Salaam Aleikoum !

Oui, welcome to this blog. There are many Blogs made in K.  since it looks like every expat in Kabul is running a blog. So nothing new here, no scoop but a great opportunity to share my Qabuli experience with family and friends. “En images”, bien sûr.  I won’t bother you with my daily life here, work stuff or home stuff… It will be all about my encounter with a city.
We hear so much about Qabul but it is just a city where people live, love, die.  It is the only project of this blog:  away from the headlines, away from the thrills, just the streets, the mountains and the people of Qabul.  They deserve it.
Hope you’ll enjoy the trip in my company then
Christophe

If you like what you see, you may also check my portfolios
www.christophelegris.com
www.clegris.com

The street girl and the cello

It sounds like a good title for another moving novel about Q.  But honestly, your neighbor is already a story.  Don’t ask about the driver, the guard, the guy selling you cay or bologni.  Don’t even ask your colleagues.  You arrive in Q with personal dramas and those people carry stories, trqgedies and even parts of history.  Not sure it does teach us humility.  Anyway, blah blah…

So it is a cello.  And she is a captivating girl of the street. Enrolled in the program of ANIM (Afghan National Institute of Music) where she started playing cello a couple of month ago. Yes, a couple of month ago.  And they are girls of the streets as well.  The more colorful, the poorer they say.  There is a lot of color in the clouds of dust around here.

Sur d’autres collines…

Like other legendary cities, Qabul is a city of hills.  Mountains if you think about the altitude.  Some rise in the middle of the city, next to the neighborhoods where we, expats, go out into our bars and cafes and restaurants.  But we even don’t step on those hills. A big mistake, a wrong fear because the view is stunning.  And the shadows of the people paying tribute to members of their family buried in the graveyard hooked to both sides of the hills flatter my romantic mood of the afternoon. Forget the soldiers who try to get some money out of you.  Play the ignorant foreigner – what I am – and it will go smoothly.  Like the light over Qabul.

Daru Alam, when the Kuchis are gone

Daru Alam without the Kuchis (the nomads) who took the road heading to Jalalabad where they’ll spend winter. I did not have time to give them the prints of the pictures I took earlier.  Maybe because it took me too much time before going back to the bombed palace.  We found there only the soldiers who watch the old stones and banned anyone from getting in.  Except if you are accompanied by a charming beautiful lady (merci Laila !).  Then, they offer you a tour.  And a cay, until it is very dark and you keep waiting for your car for hours, feeling suddenly very adventurous to take the charming lady for this walk among some wild dogs.  Always have stones in your pocket ready to throw, they say here.  Anyway, even if my stomach is not fitted for the cay from the hose, that was another great simple Qabuli experience.

La rue, parce que je l’aime…

Dans les collines…

La rue, la rue…

Kuchi #02 – Kids of Daru Alam

A young Kuchi begging outside the ruins of Daru Alam... It says it all

The kite (plastic-bag) runner

 

6 years ago, he stepped on a mine and lost his arms and his right leg.

Kuchi # 01

The Kuchi are the nomads living in Afghanistan. And like in any other country, nomads are the “more outcasts” social group of Afghanistan. A friend of mine told me about them and especially the group that live in the ruins of Darul Aman, a once royal palace.

It is all about politics, of course. They used to camp in the hills south of Kabul before moving south to Jalabad for winter. However, the Hazara, (another abused and exploited community of Central Afghanistan) supported by their “representative”, the vice president took over this part of land to build a neighborhood of them. The Kuchi had to move then. A big fight took place between both communities a couple of month ago and most of the Kuchi decided to take shelter into the palace. The ones I had tea with decided to stay though but it looks like they endure constant harassment from the Hazara. The Hzara told me they endure constant harassment from the Kuchi….

Anyway, beyond the recent fight, it looks like both communities have a history of endless rivalry.

But enough words. To know more about them, check what my friend Karlos wrote about the Kuchi (http://the-diplomat.com/2010/10/13/afghanistan’s-‘royal’-outcasts/)

 

A young Kuchi girl

Kuchi

Et +

Toujours des images…

Des images, encore des images

Project #01

As usual, I have tons of projects in mind. Here is the beginning of one of them. May it last… Inch’allah.
Since I’ll be in K. for a while, I would like to focus on a neighborhood (mine) and getting to know its people and getting to be known by them and documenting the all encounter. There is more to it, more to share with them but I will tell about it later. If I can make it happen.

