The Nation
Don Pathan was the only Thai journalist present in Afghanistan last year when the US declared war on the Taleban. In the first of the four-part series, he recounts the events as they took place.
It was early morning when the phone rang. "Come down please and bring your passport with you," said the receptionist at a hotel in Almaty, Kazakhstan. It wasn't a request.
Already pissed off at the fact we'd been kicked off a flight to Dushanbe the day before, after the Kazakh immigration officers let a bunch of Tajiks take our seats, my travelling companions and I weren't too thrilled at the idea of being woken up and ordered around.
"Why are you still here?" asked the policewomen. "Your visa expired yesterday."
"Excuse me but who are you and what is this all about?" my travelling companion snapped back at the officer, still dazed and confused at this bit of reality in a former Soviet republic.
After a lengthy discussion the two officers concluded that this was a "special circumstance" and that our visas would be extended until the end of the week.
Welcome to Central Asia we thought, where governments - perhaps a little more than in other parts of the world - were freaking out at the developments in neighbouring Afghanistan. Foreigners coming and going were heavily screened, especially citizens of nearby countries bordering Afghanistan.
Indeed, the hunt for Osama bin Laden and the destruction of his Al Queda terrorist network and their hosts the Taliban, was about to start and the whole world was told by the US President George W Bush: "Either you're with us, or you're with them".
These former Soviet republics that in the previous decades served as the gateway for Russian troops are all too familiar with the bitter experience of the Afghan. For ten years, from 1979-89, Moscow had used this region to enter and exit the country. They were devastated by the resistance put up by the mujahidin against their occupation and the experience continues to haunt the Russian people until today.
Finally, five days later, my two travelling companions and I were on a Russian-built plane to Tajikistan's capital Dushanbe, where we would spend the next four days making our final preparation before crossing into northern Afghanistan. A final test-run on our satellite phones was carried out together with our computer laptop as we wait for our over-priced visa from the Islamic Government of Afghanistan - the official name of the UN-recognised Northern Alliance that was forced out of Kabul in 1996 by the Taliban - to be processed.
Our aim was to go as far south as possible, about 35 km north of Kabul where Northern Alliance forces were facing off with Taliban soldiers along the frontline in the Shomali Plain. We hoped to cross the border before the Americans started their air war.
Besides a long list of journalists ahead of us trying to get on one of the few Afghan helicopters, things had got worse following a heavy dust storm that had enveloped Dushanbe, thus dashing any hope of us crossing the border any time soon.
Shortly after midnight on October 6, we threw our belongings into a four-wheel drive and headed for the Afghan border five hours away. Any crossing would have to be done before the sun came up to avoid incoming Taliban artillery fire - just two hilltops away.
But getting in by land would not be easy, with or without the Taliban watching. Getting past armed Russian troops manning the Tajik-Afghan border was even more difficult. Even if you make it past the guards, and the barbed wire that seems to stretch endlessly along the Tajik border, there is an icy cold river to cross before reaching the Afghan side.
The Russians were there at the invitation of the Tajik government to serve as a buffer between the Taliban and the Northern Alliance. The latter, until recently, had been pushed back to this corner of the war-torn country that accounts for about 10 per cent of Afghanistan.
True to their reputation, the Russian border guards would not budge. We were told to go back to Dushanbe and consult with the Foreign Ministry. But going back to the Tajik's capital meant we would have to wait in a long queue for a seat on one of the few Afghan choppers. There had not been a single flight for the past week and with the dust storm, known locally as the "Afghan wind", showing no sign of dying down, we decided that returning to the Tajik capital would be our last option.
According to our guide, there was a Tajik military installation about 10 kilometres down the road. But the ride would not be cheap, he warned. He was right. For US$250 per head, the Tajik pilots had no qualms whatsoever about flying us in - along with hundreds of arms and supplies for Afghan fighters.
It was one of the most expensive ride in my life. Fifteen minutes later, we were met by hundreds of curious looking people who called themselves "mujahiddin".
Shortly after our arrival we were greeted by the Alliance's deputy defence minister General Barialay Khan, who displayed typical Afghan hospitality by treating us to a big feast and putting us up for the night at his residence. It would be almost two months before I would dine in such fashion again.
Unlike other tough-talking, battlefield commanders that I had ran into during my six weeks stay, Barialay come across as a visionary; cultured and very charismatic. He spoke with great conviction about the Afghan people as a whole and their ability to overcome the bitter differences in spite of two decades of fighting between various warring factions.
The fabric of Afghan society that held the various ethnic groups together for centuries, said Barialay, had not been totally destroyed by the Taliban - or any other conflict in 23 years of fighting. The role of the tribal leaders, village elders, religious scholars - all of whom have played a significant role in keeping the society in tact throughout Afghan history - will resurface once the Taliban is ousted, and resume their rightful duty as the unifying factor.
Judging from what has been talking place in recent days with the swearing in of the new interim government, and the political sacrifice made by the stronger Northern Alliance, things appear to be moving in the right direction.
Barialay is convinced that the soul of Afghanistan has not been destroyed beyond repair. Developments in recent weeks show that the war-torn country is moving towards reconciliation. The power to forgive, it seems, is as much an Afghan trait, as is the will to fight. And with the end of the Taliban rule and the destruction of the al Queda network, two decades of bloodshed is quickly coming to an end.
Can it last?
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