

– In Kabul!  It’s war overthere?

– Not really, yes, a little bit!

– To do what, a small bird like you?

– From Tourism, simply tourism.

– Oh well, You are brave, huh!

 
Terminal F, which heart in run, throat and that uses my old man which catches me with his sticky hand wishing good luck.
– Inch’ Allah I did Algeria, me! He said, going back in his car.
Well, it was necessary to move to something else and tries to calm my heart that beat a pace too high, excitement!

Normally, Sylvie awaited me in front of “Paul”, it would afford a last growing pure butter “croissant”, before taking off.
Little detour before the departure board to determine the number of our gate. Boarding at 13 h 15, flight AF 526, Air France Company, gate 7. One last check up my ticket, I could finally take my coffee.

 
Sylvie was there with a suitcase. Oh no! She was unable to choose in his wardrobe.

– Ah! Here you are, I fear that you are late, “she said”.
– I hope you are reassured?

– I have a backpack that I put in my bag, you understand, I do not travel with a bag. I’ll  take it  when we’ll do our travels. And then I took a lot of things, in neat, changes, if there are evenings to…

My eye on the bag had enough to get confused by the explanations that I had nothing to do.
The battle was tough with my project director, Charles Grison. According to him, Sylvie Laberchère was
necessary for this work. She spoke Dari, and had great notions of Arabic, English, of course, and so forth. She did “languages O”, is good. She does not really mind “keen traveller Capa”, but she tended to….
– I wish this project, it is months that we are working above all, Vertigo production, and Planipresse Shoot Again are so wet track this baby see the light, then reduced your prejudices Ida, taking on you and go ahead!
– Yes, but the road with a “stuck-up”, it’s fearing me. She is unable to shoot, just to make shoot on good party… and then we will have to move, walk, live rough, don’t be afraid about nothing, there will be no place for nail polish…
– Do you speak Dari ?

– No, I don’t!

– So this is the explanation that you should suffice. I’ll tell you another thing, why two women, because with a man the security side would not have been secured. You can go unnoticed, do you understand, we have already spoken about, huh!

– Yes I know, but anyway, she is not prepared physically, and then I’m already gone to Afghanistan, and I know what she’ll have to endure it.

 – You’ll see, it will be happens at best, I do not want two marathon runner, I want a beautiful story, a scoop of matter.

Sylvie took the initiative of the order of breakfast.
– A coffee Ida?

– Yes please, with an almond’s croissant.

– Two black coffees, please, and an almond’s croissant. Since my vaccine for hepatitis A, I don’t digests anymore,don’t you? I have no desire to pastries, anything that is heavy does not pass.

 – No, that’s fine.

She put paid to tasting with its shit regimes masked. So Ida, Zen, took forces and pleasure before take-off for Dubai with your official translator, and ready for the adventure!

It was time to go to the gate. Flight without incident, Air France, the hostesses with fuchsia lipstick, blindfolded, and a small sum fragmented by the desires of pee Sylvie.

We arrived at 21 h 55 in Dubai. Fairy light, Las Vegas later acted as poor parents. I came here eight years ago for the inauguration of fabulous “Burj Al Arab”, the tallest, most beautiful hotel in the world, and more in the middle of the sea over an artificial island. His form of sailboat, its precious materials, its originality, its luxuriance, justified its seven stars. There was even a tennis court suspended in the air to three hundred and twenty-one metres above the ground! Yes, it was the only hotel in the world to have seven stars, no room in less than a thousand U.S. dollars. It was one of my earliest stories, and it was very marked.
Since the 70 years, construction grew as fast as bamboo. Hundred years ago, it was a fishing village. This Arab Emirate had made a wise calculation, in twenty years there would not have any oil, the solution : invest in that  place to become the eighth wonder of the world. This is also what we said about “Palm Islands”, these artificial islands in the shape of palm trees whose houses were selling like hot cakes to the billionaires worldwide. It was becoming the “Mecca of petrodollars,” where the luxury sweats under the sun.

 There were dozens of projects on the verge of being completed, The “Dubai World Central Airport” which can accommodate one hundred million people per year, the largest in the world, the “Burj Dubai Tower”, with its eight hundred metres, the tower highest in the world, the “Skydome Dubai”, ski the longest in the world in a transparent dome, 45 ° C outside and inside -1 ° C, with a blue sky still dark.

 The biggest, the biggest, most everything was here. What did not change was the look of women in public, still no miniskirt. The skin of women excited still, yet the world was at the forefront of progress, educated men, but women were still ambulatory sexes need to cover. It was not for tomorrow bums-freezer walking along major avenues in Dubai.
The hall of the airport, a palace of a thousand and one night with each side of the escalator, two aisles of giant palm trees, the soil a huge red carpet, the sky transparencies in the vault, which suggested the stars. It is in this place princely we landed Roissy luggage by hand and bags under the eyes. Our flight to Kabul was at 8 am tomorrow morning.
No way to stay on the seats of the transit zone, “we had to get fit, and then what would we look like”, says Sylvie. The agency  had booked for us a double room for the night.

 Before sleeping, I read “Libé”, and “Le Monde”, our president Nicolas Sarkozy, had assumed his duties. The young thugs had their show in several cities last night to say no to Sarko, that’s for sure! Yesterday the U.S. soldiers had killed seven policemen in the Afghan province of Nangarhar near the Pakistani border and according to a survivor, the helicopter had approached them and was fired despite their calls. Last week, precisely, the Minister of Defence of twenty-six NATO countries had pledged to “minimize” civilian casualties inflicted on Afghans. Too many blunders on the part of the coalition, which not fix branding “liberators”.

 I was going to move from one world to another in one night, from democracy to the dominance of clans with weapons, from abundance to scarcity, from four-lane highwaysto the small path mined, from piercing to  the beard, from Ipod to the transistor, from high heels and short skirts to the burqa babouche, from wine to opium, from the ”french bread” to the nan*, from the heights of Montmartre to the relief of the Hindu Kush…

All these comparisons were also soporific that sheep jump over hedges, I fell asleep newspapers by hand.

 

nan : afghan’s bread

THURSDAY 06 14 2007 (Chapter 2)

THURSDAY 14 JUNE 2007

 
Breaking News:

Two young girls shot dead and five wounded by two men on motorcycle in front of their school in Pul-i-Alam, Logar province. AFP

Thirty-three Taliban insurgents killed by Afghan forces including several commanders: twenty in Kandahar province, six in the Zhari area and seven in the province of Ghaznî

The death of Mullah Akhund Dadoullah killed by NATO forces and Afghan forces in Helmand province. Reuters

Standing 05 h 30, boarding at Terminal 2 at 8 pm, in which a 737 hours of flights. Travel with some turbulence, Kam Air, the hostess’s lipstick carmine, with the eyes making up and head covered. No blindfolded in two hours we would be in Kabul. The desires pee of Sylvie had turned to envy vomited, half of the journey in the ladies’ room. That’s anguish, I knew. I had other symptoms, sweaty hands and the runs if you see what I mean. Thus served our Western world, we began our descent for the Khwaja Rawash Kabul Airport. We are parking by day and the Dubai light’s enchantment was replaced by a large agglomeration brown, kissed by a belt of mountains purple, white on the summits. We were at the foot of the Hindu Kush. A dusty atmosphere came into our eyes to the descent of the aircraft. The tarmac was fixed in places, its surroundings filled with F-16, owned by Belgian military deployed at the airport, and Helicopters of ISAF*. Reassuring to know guarantor of the security of the airport.The transition was operating. We arrived in the only building of the airport check point, and then I suddenly felt that I was different, I was a woman, covered with a scarf tied. The Customs officer turned back the pages of my passport in search of “I don’t know what?”, it was still unexpired, it was almost full, I think that’s puzzled that he had to find a blank page. He stopped on the visa that I had already obtained in 2004 to cover presidential elections. He raised his head and said:

– What does he say Sylvie?

