Afghan Scene Magazine August 2011

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AFGHAN
ISSUE 85 - Augusl 20TT
Cne mon's lourney from combol lo coke
Hordshio living
8e Scene
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www.afghanscene.com Afghan Scene August 2011
Afghan Scene August 2011
Afghan Scene August 2011 www.afghanscene.com
7 lnlroduclion
T0 Who is Ihe Child Prodigy?
A Kabul at Work vignette
T4 Hordshio Living
A guest column about the privations expat aid workers face
working in developing countries
28 8e Scene
Pictures from the latest events and parties
30 Afghonislon's Golden Doys
Thirty-five years ago Rosalind Stuart Young travelled half-
way round the world on local transport, hitch-hiking where
necessary, staying with the people she met along the way.
Here are her photographs
48 From combol lo coke
Scene showcases photographs by Jason P Howe, whose
oeuvre ranges from war photography to commercial shoots
54 Afghon Essenliols
All you need to know about where to go in Kabul
66 Mod dogs ond Englishmen
How one British soldier ended up saving puppies in
Helmand
T0
30
48
Publisher: Afghan Scene Ltd, Wazir Akbar Khan, Kabul, Afghanistan
Manager & Editor: Afghan Scene Ltd, Kabul, Afghanistan
Design: Kaboora Production
Advertising: sales@afghanscene.com
Printer: Emirates Printing Press, Dubai
Contact: info@afghanscene.com / www.afghanscene.com
Afghan Scene welcomes the contribution of articles and / or pictures from its readers.
Editorial rights reserved.
Cover photo: Rosalind Stuart Young
lnlroduclion Conlenls
5
AFGHAN
ISSUE 85 - Augusl 20TT
8ellwood Preslbury od
Check us out on
Keep updated at:
www.facebook.com/
Afghan.Scene
lnlroduclion
Noslolgio:
nol whol il used lo be
7
A
fghanistans golden era of peace
sometimes gets such a heady press
thats its hard to see how that
Afghanistan ended up being this
Afghanistan. Before the days of emails and
mobile phones, Lancashire lass Rosalind
Stuart Young travelled overland from
Australia to the UK taking public transport
or hitchhiking, and staying with the people
she met along the way. It was the summer of
1976 when she arrived in Afghanistan.
The photographs she snapped and that
Scene publishes here are a reminder of the
Afghanistan still visible behind the walls of
old, tree-fringed compounds in Kabul and
beyond the pollution-choked confines of
the city. But her diary notes are also a wry
remembrance that some things endure: on one
occasion the driver of the bus she is travelling
refuses to go any further until two suspicious-
looking soldiers come down from the roof,
where they are sitting with the luggage,
because they are not reliable.
This edition also includes a satirical look at the
hardships of expat life, courtesy of the Stuff
Expat Aid Workers Like blog, an introduction
to Afghanistans foremost child actor and a
retrospective of photographer Jason P Howes
coverage of Afghanistan, which has evolved
from focusing on combat to an entirely
different take on the country.!"
editor@afghanscene.com
Scene Team
Conlribulors
Afghon Scene Mogozine is oroud lo showcose work from lhe besl
ohologroohers in Afghonislon
David Gill is a British writer, photographer and videogarpher focusing on a social
documentary and overseas development. His current book project
Kabul, a City at Work is a selection of over 100 original portraits.
web.mac.com/shot2bits/work
Almosl oll of lhe ohologroohs ond corloons feolured in Afghon Scene ore ovoiloble
for sole direcl from lhe orlisls. Mosl of lhem ore ovoiloble for commissions, here ond
elsewhere. lf you would like lo conlribule lo Afghon Scene, or if you con'l gel hold of o
conlribulor, oleose conlocl edilor@ofghonscene.com.
Former war photographer Jason P Howe is the subject of a Hollywood movie. He has
not told the producers about his decision to start photographing salad bars
Rosalind Stuart Young was hellbent on being an explorer and had hitch-hiked across
South Africa, Australia and New Zealand before arriving in Afghanistan
in 1976 en route to her home in England
Manu. Cartoonist, UN employee critic of B.U.LS.H.I.T. Task Forces, PhD student at UC
Berkeley. Originally from Brittany, France, living in Brooklyn, NY. I contribute cartoons
to stuffexpataidworkerslike.com, HeloMagazine.org, and Rue89, a French news
website where I have a guest blog. My personal website is www.manucartoons.com
and I am also on Facebook and, since very recently, on Twitter.
