Afghanistan, in my mind, is one of the most fascinating countries that there is. Not for its cuisine, neither for its nature, aesthetics or prospects; its people are not as hospitable and friendly either, as some travellers would argue. What is so fascinating about it, however, is country’s unique perspective and unusual societal structure.
The extreme nature of beliefs and morality in a country like Afghanistan is the quintessence of unruly human nature. It only shows what else human mind and imagination are capable of; and how far are humans willing to take their convictions. Therefore, travelling through such countries is of particular interest to me.
But most importantly travelling through Afghanistan was a personal challenge for me. It was an experience I understood I had to have in order to enhance my survival skills as a female traveller and enrich my understanding of the human mind.
- How to behave, dress and what to expect when travelling in Afghanistan.
- Getting Afghan visa is an experience in itself.
- Crossing Iran-Afghanistan border.
- A trip to Kandahar.
- Moving on to Kabul.
- I almost made a disastrous mistake.
- Getting the hell out of Afghanistan: Racing to the Afghan-Tajik border.
- Don’t worry! Afghan men do not desire you.
How to behave, dress and what to expect when travelling in Afghanistan
Afghanistan is an extremely conservative country. There are strict limitations in place across all aspects of life, and women are caught up right in the middle of it. Any woman who steps her foot on the Afghan land must abide by some of these laws. But, keep in mind, foreign women are nearly not as suppressed as locals are.
For example, I was worried about my piercings at first; I even contemplated taking my lip piercing off. But, ultimately, decided against it and no one had told me anything. Actually, some men even expressed curiosity about it.
In Afghanistan they expect you to dress according to their national dress code. It is obligatory for women and advisable for men. During my trip through Iran and Afghanistan I wore pair of leggings and a t-shirt under a long oversized button-front dress, and a black scarf to cover my hair.
My host in Brazil told me that when she travelled through Afghanistan in 1970s, life was different. Foreign women were not forced to dress like that. However, you could still get into trouble if allowed yourself too many liberties. She told me that she knew of two British women who got killed, because they decided to sunbathe on the beach of a lake.
Also, if you are a foreigner and there is no man accompanying you, Afghan men will freely speak to you directly. Occasionally you might run into a brick wall when, for example, shared taxi driver will refuse to take you because you are alone. But I found an effective solution to that, which I will talk about at the end of this article.
Another thing to consider is that if you are a woman alone in Afghanistan everybody will try to scam you.
It is quite standard behaviour in any country and both genders are affected by it. But I found that when you are a woman, you are far likelier to be scammed and for greater amounts.
It has to do with how they perceive women. They think of us as a child – a gullible creature that they can easily trick. But if you are an experienced traveller, this should not be a big problem.
Since I am experienced enough, I had inquired about the prices in advance. So, my only actual problem was the headache their behaviours had caused me.
You can walk alone outside, but be cautious.
During the day it is not a problem at all. Anywhere I went people were quite delighted to see me, especially youngsters, as they had an opportunity to practice English. Young kids would run around me asking the only question they seemingly knew in English: ”What is your name?”
But at night it can be tricky. There is hardly any light outside. I had to go out once during the night and all my figurative alarm bells went off immediately I stepped out the hotel building. But as a reminder I must point out – you are allowed to do it.
I guess, if you are staying at a hotel and you need to go out, say, to get some food, you can ask the receptionist to accompany you.
Afghanistan is an utterly poor country.
Do not expect high standards, even in better hotels. Usually they are not that clean, some stuff in the room is broken. For example, in a hotel in Kandahar I had a pipe instead of a shower, and no hot water.
There are a lot of beggars everywhere, mainly women and children. Usually they sit on the ground in the middle of a very bad road or right after the speed bumps.
Most people drive very old cars. Some of the cars do not even have a speedometer, some are without plate numbers. Many of them have random plate numbers, such as: Spanish, German, and even Georgian.
Getting Afghan visa is an experience in itself
If you travel by land from Iran, like I did, you can acquire Afghan visa in the Consulate of Afghanistan in Mashhad. The process is fairly simple and is very well described here.
Personally in my case it took them total of 1 hour and 45 minutes to put the sticker in my passport.
The very first Afghan man who laid his eyes upon me.
He was sitting in the foyer of the main building. When I entered, he lifted his head and looked in my direction. He had a pair of deep beautiful grey eyes. Not a single muscle on his face had moved. He stared at me with a look in his eyes that was saying:
What the hell are YOU doing here?
I felt a cold chill running down my spine. For the first time in my life that I felt fear from a man’s stare. I gave him an awkward smile, but it did not do the trick. He kept staring with the cold look in his eyes. Finally, he broke the silence and asked me to give him my passport and money.
After this promising encounter another man with a much more welcoming demeanour approached me. He invited me to join him in another room for a chat.
