It has not been a few days since I visited the Azizi Bank branch in Herat. Azizi Bank’s central representative office is located on Behzad Road. I wanted to draw the amount of money I have in the bank. The agency was responsible for money withdrawal. When I looked at the clock, it showed eight in the morning. The weather is sunny, and the sunshine is hot and annoying. I was walking on the road where the central office of Azizi Bank is located. It is Sunday. I am not alone, and two of my friends are accompanying me. These two comrades do not have an account in Azizi Bank, and they have peace of mind. I arrive at the place where Azizi Bank is located.
Azizi Bank building has a different view. There is a long line of people behind the Brunch Gate. The customer queue seems so long that I think I may not be able to get what I want in a month. As I approach, I see nothing but anxiety, worry, and crowds. Someone is guiding me to join the end of the line because I came late. When I look closely, I find the situation dire. I can’t stand it and get out of the line and rejoin my friends, who are waiting for me on the corner of the road and tell them the story. My friends are forcing me to re-join the customer line at the bank; since I have no other occupation, I have to accept this difficulty. One of my friends is half a year old, and he is agile. In order not to be overwhelmed by fatigue, he wants to chase me away and stay with me in the line of customers in the bank. I do not accept this offer, and I go alone and stand in line at the end.
With each passing minute, not only does the length of the queue not decrease but also increases. I’m not the last to come. Many people after me also come in groups and make the queue longer. The warmth of the sunlight increases with each passing moment. There are several freshly cut trees along the gap between the public road and the bank building. The foliage of these trees cannot be a good shade for customers. However, everyone tries to find a place in the shade of these trees. They are the ones who squat on the hot ground in the sun. They are the ones who have a place in the shade of the trees. A large number of customers are also queuing on the side of the public road, raising their hands under the shade of their eyes and waiting to enter the bank.
Everyone gets up and yawns and bends his body. Some are happy with the fall of the republic and some are unhappy. Some people welcome physical security, while others condemn security without bread. Some say that after the fall of the republic, there are many families whose boilers have not been built yet. When I look closely, it is rare and very difficult for people to get into the bank. As if there is no one responsible for meeting the demands of the people. There is also a long line of women. Of course, the line of women is shorter than the line of men and has a relatively good order. The hijab of women is the hijab of the Republican era, and I do not see the change that they are experiencing now in the era of the Emirate. I find that there are more facilities for women than for men. Women go into the bank in groups, and if men are allowed to enter the bank, one by one, with great difficulty. Two Taliban soldiers are in charge of patrolling the customer line. Bank soldiers are responsible for the physical efforts of customers. Taliban soldiers like women not to stand in line and try to find a way for women to enter the bank. Of course, this is not the right that the Taliban give to women; rather, their concern is that women should not fall prey to men outside the bank. A Taliban soldier tries to line up the men.
He has an electric gear in his hand and anyone who breaks the line will correct with this gear. If someone has a problem, sometimes he addresses Mujahid Sahib, sometimes Talib Sahib, and sometimes Mullah Sahib. He is helpless to do anything with these great people so as not to cause a great commotion. The bank gate is closed to people, especially men; but the money distribution process continues to be slow. When the gate opens, the seed of hope is sown in everyone, and when it is closed, everyone stares at the ground in amazement. The longer it waits, the more the queue breaks and the climax peaks, and everyone crawls in the shadows. This longline is not for all the people of Herat; many people from Ghor, Badghis, and other provinces are waiting in line.
The author of this text came to Herat from Sar-e-Pul province in northern Afghanistan to withdraw his money from the bank. The heat of the sun has made me sick, and there is no good place to sit and breathe. Warm sweat drips from my head and face, and I desperately need a handkerchief with which to make a canopy over my head and with which I can wipe the sweat. My eyes are incapable of sunlight, and the good thing is that I have glasses, and I have made my eye protected. I am so sad and depressed that I feel as if I am stuck under the rubble of a mountain. Sometimes I get out of line and sit in a corner and light a cigarette and exhale the hidden hatred of waiting in my throat with cigarette smoke. As I look at the clock, it flips on an afternoon. Later, the queue becomes shorter, and the speed of the work process is noticeable. Unfortunately, I find that no one is allowed to enter the bank, and there is no chance of withdrawing money.
