New Ride, New Territory

Sunday, September 18, 2011

The B-hut started stirring at 5am in preparation to leave for the training compound.  The anticipation of finally getting to interact with members of the Afghanistan National police overcame my interest in breakfast.  As we climbed into the truck for the ½ mile escort to the front gate, I looked forward to seeing a different part of Kabul.  Immediately outside the camp, we passed the sights with which I was already familiar as a result of driving on previous airport convoys. As we made our way past the last airport entrance, we left the route with which I was acquainted.  Along this new course of travel, there was much more open road - sufficient room for three lanes in each direction.  I choose my words carefully here since, while the roadway could accommodate three lanes, there were no lane markings designating it as such.  While the absence of traffic lines sometimes allowed drivers to drift and meander along, traffic mainly stayed within their imaginary lanes.  Somehow, lane-less driving seemed to work out. However, slower moving donkey and horse drawn carts brought their own challenges when trying to maneuver around them at higher speeds.  

Horse cart with a horse in tow (To my nephew, Jerry, owner of Gemini Towing: See, no need for a flatbad!) Taken just outside of the Kabul Airport...imagine a few of these outside the Newark International terminal!

There was also a trade-off for roadway beautification.  While the tree plantings in the median soften the landscape, they also serve to conceal pedestrians who dart out into speeding traffic in their attempts to make it to the opposite shoulder of the road.  Driving is like playing a reverse version of “Frogger”.

 As we continued driving, we passed an area of new construction of high-rise apartments, hotels, and more lavish wedding halls with ample parking. These newer buildings stand in stark contrast to the mud and brick huts that still dot the landscape.  All in all, the surroundings were much more varied and interesting than traveling through the industrial areas with which I had become familiar. 

 

Some of the larger wedding halls, hotels, and other commercial establishments

A mosque under construction

 As we approached a circle, alongside the road stood men holding money in one hand and what appeared to be lottery tickets in the other.  This marked the beginning of a bazaar area where people were selling their wares. As we entered the circle, it seemed as though everything and anything was available for sale. There were hanging displays of pots, pans, clothing, shoes, brooms, vegetables, umbrellas – you name it, they were selling it.  The area was filled with pedestrians, making it treacherous for driving, especially in a convoy, as people attempted to dart in between the trucks.   I was told that this was “Indian country”, another name for a “hostile” area believed to be supportive of the Taliban and/or other insurgents.  As we slowly made our way among the sea of people, “questionable stares” were evident and there certainly weren’t any “thumbs up” to be seen.

Questionable looks were common in "Indian country"

Leaving the bazaar area about five minutes behind us, the truck suddenly slowed again. Turning my attention from my task (which was to scan out of the right rear window and behind us), I instinctively looked ahead to see the reason for the reduced speed.  Looking through the windshield I saw what looked to be a large, disorderly gathering – mostly of cars, trucks, horse-drawn carts, bicycles, and a sprinkling of pedestrians.  Only after a few seconds of focusing did I realize that we were entering an uncontrolled, unpaved intersection. Let me be clear:  Unpaved, doesn't merely mean lacking concrete or pavement.  In this case, it meant a very uneven roadway with large stones protruding some 8 inches or more in some spots.  There were cars going every which way.  Some were being driven to avoid potholes or the large rocks; others attempted to squeeze in between other vehicles in order to get to the opposite side of the crossing.  It was incredible.  As the truck violently bounced up and down, the sight of donkey carts, motorcycles, bicycles, goats, and pedestrians, all making their way through and around this traffic mess, made me laugh to myself.  It was quite a ride.  Navigating this intersection would become my favorite part of the commute each day.

My favorite intersection.  This is a LIGHT traffic day...

After passing through the first circle we came upon another bazaar.  James, who was acting as the shooter in the right front passenger seat, and who also seemed to be the overall team leader, informed me that this area was “friendly”.  The area seemed almost indistinguishable from the first bazaar we passed through, except there were less unfriendly stares from the locals.  Such looks were still present in the crowd; there were just less of them. 

After passing through a busy (and more orderly) intersection of “friendlies”, we began making our way up a steep hill.  With Grant, the driver, relentlessly keeping his foot on the gas, the truck’s engine whined, wheezed, and strained, as we climbed higher and higher.  To our right, a few shops were spread out along the road.  Homes populated the mountainside above and behind the shops. In some short stretches, the mountain exposed its bare rock.

Shops along the roadway...

...gave way to homes on the slopes.

Homes perched atop some of the rugged and worn mountain

  As we continued to climb, we passed slower moving trucks, cars, and push-carts on our right.  As we did so, Grant kept a cautious eye out for cars that were travelling in the opposite direction, to our left.  This wouldn’t be out of the ordinary had we not been traveling on a one-way road.  Beyond the left shoulder was a steep drop, into a shallow valley.  Occasionally, cars would head in our direction, halfway on the left shoulder, and halfway in the left lane.  As we approached the compound, the hillside homes and small shops gave way to used car dealerships.  How the proprietors kept the cars relatively clean in the Kabul dust, is a mystery to me.  As we made our way closer to the training site, children dressed in their school clothes, walked on both sides of the street.  Boys wore blue shirts and dark colored pants, while girls wore a traditional white head covering and dark slacks and jackets.  

Girls on their way to school (we often referred to them as "penguins")

 

Particularly in regard to the young girl students, I wondered how they regarded their education.  Under Taliban rule, women and girls were prohibited from attending school.  Since most of the school girls seemed too young to remember much of the Taliban regime, I was curious as to what accounts were passed onto them about their vital right to an education. 

The next slowing down of the truck signaled our arrival at the training compound.