11th October 201 - A Day in Worsaj

We were up at dawn to film the sun rising over the mountains and the moon slipping away behind the great range of the Hindu Kush. The mornings are a hive of activity in Worsaj. The narrow streets are filled with shepherds taking their animals to pasture. Women and children are out collecting water in large yellow cans, and the fields are already busy with farmers harvesting and ploughing. All in the most beautiful morning sun which sends long shafts of light through the dust.

Abdul Basir looks remarkable surrounded by the snow peaks and vast plains. We watch the women at Farzana's house making bread.

One woman flattens balls of dough on a giant curved cushion, stretching it out in to huge rounds before pricking it and handing it to the other woman. She flicks water across it and leans right over into the fiery bread oven and slaps the dough against the inside wall.  



When it is done she removes it with a cloth and throws it into a basket. I long to take it out and smother it in honey...but instead it is time to walk to school.

We follow Farzana along the mountain path, her tiny  frame hidden beneath her deep blue burka which catches the light and makes her look as if she is floating within the billowing folds of blue.

She is framed against the mountains as she walks and looks so small and insignificant against this rugged but beautiful backdrop.  Children are arriving at school, climbing steep slopes and approaching from every direction. Some have garlands and flowers for me and they come up and put them over my head and into my hands as a thank you for the school.

We have fresh trout and plates of meat stew for breakfast...the trout freshly caught and delicious, the meat stew slightly less welcome!

Then into the classrooms where I have great fun celebrating Girls Day with balloons and asking the children about their lives. They then write on cards what they think education can do for Afghanistan...and they all long to create a better future with peace and security.

I head off to visit Dehpaayan Community based School. This started last year and is just two classes of children. It is held in a simple but rather beautiful house, which has been given to the community for use as a school by one of the teacher's fathers. Both teachers are young women who studied at Bibi Zainab School. One of them, Soraya went to teacher training college at Bibi Ayisha, which was built by AC and is used as a TT centre after the school closes each day.

 The other girl, Halima went to Taloqan University and studied chemistry and physics. She was unable to find a job, but the SCA school consultant heard about her and made her a teacher at the CBE. She is delighted and the children all say she is a wonderful teacher. Things have really changed here. The women are so much more confident than they were just a few years ago. And they are happy to have their photographs taken.

The next school visit is to Bibi Zainab, a girls' school for over 700 pupils where we have just completed construction of a new classroom block. The school looks fantastic and wonderful to see.

Last stop before lunch is Kemyan School.

This is also a Community based School, but it has been recognised as a formal primary school by the government now and goes up to grade 8. As we arrive, we see a line of children waiting for us with posters with hearts on saying “Wellcom Sara Fane”.

As we walk up, they all start clapping and putting garlands of flowers over my head. In clouds of dust, they surround us in a cheerful crowd and make their way to the classrooms. This is a new school building completed by AC last year. I visit every classroom giving out balloons and chatting to the children.

We walked across the bridge for lunch in a village house overlooking the river. Huge plates of meat and rice were produced and platefuls of tiny fried qazalak - birds like swallows- their heads still on with their eyes popping out! The heads are a delicacy. These are the birds which are caught in giant nets. The men hide behind a wall with their nets and young boys beat further down the valley, sending flocks  of these tiny birds flying into the direction of the men, who are waiting to throw their nets up. We struggle our way through the mountains of rice and meat and the birds, rewarded by plates of freshly picked sweet pears, grapes and peaches.

The day has been condensed because of our late arrival to Worsaj and we head off to another school, Dihmeeran, after lunch. This is a CBE we have visited each year and all the children study outside. We have started to build a new school for them. Once again we are greeted by lines of children with their placards and garlands and cheers. They come into the courtyard and there are speeches of thanks. Then they all go wild with balloons and I reflect on the fun we bring and the utter disruption!

The new building is well underway and it feels tremendously exciting to think of all those children going from studying out in the dust, to secure and brand new classrooms by next year. I wish I could bring all the donors here to see.  We are the guests of the headmaster for the night. He takes us to his home which overlooks the mountains and river. The house is full of guests who have stayed after Eid and there are 30 women, children and babies in the room with us. In the evening light we all sit round on the floor, the men in one room, and women in the other.

 We show photos of our families to them and do our best to talk in pigeon Dari. I play games with the children. Supper comes and again, huge plates of rice and meat and we vow to live off vegetables for the rest of our lives! Then they bring in another special...sweet sticky white rice in a great pile, with a hollow in the centre filled with oil. We have not one ounce of room left and we must eat on!

It is a very lively household and we are dirty and exhausted and long for sleep. Eventually crash out in the midst of it all, watched intently by all as we prepare for bed. There is no idea of privacy here, no one has any privacy and so it is not something that is really understood and it is completely natural for them to watch our every move. A very cold night on the floor being bitten by something!

10th October 2014 - a return visit to Bibi Ayisha Girls' School

I am sitting in Bibi Ayisha School at dusk. The mighty Anjoman Pass in the distance blushes radiant orange/pink in the evening glow as the sun sets over the Hindu Kush. The mountain ranges on ever side reflect the light of the falling sun and a cold wind whips up the dust below.

