TableofContents

TitlePageCopyrightPageDedicationForewordIntroduction

PARTI-ThePromise

PrologueCHAPTER1-ThePeopleattheEndoftheRoadCHAPTER2-TheManwiththeBrokenHandCHAPTER3-TheYearZeroCHAPTER4-TheSoundofPeaceCHAPTER5-StyleIsEverythingCHAPTER6-TheSealoftheKirghizKhan

PARTII-Qayamat(“TheApocalypse”)

CHAPTER7-ADarkandDistantRoarCHAPTER8-NoIdeaWhattoDoCHAPTER9-Farzana’sDesksCHAPTER10-Sarfraz’sPromiseCHAPTER11-TheChanceThatMustBeTaken

PARTIII-TheSchoolontheRoofoftheWorld

CHAPTER12-AnE-mailfromtheAmericanColonelCHAPTER13-TheManfromtheJalozaiRefugeeCampCHAPTER14-BarnstormingThroughBadakshanCHAPTER15-AMeetingofTwoWarriorsCHAPTER16-ThePointofReturnCHAPTER17-TheLastBestSchool

EpilogueAcknowledgementsGlossaryInvestinginGirls’EducationYieldsHugeReturnsKeyIngredientsinSuccessfullyBuildingGirls’SchoolsTakeActionIndex

ALSOBYGREGMORTENSON

ThreeCupsofTeaONEMAN’SMISSIONTOPROMOTEPEACE...ONESCHOOLATA

TIME(WITHDAVIDOLIVERRELIN)

ThreeCupsofTeaONEMAN’SJOURNEYTOCHANGETHEWORLD...ONECHILDATA

TIME(THEYOUNGREADERSEDITION,WITHDAVIDOLIVERRELIN,

ADAPTEDBYSARAHTHOMSON)

ListentotheWindTHESTORYOFDR.GREGANDTHREECUPSOFTEA

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TothenoblepeopleofAfghanistanandPakistanandtothe120millionschool-agechildrenintheworld

whoaredeprivedoftheirrightofeducation

AFGHANISTANPROVINCES&FEDERALLYADMINISTEREDTRIBALAREAS

ETHNICDISTRIBUTIONWITHINPAKISTANANDAFGHANISTAN

Who’sWho

Ali,Haji:GregMortenson’sfirstmentorandchiefofKorphevillage,Pakistan;passedawayin2001Ali,Jahan:GranddaughterofHajiAliandCentralAsia Institute’s first femalestudenttograduatefromhighschoolAli,Niaz:SpiritualleaderoftheKirghizintheWakhan,AfghanistanAli,Twaha:HajiAli’ssonandfatherofJahan; fromKorphe,PakistanAl-Zawahiri,Ayman:Egyptianphysician;secondincommandofAlQaedaBaig,Faisal:Wakhi elder fromCharpursonValley,Pakistan, andtheCAI’ssecuritymanagerBaig,Nasreen:CAIstudentfromCharpursonValleywhoisnowstudyingtobeamaternalhealth-careworkerBaig,Saidullah:TheCAI’s manager in Charpurson Valley, Pakistan bin Laden, Osama: SaudiArabianleaderofAlQaedawhoisnoweitherinhidingordeadBishop,Tara:Greg Mortenson’s wife and a psychotherapist Boi, Tashi: Village chief ofSarhad,intheWakhanCorridor,AfghanistanChabot,Doug:Climber,avalancheexpert, and CAI volunteer Chabot, Genevieve: CAI scholarship programmanager; married to Doug Chabot Chaudry, Shaukat Ali: Former Talibanmember, now a teacher in the CAI girls’ school in Azad Kashmir, PakistanDostum, General Rashid: Uzbek ethnic leader based in Mazar-i-Sharif,AfghanistanGhani,Dr. Ashraf: Formerminister of education of AfghanistanGulmarjan: CAIAfghan student killed by a landmine in 2003 at the age oftwelveHoerni,Dr.Jean:SilicontransistorpioneerandcofounderofCAIwithGregMortenson;passedawayin1997Hosseini,Khaled:Physician,philanthropist,andbest-sellingauthorofTheKiteRunner andAThousand Splendid SunsHussain, Aziza: Firstmaternal health-careworker inCharpursonValley,Pakistan Ibrahim,HajiMohammed:Shura(elder)leaderfromUruzganProvince,AfghanistanKarimi,Wakil:CAImanagerforAfghanistanKarzai,Hamid:PresidentofAfghanistanKhan,AbdulRashid:Amir(leader)oftheKirghizpeopleintheWakhanCorridor,AfghanistanKhan,Sadhar:TajikleaderinBadakshanwhowasCAI’sfirstsupporterintheregionKhan,Sarfraz:CAI’sremoteareasprojectmanager;fromPakistanKhan,ShahIsmael: Pir (leader) of the Wakhi people in Afghanistan Khan, Wohid:Badakshan border security commander in Afghanistan Kolenda, ColonelChristopher:FormercommanderofForwardOperatingBase(FOB)NarayandcurrentlyakeyU.S.militarystrategistinAfghanistanKosar,Parveen:Thefirstfemale high school graduate in the Wakhan, and now a maternal health-careworker thereLeitinger,Christiane:DirectorofPennies forPeaceMcChrystal,