8
http://stuffexpataidworkerslike.com www.manucartoons.com
9
Corloon scene
Kobul at work Kobul at work
T0 TT
Who is lhe
Child Prodigy?
www.afghanscene.com Afghan Scene August 2011 Afghan Scene August 2011 www.afghanscene.com
Jawanmard Paiz | David Gill
Nome:Jowonmord Poiz
Age: T3 yeors
Lenglh of coreer: 7 yeors
lncome: $T000 oer movie
number of films: 5
Locolion: Ioimini PDT3
"For me, il isn'l
oboul being
fomous. ll is
oloying differenl
choroclers."
Kobul at work Kobul at work
T2 T3
play acting games, which helps us to pretend to
be other people.
I suppose I am a bit famous now but my
classmates treat me normally. Sometimes when
people see me in the streets they come up to me
and shake my hand. And sometimes, when I go
shopping, they give me a discount. Its the older
boys in my school who can be a bit jealous and
gossip about. For the most part I like school and
am good at every subject, not a genius, just good.
Apart from maths. I am bad at maths.
I want to act in films which, when people see
them, they say Bravo! This is Afghan Film making.
The money is good, I dont want to say what
my fee is per film as you cant compare it to
I
cant claim that I am a good actor or the best
actor, but I am good for my age. I have been
acting in films since I was four. Films like;
Opium Wars, Earth & Ashes and Buzkashi
Boys. My first screen appearance was in Oriental
Diamond but I was only two and a half so I dont
remember it. My father is the Vice President of
the Afghan Film and my three brothers have
acted in films so it has always been part of my
life. Earth & Ashes was my first big break. Atiq
Rahimi, the director was a friend of my father. I
went for a casting and he liked me.
In the last film, I played a street kid. It was the
first time I had played someone like that so it was
interesting. I never had any formal training but we
They arent actors and so laugh so we all end up
laughing together.
My favourites films are the ones I was in, but I
also like Troy. I watch it over and over again. I like
Scarface too. And my favourite actor? It would
have to be Talash. In Hollywood my favourite is
Robert de Niro, Al Pacino, Brad Pit and that guy
in Face Off Nicolas Cage, yeah he is really good.
I like him. Oh and Jean Claude Van Damme and
Jackie Chan he is so funny! One day Id like to be
a politician actor like Arnie. "
Bollywood. It just isnt the same here. But I get
more than $1000 per film.
My country has been in the wars for so long that
Afghan Cinema is still undeveloped. I hope that
one day, we will be as recognised as much as
Bollywood, or even Hollywood.
When I am not acting or at school I meet my
friends and we play football or computer games.
I also like filming my friends acting out famous
scenes from movies on my mobile phone.
Kabul: A City At Work is a multi-media project, led by a joint international and Afghan crew
collecting interviews, photographic portraits and video shorts of the people of Kabul in their working
environments. You can find out more at www.kabulatwork.tv
Filming in Kabul | David Gill On the set of Buzkashi Boys | David Gill
"Cne doy l'd like
lo be o oolilicion
oclor like Arnie."
8log scene 8log scene
T4 T5
hardship living and displacement that the EAW
faces on a regular basis.
The fancy living arrangement enjoyed by EAWs
from certain agencies makes up for the hardship
of being stationed away from their own culture,
and is fairly standard across most countries
where you find EAWs.
When you arrive at the gate protecting the
EAWs home from the locals, there will be a
security guard. Its always the same guard for
H
aving to move around a lot is one of the
serious downsides of being an Expat Aid
Worker (EAW). It can be rough having
to carry your belongings across the world every
two to three years and setting up a home that
is 12 to 15 times nicer than the one you would
occupy in your country of origin. The mansion
of a certain level of employee from a certain
type of bi- or multi-lateral agency in a family
duty station in the capital of a nice and calm
African country like Ghana is really just a small
compensation that only partly makes up for the
on 24/7 because she likes the house cool when
she gets back from work and her husband is from
Sweden so he likes the cold too.
Entering the door you nearly knock over a huge
wooden statue of a Buddha. From her time in Laos
she explains. In the hall 10 scary looking masks
are staring at you. From her time in Zimbabwe she
explains, without you asking. The next wooden
object is from Yemen and so on. The house is
like a trip down memory lane. All the pieces of
furniture (except some Billy bookcases from IKEA)
are from different countries and have long stories
attached, where they are from and how much she
bargained off the original price.
The house, even though its enormous, is
surprisingly stuffed. There two full Billies with
photo albums covering her and her familys whole
life. There are yearbooks from high school. There
are Swedish winter clothes, snowboards and
other useful supplies for a country on the equator
as well as five boxes with nativity scenes and
Christmas decorations. One room is completely
stuffed with groceries. Washing powder for four
years, salsa in big jars of five litres, and more
cereal than you could possibly eat in your whole
life. All shipped from the home country of course
as there is no proper washing powder in Africa.
