Afghan Scene Magazine August 2011

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A Kabul at Work vignette

A guest column about the privations expat aid workers face working in developing countries

Pictures from the latest events and parties

Thirty-five years ago Rosalind Stuart Young travelled half-way round the world on local transport, hitch-hiking where necessary, staying with the people she met along the way. Here are her photographs

Scene showcases photographs by Jason P Howe, whose oeuvre ranges from war photography to commercial shoots

All you need to know about where to go in Kabul

66How one British soldier ended up saving puppies in Helmand

Publisher: Afghan Scene Ltd, Wazir Akbar Khan, Kabul, AfghanistanManager & Editor: Afghan Scene Ltd, Kabul, AfghanistanDesign: Kaboora ProductionAdvertising: [email protected]: Emirates Printing Press, DubaiContact: [email protected] / www.afghanscene.comAfghan Scene welcomes the contribution of articles and / or pictures from its readers. Editorial rights reserved. Cover photo: Rosalind Stuart Young


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Afghanistan’s golden era of peace sometimes gets such a heady press that’s it’s hard to see how that Afghanistan ended up being this

Afghanistan. Before the days of emails and mobile phones, Lancashire lass Rosalind Stuart Young travelled overland from Australia to the UK taking public transport or hitchhiking, and staying with the people she met along the way. It was the summer of 1976 when she arrived in Afghanistan.

The photographs she snapped and that Scene publishes here are a reminder of the Afghanistan still visible behind the walls of old, tree-fringed compounds in Kabul and beyond the pollution-choked confines of the city. But her diary notes are also a wry

remembrance that some things endure: on one occasion the driver of the bus she is travelling refuses to go any further until two suspicious-looking soldiers come down from the roof, where they are sitting with the luggage, because they “are not reliable”.

This edition also includes a satirical look at the hardships of expat life, courtesy of the Stuff Expat Aid Workers Like blog, an introduction to Afghanistan’s foremost child actor and a retrospective of photographer Jason P Howe’s coverage of Afghanistan, which has evolved from focusing on combat to an entirely different take on the country.!"

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Afghan Scene August 2011 Team

David Gill is a British writer, photographer and videogarpher focusing on a social documentary and overseas development. His current book projectKabul, a City at Work is a selection of over 100 original portraits.

web.mac.com/shot2bits/work

Former war photographer Jason P Howe is the subject of a Hollywood movie. He has not told the producers about his decision to start photographing salad bars

Rosalind Stuart Young was hellbent on being an explorer and had hitch-hiked across South Africa, Australia and New Zealand before arriving in Afghanistan

in 1976 en route to her home in England

Manu. Cartoonist, UN employee critic of B.U.LS.H.I.T. Task Forces, PhD student at UC Berkeley. Originally from Brittany, France, living in Brooklyn, NY. I contribute cartoons

to stuffexpataidworkerslike.com, HeloMagazine.org, and Rue89, a French news website where I have a guest blog. My personal website is www.manucartoons.com

and I am also on Facebook and, since very recently, on Twitter.

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Afghan Scene August 2011at work at work

www.afghanscene.com Afghan Scene August 2011 Afghan Scene August 2011www.afghanscene.com

Afghan Scene August 2011Afghan Scene August 2011

Jawanmard Paiz | David Gill




Afghan Scene August 2011 at work at work

play acting games, which helps us to pretend to be other people.

I suppose I am a bit famous now but my classmates treat me normally. Sometimes when people see me in the streets they come up to me and shake my hand. And sometimes, when I go shopping, they give me a discount. It’s the older boys in my school who can be a bit jealous and gossip about. For the most part I like school and am good at every subject, not a genius, just good. Apart from maths. I am bad at maths.I want to act in films which, when people see them, they say ‘Bravo! This is Afghan Film making’.The money is good, I don’t want to say what my fee is per film as you can’t compare it to

I can’t claim that I am a good actor or the best actor, but I am good for my age. I have been acting in films since I was four. Films like;

‘Opium Wars’, ‘Earth & Ashes’ and ‘Buzkashi Boys’. My first screen appearance was in ‘Oriental Diamond’ but I was only two and a half so I don’t remember it. My father is the Vice President of the Afghan Film and my three brothers have acted in films so it has always been part of my life. ‘Earth & Ashes’ was my first big break. Atiq Rahimi, the director was a friend of my father. I went for a casting and he liked me.

In the last film, I played a street kid. It was the first time I had played someone like that so it was interesting. I never had any formal training but we

They aren’t actors and so laugh so we all end up laughing together.

