Vote, schmote

Just a small portion of fraudulent ballots at the Independent Election Commission in Kabul...

For anyone who hasn't been following this crazy thing called an election: we finally have a winner--Hamid Karzai. This is not a surprise, but a painfully slow conclusion.

In a nutshell, the presidential election was held August 20, yadda yadda yadda, Karzai wins.

The slightly longer version is the presidential election was held August 20, and widespread fraud was reported and investigated by the UN-backed Electoral Complaints Commission, resulting in 1 million of Karzai's votes being tossed out. As this brought Karzai's total to under the 50% required majority, a runoff was mandated by the Afghan constitution. The date was set for a November 7 runoff, but Karzai's challenger, Abdullah Abdullah, pulled out of the race. The Independent Election Commission declared Karzai the winner the next day and canceled the runoff, to the relief of, well, just about everyone.

(The extremely long version that we have all been living and breathing includes an hour-by-hour account of all of the arm-twisting by foreign countries, the backstage deal-making between Karzai, Abdullah, the UN and the "Independent" Election Commission and well-founded fears of an even more fraudulent election the second time around. And don't forget the attacks on each person's credibility and integrity.)

Whew!


These ballots? Fageddabout it!

Anyway. Afghanistan's election is finally over, and so is my time here. At least for now.

I have been here in Afghanistan for three months--a record I may never repeat. Although, hmmm...never say never. I had some good luck, some bad luck and times when I didn't know what the hell I was doing here. (Good luck: awesome friends, some truly awesome assignments, amazing experiences, a constant supply of free alcohol. Bad luck: lost wallet/debit card/ISAF ID, a Ramadan dry spell, 3 weeks of pneumonia, dropping my camera and damaging a brand-spanking-new lens, a constant supply of free alcohol. I won't go into the "what the hell am I doing here?" category.)

I have at least four stories to post, but I have to wait for all of them to be published before releasing them on the ole blog.

Until then, I leave you with a wistful, April 2009 Abdullah at the site of Ahmed Shah Massoud's tomb in Panjshir, when he was but a young presidential-maybe-possibly-I-might-run-but-it-depends-on-what-the-polls-say Pashtun...

Backcountry ballots

I recently returned from working in Afghanistan's northern Badakhshan province with New York Times staffer Sabrina Tavernise and Afghan colleague Sangar Rahimi. We worked on several pieces together, the first focusing on preparations for the upcoming Afghan presidential runoff election between Hamid Karzai and Abdullah Abdullah. Please read Sabrina's entertaining story here.

Badakhshan is one of the most remote, unreachable provinces in the country--large, mountainous and rural. There is one paved road in the entire province, in the capital Faizabad. When Afghan election officials talk of winter weather possibly impeding the runoff in some places, they are likely talking about Badakhshan.

Few people have cars: most people travel on foot or by donkey. And it is donkeys that are employed to bring ballots to some of the most tucked-away communities, places deep in the wilderness with no roads at all. Helicopters are used to transport ballot boxes to the district centers, then election workers use donkeys to transport the boxes further in to the backcountry.


We met Ezatullah while working on another story in his district of Baharak. He is a caretaker of a school we visited several times. On one of our visits, he was listening to an election program on the radio. He came out to meet our car, then brought us back to the room where he lives next to the school.


The father of eight children said he planned to vote for Abdullah in the runoff election. In our unscientific poll, Abdullah had a commanding lead in the province. He perhaps owes some of his popularity in the region to his time working with famed Northern Alliance commander Ahmed Shah Massoud--Badakhshan was after all a front-line province during the mujahideen's battle against the Soviets.


A dated election advertisement in Faizabad encourages women to register to vote.

"The Daily Show" of Kabul

I don't think I've ever seen a more lovely blond mullet wig on a man.

Afghans don't celebrate Halloween, but in the spirit of my favorite dress-up holiday, I decided to post some photos from a political satire television show here in Kabul that I visited with Laura King from the Los Angeles Times. (Read the LA Times story here.)

The show is called "Zang-e Khatar," or "Alarm Bell," and is styled after shows like Jon Stewart's "The Daily Show" and nighttime talk shows like Letterman and Leno. Kabul's Tolo Television airs the show. Afghanistan's election fraud scandal has provided ample material for the lead comics on the program, Hanif Hangam and Ghulam Nabi Sakhri.


