I hadn’t even opened the package containing my shiny new NYU Master’s in Journalism and I was already heading to Afghanistan. It had been a couple of years since I ended my service as a U.S. Marines combat correspondent, and I wanted to get back to the war.
People told me I was crazy for doing it.
I hadn’t even opened the package containing my shiny new NYU Master’s in Journalism and I was already heading to Afghanistan. It had been a couple of years since I ended my service as a U.S. Marines combat correspondent, and I wanted to get back to the war.
Traveling as a civilian, I paid my own way and had hardly any support, but I also had more freedom to travel than when I was in uniform.
I took the following photos during the delay following my arrival in Kabul and my official embed date (until which, no military unit will give you refuge, regardless of your citizenship). For these few days I played tourist: found a nice little guest house, contracted a driver and an interpreter, and headed on daily roadtrips around the area.
What I saw was a country hardened by decades of war and poverty — but also filled with sympathetic people who you’ll rarely see in Western media. People who, in the midst of chaotic street life, insisted I take my shoes off and get comfortable, drink tea and eat candy prior to doing business. Kids living in squalor who still dreamed of becoming doctors and engineers — and were thrilled to pose for pictures and beat me in impromtu soccer matches.
I’ve already published an essay and put up photo spreads of the trip, but I saved these shots of Afghan life for last. Away from the war is where things get complicated. There is no moral and no ending, happy or otherwise. There are a lot of problems, and they’re only getting worse.
I arrived at the airport and right as bewilderment and confusion peaked, I found my interpreter and driver.
Geoffrey Ingersoll
With few traffic cops in Kabul, the right of way goes to who’s the most aggressive.
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First we go to a mountain top overlooking Kabul, where kids fly kites and older folks gather to relax.
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A few older gentlemen allow me to photograph them as they peel oranges and talk politics.
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All around Afghanistan are signs of war, like the concertina wire wrapped around this fence.
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It was getting dark, and it was my first day, so I figured it’d be good to head back, find out where I’m sleeping.
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Rainy season in Afghanistan is a prelude to fighting season, I arrived in the middle of the transition.
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The guest house had a few security guards with AK-47s. They reminded me of a leaner, more well equipped version of mall cops in Jersey.
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The garages were lined with cars of varying security. Being self funded, I opted for the least armored vehicle — plus, the Taliban wasn’t looking to bomb journalists.
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I had to be careful about taking pictures of women, and was continually harassed by the local police force (which, consequently, didn’t mind accepting bribes).
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This group of businessmen sipping tea saw me with my camera and asked for a picture.
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Just like NYC: ‘Street-meat’ vendors cook hard during mealtime hours and enthusiastically shout out to customers in the street below.
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I made it a point to talk to as many kids as possible — this clever little guy described to me the political implications of a U.S. withdrawal (in short, ‘not good’).
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I asked this next fellow, no more than eight years old, if he knew what a ‘terrorist’ was; his best guess: ‘A type of American car?’
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Smoldering hot coals mark the end of a baker’s busy hours.
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Here he is counting sacks of money, in all Afghan bills, called Afghanis.
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Because inflation is so bad here, about $200 equates to 7,000 Afghanis.
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A fabric salesman tells me that Americans are good for weddings, his main business. ‘If you leave, what will I do, there will be no more security, and no more weddings.’
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Refrigeration is not widely available in bulk sizes out here, so businesses use cellars, dug deep into the ground, to preserve their perishables.
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Each day many businessmen find a good spot, drop a blanket filled with wares, and hope for the best.
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Open-air meat markets sport giant sides of beef. Upon closer inspection I begin to understand why the U.S. has an FDA.
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War aside, most kids here spend a few hours a day in school. This row of backpacks sports images of American cartoons that stopped being popular in the 80s.
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Some things are pretty universal, regardless of culture. Women’s bags and purses are big business here in the bazaar.
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Also several kinds of knock-off American basketball shoes.
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Most shop owners use beat up old calculators to keep track of sales. Computerized cash registers are not just expensive, they’re impractical.
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This young lad stops so I can photograph him — he seems like he could break into a sprint without dropping the bread.
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Sweets are big business here and across the Middle East.
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Kabul seems infinitely curious about ‘energy drinks,’ of which several different kinds can be found.
