Early in the morning, we were surrounded by many drivers at the station in Khairkhana pass. Each driver was trying to pick us up and told us the fare. We saw the cars one by one. Finally, a folder-type vehicle came to our taste.
The car was speeding from the station to Balkh. Parts of the road were damaged, to the point that you sometimes felt parts of your body hurt.
I asked the driver the reason for the crowd at the station. “We haven’t worked for two months,” he said. “We wait two to four days to find a passenger. Therefore, when the passenger arrives, all the drivers try to take the passenger with them.”
I asked how was the situation two months ago?
“Two months ago, we were just transporting passengers, and sometimes we did not stay in Kabul for more than one night,” he said.
The car was moving fast, and the driver enjoyed his favorite songs playing loudly to the point where he was overwhelmed by his whispers and took the lyrics to himself. Sometimes he was speeding so fast that I thought he was not in his mood. Near Chikel and Rabat, I asked the driver sarcastically: “Did you smoke something?”
“No, I do not smoke,” He answered patiently and with a smile. “I have been taking passengers on this road for 17 years. Thanks to God, I have no traffic accidents.”
After Charikar, the road seemed more deserted. On both sides of the street, the yellow leaves were visible everywhere, and the clear, clean northern air sometimes caressed our faces through the car windows.
We passed Charikar and Jabal Saraj to Salangah quickly and without interruption. The road was still deserted, and autumn had taken the green color on both sides of the road. When we passed the Salang pass, we realized that parts of the Salang road still need to be repaired.
A short pause in Doshi reduced our tiredness to some extent. After a few minutes, we walked from Doshi and passed Pul-e-Khumri, and an hour later, we entered Samangan. On the roads, we saw a handful of large trucks and large passenger buses carrying supplies and passengers. Restaurants and hotels along the way and near the road were ready to welcome tired travelers.
Our car was stopped at the entrance door of Samangan’s Aibak by the checkpoint. The young man, armed with a long turban and long hair, rolled his eyes to inspect the car and asked in his own accent, “Where did you come from?”
The driver answered him. He looked at us all for a moment with his red eyes and then said, “Goodbye.”
Our car was leaving Samangan for Balkh with speed. It was noon and the road was completely deserted and quiet. The appetite of short pink sleep appeals to our eyes. The driver was obsessed with his favorite music and sometimes turned off his car near the checkpoints for fear of the Taliban. “Why do you turn off the music?” I asked. “Like you were so scared?” “Precaution is important,” he said slowly.
As we passed Cheshma-e Shir, the driver told me, “There have been no thieves or robbers here for two months now. At the moment, all the way from Kabul to Balkh is safe and secure.”
While crossing the Tashqarghan Strait, where the road was crossed, the driver turned off the music and instead prayed. He said Salawat several times. I did not ask anything. “I am very afraid of this gorge and I see death in it,” he said. “I always just pray when I get here.”
It was one o’clock in the afternoon when we entered Mazar-e-Sharif and passed in front of Balkh University towards the city center. The city did not have its previous congestion. Traffic was lower and restaurants did not have the color of the past.
On arrival in Mazar-e-Sharif, we were greeted by green tea and Qabli Uzbeki prepared with sesame oil, and then our prayers were offered in the holy shrine (the tomb of Hazrat Ali). I asked the guard at the door of the shrine why only men are seen in the courtyard of the shrine? Are women not allowed? “It is the women ‘s turn from morning to noon, and the men from noon to evening,” he said.
I was curious about myself and I was looking for the reason for the masculine and feminine turn of the holy shrine when the guardian Taliban soldier shook my mind and said: “This is a better and more correct way.”
The inside of the shrine was deserted and silent. Neighbors of the shrine, with long beards and trunks, sat inside the tomb behind four-legged semicircular tables, monitoring the movement of pilgrims, and sometimes calling on those who took pictures of the tomb with telephone cameras not to take pictures.
We spent the evening looking for a hotel. We visited the guest houses of Ghazanfar, Arsalan, Barat, Qeshlaq, and Qasim Hotels. Coincidentally, our travel bag was packed in Arsalan, and we found all the housemates in the hotel waiting to travel to Qatar, Europe, and the United States. The majority of them, although they intended to leave and all the grounds were provided for them, it was clear from their speeches that they were still worried about the country. In Ghazanfar Tower, there were people who came to Mazar-e-Sharif from Kabul, waiting for the flight to Qatar.
In other guesthouses, the crowds were not so great and many rooms could be rented at a reasonable price. The four sides of the shrine had their own relative congestion. However, compared to several months ago, it saw less crowded. I asked the taxi driver who was taking me from the city center to the hotel why the city was secluded. “Most of the young people are gone,” he said immediately. “For a while, you were amazed. He paused meaningfully and continued: “Be very careful of yourself, the tomb is insecure …”
In the morning and evening, when I pass in front of the bakeries, the smell of hot Mazari bread enters your nose and there is relative calm in the faces of business citizens and bazaars. In the markets where more souvenirs can be prepared (gifts), there was less income, and more carpets and rugs, traditional ornaments, jilk, chapan, and candy were seen in the markets around the holy shrine. Girls’ schools were open to girls, and young women and girls were seen in the bazaars and historical sites of Balkh.
[box type=”info” align=”alignleft” class=”” width=””]Dr. Arif Naemzada’s Story, Hasht-e Subh Persian [/box]