The bank clerk writes my name on a piece of paper, and in order not to be mistaken for other letters and to be able to identify customers well and enter the bank in turn, he also writes the last two digits of my contact number. The fame leaves anyone who writes and says they will be at the bank tomorrow after eight o’clock in the morning.
The next day (Monday, September 12), I go to the bank after dawn. I’m happy that I may be the first person to get to the bank and get into the bank sooner; Unaware that a long line had formed before I arrived at the bank. Many people come in the middle of the night and sleep behind the bank gate. It is dawn.
People are silent, and their eyes are fixed on the clock. I put my feet on the ground, falling to sleep. It doesn’t take long for a commotion between two people and my sleep to be disturbed. On one side is the old man and on the other side is the middle-aged man. The two have started a fight. The mediation of others does not work much. The old man has nothing to do with the bank and has come from somewhere else and is struggling with a middle-aged man. The story goes that they were both in the same hotel at night and had separate rooms. Both do not have complete knowledge of each other. A middle-aged man working for a bank leaves the hotel before dawn and leaves for the bank. The old man wakes up and realizes that his boots have been replaced by another one. The old man goes to the owner of the hotel who has changed my bushes, and someone has taken them with him and left the old bushes. The owner of the hotel says that someone left the hotel before dawn and went to Azizi Bank. The old man, hearing this, hurries to the bank.
The intelligence of this old man is so extraordinary that he can discern the person who brought his boot from among the huge crowd lined up at the bank gate. This is the only difference, and the conflict is on this difference. The quarrel ends, and the old man takes back his bushes. Some people blame the old man and blame him for it. The old man becomes angry and harshly criticizes those who preach to him, saying: Afghanistan has been ruined by these wrong judgments. The old man picks up his bushes and leaves, and silence and solitude reign over the space again. The bank officially starts working after eight in the morning. The customer queue is longer than the day before. The bank clerk will call those whose fame was written yesterday somewhere else. The ballots, which were printed through the bank system to meet the turn, are in the hands of a Taliban soldier.
The bank clerk gives the Taliban soldier a printed piece of paper to anyone he leads inside the bank. The implementation process within the bank is somewhat satisfactory. The bank’s ATM system is blocked. Otherwise, the congestion can be reduced by opening this system. Those who enter the bank can get their money sooner. According to a letter issued by the Taliban, money holders should be given 20,000 afghanis a week; but the bank officials do not comply with the content of this letter and pay ten thousand afghanis to each of them. My insistence and argument are in vain, and the officer in charge gives me ten thousand afghanis from my bank account. Bank officials use the lack of money as an excuse and try to justify their excuses and provide customer satisfaction with this justification. The process of distributing money to customers continues until noon and then stops due to lack of money.
