Sabr talkh as, laken bar-e shirin dora (28)

18th May 2007

Next morning “white city” (29) was announced as a result of the last day’s events. Jelle’s colleagues had been assured that there was no danger outside Kunduz however. So we headed off with Rabi Amadj to the small town Taloqan. I liked Taloqan very much: it was quiet and green. Old large trees border all streets and provide good shade. Old photographs of most towns in Afghanistan look similar to Taloqan.

We stopped for a moment in Taloqan to visit the KRBP branch office. I chatted in Russian to two local engineers who had studied in the Soviet Union. Rabi Amaj knew Russian as well. We were waiting for our guide for today, Dastagir (30). Surprise! Because of his studies in Bulgaria, Dastagir spoke Russian as well. And he looked like the twin brother of movie star Kris Kristofferson.

First we drove towards the most eastern province of Afghanistan, Badakshan. We turned towards Farkhar River and I stared at the bridge ahead. The look of this high, narrow bridge made me feel uneasy. I called a halt and walked over the bridge.

There, between hills was Kajdara village. Houses were densely squeezed together and the moment we arrived we were surrounded by children. The village did not have access to the river. It was a poor place; they had only water during snowmelt. Drinking water had to come from spring 2010 steps away the villagers told us.

Next to the village there was a steeply sloped hill with lonely pistachio trees on top. On this slope – around 1,2 hectares – 100 pistachio trees, had been planted. Also 16 kilograms of pistachio seeds had been sowed. They had put three seeds into one hole – assuming that some of them would not survive.

Snowmelt water had created a deep gully in the slope. Villagers were busy building small dams along the way hoping to slow the water down. Down below big stones were being broken into smaller pieces using pickaxes, then the stones were carried manually up the hill. If this work was not done properly then water would carry all the young pistachio trees and seeds away.

A barbed wire fence had been constructed around the area. Rabi was unhappy about the cost of it. He thought that it was not necessary as the village was nearby and animals were looked after. But some of the plants had been damaged and insects were suspected as the culprits.

We climbed up the slope and reached the first row of plants. This time the slope was so steep that I was forced to move upwards in a serpentine-fashion. On the way down I was helped by Abdul. He took my wrist with an iron grip and dragged me like a sack of potatoes after him. I was worried about the interpretation of this by villagers. Afghan men are not supposed to touch women outside of their families.

How do they bring water here? It turned out that a small pool had been dug uphill from the plants. Water dripped down from there. Now the pool was dry and water had to be carried on their backs. Engineer Rabi tried to promote mechanised irrigation – water should be piped up through pipes. I was not sure if the villagers agreed with the usefulness of this idea.
The village children who gathered to look at us suddenly ran away. Food aid had arrived in the form of a big truck full of sacks of flour. Everybody rushed towards the truck to greet the driver.

We left Kajdara village and drove to the river at Shingan village. The village looked wealthier – they did not suffer from lack of water. There was a group of men waiting for us. Dostigih and Rabi had a long discussion with them which took some time. We were taken to look at the well cared for miracle of grafting: the local resilient plant has been merged with grapes.

At the next moment we were climbing up a hill in the company of retired soldier Jermon. Here the plantation area was bigger (around 2 hectares) and different kinds of trees had been planted. Junipers, pistachios, almond trees, mulberry trees and others were there.

I was concerned about the dry looking junipers – were they going to survive in such conditions? Jermon explained that the plants had been sufficiently watered and showed us a newly built water reservoir next to the plantation. Higher up we saw both young and mature pistachio trees.

This was the first time I had seen a pistachio tree from close up. The trees looked beautiful and their branches were full of reddish fruits. How old is this tree I asked Jermon. ‘I do not remember the age of it but when I was a child the tree was already here. Probably it is around forty years old’, replied the man. I got the impression that every single tree was taken account of and highly valued.

Jermon told us that there were pistachio forests all around here but warlords cut them down. The villagers tried to intervene and some of them got killed, recalled Jermon. Now there were still around ten trees remaining and they were being watched carefully – it is quite a profitable product.

We left the trees and headed for a village where Ajatulla and Dastagir were waiting for us on a carpet. A bowl of mast was there and naan (31) was offered to us. This was the best yoghurt I have tasted in the whole of Afghanistan.