My favourites films are the ones I was in, but I also like Troy. I watch it over and over again. I like Scarface too. And my favourite actor? It would have to be Talash. In Hollywood my favourite is Robert de Niro, Al Pacino, Brad Pit and that guy in Face Off… Nicolas Cage, yeah he is really good. I like him. Oh and Jean Claude Van Damme and Jackie Chan – he is so funny! One day I’d like to be a politician actor like Arnie. "

Bollywood. It just isn’t the same here. But I get more than $1000 per film.

My country has been in the wars for so long that Afghan Cinema is still undeveloped. I hope that one day, we will be as recognised as much as Bollywood, or even Hollywood.

When I am not acting or at school I meet my friends and we play football or computer games. I also like filming my friends acting out famous scenes from movies on my mobile phone.

Kabul: A City At Work is a multi-media project, led by a joint international and Afghan crew collecting interviews, photographic portraits and video shorts of the people of Kabul in their working environments. You can find out more at www.kabulatwork.tv

Filming in Kabul | David GillOn the set of Buzkashi Boys | David Gill




Afghan Scene August 2011 scene scene

hardship living and displacement that the EAW faces on a regular basis.

The fancy living arrangement enjoyed by EAWs from certain agencies makes up for the hardship of being stationed away from their own culture, and is fairly standard across most countries where you find EAWs.

When you arrive at the gate protecting the EAWs home from the locals, there will be a security guard. It’s always the same guard for

Having to move around a lot is one of the serious downsides of being an Expat Aid Worker (EAW). It can be rough having

to carry your belongings across the world every two to three years and setting up a home that is 12 to 15 times nicer than the one you would occupy in your country of origin. The mansion of a certain level of employee from a certain type of bi- or multi-lateral agency in a family duty station in the capital of a nice and calm African country like Ghana is really just a small compensation that only partly makes up for the

on 24/7 because she likes the house cool when she gets back from work and her husband is from Sweden so he likes the cold too.

Entering the door you nearly knock over a huge wooden statue of a Buddha. From her time in Laos she explains. In the hall 10 scary looking masks are staring at you. From her time in Zimbabwe she explains, without you asking. The next wooden object is from Yemen and so on. The house is like a trip down memory lane. All the pieces of furniture (except some Billy bookcases from IKEA) are from different countries and have long stories attached, where they are from and how much she bargained off the original price.

The house, even though it’s enormous, is surprisingly stuffed. There two full Billies with photo albums covering her and her family’s whole life. There are yearbooks from high school. There are Swedish winter clothes, snowboards and other useful supplies for a country on the equator as well as five boxes with nativity scenes and Christmas decorations. One room is completely stuffed with groceries. Washing powder for four years, salsa in big jars of five litres, and more cereal than you could possibly eat in your whole life. All shipped from the home country of course as there is no proper washing powder in Africa. And this subgroup of Expat Aid Workers doesn’t like the funny taste of a different sauce on their Doritos. And they do like to carry their whole life around wherever they go or live. You never know when you want to put that woollen sweater on with the AC being so cold, right? "

the day and one for the night, 7 days a week. Holidays, weekends off, a lunch break or other excessive luxury you will hardly ever find. The guard is always sleeping while on duty so you will need to honk your horn a few times before he will open the gate.

Your host will come and greet you at the porch, complaining that her guard is always asleep and that she has had to fire a few of them because of that. Eventually she gave up and got a dog shipped from the home country to help her feel safe. Proudly she will announce that her guards get paid way more than the guards of the neighbours who work for the French Embassy. She pays 40 dollars a month and covers the school fees of all the guards’ children too! But watch out, because you give them one finger and they take the whole hand, she warns. For the love of God, one now even asked for money for his wife to go to the hospital. The guards sell phone credit on the street for the other 12 hours of the day or night that they are off to be able to make a proper living. Hence the always sleeping while on duty. The kitchen staff seem to have the same problem, even though they really don’t work very much, she will tell you.

Once you enter the compound, you’ll notice that the house looks like it comes straight out of MTV cribs. It’s huge, with 6 bedrooms and at least 3 bathrooms, maybe more. Our host can even teach her expat yoga classes at night inside as the living room is a ballroom and easily fits 20 people on a yoga mat. It’s nice and cool inside as the ACs are

This post first appeared at http://stuffexpataidworkerslike.com/






70s soiree Ariel and Jules at Altai

Be scene

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Afghan Scene August 2011scene


Aegean operators | Iason looks on as Nick has a bright idea Afghan pride | Naimullah, Yama, Latif, Waheed and Ajmal show off their soccer skills

Laughter in the dark | Miles and Joanie at Nick’s farewell Three people much taller than scene’s snapper | Matt, Melissa and Rima at Nick’s farewell

On the town | Rima introduces Neerav to expat partiesKabul party people | Emily and Nina hit the party circuit Let’s talk about me | Raj, JPH and Tara discuss a certain, imminent hollywood blockbuster

Ladykiller | Matt charms Clem, Emma, Heidi and Em





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as far as the border and left 9:30 am with 15 of us—all various nationalities.

