August 2001
AFGHANISTAN—After a short time outside the country, I eagerly headed back into Afghanistan in August. When I left for my break in July, we had recently set in motion several educational projects, and I could hardly wait to see their progress. But the raging war and border tensions conspired to make the journey difficult. The front lines between the Northern Alliance and the Taliban remained in the same place, but the two sides acted like evenly matched fighters who had just started a new round. They stood toe-to-toe in the center of the ring and exchanged blow after blow, neither gaining a decisive advantage.
Other developments intensified the situation in Afghanistan. A number of NGOs had been working in Kabul, assisting refugees in the Taliban-held territories. They functioned under extreme limitations imposed by the regime. The Taliban showed little interest or effort in helping their own people survive. But well-meaning westerners were allowed to provide humanitarian assistance, as long as the Taliban received credit for allowing the agencies to operate.
During the first week of August, the Taliban in Kabul suddenly exercised their erratic and treacherous understanding of the law. They arrested eight foreign workers from Shelter Now Germany that had historic ties with the U.S.-based SNI/Shelter for Life. I actually was on my way to Dulles International Airport for my return trip to Afghanistan when I heard about the arrest of the aid workers.
At first, I thought the detainees were from my own team. The news report mentioned “Shelter Now International in Afghanistan.” I called Norm, our international director in Wisconsin, just before boarding my flight to Europe. I was anxious to know what had happened.
He said, “John, our friends in Kabul from SNI/Germany have been busted by the Taliban.” He went on to tell me they had been accused of operating outside their permitted functions in a strict Muslim society. Among those imprisoned were two of our American friends—Heather Mercer and Dayna Curry.
We wondered if these developments would affect our work in the north. We also had to consider the fate of our activities in the West; in the ancient city of Herat we had begun a massive housing project under the noses of the Taliban. There we were again hoping to eliminate a humanitarian crisis by constructing four thousand shelters, including kitchens, bathhouses, and wells for the nearly quarter of a million displaced people who had migrated to the Maslakh Camp in that area.
Unfortunately, we soon had to evacuate our American project manager from Herat during the tense days of new restrictions by the Taliban. Thankfully, our dedicated local staff, at personal risk, continued the project during the imprisonment of the aid workers in Kabul and the invasion of the U.S.-led coalition forces. By God’s favor, we still have a prominent presence and major programs in the western part of Afghanistan as one of the lead international organizations serving the war-torn, drought-stricken people in that region.
The arrest of international relief workers focused media attention on Kabul. We were often asked about the similarities between the names for Shelter for Life and Shelter Now Germany. Frankly, we had to be careful. Even acknowledging the previous partnership between the two organizations could have put the prisoners at risk. In the Taliban way of thinking, connection easily means collusion.
I lived with the acute awareness that, if the Taliban knew another Christian American was actively working inside Afghanistan, the Christians being held captive might well become targets for torturing. Even though the jailed personnel had no direct affiliation with Shelter for Life, we had great concern for their safety as fellow relief workers. Our hearts also cried daily for the national workers under arrest. They appeared to be destined for harsh, Taliban-style “justice”—the death penalty in a public place.
Every day, I asked God to set them free. I know hundreds of thousands of people around the world joined in this prayer. I was so relieved when the news came a few months later that all eight foreigners and sixteen nationals had been safely released. Truly they survived as “prisoners of hope.”
But in August of 2001, the outlook for the group in Kabul looked grim. Some of the charges leveled carried with them a maximum sentence, and the Taliban threatened to treat the westerners with the same punishment they had planned for the Afghan captives. As a result of these allegations and accusations, several other organizations in Taliban-controlled areas suffered as well. Though our SNI/Shelter for Life offices in the north and west were not affected, many agencies had to close up shop as the tightened fists of the Taliban knocked them out of the country.
At the time, I still believed the best place for me was in Afghanistan. Thankfully, I could continue to supervise our projects in the north with the blessing of President Rabbani and General Massoud. Another staff person serving in a different area also intended to return. In mid-August we journeyed south together to join in the work that was already in motion.