Although it was now afternoon we headed along the river towards the town of Farhkar, where a tree nursery was. I was mesmerised by the tree nursery: it was a huge garden full of young and full-grown plants and trees. This was the first time in Afghanistan that I had seen so much greenery. Half of the garden belonged to the Afghanistan government and the remaining half to an international consortium. That half was the source of all the plants I had seen in villages.

While walking in the garden we met a small group of women who hid themselves under burqas. A local employee, Bibi Gul, had brought her family here for a picnic. I was invited to approach and the women took their burqas off. I discovered under the burqas two ladies dressed in western style and they both spoke some English. It turned out that they are teachers. I talked in Dari and for a while everybody was having a good time, then my companions shouted to remind me that it was is already quite late and that it was a long trip back to Kunduz.

I took some photos of my companions who happily posed among the flowers. I have always been astonished about the sentimentality of Afghan men. They have a tendency to love flowers. Nowhere in the western world have I seen the same passion. Obviously it is an old tradition: in the 14th century Babur wrote in his diary about the beauty of tulips and roses in this country.

Before we left we were presented with a bunch of flowers. I expressed gratitude towards Rabi and Dastagir for showing me the tree nursery. It was a stunning farewell to Takhar province.


(28) Patience is bitter, but it has a sweet fruit (proverb in Dari).
(29) White city means there is no movement prohibited inside the city.
(30) Dastagir – NSP (National Solidarity Program) Officer for Concern Wersij and Farkhar distrcits of Takhar Province
(31) Yoghurt and bread in Dari language.

Kam guftan, zyad shunidan (22)

19th May 2007

Nothing predicted that it would be the saddest day of my visit. We drove towards Baghlan province. Engineer Safiullah had joined me again. Before we arrived we discussed life in Afghanistan and we both thought that it could be very nice and quiet, but we also agreed that you never knew when something bad was going to happen. Today would prove us right.

Safiullah was engaged to a young Afghan lady, who was living in the US where she was studying IT. What about your plans after marriage, I asked. For him there was a dilemma. Safiullah’s future in-laws were begging him to move to the US. If you don’t like it here, you can always move back, they promised. But Safiullah, as youngest son, preferred to stay in Afghanistan in order to help his old father.

After a long trip we arrived at Pul-e Khumri. Our driver stated that Afghans called this town “Little Moscow” during the Soviet invasion. Here there was a large military base of Soviet troops and local people got along well with them. Today only colossal Soviet style granaries remind us of this period.

Two friendly guys – short Mujeeb (23) and tall Vincent (24) - were waiting for us at the Aga Khan Foundation office. A young French guy Vincent gave us a presentation that explained the main idea of the joint project. Briefly, the project consisted of two stages. Firstly, they communicated with villagers in order to assist the Kunduz River Basin Programme with the work of Jangoroq canal construction. Secondly: when canal reconstruction had finished they would then help villagers to use the natural resources together.

The first milestone had already been reached: the villagers around the canal area had had a meeting and Mujeeb and Vincent introduced the construction plans. There was a free hand drawing as big as a wall in their office. The canals and villages were sketched freely. Everyone was invited to participate in discussions. Were the plans acceptable? What should be different? The villagers’ wishes were discussed and the proposed changes were considered from the point of the project’s budget. If the changes were reasonable and affordable then the changes would be recorded. In the end an agreement was signed between villagers and the project.

Even after the new canal had been completed, there would still be a lot of problems left. Now the question arose on how to divide water among villages. The canal of Jangoroq was quite long – 31 km. Evidently, upstream farmers were in a worse situation compared to downstream farmers. Some types of crops (for example rice) were demanding more water than others. How could the farmers manage with existing resources? Before, it used to be the responsibility of the local mirab to solve all problems related to water. Nowadays one person could not make all the decisions; there was a need for an elders’ committee participation as well.

Vincent presented us with two illustrations. They were published in a KRBP newsletter. One was a drawing of an idealistic situation where the farmers were working happily side by side. The other was supposed to describe a nasty moment when the farmers were threatening each other with spade and fork. These kind of comics were quite common here considering the high illiteracy rates. I had seen the comics about human rights, constitution, traffic etc., but even comics were not always understood. Vincent explained that one farmer saw the bad example in a positive way. At least they are not shooting each other; they are just scuffling…

After the excellent introduction I was ready to go out to meet the villagers. Shy-smiling Mujeeb escorted us in a second car. First we turned towards the riverside. There we would see the construction of Jangaroq.

