Five times I landed at the Kabul airport. Before touching down, I saw women doing what I was doing — pulling a headscarf out of a bag.
I experienced natural trepidation: Would I get through the immigration and identity card processes, pay a baggage helper appropriately to get me where I needed to go, find my contacts in a distant parking lot? It went more smoothly than anticipated, with most of the chaos ensuing from competition to transport my baggage and traversing a crowded path to the parking lot. It was a picture of calm compared to the chaos and death the world is now witnessing at the Kabul airport.
Between 2010 and 2013 I worked on an IFES — International Foundation for Electoral Services — project to develop university debate programs. The project’s Afghan founder spent much of his early life outside the country as a refugee. Upon returning, he wanted to prepare the next generation of leaders and find a way to resolve differences with words, not weapons.
We used British Parliamentary Debate as the vehicle. For those familiar with U.S. competitive debate, this bears little resemblance. There are two teams on each side, and the topic is announced 30 minutes before. Debating was in English, the third or fourth language for many students.
I met with many former refugees who returned with high hopes for Afghanistan’s future. The president of a new private university participating in the program studied in the United States and was the only person I met who knew where Kansas was. He and other university leaders were committed to women’s education, and one-third of university students and participants in the debate program were women.
Changes and threats
I saw major changes over three years: more schools at all levels, expansion of free media, more businesses, expanded electricity, better infrastructure, women driving, and very few burkas but many leggings and tunics.
What creates the most pain today is witnessing the death of hope and it being replaced with the fear of a known past likely to become the everyday reality.Diana Carlin
The times were changing. Afghan IFES staff recalled days of underground school for girls during the Taliban era and Kabul in the 1960s, when miniskirts, fashion week, and public smoking were common.
However, there was always an element of fear. The Taliban were never far away. Armed guards were in the car or armored vehicle as I sat in the back, with my headscarf pulled low over my brow to hide my foreign features. There was razor tape atop the high walls outside the house where I stayed, bars on my windows, a steel door at the bottom of the stairway, bars alongside the stairs, and two safe rooms. Armed guards were outside the house 24/7.
After I unpacked the first time, I was handed a large envelope with my name on the front. Inside was a single sheet of paper with the numbers 1, 2, 3 and spaces between them. I was directed to write three questions about myself with answers, seal it and place it in a safe. Answers could not be found online. I used the name of my sister’s hamster and two other equally innocuous questions that I don’t remember and aren’t in my journal for fear of being found.
This was my proof of life file in case I was kidnapped. Only I would know the answers.
In 2016, two American University of Afghanistan faculty were kidnapped; they were released three years later in a prisoner exchange with the Taliban. In 2014, a terrorist attack on the university left 21 dead and many injured. The last national debate tournament I ran in 2013 was held at AUAF. The previous year we canceled a music performance as part of the debate festivities because the Taliban had attacked a wedding in one of the provinces where there was music and dancing. During my last trip, a suicide bomber detonated a bomb on a city street in front of an Afghan government official’s car.
A few days later, a mile from the house where I stayed, the president’s palace was attacked. Someone said to me, “Welcome to everyday life in Kabul.”
Fear and chaos