– Kujâ Media-rawi?

– He said : where are you going?

– Kabul.

– Barây e-chi kâr?

– What?

– He said :  what for?

– Come next to me it will be easier.

Sylvie came to my height and spoke with him that we were doing a report for the NGO ACTED*, and that we will not remain fifteen days. He had a nod from right to left, the same as ours to say no, except that here, it means yes.

– Farânsawi? 

There I understood him and responded proudly in its language : “Farânsawi balé”, followed by a “salâm wa aléikom”.

– “Wa aléikom-as-salâm”, he said to me making my papers.

He spoke English, but requires pride, and then it was surely not his day.

– Sylvie, I would prefer that nobody knows that you speak Dari, I mean, guides, hotel staff, finally you see.

– Really! Why?

– It can save your life.

Sylvie was faster than me and the customs officer more cool with her.We climb in a yellow Toyota cab, the same than in NY, finally, with doors yellow or white, direction Kabul city, Mustafa Hotel. Our driver had a sporty driving. A road full of holes, with cars everywhere, bicycles, carts, trucks, without the horn it was the accident for sure. Police provided traffic as they could wave a kind of red sign: “Stop Inspection”. The cab was visibly pressed to believe he had a cloud of the Taliban* butt. We arrived in front of the hotel. A armed guard  with a Kalashnikov was posted at the entrance. Mustafa Hotel was the mythic place of expatriates, the kingdom of Mr. Faizî Wais. The Afghan of New Jersey was back in 2001 to help his country after more than twenty years of exile. It was all the time very happy to welcome Westerners who came to his home. The man with doves. He died six months ago on December 27, 2006 in his bed, how? It said an asthma attack … It lacked in Kabul, he would miss me.
He was known to the Agency by reporters who had covered Afghanistan. He was known in all branches of the world by the way.

We gave a slight bakchich to the driver who offered us his services for the duration of stay! In the hall were hung hundreds of mails worldwide and a large portrait of Wais with a fresh flower placed in a corner of the frame. I immediately thought of the flowers, that Afghans good to marry, slid into their pakols*. He was ready for the wedding and the death  married him… Very moving to be here. I saw him everywhere. Sylvie put my tears start to the account of emotion back, she knew that Afghanistan was living in my heart and my guts.

The Bin Laden doll’s was always there to waddle to the bar, as a big dirty bitch. My Wais and his humour, our Wais and his freedom. We had booked two singles room to thirty-five dollars a night. Hewad the cousin of Wais, took over the management of the hotel after his death. He welcomed us the cross arm and eyes imploring any issue to the suffering that was his. Whether it was good to see him, every things had not disappeared. After a good tea to the taperoom to remember some good moments, we returned each in our apartments to have a break.

– See you in one hour Sylvie, we gonna eat a piece of Italian restaurant at the hotel?

– Yes, I’ll do a bit of toilet pending.

 The trip and emotions pumped me, I was a bout of strength, extended across the width of the bed, I did my little briefing. This afternoon, we had to go to the embassy to bring our arrival. A walk in Chicken Street, which was not far from here, would be a good initiation for Sylvie. After that nothing today, a good evening at the hotel which we will get acquainted with tenants at the time.The evenings here continued until dawn. The expats relax in the Uzbek vodka and whisky. We must not forget that alcohol and Islam do not mix, it was necessary to have the courage to open a real bar with suicide bombers ready to blow themself for any Islamist cause. The Wais, had that courage. It was necessary that I stop living in the past, a lot of work  expected us, and I had no place for lamentations. But anyway, I was missing him.

We were back to Italian restaurant in the hotel, steak and fettucines to the Tuscan, cappuccino and etc, otherwise disorient our compass, eating Italian in Kabul who had believed. We were not alone, there were fifty rooms in this place, the restaurant was filled with blond heads that we greeted by “Hi!”. There were members of NGOs, military perm, businessmen, hacks, a kind of budding writers, few tourists apparently. We took place one in front of another.

Sylvie was decidedly special, even though we were in one of the most westernised of the capital, even in the country, she found fault with the card, the price, and of course, there was no Coca light. Damned! light in Afghanistan, then they all ran after a piece of bread. I was between a jubilant state by imagining how she was going to fuck off and a big concern in imagining that I was going to have behind me during these two weeks. The country was going to teach her how to live, already in eight days, she would be different.

 An espresso and we left by cab to the embassy. Although warm in the cab, which was also joyously decorated with lace doilies in the top seats, and a garland here and there, Sylvie took full eyes. A traffic jam without name, 4X4 NGOs congestion the streets and alleys and exhausts vomit a thick black smoke. Cars and cars, occasionally wholesale hummers, Pakistani trucks are also richly decorated, poor devils pulling carts to their arms, rickshaws, motorcycles, while dirty kids selling gum when we were arrested, and women with tchadris begging in the middle of the road, do not forget some companies of armoured ISAF. Anything mishmash when you were not familiar with the conduct of crazy driver, it could, I say that you could trace the fettucines until the glottis. Bingo! Our Sylvie had a little indigestion and complied by the cab’s window, the driver screamed like a devil because the dust would return to the carrier. The dust and the terrible smell of diesel were standing in the streets of Kabul. So yes! It was a polluted city, not by indigenous people who were often only two sandals or nothing in the southern neighbourhoods, but by westerners riding in cabs and 4X4. There were more than five hundred NGOs in Kabul….

She cleaned herself and the cab continued his wild run.
The district embassies resembled an area subtracted a bit like the “Green Zone” in Baghdad. Dams, guards every twenty meters and huge concrete blocks on the streets so that suicide bombers do not forget their vehicles in front of buildings!
Upon returning from the Embassy of France, the cab changed pace fearing another referral and he layed down on Chicken Street without offering his services for the coming days as they did all. He asked compensate for cleaning the back door.The bustle of this small street filled with shops for tourists, eyes brimming with envy us fiddle
and incessant invitations to all traders : “Hello! You are my friend…. Very cheap…. Best price… ” were due to the dizzy by Sylvie. She asked me to return as soon as possible at the hotel. She felt wrong, the job that was returning. To be honest, me too, I had full boots, I also need quiet and rest.

