Chapter-8: recruiting translator and first journey to Daikundi

A New Chapter in Punjab: Simplicity, Challenges, and Resilience

After weeks of bureaucratic hurdles, nerve-wracking travel, and cultural adjustments, I finally began my duties in Punjab—a remote town nestled in Afghanistan’s Hazarajat region. My arrival marked the start of a journey defined by unpredictability, resourcefulness, and the raw beauty of a land steeped in contrasts.

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First Days: Settling In

Ian, my New Zealand-born line manager and Program Manager, greeted me at the CHF office. Typically based in Bamyan (a two-hour drive away), he had traveled to Punjab to onboard me. My role? Leading the local engineering team to assess sites for school and clinic construction across Punjab and Daikundi provinces.

Building the Team:
Our first task was hiring a translator. No HR protocols, no panels—just three candidates and a straightforward interview. 

We chose Qudarat (third from left in the photo), a sharp, Hindi-speaking local with grit and wit. His appointment was immediate, a refreshing departure from red tape. In Afghanistan, necessity trumps procedure.

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The Field Mission Begins

The next morning, our convoy—three cars, seven engineers, Qudarat, and myself—set off to evaluate six sites. No route maps, no local contacts, no appointments. Just GPS coordinates and a mandate to assess technical and legal feasibility.

Into the Unknown:

• 7:00 AM Departure: Trucks loaded, we left Punjab for Safed Naour, our first site—a proposed clinic location 2.5 hours away.

• The Pai Konak Pass: At 3,400 meters, the highest point in the region, the road snaked through jagged peaks and valleys dotted with wheat fields. Dust swirled as our vehicles jolted over rocks, past mud-brick villages where life moved at a centuries-old pace.

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A Race Against Nightfall

By 6:00 PM, shadows lengthened across the mountains. Security protocols forbade travel after dark, yet shelter was scarce. Nili, Daikundi’s capital, felt perpetually “just ahead.” Desperation mounted until we spotted an ACF (Action Against Hunger) clinic in Ulukan.

Unexpected Sanctuary:
The medical team offered three rooms and a kitchen. Hot food and a warm shower revived us—luxuries in the wilderness. We slept deeply, grateful for safety.

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Dawn Push to Nili

At 5:45 AM, we resumed the drive, reaching Nili by 9:00 AM. The provincial capital, though modest, buzzed with a semblance of order. Here, the real work would begin: negotiating land rights, evaluating soil stability, and rallying community buy-in.

[Nili -- main market]

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Reflections from the Field

1. Simplicity in Action: Hiring Qudarat in hours, not weeks, underscored the efficiency of necessity-driven decisions.

2. Trust in Technology (and Luck): GPS coordinates became our lifeline in lieu of local knowledge—a blend of modernity and improvisation.

3. Security vs. Reality: Protocols clashed with terrain realities, forcing adaptive compromises.

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The Afghan Paradox

Punjab’s stark beauty—barren mountains against emerald valleys—mirrored the duality of life here: harsh yet hopeful. Each site visit was a lesson in humility, a reminder that progress in Afghanistan demands equal parts grit and grace.

In the Hindu Kush, plans are guidelines, not rules. Survival hinges on resilience—and sometimes, a warm meal in a stranger’s clinic. 🏔️🚙

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Note: The journey continues, but for now, the mountains have granted respite. Next: navigating tribal negotiations and the art of building trust in a land where time bends to its own rhythm

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Chapter-7: Journey from Bamyan to Punjab

A Perilous Journey to Panjab: Missteps, Tensions, and Relief

The Optimistic Start

At 11:30 AM, we set off from Bamyan toward Panjab, a drive my drivers assured would take 3-4 hours. The backdrop was hauntingly beautiful—the empty niche where the colossal Bamyan Buddha once stood loomed behind us, a silent witness to the Taliban’s destruction. With two cars in our convoy—mine leading, followed by Afghan engineer Naeem—I settled in, lulled by the verdant valleys and farmers tending terraced fields.