And this subgroup of Expat Aid Workers doesnt
like the funny taste of a different sauce on their
Doritos. And they do like to carry their whole life
around wherever they go or live. You never know
when you want to put that woollen sweater on
with the AC being so cold, right? "
the day and one for the night, 7 days a week.
Holidays, weekends off, a lunch break or other
excessive luxury you will hardly ever find. The
guard is always sleeping while on duty so you will
need to honk your horn a few times before he will
open the gate.
Your host will come and greet you at the porch,
complaining that her guard is always asleep and
that she has had to fire a few of them because
of that. Eventually she gave up and got a dog
shipped from the home country to help her
feel safe. Proudly she will announce that her
guards get paid way more than the guards of the
neighbours who work for the French Embassy. She
pays 40 dollars a month and covers the school
fees of all the guards children too! But watch
out, because you give them one finger and they
take the whole hand, she warns. For the love of
God, one now even asked for money for his wife
to go to the hospital. The guards sell phone credit
on the street for the other 12 hours of the day or
night that they are off to be able to make a proper
living. Hence the always sleeping while on duty.
The kitchen staff seem to have the same problem,
even though they really dont work very much,
she will tell you.
Once you enter the compound, youll notice that
the house looks like it comes straight out of MTV
cribs. Its huge, with 6 bedrooms and at least 3
bathrooms, maybe more. Our host can even teach
her expat yoga classes at night inside as the living
room is a ballroom and easily fits 20 people on a
yoga mat. Its nice and cool inside as the ACs are
This post first appeared at http://stuffexpataidworkerslike.com/
Submilled by Pose
Hordshio Living
70ssoireeArielandJulesatAltai
Be scene
Shore your evenl or oorly oics wilh Aghon Scene. Emoil edilor@ofghonscene.com
Afghan Scene August 2011 www.afghanscene.com www.afghanscene.com Afghan Scene August 2011
Porly scene
Porly scene
T T7
Aegean operators | Iason looks on as Nick has a bright idea Afghan pride | Naimullah, Yama, Latif, Waheed and Ajmal show
off their soccer skills
Laughter in the dark | Miles and Joanie at Nicks farewell Three people much taller than scenes snapper | Matt, Melissa
and Rima at Nicks farewell
On the town | Rima introduces Neerav to expat parties Kabul party people | Emily and Nina hit the party circuit Lets talk about me | Raj, JPH and Tara discuss a certain,
imminent hollywood blockbuster
Ladykiller | Matt charms Clem, Emma, Heidi and Em
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23
Corloon scene
24
Hislory scene Hislory scene
25
as far as the border and left 9:30 am with
15 of usall various nationalities.
Rugged barren scenery for 34 miles to the
border, winding our way up through the
Khyber Pass with old forts and buildings
along the way and passing taxis (vans)
loaded with people, on the roof and
hanging on to the back.
Before the pass, stopped at barrier and
each pay one rupee tax which goes to the
tribal people in the mountains in the south.
Reach the border 12 noon and after
checking through another lot of very
spread out offices, most people go on a
big local bus the 140 miles to Kabul. We
go on a local vehicle with two Pakistani
brothersMushin and Tamir (the former
just going to Kabul for a few days and
Friday 2 July
Really comfortable night and sorry to have
to get up at 6:00 am to go to bus station.
For the first time since I began the Asia
part of my travels I start meeting up with
Europeans. One Afghan Post bus full and
leaving at 7:00 am. A crowd trying to get
35 people together so that the second bus
can leave (one meant to go at 7:00 and one
at 8:00 every day). Get up to 16 people and
leave them to go and take some pictures.
Got 23 people and the driver was prepared
to go but the manager didnt want him to
or something. Then the driver decided to go
home as wasnt feeling well and was meant
to be his day off anyway! As usual we were
all told to stay another day but managed
to get a minibus from somewhere to take us
Ihe
Golden Doys
Ihirly-five yeors ogo Posolind Sluorl Young lrovelled holf-woy round
lhe world on locol lronsoorl, hilch-hiking where necessory, sloying
wilh lhe oeoole she mel olong lhe woy. Ihese were lhe doys when
lhe girls wore miniskirls in Kobul, golden-hoired hiooies drifled
down Chicken Slreel, ond lhe word 'cleon' wos one you could
slill oooly lo lhe Afghon cooilol. As she lrovelled from Peshowor
lo Kobul lo Kondohor lo Heorl she look oiclures ond mode noles,
which she shores here wilh Scene. Pholos by lhe oulhor
The author in a red dress in Kandahar
2
27
two army men are travelling on the roof and
we stop. He says they are not reliable and
proceeds to take our packs and other luggage
down. Asks if theres any money in there and
we tell them, no. They come down though
and travel inside so the luggage goes back up.
