logan - introduction

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INTRO DUCTIONDECEMBER 1 9 9 71URING TALIBAN RULE

DECEMBER 1997, the Lmu:01'1 .Sumla)' Tl.rnes Ma gazine c-1skecl me to go to Afghaf ifieen months before, the Taliban had ukcn control of the country 1 f t e r three bloodof iighti.ng e1gainst the mujahideen. 'This latest stru gg le added another chapter to Afghalong hi:;to1-y- of w:Hs.

1 ha d al.ways m t c d to visit A f g h a n i s t ~ 1 n . T couldn'l imagine a country with a morn a iin g- hisrory or uncompromising present, ancll dmpped everyth ing to take the assig

T he S1mday Tim.es writer :1mll flew to Peshawar, near P a k i s t 1 n ' s northwestern front:;pen t: one ni ght there on the way to Afgh,mistan. We shopped in the hectic bazaars forhom.eez (the long shirt and baggy pants worn by A fgh an and Pakistani men an d wom: few r:1t ions- in anticipation of the provisions we would find inside Kabul. Earl


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morning, we collected our Khyber Pass guard from the Ministry of tbc Interior. H e was anelderly man who sat in the front of our taxi clutching hi s a ncient rifle. Twondered how we ll hewould be able to defend us if anything happened!

We crossed the city's borders, passing through the famous smugglers' mark et where on eca n buy any kind of weapon imaginable, from a K


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intimate, grassroots basis with its beneficiaries, and in this way, it has maintained an awesomenetwork of women. The women PARSA introduced me to were extremely brave to talk to aWesterner at that time.

According to a Taliban decree enforced by th e religious police, it was illegal for a woma nto ride in a car with me, or even to talk to me. The risk th ey took in having their picture takenwas especially grave, since th e TaJiban considered photography to be a form of idolatry. Butthe women were willing to take these risks because they fel t that it was imperative for theoutside world to know what was happening to them . Over and over, they told me, "We havebeen forgotten, and we need the right to speak. If n.o one hears what we say, nothing willchange."

Wo rking with my translator, Marina, I was virtually smuggled into women's homes, whereI was always met with immeasurable warmth and kindness. We had to be constantly vigilantabout who saw us enter thes:e houses so that we were not reported. Often the women askedme to wear a burkha when traveling between their homes, and they lent me their shoes so th atno one noticed th at my own were not typically Afghan.

The city was deep in snow and as I climbed the steep hill that leads up to Shafika's house,she and Marina had to support me because walking in a burkha was so difficult, especiallywith my cameras hidden beneath it.

It is customa ry for Afg han women to kiss each other on the cheeks as a greeting. When Ientered th eir homes and pulled my bu.rkha back, the women would hold my face in both handsand kiss me ov er and over again, laughing as they did so at the sight of my "men's clothes." Itmu st have been strange for them to have a Western woman in their homes at all. Even thoughit was Ramadan, they insisted on making me green tea in huge decorated thermoses and refilledmy cup the second I finished it. They also brought me bowls filled with tiny gold-wrapped toffee sweets, sugared almonds, green sultanas, or hard crunchy chickpeas.

Almost as soon as I entered Zargoona s tiny, freezing room, she started to cry. She,Marina, an d I huddled together u nder thick, heavy blankets. Tears ran d own Marina's face asshe translated Zargoona's strangled voice. Her story was heart-wrenching.

When I photographed on the street, I was unable to raise my camera to my face, so I hadto take all the pictures without looking. We only realized the tension we had been under whenwe left Kabul-a city ruled by fear. The effect on its population was physical.

INTRODUCTION


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DECEMBER 2 0 0 1 I AFTER THF. TALIBAN'S DEFEATFOUR YEARS AND TWO CHILDREN LATER, I retumed to Peshawar and started the daunting

process of trying to enter Afghanistan.Mary MacM


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Women at Zargoona High School register toteach legally for the first time in five years.

understand why they kept covered: the streets have become predatory. Everywhere I wethere were huge crowds of men staring at me. "You can see why we choose to stay coveresaid my interpreter. "These men make us feel ashamed."

Despite their caution, women had begun to enjoy new freedoms: they walked openly,their own or in small groups, their burkhas flowing behind them. When they stopped to talk wfriends (another activity which was forbidden by the Taliban), they uncovered their faceschatted freely. At Zargoona High School, hundreds of women arrived for registration to telegally for the first time in five years. The sight of their relief and delight at this sudden chaof circumstance was unimaginably moving. In 1997, when I visited Latifa's illegal home schI had left my driver a few blocks away for fear of drawing attention to it. There I saw twentytle girls learning to read and write in a freezing-cold room, taking a huge risk for themselvtheir teachers, and their families by trying to learn when the Taliban had forbidden girlswomen from going to school. In 2001, I revisited these same girls in their school and them walking to school openly in groups and playing outside, chattering and laughing wone another, no longer afraid of being beaten for simply wanting an education.

IN TRODUCTION


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l ~ u t the most humbling experience was once again meeting with th e women l h ad spokenwith in 1997 . In th e bright sunshin e, my t r ~ l l l s l a t o r an d I climbed back up the sheer path, withits awesome views over Kab ul, that !eel to Shafika's hom e. 'T'here she stood, we;Hing a red bob -ble hat , he r L1ce crinkled with laughter

logan - introduction

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