EDITOR'S NOTE: Bill Wright is a self-employed businessman turned photographer. He travels exotic locales and captures in photographs the lives, emotions and cultures of people for his love of art, and because it helps him make better business decisions. He was recently named one of Abilene's 10 Most Influential by the Abilene Reporter-News. Following is an e-mailed journal entry to family and friends about his newest adventure - a trip to Kabul, Afghanistan.

Sunday July 23, 2006

To begin with, Kabul is a long way from Abilene, Texas. After changing planes three times and traveling for the better part of three days, I felt like a certified “road warrior”.

On the last travel day with no sleep and a bit of nervousness, I found the aisle seat on Arab Air flight G90283 to Kabul from Dubai, the United Arab Emirates global hot spot. My seat mate, a Pashtun from the south of Afghanistan and the ancestral home of the Taliban, immediately began silent prayer after we squeezed into the tourist class Airbus seats. That was understandable considering he didn’t know how to adjust his seat belt.

I had another reason to be worried. Inflight, the attendant offered a sharma bun for $4.00 US, and having had scant fare the preceeding days, I jumped at the chance. The man seated across the aisle who worked for the UN World Food Project bought one also. In my haste to satisfy my hunger I had eaten the entire thing when I realized that the food man took one bite of his and folded the rest up. “A diet?”, I enquired. “No, tasted bad,” the expert on food said.

As we began our approach into Kabul, a moderate dust storm was blowing and the plane was being buffeted from gusts comming from all directions. I leaned across the Pastun and caught a glimpse of the dark-crested Afghan desert mountains stenciled on a light tan desert background as the plane came in with one wing dipped and in a slight crab to windward. Before the plane skidded and lurched to moderate taxi speed, I found myself checking out the emergency exits.

In retrospect, it was a very skillful crosswind landing and I watched the panorama of ancient and modern aircraft parked on the ramp as we taxied by. There was a heavy preponderance of helicopters with tarps over windshields and rotor hubs to protect from the wind. The buildings seemed ancient adobe with metal sheeting in places. It was not inspiring compared with the ultra modern terminal I had experienced in Dubai.

We deplaned and passed through customs after filling out an entry card and were passed to the luggage area. The ancient conveyor belt was heavy laden with all sorts of packages wrapped in plastic and tied with ropes, bags of every vintage and description. Much more colorful than the nowadays “all alike” roller bag I see at domestic airports. Everyone had a make your own! The creaking and lurching of the belt suddenly stopped and everyone groaned. A ten minute delay while some repair was being made or the electricity restored.

I had a tap on my shoulder. “Are you Bill Wright?” the bouncy Australian young lady asked. Looking around I was immediately captivated by an infectious smile and responded with a grateful “yes!” I was not looking forward to searching out my contact in the swarm of passengers.

Sarah was the contact person for Aschiana, the NGO [non-governmental organization] that I had volunteered to work with. Beside her was Faideen, my driver/interpreter for the week. He was a youngish-looking and trim local man who had been recommended by the U.S, Embassy as a dependable and knowledgeable “fixer” who would be able to cart me around to the places I wanted to go.

It turned out that Faideen was a good choice. Earlier that morning as he picked Sarah up and started to the airport the alarms went off and the road to the airport and several major traffic circles were sealed off because of a bomb threat. Faideen skillfully re-routed the van using back roads and delivered himself and Sarah right on time. A live bomb was later found in a trash can along the route and not in the U.S. Embassy as a circulating rumor suggested.

We loaded the bags and headed toward my hotel, stopping only to offload the cameras and other equipment at the Aschiana headquarters where embassy staff had already delivered the needed computers and a HP printer.
I met several of the future students and some of the Aschiana staff and we continued to the Serena Hotel where I had reservations.

It was heavily fortified. The entrance to the hotel led through a car trap where security personnel raised and lowered steel beams to prohibit either entry or escape while they moved a tilted mirror around the bottom of the car inspecting for bombs or prohibited items.

We passed the test and were passed into an interior motor court and unloaded. The reception was routine with the exception that I was taken immediately to the cashier for payment in advance for the room. Only cash accepted. Exchange was 1 to 49. The room was excellent and the shower head worked beautifully as soon as the door to the room was closed.

Sarah made plans for dinner at the hotel that evening. Her husband, Mark Johnston would be a bit late but would join us in time for ordering. Mark was a policy consultant with an independent contractor dealing with the Afghan drug problem. Australian natives, Mark and Sarah re-invented themselves several years before and moved from the commercial sector to the public service sector. Mark spent two years at Harvard’s Kennedy School and was awarded a Ph.D. in Economics and Public Policy. Their current “permanent” home was in Bangkok but they saw little of that with their journeys from one assignment to another. The next would take them to Ulan Bator, Mongolia. What a life!

J.B. Leedy, the assistant Public Affairs officer at the U.S, Embassy would also join us. She was the person who had initially contacted me about the coming to Kabul. Her invitation had been carefully stated. She said that under present regulations, it was not possible to invite persons to Afghanistan because of the perceived security risks but should I decide to come on my own, she would like for me to be involved with Aschiana to teach digital photography to “street working” kids.

I soon found that the “J” in J.B, stood for Jean and that she was a woman. When she appeared that night she turned out to be a young and attractive person who was enthusiastic about her job but frustrated by the fact that all of the personnel at the embassy were prohibited from circulating freely in town which made the cultural affairs component of her responsibility much more difficult. J.B.’s husband, a military officer, was back at the Pentagon in Washington where he was assigned. As a Department of State employee, J.B. had the option of one year of solo duty in Afghanistan without her husband or two years solo at another more friendly and enjoyable location. She chose the one year.

I met Sarah and J.B. in the lobby at 7 pm and we went to the hotel restaurant to wait for Mark. There were no cocktails before dinner as Afghanistan is a Moslem country so J.B. and I enjoyed a diet coke and Sarah chose a local melon drink. I thought I might try the melon drink but she advised me against it to ensure I would continue to be “fit” for the remainder of the week and not cut down by “the Taliban’s Revenge”.

Mark arrived a short while later and pulled up a chair next to me. He had the typical Aussie’s friendly and engaging personality, and I appreciated his candid and informed remarks regarding Afghanistan.

We had a delightful dinner of Australian lamb in the hotel restaurant and I, as promised, passed on the beautiful desert.

It was a good first day in Afghanistan.