There are few places in the world as difficult to understand for outsiders as Afghanistan. A country that has been destroyed by war several times over the last 45 years, these hardships have also come with parallel crises like droughts, floods, and persistent poverty in the face of repetitive economic collapse. Since the consolidation of centralized power under new government in 2021, it has been difficult to know what to believe in the western media concerning the actual conditions within the country.

What we do have is raw data from the UN, and it paints a sad picture. Economic sanctions on the new government have led to a crippling stagnation of the economy, with 97 percent of Afghans now living below the poverty line. Additionally, the UN high council for refugees tells us that over three million Afghani asylum seekers have returned to Afghanistan since the transition of power, many of them forcibly from Pakistan and Iran. This has placed significant stress on an already overwhelmed health and social protection sector, and further strains the economy. Currently, some 9.5 million people in over 20,000 villages remain with little to no access to basic healthcare. The adult literacy rate sits at 34%, one of the lowest in the world.

However, raw numbers don’t tell the whole story. Poverty alone does not equate with lack of meaningful living, or a bad life. I have seen it myself and written about it here. The only way to really understand is to see it in the flesh. So, imagine my delight when Tayseer, my humanitarian partner (we worked together in Uganda and Jordan) and project coordinator for the NGO Pious Projects, presented me with this opportunity. Tayseer had brought a team to Afghanistan already in June of 2024 which I was unable to join due to my contractual obligations in residency. Thankfully for me, the first foray was such a success that Pious Projects was returning, this time with an expanded team and a bigger appetite for development. So, after a month of pinging around the region with my backpack, I took three days of rest in Istanbul (a paradox, I know) and hopped on a plane for Kabul to meet the team.

I managed to commit my first blunder immediately as I arrived in Kabul. After fairly clear instructions were given to us about protocol when disembarking the plane, I took a wrong turn coming out of the gate, and wound up at passport control instead of meeting our local partners right at the door of the airplane. As I tried to pivot back, I was met by armed guards with intimidating beards.

Excellent job, Lopez, I thought to myself.

Thankfully, I had already downloaded an eSim on my phone in Turkey, and was able to connect with our partners who then had to come through a different area to collect me. They led me through some back doors to a car that drove me to another building in the airport where my papers would be processed through a special pathway. I was then led to a waiting room with delightful green carpets and served a cup of tea to wait for some paperwork. In the waiting room, other members of our team were there (you know, the ones that followed the instructions correctly). I introduced myself.

‘Not sure how I messed that one up,’ I said. This was a lie. I knew exactly how I messed it up

‘We were all looking for you, thought we lost you for good!’ they said.

The new faces were a welcome sight. I met Khalid, Eyad, Yusef, and Dareen, all based out of the Chicago suburbs. Khalid was one of the Pious Projects board members and Eyad was a healthcare IT specialist. They were both coming as part of the non-healthcare humanitarian branch of our mission. For Afghanistan, that would mean food delivery, water wells, infrastructure projects, and evaluation for areas of need to target on future missions. Yusef was Khalid’s son, who brought his newly married wife Dareen along as well. They were both medical students, just taking their first steps on the same long journey I had just finished through seven years of training. What an experience this would go on to be for them.

After some time waiting in the lounge, our local partners re-appeared. I extended a hand to the first, clean shaven and friendly; he was probably around my age and wearing a traditional male dress known as a kurta. 

‘It is nice to meet you, doctor,’ he said. ‘My name is Tohki, you are very welcome in Afghanistan, we are so happy you are here,’ he said.

‘Please,’ I answered. ‘I am even happier to be here, thank you for your hospitality and the chance to be involved.’

‘No need to thank me,’ he said, nodding towards his colleague. ‘This is the man who deserves credit. He is our main coordinator, Roman.’  

I reached out and shook his hand as well. Roman was older, probably closer to 50, with a big beard and stockier build. He only spoke Dari and Pashto, the local languages, so most of my conversation was with Tohki.

We sat together, ate pistachios, and drank tea for a while. They left and entered the room a few more times over the next hour as I sat patiently, taking stock of where I was. Before long, a conversation opened up between those of us left in the room. I learned more about them and walked them through my own journey. They had brought a fair bit of luggage with them, most of it consumable materials for the hospitals, hygiene kits, and other products that needed to be handled and cleared by customs, hence our wait. It was Friday, the Islamic Sabbath and weekend, so the necessary personnel to approve the materials would come in the next day. After a while, we got our stamped visa documents and walked out to two SUVs.

‘Welcome to Kabul city,’ Tokhi said as we exited the airport complex. He then gestured to an armed guard in camouflage standing outside the gate. The guard then opened the door and sat in the back next to me, placing his Kalashnikov between his legs.

‘Security,’ Tohki said.

‘Of course,’ I responded. I turned to the guard and shook his hand. ‘Juan Manuel, nice to meet you.’

He responded in kind.

The streets of Kabul were about how I expected them to look. Most of the buildings looked like 60s and 70s era brutalist architecture. The roads were paved, with the odd pothole. Traffic was an absolute nightmare (the one universal of any big city in the world), and the manner of driving was ordered in the same way as Delhi or Cairo, which I would describe as semi-organized chaos. I saw lots of pedestrians, men in traditional wear and women in niqabs and burkas. It was close to 10:00 in the morning on the only day off of the week (Afghanistan weekends are half day Thursday and full day Friday), so the city was coming alive around us. We drove past clothing and vegetable vendors galore. Then we arrived at the hotel.