 We were Thursday and that day to Mustafa was kebab evening on the terrace. Yes, Friday was the day of the Lord, then on Thursday evening it was “The Feast! “.   Too tired to venture into the streets of Kabul to find a place to eat, we decided to remain in place as we had anticipated this afternoon. To have adventure was a great word because it would be in a cab, with a goal restaurant defined in advance. It was advised not to loiter in the streets after dark, although suicide attacks have calmed down inside of Kabul, since the end of Ramadan. For restaurants, it was such, we could not choose a small one by chance, security forces, restaurants with armed guards at the door, they were discreet, there were just a small excavation to arrive. All this to don’t forget that death flying a little lower here than elsewhere.
In 70 years, under King Zaher Shah, we could see some miniskirts among young affluent, there were even night-clubs in the city center and tea rooms, incredible as times change!

After a brief toilet, tap water was not very strong, drought and shortage, I met Sylvie already with vodka in hand to the bar and two males on each side.

 

– Well Ida I will present to you the only french of the hotel, Paul Berger and Gerard Wurtz. Paul and Gerard, he is a freelance working for Roshan, you know the company….
– Yes I know, the main telephone company in Kabul, is delighted me Ida.

 Both thirties, one brown the other blond, one whisky the oter one  vodka. They were there for two weeks and certainly remain a moment. They wanted to rent a small studio but Kabul was more expensive than New York, NGOs, yet their, had pushed the prices of buildings that were still standing.
After the presentations and four rounds of Tora Bora cocktails, one each, we went on the terrace to the “kebab beer party” accompanied by our two compatriots. We were about forty around different tables and sipping. There were seven different nationalities, and an English noise emerged victorious from the fray. We had an amazing view of Kabul, helping alcohol, we felt invincible on up there. No more bombs, no more Taliban, no more neighbourhoods destroyed, no more ISAF, no more misery, no more sails, we had reconstituted our microcosm of expatriates, music, alcohol, jeans and tee-shirt. Wais I missed you.

Came to my memory all our evenings exciting to remake the world. Hewad lacked the Western culture of his cousin, not his charisma, no heat, in short, it was not him. The Wais had a presence, availability out of the ordinary, a heart as big as that. It was the guy to say: “I am happy there now with you, and I eat life, who knows what tomorrow reserve! “
When death is on the prowl, so closed to ears, shared moments were incomparable flavour. Everyone in this room certainly had a threshold of adrenaline higher than the average person, in my case, I have always been living in countries at war.

Sylvie was out, tired and alcohol must not mix. Paul Berger the freelance had tried all night to know about our story, but I was pleasantly surprised by Sylvie to not revealing anything. It did not get stung our job. Wurst (Roshan), tried to dredge and one another without achieving its ends feared there to put it on the ear during the summer? He had a six-month mission, because this multinational Roshan (6% of GDP for Afghanistan) launched a project of TV medicine throughout the country, thus facilitating care in remote areas entirely.

I took leave to go watch CNN on satellite, history of measuring temperature of the world. It was, incidentally, that I Hewad track for tomorrow. He was at the bar chatting with customers, two major big guys hair very short, Europeans, I do not know too much ice-free vodka, reportedly said the spiritual son of Stalone. They stop their conversation out of politeness, I suppose, seeing me. A frigid breeze crossed the hall, I greet Hewad handing in our conversation overnight, I think the timing was inappropriate.

Our rooms were on the third floor, only a few glimmers of small oil lamps go out from housing, electricity was not for all and not all the time, were pleased that the wealthy could buy a group. The dust had fallen, in part, the sky was bright and the crescent moon took its eastern slope, after this brief moment of fullness, it was my turn to take the horizontal angle. I fall asleep without asking my rest.

 

 

 

 

Taliban : A talib (student or researcher), is a person who adheres to a Sunni Muslim fundamentalist movement which spread mainly in Pakistan and Afghanistan. The Taliban movement was founded in 1994 in Afghanistan by Mullah Mohammed Omar in Kandahar. The word Taliban is the plural of talib in Arabic, french they say Taliban and a taleb. The French grammar tolerates Taliban with an “s”.

 

 ISAF : Force International Assistance Security, under UN mandate, assists the Afghan authorities to exercise their power to create conditions conducive to the stabilization and reconstruction of the country. Under command of NATO since August 2003.

[ ACTED : aid agency for technical cooperation and development.

 

Wais Faizî : Director Mustapha until his death in December 2006. http://www.waisfaizi.org/Wais 20Faizi/Wais%% 20Faizi.html

Pakol : Afghan beret.

 Ben Laden : Osama Bin Laden (OBL), a native of Yemen, born March 10, 1957 in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. Chef founder of the terrorist network Al-qaïda.

 

 

 

FRIDAY 06 15 2007 (Chapter 3)

FRIDAY  06 15 2007

 
Breaking News

Five Afghan civilians wounded, suicide bombing, Kandahar province.

Ten Afghan civilians killed including five children, suicide bombing, province of Uruzgan.
A Dutch soldier killed in the attack. Reuters
One U.S. soldier killed during fighting in the province of Paktika.

– Get up, get up!it was 7 o’clock, and the delicacy of the man who had just knock on the door destroy my first moments emerging.

I woke up in Kabul with a day full of uncertainties on the horizon, nothing was ever safe here.We were not many in the hall for breakfast this morning, our beautiful “dark” last night should have headache. Sylvie arrived shortly after me, mine yellow accompanied by his holding of combat. She wore a set of desert camouflage (yellow shit goose colour), enhanced with green buttons, just emerged from a second hand clothes dealer, and an unnamed discretion. Beurk! Help! Does she want to serve as a target, had she enough of life?

–Sylvie so, what’s up?

– I slept badly, my bed was too soft, but it will be better just now.
– You know that we will move with a tchadri under our arms today and that we may be brought to bear?
– Yes, I know.

 The night obviously was not good and the clock neither, breakfast would all this in place. We talked the course of our day, when Hewad came to greet us, giving us go to the office as soon as we finished.The office of Wais had not changed, the two cousins are expecting us with smiles. Hewad presented his brother, Haroon, Sylvie has eyes’s shining. While he returned, he opened his arms. Whether it was good to see him, too! Having outlined our reporting and goes around our needs, we need to agree, not on the price he would ask, but on the security that we should never overlook.
– Always remember that there is war here Miss, yap!
Haroon would be our man on the ground, our guide, our courier, our shadow, our guardian angel.The two brothers had lost their parents and their four young sisters in the bombing of the coalition in October 2001, they lived in the northern district Did Sabz, a small village called Bandikhana near the front line. This was spent during Operation Enduring Freedom led by the USA. What freedom and for whom? For the dead may be.
On 22 November 2001 Kabul was under the control of the northern alliance, but at what price? Spending terror regime of the Taliban regime colonial U.S., the choice was difficult and imposed, as usual. Tons of bombs fell on Kabul already disfigured by more than twenty years of conflict. For Afghans on the street, two-thirds of them could not read, “Saviors” had nothing to envy to the Taliban, always massacres, bombings, bombs, destruction.The women wore always, in their great majority, tchadri, decorated, it’s true, with shiny high heels, the port was imposed, this is the only difference, but it was the rule. Saying that “these paintings” had an origin quite different. Indeed, the bourgeois used them to hide their beautiful apparatuses, so as not to tempt poorest, thus avoiding attacks. At that time, so this was an outward sign of wealth, and a female coquetry!