A boy keeps running to the river to get some
fresh mountain water for drinking in his tin
then tries to sell it to us!
Come to another barrier and two more army
men jump up onto the roof. The driver refuses
to move until they come down and in the end
he wins. Although arguing with each other
they did it in a very reasonable tone and
didnt shout at all. Everyone sat patiently and
quietly in the bus. A situation which depicted
the nature of the people as a whole.
Climb up onto a flat plainthe peaks of
mountains all around in the distance and
enter Kabul, the capital of Afghanistan about
6:00 PM. Its the third capital of the country.
First Herat was for about 150 years, then
Kandahar for about 100 years. Stay with the
three boys at the Ghaznavi hotelvery nice,
big, spacious room with view out over canal
and hill dotted with square, clay houses. No
fans. No netting on windows. Freezing cold
shower waterin the only place we want it
warm as the weather really quite cool.
Loo set in stone block which Im unsure
whether to squat over or sit on!
Walk out in the refreshing cool evening air.
Both had the impression Afghanistan was
then going back, and the latter going to
the UK) and Iranian, Gulam, going home
for University holidays. All three studying
together in Lahore.
Dry and rocky with hills in the distance
either side and mountains at the back to
the south with little strips of snow on them
looking like waterfalls. More checkpoints
and an officer makes a tribal lady at the
back of the vehicle open up her bag as they
apparently sometimes smuggle shawls and
things from the border area.
Change at Jalalabad. Have lunch of chapatti
and kyeegg, tomates, onion and bits of
meat in a bowlwhich is delicious, actually
find something with no spice! Crowded with
Afghan men just sitting and listening to the
music playingthe way the poor with only
seasonal jobs pass most days.
Stalls and stalls of fresh fruitapples, oranges,
plums, apricots, cherriesthe lot. Beautiful!
Catch minibus on to Kabulseems very bare
inside after Pakistan, with no decorations, but
their buses are as decoratively done up.
Comfortable though, and cassette tapes
throw out Afghan music. Some hens squawk
under the front seat! Watches back half-
an-hour. Drive on the right. Breathtaking
scenery alongside river with bright, green,
translucent water between sheer mountain
faces. Cloudless blue sky and whizzing along
the whole thing just doesnt seem real.
The driver seems to suddenly realize that
Kandahari men
28
2
quite an under-developed country so utterly
stunned to find a clean, modern city with
much contrast and very Europeanisedcan
buy absolutely everything. The most amazing
thing, which we cant get over, is the modern
dress that some of the girls are wearing
miniskirts, platform shoes, smart trousers.
Men in suits and ties and boys in well-cut
shorts and trouserstogether with those not
so well-off Afghans in their matching wide-
bottomed trousers and long tunic top with a
cloth wrapped in a circle on their heads with
a splayed cap in the middle. And the Muslim
ladies with their veils right over them with
tiny square holes over their face making them
look like a fencer! Some in blue, others in
green, red, purple, brown. Most of the shops
are shut as Friday is a holiday in Muslim
countries.
Eat at the Khyber Restaurantget really big
servings here, maybe why the people seem
larger! Really friendly. Quite a lot of English
spoken and a lot of French. Very pleasing,
attractive features, dark reasonable length
hair (not cropped like most Pakistanis) and
gorgeous smiles. Sleep between two sheets for
the first time for ages with a blanket on top
which honestly does feel most odd!
Peshawar
Herat
Peshawar
30
3T
Kabul before the developers moved in
32
33
Man with bowl in Peshawar
Kandaharis
Man in Peshawar
34
35
Butcher
Kabul
Peshawar bazaar
38
39
expensive as most things are imported. Good
views from the top.
Walk round streets and streets of market area
selling all sorts. A lot of second-hand shoe
and clothes stalls. Colourful vegetable market
by the canal.
Old time photo machine things in the streets.
Mushin and Tamir go to see an Indian film
which Pakistanis are very fond of and they
cant get them in Pakistan.
Gulam comes with us to help bargain at the
shops as can speak the language to them
since the government language is Persian.
Get things for almost half of the price they
originally ask for.
Bump into the Europeans who left with us on
the first bus from Peshawar.
