Last night I was involved in my first (and hopefully last) Kabul car accident. It wasn't a collision of cars, but the collision of my car with some rocks. Driving down Jalalabad Road on the way to dinner at the UN compound at fairly high speed, we swerved left to avoid a large rock in the road but then ended up smashing the front left of the car into the central reservation (a series of concrete blocks). After the terrible smashing sound upon impact, the car ricocheted to the right, at an angle, on two wheels for several metres. Despite being convinced we were going to flip upside down, we didn't, but the car lurched from side to side, skidding right to left, with the brakes screeching (and me screaming "OH MY GOOOOODDDDDD!!!!") for a while. Fortunately there were no cars passing us at the time, otherwise there would have been an almost certain pile up; we had no control at all in those moments. The car was, unsurprisingly, unable to continue so we ground to a halt at the side and saw that the left tyre had been completely split open, with the hubcap ripped off. In the darkness, the driver managed to change the tyre, while I stood mildly shaking in front a boarded up shop, making full use of my Marlboro Lights. It happened so suddenly - in a flash - that it seemed completely unreal afterwards. In those seconds of panic, I had flashbacks to Kolkata in 2002, when I was very nearly run over by a bus on a dark street, saved only by the scream of a pedestrian (who had seen me), which made me notice the oncoming bus, missing it by at most one metre. A bit too close for comfort. I had only recently been saying to friends that if anything bad happens to me here, it will likely be a traffic, not Taleban, related accident.
Kabul is a traffic nightmare. I've been to lots of cities in developing countries with horrendous traffic jams, poor roads, a lack of rules and general chaos. Indeed, after passing my driving test in UK, the next day I flew to Lagos, Nigeria, where I lived for the next 6 months, picking up the worst Lagotian anarchic driving habits imaginable. But I think Kabul tops it all, in the sense that all these unfortunate aspects are of the worst extent possible here. In Manila, for example, the jams are hideous but the roads are generally good. The same goes for Bangkok. Even Kathmandu is more advanced. So many roads in central Kabul just do not merit that term; they are like safari tracks, giving the sense of being in a rural village, not the centre of a capital city. The dust clouds are quite a sight.
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| Central Shahr-e-Naw, with ubiquitous Toyota Corollas |
Then we have the cars, 90% of which seem to be Toyota Corollas that were unfit for Japanese use circa-1980, so have been exported here. Some appear to be almost falling apart as they drive, with headlights by no means a norm. One of the amusing aspects is many of the cars imported from (it seems) Japan, Korea and Germany, still have the names of their previous roles written on the side. So, for example, you will see a van with '
East Osaka Old People's Home' emblazoned on it, or a truck with '
Tanaka's Furniture - the best from Tokyo' or suchlike. I have asked Afghans about what they think of these incongruous names, but am consistently told that those signs are deliberately not erased or painted over, as they represent a status symbol (even if the meaning is senseless in its present context). How I would love to show the previous owners in Japan where their company cars are now (and the state they are in). Actually the previous owners would probably not remember them, as they likely sold them off decades ago.
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| "Tokyo Marine - Kohoku Swimming Club" |
Back to the traffic. Today it took 90 minutes to travel a kilometre, from the Ministry. And of course we cannot walk, so you just have to grin and bear it, sit back and listen to the Hindi/Iranian/Afghan/Pakistani tunes. It's wise to go to the loo before setting off in the car; you never know when you will arrive. Traffic lights are of course not seen, although the occasional traffic policeman is, waving his (always a him) arms frantically and blowing his whistle, while inhaling copious amounts of dust in between. Not an enviable job, by any means. Cars line up within centimetres of each other, they jostle for position, swerve in front (e.g. to turn left or right) with seemingly little or no concern that the oncoming vehicles might not stop for them. My drivers chuckle to themselves at my reactions to this, as if to say "
Frank, of course they'll stop - just chill out...". My driver last night was not chuckling, that's for sure.
Traffic jams also leave you feeling exposed. At least when you are motoring (bumping) along you feel that you could make a swift exit or turnaround should you need to in an emergency, but in a jam, there is nothing you can do but hope that all around are benign folk just going about their daily business. The advantage is that you get to observe copious amounts of street life, which is often the most interesting part of being here. Street vendors, market stalls, decrepit buildings, not to mention the fellow sufferers in the traffic jams (who often get out, form groups, sit on their bonnet, etc.). Child window cleaners frequently come and start wiping your windows (which are always shut with doors locked), using the most grubby cloths that sometimes actually make the window dirtier than it originally was. In much the way trains were such an integral part of Tokyo life, in Kabul the 4WD is central to the experience. Being unable to walk anywhere here, the life inside, and seen from, the car very much equates to Kabul life for me.