– Ida, I’ll go to buy tchadris, says Haroon, you want it blue or brown?
– Take the blue one, I want the colour of sky, colour of hope.
– Nylon or cotton? The nylon have a more resistant, is thirty dollars  each.

– Thirty dollars, but it is expensive, tchadris’ shop made fortunes and hairdressers bankruptcy, is it? We will also need bottled water and…

– I have prepared your arrival.

He put a hand on his holster. I found at this moment, precisely, the quiet strength of Wais, genes certainly. He was wearing on him, the weapon of his cousin, a Glock he never left, like a photo that disappeared on hiding near the heart. Haroon was a beautiful Afghan thirty years, face already mature and serene, he had already lost so much, so close. He was solid on his legs and his head and was imbued with natural nobility, sprinkled with humility and an unconditional love for his country.

 This morning, we had to confirm the appointments we had with women of the association Rawa. They defended the right of women to Afghanistan in helping to revive this chaos. They were based in Pakistan and were working underground, their heads were being priced. It was far from the speech of the “excellent” Laura Bush who looked forward to a new day for all women of Afghanistan at the outset of the American intervention.

 We returned in contact with them in France, have explained their needs and details of this investigation.
I had a phone number and a name, Omid, which meant hope in Dari!

Let me talk to Omid is Ida Gold, the agency Capa.
– Miss Gold I give you go to Wazir Akbar Khan in the park in front of the mosque at 11 o’clock.
– Ok, 11 o’clock, I wear a white plastic bag in hand, I will have the tchadri.

– Well.

During the return of Haroon we took a tshâï.
It was not very long to return.

– Her you are! You’ve found?

–Yes. Do you need me this morning?
– We have a date To WAK, with women, but they do not want men.

– I ‘ll come with you until the release of Sher Pur and I’ll waiting for you, if you want to be the quiet Miss, put the tchadris.
It was better to be with him, pretending to be indigenous with a plan in hand, it was not won.

We put on  our tchadris in the hall, taking care to follow Haroon never surpass, it was more local, subjects of a second class were still lagging behind! Whether it was difficult to walk, breathe, to live with a tchadri.

A real torture, imagine when it’s 35 ° C in the streets, with several layers of clothing, have to cover from head to toes with that thing, it was stifling, the limit of fainting.

Our whole body sweating or crying, do the choice. And then it was difficult to walk without tripping constantly, the streets of Kabul were filled with ruts, holes, gutters serving as sewers, obstacles to avoid. He constantly had to guess where we were going to put their feet. How were able to inflict such a burden to these women, how? The West that I was will be died of anger.

 The Sher Pur district had been razed, and obviously, the poor people driven out. There was this beautiful villas belonging to different Warlords, as well as major local drug traffickers.
It will be left for the mosque. In the small park, I scanned throughout the world through my bars, shaking the bag. A woman approached us and a gesture of the hand asked us to follow her. We entered a small house without knowing the name of the street, it was like this in Kabul, there were many streets without names, just numbers.

 A woman was waiting for us, sitting on the floor in a room with below the ceiling. The walls were blue sky, a pile of blankets with multicoloured fabrics was raised in one corner. A readiness oilcloth on the floor, small tea glasses resting on a shelf scrap. A kind of bench made around the room following the curve of the walls. Our hostess Rawa presented to us a widow who had agreed to testify before the camera. It must be said that they had made a considerable upstream work, girls of Rawa, succeed in convincing women to demonstrate their condition, well done! There is barely a week, Zakia Zaki was murdered at his home.

We agreed that our witness would have distorted the way, and only his eyes were visible.

We took place for the interview.

–Our witness called Mahataab, said Sylvie.
I settled behind the camera and noticed that the poor woman shaking of fear or emotion, I do not know. They risked two of them to die for what they had to go.
–Mahataab, hello and thank you for giving us this interview. You are part of two million Afghan widows and we would like you to talk about yourself, your life, your daily life.

 –Hello, I am a widow since February 11, 1372, I lived in Afshar area in the west of Kabul. My husband was assassinated in front of me for retaliation against our people, the Hazaras.

The killers were part of the Ittehad-e-Islami, headed by this junk on Sayyaf, our house was bombed and looted. The attacks began early in the morning, we were still asleep. It was raining bombs, it was a nightmare, and everyone ran in every direction to head towards the east. The howls amounted everywhere. I saw a neighbour become insane, his two children were only pieces of flesh scattered on the floor, and she was picking up filling in for her dress. She cried out their names… Do you understand what we have lived and seen?

 

 A militia Ittehad has blocked the road, put my husband out to kill him in front of us with a laugh. You understand? They killed him with a laugh before his own children. They saved my son, why? That, I shall never know, they killed so many little boys that night. Many women were raped… (Silence).
– Have you experienced this kind of violence that night?
His head fell into the palm of his hands, with no word, it was a sign of moving to something else. She was crying.
– It is all the time very hard for me to rethink everything. I was twenty years at the time with two children. You can not imagine wha tis a massacre, thank God, you can not imagine.
It was difficult to find food for children.

– How did you do?

She turned to Omid asking if she had the right to respond.

 – I first looked for work, but not go to school, there was nothing for women like me, and then very quickly I had to find food for my children in the dustbin of others.

–My children did not go well, then I mailed them out of mosques, some of the women were distributing food to the poor. I also did distributions of Red Crescent. After two weeks I was at the end, there was for me a single issue, death.

–How to find the strength to live when you have no more roofs, not enough to eat or drink? We found refuge in Microyan, in buildings partly destroyed. There were lots of poor people like me, few men almost as women and children. In one block, I met a fahisha who told me his life, a widow with children and without resource, like me. She was disgusting me, I could not do “this thing”. She gave us enough not to starve for a few days and managed to convince me that if I wanted to live, it was the only solution. She said: “It’s better than death for your children.”My children had to live, I had to do something.
– How did you start?

– I started with her in a cab which was in cahoots. The men climbed, we made their case and the cab took a commission on the pass. It’s hard for me to tell it all, you know, I’m not dirty and not bad by nature, I did not want it all.

 It was an unbearable heat, and behind the lens, I could see the tears from her eyes and all the pores of his skin.
– We do not believe you we would certainly like you. Sometimes the need legitimizes a lot of things.
– Once I managed to have enough to pay the cab, I did it all alone. I did not want to do that by begging like many of my sisters, it was even more dangerous, many men humiliated us, beating us with sticks and spit.

 –What did you do with your children?
– I took the smallest with me, the great remaining Microyan with other children.

– Alone?

– Yes alone, there were seven years and was already a little man. Here it’s not like in your country, life expectancy is forty-five years here, you are adult very young when you grew up with war.