We set out early from Faizabad along the extraordinary road which was built by the Turkish and the Koreans with funds from USAID.  This road used to take forever and crossed what seemed like the top of the world through areas like those one sees from aeroplanes and imagines that no life can exist amongst the harsh contours of rock and dust. Now we race along its smooth tarmac which cuts the journey time from days to short hours.

Mud brick villages perch impossibly upon the steep slopes which tower over the Korcha River. We follow the river all the way to Worsaj, its waters becoming ever more translucent and a palette of emerald, turquoise and aquamarine. Full of fish too! The beauty of this area never ceases to impact, a hidden jewel ironically protected by conflict from the outside world.

The road has now extended past Farkhar and half way from there to Worsaj. This road was built by the Germans and is an engineering masterpiece complete with road markings and signs. It is transforming the region. I see Rickshaws for the first time and am told by Mukhtar that they have become a new form of cheap transport allowing women to get to clinics, teachers to schools, girls to education and further training. Buses can reach the villages and farmers can get produce to market in double quick time. There are more motor bikes but no more cars yet. But one can sense progress.

Harvest time and a Friday and all the villagers are out helping in the fields. The countryside is alive and dotted with the bright chadars of the girls and the chiselled outline of turbans.

Potatoes and onions are being unloaded in large tents where men pile them in to sacks and weigh them. Donkeys are scarcely recognisable under their huge loads of grasses, hay and firewood. Oxen pull ploughs through the empty fields and men attack grass with scythes as they have done for hundreds of years.

Because it is Friday and all the schools are closed we chose to film today and headed for Abdul Basir School. This is a Community Based School, set up in 2005 by The Swedish Committee and now funded by Afghan Connection. Before the CBE started, the children had to walk 10km to reach the nearest school. Many simply couldn't get there and so failed to have an education. Classes were started by SCA in 2005 in village houses. AC took over funding in 2011.  All the children were studying in the open or in tiny dark rooms. We were asked not only to fund the classes, but to build a school. We ran a Christmas campaign and managed to raise the funds thanks to wonderful donors ...and there were many of them.....and started building in 2013.

The road to Abdul Basir is a rough track that winds up through the villages and then into a dramatic plain which sweeps into the mountains beyond. It is a desolate but beautiful place with a dramatic view down into a valley hundreds of feet below which is the brightest green and such a contrast to the arid peaks all around the school. The nearest village is made of mud brick and scarcely shows, seeming almost to spring from the earth and to be a part of it.

There on this huge expanse of dust and rock is the bright blue Abdul Basir School, like a beacon of hope calling children to learn!  Always such a great feeling after the blood sweat and tears of fundraising with the girls back home at the office to see a beautiful new school!

The village elders and the school management committee (Shura) came to greet us. It is run by Mr Niazey,a magnificent character with a long beard and a Pakool, who remembers me from when I was a doctor in the Panjshir back in 2001....small world!! He thanks us on behalf of the community and says they are so happy to have a school and it has transformed the learning for the children.

There are now 195 children in the school, 89 of them girls. He says there is not a single family in the area who does not send their children to school. Rather than dividing the area into villages, they divide it into mosques....with each mosque community having roughly 50 families in it. We have 10 mosque areas attending this school and the new building is attracting more and more children.

We then met our lovely teacher, whose name I shall change to Farzana. She was there with her husbandand is very happy to be on the film for us.

She described her education. From Grade 1-6 school was held in a ruined building and they had just a little support with text books and stationery.  From Grade 7 things stared to improve and they sat on plastic mats and chairs. She remembers my first visit to Bibi Ayisha School, when she was in Grade 10 and the school was twinned to Sholing Tech in Southampton. I arrived with letters and cards from Sholing and they all begged me to build a school. At this time they were studying in a rented house with tiny dark rooms and half the girls were studying outside.

I had said I would do my best to build a school for them and their headmaster had not believed me because so many people had made promises before. So she was delighted when, by the following year they had a new school building by the river, complete with science lab, library and computer room.

She said that when she started learning there, she realised what school life could be like and her whole learning experience transformed. Finally she could sit in a classroom.While she was in Grade 12 she was recruited as a teacher to a community based school and was able to do teacher training, which also took place at Bibi Ayisha, once the school shifts were over for the day. She was married to a dentist at 18 years of age but allowed to continue with her studies. She now has 3 children and teaches at Abdul Basir, where once again she has benefited from AC support. We pay the salaries of the teachers and provide books and last year we started building a school, which is now complete and she no longer has to teach outside.

We stayed the night at our monitors home, sleeping on the floor with Woolayat and her baby. Not a quiet night! What with the dogs barking, the baby crying, the clock ticking and the fridge gurgling...amazing new addition in Worsaj......it was a long sleepless night!

A last minute reprieve...