Even with our area director’s permission, the way into Northern Alliance territories presented a very real challenge. Flights in and out of Feyzabad seldom kept a schedule, and priority assignments for the limited seats dimmed our chances of getting on board. Then the Taliban threatened to shoot down UN airplanes, under the pretext that they were being used to transport military assistance for the Northern Alliance. Strict air security in Tajikistan, as well as Pakistan and Afghanistan, grounded all nonmilitary flights. If we really wanted to get back in the country, we would have to make arrangements on our own.That meant another long, arduous road trip.
Overland travel from Dushanbe to the Tajik border was measured not in kilometers or miles but in checkpoints. The Tajik military and the KGB maintained similar security sites, but each one seemed unique. We were usually questioned, our papers were checked, and our vehicle was searched before we could continue to the next one.
Sometimes we drove up to find the guardhouse deserted, and we would have to open the gate ourselves. Several times the metal boxcarlike containers were manned, but the guards inside were drunk. Lack of traffic and too much time and vodka on their hands made life miserable for these Tajik soldiers.
Between the checkpoints, the heavily rutted dirt roads or surfaces of cracked and broken pavement were in such poor condition that we bounced around like rubber balls. We tried to look on the bright side and make the best of the physical bruising we received on these trips, so we called them “Central Asian massages.”
THE CROSSING
AMU DARYA RIVER—The border we wanted to use was officially closed because of the fighting. This entry point is actually on the Amu Darya River that separates Tajikistan from Afghanistan. The surrounding mountains that gradually fall into the river make this a scenic place. However, our awareness of the beauty had vanished by the time we arrived at the border itself.
It was the middle of the night, the preferred time for crossing the river. Fording in the dark was supposed to be less dangerous than during the day, when the Taliban could see at whom they were shooting.The Taliban regularly bombed the border, in order to cut off General Massoud’s supply line from Tajikistan. That same bombing also cut off or drastically hindered NGOs from bringing assistance into northeast Afghanistan.
We stopped near the border to inform the Russian and Tajik guards of our desire to cross the river. They reminded us that the border was closed. We didn’t bother asking why; by then we were close enough to hear the bombardment.
We persisted, and they countered that it didn’t matter to them if we left. They just wanted to warn us that we wouldn’t get across the river or into Afghanistan. After some friendly negotiations, we were able to talk them into lifting the gate to let us attempt a crossing. Several of the soldiers escorted us to the river. As we walked, they continually predicted that no one would be at the other side because of the bombings. But we pressed on, believing God would make a way.
That night taught me the meaning of the phrase “pitch dark.” The only light came from the flashes of bombs landing nearby. These sometimes came so close that we all jumped into a nearby bunker.
One soldier kept mumbling, “This is not a good idea.” His tone spoke his fear more clearly than his Tajik words.
When we arrived at the river, we discovered our escort was right—no one was visible on the Afghan side.We were stuck there. This border had no good way to contact the other side either. Signal lights were strongly discouraged for fear of enemy spotters.
Our friends fired a rifle into the air as a signal, but this provoked no response from the other shore. They didn’t repeat the signal, because Afghans don’t have ammunition to waste on Tajiks. Our Dushanbe driver and the border guards were petrified. After the gunshot, we waited, but no boat, raft, or barge materialized out of the darkness. Still convinced God would come through, my teammate and I quietly prayed.
The guards anxiously urged us to leave. Then I remembered that back in our vehicle we had a Codan radio we could use to call our Nowabad office on the other side of the river. This call had to be short and somewhat vague, because the Taliban often monitored our transmissions. We didn’t want to give them any added incentives as they bombed the border that night. When I contacted Nowabad, they told us they had already sent a Jeep to meet us. So I switched frequencies and called our Jeep on the other side of the river to give the driver instructions.
I said, vaguely, in my American-accented Dari, “Please go tell the one in charge that Mr. John and a guest are at the other side.”
Moments later we noticed movement on the far shore. The dull glow of hooded lights signaled their activity. Our Uzbek friends were coming.