– How do you do when the Taliban took Kabul?
– You know that women were not allowed to work or go out alone without a mahram. The widows were sentenced to life without resources, even begging was prohibited, and we were insulted and beat us for that. No law or leave, or to work or beg, how? The Taliban were well aware that some women were sold to survive. This is my old children who came with me, so I was not at fault outside. It was horrible for him the poor and I had to fight hard because these pigs wanted sex with my son.

– How? They wanted to have a sexual relationship with your child?

– Yes, with my child.

– It happened often?

– Yes. Do you know that in Afghanistan there are many men who take haliq. Since the dawn of time a tribe is known for these things with other men: “Pashtuns.”
In our country men are easier to approach than women. People around Kandahar say: “The birds fly above the city with only one wing, the other covering their post.”
– Kandhahar, the stronghold of the Taliban?
– Yes, it is also a city of men who love men. Especially young people, but they need not be adults, you see?

– No!

– Well, if they are not adults, they are not trained sex and the report is not considered relationship between man, this is not a sin.

– You want to say that if the boy is not pubescent, it is somewhat emasculated, not yet a man and this is not a homosexual relationship.

– Yes that’s right. There are those who say: “A woman for babies and a man for fun.”

– Ah! I see. How the Taliban behaved with boys?

– Representatives of Virtue had, too, ashana. They killed prevented adult men who had sex with each other by being crushed under a wall of bricks. If after thirty minutes, the poor man was still alive, he had saved his life. You see, a little better what we lived? It was a very tough time for us women, I risk to be killed every day, it took almost give all the money the cab, I did not want to die under the stones.
– We have heard that during the stoning, people should choose stones not too big for that “criminals” do not die immediately, is it true?

– Yes and no tiny neither, which does not injured enough. By the grace of Allah, the Taliban are no longer in power, we no longer have the same fears, but life is always difficult. The police also asked for money or sex when fahishas are young. I started to be old, so…
– How old are you?

– About thirty-five years.

– No, you’re not an old woman.

– I’m damaged by war, no future, poverty, and then I took opium for years. I could not continue to live without, life was too hard physically and I am not talking about the joy of living is a word that no longer exists since a long time. I gave a lot of teas, made with poppy straw, to my children, I have treated with small pellets of opium when they were sick. I also gave them when I was doing the tour cab, so they were sleeping. But I never “hunted the dragon”.

– It is said when one takes heroin, I’ve never done it, just opium for pain of body and heart.

– Where are your children now?

– The smalleast is with me and the tallest, he left for work the land. My husband was of Khash in the province of Helmand, his brothers are still there. I was no longer his mother, there were disputes between us, he beat me, I was a drag so he decided to join his family in the South. Since then, I have no news.

She was crying shaken by large tears. I stopped recording, my sight was filled with tears. It was painful to film the human distress. We tried to console him taking the hands, rubbing her back, in vain, we had to wait until the time to make its effect.

– One last question Mahataab, how did you meet the association Rawa?

– They are the ones who came to me, a day that I was begging near the Eid Gah mosque, closed the Ghaznî Stadium.
– The famous stadium stonings?

– Yes, and it is also in this district that selling drugs work, that’s why I was there.

– How would you have they addressed?

– They know the fate of widows, nobody wants us to resume second marriage, no work, drugs, prostitution, violence. They offered me to speak, try to think about what I could do to get out of this nightmare.

There was a need to change everything in my life, but by what end begin?

For two years they have restored hope, I found a small roof in Qala-e-Nyazi, south of the city is far from the centre but it is already, I’m home.

– You are gone of Microyan, then?

– We were chased, buildings are being repaired, place the rich now.

– I’m trying to stop me sell following the program Rawa has put in place.

 – What is it?

– Well, they have advanced a little money, a small credit, a… I do not know how it is called a micro credit, that’s right. With I’m on a chicken farm. A Qala-e-Nyazi, there are many fields around, I was able to rent a field, with their help we gave a pen and built my little house inside.
– How do you see your future?

– I am my own now, I work without having anything to anybody. I am free, free. I never know how to thank them, they have saved the lives of me and my little. I do not want to die now, my son learns to read, and I ask nothing more.
– Regarding opium?

– I take it sometimes as when I am sick of the lungs, and that’s all, I stopped using them, Alhamdullillah!

– What are you relationship with men?

– I can not anymore.

– We can only thank you Mahataab, wanting to deliver your life, you are an exceptional woman.

– No, she says all embarrassed. The film will go on French television?
– Yes, of course.

She put one hand over her mouth to stifle a small laugh of contentment. What a delight to be able to offer it as a reward for his courage, but what happiness!
Starting Mahataab we took hands and shook for several minutes while laughing like a child.
We left these incredible women who rebuild Afghanistan with their hands and beliefs, lungs blow up to block. What lesson of humanity!

Omid has proposed to contact a fahisha khana in Kabul, there were about thirty now. Many brothels Chinese were in the rear of restaurants, most of them in Wazir Akbar Khan.
She could not we bring in Chinese, but among Afghan women, yes. She would contact us.

– It was a recording made on the spot that I like without embellishment, I am glad that brings such testimony.
– Yes, you remember the way, Haroon is perhaps gone?
Of course not, we waited for three hours in the park!
– You have what you want the Miss?

– Yes, everything went well, we go?

– Follow me, remember!

 

Back at the hotel, check messages. The Embassy of France recommended : “Do not go out on foot and still have an armed escort along. To avoid the vicinity of police stations and military bases. Do not go out at night, ie after 18 hours. Do not go shopping streets, such as Chicken Street and Flowers Street. Recrudescence of hostage-takings. “
They were the two streets adjacent to the hotel! A little flippant but with the tchadri Haroon and I did not feel concerned.

We ate a piece and spent the rest of the afternoon at work. I empty the contents of the camera on the disc and began assembling a draft on “First Pro.”

 

 

The return to the restaurant’s expatriates was beneficial to Sylvie, Roshan was faithful to the post and vodka as they were able to reassure each other about their spells. I finished my dinner quickly without really taking part in this other Kabul of Westerners.

– 7 am tomorrow?

– OK, see you tomorrow Ida.

The tiredness made me bend shoulders. No problem of falling asleep despite purrs of the streets and the hotel.

 

 

 Zakia Zaki : killed seven bullets, June 6, 2007, in the presence of his son. This young woman of 35 years, was the director of radio Sada-e-Sulh and had recently received death threats, inviting him to close the antenna of its radio station. It is the second journalist killed in less than a week in the Afghan capital, another journalist called Sanga Amach, a news presenter private TV. Local leaders of Jamiat-e-Islami (political party Afghan Tajik majority, it was the party of Massoud), had banned him to interview women in the street.

 Opération Enduring Freedom : Operation Freedom Immuable (ILO), initiated by the U.S. Army. First deployment of some elements of special forces a week after September 11, 2001 in Afghanistan, the official start of Operation dates back to October 7, 2001.

