These are pics and stories to Before the Fall, Chapter 2 of Hollie McKay's and my photobook on Afghanistan. Hollie's writing is in the book and this substack is my account and story behind the images.
I asked the little girl in Dari "How much?"
I was talking about the dirt smoothies she was making amongst the chaos. The little girl must of been no more than six. She played happily with the dirt scooping it up with her hands and putting it in cups.
She laughed. I took her photo. For a moment there was joy in such a terrible predicament. There was an estimate of five thousand people displaced in the foothills of Kabul. They were seeking shelter from the fighting in Kunduz. The Taliban had won.
As much as it felt good to make the little girl smile, I could only hope for her safety and security sleeping out in the open. The tents were pretty makeshift. Hollie was with Mike getting stories while I was getting pictures. Dozens and dozens of photos.
I told her i would buy a dirt milkshake for 100 afghanis and handed her the money secretly so no one else would notice. Most of these people would notice and ask me for cash. if I had I would but then this would become a desperate scene.
This is what war has become. Especially in places like Afghanistan, most people do not have savings. The majority keep their money under the carpet. Most fled with what they could carry. The wealthy would hire a truck and move entirely to a relatives place hoping for the fighting to die down.
Many were telling us they had left with nothing. They hoped the Afghan National Army could drive them back but the Taliban were conducting multiple strikes all over the nation. The displaced is no new scene to me. I seen it in a dozen countries. The aid that came in food were distribution of local people. The UN, Unicef or the ICRC had arrived. It was only to get worse in coming days.
I could see Oriane and Charlie working in the distance amongst the crowd of women getting their stories. After years of living here, they seem to not need fixers or translators. Me photographing women was always difficult as a man so I avoided it. Mainly cause of cultural reason.
The women generally have their own section where they can feel safe. Sectioned off by blankets on cables. The sit and ponder fate.
Once in Pakistan I got hit with a man with a rock in his hand thinking I was photographing his wife when I was getting a large wide shot. But with the kind of desperation that war bring, often mothers come up to show us the condition of their children. We got a few stories of pain, of mothers losing their sons. Lost to the Taliban in fighting.
People raced for the food hand outs. They crowded and fought for what they could get. This is one of the hard things to see in war. The displaced. No food, No shelter, No access to water or toilets. There is a certain limit til dignity is lost.