The Amu Darya is over fifty yards across at this point, and the current moves swiftly. It’s deep enough that it has swallowed tractor-trailers and a Russian vehicle barge that sank several years ago under fire. A curious assortment of smaller craft has since been used to transport military supplies into Afghanistan.
Crossings are often exciting and always dangerous. Fixed cables to assist in getting across the water simply present too tempting a target for the Taliban. Instead, a raft has to be dragged along the shore and launched a hundred yards or so upriver from the landing spot on the other side.That way, the river current helps those who are paddling to reach our shore at approximately the right place. Even so, it’s much easier said than done. Doing this by daylight would have been challenging enough, but we added the complicating element of absolute darkness.
When our ride splashed onto the shore, we realized they had underestimated who and what needed transportation from our side of the river.They sent a young Uzbek soldier in a rubber raft about the size of a bathtub. He and the two of us would barely fit in it. Our chances of getting extremely wet soared in my mind. Unfortunately, we also had a lot of equipment with us—laptops, office supplies, and equipment—stuff that would not handle a river dunking well. Our raft had no room for our luggage either. I realized our courageous companion would have to make two crossings. So I got ready to give him my Uzbek version of a pep talk.
For a moment, I was in a frenzy about the arrangements, because I was sure that, as soon as we pushed off, our staff and the soldiers would get away from the river quickly because the bombing was still going on. I didn’t blame them. Besides, could we ask this young rafter to risk his life again for a few computers, printers, a copy machine, and office supplies?
We got into the tiny raft to, in my British teammate’s understated expression, “Give it a go.” I asked our Tajik car driver to please wait, because we hoped the Uzbek soldier would indeed paddle back to get our stuff. If the raft did not return, he would have to carry the boxes back to the car and take them to Dushanbe. Everyone did his part in those tense minutes.
To my amazement, we crossed safely. Then our rendezvous rescuer bravely went back for our baggage and brought it all to us completely dry. He laughed as I shook his hand and thanked him profusely. Then I realized that this was all in a night’s work for him.
On the Afghan side, we were greeted like a convoy of kings.The backslapping soldiers hugged us like heroes and then took us up the hill to the office of the one in charge of the border. He graciously welcomed us with tea, candies, nuts, sweets, and watermelon. We shared the delightful camaraderie of friends under fire.
I felt joyfully at home again among the Uzbek-speaking soldiers who guard the border. Even the one Pashtun officer in charge speaks fluent Uzbek. He is one of the finest examples I’ve known of a Pashtun who will have nothing to do with the Taliban. For years he has been one of the loyal lieutenants for Mawmir Hasan, the respected Uzbek commander of Dasht-e Qaleh.
His hospitality to us that night was unforgettable. It reminded me that it’s often not what you know but who you know that matters. I experienced again the Afghan principle of reciprocity.
Even though I know it isn’t true, as the person identified with all the relief that flows into the area of DQ, I often sense that others feel indebted to me. On that night, I was so glad that they felt it was their turn to offer assistance and return favors. We were certainly in need of their help that night. All the blood, sweat, tears, and hard work had built an invisible bridge of friendship that brought us across that river. God truly provides, sometimes in the most surprising ways, for those who faithfully serve the poor.
That same month, Afghanistan saw continual action on the front lines to our west. Although we were several miles away, the sounds of war were always with us. At night, the battle noises seemed louder—so much louder we often couldn’t sleep.We sometimes climbed onto our rooftop in Nowabad and sat in stunned silence watching rocket fire and tracer bullets light up the horizon. These were not the friendly fireworks of freedom that I had celebrated just the month before at home in the U.S. In fact, their sights and sounds were gruesome reminders of the daily, dismal destruction of Afghanistan.
PUBLIC SANITATION PROJECTS
I returned to Afghanistan anxious to see the progress that had been made on several of our work efforts. As with most of the projects I have supervised in Afghanistan, this one has a personal connection. Because I travel widely in the Dasht-e Qaleh area, I am rarely at home for bathroom breaks. We have a very nice latrine in the Nowabad compound that I am seldom able to use. My frequent visits to Khvajeh Baha od Din highlighted this problem. When I first arrived in town, a bamboo mat wrapped around a couple of sticks served as the only private location for outsiders to take care of bodily needs.