Apple pie and yoghurt at The Steak Housea
most inappropriate name. Tables out in a
garden, quiet and peaceful listening to a sitar
and small [tabla] drums being played. Very
much a European joint and crowd on next
table are discussing Noddy and Big Ears! Quite
cold. Ankle really throbbing where bite is
so not really thinking clearly. My watch has
stopped too - it must feel like I do! "
Saturday 3rd July
Beautiful city by night and day. Lots of
private cars. Single-decker blue buses. Ford
taxis, proper street signs. Donkeys with a
load of fresh vegetables and fruit at intervals
along the street. An abundance of cut washed
carrots piled on stalls for carrot juice and
also a lot of apple juice around. Call at info
office and at the end of the road snow-
peaked mountains rise in the distance. Walk
down Chicken Street where there are shops
and shops of fabulous clothes, jewellery and
antiques and we immediately want to buy
everything in sight and feel its going to be
another Agra choosing the good from the
bad and finding the best bargainswhich will
mean a stay of at least three days!
Sue isnt very happy because theres hardly
any milk anywhere, which means no milky
coffee and their black or green chai isnt very
satisfying. Soon happy again when we find
loads of bakeries with an even better selection
of cakes than Kathmandujam tarts, lemon
meringue piesthe lot!
Stop off at Istanbul restaurant where we find
porridge, hamburgers, fresh orange juice and
everything. Look around trying to decide on
more things. Lunch in a restaurant at the top
of Afghan storea department store, just like
at home, which sells everything, but very

Men in Kabul
40
4T
On the road in the Khyber pass
42
43
Men with goats in Kabul
Herat
Kabul
44
45
Kabul
In Kabul with a box camera
Peshawar
48
Afghon scene Afghon scene
4
Two days later that photographer, while on
patrol in Kandahar province, stepped on an
anti personnel mine and lost both his legs.
It made me think a lot about which opinions
and judgements of us really matter. 10
years ago while the mocking friend in
question was squeezing his spots and
learning the Latin for Trust Fund I was
crouching in a ditch in Colombia in the
middle of my first ever fire fight between
left wing guerillas and government soldiers.
The idea that one day I might be doing a
commercial shoot of the logistical operation
of feeding the 130,000 foreign troops in
Afghanistan could not have seemed more
distant from my vision of the future.
A
colleague of mine recently mockingly
suggested that I should replace the
title photojournalist on my business
card with salad bar photographer.
A few days after this ribbing I was having
lunch with a much respected conflict
photographer, 15 years on the frontline in
every kind of unpleasant situation. I told him
about the new direction my photography was
taking, away from covering combat and into
the considerably safer realms of commercial
work. Instead of laughing or accusing me of
selling out he told me basically that it was
a wise decision and one not enough people
consider, since most conflict photographers
are completely addicted to their chosen field.
From combol
lo coke
When he slorled oul documenling Colombio's guerrillo wor,
ohologrooher Joson P Howe never imogined he'd end uo choosing
commerciol work over combol reoorloge.
He lells Scene oboul lhe lourney
Gem-hunter,
Panjshir valley
| Jason P Howe
50
5T
I first arrived in Kabul in October 2004
after 10 months of working almost
continually in Iraq. I was somewhat burned
out from reporting the non-stop cycle of
multiple suicide bombings, kidnappings and
destruction as the country continued to
descend into an ever worsening state
of chaos.
Afghanistan was a pleasant shock to my
system. The country was visually stunning,
the people, unlike Iraqis after a year of
occupation, seemed to be unexplainably
upbeat, positive and open considering that
they had endured decades of conflict.
There were photographs to be made
everywhere I looked and because of the
current news cycle (election time) and the
fact that compared to Iraq it was very safe
to work here, there were photographers
everywhere. The social scene was vibrant,
it reminded me of the Baghdad I first
experienced a year earlier, before 80 percent
of the media decided it was too unsafe to
work and headed elsewhere.
After a month in Afghanistan I returned to
Iraq and continued working there until late
2005 by which point assignments had almost
dried up and a double suicide bomb attack
devastated my hotel killing 15 and wounding
40. I was still in bed when the twin blasts
sent the glass from my windows and the
aluminium frames hurtling across the room,
dropped the ceilings, and tore all the doors
Afghan RPG gunner, Kajaki, 2007 | Jason P Howe
52
53
coverage. It is not an experience to take for
granted and yesmost people get paid or
make money from being there doing what
ever it is they do.
And I have found in general the people
doing it for the most part go through a
fairly serious amount of soul-searching to
find their own justifications for their choice
of lifestyle.
I returned to Afghanistan in April 2007 to
do my first embed with British forces in
Helmand province. Since then I have spent
at least 6 months of each year in country.
