The Circuit (19 page)

I tried to take my mind off the flight by focusing on the landscape beneath us. It was utterly wild; a hostile environment in every sense. Inevitably, my mind wandered to what would happen if the plane crashed. I always fly with my GPS, Silva compass and satellite phone on me just in case. Perhaps I’m paranoid but I decided long ago that if a plane drops out of the sky with me in it, I’m not going to stick around and starve waiting to be rescued. Perhaps I was overly influenced by the story of the Argentinian rugby team who crashed in the Andes in the 1970s, and survived by eating their dead mates.

The mountains receded and we made our final descent into Kabul. I breathed a sigh of relief as the plane touched down, not realizing that the most chaotic portion of the flight was about to begin. As soon as the wheels bounced on the tarmac, most of the passengers jumped up from their seats and started pulling down their belongings from the overhead compartments. During taxi, there was a near punch-up as a group of men jostled for first position at the aircraft’s main exit. It was a good introduction to a country where there are no rules and only the strongest survive.

I had many reasons for taking an assignment in Afghanistan. A few of my mates on The Circuit had been there before me and I found their stories about the country and its people fascinating. I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to see it all for myself. Wanderlust aside, I also had a burning professional interest in the country. I was very disturbed by what was happening to The Circuit in Iraq and I wanted to see if the slide in standards had spread elsewhere. I was also curious about Afghanistan’s general security situation – an interest which fit perfectly with Nic’s documentary.

Nic was an old Afghan hand, having first reported on the Taliban in 1996 when they took Kabul. Afghanistan had fallen off the media’s radar in the wake of the Iraq war and Nic felt it was high time for a look in. He wanted to ‘take the pulse’ of Afghanistan to determine if the US-led coalition was making any headway towards securing the country. Nic reasoned that if the coalition was succeeding in Afghanistan, they’d have a blueprint to follow for Iraq. Conversely, if things weren’t going so well and the coalition was blowing it in Afghanistan, Iraq could go the same way.

As for specific stories, Nic was adamant about two. First, he wanted to land an embed with US troops operating in southern Afghanistan. Secondly, he wanted to report on the coalition’s efforts to rein in Afghanistan’s opium production.

As I stepped off the aircraft, the first thing that struck me was how war-torn Kabul Airport looked. This was 2004, nearly two and half years after the American-led invasion, and the debris of battles long since past still littered the place. Rusting Russian-made tanks, helicopters and other armour lay everywhere. Men in face shields and protective clothing were busy clearing landmines from the side of the runway. It amazed me that commercial flights were allowed to land whilst this was going on.

Inside the terminal, we were met by a CNN ‘fixer’ I’ll call Hamid. Fixers are retained by the media to help out in foreign countries. Usually a national or someone from a neighbouring country, they’re jacks of all trades who translate, set up interviews, find hotels, gather information on stories and get you and your kit past customs officials without getting bogged down in searches and paperwork.

A good fixer is worth his weight in gold and I’d heard from advisers who’d worked with CNN Kabul previously that Hamid was one of the best: hard-working, efficient and a qualified medical doctor to boot.

Hamid hugged Nic and gave me a deceptively strong handshake. Though the man was built like a bull, his manicured beard gave him an almost gentle appearance (I later found out that many men in Hamid’s family had represented Afghanistan in wrestling competitions).

Hamid asked for our passports and luggage tags and handed them off to an associate. ‘The cars are waiting,’ he said.

‘What about our kit?’ I asked.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘My brother is the security commander here. Everything will be at our hotel by lunchtime.’

Hamid was already living up to his reputation.

Outside the terminal, two Toyota Hilux Surfs were waiting for us with the engines running. The Hilux is very popular in Afghanistan and therefore quite low profile. Once we were all in, the drivers initiated the central locks and opened the windows no more than an inch; wide enough for ventilation but sufficiently narrow to prevent anyone from tossing a hand grenade inside.

The advisers who’d come before me had taught CNN’s local hires well. That’s the thing about standards on The Circuit. When they’re high, each successive adviser on a job benefits from the groundwork laid before them. When standards are low, it’s the opposite; you’re either starting from scratch or worse – cleaning up a mess someone else has left behind.