Eventually we built an eight-stall public latrine in Khvajeh Baha od Din. The people in town readily agreed to the construction and worked alongside our engineer. They saw the value of this sanitation project. It became a mark of the town’s hospitality that they provided such a facility for visiting strangers. My first opportunity to use the facilities turned out to be a memorable occasion.
Outside the newly constructed latrine, a little elderly Uzbek man had seized the entrepreneurial moment. He set up a small table to provide bottles of water for wash up and squares of excellent, soft, pink toilet paper to those using the latrine. I laughed with delight as I handed him my ten cents for the basic necessities. It reminded me of the ingenuity of American children, who set up lemonade stands in the summer.
In many communities in Afghanistan, the marginal sanitation poses serious health risks. Waste from larger animals, like cows, is left to dry and used as fuel, but human waste gets recycled in less than picturesque ways. Odor frequently adds to the problem too. At this stage, disease is just around the corner. These factors usually show up in the worst way in towns that have a crowded open-air market. Once word got out about the wonderful public latrine in Khvajeh Baha od Din, we also had to build one in Rostaq, Yangi Qala, and Chah Ab.
Our concern went far beyond public sanitation, though. We knew that a key factor in making the DQ Host Family Program work depended on our ability to equip living compounds with well-constructed latrines. We believe that the quality of life inside Afghanistan has definitely been improved by these health-care measures.
Shelter for Life and other NGOs have helped people in northern Afghanistan build thousands of latrines. These are often the result of community-wide projects. Neighbors help each other dig the containment pits, frame and pour the base, and construct the walls and roof. The synergy that flows from this teamwork often promotes other community projects.
The Yaftal Latrine Project stands out as a great example of the multiplied effects created by such a basic upgrade on village homes. The initial project proposal called for the construction of four hundred thirty latrines in the poorer villages of Yaftal Payan. Alongside the building aspects, we planned a series of community education opportunities. As an added incentive, due to the extreme impact of the drought, we planned to give one hundred sixty kilograms of wheat to each family that completed their latrines. Most of the residents in these villages had been devastated by the drought. This food-for-work plan would offer the community a win-win situation. As sanitation and health conditions improved, dysentery and disease would recede. As wheat was given and ground to flour, hunger pains would disappear as people ate daily bread.
I met with the respected local commander of Yaftal, who designated the villages to receive the materials for the latrines. We then sent two of our native staff members to survey the families in those villages in order to identify which ones were most in need of the project’s assistance.
During the summer of 2001, we were ready to provide rebar and cement to the participants. We launched the construction phase of the project in early June. Our proposal estimated the job would take three months. But the last of the structures was in use in just over two months. A combination of the people’s enthusiasm and cooperation and our staff ’s effective management and supervision resulted in successful implementation and speedy completion.
Because of increased pressure on supply lines by the Taliban, the UN experienced severe shortages of shipped-in wheat and other supplies. Logistical difficulties multiplied. Even money was in short supply due to lack of travel to and from Islamabad, Pakistan. At this point, the WFP owed cash payments to almost every truck driver in northern Afghanistan. Some of our distributions depended on my own purchase of barrels of diesel to fuel the trucks delivering wheat.
The rapid conclusion of the Yaftal project meant that those involved looked forward to the promised wheat payments. We had to give them partial wheat allowances and promises of more wheat later. When we distributed those first four hundred and thirty 50-kilogram bags of wheat, I had no idea just how much the world would change in the next month before I returned with the remainder of hard-earned food for work.
TURNING POINT
September 2001 arrived. I had been inside the country almost a year. With God’s help, much good had been done. But the war sounds in the background constantly reminded me of how little had really changed. There seemed no end to the suffering. All around me in the darkness of the village were people whose lives had been ripped apart by the fighting. Their homes were gone. Family members were missing or dead. The explosions in the distance seemed to mock my helplessness and insignificance.
