I had a sore head that day because I had, by happy coincidence, been in the German city of Cologne the night of the rescue with the director of Shelter Now, Udo Stolte, and Kathe’s brother, Andreas Jelinek, and his wife Katja. We had appeared on Stern TV, voicing our hopes and fears for the aid workers, and speculation was mounting that they may be freed. But, as people involved in my case know only too well, it is dangerous to speculate because rumours abound in Afghanistan.
We left in a taxi for our hotel when Udo took a call and said, ‘They’re free.’ That feeling of elation was magical, and I immediately came out with the only phrase worthy of special occasions, which my friends have heard so many times before: ‘We must have champagne.’
We went into a piano bar in the hotel complex and I called the journalist/producer Theo Heyen to break the good news and invited him to join us. He had been like a cat on hot bricks throughout the show because no one knew whether the news coming out of Afghanistan was going to be good or bad. As it turned out, the only news was full of ifs, buts and maybes.
I gave a toast to absent friends and Udo, who was constantly being dragged away to answer media calls on his mobile, also gave a toast and thanked God. I really can’t remember when champagne tasted this good – so we had three more bottles!
We then heard that the sixteen Afghan employees of Shelter Now International were also freed when the Northern Alliance forces entered Kabul on Tuesday. I told Udo that the aid workers had been told that their helpers had been executed. They could not believe the information, but they could not be sure, and prayed for them during their twice-daily meetings.
My mind swung back to my two guides, Jan Ali and Naqeev-Ullha, whom I last saw in Kabul Prison. I had been told they had been executed, too, and was devastated. Thankfully, I was put out of my agony less than 24 hours after the Christian aid workers had been released, when Pasha told me that the guides had also been set free.
‘Madam, your guides are out,’ he said. ‘The Taliban drove them down to Jalalabad from Kabul Prison and basically said it’s every man for himself. You are free if you can escape the enemy.’ The words were music to my ears.
I and my newspaper had campaigned quietly behind the scenes for their release. It was a difficult time for me because I had spent ten days telling the Taliban they were not my guides, so when I was released I felt unable to take journalists into my confidence and tell them the full story. My fears were justified, because some of the reporting was spiteful and malicious towards me, but, more importantly, it could have jeopardised their lives.
They were reunited with their families, and, happily, I can also report that rumours of their torture were also exaggerated. Pasha added, ‘They have been treated very well by the Taliban but they were told they would be executed if you turned out to be a spy. Everyone is very happy now.’
Sadly, not all of my calls to Pasha were this happy. Less than three weeks after my release, American bombs blasted the tiny village of Kama, in the Kama district, off the face of the earth. I will never forget that feeling when I heard the words, ‘Madam, I have bad news for you. The Americans have bombed your village. Kama has gone and some of the people you met have been killed.’
Naïvely, I told him they must have been stray bombs that had accidentally hit civilian targets. ‘But madam,’ he protested, ‘then they have accidentally bombed Kama three days running.’
I closed the line and a great aching sob erupted deep from within me. The woman who had sung ‘Rule Britannia’ so triumphantly on the night Kabul was hammered was now cursing the war. I had been to Kama and it had no military or strategic significance at all.
I called my mother and sobbed: ‘Those bastards have bombed my village. Kama has been wasted, it no longer exists.’ I called my news editor Jim and anyone else who would listen. I was grief-stricken.
I then spoke with Alan Simpson, the Labour MP and chairman of Labour Against the War. I told him about little defenceless Kama and its beautiful people. He was very supportive and outraged. He said what I had to say was of significance because I had no political axe to grind and did not belong to any pressure group against the war.
I was an eyewitness. Someone on the ground. A journalist who could confirm that the Americans were bombing civilian targets. I had an important message to give people and so I have since addressed many meetings, voicing my fears about the military campaign.
There is lots of unfinished business and I have to go back to Afghanistan. I have to find those people I spoke to in Kama and I pray that all my friends are still alive. I want to be mocked once again by the woman who boasted she could have fifteen babies. I want to see the young woman who had aspirations of being a doctor. I want to see the young man who also had ambitions for a medical career. I have to know if they are still alive. These people were a great inspiration and they are the future hope of a country that has been at war for more than two decades.
I have fallen in love with many countries and cities around the world and it has always been easy to explain why: New York is exciting; Rome and its cuisine are divine; Venice is breathtaking; Paris is so chic.
However, my heart has been stolen by Afghanistan, a wild, unforgiving country whose contrasts of people are reflected in its stormy history, politics and geography. The author Ahmed Rashid, who wrote Taliban: the Story of the Afghan Warlords, summed up the country perfectly in a small passage.
Many years ago a wise old Afghan Mujahed once told me the mythical story of how God made Afghanistan. ‘When Allah had made the rest of the world, He saw there was a lot of rubbish left over, bits and pieces and things that did not fit anywhere else. He collected them all together and threw them down on to the earth. That was Afghanistan,’ the old man said.
Whatever is drawing me to Afghanistan I will go again and I ask my editor Martin Townsend and my mother Joyce to understand this and allow me to return with a free conscience.
You may have won the first battle to ground me – but you have not won the war.
First published in Great Britain in 2001 by Robson Books,
An Imprint of Pavilion Books Group
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London WC1E 6HD
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Copyright © 2001 Yvonne Ridley
Express material © Express Newspapers 2001
The right of Yvonne Ridley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Any opinions expressed in this book are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of the publisher or those of Express Newspapers.
First published as an eBook in 2014
ISBN 978 1 909396 70 8
Also avaliable as a Hardback
ISBN 1 86105 495 5
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission in writing of the publishers.
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In the Hands of the Taliban Page 22