Major General Stanley: Commander of ISAF (and U.S.) military forces inAfghanistan; proponent of counterinsurgency methodologyMassoud, AhmedShah:Tajikmilitarycommandercalled theLionof thePanjshir forhis role indrivingouttheSoviets;assassinatedbyalQaedaonSeptember9,2001Minhas, Suleman: CAI’s Punjab Province manager, based in Islamabad;formerlyataxidriverMirza,ColonelIlyas:RetiredPakistanimilitaryaviationofficerandgeneralmanagerofAskariAviation,acivilaviationchartercompanyMohammed,Mullah: Former Taliban bookkeeper andCAI accountant for theentire Wakhan region Mortenson, Amira and Khyber: Children of GregMortenson and Tara Bishop Mortenson, Christa: Younger sister of GregMortenson;passedawayin1992whenshewastwenty-threeMortenson,Irvin“Dempsey” and Jerene: Greg Mortenson’s parents Mughal, Ghosia: CAIstudentfromAzadKashmirMullen,AdmiralMike:ChairmanoftheU.S.JointChiefsofStaff and themilitary leaderwho inaugurated aCAIgirls’ school inAfghanistaninJuly2009.MarriedtoDeborah.Musharraf,Pervez:PresidentofPakistanfrom1999to2008;formerPakistaniarmy chief of staffMyatt, Major General Mike: Former commander of theMarine Expeditionary Force who led the invasion into Kuwait Najibullah,Mohammed: Afghanistan’s communist leader and former president; killed bytheTalibanin1996Nicholson, Major Jason: U.S. military officer based at the PentagonOlson,Admiral Eric: SOCOM commander of the combined U.S. Special Forces.Admiral Olson and his wife Marilyn are advocates of girls’ education andintroduced Mortenson to several senior military commandersOmar, Mullah:Afghan Pashtun tribal leader of the Taliban; thought to be hiding in Quetta,PakistanParvi,HajiGhulam: CAI’s Pakistan-basedmanager and accountant,who has overseen the establishment of over fifty schools Petraeus, GeneralDavid:U.S.CENTCOMcommander.Itwasfromhiswife,Holly, thatGeneralPetraeusfirstlearnedaboutThreeCupsofTea.Rahman, Abdullah: Former medical librarian and CAI driver in AfghanistanRazak, Abdul: Former expedition cook from Baltistan; eldest CAI employee;alsoknownasApo(oldman)Sen,Amartya:1998winneroftheNobelPrizeineconomicsShabir,Saida:HeadmistressofGundiPirangirls’school inPattika,Azad Kashmir, Pakistan, which was destroyed by the 2005 earthquakeShah,Zahir: King of Afghanistan who fled to Italy in 1973 and returned toAfghanistanafter9/11,remainingthereuntilhisdeathin2007Shaheen, Farzana: CAI student in Azad Kashmir, Pakistan Sipes, Jennifer:CAI’soperationsmanagerinMontana

Foreword

byKHALEDHOSSEINI

ThemuddledwarinAfghanistanisnowinitseighthyear,andhasbecomethemost urgent foreign policy challenge facing President Obama. Against abackdropofrisingconflict,respectedthinktanksliketheAtlanticCouncilhavepublished reports callingAfghanistan a failing state.The country indeed facesenormousproblems:aviolent,spiralinginsurgencythatishamperingtheruleoflawanddevelopmentalefforts, thegrowthof recordcropsofpoppies,extremepoverty, criminality, homelessness, joblessness, lack of access to clean water,continuing problemswith the status ofwomen, and a central government thathasstruggledtoprotectitspeopleandprovidebasicservices.But there are success stories aswell inpost-9/11Afghanistan, and themost

meaningfulofthemiseducation.Ifweacceptthepremisethateducationisthekey to achieving positive, long-lasting change in Afghanistan, then it isimpossible tooverstatehowencouraging it is that this year nearly eight and ahalfmillionchildrenwillattendschoolinAfghanistan,withgirlsaccountingfornearly40percentofenrollment.No one understands this better than Greg Mortenson, the founder of 131

schools in Afghanistan and Pakistan that provide education to nearly 58,000students.Noonegraspsbettertheprofoundimpactandrippleeffectofevenonechild’seducation.And,arguably,nosingle individualororganizationhasdonemore to advance the American cause in Afghanistan than GregMortenson, acourteous,soft-spokenmanwhowithhisgenialsmileandwarmhandshakehasshown the U.S. military how the so-called battle for the hearts and minds isfought.Andhowitiswon.Greg’s philosophy is not complicated. He believes quite sincerely that the

conflictinAfghanistanwillultimatelynotbewonwithgunsandairstrikes,butwithbooks,notebooks,andpencils, the toolsof socioeconomicwell-being.TodepriveAfghanchildrenofeducation,hetellsus,istobankruptthefutureofthecountry, and doom any prospects of Afghanistan becoming someday a moreprosperous and productive state. Despite fatwas issued against him, despitethreatsfromtheTalibanandotherextremists,hehasdoneeverythinghecanto

makesurethatthisdoesnothappen.Verycrucially,hehasspearheadedeffortstoeducategirlsandyoungwomen.

Notaneasytaskinaregionwhereparentsroutinelykeeptheirdaughtersoutofschoolandwherelong-standingculturaltraditionshavedeprivedwomenoftherighttoeducation.Butinvillageaftervillage,Greghasreachedouttoreligiousleadersandelderstohelpconvinceparentstosendtheirgirlstoschool.ThisisbecauseGregbelieves,asIdo,thatifAfghanistanhasanychancetobecomeamoreprosperousnation,itwillrequirethefullengagementofitswomenaspartof the process. And for that to happen, women have to be given access toschools, and their education has to be one of the corner-stones of nationalreconstruction and development. As he says repeatedly, mantralike, “If youeducateaboy,youeducateanindividual,butifyoueducateagirl,youeducateacommunity.”Lastly, Greg has done all this with charm, grace, patience, and unfailing

humility.Hehaslistenedcarefully,builtrelationshipswithvillageleadersbasedon trust and respect, and involved people in shaping their own future.He hastakenthetimetolearnthelocalculture—courtesy,hospitality,respectforelders—andtounderstandandappreciatetheroleIslamplaysinpeople’sdailylives.No wonder the U.S. military has recruited Greg as a consultant on how tofashionbetterrelationshipswithtriballeadersandvillageelders.Theyhavealottolearnfromhim.Wealldo.Tashakor,Gregjan,forallyoudo.

