Afghanistan Adventures

Salam Kabul – Part II ..Strangely Familiar

Link to Part I:  Salam Kabul - Part I

As I made my way hesitatingly towards the red channel wondering why would the customs officer want me to go through the red channel – I’m not even carrying any red label or any other banned items with me. With this thoughts, I neared him, he took a quick look at my baggage tag and showed me to the almost empty exit. Then it dawned on me that he was actually trying to help me a foreigner struggling to make my way through the crowded exit at the green channel...

As I came out of the exit gate, a balmy breeze wafted around me enveloping me in a totally unfamiliar coolness. By Chennai standards, anything less than 25 degree celsius is cool and here I’m shivering at 12 degrees celsius, pulling the zipper on my borrowed jacket all the way up to my chin. I pushed my trolley forward, vaguely looking out for a driver with perhaps my misspelt name on a placard, to pick me up 

“Good evening, welcome to Afghanistan, Mr. Prince”, a lilting female voice startled me. Turning to my right I saw a beautiful young girl wearing a Mantau chalvar (yes, I had Googled it) over her jeans and a pair of pink adidas trainers. She was wearing a designer scarf that neatly covered her head and firmly tied up under her chin. Still smiling she offered her hand in a friendly handshake without seeming to notice my completely bewildered look...

After all the stories I read about Afghanistan and how women are under strict rules in the way they should dress up, here I was with an Afghan girl dressed conservatively but yet modern and accompanying me on my very first visit to a strange country. As she welcomed me in English, my joy doubled as I dreamt about having long conversations with her in English ..Meanwhile, she briskly walked slightly ahead of me, smiling and nodding her delicate head...

Momentarily, I was distracted from my reverie as she gestured towards the parking lot no.3 lined up with SUVs of all sizes. And there standing beside a massive Land Cruiser was Aziz* my driver –  tall and well built, clean shaved and wearing a nice jacket that easily out did my tacky hand-me-down jacket. He greeted me with a professional “Namaste’ very much like the door man at any of the Taj Hotels back in India. Next to him stood Nazar, the body guard dressed in battle fatigues and a trade-mark Pakol on his head. Nazar did not smile at me nor greet me, just nodded, took the heavy red suitcase from me and effortlessly lifted it on to the tall tail gate of the Toyota 4WD as if it were just a hand bag and loaded it safely under the folded rear seats. 

Nazar opened the rear door for me to get in and quickly shut the door and went on to the front to take his seat beside Aziz in the front. By the time I climbed up into the high seat of the SUV, my young reception party was already seated there with the same sweet smile on her face. With that lingering smile, she eased back on to the comfortable leather seats, threw one elegant leg over another, took out her iPhone and soon was lost in it. Realisation dawned on me that “Good evening and Welcome to Afghanistan" is all the English she knew! All my fantasy of serenading her with some sweet banter evaporated that very moment... 

Without any other option, I peeped out through the window and realised that the car had almost come to the exit of the airport. When Aziz stopped at the boom gate, Nazar quickly got out and walked ahead of us. Soon after passing through the security, Aziz pulled over to the side and in climbed Nazar with what looked like an assault rifle in his hand and a beaming smile on his face -like a child who was reunited with his favourite toy. “No guns allowed inside the airport complex’’ Aziz explained matter of factly. I took a deep breath to calm myself down as realisation sank in that I’m now in one of the most dangerous places on earth and my life from hereafter is going to depend on these professionals. As if reading my thoughts, Nazar turned back to look at me for a brief second and smiled. While acknowledging his assuring smile, I noticed his rugged good looks that reminded me of Sean Connery from his younger days. The car passed through streets lined with armoured cars and soldiers standing guard at official buildings, huge bill boards with bold Persian lettering running from left to right..

Aziz fiddled with the car stereo until it tuned in to a station that was playing old Hindi film songs, my anonymous beauty sitting next to me yet engrossed in her own world on her mobile phone and the quiet but assuring presence of Nazar in the front seat...and the customs officer who guided me to the less crowded exit gate through the red channel  - in their own ways, they have made me forget the nervous jitters of landing in a conflict ridden violent country– at least for a brief while. I pushed my head back on to my headrest, hummed the familiar tune I heard on the radio and relaxed for the rest of my journey...

Later that night as I sank into the comfortable warmth of my bed within a heavily fortified guest house with barbed wires on 20 feet high walls,  strangely I felt at home. 

Concluded 

* Names are changed to protect their identity