Letter From Kandahar
The city appears to be on an economic rebound, but remains a dangerous place.
Letter From Kandahar
The city appears to be on an economic rebound, but remains a dangerous place.
Arriving in Kandahar, I found it difficult to recognise the city after a five-year gap.
Back in autumn 2000, the place I visited lay in ruins from years of fighting, its dusty, unpaved streets firmly in the grip of the Taleban. That came as no surprise, since Kandahar was the cradle of the fundamentalist regime, and it was from here that its leader Mullah Mohammad Omar issued his notorious edicts.
In 2000, it took me two days to reach the city from Kabul, travelling on mostly unpaved roads.
Once I arrived, I headed straight for a roadside stand selling the pomegranates for which the region is famed. I bought a bag, and prepared to enjoy my treat.
The problem was that it was time for prayer, and nothing as mundane as eating a pomegranate could be allowed to get in the way.
I tried to eat one at the kiosk where I’d purchased the fruit, but the owner chased me away, hissing, “I don’t want trouble with the religious police.” The reaction was the same when I stopped at a café and tried to order some tea to have with my fruit.
On the street, the Taleban were wielding their wire whips to herd the population to the mosque. I finally gave in and went to pray. Only after that was I finally able to have a pomegranate.
Now, more than five years later, much has changed - at least on the surface.
It only takes five or six hours to drive the nearly 500 kilometres from Kabul to Kandahar along a smooth, asphalt-paved highway, thanks to a reconstruction project financed by the United States, Japan and Saudi Arabia that was completed in 2004.
The broken-down kiosk from which I bought my pomegranates is now a modern shop on a paved road. Office buildings, shops and apartment houses have sprung on land where once barely a single house stood intact.
Business seems to be booming, and shops selling electronics, clothing and food abound. The university, formerly a “complex” of two single-storey buildings, is now located on a new campus made up of ten four-floor blocks.
People here give much of the credit for Kandahar’s reconstruction to the former provincial governor, Gul Aga Shirzai, and many were upset when he was shifted to Nangarhar province in late June 2005.
But others argue that Kandahar has paid a high price for the economic improvements. They note that Shirzai, a former militia commander, maintained his own private army during his time as governor. Many blame these gunmen for robberies, killings and general lawlessness that have continued to plague the province even after Shirzai’s departure.
“The only thing that really bothers me in Kandahar is the armed men who are still in power,” said Abdul Qawi, a professor at Kandahar Pedagogical Institute, who ackowledges Shirzai’s contribution to the city’s economic improvement. “Most of the police force is made up of the [same] armed men who are responsible for the lack of security in the region.
"The Taleban regime was a cruel one, but they did have good security.”
While the Taleban are no longer visible on the streets, herding people to prayer or enforcing their bans on films, music and kite-flying, they still cast a dark shadow over the city.
In this respect, Kandahar has not changed at all. In fact, in recent months the Taleban appear to have turned their attention to more deadly methods. In 2005 and the first few weeks of 2006, Kandahar became the focal point for terrorist attacks. Earlier this month, a suicide bomber drove his motorcycle into a crowd of spectators at a holiday sporting event, killing 27 and wounding dozens more. Late last year, a series of attacks left many dead, including at least one American soldier.
During a car ride around the town, our driver, Allaudin, showed us the sites of recent bombings. “Two people were killed here, one injured there,” he would say, pointing vaguely through the windshield. “Soon there won't be a single street without its martyrs.”
Shah Mahmoud, a Kandahar resident, worries about his family. “I am not sure of my own life or the lives of my children – not ever, even for a moment. There's a constant risk of death. There are bombs everywhere,” he told me.
Despite the sense of insecurity, however, most residents here appear eager to simply get on with their lives.
Abdullah, 18, a resident of the Daman district of the province, works in a petrol station and says he is satisfied with his job.
“I make enough to live on. Everyone just does his own work and doesn’t bother anyone else. There is no war. Our village now has a road and soon it will have a clinic,” he said.
Not everyone is so fortunate. In spite of the thriving economy, jobs are scarce. Esmatullah, 28, says he has been looking for steady work for months. All that is available, he said, are day-labourer jobs.
“I'm looking for a permanent job but there is nothing. And if I try and take my cart to the bazaar to sell something, the police chase me away. The government needs to find us jobs,” he said.
Still, Esmatullah enjoys the new-look Kandahar.