Standing again on our flat roof in Nowabad, I felt a rising tide of frustration inside. I found myself once more weeping for the people I was trying to help. Overwhelmed with the circumstances around me, I cried out to God, instinctively raising my hands and my eyes upward. As my head tilted back, it was as if my tears acted like added lenses for my eyes, and I saw the night sky in a new way. The diamond stars seemed magnified and brilliant. I was drawn into the awesome wonder of God’s universe. I felt wrapped in the power of the one who, with just an almighty word, made all that I could see and so much more. I was overwhelmed with God’s greatness.
Under that amazing display of stars, I thought of another man, many centuries ago, looking up at the same sky, not so far from where I was standing. Abram was his name. He’s now known to billions as Prophet Abraham, the father of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. God promised him that his offspring would number as many as the stars in the heavens. He also told Abraham that all the families of the earth would be blessed through him. And I thought, When and how will this come to Afghanistan? Then I wondered if my being here had even a tiny part in God’s divine plan of great blessing.
I cried out in prayer again to God, “Please have mercy, for if someone doesn’t bring an end to this war, this country is in deep trouble.”
RICOCHET!
The possibility of General Massoud’s assassination had hung over Afghanistan, like the threatening blade of a guillotine, for a long time. We all knew the Taliban and Al Qaeda would have rejoiced to see him dead. Osama bin Laden’s hatred toward the Lion of the Panjshir ran deep. In fact, many attempts had been made on his life, and he had faced several close calls in battle. Even so, his murder on September 9 shocked and horrified us all. It was just a small snapshot compared to the giant mural of dread and terror the greater suicide mission would paint the morning of 9/11.
By the time I awoke on the morning of September 12, I realized, in a dim way, that the aftermath of the dastardly explosion that killed General Massoud had ricocheted into every corner of the globe and set off a chain reaction that rocked the foundations of the world.
We could not have perfectly predicted the events of September 11, 2001, any more than our grandfathers could have clearly seen the coming of December 7, 1941. Prior to Japan’s bombing of Pearl Harbor, it was obvious that the world was at war. It was already clear that at least Germany, Italy, and Japan stood united as enemies against the USA and other allied nations.
We knew the Axis coalition hated America with an unholy passion. And our presence in the Pacific Ocean was a serious barrier to their twisted scheme to make the world a better place through Nazism. We knew that America’s superpower status posed a major threat to their ill-conceived plan to conquer the world. We also knew they had airplanes and other weapons of mass destruction at their command. Actually, it was the Japanese who made Kamikaze missions famous. These were military versions of what we call certain forms of suicide bombing today.
And yet, for someone to have said, “On the morning of December 7, 1941, the Japanese will launch an all-out attack at Pearl Harbor” would have taken the then-known facts and placed them into the mystic realm of fortune telling. Was it possible to predict an attack by Japan at some point? Absolutely. Was it possible to predict it perfectly on the day and time it happened? Not in my opinion. But now, as always, hindsight is twenty-twenty. If we focus on the results of that chain reaction in 1941, that evil event obviously launched our country into World War II.Yes, it was a terrible blow, and the war was extremely costly. Ultimately, though, we and our united allies brought down those wicked regimes and set the world upright again.
We must be careful, in my mind, when looking back at historical events (whether they were good or bad), not to think that we have the power to stop them at will. If our probing into the past is for more reasons than the desire to learn from those events, our intellectual pursuit may be useless. Wisdom tells us to learn from our mistakes in order to prepare ourselves for what the future may bring. It also tells us not to bash unjustly, blame blindly, or believe without reservation that the events of history can be completely controlled by the White House, FBI, and CIA.
The truth is, we live in a world that’s full of both good and evil. Yes, we must do all in our power to make the world a better place by promoting peace and fighting for freedom and justice. And we should improve our intelligence systems, tighten control at the border, and support the war on terrorism. But in our attempts to rid the world of Satan’s influence, we must also embrace the truth that, though it’s a noble goal worthy of blood, sweat, and tears, it’s absolutely humanly impossible to fully carry it out to completion until the Prince of Peace comes again.