A Nap Turns to Navigation Chaos

I dozed briefly, waking to a landscape still unfolding outside my window. By 3:30 PM, unease crept in. “How much farther to Panjab?” I asked the driver. He shrugged, avoiding eye contact. By 4:30 PM, frustration mounted. I insisted he ask locals for directions. Reluctantly, he stopped, only to return with grim news: he’d missed a critical mountain pass. Panjab was now hours away via a detour.

Twilight Desperation

As dusk fell, the drivers halted to perform wudu (ritual ablution) and pray. I called Steve Pantling, CHF’s security advisor, relaying our coordinates via GPS. His response was sobering: “You’re nowhere near Panjab. Find shelter.” But pressing on felt safer than stopping in Taliban-influenced terrain.

A passing townace (shared taxi) driver warned, “This is Taliban territory—keep moving.” My driver, however, argued to stay put. Tensions exploded when he demanded I exit the car and walk. “I hired you—you drive!” I snapped. After a heated standoff, he grudgingly continued.

A Harrowing Night

By 9:45 PM, we reached a dimly lit village. Dinner was boiled eggs, rice, and a warm Pepsi—a small comfort. I slept fitfully in the car, door locked, hyperaware of every rustle in the darkness.

Dawn Deliverance

At 5:30 AM, we resumed the drive. Within 45 minutes, Panjab materialized—a cluster of mud-brick homes and CHF’s modest office. Exhausted and frayed, I staggered inside. Engineer Mehmood greeted me, but my relief was short-lived. I ordered the immediate termination of both drivers, their recklessness having jeopardized our safety.

Settling In

Ian, the project manager, outlined our site survey plans. My accommodations? A sparse room in the office—bare walls, no amenities. Yet, after two days of turmoil, it felt like sanctuary.

Reflections

1. Trust, but verify: Blind faith in drivers’ familiarity cost hours and safety.

2. Cultural friction: Language barriers and conflicting priorities (prayer vs. urgency) tested patience.

3. Resolve over comfort: Survival in Afghanistan demands grit—sleeping in cars, tolerating uncertainty, and confronting risks head-on.

In the Hindu Kush, every mile is a test—and reaching the destination, a hard-won triumph. 🏔️🚗..

[I am next to my office building!!]

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[This is what we call an Office in Afghanistan]

Chapter-6: journey from Kabul to Bamyan

A Grueling Journey to Bamyan: Breakdowns, Locked Keys, and a Night Under the Stars

The Ill-Fated Start

Our convoy set off from Kabul at dawn, aiming to reach Bamyan by afternoon and proceed to Panjab the next day. The 7-8 hour drive promised treacherous terrain, including Taliban-controlled zones, but daytime travel was deemed safe. Optimism quickly faded when one of our Toyota Corollas suffered a blown tire barely outside Kabul. “Pratham grasse maxika!” (First problem already!), I muttered. Two hours later, we resumed the journey on a bone-rattling, dust-choked road that flung me against the roof with every pothole.

A Lunch of Chaos

Under strict orders to halt travel by 6:00 PM, I urged the drivers to speed up—a futile effort, given our language barrier (they spoke only Dari; I knew none). At a mud-walled roadside restaurant, we stopped for lunch. The floor was layered with faded Iranian carpets, and the “menu” was non-negotiable: gigantic naan (3ft x 2ft!), greasy mutton stew, and rice drenched in vegetable oil. As a vegetarian, I settled for naan and green tea, only to watch the server haul bread under his armpit before hurling it onto the floor for us to “catch.” Hygiene concerns? I vowed to erase the memory later.

The Locked Car Debacle

Post-lunch, disaster struck: the driver locked the keys inside the idling car. Blame flew—he accused me of insisting on locked doors; I blamed his negligence. For 15 minutes, we wrestled with windows until he resorted to punching a fist-sized hole in the windshield. Miraculously, the rest held. We drove onward, cold wind whipping through the fractured glass, as the engine guzzled fuel.