The cast gets ready to tape the wildly-popular weekly show. Sakhri, second from left, and Hangam, second from right, write almost all their own material.


Hangam, the show's director, jots down a script just before taping.


Sakhri dons sunglasses during the opening monologue. Like Ed McMahon did for Johnny Carson, the main role of each person on the end of the table is to laugh at the jokes.


The taping studio's equipment is not the worst, nor the best available.


Instead of a New York skyline, the digital image of a Kabul slum at night provides a backdrop for Hangam's satire and commentary.


During the Taliban, television was banned, as were most forms of entertainment. And, of course, dissent was out of the question.


Sakhri watches as crew members arrange props for the next segment. The props are rudimentary, consisting of battered furniture, cardboard and understated costumes.


Sakhri and Hangam prepare to tape a skit spoofing Kabul's waste disposal department. In the skit, the actors made fun of people going to the bathroom in the streets--surprisingly frank for Afghanistan's more conservative culture. Like satire shows in the U.S., almost nothing is sacred.


I am glad that Afghans still have a great sense of humor and can laugh at themselves. I wish I could understand the language so I could laugh along with the jokes, some of which certainly make fun of foreigners like me.

Medic! (Cough, cough)

My bedside table is full of drugs. Antibiotics, steroids (not THOSE kind of steroids) decongestants and expectorants. Yes, that is an inhaler. (Gasp.)

Almost three weeks ago, I went on a short embed in Uruzgan province for an assignment. The day I traveled to Uruzgan, I came down with a cold. No big deal. I wasn't at my best, but just carried on as well as I could, shooting the assignment, then hopping military and commercial planes over the following three days back to Kabul. I was exhausted and sick, but tried to get lots of rest and drink fluids. A cold is not normally something I worry about and I just thought I'd get over it in a couple days. Plus I was hoping to avoid seeking medical treatment in Kabul.

Afghanistan had other plans. It's not a good place to get sick. Dust, air pollution, stress and lack of sleep would be enough to make one ill anywhere, let alone here. I finally went to the nearby German Clinic and learned that I had pneumonia. Awesome.

Two doctor visits and two weeks later, my health is steadily improving. The illness has brought work to a standstill, but I hope to be well enough in a week or two to get back at it. Until then, I'll be sleeping, drinking tea and taking all my drugs.

(More on Uruzgan coming up soon...)

Dushanbe-distracted

Sometimes it's necessary to get out of this place, even if it's just for a couple of days. A couple of friends invited me to come with them to Dushanbe, the capital of Tajikistan, shortly after the Afghan presidential election. It was a nice break. We could walk around or ride local taxis freely, the city was clean and orderly and I didn't have to wear a scarf. We spent the time exploring, eating good food and taking pictures just for fun.

Above, a boy tries to stay warm while drip-drying after a swim in the Varzob River.


My friend Jon sits in the Soviet-esque apartment the three of us rented next to Secret Police headquarters, after one of our long jaunts around town.


At night the streets of the city are nearly empty, except for impromptu police checkpoints, where officers try to shake-down passing motorists for bribes.


The language is Tajik, very similar to Farsi, but they use the Cyrillic alphabet to write. Dushanbe feels like a capital still in transition: a strong Soviet presence and infrastructure with a developing Tajik identity.


A fruit vendor rubs her eyes at the Green Market.


In a park near the Dushanbe Opera.


The Soviet seal at a monument for those who died during World War II.


People know how to drive in Dushanbe. They even stop at red lights.


Tajikistan, a former Soviet Republic, has maintained close ties to Russia culturally, economically and politically, and I sensed a bit of nostalgia for the days of the great empire. Now Tajikistan is just a small under-developed fish in an ocean.


This is the back of the apartment block where we stayed.


I like this picture best. She has an interesting face.


A group of dudes hanging out by the river after a swim.


The saddest bear I have ever seen at the Dushanbe Zoo.


I'm not sure if the billboard photograph of tulips is to help prevent road rage or just to beautify the city, but I like it!

Quick bits

Men's waiting area at Farah airport, western Afghanistan.


