HEROIN, SCHOOLS AND THE HEART OF THE INSURGENCY

The Third In Our Series On Life In Afghanistan Reveals That In Helmand
Province No Part Of Society Is Free From The Economic Impact Of Drugs
Or The Prevailing Culture Of Corruption

The smuggler

Hameedullah's family live in one big house on a dusty unpaved lane -
Hameedullah, his five sons and their wives, children, grandchildren
and two cousins. Hameedullah, a tall, thickset man, is a government
employee. And like many people in Helmand, he is also a poppy farmer.

Like any other farmer, he was concerned by water, and crop prices.
"People plant poppy because it's good money, it needs little water and
it makes a good harvest," he said. "Prices were very low last year
because everyone planted poppy. Wheat is very good this year because
prices are high, so most of the people are planting wheat this year. I
divided my land half wheat and half poppy, but next year we will plant
poppy again."

He went on to explain how the economy of the poppy trade took in the
Taliban and the government. "The Taliban benefit from the poppy
because the farmers pay them taxes. And when the government destroys
the fields, the people support the Taliban," he said. "The government
also benefits from the poppy - we pay officials so they won't destroy
our land. Two years ago we paid them so they only destroyed two jeribs
(1 acre) of my land."

We sat sipping tea made with salty water that left a powerful
aftertaste. When an old man entered the room everyone stood and the
children grabbed his long-fingered hand and kissed it. "He is our
uncle," one of Hameedullah's sons said in a hushed voice. "He is a big
smuggler." The older man wore a white turban that matched his white
beard.

Hameedullah's son Hekmat said the old man crossed Pakistan, Iran and
Afghanistan smuggling opium and heroin. He had been in the business
since he stopped fighting the jihad against the Soviets and turned to
a more lucrative occupation 20 years ago. "I remember him since I was
a small kid," Hekmat whispered. "He used to come on his motorbike and
buy opium from us."

Crossing his long fingers, and speaking quietly, the uncle explained
his trade. "If we smuggle 40kg, we give the Taliban 4kg. We pay the
10% as a zikat [Islamic tax] to the Taliban. And we pay another 10% to
the government officials and the police.

"Each Taliban commander collects his own tax - from the smugglers -
and also from the farmers. We pay a commander and he makes calls to
other commanders to make sure that we have safe passage. The problem
is when we have to pay several times to several commanders."

He said he travelled to Musa Qala, Sangin and other districts in
Helmand all of which, he said, were effectively under Taliban control
- - the British and the Afghan government controlled the towns but the
countryside is a free for all. A motorbike is his preferred mode of
transport. He could load it with as much as 80kg of poppies, though
sometimes he used Land Cruisers or taxis.

"The Taliban say we are doing the jihad and you are making money so
you should support us. Smugglers give a lot: three Land Cruisers in
Sangin a few weeks ago."

The relationship between the Taliban, police and poppy trade is quite
simple, he added: "If we don't plant opium then smugglers don't make
money. If we [the smugglers] don't make money the Taliban and police
don't make money. The Taliban and the officials have a very strong
relationship - if they don't then how can we do so much trade and
travel to so many districts?"

The real money, the uncle said, lay in international smuggling. The
opium was taken to laboratories in the east on the border with
Pakistan, refined, and made into heroin. That's where the real
business began, he says. Convoys of mainly Baluch smugglers took the
heroin back through Afghanistan, then into Iran. From there it
travelled through Iraq and Turkey to reach Europe.

He reels off the figures like an accountant: "A kilo of opium is
around $5,000 in Pakistan. It is $20,000 when it reaches Europe,
through Greece and Turkey. Four kilos of opium make a kilo of heroin
which sells for $10,000 in Iran - $30,000 in Greece."

Just as in rural Afghanistan, there is a symbiotic relationship
between smugglers and officials in Pakistan and Iran. "We travel in
convoys, each three cars has five gunmen between them. We leave a big
trail, so they can see us. Afghan officials make contact across the
borders and we pay the Iranian sepah [army]. If [the Iranians] open
fire then we don't pay them."