KHALEDHOSSEINI

www.khaledhosseinifoundation.orgAuthoroftheinternationalbestsellersTheKiteRunnerandAThousandSplendidSuns

Introduction

EveryleafofthetreebecomesapageoftheBookOncetheheartisopenedandithaslearnttoread

—SAADIOFSHIRAZ

NasreenathomeinZuudkhanvillage,Pakistan

InSeptemberof2008,awomanwithpiercinggreeneyesnamedNasreenBaigembarkedonanarduousjourneyfromherhomeinthetinyPakistanivillageofZuudkhan south along the Indus River and down the precipitous KarakoramHighway to the bustling city ofRawalpindi.The three-day trip—first on foot,thenonhorseback,andlaterby jeepandbus—tookNasreen,herhusband,andtheirthreesmallchildrenfromthesparselypopulatedCharpursonValley,inthe

extremenorthernpartofPakistan,directlyintotheheartofthePunjab,hometomorethaneighty-fivemillionpeople.Withtheexceptionofafewfarmingtools,mostoftheirworldlypossessions,includingaKoran,werecrammedintoablacksuitcasethatwascinchedtogetherwithbalingtwine.Theyalsocarriedabulgingburlapsackwhosecontents—everystitchofspareclothingtheyweren’twearingontheirbacks—wereasjumbledandmixedupasthepiecesofNasreen’sownstory.In 1984, at the age of five, Nasreen started attending one of the first

coeducationalschoolstoopenupinthenorthofPakistan,aregionwherewomenweretraditionallydeniedtheopportunitytolearnreadingandwriting.Excellingat her classes, she distinguished herself as one of the smartest students in theschool until 1992, when her mother unexpectedly died of pneumonia andNasreenwasforcedtoabandonherstudiesinordertocareforherblindfather,SultanMehmood, and her four siblings. Eventually her father remarried, andNasreen’s new stepmother, a woman who believed that girls had no businesspursuingeducation,wouldtauntNasreenlateatnightwhenshetriedtocontinueherstudiesby the lightofakerosene lantern.“Womenshouldwork insteadofreadingbooks,”her stepmotherwould rail. “Bookswill poisonyourmindandyouwillbecomeaworthlesswifeandmother!”Nasreendidn’t see it thatway.Duringher school years, she had acquired a

rather bold dream for someone with resources as limited as hers: She hadresolved that one day she would become a maternal health-care provider—aprofession she had first been exposed towhen roving government health-careteamswouldmake their annual rounds through the local villages. She vividlyremembers the joywithwhich she anticipated immunization shots, just so shecouldinteractwiththeworkersintheirwhitecloaks.“Myfavoritesmellwastheantiseptictheywoulduse,”shesays.“Also,Ienviedhowtheywouldwritedownallthebabies’names,heightsandweights,andimmunizationdetailsintidyrowsinaspiralnotebook.”Fueled by her dream,Nasreen studied relentlessly, despite her stepmother’s

harassment. “After tending to my brothers and sisters and doing all thehouseholdwork,”sherecalls,“Iwouldwait tilleveryonewasasleep,and thenlateatnightIwouldread.”Shepersistedinthismanneruntil1995when,attheageoffifteen,shereceivedhermetricdiploma—theequivalentofahigh-schooldegree—becoming one of the first of a handful of women from northernPakistan’sHunza regionever todoso.As thebrightest studentandoneof thefirstfemalegraduatesformilesaround,shewasnowpoisedtomakegoodonherambition.In 1999, Nasreen was offered an annual scholarship of $1,200 by our

nonprofitCentralAsiaInstitute,astipendthatwouldpayhertuition,room,andboardforatwo-yearcourseofstudyandenablehertoobtainherruralmedicalassistant degree.With these qualifications,Nasreen could then carry her skillsnorthovera treacherous16,335-footpass into theWakhanCorridor—aremoteportion of Afghanistan just a few miles north of Zuudkhan where Nasreen’sancestors originally came from and wheremore women die each year duringchildbirththananywhereelseonearth.By thispoint,however,Nasreenhadbeenbetrothed toahandsomebut lazy

youngmanfromanearbyvillage,andhermother-in-law,BibiNissa,fearedthatNasreen’s scholarship would rob her household of the new daughter-in-law’slabor.EventhoughtherewerenootherqualifiedgirlsintheCharpursonValleytoreplaceNasreenasascholarshipcandidate,Zuudkhan’stanzeem—thecouncilof elders who decide all matters of local importance—upheld Bibi Nissa’sobjectionsandforbadeNasreenfromacceptingherstipend,therebyconsigninghertoalifeofnearslaverythatremainsthedestinyofsomanypromisingyoungwomenintheremotevillagesofPakistanandAfghanistan.During the ten years that followed this decision, Nasreen toiled twelve-to

sixteen-hourdaystendinggoatsandsheepinthemountains,tillingherfamily’spotato fields, haulingwater inmetal jerricans, and gathering up eighty-poundbags of firewood and moist patties of yak dung—Zuudkhan’s two primarysourcesofheatingfuelduringthesix-month-longwinters.Duringthistimeshealso gave birth to three babies and suffered twomiscarriages, all without theattendanceofamaternalhealth-careworker.Despite the drudgery and the frustration, Nasreen patiently waited out her

decadeofservitude.What’smore,duringherbriefmomentsofrespite,shekeptherhealth-caredreamalivebyseekingoutandcaring for thesick, theelderly,andthedyingwithinhercommunity.“Thelampinmyliferefusedtobesnuffedout,”shesays.“Godneverletthekeroseneofhoperundry.”Then,inthesummerof2007,theleadershipofZuudkhan’stanzeemchanged

