The Hindu Business Line : Of security and veiled women

THE distance between the World Bank office in Kabul and the Guest House where its employees live is barely 500 metres, so most of them walk to work every day. During this walk most of them are accosted by Afghan men asking for "women's magazines". "When we tell them that we don't have these, they ask for f*** video; and when the answer to this also is in the negative, they ask: then do you at least have some alcohol," says a World Bank executive.

Their security guidelines have been made more stringent after the appointment of the new Bank President James Wolfowitz, and they find Kabul and most of the northern regions of the country quite safe. Before one set out to Afghanistan, one had faced reactions ranging from raised eyebrows to an exasperated "Why Afghanistan; what's so special about it." Those who've lived and worked here caution you to take care and not venture out on the streets after 6 p.m.

But walking around Kabul one doesn't feel any palpable tension or threat in the air. One soon realises how exaggerated are comments like: "Oh, every Afghan man carries a Kalashnikov"; one hardly finds any. Says Lyan Guillaume, a writer and teacher, who has researched the country and taught French in a Kabul school 22 years ago: "Oh, we can visibly see the situation improving week by week, and I have no problem in walking around the streets and talking to people."

But she takes care to dress in long sleeves and always keeps her face covered in public areas. One can soon see how wise it is to do so, because only in some areas can you see women without burqa in Kabul and its outskirts.

Reports in a section of the western media after the fall of the Taliban four years ago that women had come out in Kabul streets to celebrate the event by throwing away their burqas, were obviously exaggerated.

Long years of repression, violence and trauma have left such a strong mark on the psyche of women that though today there is no official decree that a woman must cover her face, many think it is better to be safe than sorry.

But, points out Lyan, the more educated women in Kabul don't wear burqa - called chadri in Afghanistan.

Driving in the Panjsheir valley on a non-existent road - a tar road has perhaps never been laid in this area - towards the tomb of the slain Northern Alliance leader Ahmed Shah Masoud, one makes a conscious search for unveiled women, and can hardly spot a dozen or so during a five-hour ride. At a village we stop for lunch - piping hot kebabs served on skewers with the famous Afghan nan - I spot a family of three women accompanied by a man. All the three women are invisible behind the traditional light blue veil.

When asked if I could see her face, "Yes," whispers a voice from behind the veil, "but only if you come with us there."

She and her family walk towards a flight of steps and towards a room where a beautiful Afghan carpet has been spread. This is a special family room at the restaurant, and here all the three women remove their veils to reveal their faces, something still uncommon in Afghan communities when it comes to strangers. The youngest woman Shikiba is 18, beautiful with a clear skin, sharp features and dark black eyes, like all Afghan women... and illiterate. She cannot even write her name.

"We live in a nearby village (about 120 km from Kabul) and there was no question of sending her to school," says her rather apologetic father Niaz Ahmed, a businessman. So why not put her through school or some classes now? "Oh no, it's too late; she is already 18; I'm looking for a bridegroom for her." Shikhiba and her mother listen without saying a word.

When asked what she wants, the girl shrugs without saying anything. But her act of defiance comes in the way she flings off her entire veil as soon as she enters the room to reveal the dark orange salwar suit she is wearing; her mother and aunt just lift the veil over their faces.

Lyan, who is in Kabul this time as her husband Olivier Guillaume is posted as the Councillor for Co-operation at the French Embassy, says that recently at the Malailaya school for girls which the French have helped renovate and run, when she asked the teachers if she could do anything to help, "they told me why don't you run some gym classes for the girls. During the Taliban time we've forgotten that we had a body."

That is some progress indeed. Afghan girls working out at a gym, even though Lyan is yet to find a place where such classes can begin. When one expresses disappointment that despite the Taliban regime ending four years ago, not too many women can be seen at the workplace, Guillaume points out that this would take time. "You have to remember that two generations of professional women have almost gone out of the Afghan society during these years."

But compared to the gender situation, security is getting better, even though many embassies, including the Indian embassy, don't permit their staff to bring families to Kabul, which remains a non-family post.

World Bank country chief Jean Mazurelle recalls that soon after he came to Kabul a year ago, the staff from various UN agencies were at a get-together "when I heard something going off like a loud whistle, and was told it was a rocket."

They could all see it had landed somewhere, and a local said, "Don't worry, there'll be one more, because they always come in pairs. And sure enough, very soon there was another whistle! But now, things are much better on that front."

Response may be sent to rasheeda@thehindu.co.in

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Of security and veiled women