Nightmare on the Road

By 7:00 PM, Bamyan was still distant, violating security protocols. We halted at a village eatery—grimier than the last—where I skipped dinner, surviving on crumbly biscuits and stale milk creams. The drivers bunked inside; I opted for the car, cocooned in a sleeping bag, door locked. The night was bitingly cold, eerily silent, and punctuated by paranoia. I jerked awake hourly, scanning shadows for threats.

Dawn Relief in Bamyan

At 5:00 AM, bleary-eyed, we sipped bitter green tea and resumed the drive. By 7:00 AM, Bamyan’s iconic Buddha statues (since destroyed) loomed into view. At the CHF office, Ian, a New Zealander project manager, greeted me briefly before departing for Panjab. Terry Lancashire, an Australian colleague, offered a warmer welcome.

Recovery and Resupply

I scavenged the local market for almonds, cashews, and raisins—a vegetarian’s lifeline—while drivers repaired the battered cars. The journey had tested my patience, adaptability, and stomach, but Bamyan’s emerald valleys and snow-capped peaks hinted at the beauty beneath the chaos.

Lessons Learned:

1. Expect the absurd: From armpit-carried naan to self-locking cars, Afghanistan thrives on unpredictability.

2. Hunger is negotiable: When hygiene falters, nuts and raisins are sanity-savers.

3. Resilience is non-optional: Broken windshields, language barriers, and sleepless nights are mere footnotes in the Afghan field manual.

In Afghanistan, every journey is a saga—and surviving it is a badge of honor. 🚗💥🏔️

Chapater-5: First few days in Kabul Office and travel to field

A New Chapter in Kabul: Challenges and Adjustments

The airport welcome was underwhelming—no CHF sign, no familiar faces. Exiting the arrivals lounge with Pradeep, we spotted his organization’s vehicle immediately. I urged him to wait while I searched for my own pickup. After scouring the parking lot, I found Mr. Eric, a colleague headed to Kunduz, who offered me a ride to the CHF office—a spacious compound in Kulla-e-Pusta.

Settling In
At the office, I met Mr. Mal Ralston, the Australian Program Director, who warmly welcomed me and finalized my contract. Kevin Streeter, the Deputy Director from the U.S., joined us briefly. Later, I connected with the engineering team: Slovak, Baseer, Keith (CHF’s seasoned Australian Chief Engineer and RedR veteran), Ali, Adm, and the ICT staff.

The SCCRP Mission
I am joining the School and Clinic Construction and Refurbishment Program (SCCRP) aimed to build 120 schools and clinics across four provinces: Panjab, Bamyan, Badakhshan, and Talukan. My assignment was to begin site assessments in the Punjab.

A Journey Delayed: Lessons in Patience and Logistics

The day finally arrived for my trip to Panjab. Initially slated to fly, irregular flight schedules forced management to reroute me by road—a common adjustment in Afghanistan’s unpredictable terrain.

The Two-Car Policy Dilemma

CHF relied on hired vehicles due to customs complications. My plan was to join a convoy led by a Sri Lankan colleague, the Microfinance Director, adhering to Afghanistan’s strict NGO “two-car policy” (a safety protocol where two vehicles travel together to mitigate breakdown risks in remote areas).

A Promising Start Derailed

The hired driver parked his car at my guesthouse the night before, assuring me he’d return at 5:30 AM. Eager to avoid delays, I pre-loaded my luggage. At dawn, the Sri Lankan team arrived punctually, but my driver was nowhere to be found. After a tense 15-minute wait, they departed, leaving me stranded.

Furious, I waited until 7:00 PM—yes, PM—when the driver finally sauntered in. A heated argument ensued, resulting in CHF canceling his contract. My trip was postponed, a frustrating setback.

Redemption and Resilience

The next day, Mr. Kevin (Deputy Director) and Ms. Colline (Logistician) secured two reliable cars. Accompanied by Naeem, a skilled Afghan engineer, we set off for Panjab—proof that persistence and teamwork often salvage even the rockiest plans.

Key Takeaways:

1. Flexibility is non-negotiable: In Afghanistan, plans shift like desert sands. Adapt or stagnate.

2. Trust but verify: Pre-loading luggage? Smart. Trusting a driver’s vague promise? Less so.

3. Teamwork triumphs: From Kevin’s quick thinking to Naeem’s local expertise, collaboration saved the day.

Sometimes the road to progress isn’t smooth—but it’s always worth the ride. 🚗💨🚗🏔️.

