Afghan diary
Susan Ormiston
Where there is war, there is money
Last Updated: Monday, August 17, 2009 | 2:32 PM ET
Susan Ormiston CBC News
A barometer of the wartime economy here is the charter flight we take from Dubai to Kandahar. Its load has changed dramatically since I first flew into Kandahar airfield in 2007.
Then, the human cargo — about 30 of us — was stuffed in the back, on bad seats with worn-out seatbelts. The front section was reserved for the real cargo, strapped to the floor of the aircraft.
On that first trip, we were a couple of journalists, a handful of aid workers and a dozen contractors flying in to work at the base. This time, that same charter is chock full of contractors — 160 or so, mostly sunburned men. The charter company has added a weekly flight and all the flights are booked solid.
Why? Well, war means business. And KAF is growing faster even than Dubai, it seems.
There's construction everywhere. The base is the site of a building boom to accommodate tens of thousand more troops.
For $180 US a night, you too can sleep in a narrow room at the Kandahar hotel without a private toilet. (Susan Ormiston/CBC) There are also more "hard" buildings, meaning permanent ones.
KAF, where Canada's contingent has been housed these past years, is now home to two new coffee shops, a basketball court, new PX's (military shops) and a new Asian mess.
There is even a private hotel — on a military base! It has 41 rooms but they're busy adding a second floor.
In case you are wondering, it costs $180 US per night for a container-type room with no bathroom.
Someone's making money from this war, and it's not the ordinary Afghan.
Lunch in Kandahar
Some of my most vivid snapshots of southern Afghanistan come from lunch. I'm never out in the city or countryside for dinner. That would be madness. But lunch is often an invigorating cultural experience.
Last week, for example, we ventured into a restaurant in downtown Kandahar City. It was about 50C outside and we quickly hustled down to the basement eating area to avoid being noticed.
Foreigners are largely absent from the city these days. Most ex-pat aid workers have taken an "election holiday" to avoid the escalating violence.
Afghan children follow the Canadian convoys through Kandahar City hoping for treats or games to be thrown their way. (Susan Ormiston/CBC) There are no other women in the restaurant, there almost never are. Kandahari women don't "do lunch." The men inside take a deep long look my way.
In the basement it's hot. Dripping hot. The air conditioning has stopped.
One of my companions has an AK47 slung over his shoulder. We settle in a bunker-like room at the back and just get seated on the carpeted floor when he reaches over and knocks on the wall I'm leaning against.
Satisfied he leans back and shrugs off his gun. I look his way, questioning. The translator explains that the wall is concrete, which is good because it'll stop a bullet coming through.
Then the power goes out. Pitch black darkness. I'm losing my appetite.
After a moment, the light flickers on again and we begin to order. The meal is delicious.
Two years ago, in January, it was pretty cold for an outdoor picnic. But that's what was offered.
We were in Spin Boldak near the Pakistan border in the local commander's compound. He ran the border patrol at a chaotic crossing about 10 minutes away.
After our interview, his guards ran to set up a makeshift table with a cloth. There, in the middle of a broken-down, stone courtyard, with a half dozen armed men surrounding us, we dined.
Wonderful goat stew with raisins, rice and Afghan bread, and orange Fanta.
You should run for president
The other day I ate with 20 women at a co-op in downtown Kandahar.
The organization has about 200 members but the other 180 can't leave their homes. They're not allowed to.
Burkas hanging in a women's co-op in Kandahar City, Afghanistan. (Susan Ormiston/CBC) The women I met make textile samples and the women at home reproduce them.
At the co-op, there's a closet filled with burkas. Blue, rose and green, all dusty.
No women walk in Kandahar without a burka, but once they come inside they shed them.
We talk about the election. They're frustrated, even angry about the lack of progress in their country.
They wonder why vote, when the Taliban threatens to punish those who do. They ask who they should vote for when all those in positions of authority have disappointed them.
It has been eight years since the Taliban fell and there are still precious few opportunities for these women.
Lunch here is pretty simple, they can't afford the meat dishes and other fancier fare. But the macaroni in cheese sauce, with salad and cooked lentils is among the best I've ever had.
As we talk, I see every woman here has a story. Many are not happy ones.
This sewers' circle is as much about communion and fellowship as it is about micro-business.
One woman in particular is beautifully dressed and very feisty. After she lectured me on how, despite the tens of thousands of Western troops on the base 30 minutes from her city, no one can stop the fighting.
Kandahar, she says, is less secure now than when the Taliban fell.
I listened and quipped "you should run for president." She looked at me and said, "I can't write."