I go to the bank next week on Saturday, September 17. This time, the previous week’s scenario also continues. After dawn, I wait in line until the afternoon so that I can enter my name into the list. The queue of customers on this day seems longer than the previous days, and even next to the atmosphere and residential houses, everyone is waiting in line. A small number of people are sitting on the other side of the road. It is understood that they are sitting there to watch the queue of the bank’s customers. One of them is holding his mobile phone and I think he is filming. When a Taliban soldier noticed him, he quickly turned on the light, stopped him, and grabbed his cell phone. The Taliban soldier, who has an electric gear in his hand, sometimes presses the gear to the man’s abdomen and sometimes to the back, and he shouts about his innocence. When the electric gear presses on his body, a sharp echo propagates out of the gear. The Taliban soldier forcibly unlocks his mobile phone and deletes the image he has taken. Everyone in the audience is watching this sad scene, but no one breathes and does not speak in defense of someone who is moaning under the electric gear of a Taliban soldier. This and dozens of other examples show that the Taliban were terrified of hard shooting. The Taliban are afraid that these images will be published in cyberspace, and users in cyberspace will use the images as tools and hold the Taliban responsible for the plight of the people. In the afternoon, I put my fame on the list and the bank clerk says that I should be at the bank tomorrow after eight in the morning. Tomorrow (Sunday, September 18) I will go to the bank and again I will meet a long line of customers. The queue is so long and the number of customers is so long that there is no room left for those whose fame has already been prepared to gather in a separate place and enter the bank in turn. We gather in a corner of the sidewalk belonging to the bank building. The bank clerk takes a high place and the Taliban soldier leads everyone to sit on the ground. I wish there was no place to sit. I can hardly squat on my knees on the floor. I feel like blood is frozen in my veins. My legs become weak and immobile. The number of people whose fame is included in the list is very high. I stay on my feet on the hot ground for more than an hour with my feet in my arms until the bank clerk calls my name and I can enter the bank. As I enter the bank, I find the process of distributing money fast. Everyone is proud of the refusal of bank officials to lead the Taliban. Instead of paying customers 20,000 afghanis a week, they pay 10,000 afghanis. Before withdrawing the money from my account, I wanted to talk to the bank manager and share my problem, which seems more exceptional. I want to enter the office of the bank manager that a girl is talking to the manager of the manager’s office and sometimes says harsh words. The lady’s daughter wants to go to the manager and the housekeeper does not allow her to enter. “The Taliban do not allow the bank manager to meet with women alone, even in formal matters,” says the housekeeper. The girl’s ear does not owe this and she manages to go to the manager with great insistence. She raises her problem with the bank manager and I think there is a way to solve her problem.
The bank manager is apparently soft-spoken and less talkative, and despite the fact that customers are overwhelmed with emotions, she is at the height of her composure. Another elderly woman, with tears in her eyes, enters the office of the bank manager and sits on the floor. She holds the ten thousand afghanis she has withdrawn from her account and begs desperately to withdraw the remaining money from her account. The bank manager does not comply with this lady (while calling him my son), and she leaves the bank with tears in her eyes as she throws the weight of her trembling body on a wooden stick. I raise my problem with the bank manager. I say, I came from the north of Afghanistan and I want to withdraw my money from my bank account; Instead of paying customers 20,000 afghanis a week, you pay 10,000 afghanis. Unfortunately, the bank manager’s ear was deaf to hear the customers’ problem. Instead of creating a commotion, I find it appropriate to choose silence. I go to one of the stalls where the distribution of money is going on and get the amount of 10,000 afghanis. Anyone who receives money during the week must go to the bank another week. Customers are given the right to visit the bank only once a week. Of course, there were those who could withdraw even more than 20,000 afghanis. They were friendly and knowledgeable with the bank officials and could well enjoy the benefits. There were those who left the line and were allowed to enter the bank under another name and title without having to wait their turn.
Next week, I will go to the bank (Saturday, September 23). The customer queue has taken on the end of invisibility. I will wait until noon and there is no news from the bank clerk who will write the fame of the customers so that they can come to the bank tomorrow.