andtheeldersdecidedtosetasidetheiropposition.NasreenspentayearinthetownofGilgitattendingapreparatoryschooltobuildbackheracademicskillsafter the long hiatus. Finally, in the summer of 2008, with her scholarship inhand,NasreenwasfreetotraveltoRawalpinditoresumeherstudies.Today,Nasreenisayearawayfromcompletinghermedicaltrainingprogram,

but shehasdecided tocontinuewithher schooling inorder tocompletea fullOB-GYNnursingdegree.Sometime in2012,shehopes tomoveher family totheWakhanandbeginprovidingthekindofmedicalcarethatthisregion,oneofthemostisolatedandforbiddingplacesonearth,sodesperatelyneeds.Asforher“lost years,”Nasreen harbors no bitternesswhatsoever,mainly because she is

convincedthatherexperiencesimpartedsomeessentialinsights.“Allahtaughtmethelessonofpatiencewhilealsogivingmethetoolstotruly

understandwhatitmeanstoliveinpoverty,”shesays.“Idonotregretthewait.”

DuringtheexactsametimethatNasreenandherfamilyweremakingtheirwaydown theKarakoramHighway towardRawalpindi, IwaspayingavisitofmyowntoasmalltownintheheartoftheRockyMountains.Thiswasnodifferentfromanyoftheother120-oddtripsImakeeachyeartocitiesacrosstheUnitedStatesandabroadinordertopromoteeducationalopportunitiesforwomenlikeNasreenthroughoutPakistanandAfghanistan.Bytheratherwarpedstandardsofmy own schedule, September 18, 2008,was a fairly ordinary day.During thepreceding week, I had given seventeen speeches at schools, churches, andlibraries innineothercities;andat threeo’clockthefollowingmorning,Iwasslated to board a private plane thatwould takeme fromDurango tomy nextappearance, a children’s peace rally in Rockford, Illinois. This would befollowed by another eighteen lectures in eightmore cities before returning toPakistan on October 6. Somewhere in the middle of this, I was also hopingdesperatelyforaone-dayreprievewithmyfamily.Inmany other respects, however, September 18was anything but ordinary.

ThepreviousweekendthefederalgovernmenthadpermittedtheinvestmentfirmLehmanBrotherstogobankruptbeforeattemptingan$85billion-dollarrescueof the insurance giant AIG. By the time the stock market had closed thatafternoon, theDowJoneswas in free fall and the entireU.S. financial systemseemed to behoveringon thebrinkof collapse. In short, I couldnot possiblyhave selected aworse time to stand in front of a groupofAmericans and askthemtopullouttheircheckbooks.Fortunately, perhaps, my schedule allowed no time to contemplate the

absurdityof this. Itwasa fewminutesbefore7:00P.M.when,havingalreadycompletedsixback-to-backlectures,Idashedacross thecampusofFortLewisCollege to thegym,wheremore than four thousandpeople—almosta thirdofthe town—had formed an impossibly long line. The fire marshal wouldeventuallybeforcedtobarthedoorandpreventthefinalthreehundredofthesefolks from entering the building. (Someone later toldme thatDurango hadn’tseenacrowdthissizesinceWillieNelsonlastcametotown.)AlthoughthetalksIgiveinthesekindsofsettingstendtovaryaccordingto

the composition of my audience, I always begin with the same words: As-SalaamAlaaikum—theIslamicinvocationthatmeans“Maypeacebeuponyou.”

And regardless of where I wind up steering the discussion, the heart of mypresentationalwaysincludesthestoryofapromise.Thisstorybegins inPakistan in1993, theyear Iattempted toclimbK2, the

world’s second-highestmountain,only tobe forced to turnback two thousandfeetshyofthesummit.AftermakingmywaybacktoK2basecamp,Ithengotlost while trekking down the thirty-nine-mile Baltoro Glacier and wound upstaggering intoa littlevillagecalledKorphe (pronounced“KOR-fay”), aplacesodestitutethatoneineverythreechildrenperishedbeforetheageofone.ItwasinKorphethatIwasprovidedwithshelter,food,tea,andabed.AnditwasinKorpheoneafternoonduringmyrecuperationthatIstumbledacrosseighty-twochildren sitting outside writing their lessons with sticks in the dirt, with noteacher in sight. One of those young students was a girl named Chocho, andsomehowshegotmetopromisethecommunitythatIwouldsomedayreturnandbuildthemaschool.The fulfillment of that promise involves a tale that recounts my fumbling

effortsinBerkeley,whereIworkedasanurse,tosellmycar,myclimbinggear,andallofmybooksinordertoraisethenecessarymoney—andthesubsequentchainof events throughwhicha lostmountaineer eventually came todiscoverhislife’scallingbyfosteringeducationandliteracyintheimpoverishedMuslimvillagesofthewesternHimalayas.Afewyearsago,IputtheseeventstogetherintoabookcalledThreeCupsof

