I had a shoot in a rural village north of Kabul. The area is mostly Tajik, with a small population of Pashtuns who fled the Taliban in Kandahar. I was there to film some women farming and interview them about their experiences, but when they agreed to the shoot they thought I was a women. Boy were they surprised. Unfortunately the local chief said it wouldn't be fitting to talk to the women, so I had to go to another village, sneak in my camera, and interview two women in their house without anyone knowing. One wore her burqa, the other uncovered her face.
They told stories of how the Taliban came, killed their family members and set fire to their house and crops. Thanks to an NGO, they learned how to farm and sell their produce. It's small... perhaps $100 a year selling cucumbers, but the pride the women felt at having their own business was palpable. As happy as I felt for their new 'wealth' and status, it was a revelation seeing exactly how controlled every aspect of their lives was. Most of the women would rarely leave their home or compound, and many never left their village.
On my way out of the village I photographed two cute boys and hoped that by the time they grew into men, they wouldn't perpetrate the system that had so oppressed their mothers. But somehow I doubt it.
We had a very late lunch by the river in makeshift tents on poles. We sat on rugs and cushions and they brought us fresh fish and roasted kebab meat with naan. I gorged myself and tried not to feel the clichéd guilt for enjoying such opulent luxury ten minutes removed from the rural poverty I had just witnessed. I washed down my angst with the local Coke knock off Kabul Cola and had more naan.