The young son of the Farah provincial governor Rahoul Amin hangs out with Asmatullah--security chief, house manager and part-time nanny.


The tin can they tried to pass off as a plane at Farah Airport. Yes, that is a dirt runway.


Above, men unload a truck full of goods in Jalrez Bazaar, Wardak province. The community began to thrive once again after large influx of American soldiers arrived and began patrolling.

See the New York Times story here.


Jalrez Bazaar. I was literally chasing the light on this assignment. Although this village is doing better, one must pass through areas occupied by Taliban to get to it. So I had to rely on a military convoy that almost didn't come to get me. Thankfully they did, but it was late in the day by the time we arrived at Jalrez Bazaar, and the sun was sinking fast.


Sgt. First Class Donald Coleman consults with some of Jalrez's Afghan Public Protection Force guradians.


Squeezing the last light out of Jalrez Bazaar.


A girl peeks at me from a broken window in Kabul.


Women wait tensely for their names to be called during a World Food Program food distribution on International Peace Day, in Charikar, Parwan province.


Shamsuddin, 10, and Mujahid, 12, shine shoes while a customer waits his turn at Barbur's Gardens, a huge park in Kabul.


A boy flies a makeshift kite, a plastic grocery sack, near his home on Television Mountain, Kabul. Kite-flying is a popular activity for children in Kabul, but some families can't afford kites. So kids improvise.

Kandahar votes

(I wrote this essay for the Sept. 10, 2009 issue of the Pacific Northwest Inlander.)

BOOM.

The explosion startled me awake, sending my pulse racing. Dark grey light filtered into the room. I turned my head to look at my travel alarm clock next to the guesthouse bed: 4:42 a.m.

It was an ominous beginning to Afghanistan’s presidential election day. For the first time in five years, Afghans were being asked to choose their president. Of 31 candidates, three stood out: Would it be American favorite Ashraf Ghani, former Minister of Foreign Affairs Abdullah Abdullah or incumbent Hamid Karzai?

BOOM.

4:51 a.m. This one was louder and closer. I felt the room tremble.

My National Public Radio colleague in the next bed, Soraya Nelson, sat bolt upright. There was no going back to sleep now. Soraya powered up her computer, and I headed for the shower down the hall.

If there are foreign journalists in Kandahar, they are likely staying at the Continental Guesthouse: the small, guarded hotel has so far been spared attacks from insurgents or criminals. On this visit to the birthplace of the Taliban, we shared the guesthouse with a news crew from Al-Jazeera English and British and German newspaper journalists, as well as a group of Western election observers and their bodyguards.

In the bathroom that morning, I stepped under the stream of water. BOOM. The power went out and I was washing in near darkness.

BOOM.

***

In an effort to prevent car bombs at polling places, driving on Election Day was prohibited, except for those with a special permit issued by police to government officials, election observers and a handful of journalists.

The ban emptied Kandahar’s dusty streets. Except for the occasional pedestrian, the normally bustling market places and main avenues were quiet. Shops were shuttered, their corrugated metal garage doors padlocked. Contingents of Afghan National Army soldiers occupied checkpoints at the main squares.

The city felt like it was holding its breath.

***

At Ahmed Shah Baba High School, Afghan police searched male voters for weapons as they trickled in to the polling center. President Hamid Karzai’s brother, Ahmed Wali Karzai, voted and spoke to the small press corps, before his bodyguards whisked him away in a shiny black SUV with tinted windows.

BOOM: 10:36 a.m.

People on the street outside briefly recoiled at the sound of the rocket before continuing on their way.


BOOM: 10:54 a.m.

After the explosion near Zaher Shahi High School, a Canadian military convoy raced past on the empty street.

A woman in a rose-colored burqa, her two young sons in tow, paced outside the main gate of the school, looking lost. Sapnah, 21, had been walking in the roasting sun for 20 minutes trying to find a women’s polling station. Because of the danger, her husband had forbidden her from leaving the house, but she defied him. She was determined to cast her vote for Kandahar native Hamid Karzai.

“I have this,” she said, indicating the voter registration card clutched in one hand, “and I want to use it.”


Zarghouna High School was one of a handful of women’s polling places. At midday, the center, big enough to accommodate hundreds of voters, was devoid of all but three. Officials walked back and forth down the expansive halls, past classroom doors painted bright green. Election workers waited dutifully at their stations next to empty voting booths.