During some of those periods almost my
entire focus was on the conflict and frontline
combat operations. I am thankful though
that someone reminded me that every now
and then I should look up from that little
picture and see everything else that this
place has to offer. I began to take on other
types of assignments that explored the
culture that endures and thrives here despite
30 odd years of meddling in this country by
other self-enriching and self-labelled friends
and obvious foes.
Working in some 14 provinces I have been
able to get at least a taste of the diversity
of a country that is hard to imagine from a
bar, guesthouse or compound or only viewed
through the window of an armoured vehicle
within the confines of Kabul.
Some of the experiences that will stay with
me the longest would include a 21-day trip
into the Wakhan Corridor and the Pamir
from their hinges. Somehow I walked away
without a scratch but decided that sitting
around waiting for work to come along or
get killed was not the way ahead. I was done
with Iraq as a full time gig.
In 2006 I covered the brief but nasty war in
Lebanon. Once again the place overrun with
photographers. Paparazzi for the Dead was a
phrase that kept coming to mind as I watched
the jostling mob of reporters, cameramen and
photographers in a scrum around the latest
scene of death and destruction. I didnt want
to be competing to get the same picture as
10 other photographers, just from a slightly
different angle.
I began to question deeply my motives for
being there and for why I had been in Iraq
and about how I would choose what to do
next. It was a perplexing question and one
to which there were no easy answers.
The folks that like to judge the media
and many others who choose to work in
somewhat crazy and dangerous places and
situations find many easy labels to attach
to people. Adrenaline junkies, voyeurs,
tree-huggers, do-gooders, mercenaries
and so on... and in part there is probably
an element of all such things in the type
of person who chooses to spend a large
portion of their lives in conflict zones. They
definitely find it exciting and challenging,
seeing with their own eyes what millions
of other people around the world only get
to experience through the narrow filter
of TV news or other agenda-driven media
Amputee with daughter,
Kabul, 2008
| Jason P Howe
54
55
Children in the Wakhan corridor, 2009 | Jason P Howe
56
57
The road to Bamian, 2008 | Jason P Howe
58
59
Buzkashi, Mazar-e-Sharif, 2010 | Jason P Howe
0
T
overpriced food and drink, dreadful service,
security threats and weekly influx of bright
shiny nameless new faces thronging around
at every gathering. In direct contrast the
number of old friends seems to shrink week
by week.
It was late last year that I decided to
begin exploring the route of commercial
photography here in Afghanistan. I took
on a 3 month project documenting the
ethnic, cultural, religious, culinary and
topographic diversity of Afghanistan for a
leading telecoms company, which wanted
its billboards and adverts to show real
Afghan life rather than slick-haired, over-
dressed models shot in studios in Dubai
who to most Afghans just look like a
bunch of clowns.
I tried to shoot the images as much as I
could with a reportage or editorial feel to
them, which was my natural style since I
had no previous experience in setting up
pictures for a commercial application at
the time. The journey was very liberating
creatively and helped me fall back in love
with both Afghanistan and photography. I
was seeing many things that I had begun
to take for granted through new eyes.
When my next reportage assignment
came along I found I was much more
experimental in my approach and the
resulting work benefitted hugely. Now
I am thoroughly embracing the idea of
commercial work becoming my bread and
butter. No longer will I have to go and
shoot the same story for the fifth time
mountains on horses and yaks. The space,
peace and utter disconnection from the rest
of Afghanistan were breathtaking. Riding
in a Buzkashi game in Mazar-i-Shariff
(purely to get photos closer to the action)
would rate as one of the most intense
things I have ever done. It made those long
foot patrols through IED infested Helmand
somewhat benign in comparison.
But those little glimpses of real life here
I got from walking the streets of the old
city or some remote village in a distant
province, watching how people shop and
interact with each other. Sitting down to
share a meal or drink chai in someones
home. Photographing an Afghan surgeon
performing heart surgery or women doing
their hair and make up in a beauty parlour.
Noting all those little idiosyncrasies that are
so Afghan and marvelling at the tenacity,
adaptability and downright indestructibility
of the Afghan spirit. The day you find
nothing left to inspire you in Afghanistan is
the day you need to take a long break.
Of course this place has a million and
one ways to break the foreign visitor. My
digestive system is unfortunately no more
robust than it was when I first arrived.
