ON THE ROAD TO NAYAK

Saturday was another bright and sparkling day outside, but seriously cold in the shade. The morning had registered minus 14 and I had just finished doing my daily walk of ‘one kilometre’ around the perimeter of the camp. Breakfast was my usual cereal and coffee and I was just settling down to do the day’s tasks. A knock on the door and the Colonel came to the RAP.

‘Would you like to come over to Nayak tomorrow morning, Doc? Going over there to check our FOB (Forward Operating Base) facilities and a good idea for you to do the same with our medical resources. Interested?’ Well, was I what? I had been in camp for some days now and was looking forward to ‘a look outside’ the gates.  Excitedly, I got my packing quickly done for the anticipated trip. All the goodies that I would require to take with me, but hopefully would not need. I say hopefully because although this area of Nayak, which is 4-5 hours over to the east of Kiwi Base is supposedly safe and secure, though we were not going to take any expectation of this as being definite. We knew from experience that Afghanistan is always a territory that we needed to assume could become dangerous, either geographically due to wind and snow trapping us … or from an equally ominous insurgents’ point of view.

The next morning, there I had it – my gear all laid out. I felt as though I had seriously missed something as this task was quick and complete. This was not like I would have done at home – fiddling around with equipment and trying to decide which was the ‘best shirt to take’ or which series of bandages were more appropriate. I had totally surprised myself by being ready and fully equipped with all that I may have needed: fully kitted out emergency medical response bag, my sleeping  bag, my camera pack and some warm clothes and huge big puffer jacket. It was going to be rather cold where we were going and I wanted to be well prepared for any cold weather eventuality.

0845 and I am ready. I drag all my baggage out to join the rest of the team. The Commanding Officer  smiled at me – ‘I see that you have not learned minimal packing is best have you Doc’, he commented on looking at what I thought was rather a compact set of gear. Just five sort-of-little-compact packs and baggage. ‘Next time we’ll get a special vehicle for you!’  He dipped his head and I took this to mean OK for this trip but not the next. Phew, I was lucky. Otherwise it would have meant that I take out my wool fleeced nightie and my possum skinned hot water bottle – just kidding! I would never carry either of these items on an army deployment, even though my Darling Wife suggested that I take them and my own cuddly pillow!!

Get together, we do and attend the trip’s briefing. This is to explain to all what we are expected to experience on the journey. Invariably it gives us in the patrol an idea of the terrain that we are going to go through and any risks that we need to be wary of: new roads, any snow… that sort of thing. A final check up on our numbers – 10 of us, each with different yet essential tasks for the journey – then we are away.

We are off and it feels so good to be going through the front gate and out into the local community. Through the town of Bamiyan and along its sole tar-sealed road and then past the two huge spaces where the Buddha’s on Bamiyan used to be until the Taliban destroyed them and then through and onto the mayhem of the country roads.

The scenery is unique and wonderful, and never fails to draw me to it. Dust and dirt fly as we pound the bumpy and thumpy roads. To the sides people are going about their normal days: donkeys taking produce to market or to sale, some carrying children but never women; women walking three or more steps behind their men folk. ignored and never acknowledged any salutation in friendship until they are permitted to; young kids waving to us with a sideways back and forth rocking movements; and small stalls beside us on the road with a couple of men tending them  and selling their product trying to make the day’s sales.

Ahead of our driving and in the interminable dust, the potholes of the road demand caution and a low threshold for swerving at any obstacle that may stumble into our route’s path.

To the sides of us the hills to the east of Bamyan town thrust up into the skyline. They are huge hills on either side of us down here in a valley. There are fewer people now as we wander further from the township. Ironically the road starts to get better, for contractors have begun tar sealing on the road between Bamiyan and Nayak, and have decided to start the road midway between the two towns. The logic of this tends to baffle me somewhat. Why not start at a major town and go out from it. Nah, cant figure that one out!

Through the cleft at the end of the first deep valley, and  the hills push higher and higher as I crouch below the window to look upwards. Shadows of the valley cut across the shafts of light that are able to penetrate deep into cold and bitter shadows. The road is gravel but is really very good and we are able to travel without physical discomfort, though dust still trails us and prevents us from opening the windows to breathe. Fine dust that gets into everything – eyes, clothes, machinery (the car inside is covered in a fine layer of particulate dust. I don’t breathe too deeply!

