Hippies, Russians, the Taliban – Afghanistan has always had a little something for everyone. Now a land in crisis is getting reacquainted with tourists.
I am going to be the only tourist in Kabul, I think as the plane from Dubai touches down between military helicopters and fighter jets. Less than three hours later, I see a small man, holding up a tiny banner, walking amongst the rubble of several bombed-out buildings, followed by people with white sun hats and sky-blue lip protection, all of whom are busily clicking photos of bullet holes in the building walls – a Japanese tour group. Kabul is a funny city. Does that sound absurd? Perhaps fittingly: after all, the Theater of the Absurd was invented in France as a means of demonstrating the insanity of the world and the lost people within it. Not to mention the fact that it was a reaction to the horror of two world wars. Today, Afghanistan has produced a more contemporary variety of both madness and terror. It is called Kabul.
In the city centre, a shepherd leads his flock through an endless stream of cars, minibuses and mopeds. A Toyota Land Cruiser with television screens imbedded in the seat backs overtakes a donkey cart to which is nailed a license plate. In the Deutscher Hof restaurant, the German proprietor serves traditional knuckle of pork and sauerkraut, along with German dark beer on tap. On the street, a leprose woman stretches out a hand with festering craters where her fingers once had been. There are Internet cafes with Italian espresso machines and high-speed connections. Everywhere cell phones are ringing and SIM cards are being sold, along with hands-free phone kits and EasyChargers. And in the bazaars, where alcohol is forbidden, merchants offer their cooking oil in 4.5-litre Johnny Walker bottles, along with large-format photos of half-naked women. Sex sells.
In the past few years, Kabul's population has shot up to near four million, from just 500,000 in 2001. The city simply cannot cope with so many people, as is clear from the mountains of trash, water shortage and inadequate sanitation. Unsurprising, then, that the child-mortality rate counts among the highest in the world and that the traffic is murderous, let alone the air quality. Ten years ago, there were so few vehicles in Kabul that one could often walk down the middle of the street. Now, a roaring, smouldering cascade of metal forces itself through even the smallest side streets. At night, the headlights of cars are refracted in exhaust, turning the city into a shadow play. To make matters worse, the wind stirs up dust from the rubble of buildings and vapour off of fields fertilised with excrement, sometimes human. Sooner or later, everyone gets the Kabul Cough.