Tea,andasthosewhohavereadall338pagescanattest, it’saratherlongandunusualstory.Itisalsoastorythathasalwaysstruckmeasthechronicleofanordinarymanwhoinadvertentlybumbledintoanextraordinaryplace.Whenitreallycomesdowntoit,Iamnothingmorethanafellowwhotooka

wrongturninthemountainsandneverquitemanagedtofindhiswayhome.Myinitialvision,ifyoucouldcallitthat,involvedhelpingavillageknocktogethera2,218-square-footschoolhousewithoutanyplumbingorelectricityinthemiddleof a barley field at 10,400 feet. In aworld filledwith bold dreamers and bigideas,it’shardtoimagineagoalmorehumblethanthis.AnditisthediminutivestatureofthisbeginningthatmayhelptoexplainwhyInowlivemydaysbesetbyanalmostcontinuoussenseofwondermentandconfusion.AlthoughIhave,bymystaff’sestimate,completedatotalof680appearances

inmore than270citiesand townsfromMiamiandLosAngeles toAnchorageandShreveportoverthelastthreeyears,eachtimeItravelsomewherenew,Iamstill shocked by the sheer number of peoplewho flock to hear this tale. Lastsummer inBoston,when theorganizersof a talk IwasgivingatNortheasternUniversity realized how many people wanted to learn about our schools inPakistanandAfghanistan,theybookedmeintoahockeystadiumandfilledthe

place with 5,600 people. Aweek later at a basketball arena inMurfreesboro,Tennessee, 9,500 folks showed up and my speech had to be broadcast on aJumbotron.That’sabigchangeforsomeonewhoonceconsideredhimselfluckytogetthe

attention of half a dozen bored shoppers at a Patagonia or REI outlet, andperhapstheonlythingthatamazesmemorethanthesizeoftheseaudiencesistheir dedication and interest. It is not unusual for people to drive six or eventwelvehourstohearthesepresentations,thenstandinlineforanothertwohourssimply to get their books autographed. But perhaps the most noteworthytestament to their commitment is the sort of thing that took place on thatSeptembernightinDurango.On the very same evening that BenBernanke, the chairman of the Federal

Reserve, was informingmembers of theHouse Financial Services Committeethat theentireglobaleconomywasdaysaway fromacompletemeltdown, thecitizensofDurango,population16,007,presentedtheCentralAsiaInstitutewithcheckstotalingnearly$125,000.Asinglecontributionof$50,000wasgivenbyGeorgeBoedecker,thefounderoftheshoemanufacturerCrocs.Buttherestofthemoneycamefromthesortofindividualswhowillneverknowwhatitmeansto own a brand or run a corporation. Ranchers, housewives, and salesclerks.Mechanics,teachers,andplumbers.Secretaries,dentalhygienists,students,andretirees.Peoplewhoembodythevirtues,aswellasthelimitations,ofalifethatisfashionedfromhumblematerials.People, inotherwords,asordinaryandasunremarkableasmeandyou.Inmyview,thatisamazingenoughallbyitself,butthenconsiderthis.Very few of the people inDurango that night had ever been to Pakistan or

Afghanistan. No more than a handful could have been Muslim. And it wasdoubtfulthatasingleonewouldeversee,withhisowneyes,theschools,books,pencils, and teacher salaries that hismoneywould pay for. Still, they openedtheirheartsandgave.There,onthethresholdofthegreatesteconomiccollapsesincetheGreatDepression,inthemidstofanerawhensomanyofourleadershave encouraged us to subordinate our noblest impulses to our basest fears, asmallcommunityinColoradorespondedinexactlythesamewayaseveryothercity and town towhich I have traveled inAmerica since thiswhole saga gotstarted.“Whenyouhandthismoneyovertothefolksoverthereontheothersideof

theworld,”saidonelocalbusinessman,whohadtears inhiseyesashespoke,“justtellthemthatitcomesfromalittletowninthemountainsofColoradosothattheirdaughterscangotoschool.”Here, then, is the source of my wonder and confusion. Why do so many

Americansseemtocaresodeeplyaboutpeoplewholiveinaplacethatissofaraway?Despiteeverythingthathashappened,howcanourangerandourfearbetranscendedsoconsistentlybyourdecency?Andwhatisitaboutthepromiseofeducatingchildren—especiallygirls—thatsooften,andwithsuchfervor,seemstoevokewhatisbestinallofus?

Inadditiontobeingaprofoundlybewilderedman,Iamanincorrigibleintrovert.I am awkward, soft-spoken, ineloquent, and intensely shy. I do not enjoyspeakinginpublic,posingforphotographs,oraskingotherpeopleformoney.Idreamofprivacy,Ireveresilence,andIloatheanyactionthatinvolvesdrawingattention tomyself. (Evencreating thesepageswaspainful: It tooka supremeeffortonthepartofbothmywife,Tara,andmyeditor,PaulSlovak,toforcemetoagreetowriteitinthefirstperson—anapproachthatisemphaticallynotmycupoftea.)IntheChristmaspageantoflife,thecharactersIadmiremost—andtheonlyrolesforwhichIwouldeverconsiderauditioning—aretheoxandthedonkey.Given these facts, the duties of speaking, promoting, and fund-raising into

whichIhavebeenthrustduringthelastseveralyearshaveoftenmademefeellikeamancaughtintheactofconductinganillicitaffairwiththedarksideofhis own personality. For politicians and celebrities, a lifestyle that entails anendless schmoozefest of back slapping and elbow rubbing seems to come asinstinctively(andasnecessarily)asbreathing.I,ontheotherhand,findthiskindofthingextremelydiscomforting—partlybecauseitsitssodirectlyatoddswithmy deepest instincts about personal decorum, and partly because it so oftenleavesmewrestlingwith a sense of shame.All ofwhichmayhelp to explainwhytheunexpectedandrunawaysuccessofThreeCupsofTeaseems,atleastinmyview,tobechargedwithsuchawickedirony.AsIwritethisinthesummerof2009,thebookiscurrentlyloggingits130th

weekontheNewYorkTimesbest-sellerlistfortradepaperbacknonfiction,hassold more than three million copies, and is being published in three dozencountries.As youmight imagine, this has produced the kind of publicity andattention that I find intolerable. But it has also opened the door to someextraordinaryopportunities.Hardcurrencygoesalongwayintheimpoverishedhinterlandsofthewestern