We checked in to UN for the 2pm flight only to be told that the weather was again against us and we would delay to see if it improved. Meanwhile the skies over Kabul grew dark and heavy and it seemed we would never fly.The entire waiting  room was praying to their various gods to clear the skies over Faizabad! With just 15 minutes to go before cancellation, they said they would give it a go but could not guarantee landing.

The whole way there I looked down on to a thick carpet of cloud and feared the worst. But as we approached Faizabad, there was a small opening in the clouds and we saw the runway and as we touched down, we erupted into applause...a miracle! The trip was saved. Haji and Quaduz were waiting as they have been every time over the last years of travel and it was so great to see them and to be back in Faizabad. 

The sun was setting over snow capped mountains and  it was too late to drive to Worsaj, so we are staying in a guest house overlooking the river. Perfectly bizarre... we are the only guests in this echoing, elaborate building which comes complete with cavernous wedding hall. It is all very ornate and very cold... not quite what I had expected and a far cry from the village houses!

Supper with the drivers in a huge dining hall in which we felt rather small and lost. Tomorrow at last to Worsaj.

Still in Kabul!

The flight to the North proved somewhat eventful. I was travelling with Sayed Mukhtar, who we have known for many years and leads our projects in Takhar, and Leslie Knott, a Trustee and our film maker for the trip.  

The UN plane should have called at 4 landing strips before dropping us off at Faizabad. The weather was glorious in Kabul and the view of the city, so parched and dust drenched in the morning sun, could not have been clearer. The leathery spines of the arid mountains stretched to the horizon and all seemed remarkably well. But our first landing attempt at Maimana was aborted as the clouds came in and visibility was dramatically reduced. We were lucky to land at Mazar-i-Sharif, for a refuel.

There we awaited 2 hours for a window in the weather. We were told that the Faizabad stop was called off but that they would try and land in Kunduz, from where we could get a car up to Taloqan. They tried! It was a nerve searing attempt at landing. Visibility was nil and this time the clouds were stained a murky brown with dust and it was like flying through a giant puddle which had become muddied and turbulent by a disturbance in the water. The wheels came down and we still could not see land below. Then as I was beginning to pray we would abort, the nose of the plane went up and we headed back for Kabul. Bitterly disappointed. Today we have a recovery flight so we have one last opportunity to get to the villages as no more flights until Monday after this.

It is another beautiful day in Kabul. Once again I have that feeling of swimming in the sea and not having a clue what lies beneath the surface. This is how I always feel in Afghanistan. It seems so calm and yet beneath that calm, so much is going on. People are so determined to work, to have a meaningful present and a peaceful future, but there are so many malevolent forces beneath the surface, trying so hard to disrupt any hope of a better world. The sun is shining in Kabul and the garden is full of roses. But the compound is encased in high walls and wire. The security briefing is sobering. Last night I went to Leslie's house. The city was dark and just before we arrived, the side of the road was lined by pick up trucks with flashing lights and masses of heavily armed police. I asked my driver what it was and he said, probably some government party. I reflected that here instead of bring-a-bottle parties, they have bring-a-body guard! Forgive flippancy...in fact this scene served as a reminded of how lucky we are to live in a country free from fear and war and it was a relief to step through the bullet proof gate into the haven of a welcoming house.

October 2014 - Another trip begins...

It is a year since I was in Afghanistan. Karzai is gone. The new President, Ashraf Ghani, has just been inaugurated in a power-sharing deal with Abdullah Abdullah. The election dragged on from April to September, causing further instability when it was least needed. The Taliban has been more active and the casualties amongst police, National Army and civilians have been high. The new leaders are experienced and capable and hopefully they can share power in a way which does not hinder progress but brings solutions to a people who deserve the chance of a decent and peaceful future. It has been a roller coaster few months but now these leaders are in power, one hopes that a period of stability may follow. The International Community has already welcomed these events and Cameron has been here to pledge his support.

Landing in Kabul is symbolic of the changes which have taken place. A far cry from the days when we came in over the Khyber Pass and then on Ariana's old Russian planes, with their rusty doors opening at the rear. Then we would land on a runway littered with the debris of war and, on take-off one could see the de-mining taking place around the periphery of the runway.  We would walk into a crowded arrivals hall with cables hanging like great webs from the broken ceiling and a luggage belt which refused to work, but acted as a gang plank from which to jump through a hole in the wall and retrieve our bags.

Now the planes are fancy and reassuring, the luggage belts whir and the queues are relatively calm. The potholed road from the airport is a tarmac dual carriage way and the ruined buildings of Nineties Kabul are largely replaced by new ones.  Some gleaming poppy palaces, built with drugs money and dollars leaked in vast quantities by an international community trying to buy a quick fix solution to Afghanistan, rear their ugly corpses above the modest Kabul homes.  Barbed wire and concrete rings of protection play havoc with life and traffic - armed men are everywhere, an empty reassurance in an anxious city.

But I love it arriving back here. The familiar face of the driver such a welcome sight after hours and hours of journey and Gul Noor, who I first met back in 2001, standing on the steps of the guesthouse holding out a hand in welcome and beaming. The usual long greetings and enquiries about health and family ensue and then delicious food and a haven in which to stay.