Rugged barren scenery for 34 miles to the border, winding our way up through the Khyber Pass with old forts and buildings along the way and passing taxis (vans) loaded with people, on the roof and hanging on to the back.

Before the pass, stopped at barrier and each pay one rupee tax which goes to the tribal people in the mountains in the south.Reach the border 12 noon and after checking through another lot of very spread out offices, most people go on a big local bus the 140 miles to Kabul. We go on a local vehicle with two Pakistani brothers—Mushin and Tamir (the former just going to Kabul for a few days and

Friday 2 July

Really comfortable night and sorry to have to get up at 6:00 am to go to bus station.

For the first time since I began the Asia part of my travels I start meeting up with Europeans. One Afghan Post bus full and leaving at 7:00 am. A crowd trying to get 35 people together so that the second bus can leave (one meant to go at 7:00 and one at 8:00 every day). Get up to 16 people and leave them to go and take some pictures. Got 23 people and the driver was prepared to go but the manager didn’t want him to or something. Then the driver decided to go home as wasn’t feeling well and was meant to be his day off anyway! As usual we were all told to “stay another day” but managed to get a minibus from somewhere to take us

The author in a red dress in Kandahar







two army men are travelling on the roof and we stop. He says they are not reliable and proceeds to take our packs and other luggage down. Asks if there’s any money in there and we tell them, “no.” They come down though and travel inside so the luggage goes back up.

A boy keeps running to the river to get some fresh mountain water for drinking in his tin then tries to sell it to us!

Come to another barrier and two more army men jump up onto the roof. The driver refuses to move until they come down and in the end he wins. Although arguing with each other they did it in a very reasonable tone and didn’t shout at all. Everyone sat patiently and quietly in the bus. A situation which depicted the nature of the people as a whole.

Climb up onto a flat plain—the peaks of mountains all around in the distance and enter Kabul, the capital of Afghanistan about 6:00 PM. It’s the third capital of the country. First Herat was for about 150 years, then Kandahar for about 100 years. Stay with the three boys at the Ghaznavi hotel—very nice, big, spacious room with view out over canal and hill dotted with square, clay houses. No fans. No netting on windows. Freezing cold shower water—in the only place we want it warm as the weather really quite cool.

Loo set in stone block which I’m unsure whether to squat over or sit on!

Walk out in the refreshing cool evening air. Both had the impression Afghanistan was

then going back, and the latter going to the UK) and Iranian, Gulam, going home for University holidays. All three studying together in Lahore.

Dry and rocky with hills in the distance either side and mountains at the back to the south with little strips of snow on them looking like waterfalls. More checkpoints and an officer makes a tribal lady at the back of the vehicle open up her bag as they apparently sometimes smuggle shawls and things from the border area.

Change at Jalalabad. Have lunch of chapatti and kye—egg, tomates, onion and bits of meat in a bowl—which is delicious, actually find something with no spice! Crowded with Afghan men just sitting and listening to the music playing—the way the poor with only seasonal jobs pass most days.

Stalls and stalls of fresh fruit—apples, oranges, plums, apricots, cherries—the lot. Beautiful! Catch minibus on to Kabul—seems very bare inside after Pakistan, with no decorations, but their buses are as decoratively done up.

Comfortable though, and cassette tapes throw out Afghan music. Some hens squawk under the front seat! Watches back half-an-hour. Drive on the right. Breathtaking scenery alongside river with bright, green, translucent water between sheer mountain faces. Cloudless blue sky and whizzing along the whole thing just doesn’t seem real.

The driver seems to suddenly realize that

Kandahari men







quite an under-developed country so utterly stunned to find a clean, modern city with much contrast and very Europeanised—can buy absolutely everything. The most amazing thing, which we can’t get over, is the modern dress that some of the girls are wearing—miniskirts, platform shoes, smart trousers. Men in suits and ties and boys in well-cut shorts and trousers—together with those not so well-off Afghans in their matching wide-bottomed trousers and long tunic top with a cloth wrapped in a circle on their heads with a splayed cap in the middle. And the Muslim ladies with their veils right over them with tiny square holes over their face making them look like a fencer! Some in blue, others in green, red, purple, brown. Most of the shops are shut as Friday is a holiday in Muslim countries.

Eat at the Khyber Restaurant—get really big servings here, maybe why the people seem larger! Really friendly. Quite a lot of English spoken and a lot of French. Very pleasing, attractive features, dark reasonable length hair (not cropped like most Pakistanis) and gorgeous smiles. Sleep between two sheets for the first time for ages with a blanket on top which honestly does feel most odd!