Himalayas,where$20isenoughtoeducateafirstgraderforanentireyear,$340can send a girl to four years of high school on a full-ride scholarship, and$50,000 is sufficient tobuildandoutfitaneight-roomschoolhouseandendow

the teachers’ salaries for the first fiveyears.During the fouryears sinceThreeCups of Tea was first published, our contributors have not only financed theconstruction of scores of new school buildings but have also fundedscholarships, teacher-training programs, and women’s vocational centers inremotevillagesextending from theglacier-carvedvalleysof theKarakoram tothe wind-blasted reaches north of the Hindu Kush. Every bit as important asthese projects, however, is the awareness that our donors have helped to raiseaboutthevitalimportanceofgirls’education.StudiesfromtheWorldBankindicatethatjustoneyearofprimaryschoolcan

result in an incomebumpof 10percent to20percent forwomen later in life.AccordingtoYaleeconomistPaulT.Schultz,anextrayearofsecondaryschoolmayraisethatsamegirl’slifetimewagesbyanadditional15to25percent.Andthe effects don’t end there. A number of studies indicate that in communitieswhere a majority of the girls are educated through the fifth grade, infantmortality drops significantly after a single generation.At the same time—andsomewhat paradoxically—basic education for girls correlates perfectly withlower, more sustainable population growth. In communities where girls havereceivedmore education, theymarry later and have fewer children than theirilliteratecounterparts.Thesepremises,whichIalsoencounteredintheworkofNobelPrize-winning

economistAmartyaSen,arenowacceptedbymanydevelopmentexpertsaroundtheworld. (The definitive short book on the general subject isWhatWorks inGirls’Education:EvidenceandPoliciesfromtheDevelopingWorld,byBarbaraHerz andGeneB.Sperling.)Simplyput, youngwomen are the single biggestpotential agents of change in the developing world—a phenomenon that issometimes referred to as theGirl Effect and that echoes anAfrican proverb Ioften heard duringmy childhood years in Tanzania: “If you teach a boy, youeducate an individual; but if you teach a girl, you educate a community.”Noother factor even comes close to matching the cascade of positive changestriggeredby teachinga singlegirlhow to readandwrite. Inmilitaryparlance,girls’educationisa“forcemultiplier”—andin impoverishedMuslimsocieties,therippleeffectsoffemaleliteracycanbeprofound.TaketheissuethatmanyintheWestwouldconsidertobethemostpressing

ofall.“Jihad”isanArabicwordreferringtoa“struggle”thatisundertakenasameans of perfecting oneself, improving society, or defeating the perceivedenemiesofIslam.InMuslimsocieties,apersonwhohasbeenmanipulatedintobelieving in extremist violence or terrorism often seeks the permission of hismotherbeforehemayjoinamilitantjihad—andeducatedwomen,asarule,tendto withhold their blessing for such things. Following 9/11, for example, the

Taliban’s forces suffered from significantly increased desertions; as acountermeasure,theybegantargetingtheirrecruitmenteffortsonregionswherefemaleliteracywasespeciallylow.Education,ofcourse,offersnoguaranteethatamotherwillrefusetoendorse

violentjihad,butitcertainlyhelpstostacktheoddsagainstthemen—and,yes,theyareinvariablymen—whopromotetheliethatkillinginnocentpeopleisinkeepingwiththeteachingsoftheKoran.AlthoughIamnotanauthorityontheKoran, religious scholars have repeatedly emphasized to me during the lastsixteenyears thatmurder and suicideare twoof themostunforgivable sins inIslam.It is important to be clear about the fact that the aim of the Central Asia

Institute is not indoctrination. We have no agenda other than assisting ruralwomenwiththeirtwomostfrequentrequests:“Wedon’twantourbabiestodie,andwewant our children to go to school.”And in the process of addressingthosewishes, it is certainly not our aim to teach the children of Pakistan andAfghanistantothinkortoactlikeAmericans.Wesimplywantthemtohavethechance to attend schools that offer a balanced, nonextremist education. In thisrespect, we’re also extremely sensitive to the difference between literacy andideology. It is our belief that the first helps to thwart intolerance, challengedogma,andreinforceourcommonhumanity.Theseconddoestheopposite.Atthemoment,femaleliteracyinruralAfghanistancontinuestolanguishin

thesingledigits.InruralPakistan,thefiguresarealittlehigher,butnotbymuch.The demand for schools, teachers, books, desks, notebooks, uniforms,chalkboards,paper,andpencilsinthesetwoIslamicnationsisimmense,andthebenefits of American investment in this “intellectual infrastructure” areindisputablyclear.NothingthathashappenedsincemyunsuccessfulattempttoclimbK2—including9/11—haschangedmyconviction thatpromoting femaleliteracyrepresentsthebestwayforwardforPakistanandforAfghanistan.Educationisoneof themanybasicvalues thatAmericansofall faithsshare

withMuslimpeopleeverywhere.

WhenjournalistswriteabouttheachievementsoftheCentralAsiaInstitute,theyoftentendtotrotoutthesamesetsoffigures.Theyarefondofmentioningthatduring the sixteen years since my failure as a K2 climber, I have completedthirty-nine trips toPakistan andAfghanistan,where,without using a dollar ofmoneyfromtheU.S.government,theCentralAsiaInstitutehasestablished131schoolsthatcurrentlyservemorethan58,000students,mostofthemgirls.These

articlesalsoclaimthat theresponse tomy“message”cutsacross the lines thattraditionallydividepolitics,religion,andclassintheUnitedStates.TheypointoutthatthefansofThreeCupsofTea includenotonlyBillClinton,LauraandBarbaraBush,JohnKerry,andColinPowell,butalsoprominentmilitaryleaderssuchasCENTCOMcommanderGeneralDavidPetraeus,chairmanoftheJointChiefsofStaffAdmiralMikeMullen,andSOCOM(SpecialForces)commanderAdmiralEricOlson.Tomyhonor,ThreeCupsofTeaisnowrequiredreadingforallofficersenrolledincounterinsurgencycoursesatthePentagon.In someways, these tidbits of informationmay be useful—if nothing else,