It certainly was a hotel, but the initial experience might have you fooled to think it was actually a maximum security prison. The car pulled through an initial gate into a cue, followed with a second barrier gate where we exited the vehicle and were frisked. Then we went through one door and the car went through another. This was followed by an X-ray machine for our bags, after which we crossed into a separate room, entering through a magnetically locked door one at a time, before passing through another metal detector and a staff member for frisking. This then led through another bolted door that was opened by a security clerk before we entered the parking lot inside the walls. Once inside, it was actually quite nice.

Security would become a common theme through this mission. Despite the end of armed conflict in Afghanistan and considerable reduction in violence in the country, there were still enemies of the state thought to be capable of action underground. In May of 2024 for example, Islamic State operatives targeted and killed a group of tourists in the country’s north in an attack ‘in line with the directives of the leaders of the Islamic State to target nationals of coalition countries wherever they may be.’ (Three Spanish tourists and three Afghans killed in shooting in Afghanistan). To avoid any trouble, local authorities took our security seriously, which meant fully armoured cars, privately contracted security guards, and a pickup truck escort of government soldiers that rode with us everywhere. A little unsettling, yes, but this is the reality of our world; if I want to play a role in it, I would have to get used to it whether I liked it or not.

Coming into the hotel, I met Tayseer and his big smile in the lobby. We had only recently parted ways a month prior in Jordan, with a lot of anecdotes and stories to catch up on.

‘Salam aleykum habibi,’ he said with a hug. ‘How were your travels?’

‘Aleykum es salam my friend. Excellent. I have been up to no good as you can imagine,’ I replied.

‘I can’t wait to hear all about it.’

After a brief chat we went our separate ways. There would be a lot of empty time to fill on the day, as the team was still arriving and I would have to wait until dinner for any chance to go out and explore with our escorts.

So, I set my things down in my room and took a moment to introspect. Of course, the back of my mind still carried lingering preoccupations about relationships, my finances, my career path, and my place in the world, but these things didn’t bother me so much anymore. Such ruminations make me who I am, and they have led me to seek this path I’m on. Not many people would get the chance to see what I was about to see over the coming weeks, and many probably wouldn’t even want to. I thought about how much simpler my path could have been if I followed the script like so many others, and a part of me can’t help but grin. My life is awesome. And you know the best part?

We’re just getting started.

After some rest, the whole gang gathered in the lobby before heading to dinner. I met more of the Youth Assembly for Afghanistan Rehabilitation (YAAR) staff; they were our local NGO partner. First, there was Sahel, Tufi’s younger brother with a larger personality and bigger mouth. I learned they both grew up in Pakistan before their family returned to Afghanistan in 2020. He was a Cristiano Ronaldo fanatic that couldn’t handle knowing his favourite player was at most the second best of his generation. I also met Najeeb, one of our translators. He was an engineer with multiple degrees who was recently married. Belal, an imposingly tall bear of a man with a soft spoken demeanor and good sense of humour, he ate portions for three at every meal. Last was Mirwais, neatly trimmed and head coordinator, he studied in India and liked cricket. At dinner I would also meet Freshta. She was in her early twenties and had been planning to study economics and was accepted to a local university before the change in policy made her change her plans, so she now worked with YAAR as a coordinator and translator. And finally Shayesta, an ever-smiling ball of joy with a tidy fashionable hijab who studied political science and now worked as a teacher and freelance translator. All of our work in Afghanistan was made possible through our local partners, and they deserve far more credit than we do for the impact of our mission. Throughout my entire stay, they were always attentive of my needs, going far and above expectation to ensure that our ability to provide services went unhindered. I drew much inspiration from them during my stay.

Getting out of the cars just outside the restaurant before entering, I noticed a new face among the security guys shaking hands with Tayseer. He was a young looking guy, stocky and stone-like with a big beard and a traditional flat cap.

‘Jwan this is the head of our security unit,’ he said. ‘We met him last mission.’

‘Salam aleykum,’ I said with a handshake.

He nearly pulverized my hand. I never felt like a bigger wimp in my whole life.

At dinner we sat at a large table in a fancy restaurant and I enjoyed a smorgasbord of stimulating flavours. Afghan dumplings, biryani, curries, and roasted lamb. I inhaled it with frenetic intent, but also kept in mind my surroundings; this was upscale no doubt, and I wondered to myself what the true local diet looked like in comparison. After the meal, we all formally introduced ourselves and our role in the project. We had a pediatrics division, Dr. Adel, an Egyptian neonatologist that practiced in Canada, and Amanda, a neonatal critical care nurse from Edmonton. Also we had Dr. Abdullah, an Infectious Disease and Critical Care specialist and old friend of Tayseer who worked out of Chicago. He would be doing some ICU clinical work and also evaluating infection prevention protocols on the wards. Then came my introduction, along with Eyad, Khalid, Yusef and Dareen. We then met individually with our corresponding local coordinators that would be assigned one-to-one for the duration of the project, and did some ice breaking before the fun began the next morning.

Stepping out into the street after dinner, again I saw our security guys taking up strategic positions near the entrance. Our group lingered for a while on the street as the drivers got the cars unlocked. I took the chance to attempt a salvage of my masculinity with the head of the unit, approaching him for another handshake, this time with a bit more juice. He may or may not have noticed.

‘I had to come back and try again after the last one,’ I told him through one of our translators. ‘You have a firm handshake, very strong.’

With a smile that I found difficult to read, he said something in Dari and reached out for a subtle bicep squeeze that nearly gave me tissue damage.

‘We are all strong,’ the translator said.