Spending the 2007-8 winter in the cheapest
hotel in town whose toilets were frozen for
a whole month and whose gas heaters were
as likely to kill you as the cold was wasnt
too much fun. Ive watched those around
me go ever so slightly mad as they deal
with the daily power outages, almost non
existent internet connections, outrageously
Heart surgeon at FMIC,
Kabul, 2008
| Jason P Howe
2
63
Ive come to the realisation that for me
Afghanistan is part of a journey that I hope
will take me back to my photographic roots.
Here I have at least begun to learn how to
combine the excitement of working in the
intensity of combat and an appreciation
of the culture and tremendous beauty that
surrounds those tiny capsules of time.
The recent tragic events that have befallen
friends and colleagues here and elsewhere
have been a timely reminder of how quickly
our lives and future plans can vanish.
I would like to leave here somewhat wiser
and with my body and mind still intact.
But the clock is ticking and sadly that is an
option that escaped several of my friends
before they were able to take it.
Afghanistan has definitely taught me many
things. But its ability to adapt and survive
in its own way is humbling and inspiring and
something that I can certainly continue to
learn from.
because a new writer has arrived in town
and thinks they have had an original idea.
There are good and great stories out there
that need to be told and that I want to work
on. But they arent the trendy stories that
fit with what news editors have decided the
public want or need to be told about.
They still need to be done and often have
to be self-funded. My first ever foray
into photojournalism a decade ago was 5
years spent on and off in the jungles of
Colombia. I was documenting the 48-year-
old and counting power struggle between
the government and the right and left wing
militias and the resulting displacement
of millions of people. Back then I had the
energy, drive and belief to take any and all
risks both physically and financially to reach
my ultimate goal of publishing the first ever
book of photographs of that conflict. I went
there to learn, gain experience, establish
myself and I suppose by default make a
journalistic contribution.
Iraq was never MY story, it was a blip that
got in the way of me telling the stories
that I did really have a passion for and that
are being largely ignored by the media in
general.
And Afghanistan is yet a different situation,
there have been a great many photographers
who are far, far more skilled than me
covering this country for a long time before
I ever came here and after I leave it will still
be a place that new young photographers
come to learn and establish themselves.
Jason is available for editorial and commercial
assignments throughout Afghanistan.
(Salad Bars Included).
Contact him at: jason@conflictpics.com
Maths Afghan-style
in Helmand, 2011
| Jason P Howe
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8ook scene
67 66
8ook scene
free, the tighter
the noose
became. The
dog was slowly
killing itself.
Bollocks, I said
to myself.
The 100 yards
that separated
me from the
dog was in
no-mans-
land. Definitely
no place to pretend to be
a member of the RSPCA.
The obstacle was situated across the only
real road in this area of Helmand province,
a single strip of tarmac that ran north to
south for over 400 metres. At one time the
shops that ran along this road had sold fruit,
vegetables, watches, shoes, medicines, even
music tapes. Not so long ago their wares
Sergeant, I thought you might want to do
something about this.
Mase, the young Royal Marine who had called
me on the radio to join him in his sand-bagged
sentry post, was pointing towards the barbed-
wire road block. It was about 100 yards north
of our isolated compound in the Afghan
outpost of Now Zad.
Thick with rolls of gleaming, new wire, the
obstacle was designed to prevent a suicide
bomber driving directly into the compounds
thick mud walls. Today, however, it had only
succeeded in stopping something else a
small, white, terrified-looking dog.
Straight away I saw it had a wire noose tied
around its neck. I had seen dogs tied up like
that before out here in Afghanistan. This one
had obviously broken free from whatever it
had been tied to and tried to run through our
makeshift barrier, but the trailing strand of
wire from the noose had caught fast on the
barbed wire. The more it struggled to break
I closed my eyes, wondering why this was
happening to me.
Deep down I knew that I should just tell Mase
to carry on with his sentry duty and ignore
the dog. I knew others in my position wouldnt
even give the animal a second thought. They
would leave it to die of starvation or stand by
while it strangled itself to death. Hell, some
might even use it as target practice.
But I knew I couldnt just walk away. Especially,
given what had happened in the four months
or so since Id arrived in Helmand province.
I opened my eyes and turned my attention
back to the white dog.
It had stopped struggling and had resigned
would have been spilling out on to the road
tempting passers-by.
Now, however, there was no one to be seen,
and the fronts of the stores were a mess of
twisted metal and broken wood; their walls
decorated with bullet holes. No place to take
a stroll, even if you were carrying the worlds
largest white flag. Aside from the threat of
rifle fire, the network of alleyways that led off
the road was notorious as a hiding place for
local Taliban fighters. We had even named one
of the alleyways RPG alley, after the rocket-
propelled grenades that they fired at us.
As I scanned the scene now, I knew that the
Taliban could be hiding in any one of these
buildings just waiting for one of us to pop out
of the compound.