Like merchants who plied the ancient trade routes, opium smugglers
have diversified. "We smuggle gold and silver, but now we also smuggle
a lot of antiquities from Afghanistan to Europe," he said.

A youngster in the family entered the room with a silver pot and a
washbasin. He poured hot water and the men washed their hands,
throwing two cloths around the room to dry them. A dinner of chicken
stew, bread and more salty tea was served. The men ate silently and
watched the news on Afghan television.

The madrasa

On every street corner in Lashkar Gah, as in many other Afghan cities,
there are adverts for schools and private courses ranging from
computing and business management to farming. After years of civil war
and Taliban rule, there is a real hunger for learning.

Noor Jan, one of Hameedullah's sons, is a teacher in a primary school.
About 5,000 boys attend his school, he said. The teachers have to work
in shifts to cover them all. "Families leave their homes in the
countryside and come to live in Lashkar Gah so their children can go
to school."

On the outskirts of the city we visited a small madrasa, housed in
three mud rooms. In one , five children sat cross-legged behind small
tables. They memorise the Qur'an in Arabic, a language neither they
nor the teacher in the centre of the room spoke or understood. The
mullah running the school, who said he opposed the Taliban, criticised
the influence of Pakistani madrasas. "They don't graduate [students]
but they graduate fools, who come here and fight," he said. "Instead
of the road to learning, they show them the road to death." He said
three of his students were "influenced" by the Taliban and left to
fight in Musa Qala before they had finished their studies. "They went
to become suicide bombers before they finished memorising the Qur'an.
[The Taliban] are stealing my students."

Later, as we sit outside under warm sun drinking tea, the mullah said
he was under pressure from both the Taliban and the British. "The
Taliban tell us we have to support the jihad. They want money - they
told me that a suicide vest costs [UKP 1,200] and we have to pay. They
want to take my students. The British, on the other side, see a
madrasa and they think we are Taliban.

"They closed one of my madrasas. It's all because of the Pakistanis.
They made a new Islam inside Islam - it will take us another 50 years
to bring back studies and the mullahs to what they used to be." As we
leave, three British Land Rovers crawl up the dirt track to the madrasa.

The policeman

Worn out with battle fatigue, Afghan police officers huddled around a
tin teapot. Their commander drew long breaths from a hashish joint.
"Its very good hashish," he said. "And very cheap." His outpost lies
in a district a few miles outside Lashkar Gah, but at noon he and his
men make for the safety of the city: "The Taliban attack us at night.
There is no security in the districts."

He said he joined the police seven years ago when his boss, a former
warlord, became the district police chief. "When we are at the post
during the day it's safe, but going and coming is very dangerous." He
pointed at a well behind us: "We take water from here with us, we
don't even have water there."

He passed the joint to a young policeman, took a flat disc of hashish
the size of his palm from a pocket, and started rolling another joint.
His eyes blood red, he began outlining a theory I had heard several
times in Afghanistan, once even from an Afghan diplomat. "The problem
is the British. They support the Taliban." Why? "Because they want to
control Afghanistan. They want us to stay fighting forever. The
British only kill the innocent, they don't kill the Taliban."

He took another deep drag on the joint, poured some tea, and said:
"Most of the Taliban we fight are Pakistanis here. They are Punjabis.
When I arrested one of them two months ago I told him I am a better
Muslim than you are, I fight for my country. And I shot him."

"Afghanistan is destroyed by the foreigner," said the young policeman,
now more articulate after his joint. "Al-Qaida, the Pakistanis, the
British and the Americans are all destroying Afghanistan."

A young Afghan soldier sitting next to the police commander said:
"When the Taliban attack they are so close that we talk to each other
on the radios. They shout 'allahu akbar, allahu akbar'. We ask them
why are they fighting us - we are Afghans like them. They tell us that
we are infidels because we are helping the foreigners occupy our country."

"What do you tell them?" I ask.

"Nothing. They are right."

. Names have been changed to protect the identity of interviewees