The very first question he asked was:
Are you educated?
The next question was whether anyone was expecting me in Afghanistan.
– No, I am alone.
– You can’t be there alone, – he exclaimed. You need a man!
– What could possibly happen to me? – I inquired.
– What will you do if you are hungry, or thirsty, or need new clothes? – was his response.
I thought to myself: ”Please, tell me these are the only problems I will encounter in Afghanistan”.
He then asked me more questions about my profession; asked for an advice on how Afghanistan could improve its sector of agriculture; inquired more about my experiences of travelling as a woman. It seemed more like a friendly conversation rather than an interview (if it was meant to be one).
I spent about 40 minutes in his office, during which some very important old Afghan men attempted to come in, but grew instantly discouraged upon seeing me.
After that he sent me to fill in the application form, and after I submitted it I was free to go.
The entire process gave me a good enough idea of what was to come.
Crossing Iran-Afghanistan border
The distance between Mashhad and Dogharoun border is about 250 kilometres. A man who dropped me off in Taybad informed me that the border was about to close, and speculated that I would not make it. I was sick of Iran and wished to get out of there immediately.
Thanks to men’s adoration of female sex and their relentless wish to be always helpful, I made it just on time. At the border, Iranian immigration officer tricked me into giving him 5$ for ”the exit stamp”. Silly me gave him the amount and was free to go.
I met a young Iranian man and we crossed the border together.
On the Afghan side the building was old and dilapidated. There was one man who was sweeping the floor and another one sitting in the office with an open door. Some men from the outside were passing him their passports through a hole in a broken window.
When he saw us, he took our passports, looked thoroughly at mine and put an entrance stamp.
There is one magical aspect about crossing land borders.
Firstly, unlike flying, the transition between two countries is mentally more comprehensible and smooth. Second, when you cross borders between countries where there is a significant social-economic difference, like in this case, the contrast is so vivid that it creates an impression as if you just went through a door that leads into Narnia.
Just about 40 minutes ago I was in a busy lively town of Taybad in Iran. And then I was in Afghanistan. It was calm and quiet: some shared taxis, 20-30 men and kids running around.
In Afghanistan for the first time in my life I longed for man’s protection.
We walked towards the men with glass boxes in order to exchange money. I was first to do so. Then I stepped away to give my Iranian acquaintance space. He exchanged money quickly, but stayed longer to have a chat with them.
I realised that I could not move away from him. It was as if I chose him as my ”protector” and was too afraid of being far from him. Naturally, he had no idea that he had been delegated such an important task. So, he just kept his lively conversation going.
A trip to Herat.
We walked to a yard where shared taxis were departing from. There were only men in there.
I was standing in the middle of the yard observing people. From their body language I knew they were discussing me. Suddenly a bulky man with a round face, long beard and a rifle in his hand turned towards me; said something in Pashto and indicated to the wall behind me.
I jokingly thought to myself: ”Are they going to execute me by this wall?”
I did not understand why he wanted me stand there, but obliged. After about 5-7 minutes, as no one was paying attention to me, I decided to move back to the centre of the yard. Once I got there, the man pointed at the wall again with an expression of annoyance on his face.
Then I understood, he did not want me standing so close to them.
A trip to Kandahar
By the next day my need for man’s protection grew only stronger. This time my ”hero” was the charming young man – Maisam. He was a receptionist at the hotel in Herat where I stayed for the night. He spoke fluent English and showed great willingness to help me with anything I needed.
In the morning he took me to the House of Culture, to get some travel permission. There I met another man – the head of Department of Tourism.
He invited me to give an interview which they would show on national TV channel.
Since I was too stressed at the time, I refused. The conditions were unclear and I did not wish to add any further complications to my journey.
After the visit to the House of Culture Maisam took me to the bus station and helped me buy a bus ticket. He got on the bus just to stay with me until it departed. Then suddenly he got off, indicating that he would be back. A few minutes later he was back with a bag of snacks.
I remember quite vividly while he was around I was feeling reasonably calm. But as soon as the bus driver started the engine and Maisam waved me goodbye, the treacherous anxiety crept in again.
Bus drivers in Afghanistan drive like maniacs!
The distance between Herat and Kandahar is about 570 kilometres. The road is quite bad with occasional asphalt here and there. But that doesn’t stop them from driving as if they were on the German highway. I managed to take a few pictures from the road, although the trip itself was uneventful.
In Kandahar I took a shared taxi to get to the city centre. There were couple other men in the car. One of them spoke sufficient English and asked me whether I believed in God. I said that I did not and he asked:
Isn’t it difficult to live without faith?
I think this question perfectly encompassed the nature of any belief system.
It is, – I responded. – But such is life.
After checking into a hotel it was time to eat.