Mod dogs ond
Englishmen
ll's orobobly lhe world's mosl unlikely onimol rescue scheme.
Here Poyol Morine Sergeonl Pen Forlhing exoloins how he wenl lo
Helmond-ond ended uo soving ouooies
Pen Farthing with dogs RPG and Jena
8ook scene
69 68
8ook scene
Laters, I said to Mase as I dropped down on to
the HESCO block.
I had done some fairly stupid things during the
course of my life. As my feet hit the tarmac
road I thought that this might be the stupidest
yet.
My heart was racing. I took a deep breath.
Try not to get shot, idiot boy, or you wont
be much use to anybody, let alone the dog, I
scolded myself.
All my attention was focused on the ruined
shops ahead. There were a thousand shadows
inside the rubble-strewn buildings, which
meant a thousand dark places for an enemy to
hide. But everything seemed as it should have
been.
Yeah, for now, I muttered to myself.
I didnt have all day. I took one last look
through my weapon sight and moved towards
the dog, the muzzle of my rifle moving with
me as I scanned the area. I ran at a crouch up
the centre of the tarmac road. The dog was
only about 70 yards ahead now. It seemed to
have resigned itself to being caught in the
wire, but as I got closer it started to fight to
free itself again, obviously panicking that I
might try to hurt it.
Chill, dog, Im on your side, I called out as I
arrived.
I was conscious of talking too loudly, but
the dog struggling against the wire obstacle
was making enough noise as it was. With the
itself to lying on the ground, panting heavily
from the exertion of trying to break free.
I explained my plan to Mase, although there
wasnt much of one. I removed my webbing
and radio and placed them down on the floor
of the sand-bagged sentry post, or sangar as
we called them. I took out an extra magazine
of ammunition and shoved it in my combat
trousers pocket, just in case.
The plan was simple. The front of the sangar
had a narrow slit that the sentry looked
through, which was big enough for a man to
slide through sideways. I would squeeze out
through the slit, down to the edge of the roof
on which the sangar was perched, then jump
four feet down to the top of the sand-filled
HESCO block that protected the base of the
building, and then drop off the side of that on
to the tarmac road.
I waved at the sentry in the next sangar along.
He waved back.
I pointed my weapon through the slit first and
then followed it with my body.
Mase scanned the deserted street for any signs
of bad guys. I hadnt really thought about what
I would do if the Taliban decided to attack.
I knew I should be able to climb back up into
the sentry post extremely quickly. Hopefully,
even quicker if I was being shot at.
I looked north and south along the street one
more time. Everything was eerily quiet.
how exposed I was. Standing in the middle of a
deserted Afghan street in the Taliban heartland
was not a good idea.
As swiftly as I could, I walked backwards
towards the sentry post, keeping an eye on the
road all the way.
Nice one, Sarge, Mase said as I rolled head
first on to the floor of the sangar.
I realised I was breathing heavily; the fast
climb back up had been more physical than
I had thought it would be. As I looked back
along the road I smiled to myself. The dog was
nowhere to be seen.
Lets keep this one quiet, eh? I said as I
dusted myself down.
Keep what quiet? Mase smiled.
I gave him the thumbs up, grabbed my
webbing, and headed towards the ladder back
down into the compound.
As I climbed down, the impact of what Id just
done hit me.
Things were seriously getting out of hand. How
the hell had I managed to become personally
responsible for the welfare of seemingly every
stray dog in Helmand? "
metallic clattering of the barbed-wire strands
knocking against the upright struts, everybody
within a mile would know what I was doing.
Help me out here little fella, I dont want the
Taliban to know I am here, all right?
I didnt have the time to go for the softly,
softly approach.
I let my rifle hang by my side as I pulled out
my Leatherman and reached into the coils of
barbed wire as far as I could.
I wasnt too bothered about the dog trying to
bite me. I had my jacket and leather combat
gloves on. It wasnt as if it was that big
anyway. Its filthy white coat covered a lean
under-nourished body. Its frightened eyes
kept me in check as the wire cutter tool sliced
through the thin strands of wire at the first
attempt.
The dog was still pulling madly away from me
as the strand broke. In an instant it shot away
through the other side of the obstacle without
even a second thought. As it ran the wire loop
was still hanging around its neck, but I hoped
that it would eventually work loose.
No problem, buddy, I said, watching it go.
I looked around quickly, suddenly aware of
From One Dog at a Time by Pen Farthing. Copyright 2010 by the author and reprinted by permission
of St. Martins Press, LLC.
Local Voices. Local Experience. Local Knowledge.
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