Panjsher Valley

Beautiful, beautiful Panjsher.


Munching on fried fish which followed a full portion of naan covered with Pakistani cream...I think this meal will unfortunately stay with my digestive system for quite some time.




Rahim...our driver for the weekend and a good friend. He noticed my love affair with melons over the weekend (unlike anything I've ever tasted in the states) and, with a sincere smile edging on laughter, would bring freshly cut melon to us by the river for our afternoon tea break.

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Despite the dust streaming into the open windows of our blue corolla (which quickly turned my white salwar kurta a golden brown) I sat, jaw completely agape. Scurrying along Afghanistan’s main “highway” north (an unpaved 1.5 lane road), we raced the snake-like river carved into the jagged mountain ranges of Panjsher Valley. Nearly comatose from the beauty, Kabul (only 3 hours south) could not have seemed farther.*

*Security note: the road north of Kabul is quite safe; light years different from the ones running south.

Panjsher Valley, renowned for both it’s physical beauty and one of the only areas never controlled by the Taliban, was the chosen destination for a short work trip. Despite the physical beauty of this place, the historic reality of war was painfully visible. Old Soviet weaponry (literally covering the entire valley) jarringly integrated into currently used infrastructure: an old Soviet Tank, rusting in a nearby stream, now used as a fishing platform and picnic bench; sections of 1970 Soviet Fighters spotting the hillsides with segments removed for building material; and shipping containers converted into shops, grocery stores, and schools. A rather rugged, and eerie, illustration of survival.

Photographs and icons of Masood, the herald Mujahadeen from Panjsher killed by the Taliban only days before September 11th, 2001, decorates houses, clinics, shops, and roads. Now seen as a national hero (to many), Masood is also recognized as a leader in women’s rights, where the Panjsher Valley was one of the only areas where girls education has remained fairly uninterrupted.

We visited a number of health facilities included in our health survey to both settle logistics and help maintain a more contextual understanding of the information we gather, in hopes to bridge the context with the health programs/policies we attempt to guide. Working from Kabul on a policy-concentrated project, it is easy to get bogged down with numbers, program plans, analyses, etc., forgetting the stories and faces which these policies and programs supposedly impact. Roya, a 20 year old Nuristani, placed these stories back center where they belong. Having traveled for over two days (presumably by donkey) to reach the health clinic, Roya sat muted by fear with her 18-month-old daughter, who (by weight and size) looked closer to 6 months. This 5 room health clinic, carved into the side of the mountain, was one of the best sources of care for miles around.