It was dark already, the streets were poorly lit and my knees were shaking. There were not that many people in the streets, but you can imagine the effect I had on them: long dumbstruck stares, half-open mouths, conversations interrupted. I passed them not daring to look back.
After turning to the street that I needed I saw a dreadful view – it was completely dark. I paused evaluating whether I should continue, and decided against it. After returning to the street I came from, one of the men now talked me:
– What are you looking for?
– I am looking for a place to buy food.
– It is right there, – he indicated to the street I just came from.
I thanked him and decided to suck it up, put my big girl pants on and walk into the darkness.
Moving on to Kabul
In the morning I could feel the difference in my state of mind. I was relatively relaxed and certainly not as anxious. Quite casually I walked in town; got myself some food, exchanged more money, and spoke to younger boys at the shop. Got myself a taxi and went to the bus station.
This must be a fine example of what happens when you overcome your fears.
At the bus station, quite expectedly, I had to argue about prices and walk from one person to another. This time I was alone and there was no man to do the ”dirty work” for me. In the process I found myself standing between two cars with two men standing on each of my sides.
Slowly more and more curious men approached us. After about couple minutes I was surrounded by forty men.
Some of them pulled their phones and began filming me. What a rare sight, indeed!
It was a rather comic situation. I was thinking to myself that if 5 years ago someone told me that I would be in Afghanistan surrounded by forty Afghan men, I would not believe it.
Soon after I managed to reach satisfying deal (I actually got 100 AFN discount), I ensconced myself in a chair and was on my way to Kabul.
From the looks of the passengers it was clear – we were going to the capital.
They were dressed in clean clothes, used iPhones and AirPods. Many of them spoke fluent English and occupied decent job positions. Of course, they were curious about what was a woman doing alone in Afghanistan and threw a lot of questions at me. They did not expect to hear the story I told them.
On this bus I met Asad, a young Afghan man who had permanently moved to Sweden, and also another man, about whom I would like to give you a more detailed account.
I almost made a disastrous mistake
Dr. Hamayoon was in the same part of the bus where I and all these men were sitting. He was a quiet man, did not ask me a single question, and just quietly listened while chewing on his gum.
He was a thinly built man with an elongated face, short beard, fierce eyes and an aggressive jaw. The gum he was chewing made it stand out even more so.
At around 6 p.m. when the sunset started it was time to pray. The bus stopped and everyone got out, everyone but me and him. As soon as we were alone, he moved towards me, threw a piece of paper in my lap and moved back into his chair.
It is a pity that I did not take a picture of the note, but I remember exactly what was written in it.
It said:
My name is Dr. Hamayoon. I am pharmacologist and I can help you. You can stay with me today.
He finished the note with his WhatsApp number.
Just like in any country, I was quite eager to be hosted in Afghanistan.
I always found staying at hotels and thus being significantly isolated from the local life quite underwhelming. You can say all you want about the excitement of walking around, trying local cuisine and mingling with locals. It will never compare to the experience that I am having when looking for hosts and living with them.
I decided in advance that I would not look for hosts in Afghanistan. But I forgot to concede that someone could actually invite me. I did not think such possibility through. Therefore, when I got invited, it caught me off guard.
I began looking at him through my ‘scanning lenses’, trying to understand whether he was a good potential host.
I asked about his family situation, where exactly in Kabul he lived and so on. He said he had a family that consisted of 10 people: his parents, wife, him and their children. He repeated once again: ”Come with me, I can help you”.
The offer was tempting, but a couple things about him threw me off:
- I did not enjoy that he waited for us to be alone before he handed me the note. There were no witnesses to our conversation.
- He repeated a few times that he could help me, like he was trying to convince me.
- His jaw. You see, everything that we show externally says a lot about us internally: our body language; the look in our eyes; the way out mouths move when we smile or talk. As I mentioned, I found his jaw aggressive. There was something sinister about the way he was chewing that gum. To understand what I mean, imagine a serial killer whistling and humming songs while preparing his victim to be killed.
But despite my astute observation, my conscious began looking for reasons to accept his offer.
I tried to convince myself that since he was an educated man, spoke fluent English, and was dressed very well, he just wanted to help. There was an explanation to my first concern as well – if he was to talk to me in front of the others, we both could get into trouble. (And that is true!)
For the next 2-3 hours I was relentlessly thinking about it.
Upon our arrival in Kabul I still did not have a definite answer.
Usually I have a very simple rule that helps me make similar decisions in a matter of seconds.
If there is anything at all that makes me pause and question person’s motivations, I reject their offer.
But this time I stubbornly kept ignoring it. Dr. Hamayoon approached me and told me to go with him.
Asad came to me also and asked about my plans. Now it was him trying to get some action with me. He offered that he could pay for my hotel, and if I wanted (khem, khem) he would visit me during the night. I decided to tell him about Dr. Hamayoon to finally invite at least one person into this situation.