 Rawa : http://.Rawa.org

 Plastic bags : the paper bags were banned under the Taliban regime.

 L’année islamique : 621 years is less than years in the West. 1372 = 1993.

Hazaras : : People of Mongolian origin living in central Afghanistan. The Hazaras are Shiite and were regarded as infidels by the Taliban, they were imprisoned, humiliated and killed en masse.

Ittehad-e-islami : : Islamic Union for the Liberation of Afghanistan headed by Rasul Sayyaf, Wahhabi faction, strict application of sharia law in connection with Saudi Arabia.

Mahram : pimp.

Haliq : boy used for sex.Pachtouns : (called Pathans in Pakistan), the main ethnic group living in eastern and southern Afghanistan. Divided into major tribes, they are Muslims, mostly Sunnis. Their language is Pushto (also known as Afghan). It is among the Pashtuns that the Taliban were born. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SATURDAY 06 16 2007 (Chapter 4)

 

 

SATURDAY  06 16 2007

Breaking News:

 

Three Afghan civilians killed in a suicide car bombing against a convoy of ISAF, followed by accidental shooting of a U.S. soldier who caused the death of another civilian, Kabul.

Event surrounding the convoy with the slogan: “Death to America. »Kabul.

An Afghan civilian killed and fifteen wounded in a suicide motorcycle run against a team of Swiss reconstruction Street near the vegetable market at the peak-time. A suicide bomber seems to have survived the explosion, Mazâr-e-Sharif. AFP

 

       This morning tracking ground, attempted contact with prostitute’s import, to go to Chinese restaurants of Wazir Akbar Khan. How are they going to brothel owners welcome us?

 

This afternoon we will go for a walk towards the south of Kabul, despite the warning of the embassy. I will try to shoot some parts of the city, there is always a time dedicated to the situation of the place in a report.

We were going to use the same ploy yesterday tchadris and Haroon kept at a distance. I was told that the restaurant pimps were in cahoots with the police, as everywhere, he would have to play it fine.

 

Last year, anyway, to prove its good faith, police arrested forty-six Chinese it has expelled, without forgetting to say that it was an inappropriate the West, “Prostitution is coming with the army and NGOs. ” said the police chief of Kabul.
Haroon, always on time, asked we the program of the day.

– You’ve lost the head, we will never shoot these girls, what do you do with the Chinese mafia, what do you do of pimps, at best, they will denounce you to the police who will stop you. It touches on these businesses, they will never let you destroy their gold mine. You’ve gone mad!

He was furious, screaming and moving a lot without worrying about a few hotel guests who were already awake.
In the euphoria that was the construction of a subject, I did, it’s true, forgotten the risks, I decided, by mutual agreement with Sylvie, no film that fronts institutions in the faces hiding the names of restaurants. It was not necessary that we have the testimony of those poor girls. Haroon was half reassured that it was discovered to film and it would, as always, create crowds of sightseers.

There were all kinds of shops, large, small, they all had in common the neon fluorescent above the window and some had even red lanterns, arranged outside!

We have not dwelt front windows that appeared respectable, though! Small restaurants remain our target. None of the waitresses all these restaurants were dressed local. All wore ensembles, in fake silk, near the body, which no shortage of panic the populace. Without embrace the oldest profession in the world, “accoutrement” confined in this category.
We were in neighbourhoods frequented by foreigners, potential customers. It was dangerous to turn in circles. We passed in front of our target, neon that worked as a flashing, a window full of fingers, zebra by drips of fat, small school and still a guard at the entrance displaying his weapon as a standard-bearer.
– Haroon, we will enter on the Beijing Center, wait further.
– Watch out! Not anything inside.

– Do you do not worry.

– I know you!

–Wait us.

To not surprise the guard we take of our tchadris few meters before the entrance, causing the amazement of passers who crossed our eyes.

Seeing our faces of Foreign he smiled us moving away from the door.

The interior was decorated in a Chinese kitsch basic pushed to the extreme. A young girl came to our place near the entrance. We asked him a place more tranquil. We landed against the kitchen door, smells who escaped did not we opened the appetite, it smelled of oil cakes.

A major Chinese was behind the bar, near his abacus. The girl came to take our order.

 

– Do you speak English, asked Sylvie?

– Yes I do.

– Are you in this country for a long time?

– I do not need to speak something other than work.
–I have a question to ask.
– What?
– We would like to film the front because we do a story about good restaurants in Kabul, he is the boss?

She turned around, laughing and talking to the very big man. Straight, no one that raised eyebrows and forefinger to tell him to approach, we did not exist.
– It says that you, crazy. Not good restaurant here. He said, what are you looking for?
– Tell him it’s for a guide to identify all restaurants that exist in Kabul.
He looked for us to look again and Sylvie replied with a big smile on his finger camera. The girl returned to us saying he wanted to be filmed too.
– OK, OK.
We immediately made our record, the guard helping us outside to disperse worldwide. The skipper was sweating big drops, posed proudly in front of his bar. We had right to jasmine tea offered by the house. As we left, I asked the girl:
– Tell me, we have friends who would like to have girls for one night, you know where you can find?
His face suddenly took on the traits of a fish moon, with the mouth-shaped “O”.
– We like it here, you leave with your cameras, not back.
She greeted us and quickly disappeared into the bottom of the restaurant. The big boss, who did not follow the conversation but remained wary, was happy to see us leave.

– Come on, we’re going to go, no one is what we’re doing.
We were not proud every two, then shit.
– Agree not a journalist but they will neither sign nor the faces of people.
– Yeah! But still no one is what we did there Sylvie, is invalid.

On returning, they heard sirens in the distance, it was never good to be outside in these shots meanwhile, urged the step. A suicide bombing had occurred in the centre resulting in the deaths of three Afghan civilians, a soldier of ISAF had panicked and fired into the job killing one civilian.
– It continues, we said Haroon, since the beginning of the year is a real massacre. More than three hundred and eighty Afghan civilians died.

 

 
You know, what worries me is that we increasingly dealing with attacks “in Iraqi.” Kamikaze Corolla or bombs, this is not a war, is terrorism

. It was hot in the streets, there were an event, all screaming: ” Death to America.” Fortunately we were French, only to learn too. We razed the walls and arrived without incident at the hotel.

– I am divided between hope and despair for your country and I do not know how you find the strength to continue?
– Miss You know, it’s complicated, so much is at stake here, you know, everything is to be taken to recover, to rebuild. The Karzai government is corrupt, the Warlords are in government. The Taliban, Pakistan, the stakes gas, the USA, millions of tons of uranium unexploited of Kasakstan, trauma more than two decades of war, ethnic groups, the dollar, the strategic position of our country , Extreme poverty, you take it all, you put it in a jar and you shaken, and what you see is the current situation: a fucking bullshit.
– My question is stupid, excuse me.
He had the power to pass immediately the storm that Haroon. I think he had learned to go to the essentials in order to survive. We suggested as eating.
– I do not know if I am hungry, “said Sylvie.
She preferred to go in his room with a tea.
– I am not very hungry either but I will accompany you, I still have a taste for doughnuts in the mouth.