theyconveyageneralsenseofwhatwe’vebeenuptoandwhatothersthinkofourwork.Onapersonallevel,however,thisapproachtendstomissthepoint.Ifthere is a metric by which I measure the achievements of the Central AsiaInstitute,itisnottheamountofdonationswereceiveeachyear,orthenumberofpeoplewhohavereadThreeCupsofTea,oreventhenumberofschoolswehavebuilt.Infact,itreallyhasnothingtodowithmathandeverythingtodowiththegirlswhose liveshavebeenchanged througheducation. In theend, the thingIcaremostabout—theflamethatburnsatthecenterofmywork,theheataroundwhichIcupmyhands—aretheirstories.AndbyGod’sgrace,whatmarvelousstoriesthesewomencantell.Take the case of Jahan Ali, whose grandfather, Haji Ali, was Korphe’s

nurmadhar (villagechief)andwhobecamemymost importantmentor.OnthefirstdayImetJahaninSeptemberof1993,sheextractedapromisefrommethatifshegraduated,wewouldsendherofftoamaternalhealth-careprogram—anIOU that she triumphantly collected on nine years later. After finishing gradschool in Korphe, she went on to enroll in advanced studies in public policyadministration.Meanwhile,backhome,Jahan’sfatherhasbeentryingtomarryheroff—she is currently twenty-threeyearsold, andherbride-price, thanks toher education, has now shot from five to fifty adult rams. Jahan, however,declares thatshefirst intends tobecomeacommunity leaderandamemberofPakistan’sparliament.“IamnotgoingtogetmarrieduntilIachievemygoal,”sherecentlytoldme.“Inshallah(Godwilling),somedayIwillbecomeasuper-lady.”ThenthereisthestoryofShakilaKhan,whograduatedwiththefirstclassat

ourschoolinHushe,avillageinavalleytothesouthofKorphethatsitsintheshadowofMasherbrum,oneofthehighestmountainsonearth.Currentlyinherthird year at FatimaMemorialHospital in Lahore and scoring in the nineties,Shakila is slated tobecome the first locally educated femalephysician ever toemergefromBaltistan’spopulationof300,000people.Sheiscurrentlytwenty-two years old and intends to return to the Hushe Valley to work among her

people.“Mymaintwogoals,”shesays,“arethatIdonotwantwomentodieinchildbirthorbabiestodieintheirfirstyear.”Finally, considerAzizaHussain,who grew up in theHunzaValley, not far

from the point where the Karhuram Highway crosses into China. Aftergraduating fromGulmit Federal Government Girls’ High School in 1997 andcompleting a two-year maternal health-care program on a CAI scholarship,Aziza, too, insisted on returning home to ply her skills within her owncommunity—aplacewhereasmanyastwentywomenperishedeachyearduringchildbirth.SinceAzizacamebackin2000,notasinglewomanintheareahasdiedgivingbirth.Thirteen years after we completed our first school in Korphe, the maiden

generationofCentralAsiaInstitutewomenhavegraduatedandarepreparingtolaunch their careers. These women are now making “first ascents” far moredramatic and impressive than the achievements of western climbers, such asmyself, who have been coming into these mountains ever since AleisterCrowley,theBritishpoet,spy,andyogicdevotee,madethefirstattempttoclimbK2in1902.Already,thesedaughtershaveclimbedsomuchhigherthanwemountaineers

everdaredtodream.

Serious andworthy efforts to promote schooling for girls are currently takingplaceallovertheworld,fromGuatemalaandEgypttoBangladeshandUganda.The unusual twist that the Central Asia Institute applies to this enterprise,however,isencapsulatedinthetitleofThreeCupsofTea,whichreferstoaBaltisayingthatHajiAliinvokedduringoneofmyfirstvisitstohisvillage.“Thefirstcupofteayousharewithus,youareastranger,”heintoned.“Thesecondcup,you are a friend. But with the third cup, you become family—and for ourfamilieswearewillingtodoanything,evendie.”Of themany lessons that thatoldman imparted tome, thiswasperhaps the

greatest. It underscores the paramount importance of taking the time to buildrelationships,whilesimultaneouslyaffirmingthebasictruththatinordertogetthingsdoneinthispartoftheworld,itisessentialtolistenwithhumilitytowhatothers have to say. The solution to every problem, Haji Ali firmly believed,beginswithdrinkingtea.Andsoithasproven.AftermyfirstencounterwithHajiAliin1993,IreturnedtotheUnitedStates,

raised twelve thousand dollars, and then went back a year later to Pakistan,whereIpurchasedamassive loadofcement, lumber,andothersupplies in the

cityofRawalpindi.ThismaterialwaspiledontoaBedfordtruckandferrieduptheKarakoramHighwaytothetownofSkardu,atripthattookthreedays.Thereitwastransferredtojeepsanddriventotheendoftheroad,eighteenmilesfromKorphe—where I arrived with the expectation of being greeted like a hero.Instead, Iwas informed (after drinking several cups of teawithHajiAli) thatbeforewecouldstartconstructionontheschool,wehadtobuildabridge.Thereason? It would be impossible to ferry the construction materials over theroaringBralduinsidetheonlydevicespanningtheriver,aricketywoodenbasketsuspendedbeneatha350-footcable.PerhapsIshouldhavethoughtofthisearlier;inanycase,theunexpectedturn