As we turned onto the main road, I quickly realized that the battle scars at Kabul Airport were superficial wounds compared with the rest of the city. Many of the buildings we passed were nothing more than crumbling shells, yet many were still inhabited. We drove past an old bombed-out apartment block that was missing entire sections of exterior walls. I saw women and children living inside, completely exposed to the elements. Some families were on the top floors. One wrong step and they could easily fall to their deaths. It was disgraceful to see people living that way.

An equally outrageous situation was waiting just a few miles up the road, at the Masood roundabout, one of Kabul’s busiest. Just ahead of it was a pedestrian crossing; women in burkas were hovering at either end, trying to cross without being run over. Watching them step out and jump back, I felt incredibly sorry for them. It never dawned on me until that moment that burkas allow no peripheral vision. They’re horrible garments that no human being should be forced to wear.

We had no choice but to follow the rest of the traffic from the roundabout onto a congested offshoot. It wasn’t the quickest route to our hotel, but as Hamid explained, it was the only one available to us. The road leading directly to our hotel was a no-go zone. Just like Baghdad, the Yanks had located key buildings including the US Embassy and the International Security Assistance Force’s (ISAF) headquarters along one of Kabul’s most critical traffic arteries and sealed it from unauthorized vehicles (i.e. all locals).

At the first opportunity, our drivers turned off the main road and onto a series of backstreets. I use the term ‘street’ loosely because they were nothing more than muddy tracks cutting through slums. I couldn’t believe the appalling conditions people were living in; rubbish was strewn everywhere. There were no proper sewers, just miles of ditches filled with raw sewage. I saw human waste flowing directly out the sides of buildings and into areas where children were playing or rummaging through piles of debris. And the dust! Dust and exhaust fumes were inescapable. I blew my nose and looked at the tissue; it was black. I’ve been to some shitholes in my time, but Kabul will take some beating.

Our hotel, the Kabul Inn, had served as CNN’s Bureau in 2001 before being converted into a full-time guest house. When we arrived, I was pleased to see that it was set in a walled compound surrounded on three sides by NGO houses with decent security. It was also set back from the main road so it would take one hell of a car bomb to make a serious dent in the place. It was another example of how the advisers who’d come before me had made my job much easier.

Inside the gated courtyard there was a lovely, quiet garden, another plus from a security standpoint. I didn’t want my clients sleeping and working in a watering hole hosting international piss-ups every night. Best of all, our rooms were in the back of the main building, the safest possible location.

Once I knew we could sleep soundly at night, I got stuck into securing our daytime movements around Kabul and points beyond. My first order of business was weapons. In Baghdad I was slotted into an ongoing assignment for which weapons had already been procured. CNN didn’t maintain a full-time bureau in Kabul, so on this job I’d have to find my own.

As long as you have money, it’s always possible to get a hold of weapons in a hostile environment. The trick is to buy wisely. There are lots of things to consider in a country like Afghanistan where at the time there were no regulatory standards. A weapon’s origin for one; in Afghanistan, the majority of weapons on offer are either made in Pakistan or Russia and eastern Europe. A Russian/ eastern European-made weapon costs between 500 and 900 US dollars depending on condition and type. Pakistani-made weapons only cost between 300 and 500 US dollars. The price difference is substantial but when you consider that your life can depend on what you buy, you’re taking a big chance if you opt for the bargain version. The Russian AK, for example, is the most copied weapon in the world. It’s very easy to use compared to its American-made counterpart, the M16. I’ve seen children strip down an AK, clean it, reassemble and fire in a matter of minutes – sadly. AKs are always in demand and imitations can vary considerably in quality. As a general rule, you can’t go wrong with a Russian-made AK47 assault rifle in excellent condition.

Fortunately, Hamid was able to get me a Russian-made ‘Kalakov’ – an AK47 with a folding butt and shorter barrel. It was an ideal vehicle weapon. He also got the seller to throw in plenty of ammo and magazines.