I silently observed the discussions on Jangaroq canal construction some days ago in the office of the Kunduz Programme. There were lots of people in this meeting: supervisor Engineers Dinesh and Basishta (25), the heads of the construction company, an Afghan engineer and local mirab Ahmad Shah. The current situation seemed to be complicated. Everybody tried to avoid taking a decision until finally Jelle dropped in. I was impressed by the team leader’s prompt summary. On the one hand the water level was high because of floods and there was no way to continue the construction. On the other hand there was a lot of water in the canal. Therefore, at the moment, the villagers had water anyway. Jelle proposed to suspend the construction until the water subsided. He suggested keeping the bulldozers on standby in case they were needed to fight the floods. Nobody had a better solution; so Jelle’s proposal was accepted.

I stood at the riverside – the violent flow was muddy. On the other side there were unfinished buildings. The only mark of the constructor’s presence was a huge bulldozer. While we were looking around, the bulldozer started to move soil to reinforce the diversion. It looked as if the bulldozer driver mistook us for supervision engineers.

We drove to the Aga Khan office in Baghlan to meet the villagers. As I entered the courtyard of te Aga Khan office, I was alarmed. I was not prepared to meet more than a dozen dignified grey-bearded Afghans – it looks like a shura (26). The youngest participant was third generation mirab Ahmad Shah. He stood out not only because of his enormous size (he reminded me of a grizzly bear), but also because of his mighty voice. I recognised him from the meeting in the Kunduz office. He had travelled 120 km in order to participate in this meeting. He seemed to be dedicated to his job.

We sat down on cushions and sipped tea. The situation was complicated: what could I ask from this council of awesome elders?
But there was nothing to worry about; the elders had their own questions and problems to discuss. Safiullah translated for me from time to time. The elders were satisfied with the work done by KRBP, but there were other issues as well.

Firstly, they were not happy with the constructor. Why had he started the construction in the middle of springtime when water was rising? It was quite hard to explain to local people the complicated EU procedures. The decisions made in Kabul take at least 3-4 months. The constructor had little possibility of changing the timing.
Secondly, they complained that there was not enough water for everybody. The elders made a proposal to close two side canals, Toshoron and Kumorok. Safiullah explained that it was not possible to shut off water to side canals. There was a possibility that Jangaroq canal would be expanded in the next stage of KRBP.

There was discontent with some designed canal outlets as well. Safiullah reminded everybody that the outlets had already been discussed and agreed with the villagers. The contract had been signed and there was no possibility of changing the plans during construction.

One gentleman asked for help. He showed us the letter written in Dari and signed by the water and energy minister. Safiullah translated for me: it seemed that one American company had been given the green light to build a dam on one side canal. They built a dam but after a year it broke. The Company had left and the dam was destroyed – what can we do, asked the old man anxiously.

Finally the elders complained about the difficulty of farmers’ lives: high-quality seeds were very expensive (there had been some unfulfilled promises to distribute top quality seeds made by government), ploughing fields using a tractor was 500Afs (27) per hour, and fertilizers were expensive as well.
While the Afghans criticized the government I felt like a confessor. ‘If you westerners would like to give us aid then please do it directly. The use of the government as a mediator should be avoided as this aid would just be divided between the relatives of civil servants.’

After they had dismissed themselves and they were ready to leave, there was call from Safiullah’s father that there was very bad news waiting in Kunduz. A suicide bomber had blown himself up in the middle of Kunduz bazaar. Seven Afghans and three German troops were killed on the spot; another two Germans and thirteen Afghans were wounded.

We were on the way back to Kunduz when Afghan police stopped our car. It appeared that there was a mine on the highway and we would have to wait for the mine team. But our driver found another way and we had a short and dusty rally on a bumpy side road. Unluckily one tire broke and we stopped to change the tire in Jelawgir. It was a nice place between hills with a panoramic view. I crouched at the roadside, deeply depressed about the bad news.

This is the reality of life in Afghanistan. You never know when and where the next blast will come.