[CHF office in Kabul]

[Ali and Kevin]

[from right Raghav, Keith, Ian, me, Mal, Terry, Alex]

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Chapter-4: Back to Ahmedabad and on the way to Kabul!!

Triumph in Ahmedabad & Soaring to Kabul

Victory at the Passport Office

Finally, in Ahmedabad, I raced to the passport office in an auto-rickshaw. The mission: reinstate my ECNR (Emigration Check Not Required) status. A stroke of luck struck—my brother-in-law’s cousin worked there! After a brief detour to his home (guided by his kind, partially paralyzed father who insisted the walk was “good exercise”), I met the cousin. He assured me the process could be completed in a day.

By 5:00 PM, after hours of waiting, I faced the passport officer. He reviewed my documents, asked a few questions, and stamped my passport—ECNR reinstated. Relief washed over me. It felt like winning a war.

Homecoming and a New Plan

Exhausted, I boarded a late-night bus to Rajkot. My parents, who’d shared my stress, greeted me with equal relief. Determined to avoid another train ordeal, I opted for a flight this time—a decision made sweeter by news that my friend Pradeep, already in Afghanistan, would accompany me to Kabul.

First Flight, New Horizons

Pradeep booked my domestic flight from Ahmedabad to Delhi. His family welcomed me warmly, especially his father—a retired Deputy Police Commissioner with a jovial spirit. Early the next morning, we headed to the airport.

The First Flight:
As a first-time flyer, I buzzed with excitement. The aircraft’s vast emptiness surprised me—a Boeing 747 meant for 320 passengers carried barely 100, mostly NGO workers. Pradeep joked, “These flights are like local buses!” Despite warnings against photography, I snapped a few discreet shots (avoiding Indian airspace, of course).

Smooth Sailing to Kabul

In Delhi, we stayed at Pradeep’s preferred hotel near the airport. The next morning, boarding the Kabul-bound flight felt surreal. No hiccups this time—no emigration issues, no frantic document checks. The plane soared smoothly into the sky, marking the start of my Afghan chapter.

Reflections

1. The Power of Connections: Family ties and friendships (like Pradeep’s) turned obstacles into stepping stones.

2. Embrace Firsts: From my maiden flight to navigating bureaucracy, every “first” taught resilience.

3. Serendipity in Chaos: Empty flights, kind strangers, and last-minute solutions—adventure thrives in unpredictability.

As the Hindu Kush mountains loomed ahead, I felt a mix of awe and resolve. The journey had tested my grit, but the destination promised purpose.

Sometimes, the road less traveled isn’t a road at all—it’s a runway. ✈️

[Pradeep and myself in Ariana Afghan Flight]

Aryana Afghan Flight with Pradeep: First Glimpses of Kabul

The flight aboard Aryana Afghan Airlines was a unique experience. Pradeep and I settled into our seats, and soon after takeoff, the cabin crew served a meal that stood out for its simplicity: a traditional Afghani naan—a long, flatbread—paired with a modest serving of vegetables. As a vegetarian, I quickly learned that options are limited in Afghan cuisine, but for a short one-hour flight, it sufficed.

The real highlight, however, was the view. To our right, the Hindu Kush mountains rose majestically—towering, snow-dusted peaks that commanded awe. Their rugged grandeur felt almost sacred, a humbling reminder of nature’s raw power.

As the plane began its descent, I pressed my face to the window, eager for my first glimpse of Kabul. The landscape below unfolded in waves of earthy brown—a mosaic of mud-brick homes and unpainted buildings blending into the arid terrain. Color seemed absent, as if the land itself had muted its palette to harmonize with the harsh climate. Yet there was a stark beauty in the simplicity, a quiet resilience etched into every structure.

