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Diary of a Visit to Badakhshan - August 2000

The Strangest Bouquet  -  August 2000

15th August 2000

We swooped between the mountains of the Hindu Kush in the little Red Cross plane and caught our first sight of Faisabad and the landing strip surrounded by sunflower and maize fields.  It was a  legacy of the Russians and supposedly temporary but still  used 20 years on.

On our way, via Peshawar and Jalalabad,  we picked up several Talibs in black turbans with white sequined caps who disembarked at Kabul.  Effects of the drought ravaging much of the country were starkly apparent from the air and dried watercourses with  fronds of tributaries decorated the buff coloured mountains.

Sitting in a Toyota pick-up along with various supplies we set off past  two lonely buildings on the landing strip with scratched English signs warning that 'Trade, cultivation and use of opium are strongly forbidden in Islam'. 

We bounced along the rough road to Faisabad through undulating, tawny folds of Hindu Kush,  jewelled with jade and turquoise lakes passing donkeys laden with brushwood, commodities for the household, apples and vegetables that were bound for the bazaars. There were few motor vehicles apart from a few ancient pick-ups or new NGO 4x4s sporting the sign of a Kalashnikov crossed out, like a no-smoking sign, to show that no arms were carried.

On arrival at an NGO compound, fenced around and with a security guard at the gate, we were introduced to Joma (Friday) who, like Crusoe's man did a bit of everything.  He served us tea and quickly prepared the  basic and clean guestroom for us.

That first evening I will never forget.  After a meal of okra in tomato sauce we sat drinking tea in the fading light in the gardens.  Occasional artillery and rocket fire echoed around the hills and our host told us many tales of sorrow and separation.  Even the Commanders of the North are now fighting each other he told us and 'All Afghanistan is hungry'.  He vowed to work for his country while it was possible, even though his family was far away.  Many employees of NGOs come from 'out of province' meaning that months pass before they get to see their families which is a source of great unhappiness for them.

Every evening at 7p.m. the generator was put on for three hours so we made ourselves ready for bed early to be sure of light.  Our small room had two beds and the cubicle next door had hot and cold taps coming direct from knee high pipes.  A shelf held a jug and soap, bucket and mirror and our toilet across the yard was a mud hut with a hole cut into the earth with a wooden cover. Any night visits had to be made by the light of the moon and a hurricane lamp.

16th August 2000

Our host offered to take us to Ishkashim on the Tajik border and so drew us a little map and discussed our itinerary.

To be continued.......under construction with a picture gallery from over the years too!