Peshawar

Herat

Peshawar







Kabul before the developers moved in





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Man with bowl in Peshawar

Kandaharis

Man in Peshawar







Butcher

Kabul

Peshawar bazaar









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expensive as most things are imported. Good views from the top.

Walk round streets and streets of market area selling all sorts. A lot of second-hand shoe and clothes stalls. Colourful vegetable market by the canal.

Old time photo machine things in the streets. Mushin and Tamir go to see an Indian film which Pakistanis are very fond of and they can’t get them in Pakistan.

Gulam comes with us to help bargain at the shops as can speak the language to them since the government language is Persian. Get things for almost half of the price they originally ask for.

Bump into the Europeans who left with us on the first bus from Peshawar.

Apple pie and yoghurt at ‘The Steak House’—a most inappropriate name. Tables out in a garden, quiet and peaceful listening to a sitar and small [tabla] drums being played. Very much a European joint and crowd on next table are discussing Noddy and Big Ears! Quite cold. Ankle really throbbing where bite is so not really thinking clearly. My watch has stopped too - it must feel like I do! "

Saturday 3rd July

Beautiful city by night and day. Lots of private cars. Single-decker blue buses. Ford taxis, proper street signs. Donkeys with a load of fresh vegetables and fruit at intervals along the street. An abundance of cut washed carrots piled on stalls for carrot juice and also a lot of apple juice around. Call at info office and at the end of the road snow-peaked mountains rise in the distance. Walk down Chicken Street where there are shops and shops of fabulous clothes, jewellery and antiques and we immediately want to buy everything in sight and feel it’s going to be another ‘Agra’ choosing the good from the bad and finding the best bargains—which will mean a stay of at least three days!

Sue isn’t very happy because there’s hardly any milk anywhere, which means no milky coffee and their black or green ‘chai’ isn’t very satisfying. Soon happy again when we find loads of bakeries with an even better selection of cakes than Kathmandu—jam tarts, lemon meringue pies—the lot!

Stop off at Istanbul restaurant where we find porridge, hamburgers, fresh orange juice and everything. Look around trying to decide on more things. Lunch in a restaurant at the top of Afghan store—a department store, just like at home, which sells everything, but very

Men in Kabul







On the road in the Khyber pass







Men with goats in Kabul

Herat

Kabul







Kabul

In Kabul with a box camera

Peshawar











Two days later that photographer, while on patrol in Kandahar province, stepped on an anti personnel mine and lost both his legs.

It made me think a lot about which opinions and judgements of us really matter. 10 years ago while the mocking friend in question was squeezing his spots and learning the Latin for Trust Fund I was crouching in a ditch in Colombia in the middle of my first ever fire fight between left wing guerillas and government soldiers. The idea that one day I might be doing a commercial shoot of the logistical operation of feeding the 130,000 foreign troops in Afghanistan could not have seemed more distant from my vision of the future.

A colleague of mine recently mockingly suggested that I should replace the title ‘photojournalist’ on my business

card with ‘salad bar photographer’.

A few days after this ribbing I was having lunch with a much respected conflict photographer, 15 years on the frontline in every kind of unpleasant situation. I told him about the new direction my photography was taking, away from covering combat and into the considerably safer realms of commercial work. Instead of laughing or accusing me of selling out he told me basically that it was a wise decision and one not enough people consider, since most conflict photographers are completely addicted to their chosen field.

Gem-hunter, Panjshir valley | Jason P Howe







I first arrived in Kabul in October 2004 after 10 months of working almost continually in Iraq. I was somewhat burned out from reporting the non-stop cycle of multiple suicide bombings, kidnappings and destruction as the country continued to descend into an ever worsening state of chaos.

Afghanistan was a pleasant shock to my system. The country was visually stunning, the people, unlike Iraqis after a year of occupation, seemed to be unexplainably upbeat, positive and open considering that they had endured decades of conflict.

There were photographs to be made everywhere I looked and because of the current news cycle (election time) and the fact that compared to Iraq it was very safe to work here, there were photographers everywhere. The social scene was vibrant, it reminded me of the Baghdad I first experienced a year earlier, before 80 percent of the media decided it was too unsafe to work and headed elsewhere.

After a month in Afghanistan I returned to Iraq and continued working there until late 2005 by which point assignments had almost dried up and a double suicide bomb attack devastated my hotel killing 15 and wounding 40. I was still in bed when the twin blasts sent the glass from my windows and the aluminium frames hurtling across the room, dropped the ceilings, and tore all the doors

Afghan RPG gunner, Kajaki, 2007 | Jason P Howe







coverage. It is not an experience to take for granted and yes—most people get paid or make money from being there doing what ever it is they do.