“I thank God that my ruined city has now been turned into a nice place,” he smiled.
Wahidullah Amani is an IWPR staff reporter in Kabul.
Back in autumn 2000, the place I visited lay in ruins from years of fighting, its dusty, unpaved streets firmly in the grip of the Taleban. That came as no surprise, since Kandahar was the cradle of the fundamentalist regime, and it was from here that its leader Mullah Mohammad Omar issued his notorious edicts.
In 2000, it took me two days to reach the city from Kabul, travelling on mostly unpaved roads.
Once I arrived, I headed straight for a roadside stand selling the pomegranates for which the region is famed. I bought a bag, and prepared to enjoy my treat.
The problem was that it was time for prayer, and nothing as mundane as eating a pomegranate could be allowed to get in the way.
I tried to eat one at the kiosk where I’d purchased the fruit, but the owner chased me away, hissing, “I don’t want trouble with the religious police.” The reaction was the same when I stopped at a café and tried to order some tea to have with my fruit.
On the street, the Taleban were wielding their wire whips to herd the population to the mosque. I finally gave in and went to pray. Only after that was I finally able to have a pomegranate.
Now, more than five years later, much has changed - at least on the surface.
It only takes five or six hours to drive the nearly 500 kilometres from Kabul to Kandahar along a smooth, asphalt-paved highway, thanks to a reconstruction project financed by the United States, Japan and Saudi Arabia that was completed in 2004.
The broken-down kiosk from which I bought my pomegranates is now a modern shop on a paved road. Office buildings, shops and apartment houses have sprung on land where once barely a single house stood intact.
Business seems to be booming, and shops selling electronics, clothing and food abound. The university, formerly a “complex” of two single-storey buildings, is now located on a new campus made up of ten four-floor blocks.
People here give much of the credit for Kandahar’s reconstruction to the former provincial governor, Gul Aga Shirzai, and many were upset when he was shifted to Nangarhar province in late June 2005.
But others argue that Kandahar has paid a high price for the economic improvements. They note that Shirzai, a former militia commander, maintained his own private army during his time as governor. Many blame these gunmen for robberies, killings and general lawlessness that have continued to plague the province even after Shirzai’s departure.
“The only thing that really bothers me in Kandahar is the armed men who are still in power,” said Abdul Qawi, a professor at Kandahar Pedagogical Institute, who ackowledges Shirzai’s contribution to the city’s economic improvement. “Most of the police force is made up of the [same] armed men who are responsible for the lack of security in the region.
"The Taleban regime was a cruel one, but they did have good security.”
While the Taleban are no longer visible on the streets, herding people to prayer or enforcing their bans on films, music and kite-flying, they still cast a dark shadow over the city.
In this respect, Kandahar has not changed at all. In fact, in recent months the Taleban appear to have turned their attention to more deadly methods. In 2005 and the first few weeks of 2006, Kandahar became the focal point for terrorist attacks. Earlier this month, a suicide bomber drove his motorcycle into a crowd of spectators at a holiday sporting event, killing 27 and wounding dozens more. Late last year, a series of attacks left many dead, including at least one American soldier.
During a car ride around the town, our driver, Allaudin, showed us the sites of recent bombings. “Two people were killed here, one injured there,” he would say, pointing vaguely through the windshield. “Soon there won't be a single street without its martyrs.”
Shah Mahmoud, a Kandahar resident, worries about his family. “I am not sure of my own life or the lives of my children – not ever, even for a moment. There's a constant risk of death. There are bombs everywhere,” he told me.
Despite the sense of insecurity, however, most residents here appear eager to simply get on with their lives.
Abdullah, 18, a resident of the Daman district of the province, works in a petrol station and says he is satisfied with his job.
“I make enough to live on. Everyone just does his own work and doesn’t bother anyone else. There is no war. Our village now has a road and soon it will have a clinic,” he said.
Not everyone is so fortunate. In spite of the thriving economy, jobs are scarce. Esmatullah, 28, says he has been looking for steady work for months. All that is available, he said, are day-labourer jobs.
“I'm looking for a permanent job but there is nothing. And if I try and take my cart to the bazaar to sell something, the police chase me away. The government needs to find us jobs,” he said.
Still, Esmatullah enjoys the new-look Kandahar.
“I thank God that my ruined city has now been turned into a nice place,” he smiled.
Wahidullah Amani is an IWPR staff reporter in Kabul.
