Afghanistan's supergran crimebuster on wheels

It's unusual for a woman to be a leader in Afghanistan but Zarifa Qazizadah has become the country's only female village chief through force of personality and determination to get things done - even if that means cross-dressing, wearing a false moustache and driving around on a motorbike at night.

"I tell the men of the village, all I want is your prayers," she says. "When you have a problem, I'll speak to the government on your behalf and whenever there is any disturbance at night-time, I'll pick up my gun and come to your house to see what's going on."

When the mother of 15 first sought political office, and told local men she wanted to connect the village to the electricity grid, they laughed.

That was in 2004. She lost the election, but she got the electricity all the same, and two years later the men asked her to apply for the post of head of the village - Naw Abad in the country's northern Balkh province.

Now she guards the electricity supply with a vengeance, and if anyone wires their home up and starts stealing it, they have to watch out.  "I can't let that happen because we have to respect the law," she says.

"When something happens in the village at night and I have to react quickly, I'll put on men's clothes and ride my motorbike."  Women in rural Afghanistan are rarely seen riding motorbikes alone and Qazizadah disguises herself, with the clothes and a fake moustache, to avoid attracting too much attention.

She has also been known to come to the rescue of her villagers by wrestling Jeeps out of ditches with a tractor.  "She does the type of work that even men are not capable of doing," says Molavi Seyyed Mohammad, one of her local supporters.

Qazizadah does not take "No" for an answer.

To keep her promise to voters on the electricity supply, even though she failed in her bid to get elected to parliament, she travelled to the Afghan capital, Kabul, with her four-year-old daughter and went straight to the home of the Minister for Power, Shaker Kargar, demanding to speak to him.

He agreed to see her the following day in his office, and by the end of the meeting he had given his consent.

There was one problem - the village itself had to pay for the posts and cables.

Qazizadah, who had already sold some of her jewellery to pay for the trip to Kabul, borrowed money wherever she could and remortgaged her house to raise the necessary capital.

(Only one third of Afghanistan's population have access to electricity)

Five months later, everyone in the village had electricity in their home. "It was only then that people recognised what I'd done and started to pay me back," she says.

The income from the electricity system was poured into construction of a new bridge over a dangerous river, connecting the village with a major road.

Qazizadah also sponsored the building of Naw Abad's first mosque. Unlike most mosques in the country, it is designed so that men and women pray together.

"When people saw the work I was doing on these projects, they would start to join in," she says.

"Now people can pray in their own village and the local boys don't have to go so far to learn how to read the Koran."

All this is a profound achievement for a woman who was married at 10 years old - and just 15 when she became a mother.  For much of her young adult life, she lived in a very remote village with her husband's family where, she says, she was little more than a servant.

During Taliban rule, she moved to the regional capital, Mazar-e-Sharif, with her husband, where she had her first taste of community work, volunteering to help parents get their children vaccinated. Covertly, she helped teach young girls to learn to read.

Now aged 50, with 36 grandchildren, she is head of the local women's council, as well as village head, and hosts large meetings of local women in her home, encouraging them to follow her example.

"I was just a housewife like you," she told a group of 50 women at one of her recent gatherings.  "But today I can have a meeting with 1,000 people. I can meet and discuss issues with authorities. In Western countries, women can become presidents. These women are brave and they can achieve a lot."

By Stephanie Hegarty BBC World Service

Afghanistan's ruby mines plundered by thieves

Only a few hours' drive from the Afghan capital Kabul is an area renowned for some of the world's brightest and most valuable rubies. But this wealth is being plundered by thieves, corrupt officials and the Taliban, as the BBC's Bilal Sarwary discovers.

The sun was about to rise over the Hindu Kush peaks surrounding Kabul when we hit the road to Jegdalek. It is a mountainous area noted for its rugged beauty in Kabul's Surobi district, some 96km (60 miles) south-east of the capital. There are opium crops here, but it is ruby mines that have earned Jegdalek such renown.  It is seen as a part of the country which could hold the key to many of Afghanistan's pressing economic woes.

"Jegdalek mines have been worked for more than 500 years," one tribal elder told me. "They are known for their high-grade blood-red rubies, which were popular with royalty across the world."

But the great and the good willing to pay magnificent prices no longer purchase Jegdalek rubies. Tribal elders say that instead the mines are being plundered by thieves, corrupt officials and the Taliban.

The situation has become so worrying, officials say, that President Hamid Karzai has become seriously concerned.  "He is aware that we can easily become [like certain] African countries, where mineral worth is a curse, not a blessing, and could be used to further destabilise the country," a presidential official told the BBC.

There is supposed to be a ban on ruby mining because the government views the mines as national wealth. Despite government denials, local traders in Jegdalek bazaar openly display newly-mined gems.

Jegdalek is not a wealthy area, sandwiched between the snowy passes of Afghanistan's Tora Bora mountains on one side and Pakistan's Parachinar valley on another.  There are mostly mud houses and ruins - its few roads are in a poor condition and locals say that there is no electricity or drinking water.  Like much of rural Afghanistan, the government's diktats are of little consequence here, which is why the ruby mining ban is so flagrantly flouted.