There are rumors that do not set the list for customer fame. The cause is apparently called population density. After waiting for hours, the bank clerk comes and writes down the fame of the customers. The bank clerk, while writing my name, says that I have to go to the bank next Saturday, October 1, at 9 o’clock. This is bad news and shows that the population density is getting heavier day by day and the bank is more incapable of distributing money. In previous weeks, the day the customers’ name was written, the next day the customers could be allowed to enter the bank, but now the story of Ben has changed. This week is over, and the next week I’m going to the bank on Saturday. The hand shows 9 o’clock in the morning, however, there is no news of reading the customers’ names that was prepared last week. A group of people who wrote their fame last week and now do not have the opportunity to enter the bank, meet with the bank guards and say bad and misguided things, and grit their teeth. The Taliban enter the scene to control both sides. A Taliban soldier with a black limp on his head and a thick beard on his chin look frowning. He has a strong body and speaks less and hears less. He orders the two Taliban soldiers next to him to disperse the line of angry customers. The black-clad cantaloupe ruthlessly pushes customers back from the bank gate, saying, “Here are the women, aren’t you ashamed to stand?” Of course, this is not the kind that the Taliban do to women. This action exposes the depth of this group’s sexist approach to the sun. The Taliban fear that men will be sexually aroused by watching women. There is no place to go and hide, the man and woman are all standing outside on two legs in two separate rows. It is impossible for a man not to look at a woman and a woman to look at a man; unless separate waiting rooms are provided. The way of taking turns at the bank has changed, and we, who did not come within a week, according to the bank official, are unaware. This time, they write only the contact numbers of the customers and send a message through the bank and specify the time to visit the bank, which if someone cannot be present at a certain time, one will not be able to enter the bank. We will inevitably accept the new order and a week of waiting will be wasted. The bank clerk writes down my contact number and says that I have to wait for the message to be received and to go to the bank clearly whenever I receive the message; Otherwise, I will not be able to enter the bank. For about a week and a half, I have been staring at the mobile messaging, which unfortunately has no news or sign of receiving the message. I have some contact numbers on paper on the bank gate that I have. I call many times, but no one answers the calls. On Monday, October 10, it is 18 o’clock that I am able to contact the bank officials and express my problem. “The way customers enter the bank has changed again, and now, instead of sending a message, an entry ticket is given,” said the person behind the phone.
Tuesday, October 11, I go to the bank before dawn. A long queue is formed and the length of the queue is increased every minute. The population density is very heavy. Seeing this crowd, I forget the heavy density of the previous days and weeks. On the one hand, there are those who received the ticket the day before, and on the other hand, there are those who want to get the ticket and go to the bank the next day to receive money. The autumn season has arrived and the morning breeze is cold and annoying. Someone is wrapped in a duvet and sleeping behind the bank gate. Some also wear winter clothes. Those who wear summer clothes also tremble like a willow leaf in the cold morning breeze. The clock strikes eight o’clock in the morning, and work begins at the bank. The number of women is small and they can easily enter the bank. Those who have a ticket from the day before will also have the opportunity to enter the bank one after the other. Those who have just arrived will be given a ticket to visit the bank tomorrow. On the arrival ticket, the date of going to the bank and the queue number is written and it is still decorated with a stamp and signature. The next day, which is Wednesday, October 20, I hurried to the bank after dawn. A large crowd came before me and formed a long line. On the one hand, there are those who lined up who got the ticket the day before, and on the other hand, there are those who want to get the bank ticket today for tomorrow. It is morning and the cold wind is howling. As I look at the clock, its hand moves very slowly, as if the wheel of time is out of motion. After eight in the morning, the formalities at the bank begin. Those who have an entry ticket will have the opportunity to enter the bank. When the customer enters the bank, the person in charge of the bank receives the arrival ticket and provides the customers with the queue form printed through the system. The other task is to make the physical effort of the customers. Three Taliban soldiers are providing security outside the bank. Their body shape and clothes make customers laugh. The population density is heavy and the inner courtyard of the bank cannot accommodate it. There is no place to sit and no way to get around.
The process of distributing money seems fast. The bank officials are proud of the lack of money and the bank’s customers are proud of the distribution of old and worn-out money. Unfortunately, this time there is no news of 1000 and 500 AFN banknotes, and 50 AFN banknotes will be distributed. The banknotes are old and worn out. The recipient is required to accurately count the banknotes to ensure the accuracy of the money. Everyone sits in a corner and counts the banknotes for a few hours. The worn-out banknotes are removed and delivered to the distribution booth, and the distribution booth hardly gives the banknote that can be offered to the market. Crowds inside the bank are heavy and will not decrease because every person who receives their money spends hours counting it. This time I was able to withdraw 14,000 afghanis from my account. All banknotes cost 50 afghanis. After an hour of counting and cleaning the old one again and replacing the old one with a new one, I leave the bank and go to my destination.
Every week, a new method was introduced for customers to enter the bank. This method caused those who used to withdraw money using the old methods to be unaware of the new method. The private bank blamed the state-owned bank (the central bank) for the lack of money. I stayed in Herat for more than a month and a half and my main mission was to go to Azizi Bank.