And I have found in general the people doing it for the most part go through a fairly serious amount of soul-searching to find their own justifications for their choice of lifestyle.

I returned to Afghanistan in April 2007 to do my first embed with British forces in Helmand province. Since then I have spent at least 6 months of each year in country. During some of those periods almost my entire focus was on the conflict and frontline combat operations. I am thankful though that someone reminded me that every now and then I should look up from that little picture and see everything else that this place has to offer. I began to take on other types of assignments that explored the culture that endures and thrives here despite 30 odd years of meddling in this country by other self-enriching and self-labelled friends and obvious foes.

Working in some 14 provinces I have been able to get at least a ‘taste’ of the diversity of a country that is hard to imagine from a bar, guesthouse or compound or only viewed through the window of an armoured vehicle within the confines of Kabul.

Some of the experiences that will stay with me the longest would include a 21-day trip into the Wakhan Corridor and the Pamir

from their hinges. Somehow I walked away without a scratch but decided that sitting around waiting for work to come along or get killed was not the way ahead. I was done with Iraq as a full time gig.

In 2006 I covered the brief but nasty war in Lebanon. Once again the place overrun with photographers. ‘Paparazzi for the Dead’ was a phrase that kept coming to mind as I watched the jostling mob of reporters, cameramen and photographers in a scrum around the latest scene of death and destruction. I didn’t want to be competing to get the same picture as 10 other photographers, just from a slightly different angle.

I began to question deeply my motives for being there and for why I had been in Iraq and about how I would choose what to do next. It was a perplexing question and one to which there were no easy answers.

The folks that like to judge the media and many others who choose to work in somewhat crazy and dangerous places and situations find many easy labels to attach to people. Adrenaline junkies, voyeurs, tree-huggers, do-gooders, mercenaries and so on... and in part there is probably an element of all such things in the type of person who chooses to spend a large portion of their lives in conflict zones. They definitely find it exciting and challenging, seeing with their own eyes what millions of other people around the world only get to experience through the narrow filter of TV news or other agenda-driven media

Amputee with daughter, Kabul, 2008| Jason P Howe







Children in the Wakhan corridor, 2009 | Jason P Howe





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The road to Bamian, 2008 | Jason P Howe





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Buzkashi, Mazar-e-Sharif, 2010 | Jason P Howe







overpriced food and drink, dreadful service, security threats and weekly influx of bright shiny nameless new faces thronging around at every gathering. In direct contrast the number of old friends seems to shrink week by week.

It was late last year that I decided to begin exploring the route of commercial photography here in Afghanistan. I took on a 3 month project documenting the ethnic, cultural, religious, culinary and topographic diversity of Afghanistan for a leading telecoms company, which wanted its billboards and adverts to show real Afghan life rather than slick-haired, over-dressed models shot in studios in Dubai who to most Afghans just look like a bunch of clowns.

I tried to shoot the images as much as I could with a reportage or editorial feel to them, which was my natural style since I had no previous experience in setting up pictures for a commercial application at the time. The journey was very liberating creatively and helped me fall back in love with both Afghanistan and photography. I was seeing many things that I had begun to take for granted through new eyes. When my next reportage assignment came along I found I was much more experimental in my approach and the resulting work benefitted hugely. Now I am thoroughly embracing the idea of commercial work becoming my bread and butter. No longer will I have to go and shoot the same story for the fifth time

mountains on horses and yaks. The space, peace and utter disconnection from the rest of Afghanistan were breathtaking. Riding in a Buzkashi game in Mazar-i-Shariff (purely to get photos closer to the action) would rate as one of the most intense things I have ever done. It made those long foot patrols through IED infested Helmand somewhat benign in comparison.

But those little glimpses of real life here I got from walking the streets of the old city or some remote village in a distant province, watching how people shop and interact with each other. Sitting down to share a meal or drink chai in someone’s home. Photographing an Afghan surgeon performing heart surgery or women doing their hair and make up in a beauty parlour. Noting all those little idiosyncrasies that are so ‘Afghan’ and marvelling at the tenacity, adaptability and downright indestructibility of the Afghan spirit. The day you find nothing left to inspire you in Afghanistan is the day you need to take a long break.

Of course this place has a million and one ways to break the foreign visitor. My digestive system is unfortunately no more robust than it was when I first arrived. Spending the 2007-8 winter in the cheapest hotel in town whose toilets were frozen for a whole month and whose gas heaters were as likely to kill you as the cold was wasn’t too much fun. I’ve watched those around me go ever so slightly mad as they deal with the daily power outages, almost non existent internet connections, outrageously

Heart surgeon at FMIC, Kabul, 2008 | Jason P Howe







I’ve come to the realisation that for me Afghanistan is part of a journey that I hope will take me back to my photographic roots.