Naively, I was hoping he would somehow help me to make the decision, but naturally he didn’t. Instead, he responded with a disappointment in his voice that he did not know the man, and it was up to me if I wanted to go with him.
The situation was turning into a mess, and I was the sole creator of it.
Finally it dawned on me and I asked Dr. Hamayoon to show me exactly where he lived.
He pointed on the map at Paghman. The town is located 31 kilometres away from the city centre. There was no way I following him into the middle of nowhere.
I thanked him for the offer and rejected it. He stood there for a minute more and, ultimately, left.
Getting the hell out of Afghanistan: racing to the Afghan-Tajik border
The road north of Kabul is poorly maintained. Therefore, I had to wake up at 5 in the morning in order to make it to Tajikistan. It took me about 14 hours to cover 400 kilometres.
First, I caught a taxi to take me outside of Kabul. The driver acted friendly towards me and said that he would take me to Puli Khumri for free. I could smell his bullshit from afar and just nodded as if I believed him. In the end, although, we had agreed on the price already, he tried to extract more money out of me.
Another ten minutes of negotiations and he accepted the original amount.
Right after this rather unpleasant discussion I had another argument with a new driver who was supposed to take me to Puli Khumri. I knew the price was supposed to be about 500-550 AFN. He wanted 1000 AFN and he was not willing to drop the price. Finally, I could not take it anymore and broke down crying.
This was when I learnt of the trick of how to get things done in Afghanistan if you are a woman. Just begin crying!
Turns out Afghan men cannot stand when a woman cries. As soon as he saw my tears, he agreed to the price and pleaded me not to cry.
My companions on that trip were a man, Mohammed, and his mother. It was the only time when an Afghan man dared to touch me. He was not very imposing, and it happened only once, but it didn’t escape my attention regardless.
We had lunch together and he invited me to stay with them, in case I did not make it to the border on time.
In Puli Khumri I got into a car that took me to Kunduz.
I was the only woman in the car. The man sitting next to me clearly disapproved of my life choices. But, regardless, he invited me for an ice cream.
In Kunduz I had to fight another fight.
It was my last ride to the border. The hour was 5:30 p.m., and I had only 1.5 hours before the border closed. The ride itself is about an hour long.
This time the driver refused to take me, because I am a woman. Another man explained that the driver would take just me if I paid him full amount. I didn’t wish to pay such money. What for?
So, there I was using my newly learnt trick – I threw a tantrum. I began crying and screaming, saying that I was going to be late and that I would not move anywhere from his car. Falling victim to their own understanding, they began gathering the necessary amount themselves, paid the driver fully, and I was on my way to Shir kahn bandar.
At Afghanistan side of the border they attempted to take some of my money.
Apparently, if you carry a certain amount in cash, they take half to themselves. I am not sure why or how, but this is the practice I was told about later on. Fortunately, I smelled something fishy when the man asked me how much cash I had on me. So, I changed the subject smoothly and got out of there before he went through my bags.
After walking across the border bridge, finally, I was in the Promised Land! I went through another Narnia door and entered a new world, where people were incredibly friendly and warm, spoke the same language and I could finally breathe.
Don’t worry! Afghan men do not desire you
I described my journey through Iran like a walk through a forest of dicks. While I was there Iranian men offered me their dicks left and right. They did it without any regard to me, their religion, and all women in their lives.
One could be under impression that Afghanistan would deliver similar experience. But it was quite the opposite. They did not seem at all to be sexually interested me.
On the contrary, I sensed homoerotic atmosphere in Afghanistan.
The first time I noticed it was the morning in Herat. When Maisam was guiding me out of the hotel, he ran into his acquaintance. They talked and before parting ways the man grabbed Maisam by his waist and quite intimately kissed him on the cheek.
Later on I saw men holding hands in the street; two men with their foreheads against each other, while one of the man’s hand rested upon the nape of the other. It was too obvious not to notice. I have not seen men being so physical with each other in no other country.
Bacha bazi – the dancing boys of Afghanistan
Later on I’ve learnt that there is an entire tradition of dancing boys in Afghanistan. Since enjoying women’s presence is not an option for powerful Afghan men, little boys had to take up the role of a woman.
These powerful pay their parents certain amount of money and take them from their families at the age of 10-13. Some boys even want to go, because this way they believe they can support their parents.
In case you are interested, you can watch an episode of documentary series Frontline.
This is why before even visiting Afghanistan and while being there my biggest concern was not a man taking advantage of my situation. I was far more worried about running into a fanatic, who would think that a woman like me must be punished.
So, here is a rule of thumb when you travel in Afghanistan:
Whatever it takes, do not stand out!