I went out my second day here and had diner in a street restaurant. Not exactly a *** but  still a friendly place.. One of the cooks asked me to take a picture with my iPhone.  What a chance! Because it was what I wanted. But I did not expect it to happen so fast.  I don’t want to be pushy,  I don’t want to be another photographer  taking pictures of  people in the street like I was on a safari-tour.  K. is a city: people work, eat, sleep, go home, make love, take care of their family, pray, get married, give birth…. K is a city.  Different traditions, some I don’t like but a city of people.  I want to document it but I don’t want my camera to be obscene in the street. When it comes to portrait, it should be enjoyable for everyone. So I did take a pic with my phone, and I ate and I went home. And I came back the next day.  With my camera this time.  I took a couple of pictures quickly because once again, I want to be with my camera as naturally a sit may be. Documenting the nice feeling I have to discover this place and its people.  No tour.
I came back 3 days later with large format photographs and gave them to them. Because it is unfair to use my camera if I don’t give anything back to the people I take pictures of. As a Westerner, I’m already enough of a privileged person and I don’t want to add more to it. And anyway, a good picture is something anyone around the world would enjoy. I’ll go back tomorrow with more samples so they can give/send them to the family: pictures are to be shared. If I can offer anything to anyone wherever I am with my skills, I do it.

One of the very very rare westerners walking down the streets– I saw only 2 others -, I had to find my way through the city center (I will probably never explore the outskirts of K. or at least not now and not alone) to find a lab where to get prints. And of course, since I don’t expect an on-time service  (because of blackouts, prayers, printers breaking down…) and enjoy tea, I’m already having a great time in the store. The owner is a great guy, an English speaker who like many other Qabuli spent time in Pakistan during the Talib regime and who teaches me Farsi when I stop by. Today, he told one of the kids begging around – there are a few of them in the neighborhood, sad reality of K. – not to bother me since I was a teacher: it looks like every where around the world, people know that teachers are meant to be broke! It is my feeling: K. is no monster, a city in pain.

Getting back to the restaurant: handling the pictures was enjoyable and “successful”. I will probably take more pictures of more people around the restaurant and in the street. They did not want me to pay for diner and I’m already invited to spend some days in a village in the Pansheer Valley, the kingdom of Commander Massoud. I need to improve my Farsi first, I guess   But I truly appreciated the invitation: it is all what photography should  be about: sharing, exchanging.  Never stealing.

To give a better idea of how to work in K., I decided to go there on an irregular basis. Since I may be there often, it should never be with the same frequency neither at the same time. To avoid kidnappings. Not that it may happen but it is a typical precaution to be taken in La Belle K. Nobody really wants to know how much he would be worth being sold to some political Al Qaedaish band of fanatics

Peu importe, here are the first pics: stiff but noble models. Or it is maybe just my point of view, the exoticism in my eyes. Je ne sais pas.  Mais c’est beau…

It all starts with pictures, bien sûr…

First days in K. …
Waow!
Times flies here  as well. Veiled by the dust though.
Khob hasti?

There is so much to say and of course, I don’t have time but I will tell you more about the “K. Experience” in a couple of days. But since I’m a photographer more than I’m a writer – or at least suffer less taking pictures – here are the first photographs, very quick snapshots taken those two past mornings on my way to work. Nothing fancy but it will give you an idea of my new daily life.

The worst traffic ever. Except on sensitive roads guarded by herds of soldiers holding onto their Kalachnikov, another K-thing almost as common as Burqa in the streets of K. Less glamourous but fully part of its magics.
It is not recommended but I already enjoy walking the streets of K.
And yes, I like to call this city K. What expecting from a French man if not being snobbish, even in K!
Anyway, I will word my impressions very soon but even here work consumes time and energy, on a daily basis more dangerous than bombs, kidnappings and thieves.
But I’m doing well.
And I apologize in advance for my “Frenchy” English.  Feel absolutely free to copy edit me…