Touchdown in Kabul:
The wheels hit the tarmac, and my heart raced. Stepping off the plane, the dry, crisp air carried whispers of a world entirely foreign to me. Pradeep, ever the seasoned traveler, chuckled at my wide-eyed curiosity. “Welcome to Afghanistan,” he said, clapping my shoulder.

Though brief, that flight offered a fleeting introduction to a land of contrasts: the majesty of ancient mountains, the starkness of dusty plains, and the warmth of its bread—a metaphor, perhaps, for the country itself—simple yet enduring.

Sometimes, the most profound journeys begin with a single hour in the sky. ✈️🏔️

here are some pictures from air and kabul airport:

[Top View of Kabul] [Kabul Airport -car parking]

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Chapter-3: I was refused the boarding card

A Rollercoaster Journey: Passport Woes and Unexpected Kindness

On a Sunday night (6th june) buzzing with anticipation, I booked a taxi for 4:00 AM, eager to catch my first-ever international flight from Delhi to Kabul. Little did I know, the day would unravel into a chaotic saga of bureaucratic hurdles and last-minute rescues.

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The Airport Ordeal

Finally, after all is in place, the grand day comes: 7th June !! Packed and ready, I arrived at the airport—my first time stepping into one, let alone for an international trip. Nervous but excited, I followed the crowd to the Aryana Afghan Airlines counter. The agent’s smile faded as she scrutinized my passport. “Your ‘Emigration Check Not Required’ (ECNR) status is deleted,” she said, summoning her manager. My heart sank. Without ECNR clearance, they denied me a boarding card... Stunned, I pleaded for solutions. The manager shrugged: “Get the ECNR reinstated or seek emigration clearance.” 

so, I went to talk to the emigration office who asked me to submit orignial documents of the company who is recruiting me, includes company registration, insurance, audit report, my job contract etc. whihc is basically a requirement for a labourer job aborad and that is required if you have ECNR not ticked on your passport. Being a graduate, it would have been easily ticked without a demand at the time of issuance of a new passport; however, somehow I didn't have it, and I never knew until this moment.

Defeated, I had no choice to get to the passport office and get it done :( I trudged toward the exit, only to be halted by a policeman. “You’ve already checked in—you can’t leave the gate,” he insisted. After a tense negotiation with the manager, I was finally released, stranded on the curb with dwindling cash and a messhead.

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Back to Square One

I retreated to my hotel, regrouped with a cold shower, and mapped out a strategy:

1. Alert my employers about the delay.

2. Reschedule my flight to June 14th.

3. Get ECNR stamp in the Delhi passport office else

4. Rush back to Ahmedabad to fix my passport.

Easier said than done. With no funds for a flight, I braced for another grueling train journey.

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Delhi’s Bureaucratic Maze

At the immigration office, queues snaked endlessly. An officer demanded documents I couldn’t possibly gather—company audits, registration papers. Desperate, I asked for alternatives. “Return to your hometown passport office with your degree certificate,” he advised. so no choice but head back to Ahmedabad.

Ahmedabad, here I come.

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The Ticket Hunt: A Stroke of Luck

Booking a last-minute train ticket in peak season felt impossible. Forms were sold out, lines crawled, and hope dwindled—until I spotted a Bengali family in the ladies’ queue. After a hesitant exchange, the daughter courageously secured my ticket. Grateful beyond words, I collapsed into bed, exhausted.

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The Train Gambit

My ticket was RAC (Reservation Against Cancellation)—rank 173. Miracles? Unlikely. Yet, as the train departed, a fellow traveler’s absent boss freed up a berth. I claimed it, slept soundly, and awoke in Ahmedabad, ready to tackle the ECNR battle.

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Reflections

• Preparation is key: Always verify passport details and carry backups (ATM cards, emergency funds).

• Humanity shines: Strangers—like the Bengali family and the berth-sharing traveler—restored my faith in kindness.

• Resilience pays: When plans crumble, adaptability and grit keep you moving.

This whirlwind of setbacks and small victories taught me that even the messiest journeys carve paths to growth. And sometimes, a stranger’s help is the lifeline you never saw coming.

Adventure isn’t just about the destination—it’s about surviving the detours.