Here I have at least begun to learn how to combine the excitement of working in the intensity of combat and an appreciation of the culture and tremendous beauty that surrounds those tiny capsules of time.

The recent tragic events that have befallen friends and colleagues here and elsewhere have been a timely reminder of how quickly our lives and future plans can vanish.

I would like to leave here somewhat wiser and with my body and mind still intact. But the clock is ticking and sadly that is an option that escaped several of my friends before they were able to take it.

Afghanistan has definitely taught me many things. But it’s ability to adapt and survive in it’s own way is humbling and inspiring and something that I can certainly continue to learn from.

because a new writer has arrived in town and thinks they have had an original idea.There are good and great stories out there that need to be told and that I want to work on. But they aren’t the trendy stories that fit with what news editors have decided the public want or need to be told about.

They still need to be done and often have to be self-funded. My first ever foray into photojournalism a decade ago was 5 years spent on and off in the jungles of Colombia. I was documenting the 48-year-old and counting power struggle between the government and the right and left wing militias and the resulting displacement of millions of people. Back then I had the energy, drive and belief to take any and all risks both physically and financially to reach my ultimate goal of publishing the first ever book of photographs of that conflict. I went there to learn, gain experience, establish myself and I suppose by default make a journalistic contribution.

Iraq was never MY story, it was a blip that got in the way of me telling the stories that I did really have a passion for and that are being largely ignored by the media in general.

And Afghanistan is yet a different situation, there have been a great many photographers who are far, far more skilled than me covering this country for a long time before I ever came here and after I leave it will still be a place that new young photographers come to learn and establish themselves.

Jason is available for editorial and commercial assignments throughout Afghanistan. (Salad Bars Included).Contact him at: [email protected]

Maths Afghan-style in Helmand, 2011 | Jason P Howe





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Restaurants

DeliveryEasyfoodDelivers from any restaurant to your homewww.easyfood.afTel: 0796 555 000, 0796 555 001

AfghanJirga RestaurantStreet 10, left Lane 1, House 255. Tel: 077 730 0090

RumiQala-e Fatullah Main Rd, between Streets 5 & 6Tel: 0799 557 021

SufiStreet 1, Qala-e Fatullahwww.sufi.com.af Tel: 0774 212 256, 0700 210 651

Herat RestaurantShar-e Naw, main road,Diagonally opposite Cinema Park

Khosha RestaurantAbove the Golden Star Hotel. Tel: 0799 888 999

Mixed/WesternFat Man/What-a-Burger CafeWazir Akbar Khan, main road, On the bend near Masoud Circle Tel: 0700 298 301, 0777 151 510

Le Dizan (formerly L’Atmosphere)Street 4, TaimaniTel: 0798 224 982, 0798 413 872

Flower Street CaféStreet 2, Qala-e Fatullah.Tel: 0700 293 124, 0799 356 319

Habibi’s SteakhouseStreet 15, right Lane 2, Wazir Akbar Khan Tel: 079 336 3725

Kabul Coffeehouse & CaféStreet 6, on the left, Qale-e Fatullah Tel: 0752 005 275

Le BistroOne street up from Chicken Street, Behind the MOI,Shar-e Naw Tel: 0799-598852

Red Hot Sizzlin’ SteakhouseDistrict 16, Macroyan 1, Nader Hill Area Tel: 0799 733 468

Le Pelican Cafe du KabulDarulaman Road, almostopposite the Russian Embassy.Bright orange guard box.

Tex MexLa CantinaThird left off Butcher St,Shar-e NawTel: 0798 271 915

LebaneseTaverne du LibanStreet 15, Lane 3, Wazir Akbar Khan Tel: 0799 828 376

The GrillStreet 15, Wazir Akbar Khan.Tel: 0799 818 283,0799 792 879

Cedar HouseBehind Kabul City Centre, Shar-e Naw Tel: 0799-121412

TurkishIstanbulMain road, on the left, between Massoud Circle Jalalabad Road Roundabout. Tel: 0799-407818

IranianShandizPakistan Embassy Street, off Street 14 Wazir Akbar KhanTel: 0799-342928

Italian/PizzaEverest PizzaMain Road, near Street 12Wazir Akbar Khanwww.everestpizza.comTel: 0700 263 636, 0799 317 979

Bella ItaliaStreet 14, Wazir Akbar KhanTel: 0799 600 666

Springfield Pizza Take AwayDutch Embassy Street, Shar-e Naw Tel: 0799 001 520

IndianNamasteStreet 15, left Lane 4, (last house on right side) Wazir Akbar Khan Tel: 0772 011 120