We took place for lunch. Haroon greeted by passing the two customers who were at the bar with Hewad before yesterday me as a friend of Wais, the family somehow. Both Hulk look at me with dubious irony. A woman is always a bitch to kiss for this kind of melted, “She ran in the bed of Wais…” that is certainly what it meant. They invited us to drink a beer, qu’Haroon politely refused, claiming a meal on the run and an afternoon loaded. Did they want to try their luck, these two big looser? I did not know them and my instincts told me not bode well for them.
– You do not say that I was a journalist, huh! Who are these guys?
– Chinese’s food lovers!

 

– Come on,  is that true?

– They are the kinds of guides that accompany it wants to Dushanbé via Kunduz, Jalalabad, where you want in the area. If you want to do the old Silk Road, which is now a very dangerous road because of trafficking in opium, visit Basakhshan, Jurm and its fields of poppies, they go with you. If you want to cross the border into soft, they may also, but it is more expensive.
– Contractors you mean?

– Yes, somehow, contractors, who work for the SMP, real small armies without law. There are twenty thousand contractors of all nationalities in Afghanistan.
– And there Hewad inside, he does what with them?
– Before resuming the hotel management, he worked as a translator for DynCorp*. He remained in contact with some of his mates what!

– He told them that I was a journalist?
– No, you know here, the less said the better. Foreigners are a currency exchange and he insists that his client is properly treated, it is not commercial! Luckily, you were a great friend of Wais and this is our friend. Do not worry that this is not on the ground where he scheme.
– They are traffickers?

– Sincerely I believe they have made these types. Some are former officers acting on secret services, other former military officers, other former criminals to rehabilitation phase, you see? The big blond now working for Blackwater is one of the biggest SMP* in the world, it belongs to the group Halliburton, all official State Department are for them. Guess who was the vice president? Dick.

– Who?
– Dick Cheney. The wars generate a lot of money, you know. The U.S. government gave a third of its budget for the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, to private companies, and often without bidding. You should know that contracts and accounting are classified secret defence. The taxpayer pays and leaders manage to return that money in their pockets.
– I understand. They make how much per day?
– Depends where you want to go to Kandahar you can count one thousand dollars a day. This is not people to attend in the privacy Miss, but if you intend to request their services for two or three days, they are to you, real pros. The trunk of their car is well stocked, not worry, they are beasts of war.
– You mean…
– I mean, AK-47, rocket launchers M79, anti tubes, how all the gear! Anyway, wherever you go, I will be your shadow. Bon appetit!
– You too.
A hot tea as a dessert. Sylvie appeared in the restaurant like a naiad exit turbulent waters of a raging ocean.
– I do not feel well Ida, I believe that the “momos” this morning which do not, I will relax and begin to write the info of this morning.

 – You’re sure it will go, asked him Haroon?
– Yes it will, but I do not feel attack for a tour this afternoon.
– OK, then you rest.
– Yes, maybe I’ll go on Chicken Street buy stoles.
– A more.
It had the poor, the head of a person in the middle of indigestion. That’s life here who does not happening, not what she had eaten. His attitude does make me joke more now she was sorry and it was not good.
Into the hall, I put the tchadri by falling on my forehead, ready to fold if necessary. Our first step would be Zarnegar Park, the magnificent gardens, which was the mausoleum of Amir Abdur Rahman*. Some facades, in the main streets of Kabul, wore Russian colonial style, these beautiful buildings offered a later obsolete downtown.
From the back, Haroon and I formed a couple of Kabulis very much in the air time, especially when I walked behind him, women always walked behind. We were suspicious when he laid his hands on my shoulders, to help me through the dense crowds too, when his hand agrippait my arm for me to move on the other side of the road. All his attentions protective did that I felt little girl, under any circumstances woman under the thumb of his male, even three metres behind!
The mausoleum was a dome, topped by a golden arrow, surrounded by small minarets.

– You know, Haroon told me that during the reign of Abdur Rahman terror reigned, his son put an end to all this and was the instigator of modern education, but unfortunately he was assassinated.

 

– As usual!
– You see, at the foot of the garden there, there was a building while built on wooden stilts; it was the warehouse of the palace to keep the shirinis.
– What is it?
– Sweets.
– A candy store?
– Yes, there were large distributions of sweets to the population, especially children, during ceremonies and celebrations; it is paradoxical terror and sweets.
– I’ve never heard it, candy.
– Our people had a gift for small sweetness of life, is not it?
– It is finished small sweets now?
– Regarding the distribution of sweets yes, but you know we have reserves of candy, hidden!
His smile and expansion of its pupils to say a lot about the so-called sweet. Also while in the shade, with respect and sensitivity. I was suddenly hot, the sun safely.
Leaving the garden, Haroon asked me to cover me, we were going to survey a wide avenue and it was hot!
I understand why some of them beet it through their teeth, this god damned tchadri, it went back all the time and seek between the holes of the grid was a sport eye. Haroon hold me the arm.
On the boulevard, lifting his eyes through my fence, I discovered billboard advertising for Pantenne (shampoo), a beautiful woman with brown, in a alanguie thick hair. In this context, I walked below, covered up my toes “protection” blue, I found that this creature bordering obscenity. The Afghans were long deprived of images and it was Cultural Revolution advertising. Signs of 6X3 along the major routes. The slogans should be the first degree, if nothing was understood. Yes, I said a revolution, women were not entitled to the photos under the Taliban, so no picture, no identity card, no identity, no existence, no recognition, they accounted for nothing, they did nothing.
We are down towards the Shamshira Do Shahi Mosque, the Mosque of the king two swords.
It was a beautiful mosque brand new blue and yellow. Rebuilt with Turkish funds.
– There was a temple Indu here before… Miss Ida you hear me? Put your tchadri up, is OK.
– I was hot below, but how they have done for so long to endure this?
– You have the hair stuck to his forehead, tells me there, passing its index on the top of my face.

Many crippled attending the vicinity of the mosque relying on the whim of believers practicing; charity was one of the five pillars of Islam. Among them, many young people mutilated by “green parrots” which is the appointed mines.
– In front of some mosques there is a guard in charge of shoes and you know why Miss?
– No, why?
– Some addicted to heroin the fly, in order to be able to afford their doses, you see that! Come on, you go down along the river Kabul, also struggle to survive. The drought and pollution have had reason for it, look at!

 

 

There were more than a trickle of water from a smell pestilential, all sorts of rubbish littered the shores as well as plastic bags by the thousands. Before packaging, made of paper or leaves, are destroyed without great consequence for the environment, it was still a gift Westerners, plastics bags.
It is without seeing time pass that we arrived at the Kabul Zoo.
– Go, tells me there, we will change the ideas the animal world.
– Yes, let’s go.