While Hamid was working on my AK, I’d got in touch with a mate of mine working in Kabul about a pistol. He was able to find me a European-made Sig Sauer 9 mm with European-made ammo and good magazines. As always with new weapons, I found a patch of wasteland where I could test-fire them from various distances and zero the sights to my eye.

I spent the first few days in Kabul accompanying Nic and his crew on shoots with NGOs, United Nations and Afghan Government officials. Many of Nic’s interviews focused on the drugs story, specifically the US-led coalition’s efforts to eradicate poppy cultivation and stem the flow of opium from Afghanistan (poppies produce opium which is then chemically refined into heroin). It was a sensitive topic as the coalition’s eradication programme was proving far less effective than the Taliban’s.

In 1999, Afghanistan produced 75 per cent of the world’s opium. The following year, 2000, the Taliban decided the country’s drugs trade was un-Islamic. They banned farmers from growing poppies and ordered the destruction of opium stockpiles and heroin laboratories. Those who didn’t destroy their crops were jailed or shot.

It may not have been ‘democratic’ but the draconian incentives were a massive success. By early 2001, the United Nations reported that opium production in Afghanistan had been practically wiped out.

Fast forward to the end of 2001; the Taliban are driven out of power and Afghan farmers are once again free to grow what is by far their most profitable cash crop. Many also seize the opportunity to unearth opium they had hidden from the Taliban. The result: by 2003 Afghanistan had reclaimed its crown as the world’s number one opium producer.

Afghanistan’s drugs trade was as much a setback for the War on Terror as it was for the War on Drugs. In 2004, Afghanistan’s illegal drugs trade was worth an estimated one and a half billion dollars a year. A lot of that money went straight into the pockets of Taliban and al-Qaeda in the form of ‘protection taxes’ levied on poppy farmers and drugs traffickers.

After a few days of researching the drugs story, Nic got a jump on the other goal he’d set for the trip; landing an embed with US troops operating in Afghanistan’s southern Khost province. For this particular embed, Nic needed to apply in person to the US military Public Affairs Officer, who only took requests following regularly scheduled pressers.

At the first opportunity, Nic went to a presser and submitted his name for the Khost embed. The PAO told him there were several journalists waiting for that particular embed and that another journalist from a competing network was ahead of him. Nic was also warned that since it had become far too dangerous to drive from Kabul to Khost, the availability of military flights would also be a deciding factor in whether he got the embed.

It was a frustrating state of affairs. Nic didn’t have unlimited time in Afghanistan and he wasn’t keen on sitting in Kabul waiting for a phone call that might never come. He wanted to get moving on the drugs story as soon as possible to ensure that he fulfilled at least one of his objectives.

On the way back from the presser, we discussed options for covering the coalition’s poppy eradication programmes. At the time, most of the media were focusing their coverage on Jalalabad, the capital of Nangarhar province in eastern Afghanistan. Jalalabad had several things going for it including easy access from Kabul and a population that was relatively hospitable to westerners.

But Nic didn’t want to go where the rest of the press corps had been. He wanted to go to Helmund, Afghanistan’s biggest opium-producing province representing a third of the country’s output. Reporting from Helmund had its challenges. It was more difficult to get to than Jalalabad and far more hostile. Taliban elements were reportedly very active there. But if you wanted to get the real story on Afghanistan’s drugs trade, Helmund was the place to go.

By the time we arrived at the Kabul Inn Nic had made up his mind. We were going to Helmund.

CHAPTER 19

While I got stuck into the security details of our trip, Nic worked swiftly putting everything in place editorially. He enlisted the help of the country’s counter-narcotics police who assigned two officers to accompany us; first to Kandahar for interviews with counter-narcotics officials and then to Helmund, where they’d arranged for CNN to film the destruction of poppy fields.

The counter-narcotics police were eager to show the world that they were making progress eradicating poppy cultivation, so when it came to assessing the trip’s security, they pushed the party line. They told Nic he’d be perfectly safe as long as they were with him. Their optimistic spin was also cultural; I was learning fast that Afghans are very proud and very macho. They never say something is too dangerous or too scary to undertake. The most they were willing to concede was that Kandahar and Helmund weren’t as safe as Kabul.