Letter From Afghanistan

Dear Friends
I read somewhere “We don’t see things as they are, we see things as we are”. I suppose it is all a matter of perspective. Over the past year or so I have reflected more and more on this. Probably because I am far away from home and in what appears to be a hostile environment, and also because I am at that sort of age!! Each one of you reading this will have your personal story, your window on the world, your view of the path on our pilgrim journey all with its highs and lows. And I hope like me, you may seek to understand the path of fellow travellers which may throw some light on where we are heading.

Having worked in Kabul for over 18 months now, I have observed some aspects of life here first hand and the world events through cable TV and internet news. It may be because I am in a troubled area of the world that events and particularly tragedies in Iraq, Afghanistan, the Middle East, Europe and Russia seem bigger than they are.

But my view is mixed. I can tell you that here in Afghanistan there are many successes. The first attempt at a democratic election for one. One where millions of people queued to voice their opinion on who should lead them. From my own part I was one of a few International advisors who, in the last year trained over 30,000 police officers in Human rights, democratic policing and rule of law. I am told that this ensured that the elections went off peacefully, which thankfully they did. But it was not without its cost. Four of my close colleagues, good men, were killed in a bomb blast at my office and accommodation which also claimed the lives of five other locals including Adeb, the smiling 10 year old shoeshine boy who cleaned my shoes. At least we think he died. Others died that day, close to the blast and their remains were never found. He was there before the explosion and he has not been seen since and I’m not sure if anyone else has missed him or cared.

Adeb was an industrious young fellow who cut a shoeshine box out of an old oil can, tied a shoulder strap, and in it he placed a couple of brushes and cans of polish. My brown shoes grew darker over the months as he cleaned them, but I didn’t mind. This child was trying to earn a living, he wasn’t begging. He even offered a pair of old sandals for his client to wear whilst he cleaned their shoes. I must admit I declined for hygiene reasons, which I am sure if I tried to explain he would not understand. He was generally shabbily dressed and I often wondered about his background and family and who cared for him. On one of the last occasions I saw him he was dressed in a fine clean light blue chemise (baggy trousers and long shirt) and he was scrubbed up. So perhaps he had loved ones, I dearly hope so.

It would be very easy to walk away from here now, given the fears of terrorism, but would that be giving in? I and many colleagues thought so. A few left, but many stayed. But staying would be at the price of even greater security. Before the attack, security was always an issue and we were heavily protected, but did this make us a target? Attacks on this scale are rare in Afghanistan but we have always been told that they were possible. None of us would admit to complacency, there was none. But familiarity breeds contempt, and perhaps the fears we came with lessened, until we were abruptly reminded that they were realistic and our precautions justified.

More recently the fear of kidnap has also raised its ugly head. So far we have been spared this form of terrorism which has plagued Iraq. As I write this, the Catholic community here (made up solely of Internationals as this is an Islamic state) prays at our weekly Mass and daily prayers for the release of three UN workers abducted (in broad daylight) by bogus military or police over a month ago.

Afghanistan is a beautiful country, but it is a poor country. Its people reflect all human life, good and bad, industrious and lazy and every other positive and negative aspect. Those that I have become to know have the same wants and fears as most of us in cosy UK. But the reality of life here is poverty, poor health, and years of fighting and disruption and most of all fear. I have been drawn close to the Afghan people I work with (police officers, translators and others), and their plight. They are all Muslims. In this company we respect each other’s faith, and we recognise we are all children of God. Here at least I am safe, bonded by common humanity with men and women of peace.

Kabul is a busy City. There is great endeavour here. From the men who push handcarts transporting goods, to busy market salesmen, and young women in black robes and white scarves who openly go to school for the first time in a generation.

Outside Kabul, Afghanistan is fascinating. The country is full of green valleys overlooked by high, sand coloured mountains and desert plains. It is dusty everywhere. Winding roads, unkempt, unmade paths crisscross the country punctuated by small busy villages, the main and only street bustling with commerce. On many deserted roads or plains you may see the occasional walker or a lone mysterious horseman. Then there are the ubiquitous yellow Toyota Corolla taxis and beat-up German buses (jam packed with travellers with every kind of goods packed on the roofs) which crawl along the potholed, bordered roads. They are accompanied by highly decorated jingle trucks, the preferred haulage method, so named because of the chains around the chassis which jingle as they move.

But fears about security cast a shadow over how Internationals live here. How I wish to be Michael Palin, white slacked, blue shirted, walking amongst the market place talking to strangers. I feel as if I am missing a real opportunity. The reality is we drive past quickly, silently trying not to be recognised. We live in secure (now much more secure) compounds, with our only contact with locals who work at our compound or the Training centre where I work. I look forward to the time when I can walk around without fear and greet everyone I meet as a friend and not a foe.

I am now protected by a young ex-Ghurka called Santa, who goes everywhere I go. Santa is a fine young man. He is polite, diligent and hard working. I am humbled by his manner. All the Nepalese men (of whom there are many working with us here) exude loyalty and service. One of their number was killed in the blast and two more injured. I was told by the lead Ghurka that I knew the man by sight, his name was Kedar and he had a wife and two young children back in Nepal. I make an effort to remember names out of respect although there are many here and I find the names sometimes difficult. He described the man to me and I remembered him. So I prayed for him. I can tell you about the power of prayer; it’s wonderful because a few weeks later I saw him guarding one of our other compounds, I didn’t ask his name. I was afraid of the answer. I am convinced prayer works even if I was praying for the wrong guy! Or was I?

There is a weekly Mass here at the Italian Embassy. It is presided over by Fr Joseph Morreti. He returned here in 2002 after being injured in an explosion at the chapel in 1994. The International community who attend is made up of aid workers, advisors ands military personnel. It is a wonderful service and a highlight to a hard week. Many of you will know that I am a convert, having been an atheist for many years, but perhaps the difficulties here add a new viewpoint to getting to Mass. I missed the service one week after the bombing when other threats were high and it did not seem fair to leave my guard (Santa) risking his life guarding my car whilst I went to the chapel. The Mass is in English, with readings in French, German, Spanish, Italian, English and occasionally others, Speaking-in-tongues in action no less. Fr. Moretti’s homily is usually in two and occasionally three languages. All completed in 45 minutes!!

There was one wedding (of two aid workers) here last year and one confirmation (of an Italian policeman). One funeral took place of a missionary priest (a Brother from India) who died in his sleep after celebrating Mass here at the chapel. And in the last week an American Soldier called Jeff entered as a catechumen and will be baptised and received into the Church in the New Year. The service was wonderful, all the more poignant for seeing the young man in military fatigues standing before the Alter.

I know that peace will prevail, it will take time and effort and that it will be paid for in many ways. I know some of you may think of this when you pray. As Christmas approaches and we celebrate the birth of Our Lord, can I ask you to remember in hope and prayer Adeb and Kedar and their families and Santa and Jeff and young people like them everywhere?

God Bless
Paul Millen
Kabul
Afghanistan
22nd November 2004

Click on image to enlarge.

 

Editor’s Note: I received this from Paul by e-mail late one night. I awoke the following morning to hear on the news that the three kidnapped aid workers had been released! As Paul says, do not underestimate the power of prayer.