(22)The less you talk, the more you listening (proverb in Dari language)
(23) Mujeeb Alil – Aga Khan Foundation social water community mobilizer
(24) Vincent Tomas – Aga Khan Foundation social water community mobilizer
(25) KRBP Supervision Engineers
(26) Shura – elders’ council
(27) 10 USD

Nan o pyaz, peshani waz (15)

18th May 2007

Today is Friday, a day off in the Muslim world, but the people involved with the reforestation under KRBP agreed to show me the area where small pistachio trees have been planted. I met with Engineer Rabi Amaj (16), a smiling and chatty person. When he left our car in Khanabad for a moment the driver uttered his first sentence: ”Rabi Amaj bessjar gap mezana”. (17)

As a matter of fact, it was interesting to follow Rabi Amaj’s stories about his life: three college-degrees and hard times in Pakistan while the family was in Afghanistan. This was followed by a period when the whole family was together in Pakistan and now they are back again in their homeland. Rabi Amaj was proud of his children. His daughter, for example, has won a good career as a TV correspondent for political news. At this time nothing predicts that his daugter, Shakiba Sanga Amaj, will be killed and Rabi Amaj will quit his job soon.

On this occasion we travelled accompanied by a second car carrying Hosang, Mohammed and Assadullah (18), workers of reforestation organizations, and we kept in touch using walkie-talkies.

First we drove to the east where bright green fields of newborn rice are a common sight. From Khanabad we turned towards the sloping hills area. I requested a stop and everyone stepped out of the car to enjoy the height of the horizon and the various shades of the landscape to the south.

We followed a dry valley up to the village of Ab Khurdak (19). Where do the villages get water? It was my first question. It seemed that farmers dug big holes to collect snow during the winter and the snow was later covered with straw and soil – for a while it was enough to keep the collected snow from melting, but for the rest of the time the villagers’ only hope was a single well.

We drove upwards and parked our cars close to the well. There was a quite long journey up the hillside to where small trees had been planted some months ago. The slope was not too steep; walking up was quite peasant, and weather conditions were splendid. Considering the cool and hazy weather, I felt lucky. I remembered the hellish heat from a year ago.

One farmer brought his horse along for me and, as a beginner jockey, I refused. But grey bearded Mohammad, who looked like a well-meaning Santa Claus, did not miss the chance. He followed us, riding skilfully along a narrow path.
Different crops are cultivated on tiny plots of land. Compared to the farmers living in river valleys the villagers here are under severe conditions. The hills are rain fed and only one crop a year is produced – compared to two or even three crops in lower parts of this region.

There were deep gullies on the slopes caused by erosion. Sometimes it seemed that the carefully cultivated farmland was ready to slide down. There weren’t any trees left to stop erosion.
A long time ago all these hills were covered with pistachio forests, now one can see only some lonely trees far away on the very top of the hills. Historically, North-Afghanistan had been famous for its pistachio forests. Pistachio was the main export crop during the 17th century. According to satellite photos, there are 70% less pistachio forests compared to those of the 1970s (20). Now organisations like PEEP (21) are dealing with reforestation, but it takes a human generation before a pistachio tree will start bearing fruits.

We clambered up the steep hillside where 400 young pistachio trees in plastic bags had been planted. At first I couldn’t see the trees – grass reached my chest and small trees were invisible.

Transplants from Farkhar nursery are donated by NGOs and the villagers are committed to taking care of them – this is not so easy as it seems as, firstly, sheep and goats are always ready to feast on young fresh sprouts and, secondly, the budding forest needs water.

Irrigation is necessary for at least the first year when the plants are growing up to 20-30 cm. During the next year growth may add another meter. Water reaches the hilltops on the backs of donkeys and the farmers are worried about the pistachios because water from the only well is a little bit salty. Rabi Amaj cajoled the villagers that it was much cheaper to transport water up the hills by plastic pipes. The farmers seemed thoughtful, though not very enthusiastic.

We walked around the hill and on the other side we saw a farmer ploughing with oxen. He was preparing the land for growing melons. Would he sell the crop in Khanabad? No, they would eat them locally. Local melon is sweet, but is small because of the shortage of water, explained Rabi Amaj. Together with the farmer we climbed up to a hill overlooking his land. He had planted 160 pistachios here. Grass was not tall here so the small trees were visible. Again, irrigation was discussed. Farmers have an idea to use empty water bottles for watering. They wanted to place the filled bottles next to the trees, then they would make small holes in them so that the water would irrigate the soil. It was a good idea and it also made sense as a recycling project, judged the listeners.