Delhi DarbarShar-e Naw, close to UK Sports Tel: 0799 324 899

Anar RestaurantLane 3, Street 14,Wazir Akbar Khan Tel: 0799 567 291

ChineseGolden Key Seafood RestaurantLane 4, Street 13, Wazir Akbar Khan. Tel: 0799 002 800, 0799 343 319

ThaiMai ThaiHouse 38, Lane 2, Street 15, Wazir Akbar Khan Tel:0796 423 040

KoreanNew WorldBetween Charayi Haji Yacub and Charayi Ansari, on the right. Shar-e Naw. Tel: 0799 199 509

Supermarkets, Grocers & Butchers

A-OneBottom of Shar-e Naw Park

ChelseaShar-e Naw main road, opposite Kabul Bank

SpinneysWazir Akbar Khan, opposite British Embassy

FinestWazir Akbar Khan Roundabout

Fat Man ForestWazir Akbar Khan, main road.

Enyat Modern ButcherQala-e Fatullah main road,Near street four

ATMsKabul City Centre, Shar-e Naw (AIB

AIB Main Office, Opposite Camp Egg-ers (AIB)

AIB Shar-e Naw Branch, next to Chelsea Supermarket (AIB)

HQ ISAF, Outside Cianos Pizzeria, US Embassy Street (AIB)

KAIA Military Airbase, Outside Cianos Pizzeria, Airport (AIB)

Finest Supermarket, Wazir Akbar Khan (AIB)

World Bank Guard Hut, Street 15 Wazir Akbar Khan (Standard Chartered)

Standard Chartered Branch, Street 10, Wazir Akbar Khan (Standard Chartered)

Hairdresser (Men & Women)

Call Mustafa on 079 888 4403Salon in Sanpo Guesthouse

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Hotels and Guesthouses

Kabul Serena HotelFroshgah Streetwww.serenahotels.comTel: 0799 654 000

Safi Landmark Hotel & SuitesCharahi Ansariwww.safilandmarkhotelsuites.comTel: 0202 203 131

The Inter Continental HotelBaghe Bala Roadwww.intercontinentalkabul.comTel: 0202 201 321

Gandamack Lodge HotelSherpur [email protected]: 0700 276 937, 0798 511 111

Mustafa HotelCharahi Sadaratwww.mustafahotel.comTel: 070 276 021

Heetal Plaza HotelStreet 14, Wazir Akbar Khanwww.heetal.comTel: 0799 167 824, 0799 159 697

Sanpo Guesthouse(formally Unica Guesthouse)Royal Mattress Haji Yaqoob Square

The International ClubHaji Yaqoob Square, Street 3, Shar-e Naw. Tel: 0774 763 858

Golden Star HotelCharrhay Haji Yaqoob,Shar-e Naw. www.kabulgoldenstarhotel.comTel: 0799 333 088, 0799 557 281

Roshan HotelCharaye Turabaz Khan,Shar-e Naw.Tel: 0799 335 424





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free, the tighter the noose became. The dog was slowly killing itself.

‘Bollocks,’ I said to myself.

The 100 yards that separated me from the dog was in no-man’s-land. Definitely no place to pretend to be a member of the RSPCA.

The obstacle was situated across the only ‘real’ road in this area of Helmand province, a single strip of tarmac that ran north to south for over 400 metres. At one time the shops that ran along this road had sold fruit, vegetables, watches, shoes, medicines, even music tapes. Not so long ago their wares

‘Sergeant, I thought you might want to do something about this.’

Mase, the young Royal Marine who had called me on the radio to join him in his sand-bagged sentry post, was pointing towards the barbed-wire road block. It was about 100 yards north of our isolated compound in the Afghan outpost of Now Zad.

Thick with rolls of gleaming, new wire, the obstacle was designed to prevent a suicide bomber driving directly into the compound’s thick mud walls. Today, however, it had only succeeded in stopping something else – a small, white, terrified-looking dog.

Straight away I saw it had a wire noose tied around its neck. I had seen dogs tied up like that before out here in Afghanistan. This one had obviously broken free from whatever it had been tied to and tried to run through our makeshift barrier, but the trailing strand of wire from the noose had caught fast on the barbed wire. The more it struggled to break

I closed my eyes, wondering why this was happening to me.

Deep down I knew that I should just tell Mase to carry on with his sentry duty and ignore the dog. I knew others in my position wouldn’t even give the animal a second thought. They would leave it to die of starvation or stand by while it strangled itself to death. Hell, some might even use it as target practice.

But I knew I couldn’t just walk away. Especially, given what had happened in the four months or so since I’d arrived in Helmand province.

I opened my eyes and turned my attention back to the white dog.

It had stopped struggling and had resigned

would have been spilling out on to the road tempting passers-by.

