I can’t tell you the name of the village that this travel account documents, because it could possibly endanger the innocent villagers. I can tell you that it is a small village in the Nuristan Province, one of the most isolated regions in eastern Afghanistan. It sits in the western valley of the Eastern Hindu Kush. It is accessible by helicopter or by a single undeveloped road that perilously threads it way through the mountains and valleys. I travelled via the latter and can report that the road offers some stupendous views and spine-tingling, catastrophe-inclined, drop-offs. This journey took approximately six hours.
Arriving at Village in the early afternoon, we were enthusiastically greeted at the outskirts of the village by a gaggle of children waving furiously as we approached. As we got closer, their enthusiasm was suddenly replaced with curious stares and skittish actions. The children’s actions conveyed to us that they were unfamiliar with westerners. As we came to a stop on the road and a cloud of dust settled around us, the children collectively surrounded our vehicles. Smiling, we exited our vehicles and began introducing ourselves. The children smiled back and some even gathered the courage to shake our hand or just touch us. With the help of a language assistant, we asked one of the oldest children to pass along a request to any of the village elders. We politely asked for permission to enter the village. The young Afghan acknowledged our request and ran away quickly towards the village.
A few minutes later, a large contingent of older Afghan men appeared walking towards us on the unpaved road, leading to the village. I held my breath as they approached, unsure of the reception to follow. However, my concern was quickly dispelled as I saw as they drew closer that they were smiling and open handed. One older man, dressed in a mustard colored chapan and pakol stepped ahead of the group with outstretched hands and in a strong voice asked, “Salaam, Chetor Asten?” to which I replied, Tashakur, Khub astum. He grasped my right hand firmly as his smile broadened. Covering my heart with my left hand I introduced myself and in return, he confidently introduced himself and several of the other men. He then asked us to walk with them to the river in the village. My heart raced as I was excited about the invitation.
Together, we walked down the road into the village. The village, from what I could see, consisted of a continuous row of structures on both sides of the unpaved road. These structures were homes, shops, a mosque, and government offices, all of mostly earthen material, with a smattering of man-made materials interspersed within. One side of the road ran parallel to a mountainous ridge; the other side ran parallel to a fast running river. Across the river the earth turned sharply upwards forming another steep ridge. I noticed structures built high-up on the ridge. It appeared that these were the outside walls of home compounds.
As we walked, we talked about the village and I commented on the wonderful greeting we had received by the children upon our approach to the village. I learned that the village had just opened a new school. I was able to share that we had coincidentally brought along school supplies that we wanted the village children to have. In addition to the school supplies, we had rice, cooking oil, other food supplies, and blankets for the village.
We walked through the village down to the river. Once we arrived at the bank of the river, we were directed to sit on fine carpets under the shade of a large tree. Chay appeared almost simultaneously and we accepted it with gratitude. The Afghan men joined and sat among us. We sat enjoying our chay under the shade of the tree smiling and nodding at each other.
After a few minutes, the man who had introduced himself outside the village spoke. He asked in Pashto, why we had come to his village. I turned to my language assistant and said, “We are here to make friends”. Upon translation, all the men began to laugh aloud and my new friend advised me that we had traveled a great distance to make friends. I agreed with him and again, all the men laughed aloud. That was the way the conversation went for more than an hour. During a lull, I asked if they would accept our gifts of school supplies and other things. There was a short debate, but the consensus was that they would and I made arrangements to deliver the supplies. One of the elder men asked if we planned to stay in the village. I replied that we would like to, only for a night, through my language assistant, provided that we were welcome. All the men assured us that we were welcome, but added that they could not ensure our safety because there were bad men in the hills. Several of the Afghan men pointed to high hills that almost surrounded the village. I replied that we were thankful and that we knew of the bad men that he spoke of. Again, there were laughs all around. At around this time, a young man approached our group and spoke the men, who in turn to us and invited us to have a meal with them. We readily accepted.
Our meal was delivered to us by young boys, carrying heaping trays of fried fish and rice. We ate as a group and filled our bellies. The meal was tasty and satisfying. The conversation was light and as tensions eased, the Afghan men began questioning each of us about our lives in our own countries. The Afghan men listened attentively and peppered us with one question after another. Hollywood was a hot topic, but our attempts to give accurate accounts seemed to be discounted for what the Afghan men already “knew”. Upon completion of the meal, the Afghan men began to excuse themselves and after awhile, we were left alone. I would be untruthful if I said that we were not concerned. However, the concern turned out to be unwarranted. Just after the evening call-to-prayer, several of the men approached us again with smiles and handshakes.
We were shown a structure in which we were told that we were welcome to sleep in for the night. We obtained permission to move our vehicle into the village, which was granted. After this was accomplished, we checked out the structure that had been offered. It appeared safe, defensible, and we were able to park our vehicles very close to the structure, which was reassuring. This all taken into consideration, we moved our packs into the structure just as the sun was setting. I rolled out my sleeping bag and performed my evening hygiene regimen. I then checked on our security detail. Satisfied, I crawled into my bag and drifted off to sleep.
Early the next morning, we were rocketed and attacked by small arms fire. Luckily, the enemies aim was poor and their attention span was short, as the attack only lasted for a few minutes. After the attack, we collectively checked on each other, and finding no injuries or undue cause for concern, we maintained our security and then most of us went back to sleep.
As the sun rose, so did I. Hungry, but rested we met the new day. By the morning call-to-prayer, we were all packed and ready to go. As we were shouldering our packs, several of the Afghan men whom we had met the day before appeared outside our borrowed structure. Upon seeing us, they immediately flooded us with apologies for the night’s disturbance. We collectively laughed and I advised them with the help of my language assistant, that there was no need for apologies, as all of us had gotten good nights sleep, despite the disturbance. Our new friends insisted that we have chay and a meal before our departure. We accepted and again went down by the river to enjoy some chay, melons, noni, and rote. During breakfast one of the Afghan men asked us to stay and watch a game of buzkashi. I politely declined, and honestly told the man that I would have enjoyed watching the competition, but we had our duties and we had to be moving on.
After breakfast, we collected our belongings, moved them out to our vehicles, and said our goodbyes. Hopefully, we had been good ambassadors and accomplished our mission. I felt that we had. We were given a grand send-off by the village children. As the village disappeared in our rear-view mirrors, I felt a little sad. The warmth, sincerity, and true hospitality of the Afghans at this village was very moving. While I was happy to have made some new friends, I doubted that I would ever see any of them again. Perhaps though, the next westerner that came to call would find their visit as welcoming, if not more so. Time will tell.