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 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.
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.
– 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.
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.
– 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.
– 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.
– 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.
– 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!
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.
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.
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:
Allah Akbar. Zindibad Osama*. “
– 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….
0 Réponses vers “SATURDAY 06 16 2007 (Chapter 4)”