Now, however, there was no one to be seen, and the fronts of the stores were a mess of twisted metal and broken wood; their walls decorated with bullet holes. No place to take a stroll, even if you were carrying the world’s largest white flag. Aside from the threat of rifle fire, the network of alleyways that led off the road was notorious as a hiding place for local Taliban fighters. We had even named one of the alleyways ‘RPG alley’, after the rocket-propelled grenades that they fired at us.

As I scanned the scene now, I knew that the Taliban could be hiding in any one of these buildings just waiting for one of us to pop out of the compound.

Pen Farthing with dogs RPG and Jena





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‘Laters,’ I said to Mase as I dropped down on to the HESCO block.

I had done some fairly stupid things during the course of my life. As my feet hit the tarmac road I thought that this might be the stupidest yet.

My heart was racing. I took a deep breath. ‘Try not to get shot, idiot boy, or you won’t be much use to anybody, let alone the dog,’ I scolded myself.

All my attention was focused on the ruined shops ahead. There were a thousand shadows inside the rubble-strewn buildings, which meant a thousand dark places for an enemy to hide. But everything seemed as it should have been.

‘Yeah, for now,’ I muttered to myself.I didn’t have all day. I took one last look through my weapon sight and moved towards the dog, the muzzle of my rifle moving with me as I scanned the area. I ran at a crouch up the centre of the tarmac road. The dog was only about 70 yards ahead now. It seemed to have resigned itself to being caught in the wire, but as I got closer it started to fight to free itself again, obviously panicking that I might try to hurt it.

‘Chill, dog, I’m on your side,’ I called out as I arrived.

I was conscious of talking too loudly, but the dog struggling against the wire obstacle was making enough noise as it was. With the

itself to lying on the ground, panting heavily from the exertion of trying to break free.

I explained my plan to Mase, although there wasn’t much of one. I removed my webbing and radio and placed them down on the floor of the sand-bagged sentry post, or ‘sangar’ as we called them. I took out an extra magazine of ammunition and shoved it in my combat trousers pocket, just in case.

The plan was simple. The front of the sangar had a narrow slit that the sentry looked through, which was big enough for a man to slide through sideways. I would squeeze out through the slit, down to the edge of the roof on which the sangar was perched, then jump four feet down to the top of the sand-filled ‘HESCO block’ that protected the base of the building, and then drop off the side of that on to the tarmac road.

I waved at the sentry in the next sangar along. He waved back.

I pointed my weapon through the slit first and then followed it with my body.

Mase scanned the deserted street for any signs of bad guys. I hadn’t really thought about what I would do if the Taliban decided to attack.

I knew I should be able to climb back up into the sentry post extremely quickly. Hopefully, even quicker if I was being shot at.

I looked north and south along the street one more time. Everything was eerily quiet.

how exposed I was. Standing in the middle of a deserted Afghan street in the Taliban heartland was not a good idea.As swiftly as I could, I walked backwards towards the sentry post, keeping an eye on the road all the way.

‘Nice one, Sarge,’ Mase said as I rolled head first on to the floor of the sangar.

I realised I was breathing heavily; the fast climb back up had been more physical than I had thought it would be. As I looked back along the road I smiled to myself. The dog was nowhere to be seen.

‘Let’s keep this one quiet, eh?’ I said as I dusted myself down. ‘

‘Keep what quiet? ’ Mase smiled.

I gave him the thumbs up, grabbed my webbing, and headed towards the ladder back down into the compound.

As I climbed down, the impact of what I’d just done hit me.

Things were seriously getting out of hand. How the hell had I managed to become personally responsible for the welfare of seemingly every stray dog in Helmand? "

metallic clattering of the barbed-wire strands knocking against the upright struts, everybody within a mile would know what I was doing.

‘Help me out here little fella, I don’t want the Taliban to know I am here, all right?’

I didn’t have the time to go for the softly, softly approach.

I let my rifle hang by my side as I pulled out my Leatherman and reached into the coils of barbed wire as far as I could.

I wasn’t too bothered about the dog trying to bite me. I had my jacket and leather combat gloves on. It wasn’t as if it was that big anyway. Its filthy white coat covered a lean under-nourished body. Its frightened eyes kept me in check as the wire cutter tool sliced through the thin strands of wire at the first attempt.

The dog was still pulling madly away from me as the strand broke. In an instant it shot away through the other side of the obstacle without even a second thought. As it ran the wire loop was still hanging around its neck, but I hoped that it would eventually work loose.

‘No problem, buddy,’ I said, watching it go.I looked around quickly, suddenly aware of

From ‘One Dog at a Time’ by Pen Farthing. Copyright © 2010 by the author and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Press, LLC.





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Afghan Scene Magazine August 2011