And on top of it all, children

It's late morning in Jalalabad, the major city in the east of Afghanistan, not far from the border to Pakistan. I was woken up by the stiff air in my room at six o'clock in the morning, humid bedsheets sticking to my body. Once the generator is switched on, the aircondition had brought some relief to the heat in my room, and cooled down temperatures to a enjoyable 25 degrees celsius. But that has been four hours ago, and I am by now again all dusty and sweaty from the past four hours outside my air conditioned room.

It's my last day in Jalalabad, and I am just about to return to Kabul. I have stayed here few days to support my national colleagues to start up a livelihoods program for returnees in several communities around Jalalabad. Under normal circumstances, I would be able to reach Kabul within three hours. But the tarmacked road is currently closed, and all traffic from Jalalabad to Kabul and further on has to go through Lataband, a road without tarmac that crawls up and down the mountain ridge between Jalalabad and Kabul like a big, dust covered snake.
The first one and a half hours of drive are pleasant. We drive along a river, on a well tarmacked road, past small villages and road side shops. Few times I roll down the window, to take some pictures, but hot air immediately fills the car and the questioning look of my driver tells me to roll up the window again. The villages we pass are dry. Only those fields close enough to the river are green, whereas the remaining ones present themselves in sun dried yellow colors. Few people are working on the field, despite the heat.
After some time we reach Surobi, where I am supposed to change cars. Bad news start tripling in. After driving around Surobi to find a spot where we can find connection for our phone and HF radios, we learn that the two cars which left Kabul this morning to meet us in Surobi are stuck somewhere in Lataband, working their ways slowly down towards Surobi. We decide to wait. Heat immediately fills the cars as soon as we turn off the engine. I am not allowed to leave the car, and soon I get a sensation of how vegetables must feel when they are locked into a bottle to ferment and turn into alcohol. While fermenting inside my car, children stop outside my window, curiously looking at me. Some try to get me into buying eggs, sweeties, cookies, and all the other eatable and non eatable things they present to me. While I am observing the hustling and bustling of Surobi, my driver keeps contact with the two cars we are waiting for. Finally, after two hours, they arrive. Without granting themselves a break, they pack me into their car and decide to immediately drive back to Kabul. The first leg of our trip still follows the tarmacked road, but soon the road ends and we turn start driving on ravel roads. I notice that both sides of the valley are littered with white painted little rocks. Each of them signifies a mine that has been cleared by de mining companies over the past years. The entire mountainsides used to be mine fields, my driver explains. The road gets steeper, and traffic gets dense. Colorful Pakistani trucks are working their way up the Lataband, a slow moving centipede. They carry with them all kind of items: generators, wheat trashers, wheels, oil, bags with potatoes. They are moving slow, and many people walk next to them. Often the centipede comes to a complete still stand, us being part of it. People get out of their cars and trucks, breathing in the dusty, but fresh air. In between it all are ANA soldiers, gesticulating with their guns, trying to get movement into this monster that dwindles itself up the mountain. At the beginning I wonder about the trucks that carry a random collection of wooden poles, bicycles, furniture and on top of it all, children. It takes me some time to realize that these are returnees, returning from years, maybe even decades of refuge in Pakistan. Since the seventies, Afghanistan has seen one of the biggest exoduses a country has ever experienced. While one regime followed the other, there were little reasons for Afghans people to stay inside the country. Many Afghans settled temporarily in Pakistan and Iran, either in camps or in informal urban settlements. Since 2002, they are coming "home". According to statistics, over five millions have made their way back to Afghanistan. Pakistan, though it has been a relatively save refuge for many years, has become increasingly hostile against Afghans, forcing many to "voluntarily" return home. Looking at these trucks, I wonder what the kids, women and men who sit on top of their few belongings are thinking. What they own, is what they sit on. What Afghanistan offers them in this very right moment is a dangerous road, and dust. The grandiose landscape is hidden behind the cloud of dust. Few of them might have relatives they can stay with in urban areas. Few might try to go back to their native villages. Many might soon realize that what they have left many years ago has long disappeared. Although people returning home after decades could be a sign of hope, it is hard for me in that very right moment to see the hope in it all. What future can Afghanistan offer to them? What expectations do they have, and what will they receive in turn for their decision to return home?
After few hours we reach the top point of Lataband. While traffic has been dense up to now, it suddenly clears up, and we travel down the other side of the mountain ridge towards Kabul without problems. From the distance I can see the smog hub that covers Kabul. Soon we are inside of it, and I am thankful to my drivers for their skills and patience to manage a road like Lataband. While I am back in my own little world that I have created for myself here in Kabul over the past few months, part of my thoughts continues to be with these returnees I have seen on my way back from Jalalabad. I know that my work that I do in regard to reintegration support for returnees (one of the main focuses of the organization I work for) has gained a completely new dimension.