Come what may
These are pics and stories to Early Days of the Emirate, Chapter 3 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.
Things were moving quite fast in Afghanistan now that the Taliban had taken over. The embassies had all fled Afghanistan and the airport was now empty. After the suicide bomb from an ISIK attack that killed several US soldiers, they packed up and left. People were in hiding and in fear of the rules that would come.
But the Taliban had an announcement, that it would be amnesty for all. That there would no longer be hostilities to anyone if you were in the military or government working with Americans. Many didn't believed it and fled to Pakistan or Iran. There was to be evacuation flights to resume which people who had visa. The passport office was packed.
I didn't waste too much time. I got my motorbike running. An old Enfield 350 Electra that I brought in from India and rode it to Pakistan in 2014. It was kick start or electric and the battery needed replacing and the oil replaced. I took it over to Rahim's, my old mechanic.
He was glad to see me and I brought the bike in and asked for his tools and set myself to restore the bike to running again. Within a few hours the old girl kicked over and was running. I roamed around town on it. Kabul had an influx of refugees living in the park having come from the provinces.
They had no money and resorted for any help they could get but the aid organisations had mainly fled as well. Locals did however come and bring big pots of qabuli palau. I rode to Masood Square. The Taliban had removed the images of Masood and placed their flags all over it.
One of the ways from Masood Circle was to the US Embassy. The Taliban had repainted over the walls and painted their insignias. The words of Allah, black writing over white and they logo on the side. It was two curved swords, a wreath and the quran on a reading block with a little door way in the centre with steps.
NBC msged me on Instagram and asked me for the photo to be put up online. The media would be at least be covering the downfall of the republic and democracy and the new Afghan Taliban 2.0
Everything felt surreal. How they took over so quickly. I expected a fight for the capital. My friends had fled on flights. I helped a few get out but they managed themselves out once I could find the documentation on websites. Even our fixer Mike managed to escape to France.
We needed a fixer and we managed to get Naweed through of all places, Linkedin. All the usual fixers had left except for a few. Ones who could embrace the Taliban being in power. Naweed was ambitious and keen to prove himself. Hollie and I were still freelancers and couldn't pay what the big companies.
We figured we had a book to write and do and now it was going to be about the next few months of the Taliban being in power. Hopefully it would be smooth. We headed to the Ministry of Information and Culture and met the nicest, most polite Taliban working at the office. Spoke great English and brought out tea for us. He filed our paperwork and gave us letters each saying that we were journalist. Under the authority of Zabiullah Mujahid, we were able to have access to the whole country.
Zabiullah Mujahid, one of the Ministers of Foreign Affairs was having a conference. We attended riding my motorbike to there. The Taliban had new uniforms and held American guns. There was alot of the rat pack there. Journalist from old times. There were like me, in disbelief. It was hard to believe the US democracy was being hand to the Emirate.
Zabiullah announced new ministers in power and sought for lower government officials to return to work. Restore the Ministry of Finance. Zabi spoke many different languages but preferred Pashto which made life a little more difficult. I had learnt Dari and Pashto was really the language of the south preferred by the Pashtuns.
No longer did the islamic Republic of Afghanistan flag fly ontop of Wazir Akbar Khan.
I went home and we had three young guys now work at the guest house. Homayun managed to escape on the last American plane out. He was lucky but the cafe could no longer run and work. I sorted of helped run it and try and get more journalist to stay in the spare room so we could have money to run the place.
Guest houses were harder to find and most journalist had to live in hotels. The banks had all closed down and there was often large lines of people trying to get in but no one had access to their money. The only way to get money into the country was through hawala. An age old system that went through families living abroad trading money.
One thing was for certain. I had to make the most of this trip and see all of Afghanistan.