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On the road towards Kabul, as I sat in a Toyota van
packed with about fifteen other passengers, I did not
dare take any pictures. Taking pictures would have
drawn attention to me that could have spelled trouble,
especially given my short beard. However, I was glad
that none of the passengers or anyone else seemed
bothered by my short beard. Also, I felt at ease,
given that I received a letter from the Vice and
Virtue office in Laghman attesting that I had returned
from abroad.
During the six-hour trip, which used to take only two
and one half hours before the wholesale destruction of
the road, the van stopped once for lunch and prayers,
and several times for cooling off the car radiator by
spraying water on it. As the van drove close to
Pule-Charkhi, the ruins of the factories on both sides
of the street welcomed me to Kabul. Looking at the
complete and systematic destruction, I
imagined how it must have been; bullets flying, rocket launchers hitting
back
and forth, while families and crying children taking
cover at the complete mercy of others. It must have
been like hell. The big holes in the factories and in
the surrounding houses proved it. The van sped
through the area because the road was paved, which is
rare, and because there were just a few bicyclists on the
road. Meanwhile, I was getting anxious to see Kabul
and those who lived there during the seventeen years
that I had been living abroad. However, for obvious
reasons, I presented myself as being nonchalant and
calm. To not draw any unwanted attention to me, I was giving the
impression that traveling to Kabul was a weekly affair for me.
I was pleased to be able to take pictures on my way back from Kabul, as
I rented a Toyota Landcruiser. Some of those pictures are posted below.
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