Gate F7. There it was. The sign for Kabul. Only one hour to go. I went to the bathroom one last time before it was called. I was surprised at the fact they started boarding 45 minutes ahead of departure. But I soon realized it was necessary. It looked like half the passengers had never ridden anything but local buses, so they seemed to assume that you could sit anywhere you pleased. I had checked in to window seat 7A to try to get som great shots on the flight across Afghanistan. But when I arrived another guy was sitting there. I tried pointing to my ticket and that he was in my seat. He used hand-gesture to say that it was ok for me to sit beside him. I tried once again to point to the seat numbering. But it was obvious that he either didn't care, or didn't understand. So I sat down beside him. It became clear soon enough that half of the passengers had no idea they had assigned seats. So the air hosts had their hands full trying to convince people to move. Which of course meant that they had to pull down all their gear from the overhead lockers and pull it through the cabin. And some refused to listen to the crew. They only spoke to other Afghans. And they had to explain the system to them. So after half an hour of total chaos, the crew gave up, and just let people sit where they could.
The guy in my seat looked like one of them old mujahedins. Thick beard. Worn skin. Big, strong hands that could probably tear your head off without straining a muscle. And just a big ease about him. Like he didn't have a care in the world. I kinda liked having him there. Even if he insisted on putting up his bare feet on his knees. In my face kinda like. Luckily he had better foot hygene than most people. So no stinky.
And we were off. Into the air above Dubai. A little shake rattle and roll later and we were over Afghanistan. Helmand and Kandahar provinces underneath us. Mujahedin was sleeping. Like a big bear with a big roaring snore. It gave me a view throught the window down on the ground. The scenery changed from desert to mountains, to snowcapped alpine landscape. I snapped one photo after another while muja was snoring. Then the captain came on the speakers. We were 20 minutes from landing. Muja woke and sat upright. I excused myself and snapped a photo of Kabul in front of him. Out the window. He looked at my phone and pulled out his own. Slowly. Looked at it for a short while and switched on the camera. Then started filming seemingly aimlessly out the window. And then he filmed himself. Without a single change in his facial expression, he looked into the lens of the camera for about 30 seconds. Then moved the camera towards the window and aimlessly filmed everything outside. I managed to snap some images as we decended into Kabul airport. Click on the images for larger versions.
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| Kabul in the mist. Kabul airport is barely visibly as a straight line left above center |
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| On the outskirts of Kabul |
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| The muja and his phone |
When I say "decended", I mean "dived". I think this is the steepest decent I have ever experienced. Full airbreaks and straight down. Wham onto the tarmac. I guess there is only so much area you can secure around an airport. So you need to dive down into the "green zone" where the insurgents cannot shoot you down. At least, that is the explanation I have in my head...
We disembarked into Kabul airport. The first thing I sighted was a soldier in full armor. With an M-16 or something similar hanging from his shoulders. Welcome to Afghanistan! Passport control was suprisingly efficient. I waited just a few minutes before it was my turn. The guy looked at my passport, checked my visa, stamped it, and a short "welcome to Afghanistan! Have a nice stay!" I was inside. Ready for something out of the ordinary. I felt the same way now as I did when I first landed in Caracas, Venezuela in 1996. On my first ever trip abroad alone. Anticipation mixed with a little fear of the unknown.
Next was baggage claim. I stood there for a while. Looking at the belt. People around me talking, yelling and walking around. Then there was a blackout. And everything stopped. A few muffled voices as we all waited. The the power returned, and the luggage belt started again. Still nothing. Then a guy explained it to me. They first unload cargo, then baggage. So I spent the wait registering. All foreigners must do this upon arrival. Two photos, and fill out a form. Then they fill the info into a card, sign it and stamp it. Then you will have no troubles when leaving. Then back to the luggage belts for another round of waiting. Another power outage. Then back on. More belt action. Before it stopped. No more luggage. Hmmmm. I walked to the beginning of the belt. There it was. My backpack was last. So they stopped the belt once it was inside the luggage area. Nice!
I tore off the plastic wrapping from Dubai and proceeded to the green customs area. A guy was checking all luggage. Little did I know he wasn't checking for contraband, but to see that I wasn't trying to slip out with someone elses baggage. Since I had torn off the plastic with the luggage tags on, I had no proof of ownership. He asked about this, and I said "plastic wrapping. Garbage!" and pointed towards a garbage bin. "Ok" he said and waved me on. Then another line. Everybody had to run their baggage through a scanner. I was finally exiting the terminal. I pulled out the map my host had sent me for getting to the car park where my taxi driver would meet me. It was fairly easy to follow. Before entering the car-park, I took one long look at the photo of the driver I was supposed to meet. None of the guys standing there looking at me looked even remotely like him. I passed them all and looked around. A guy came up to me. "Taxi?" He was remotely like my driver, but not close enough. I waved him off. After wandering around for a short while, I was about to call the driver when I heard someone calling "Ragnar? Ragnar!". I turned and saw my driver. He smiled and waved. He lead me to his car, and we were off. He tried to say something in english, and asked me where I was from. "Norway!" I said. "Ah! You speak German then?" he asked with a big smile. "Ein bischen!" I answered. We managed to hold a short convo in German, and I learned (I think...) that he had lived in Germany for a few years before he was engaged and married, and had to move back to Kabul. I asked him if Kabul was OK. He smiled a little. Tilted his head. Laughed a bit nervously and replied "Well, you know. Things happening. What can one do? What can one do?" He mumbled a little while tilting his head back and forth. I chose not to enquire any more.
I looked out the windows at the scene flashing by. The smell of open sewer, the dust choking you, the heat, the noise of the cars and their horns, the exhaust from unserviced engines burning more lubricant than gas, the chaos of traffic. I had to smile. This is the type of place I like. It kinda reminded me a bit of Uganda. Driving into Kampala from the airport. That was my first thought. But the traffic was a bit worse here. No lanes. Seemingly no pattern. And sometimes people drove against the traffic. Hey, they were just driving where they were supposed to go! I guess the guy was right who wrote about Kabul : "If the Taliban doesn't kill you, the Kabul traffic surely will!"
We arrived at my host's apartment, and I was taken to a huge room. Much larger than I expected. With it's own bathroom. And a desk where I am writing this. The power is unstable, so most of the time there is no light here. But they have internet on solar panels, so it is always up. And I just managed to charge both my cell and my laptop to 100% before the power went out again. So in the glow from the laptop screen, I can barely make out my room.
I had dinner at a local fast food shop. Thick, juicy burger with a local twist. Yummi! That's all I can say. Yeah, I know. Burger in Kabul???? Well. Guy's gotta eat. And the place was close to the apartment. And one of the advices from my host was not to go outside after dark. So I got a takeaway and came back about sundown. Ate the burger in half darkness. Now I am full of food, impressions, and excitement. 6 more days. Tomorrow there are more adventures awaiting.
So how does it feel to be in Afghanistan? Well. Weird to be honest. On one hand, it feels like some of my "toughest" trips in Africa. But on the other hand, this place is full of people who are actively trying to kill foreigners. There is actually a war going on here. People are getting killed every day. It did feel weird telling the guy at the registering counter at the airport that I was a tourist. It gives me mixed feelings. I have friends who have been here with MSF. 4 million people are refugees in and around this country. Tens and maybe hundreds of thousands in Kabul alone. Making the situation potentially unstable, volatile and dangerous. But I will finish what I have started. I am staying until my return flight takes me back to Dubai. And I will see what I can, and do what I can while trying to stay safe.
Abyssinia!
Ragnar
Traveller
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