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.

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