25th Oct 2006

We set out on a trip which I had been wanting to do for a long time. Me and 5 friends were going north, with the final destination Khoja Bahoudin, a small town near the Tajik border, at the Khoja river.

Here, on September 9th, 2001 Ahmad Shah Massoud was assassinated in a building which contained his office. Kojah Bahoudin had become the location of his head quarters after he had to, after a fierce battle, hand over Taloqan to the Taliban in September 2000. 

Our first stop-over on the way there was just that Taloqan, a provincial town some two hours drive from Kunduz, one of the major towns in Afghanistan. These days the ISAF (international security assistance force) headquarters are located here.

The drive to Kunduz takes some 8 hours, depending on the number of pit-stops.

We were six people going, in two 4x4s: asside from myself Ahmad Zia, my Afghan friend, my Sri Lankan friend Ratha and three Canadian soldiers, work colleagues of Ahmad's

The drive first leads across the Shomali Plain towards the Salang Pass. At the town of Jebal-o-Seraj we turned left towards the Salang Pass rather than making a sharp right into the Panjshir Valley.

How often had I crossed this plain now - 4 times, 6 times? Too few times to make it look so familiar by now.

As always the natural beauty of these mountains is breathtaking - one majestic peak after the other as one climbs up the – still - well-maintained road. At this time of year – October – clouds started gathering around the peaks and it had turned quite frosty up there.

After one hour or so we had crossed the Pass and arrived at the town of Pul-i-Khumri in Baghlan Province. 

While Pul-i-Khumri is rather non-descript with a now to-be-privatised cement silo dominating the scenery, once we left the town, we experienced another two hours of picture perfect landscape, changing from open fields to rolling mountains. Small villages, donkies, camels ... 

Without stopping we passed through Kunduz and went straight on to Taloqan where we were planning on spending the night before moving on to Khoja Bahoudin the next day.

But we faced one problem - the only hotel in Taloqan was closed. So we went on to ask around for other accommodations and then luck struck: My Afghan friend ran into somebody who happened to know his father. So when he learned that we are looking for an accommodation he invited us to his house to stay overnight. Afghan hospitality in action!

The house was located at a small river and when we arrived it seemed that the food had been waiting for us, but in fact it was only the usual Eid spread that was awaiting potential visitors: all sorts of sweet biscuits, tea, fruits etc.

Then our Afghan friend went to the bazaar with his friend to buy the food for dinner, and about one hour later we were feasting on a spread of four different dishes.

In the meantime Ratha and I were invited to visit the women of the house.

We met the mother, the sister, the children - the typical gender segregation of an Afghan house. Perfectly normal to them, for people like us it is an experience and interesting to observe. When in their quarters the women do not wear a scarf, and the only males allowed there are the brothers or the father. This lifestyle is what they grew up with.

Outside of the house women still largely wear the Chadori, only young girls are exempted, no change here, compared with Kabul. Village-life, provincial life. women sit in the back of the car.  

26 Oct 2006 

We all woke up one by one at around 7am. The sky was overcast, but the temperature was warmer than Kabul.

The drive from Taloqan to Khoja Bahoudin is absolutely stunning, one photo opportunity after the other – it is hard to describe in words. The drive took longer than we thought, some five hours.

The town of Khoja Bahoudin, again, is non-descript, a dusty little border town, but the Khoja river below is beautiful.

Amir Sahib’s office is a building on a little hill, somewhat set aside from the village proper. A driveway leads up to it, the helicopter landing spot was some 100 metres away.

There are several people guarding the building, only one in police uniform. After a quick explanation as to what we came here for, we were straight away let to the room where it all happened.