I asked a poll worker named Maryam where all the voters were.

“They are afraid,” she said. “They had to stay in the house.”

***

The rocket that killed Jamila came at 12:30.

The 10-year-old was helping her mother prepare lunch in their mud hut, when a rocket hit a tall building next door. The rocket exploded, sending shrapnel through the cardboard roof of the family's small dwelling below.

Jamila died instantly.

In Kandahar, rockets killed another person and wounded three more. It’s not even safe for people to stay home. There is no security, period. Not for Afghans, not for anyone.

***

According to the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF), nearly 30,000 foreign troops are stationed throughout the South. The NATO military conducts operations in five provinces from the main headquarters at Kandahar Air Field just outside the city.

Yet, international forces have not been able to make Kandahar safe. Politically-motivated kidnappings, assassinations and rocket attacks are common. Some areas of the city, to the west, north and south, are no-go zones for Kandaharis—places controlled by insurgents and criminals. Sometimes a neighbor or friend simply disappears, never to be heard from again. Violence against women has increased across the board. Female politicians, teachers, rights activists, schoolgirls—none are safe. In the weeks before the election, the Taliban circulated threatening leaflets and radio broadcasts, promising punishment for anyone who voted, thickening the air with fear.

Just ask anyone: the Taliban are back, they are operating in Kandahar city and Afghans are rightfully terrified.

***

The outcome of Afghanistan’s presidential election is murky at best.

If no candidate receives more than 50 percent of the vote, the Afghan Constitution mandates a runoff election. Although Hamid Karzai currently has 54% of the vote, the Electoral Complaints Commission is investigating hundreds of “priority A” allegations of election fraud--those complaints considered serious enough to affect the results. On September 8, the Commission announced that it had "found clear and convincing evidence of fraud in a number of polling stations" and demanded a partial recount. Thousands of votes have been thrown out.

Nobody seems to know how long it will take to sort out, but it could take months.

In Kandahar, the violence has grown worse. I was already back in Kabul when, five days after the election, a massive truck bomb exploded outside of a Japanese reconstruction company, killing at least 40 people and wounding 80. The explosion reduced an entire city block to rubble.

And at the Continental Guesthouse, where just a few days before I had slept, ate and worked, the force of the blast blew out all the windows.

Colorful Tora

Back in Cairo in July, I worked with correspondent Jeffrey Fleishman on a slice-of-life feature for the Los Angeles Times about Cairo's Tora neighborhood. Read the story and see more photos here. (I did not shoot the video.) It was nice to work on a relatively relaxing story. Even though shooting in Egypt can be a headache, this time, refreshingly, I had few problems.

Above, Ramadan Hassan's family hangs out on the front stoop of their home in Tora neighborhood. The family had a mural painted on the wall to celebrate Um Muhammad's (third from left) homecoming from the Hajj, the Muslim pilgrimage to the holy cities of Mecca and Medina in Saudi Arabia. The family survives selling fish they catch from the Nile, which is just a few streets away, and running a clothing store south of Cairo.


Tora is one of Cairo's funky little neighborhoods. It's pretty sleepy until late afternoon, when the heat of the day subsides and people become more active.


Gamal Sayed Ibrahim in his shop, where he sells odds and ends and makes copies on Tora's main square.


Ahmed Morsy's grandfather was the neighborhood tailor before Ahmed took over and turned the family business into an ironing shop. Business has slowed down and Ahmed is struggling to provide for his wife and two children.


Ibrahim Ahmed Hassan, 20, hangs out with a friend in the pool hall, Abu Donia. Hassan is in his third year studying business at a local university and is setting his sights on a life outside of Tora, maybe even outside of Egypt.


Saber Saad sings the azan, the Muslim call to prayer, at Tora's small mosque. Before retiring last year, Saad worked in a munitions factory and was a wedding singer on the side.


Now that he's retired, Saber Saad spends most of his time with his 20 pairs of pigeons that he keeps in his rooftop aviary. He has been training pigeons for 25 years and finds it relaxing. Like most people in the neighborhood, Saad's family has been living in the same house for generations.


One of Saber's pigeons has nice wallpaper.