Afghanistan, Visited
Mishandled and Misunderstood
Day four in Jizeu, Tajikistan was yet another early start, as we said our goodbyes to our wonderful hosts. A beautiful morning escorted us back down the beautiful valley to cross the (terrifying) pedestrian rope-bridge one more time. After making it in good time, we met with said driver, then drove south towards Khorugh (pronounced “hrog”). Of course, we were frantically checking for phone signal (we used TCell) and see if by chance our Tajik e-visas had arrived, therefore allowing us to meander into Afghanistan.
As we approached the next village, my darling wife’s phone flashed with incoming emails, and to our fortune the e-visas had miraculously arrived the day before we needed them!
Afghanistan was now a go!
We drove to the town in great spirits, got passport photos at a local print shop, made copies of our e-visa, and headed for the Afghan Consulate before the noon cut-off time for our visas.
After a nervous wait, the lady at the consulate eventually brought us into a blue corrugated metal room and had us fill out our details, as well as writing a letter that we claimed responsibility for anything that happens to us in Afghanistan.
Signing that letter made it all very real. Too real for most, I’d say.
It was a mood changer.
We handed over our $150 USD each ($220 USD for Americans!) along with our papers and waited anxiously. During this wait, another jeep pulled up outside the consulate, where two older ladies hopped out to do the same as us. It was two very well-travelled Irishwomen! You can’t go anywhere without running into your own it seems. They were fantastic conversation and gave us a shot of confidence that this wasn’t as inadvisable as it seemed.
Twenty minutes later, our consulate lady came back out with a big grin on her face and our passports in hand. We were approved!
Afghanistan is a strictly muslim country. With this being the case, my darling wife needed to pick up “modest clothing” to go with her makeshift headscarf and thankfully there’s a local bazaar in the town with lots of options. For men, wearing shorts is frowned upon, but there’s nowhere near the same strict dress-code. Of course, linen and hiking pants. This was not a country to take any further unnecessary risks.
After a pizza lunch (at the hilariously branded Khorugh Fried Chicken) we headed to our homestay to pack for the next day’s border crossing and check in on P.T. Mike who was still recovering from his upset stomach. Tomorrow was the second DO NOT TRAVEL country of our trip. We needed to be sharp.
We woke to the sound of Chinese-Tajik helicopter exercises overhead. Everyone seemed a little nervous. Our drive to the border was peculiarly quiet, our mood very alert, and a little bit of fear of the unknown was starting to creep in.
We got out of the jeep, got our exit stamp from Tajikistan in our passports, said goodbye to our driver, and headed towards to the Afghan flags on the other side of the bridge.
A man in camouflage suddenly approached us from the opposite side of the fence. With a big smile and faces of pure enthusiasm, he warmly welcomed to Afghanistan and assisted us with our paperwork.
We did it.
Our first trip with our new driver was into Sultan Eshkashim for some well deserved lunch (beans!) and a quick briefing on the schedule. First stop was to get our Wakhan corridor permit at the police station (yet another hilarious exchange), followed by a short walk to the main small town.
The walk through the bazaar yielded some snacks, a small amount of money changing (USD/Afghani), some light investigation, and some photos of locals who were more than happy (some would say almost insistent) on having their picture taken.
We began our hike from the town through the village towards the direction of our homestay. We visited the brand new hospital (USAID again!) on the south side of town and walked past a heavily armed security checkpoint.
Walking through the streets and fields, most women (but not all) were in full pastel-blue burkas, twirling to hide their faces and adjust these face coverings when our group approached, yet with this, people seemed more confident in coming forward to speak with us than they were in Tajikistan.
We turned around and wandered back through the other side of the town to the east, following the trails and taller trees. It was hot, but the hike was through river-cooled grass fields filled with animals and locals dotting the landscape.
After a couple of hours, we landed at our lodgings, greeted with tea, as we debriefed again on everything witnessed. The people were different, the food was different (and slightly better), yet the hospitality and friendliness remained similar to the Tajik Pamir.
Unfortunately, over the course of the day, my darling new wife also seemed to have fallen ill from the previous day’s food (or water) and was now also semi-bedridden and on “hunger strike”. Thankfully the day had come to an end, and she took the night to try to recover. We spent the early evening deep in conversation with our Americans and Afghan guide, and slept through the night ready for the following morning.
With an early start with some more tea and eggs, and we were off back to Tajikistan. We handed back our Wakhan permits, and after a little confusion, got our Tajik entry stamp, met Kamran our driver, and ventured onwards.
Something about visiting this country really struck a chord with me and I haven’t been able to resolve it.
There’s something misunderstood; its people, what they want, what they have, and how they feel about their homeland. I’ll need time to formulate these thoughts properly, much in the same way as the DRC challenged me when I visited there.
The Afghan people may have “less” than I do, but in a way, they seem to have much much more.
What were we doing in Afghanistan?
That’s a tough question; maybe for a later day.
Next: Pamir Part 3