We walked back to the village where we were asked to sit down in a nice guestroom. There were pistachio nuts painted on the colourful walls. I had been seated at the most distant place from the door under a window. It made me feel quite unsure. There was a tradition that this place was reserved for the most respected and honoured guest. You are our honoured guest today, the Afghans said to reassure me.

The villagers offered their best food to guests. There was yoghurt, scrambled eggs, rice and bread. Hospitality towards strangers is a touching tradition in Afghanistan. Next to me there was a jug of water melted from snow, its colour was yellow like straw. I was not brave enough to try it; so I asked for tea.

I talked to villagers about their life. They told me an awful story of the Soviet invasion times when a helicopter landed next to the village. The soviet troops were looking for mudjahedins from the Ab Hurdak. The Soviets took eight farmers off with them and made them dig a deep hole. All the farmers were buried alive. After hearing this tale I felt spasms inside. Sometimes I think that I am not supposed to ask anything.

Our departure from the village was quite different from our arrival. From the start I felt mistrust in the air but the situation improved after a long walk while experimenting with basic Dari language. In the end some of them even offered me a hand.

In the evening I got a call from a hospitable Tadjik, Turamurod. He invited me to dinner where we drank wine, ate chicken legs and chatted about life in foreign lands. Besides the construction of Aqtepa canal, the Tadjik company was responsible for two more projects in this region. I thought that, as a Tadjik, it would be quite easy to work in Afghanistan, because the cultural background and language are similar. This it seems is not the case as the company has not yet built the trust of the Afghans.


(15) If there is only bread and onions, still have a happy face. Meaning: be content with such things as you have (proverb in Dari language)
(16) M.Rabi Amaj – KRBP national consultant, M&E, Forestry & Soil Conservation
(17) Rabi Amadj is talking a lot in Dari Language.
(18) Hoshang Schiwa is working for PIN organisation, Mohammad Assef and Assadullah are working for PEEP (People for Environment; Environment for People).
(19) Ab khurdak – sounds like water eaters in Dari language.
(20) Watershed Atlas of Afghanistan, AIMS.
(21) People for Environment, Environment for People

Quatra quatra darya mesha (5)

17th May 2007

Jelle advised me to visit Aqtepa again. I was thrilled – what had happened during those seven months since autumn? Sayeed Husain (6) escorted me; he is a gentleman with excellent manners. How can it be that after muddy walks his salwar khameez (7) is neat, while my cloths are spattered with dirt? It is a mystery to me. I was also accompanied by engineer Safiullah (8), a well-trained English speaking young Afghan, who studied in Japan.

It was quite hard to recognize the area. Firstly, the horizon was hazy; it was windy and rainy and, secondly, the landscape looked different; as if a crazy titan had been playing garden design. I remembered an aqueduct made of concrete; now it was gone. The new canal building is taking place on the same spot. One can see two high concrete walls rising – it is the beginning of the canal. We walked around the building area. There were no signs of builders. Only a small pump was working in the bottom of a huge hole, filled with water.

Local farmers have a good understanding about irrigation; in this area the irrigation canals have been built for more than 2000 years. The main problem was that while using traditional materials there was no possibility of regulating the quantity of water that brims in the canals. It was easy to understand that new irrigation canal building is needed: modern canals have gates so farmers can easily regulate the flow, according to need.

We walked over dams, which consisted of piled up sand bags. Dams are a defense against water. So far as I could see, the plain was flooded. High rampant reed was swaying in the wind. I couldn’t even make out the location of the riverbed. In Kabul area floods are in April and May. Amu Darya watershed floods are common in June and July, while snowcaps of the high mountains are melting.

While the new canal building area was deserted, the mouth of the temporary canal looked like a popular picnic place. There were lots of local farmers, but mirab Tarhan Pahlawan, his assistants and everybody else were obviously not in a party mood. They complained that the constructor had started the work three months ago, but that not much had been done. The situation was becoming even more complicated because rising water threatened. The villagers were afraid that floods would break through the dams, crash the aqueduct and overflow Aqtepa.