Officials admitted to the BBC that the government was not in control of dozens of mines for precious and semi-precious stones around the country.  "The Taliban are greedy and they lure locals to mine the area unprofessionally," says Wasil Khan, a disgruntled resident of a village near the mines.   Unskilled miners dig huge, deep holes, fill them up with gunpowder and then set them on fire. Such blasts have damaged the mines as well as the wealth that lies underneath."

The hills of the area are covered with hundreds of white trenches, leading the way to the mines themselves.

Mr Khan says that the mines rarely produce the red rubies they were once famous for - more often than not semi-transparent pink sapphires are the only gems found, even at depths of 150m (492ft).

But those who are illegally mining think otherwise, and the government clearly contends that much of value still lies deep within the soil here.

Once a major base of mujahideen fighters during the Soviet invasion of the country, local officials say that two-thirds of Jegdalek is now controlled by the insurgents.  "The Taliban tell the locals to work here," police officer Mohammed Talib - who accompanied us on our tour of the region - told us.  "They tell them: 'We will give you 25% of the profit on the rubies you bring. The best rubies are on Taliban's side of the mountain'."

Dr Talib said that every Friday the Taliban organises a ruby bazaar near Jegdalek in the small village of Soar Naw - a remote and mountainous area covered with deeply forested valleys.  Here they sell rubies which are then smuggled to Dubai, Pakistan and Thailand.   Just two months ago, the Taliban reportedly smuggled a ruby out of the area which sold for $600,000 (£383,000) in Dubai. While there is no way of substantiating this claim, similar stories abound.

The government admits that it is only in control of a few of the mines

"The income from rubies is used to buy weapons and pay fighters. If we can somehow plug this source, it will be a big blow to Taliban finances," an intelligence officer accompanying the police party said.

Police say that other criminal groups - working under the name of the Taliban - are exploiting the area's wealth and denuding the landscape solely for cash returns.

The police officer took me inside one of the mines. It is a vertical, narrow trench surrounded by thick marble walls about 4m (13ft) long with a hole in the surface. Yet despite this compelling evidence of recent mining, police insist the ban is being enforced.  As I was trying to look deeper into the mines, a policeman came running up to the commander and said something in his ear.  "We will have to wind up," the officer said. "My men have spotted some suspicious people on one of the hills. They could be locals, but I wouldn't like to take a chance."  As we prepared to make a hasty exit, nearly a dozen Taliban fighters armed with rocket-propelled grenades and heavy machine guns took positions in the nearby hills, less than a kilometre away from our position.

Back in Kabul, mining official Tamim Asey admits that the government is losing millions of dollars every year as powerful warlords, tribal chieftains and corrupt officials collude to rob the nation of its natural resources.  He says that the priority is to ensure that revenue from the mines - which for years has been the source of wealth for different power brokers - goes to the government and people of Afghanistan.

"It is unfortunate indeed that the country's assets are not benefiting people who need it most," Mr Asey lamented.
-BBC News

To see more information on a nearly 20 year old mining project in Afghanistan that does benifit local Afghans, click here. 

Stone carvers return to Bamiyan valley

Stone carvers defy Taliban to return to the Bamiyan valley

Under perfectly carved niches that once held dozens of small buddha statues, the purposeful tap of chisel on stone echoed over the Bamiyan valley for the first time in centuries.
Twelve young Afghans had gathered to take the first tentative steps back towards a stone-working tradition that once made their home famous, at a workshop in a cave gouged out as a monastery assembly hall more than 1,000 years ago.

The cave-hall was part of a complex built around two giant buddhas that loomed serenely over Bamiyan for about 15 centuries – until the Taliban government condemned them as un-Islamic in early 2001 and blew them up.

"I was interested in this course because I want to restore our culture," said Ismael Wahidi, a 22-year-old student of archeology at Bamiyan University, who set aside more conventional studies for a week to learn how to turn a lump of stone into a sculpture. "If you want to destroy a people, you first destroy their heritage and history."

The workshop, held just a few metres from where the larger buddha's face was once carved from the cliff face, aimed to reintroduce stone-carving to the valley by showing that creating basic pieces is easy, even if mastery takes years.

Under the guidance of Afghan, American and German artists, the group picked the stone they would shape from some of the rich seams of marble, quartzite and travertine [a form of limestone] that thread through the local mountains, foothills of the Himalayas. Then they set to work, with chisels forged by local blacksmiths from the suspension springs of old cars. "We wanted to give young people the idea that it is possible to do stone carving with what you have here," said Bert Praxenthaler, a sculptor and conservationist who has been working on the valley's monuments for several years, including stabilising the niches that once held the buddhas.