Green spaces were ochre areas; vegetation is scorched by the sun. An old goalkeeper dedicated dealt with animals for decades.
Birds, monkeys, small goats, two sheep Marco Polo, donkeys, all had small parks demarcated through barriers. A group of pigs had been moved, so that between them and the public, a security space is defined. The danger did not come from these small animals but harmless to people who had taken the habit of stoning.
– It is a mania or the national sport?
– The national sport! I’ll tell you the story of Marjan.
– Who is?
– Wait and listen. There are twenty-eight years Germany has made a gift of a lion named Marjan the Kabul Zoo. He became the symbol of pain, suffering and the resistance for Kabulis.
– Why?
– Wait! A taleb who should feel invincible had the idea to enter his pen for the cause; our old lion does fit a bite. While his brother wanted to revenge. “It was a crime of honour,” he said, in short, he threw a grenade, which did not die our lion. He was still badly injured and blind. Marjan became a symbol of courage for the population. He died in January 2002 after having suffered more than two decades of war and deprivation of all kinds, days without meat, and days under the bombs.
– I knew the lion of Panjshir and now one of Kabul.
– Very funny!
There were two lions in the pen now big cats offered by China and healthy, and a snow leopard captured in the Wakhan corridor.
The meagre resources available to the zoo could not luxurious facilities, but we saw that the guard was working to their happiness.

– We continue our walk Miss?
– Yes, but I prefer to go to the cemetery TV Hill rather than gardens of Babur, it will be for another time, is not it?
– If you want, go visit him, I’m sure he would be happy to know we are there.
– Yes, I want to see what he sees where he is.

We do not have much to speak up the hill. The paths were sometimes separated by stones painted either red or white, which meant: mined areas or cleaned. We behave as pilgrims marching to a holy place, quiet and collected. The late afternoon was still very hot and climbing to the cemetery was painful for bodies and souls. The tombstones were not numerous, often a simple flat stone vertically down the reported location. There was no real way or alley in this cemetery; hundreds of small mounds of dirt were ready wherever there was room.
– Here, Miss.
Haroon was facing the mountains before a fall, the palms of the hands turned skyward. The tomb of Wais was side slopes, it overhang the city.
– You see, he has always an eye on the hotel, look, you see the terrace of Mustapha here.
It took me by the shoulders, bent his face up to the mine horizon and pointed with his finger.
A tree was there, right in front of the tomb. We sate down below. I could not help thinking, looking at the foliage, that something Wais was there, in those sheets to be swung at the whim of winds.
That’s me who first broke the silence; Haroon was always much moved, he had not done its mourning. I should say he had trouble making his grief, his father, mother, sister, sister Wais, who died a few years ago, a car accident in New Jersey and his beloved Wais.
– Do you know how my first encounter with your cousin was?
– No.
– You know, I just cover the Loya Jirga and it was the first time I set foot in Afghanistan. The taxi driver gets on my nerves because he asked me five times the fare and did not want to get my luggage.

 

 

Do longer; I screamed with all my strength, I took advantage then for him wrest the baggage that does hands without any resistance. I turned the heels and returned in this state of nerves at the hotel.

The Wais, who had followed this exchange friendly meet with applause.

– What did he say?
– Gosh!
– What he did?
– He laughs.
– And you?
– And me I felt ridiculous, so I quickly calmed down. He said to me long time after having been very impressed by my loudmouth.

 

 

We have done any good his grave, cleaning the dirt with our hands, small caresses, again.
The view was majestic on TV Hill. It was 18 hours and at night would soon fall. We went back gently to Mustafa. Along the way Haroon picked up a kind of tract which dragged in the streets.
– You know what Miss it?
– Tell me.
– It is a “night letter” balanced in the street I do not know what extremists, it is written:

“Do not send your girls to school we will jump.

 

Do not work with the infidels we cut off the head.
Allah Akbar. Zindibad Osama*. “

– It’s incredible!
– You see Miss is not won.

Sylvie we looked at the bar, she was accompanied by Roshan, who worked for the telephone company.
– So you’re going well?
– Yes look, Gerard gave me a demonstration device with a card, that’s great, you can call them both.
– Yes it’s great!
– I went to Kabul City Center, you know?
– In name, yes.
– It is a great nine-storey mall with escalators, elevators and dozens of shops, we believe in Dubai, is formidable. As I did not feel in my attitude, I’m allowed a little care in a beauty salon.
– Really! It exists?
– Of course, and then they are so nice the beauticians.
Hunt nature and it came back faster!
– This is what you have done?
– No, on the way back, I stopped in a tchaïkhana to take the dough was delicious.
– Do you were alone?

 

– Yes, they were surprised that….
she leaned toward me and told me to the ear: “I spoke Dari”. — They were all around me.
– Come on to found the restaurant?
– Yes ok.
Haroon smile me, he understood the frustration it causes me? Sometimes she was not aware of the danger, but I must admit that there impressed it.
– I leave you, I’m going to change, you will be there just now, Haroon?
– No, I do not want that on me the way often with you, I am a traitor take side with the infidels in the eyes of some, we must not forget that.
– A tomorrow then.
What day between Chinese food this morning, the devastated city, crossing this afternoon and the last remains of my friend, I had big on the potato. In these coups time is needed to react quickly. Me, my thing was music thoroughly and cold shower. I took my MP3 and put Buried alive in the blues of Janis Joplin, bottomed in the ears. After five minutes of capers in the bedroom, bathroom direction and net thin lukewarm.
Tonight I wanted to eat a dish that gives me hot mouth. Sylvie always accompanied by Roshan invited me to take a drink.

 

 

Tonight I wanted to do more thinking, what to take?
– A vodka Hewad, please.
– And a vodka to Ida.
Sylvie always had his head in the mall, she had made a discovery, and according to it, Afghanistan was not so terrible. It was free to wash the spirit in shopping malls. Finally it’s up to you, I did well with music.
– I want to eat spicy tonight, not you?
– Yes I am willing to try, “said Sylvie.
The Roshan followed Sylvie as a dog; it therefore came to our table with the freelance. I order an Afghan salad spicy to the chicken with oregano. Sylvie and his acolytes asked hamburgers hot sauce! They ask me to come at the salon to finish the evening, I could do more and my refusal didn’t hurt anybody. I asked Sylvie to go watch it on the net if the boss was not sent before she goes to bed.
– Yes I will, see you tomorrow Ida.
– Yap, see you tomorrow.

 

 

 

 SMP : : Private military company. According to a study by the research institute Swisspeace, crime (kidnapping, drug trafficking, extortion) would be allocated to members of SMP (2007).

 

 DynCorp : U.S. private military company that ensures the protection of Hamid Karzai since 2002. In 1999, in Bosnia, employees took part in arms trafficking and rape and sale of human beings, with adolescents, they were dismissed. So far, nobody has been brought before justice.

Amir Abdur Rahman ruled Afghanistan from 1880 to 1901      

Loya Jirga: grand assembly convened to take major decisions for the Afghan people. An emergency Loya Jirqa took place in March 2002.

Allah Akbar. Zindibad Osama: Allah is great. Long live Osama (bin Laden).

Mall: shopping mall.

Tchaïkhana: tea house.
Dough: sort of yogurt spiced with crushed ice.

 

The others chapters are not published on that blog….