'No worries' near Herat
By
John Jennings
THE WASHINGTON TIMES
Published June 14, 2004
HERAT, Afghanistan - "From here on, everything is Turan
Ismail's," the Afghan driver told his Western passengers
as he sped past a flyblown checkpoint and entered Herat
province.
"No roadblocks, no robbers, no worries," he added.
"Turan," meaning "captain," is an affectionate
nickname for Ismail Khan, the one-time Afghan army
captain who led a March 1979 uprising in Herat against
communist rule.
He survived the ensuing 25 years of warfare, leading
his mujahideen fighters against Soviets, Arabs and
Pakistanis and their Afghan supporters. Today, he is the
governor of Herat province in Afghanistan's far west.
Western diplomats and relief workers in the capital,
Kabul, love to hate him. A week rarely passes without a
Western press service portraying him as a tyrannical
warlord involved in narcotics trafficking, human rights
abuses, Islamist extremism and Taliban-like restrictions
on women.
But the lawlessness described in Kabul is simply not
an issue here, both Afghans and foreigners say.
"Most of those claims," the governor said, "can be
disproved by spending an hour in the bazaar."
Commerce, indeed, is thriving. Many staple goods are
cheaper than elsewhere in Afghanistan. The bazaars
bustle with shoppers. Unaccompanied women stroll
fearlessly at night in city parks.
Religious tolerance, too, is in evidence. A
Christian charity helps administer the province's main
hospital, and a sidewalk poster shop on a major street
features Christian iconography alongside Muslim saints.
Women's dress is marginally more conservative than
in Kabul, but there is no formal dress code. Every style
of "hijab," or appropriate female dress, is on display,
from simple head scarves to burkas.
Afghans traditionally are suspicious of education
for women, and disapprove of letting them work outside
the home. Yet every morning and afternoon, Herat's
streets are thronged with tens of thousands of girls on
their way to grade school, high school and the
province's university.
"There are more than 400,000 children in Herat
schools. Of those, 158,000 are girls," said Asefa
Roghani, the provincial director of women's affairs. "I
don't think those numbers can be matched anywhere else
in Afghanistan, including Kabul."
As Afghan leaders have for centuries, Mr. Khan
regularly sets aside one day a week to hear grievances
and petitions from ordinary citizens.
On one such Thursday, rows of turbaned men and
veiled women sat on folding chairs in a vast hall
awaiting the white-bearded governor, who strode in and
seated himself at a cheap metal and plywood desk.
The governor listened intently to the supplicants,
sometimes interjecting brief questions, occasionally
donning reading glasses to peruse their requests.
A middle-aged man, both legs amputated near the hip,
swung his torso across the floor using his hands as
crutches, and hoisted himself into a chair to address
the governor. He has had trouble getting the veteran's
benefits to which he felt entitled and wanted the
governor's help.
Next came a middle-aged woman in a head scarf and a
pretty, younger woman draped in a black shawl. They were
Iranians: The older woman just visiting, the younger a
family friend married to an Afghan.
For reasons not explained, the older woman had paid
bail for an Afghan jailed in Iran. He had promptly
vanished, and the woman wanted help tracking him down
and getting restitution.
The younger woman did most of the talking. She
smiled, batted her eyes and at times leaned close to the
governor, repeatedly adjusting her shawl in a coquettish
manner.
The governor neither recoiled nor leered. He
promised the women he would investigate the matter,
contact Iranian authorities and arrange reimbursement.
A young woman approached with her mother. She had
missed qualifying for the Herat medical school by two
points on the entrance exam and implored the governor to
intervene.
He nodded sympathetically, but refused: "If I did,
[the medical faculty] would have to make concessions to
everybody."
The girl began crying, and Mr. Khan fidgeted.
"Why don't you try another field? Why don't you take
the exam for engineering?" he suggested gently.
"But I've always wanted to be a doctor," the girl
wailed softly.
The governor shook his head. "I'm sorry," he
replied.
Source: The Washington Times
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