We occasion villages to either side of our travel 500 yards away, built into the hills. First the wall built of clay-mud brick, sometimes old and sometimes new and occasionally a mixture. This is probably a reflection of personal finances. The style is adobe-like. Red-brown clay that is reinforced with fibres of hay and twig. Kids swirl around the boundaries and women are seen to drift between their familiar inside and out as they tend to their duties.

 

 

Female children up until teenage tend to the washing of clothes and dishes down by a stream, if there is no nearby water pump.

Boys are helping with the donkeys or farming or gathering of wood. Men with their turbans swirled around their heads, often masked over their mouths and noses to cover from the dust, walk along the road with donkey or not, or tend to the shopping in the bazaars.

Bang, right in the middle of nowhere, we are driving on tar seal. About 10 kms of it. Bizarre though what a difference this makes to our travelling comfort. Just as I start to nod off in the warm comfort of our vehicle’s back seat, with a crash I am fully awake to the bumping and pitching of the rutted  road again. Back on the gravel. The dust swirls in front of our vehicle and thus-wise we travel through to the town of Nayak. Nestled in a pleasant valley, it is a safe area for us to travel to as the local population are doing for themselves so very much better now that they feel a security supplied in part by the NZ forces in the region.

 

‘The people of the Foladi Valley’

A trip up the Foladi and the Sadaat Valleys presents a road that is tortuous and very bumpy but ‘whew – the sights are stunning’ – local Afghanis from Bamyan region on the road with their donkeys or their bikes or the motorcycles or in their motor vehicles. There are young girls doing the washing at streams. I saw kids and older boys who waved and watched us drive past. Turbans, burkas and chadors, brightly coloured dresses on the kids – often with sparkle in it. I saw the donkeys and the cows and an occasional Kamaz which are Russian built trucks that the Afghanis use for transporting everything – dirty, huge, loud and spurting fumes that engulfed their origin. Wonderful autumnal views of the region and more recently the lack of leaves on the trees. Way in the distance were the snow capped hills looking down on us. Beautiful views!!

Doc’s day trip – Afghanistan: Foladi Valley

Overlooking Bamiyan Town

The cool day is sun-filled right across the hills of the Bamiyan valley, to the snow that adds a frame to the remarkable picture’s scene. The Padre (Ra) and Allan Kelly, a civilian such as myself, and I head off to the nearby Foladi Valley. The journey to our planned destination was anticipated to take around 40 minutes . It was to the farthest medical clinic up the valley, but I don’t think any of us anticipated the state of the roads that took much negotiation and rocky-road manoeuvres. Our caution in thusly travelling was countered by the speed of the local police who seemed to be on ‘blue light flashing’ every time they took to passing us on the  rutted dusty roads.  Cautiously we drive, and an hour later we feast our eyes on a most lovely village that looked as though it was from way back in ancient Medieval times.  We were presented with often huge houses that had stunning walled architecture, and which gave home to 5-6 families living there. The walls of these not unattractive constructions were made of mud – brick or stone and concrete.  Often they had lattices on windows and sometimes there were occasional windows blocked in to conserve warmth against the bitter cold.

The narrow streets of this village gave the image of quaintness as women walked the streets with their chadors, the days washing perched in perfect balance upon their heads. By the sides of the road and thrusting like fingers into the ploughed fields were water-trails nurturing the land and all the village’s washing, at the very least – dishes and clothes, seemed to be done in such water courses. 6-9 inches deep these tracts meander delicately and rather picturesquely across fields and along poplar lined fields planted in rows to stake out boundaries or emphasise forests. Just beautiful,  and made more so as we were lucky enough to travel to the region the day after there had been rain and so there was little dust – even the trees had shed some of their dust and were another  cleaner, purer colour today.  Children were playing in mud and in the streets, whilst some were doing the dishes for their parents. All stopped to look at us as we passed and most would run away to prevent photographs being taken, yet everywhere we looked to snap another image told ‘a thousand words’ and we wanted to capture them all.

Finally we found our destination medical clinic that had over the last week been taken over by the International Red Crescent (IRC ) and  we were told that it had a Doctor, a Nurse and a Vaccinator. A couple of packages of goodies –  woollen clothes, dolls, and toys made by generous Kiwis back home –  that we gave  to the clinic  prompted smiles in gratitude. This was the only reward that the Padre, Allan and I could ever have wanted. A few photos on the way back, man and donkey, women walking the roads, children by the sides of the roads and scenes of a majestic country present themselves to us in the winter’s sun heightened , again, by the reflection of the snow upon the hills.