Two suicide bombers, disguised as television journalists, had been on Amir Sahib’s trail for weeks. They first attempted to assassinate him in Panjshir, but failed, as his arrival was delayed, they tried to get on board the same helicopter for a flight to from Panjshir to Khoja Bahoudin but were bumped off as the machine was overloaded. Finally, after weeks of waiting they managed to get their “interview” which ended in disaster, there, in that little border town. It has often been highlighted that his murder occurred two days before the 09/11 attacks. In my view this is a co-incidence as the assassins would have struck at first opportunity in Panjshir – weeks before the word trade centre attacks.

Originally the room was all charred, a scene of total destruction. Now they have painted the walls white, removed all the furniture, the only real reminder of the explosion are the char-coaled chandeliers on the ceiling. Amir Sahib had sat in an armchair with his back against the window when one of the suicide bombers exploded the camera stuffed with explosives. Amir Sahib was rushed to the helicopter - but too late he died soon after lift-off. The bomber was blown into two parts, the accomplice who tried to flee was shot while doing so. 

Our Afghan friend and I were the only ones in our group to stay in the room. We sat in one corner each and cried. My heart was close to bursting, yet I was not really aware that I was here.

TO MUCH TO EXPRESS WELL IN WORDS.

We discovered blood stains on the wall where he sat, on the window sill - to think it is his blood drove the tears to my eyes yet again.

I put down a rose which I had brought along, a note attached to it said simply:

Can't Cry Hard Enough

As we drove away from the house I did not want to leave, I could have lingered for hours. I wanted to find the spot where they filmed a segment of "Afghanistan Revealed". I wanted to look for the Orchard where he walked past, past those row of mud-brick houses, past Reza and his camera. But we did not know where to look, it was pointless to ask the locals as they would not have seen the video.

So we drove away - pledging to come back in 2007, on 9th September.

As we drove through the dust cloud our other vehicle was creating in front of us, I felt lost, I felt yet again torn way, away from him ...

From Khoja Bahoudin we drove straight to Kunduz via a route, which we were told was a short-cut and which would leave a bad taste between us and our Canadian companions.

After crossing the flatland which leads out of Khoja Bahoudin the landscape turns into a step-like one. The trees disappear, thorny grass grows at the roadside, the road without tarmac, turning into rubble. The going becomes slower, but we could manage well in our four-wheel drives. What made the progress harder was the fact that we were driving straight into the setting sun and combined with the dust the wind and our vehicles whisked up it was impossible to see the road at times.

So instead of the anticipated three hours it took us five hours back to Kunduz.

This upset our Canadian companions who had not followed our recommendations to pump petrol on the way up to Khoja Bahoudin. Now worried that they might get stranded they started blaming their Afghan friend for the choice of route.

After a brief argument our two vehicles basically separated and drove to Kunduz without further communication.

Them being military personnel they managed to stay in an army camp in Kuduz which offered accommodation but we as civilians had to find a hotel - which we swiftly did.

Right at the main road was the Kunduz Hotel which had very acceptable rooms for 60US$ per night - without breakfast quite steep but it was decent, with hot shower so we did not mind.

27th Oct 2006

The next morning we decided to skip breakfast in the hotel as they did not quite seem to be prepared for it and decided to buy food on the way back - our breakfast in the car ended up being chilli chips, fresh naan, apples and coke. It does not sound appetising but it was great

And then it was back through the rural beauty of northern Afghanistan, back across the Salang Pass and the Shomali Plain to Kabul.

But before we got back to Kabul, the trip had one more surprise in stall: just at the beginning of the Salang Pass the acceleration transmission of our car started to cave in. The higher we climbed the less power the accelerator produced. So we turned around and found a small repair shop on the way down. They cleared our dust filter, changed our diesel filter. Even though this turned out not to be the actual reason, it helped to get us across the Salang Pass into Kabul. 

To summon up three days which  passed too fast:

This trip was a dream come true - the reason and destination so sad, yet the journey so beautiful. Words can never adequately describe the beauty of this country. I hope that the photos in the corresponding photo album speak more than words. 

Only now, writing these lines, do I realise that I was there - where Amir Sahib died, were our dream broke, where our hearts broke ...