Kabul opens its arms to the unknown

14 Nov, 2001 07:10 PM4 mins to read

By KATE CLARK

I walked into Kabul yesterday to be greeted by crowds of cheering Afghans, overjoyed that the fanatical Taleban had been thrown out of the city after a five-year reign of terror.

Women lifted their veils to smile and wave at me.

Men and boys milled around me smiling broadly and shaking my hand, shouting "Zindabad!" (May you live long).

Some of the men had already shaved off their beards. Others had removed the hated turbans imposed by the fanatical regime.

It felt like a liberation.

But Kabul's first day of freedom was also marked by violence as the Northern Alliance took revenge on supporters of the Taleban, who abandoned the city without a fight under cover of darkness.

I saw the bodies of seven black-turbaned militiamen, with banknotes stuffed into their mouths, a sign of humiliation.

They appeared to be Pakistanis and Arabs. One had been strangled and had cassette tape draped around his neck.

We arrived at the Kabul front line early in the morning with Northern Alliance soldiers bristling for a fight after crossing the Shomali Plain where the Taleban had laid villages to waste.

The plain was a scene of desolation. Trees had been felled, vineyards burned and the mud houses destroyed when the Taleban swept through the area two years ago, separating the men and boys from the women.

As we drove nearer to Kabul, local people cheered and threw flowers at the soldiers.

We saw one lorry heading back with prisoners. We also saw a few dead Taleban at the roadside.

On the outskirts of the city, the Northern Alliance troops stopped our Jeep and used it to block the road. Armed guards, reinforced by tanks and armoured vehicles, were already preventing most of the Alliance troops entering the capital.

We asked if we could walk into the city, from where I had been expelled in March. They let us through.

In the outer parts of the city people began massing. Everyone seemed to be ecstatic at the overthrow of the rural mullahs who had enforced their medieval village ways on a once-sophisticated city.

After we had walked on a little way, we met an old friend, Wais, one of the few Afghans still working for the UN, who warmly shook my hand and invited us into his taxi.

But tensions rose as we approached the centre. It felt frighteningly out of control.

Some abandoned Taleban homes had been looted overnight and armed men in cars were roaming the city, despite 2500 Northern Alliance police who showed up about midday.

Gangs of youths brandished weapons they had hidden from the Taleban.

My first call was to see the mother of my translator, Soroj. She had been worried about her son after listening to my radio reports.

On Monday night, Soroj and I had crouched on a roof in a bulge of Northern Alliance territory jutting into Taleban areas, feeling the ground shudder as American bombs crashed down.

As we embraced Soroj's mother yesterday, we all cried.

Around my old neighbourhood the reception was quite extraordinary.

People invited me for tea, an act of Afghan hospitality unthinkable under the Taleban.

But jubilation was mixed with anxiety. Although some of the men had shaved off their beards, others said they would wait, in case the feared religious police returned.

For the same reason, the women were unwilling to throw off their burqas.

At the Foreign Ministry, where lower-ranking officials had always worn the turbans imposed on all civil servants, all were grinning, having removed the headgear.

I finally headed for the Intercontinental Hotel, where another miracle happened: hot water.

* Kate Clark is a BBC correspondent who was based in Kabul until the Taleban expelled her in March for her coverage of the destruction of Buddhist statues.

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