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I’m quickly surrounded by throngs of eager and curious street kids, who photo bomb the frame.
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‘Wheelbarrow men’ line up looking for work — whether it’s a woman with too many groceries, or a shopkeep who needs to ship something locally.
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A couple Afghans secure a load to a larger wheelbarrow — someone’s got his work cut out for him here.
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Women shop for cloth, among other things, for ceremonial purposes.
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I’ve been in the bazaar now for a few hours, and am starting to get some attention.
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In an attempt to get a shot of the weird ‘jumbo-tron’ in the center square of the bazaar, it occurs to me that this ‘attention’ might not be the best kind.
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We get something to eat and head out for a night shoot.
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Darkness is when the signature colored globes begin to shine — a habit of Afghan businesses in night-time hours.
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Fires burn, either for warmth or to cook food. I know it’s risky to be out right now, but I want to get the right shots.
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I’m a little iffy about eating anything fried. God knows where the oil came from.
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Lighting his whole operation is this single, super bright light bulb.
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He seems to be a popular guy — during our short stay, several Afghans call him by name and stop by to shoot the breeze.
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So far, my fixer has been great at predicting threats, but right now he’s encouraging me to shoot as much as possible.
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THUMP! Heavy as hell, a piece of crushed up concrete nails me in the back as I set up this shot. An unseen assailant is throwing things. I get the heck out of the there.
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Back in the car: I’m significantly larger (and more well trained) than the average Afghan, but I’m also quite outnumbered. I take the hint.
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The village is like nothing I’ve ever seen: the fishermen live mostly in these huts by the river during the warmer months.
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This little guy takes time out of his busy day to ‘mean mug’ the American photographer.
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Several young boys find their work after school hours with the fishermen.
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The boys scoop fish directly out of the water with their bare hands.
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Eventually other local boys join in — hoping at the very least to get a free meal.
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Practiced hands open up the fish and pull out the inedible parts.
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Eventually when the pile is high enough, they’ll carry a basket over to the cook.
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The cook will further clean and prepare the fish.
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Then into the oil they go, fried for hungry customers.
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He was a nice guy, sure, but if I had to give some advice, it would be to not eat the fish.
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After a few hours, yet again, I’ve gathered a small gaggle of children who misbehave and show off for the camera.
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Horsemen are common in Afghanistan. They offer rides and pictures to tourists for a fee.
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My fixer, ‘Mubine,’ an enthusiastic young Muslim man who good-naturedly encouraged me to take a gander at the Koran, insisted we stop at this graveyard, where I found kids playing among the stones.
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The different billboards and advertisements in Afghanistan would certainly grab anyone’s attention. Mubine tells me the obvious; that this poster advertises the benefits of enlisting in the police.
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We head up into the mountain slums, the poorest areas of Kabul.
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I understand ‘slum’ is a derogatory term, but there is no other way to describe these areas. Taking the edge off the word won’t take the edge off the reality.
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Here comes the gaggle of children. As usual, I ask them questions, feed them what little bubble gum I have. They tell me their hero is ‘John Cena,’ the American wrestler.
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The shuddered and unused ice cream shack seems from a forgotten time, possibly when things were a little better for Kabul.
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This little guy is curious, but not nearly as forward as his older compadres (one of whom literally plucked a few hundred Afghanis right out of my pocket).
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Sewers here are open, and I notice adults pissing and throwing indiscriminate refuse in these trenches. Then, the poorer among them, kids mostly, surf through the trash looking for anything edible.
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I’d had enough. So we headed back down into the heart of Kabul.
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It’s just seems strange to me to advertise Pepsi in a huge billboard above an open-air market.
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Don’t forget to drink coke.
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Right in a city square, in the shadow of a sign screaming the advantages of prepaid cell phones, a group of kids plays cricket.
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They’re also in the shadow of a low-on-business construction company.
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It seems like all of Afghanistan is still in the shadow of the housing crisis. Unfinished buildings dot the landscape.
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Inside what should have been the basement for a gigantic residential building.
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I set the camera down, try not to be too troubled, and throw down a short game with the kids. They go crazy, and all the adults watching laugh as the kids run circles around me.
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It will be a lasting memory. And it wasn’t until the end that I felt thankful the military wouldn’t take me early.