The Bamiyan valley is pockmarked with hundreds of caves that were once part of sumptuous monasteries, packed with statues and lavishly painted with frescoes. This rich artistic heritage was funded by centuries of taxes on caravans passing through what is now an isolated backwater, but was once a wealthy and important stop on the silk road.
"There must have been at least 2,000 years of sculptural tradition," said Praxenthaler. "Even excavating the caves is a kind of architectural sculpture. It was not just hacking holes into the cliff but also shaping the rooms, and they are quite extraordinary."
That tradition was probably killed off around 1,000 years ago, Praxenthaler said, when the valley was conquered by Mahmoud of Ghazni, a leader whose epithet suggested little interest in figurative art. "Anyone who calls themselves the 'destroyer of idols' probably wouldn't support further stone carving," Praxenthaler said.

Sculpture has remained largely off limits in Afghanistan because of strict Islamic prohibitions on idolatry. Depictions of any human or animal are strongly discouraged in art, and calligraphy, floral and geometric patterns dominate the country's more recent cultural heritage, from the majestic minaret of Jam, to mosques and monuments in cities such as Kabul and Kandahar.

"As you know, extremists often make propaganda about idols. But this is our heritage, not something religious," said 20-year-old Abdur Rahman Rosta, one of the student sculptors. He added that that in Bamiyan itself the sculptors were feted. The valley's people suffered badly under the Taliban, and have little sympathy for their hardline views, and Bamiyan has remained one of the most peaceful places in Afghanistan as insurgent violence spreads elsewhere.
The provincial governor came to a small ceremony unveiling the sculptures, and picked up a chisel herself as musicians played in a niche that once held the cave's largest statue – and might perhaps one day hold another.
"During this course we realised we had much more ability for working with stone than we could have imagined, and we understood we can do so much more," said Jawed Mohammadi, a 20-year-old history student at the university, who used the week to chisel out a human face. "The buddhas were destroyed, but maybe we can build them again."


(from The Guardian)

Afghanistan National Institute of Music

Afghanistan's National Institute of Music is the first and finest institution for the education and nurturing of gifted young Afghan musicians. Integral to our music program is a high quality academic education ensuring that our students are able to achieve at the highest level internationally as musicians, music educators, academics and specialists.

The institute is committed to providing a dynamic, challenging and safe learning environment for all students regardless of gender, ethnicity or social circumstances. We also have a special focus on supporting the most disadvantaged group in Afghan society – the orphans and street working kids - to help them attain a vocation that will allow them to reach their full potential, while contributing to their emotional healing.

Through the provision of an internationally-accredited curriculum our graduates will have the skills, creative vision and confidence to contribute to the artistic, social and cultural life of Afghanistan, and the rebuilding and revival of Afghan music traditions.

Afghanistan's National Institute of Music will be the model for future music schools and colleges to be built throughout Afghanistan.

Afghanistan Winter Music Academy 2010/2011

The Afghanistan Winter Music Academy is an intensive eight-week musical experience designed to offer Afghan youth from age 10 to age 30 a chance to improve their musical abilities, while offering the Kabul community a series of exciting concerts. The First Annual Afghanistan Winter Music Academy took place at Afghanistan National Institute of Music (ANIM), founded by Dr. Ahmad Sarmast, from December 19, 2010, through February 9, 2011. It was made possible by the Afghanistan Ministry of Education and sponsored by the Embassy of the USA, the Embassy of Finland, and the Goethe Institute. The Second Annual Afghanistan Winter Music Academy will take place from December 2011 through February 2012.

 Sitar and Sarod Ensemble and Young Traditional Afghan Ensemble

The Sarod and Sitar Ensemble, directed by Ustad Irfan Khan and Ustad Ehsan, at the Afghanistan National Institute of Music, playing "Rag Khamaj." Samim (tabla), Abdul Qadir, Ahmadullah, Shabeer, and Nagina (sarod), Gulalai, Farshad, and Huma (sitar), and Masoud Kochi (violin).

The Young Traditional Afghan Ensemble, directed by Ustad Murad, at the Afghanistan National Institute of Music, playing "Obadin Chashman." Ahmadullah (dhol), Abdel Wahab, Ali, Eraj, and Farhad (ghichak), Ruhullah (dilruba), Samim (rubab), Samiullah (harmonium), Mustafa (tambur), Hameedullah (tabla), and Meeran (zerbaghali).

http://afghanistannationalinstituteofmusic.org/

Restoring Iraq's Marshes

There used to be large natural marshlands in Iraq, full of villages such as this one.  The marshes were home to hundreds of species of migratory birds, as well as wildlife local to Iraq.  Each little island you see is made of dried reeds, and each house you see is also made of dried reeds.

A photo slideshow of what Iraq's marshes used to look like.  All the buildings you see are made using dried reeds.

THEN after the Gulf War, Saddam Hussein drained the majority of the marshes as a punishment for a failed uprising of some of the Marsh Arabs.  Many people were forced to flee or move elsewhere.

All of the water feeding the marshes, and the water in the marshes themselves, was diverted into a huge canal that went straight to the Gulf. 

The marshes turned into this:

After the Iraqi invasion and the fall of Saddam Hussein, a few people and organizations have made attempts to break the walls of the canal and reflood the marshes.

Here are two videos made since then about the rehabilitation process:

2004

2009

Map of the Marshes in 1976.

 Map of the Marshes in 2000.

http://www.iraqfoundation.org/projects_new/edenagain/index.html