Farmers built the dams by placing 4000 sand bags. Only 1000 sand bags have been donated by government and money for the remaining bags was collected by the villagers themselves. There were around 5000 villagers with 20,000 more in th surrounding areas. Everyone had been asked to contribute. Poor households gave 10-20 Afs (9); prosperous people gave more.

The mirab had two assistants, a Pashto, Amir Muhammad, and an Uzbek, Hadji Takamurod (10). It is common to find different ethnic groups in this region. They have lived peacefully here for a long time side by side – at least in Aqtepa. As early as the 19th century King Abdur Rahman settled pashtos here. At the beginning of the 20th century the price of land was quite cheap. The population increased due to newcomers from the Hindu Kush, but there were refugees from the Soviet Revolution as well.

Amir showed us crude ropes - made from reed - and snags. Because of the rising water the walls of the temporary canal are under high pressure – the aqueduct was in danger as well, so they used ropes and snags to strengthen the walls. Timber is very expensive in Afghanistan, the cost of one snag is 500 Afs (11), complained Amir. He calculated that 10 000 Afs (12) had been spent already to reinforce the temporary canal, but obviously it was not enough. Tomorrow, hundreds of villagers would be there to continue strengthening canal walls, said the worried man.

I clambered down to the mouth of the temporary canal, accompanied by the warning glances of Afghans. Water pressed into the canal so vigorously, that the edges were full of cracks. It seemed likely that the walls could fall down at any moment. The canal was deep, around 6-7 m, but water had risen almost up to ground level. Villagers had piled the snags up to the canal mouth in order to slow down the water flow. To demonstrate the pile of snags below the water level, one of the villagers jumped into the foaming flow and walked as if on invisible ground.

We left the villagers to their fight with nature and followed a hospitable farmer to his house. We were offered the typical selection of a daytime meal: naan, chai and mast (13). Food was placed on the oilcloth which covered the floor. Sayeed joked that the Uzbek city of Buhhara was once conquered because the guards were having teatime. Whatever happens, teatime is the most important he says with a sly smile.

I asked our host about life in Aqtepa. He praised the living standard which had improved during recent years. Because of good security farmers now had a choice: either sell the crop at a Kunduz bazaar or in the village. Each year farmers tried to predict what crop would be most profitable; so crops varied every year. This year it was popular to cultivate rice, wheat and soya bean.

Everyday life had improved as well: there was a new schoolhouse on the edge of the village; soon the hospital would be ready as well. Even mobile phone calls were now possible. In short, it seemed that the only remaining problem was the building of the new canal.

On the way back we stopped to look at the other new canal building in Askalan. This village was well known because of a special delicious sort of melon. Unfortunately it was so fragile that one could not transport it. You have to visit the village at the right time, explained Sayeed.

The building site in Askalan looked like an ants nest. An excavator dug the ground, dozen of builders were working around it, and other machines seemed to be waiting for their turn. Some villagers were sitting on the top of the hill monitoring the situation. No problems with supervision.

Back in the office, the constructor of Aqtepa canal, Turamurod, talked with engineer Dinesh (14). I knew Turamurod from last time I was in Aqtepa. After meeting in the village, Tadjik kindly offered a meal to Jelle and myself – we had fun during this meal as Turamurod did not speak English and Jelle did not speak Russian, so I tried to act as a translator, but because of crafty Tadjik wine I mixed the languages up like a hotpot.

Jelle looked at my photos taken in Aqtepa but he was not satisfied with the constructor. Why had so little been done? Turamurod gave explanations; but the reality was not that clear. Jelle decided to drive to Aqtepa as soon as he could, to see the situation on the ground.

I can say in advance that Jelle will be satisfied with the Tadjik building company’s work. It is true that not much had been done, but the quality of work was good. Other canal building was done by Afghan companies and the quality left much to be desired, Engineer Dinesh explained to me.

(5) Many drops make a river (proverb in Dari language)
(6) Sayeed Husain Hashimi – KRBP national community development consultant
(7) Salwar kameez is a traditional dress worn by both women and men in Afghanistan, India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh.
(8) Eng. Safiullah – KRBP TL Counterpart
(9) ca 20-40 US cents
(10) His name (Hadji) indicates that he has done the pilgrimage to Mecca.
(11) Ca 10 USD
(12) 200 USD
(13) Bread, tea, and yoghurt in Dari language.
(14) Dinesh Kumar Shrestha – KRBP Supervision Engineer