Love letter to Kabul: the places I will not forget in the Afghan capital

The taking of possession of the Taliban this summer was a seismic time for Acceptance.

Those who regard this city as their own wonder if life has changed forever.

Much of what made Kabul special is now a cultural battlefield.

Evocative street murals have been painted with Islamic verses, high schools for girls have closed, and the alleys and shops no longer play exciting music.

Most of the streets now feel safe after the end of the war that restored power to the Taliban.

However, security fears remain. Some fear for their lives under Taliban rule. Others fear the Islamic State bomb attacks.

Poverty is aggravated in a painful way.

But Afghans also know that Kabul’s long and vibrant history breathes past the headlines.

A city plagued for centuries by period events tells its own story.

It is written on the stones of ancient bastions and the concrete of modern anti-explosive walls, and drawn on exquisite palaces, square Soviet-style blocks, and the gigantic villas nicknamed “poppy palaces”, for the profits accumulated in the lucrative trade. of heroin and through major US military contracts.

Afghans often call this city as they would a beloved friend: Kabul jaan, Kabul querido.

In the many years that I have worked there, the last time in October, I have wondered what it is about this city that attracts people.

This is another chapter in the tortuous history of Kabul. The Taliban across the country are now claiming their streets. Afghans who are forced to flee, or desperate to leave, cling to their memories.

And what memories.

Zarghuna Girls’ High School

A prestigious school, a source of pride. It takes its name from Zarghuna Anna, a powerful Afghan woman from the 18th century.

Laughter and chatter are heard in the schoolyard in Kabul.

But thousands of girls between classes of 7 to 12 are not here. The Taliban say that the majority of secondary schools for girls must remain closed for now.

Afghans fear they will never reopen, as they did under the previous Taliban rule, in the 1990s. Education is now a battlefront to protect the rights of Afghan women and girls.

“Zarghuna is a place where girls’ dreams are fulfilled. I hope the Taliban keep their promise to allow all girls to study, ”reflects Deputy Director Rabia Rashid.

Girls and parents poured through its doors after the Taliban were toppled in 2001. Since then, polling stations have been set up here in many elections.

I will never forget the day security warnings nearly prevented us from passing during the 2014 election.

We came to see a crowd of women voters who crossed the corridors to cast their votes, defying the threats of the Taliban.

Streets with incense

The streets are increasingly crowded with boys and girls of all ages and hunched-over white-bearded elders who beg and live from day to day.

The city’s stubborn traffic jams are infuriating. Also fertile ground for a growing organization of street children who move between vehicles and wave rusty cans.

From these puffs of incense smoke come out that float through the windows and promise the power of good spirits for a minimal price.

With that bread is bought for a family and a mischievous smile is generated.

Who could resist?

Sarai Shahzada money exchange market

The money exchange in Kabul, encased in an ancient maze of the old city, sounds like a stock exchange.

This one-stop shop for financial services has become more indispensable in the current liquidity crisis and the strict limit on withdrawals at banks.

Now the Taliban have announced a veto on the use of foreign currency, vital element for this economy.

This market is also rich in history.

It was established a century ago by Afghan Jewish families. In the late 1980s, when I lived in Kabul, it was dominated by Afghan Sikhs and Hindus.

But the last Afghan Jews left their beloved city in early September.

Sikhs and Hindus have been leaving, year after year, because of persecution during the war. There are no longer any in this market and very few in the country.

Kah Faroshi Bird Market

Bright yellow and blue lovebirds chirp and coo in Kabul’s ruined old city, no matter who rules the roost.

For the past four centuries, birdsong has filled the winding path of mud-walled shops, adorned with wire or wooden cages, a wonderful antidote to the worries of war.

This has been the soundtrack for 80 years of Mohammad Khitab, who has been raising feathered friends since he was a child.

It has already experienced two kings, two coups, two superpower invasions and now the Taliban 2.0.

“I have seen 13 changes of government and raised 20 million pigeons,” he tells me proudly.

The rules are known, in the same way as the first time the Taliban were in charge.

Bird trading is fine, but pigeon racing, cockfighting, or betting is not.

“I don’t know if they are anti-Islamic or not, but these Afghan pastimes have been part of our culture for the last 400 years,” he says.

This store never closed in these last 40 years of war, but business has practically stopped due to the growing liquidity crisis in the city since mid-August.

Pigeons can carry price tags of up to US $ 3,000 to US $ 4,000, a value that defines the color of their eyes and wings, the size and shape of their beaks.

“Why are they so expensive?” I ask.

“Because they are beautiful,” exclaims Mohammad Khitab.

Musicians lane

Shops are closed in the old Kuche Kharabat district. Musical instruments are hidden from view in this place, the birthplace of the great Ustads, the legends of Afghan traditional music.

“We have invested all our life, all our energy, in music,” laments a venerable virtuoso in a dark room, crammed with bulky cases, including mega-speakers for celebrations such as weddings.

“It is the only life we ​​know.”

He gently lifts a string rubab from a jumble of dusty boxes to strum a poignant rendition of “Watan” (My Homeland) a record of national pride.

Now it feels like an act of resistance.

The Taliban have yet to officially ban music, as they did the last time they were in power.

But his fighters have forcibly stopped some weddings with live music. In others, the music plays, but only with a DJ.

Afghans wonder what a wedding is without music.

Coffee culture

Afghans traditionally drink a lot of tea.

But coffee has conquered Kabul in the last two decades.

Now the Taliban are back and business is not as dynamic. Some loyal clients, including young women, stay away.

The cafes not only changed tastes, they changed lives. They provided public spaces for the most educated and connected generation in Afghan history to filter out new ideas and projects and quietly socialize in a very conservative society.

“The Taliban can find a thousand reasons to shut us down,” warns a cafe owner.

Babur Gardens

The largest and most charming public space within this crowded city was designed in the 16th century in the classic four-garden “charbagh” pattern of Mughal Emperor Babur.

“I heard that he was fond of flowers, green spaces and places for relaxation and entertainment,” says 23-year-old Ahmad Shah, a young Taliban from Kandahar, southern Afghanistan, when I ask him what he knows about Babur. .

Groups of young Kandaharis in turbans and electric blue robes meander among beds of Afghan roses on their first visit.

These elegant gardens were devastated during the chaotic civil war of the 90s, then carefully restored after the fall of the Taliban in 2001 por la Agha Khan Trust for Culture.

It has been a beloved destination for visiting dignitaries, parties and picnics, including for the traditional national dance, which is danced with flutes and drums, the Atan-e-Milli.

“People should have fun, but Islam forbids music and dancing,” explains Ahmad Shah. “We will not hit people for doing it. We’ll just tell them they shouldn’t. “

Nadir Khan Hill

The domed marble mausoleum of Nadir Shah and his son Zahir Shah, the last Afghan king, crowns this brown hill.

Its gems have long been sparkling kites that dance with the wind, an Afghan symbol of freedom.

On the day of our visit there are only a few squares of silk rising in the sky.

“The Taliban have not vetoed comets. We are even blowing them up, ”insists a young Taliban.

In the first Taliban term, flying kites and kite fighting were taboo.

“There are fewer visitors now,” laments grave-keeper Habibullah.

It is now a popular destination for Taliban tourism.

As the sun sets, bathing the city in warm golden hues, youth groups continue to appear from all over the country.

They sport the trademarks of the Taliban: long hair, shorts, an assortment of glittery caps, and swirling turbans.

Sunset is rush hour for selfies, then time for prayers.

Colina Bibi Mahru

“I miss our flag so much,” says Shah Faisal, a former finance ministry official.

You’re visiting this popular grassy hill, dotted with picnic tables and white picket fences framed by multi-colored roses.

Behind us, a 200-foot-tall flagpole stretches like an empty spire into the Kabul sky.

Many Afghans say they miss their national standard, a gift from India that once towered over the city.

With 29 meters x 19 meters, there was no larger tricolor in the country.

The Taliban took down the green, black and red mega flag. They have quickly produced huge quantities of their white banner with their black Arabic shuhada, or the writing of the martyrs, but not large yet.

The hill, once stalked by thieves, is now safer, although a Taliban official ordered us to leave shortly after sunset and we weren’t able to take many photos.

It is mainly the Taliban who are lounging in their gardens, enjoying the panoramic view or climbing the multi-level diving board in the Soviet-built Olympic swimming pool.

It was never used for swimming because the water would not flow down this steep slope. The Taliban threw people to die here in the 1990s.

It is still empty in this city full of history.

_____________________________