ofeventsseemedlikeadisaster.ItforcedmetoretreatbacktotheUnitedStates,whereIhadtoconvincemymainbenefactor,Dr.JeanHoerni,tocontributeevenmoremoney,whichwasthenusedtopurchaseevenmoreconstructionmaterialsand transport these supplies to the edge of theBraldu,where the residents ofKorphe built a 282-foot-long suspension bridge over the river. In the end, thewholeexercisesettheprojectbacknearlytwoyears.Atthetime,Ifoundthisdetouranditsdelaysutterlymaddening.Onlyyears

laterdidIbegintoappreciatetheenormoussymbolicsignificanceofthefactthatbefore building a school, it was imperative to build a bridge. The school, ofcourse,wouldhouseallofthehopesthatareraisedbythepromiseofeducation.But the bridge represented something more elemental: the relationships uponwhich those hopes would be sustained over time—and without which anypromisewouldamounttolittlemorethanemptywords.Korphe’s schoolhousewas finished inDecember 1996, and since then each

andeveryschoolwehavebuilthasbeenprecededbyabridge.Notnecessarilyaphysicalstructure,butaspanofemotionallinksthatareforgedovermanyyearsandmanysharedcupsoftea.Thisphilosophymeansthatsomeofourprojectscangrindalongatapacethat

mirrors the ponderous movement of the Karakoram glaciers. For example, inChunda, a conservative rural village inBaltistan, it took eightyears for us toconvince the localmullah, an immensely cautious and piousman, to permit asinglegirltoattendschool.Today,however,morethanthreehundredgirlsstudyin Chunda—and we take great pride in the fact that they do so with the fullsupport of the very samemullahwho once stood in theirway.His change ofheartaffirmsthenotionthatgoodrelationshipsoftendemandtitanicpatience.Like Nasreen Baig, the green-eyed nurse from the Charpurson, we do not

regretthewait.Asanywisevillageelderwilltellyou,anythingtrulyimportantisworthdoingvery,veryslowly.

ThebookthatyouareholdinginyourhandspicksupwhereThreeCupsofTealeftoff in2003and ispartly a chronicleofhow thatprocesshas continued tounfoldinPakistanduringthelastseveralyears.Mostly,however,thisnewbooktraces our efforts to take our work into a whole new region, the remotenortheastern corner of Afghanistan. It is a place that has proved even morechallenging than Pakistan, and the saga ofwhatmy staff sometimes calls our“Afghanadventure”isframedlooselyinthecontextofasingleschool.IfThreeCupsofTealaysoutthenarrativeofourfirstschool—theseedwith

whichwestartedourplanting—thenthisisthetaleofthemostremoteofallourprojects, the flower in the farthest corner of the garden. No project has evertakenussolongorrequiredsuchcomplexlogisticsasthelittleschoolwebuiltnexttotheoldKirghizburialgroundsintheheartoftheAfghanPamir’sBam-I-Dunya, the “Rooftop of theWorld.” And next to Korphe itself, no school iscloser to my heart, because, in ways both large and small, it was the mostmiraculous.Itaroseoutofapromisemadein1999duringanunlikelymeetingthatseemedliftedfromthepagesofanovelsetinthethirteenthcentury,whenthehorsemenofGenghisKhanroamedthesteppesofcentralAsia.AnditdrewusintothelandoftheAfghans,theonlyplacethathaseverthreatenedtousurptheaffectionandtheloveIharborforPakistan.Partofwhathasmadethisschoolsuchasurpriseisthatsomanyotherurgent

projectsweredemandingourattentionduringthetenyearsittooktomakegoodonourpromise.Thefactthatwerefusedtoletitgo,evenamidanearthquakeinKashmirin2005andotherchallengesthatarerecountedinthepagesthatfollow,is a testament less tome than to the vision and the persistence of theCentralAsia Institute’s staff, and in particular to a group of twelve men whom Iaffectionatelycall theDirtyDozen.If thereareanyheroeshere, it is they;andforthemostpartthisbookistheirstory,becausewithoutthesemen,noneofitwouldhavehappened. If thedaughterswho flock toour schools represent thefirewe’ve lit, then thesemen are the fuel that sustains the flames.They haveguided, pushed, and inspired me in more ways than I can recount, and theircommitmentandsacrificesrunsodeepthatwhateverweachievewillultimatelybelongnottomebuttothem.Withouttheirexampleandtheirresourcefulness,Iwould still be nothing more than a dirtbag mountaineer subsisting on ramennoodlesandlivinginthebackofhiscar.Asyou’llsee,thestoryofthelittlegemofaschoolthatwebuiltinthemost

remotecornerofcentralAsiaisaroundabouttale—athreadthatlikethetwistingroadsweplyinourbatteredLandCruiserthroughthepassesoftheKarakoram

andtheHinduKushcansometimesgetlostamidtheunexpecteddetoursandthelandslide of complications that cascade down upon anyonewho ventures intothatharshandwondrouspartoftheworld.Butthesedigressionsanddeadendsmay also provide something that readers of Three Cups of Tea have beenrequestingfrommeforyears.Whatthey’vewanted,morethananythingelse,isa window into the day-to-day mechanics and rhythms of the Central AsiaInstitute. A sense of what it feels like to lay the physical and emotionalfoundationforgirls’education,bookbybookandbrickbybrick,inthemiddleofTalibancountry.Ifnothingelse,thisnewworkshouldfulfillthatrequest.Ishouldalsonotethatthefirstpartofthisstorywillcoversomegroundthat

may already be familiar to readers of Three Cups of Tea. I thought this wasnecessary and important because several of these early events began to shapethemselvesintoameaningfulpatternonlyovertime.Backwhentheytookplace,Ididnotunderstandthefullsignificanceof theseexperiencesandlessonstheyimparted, nor did I realize where they fit into the larger story that it is myprivilegetotellhere.Inshort,itwasonlyafterhavingmovedforwardaconsiderabledistancethatI

was fully able to comprehendwherewehadbeen—aphenomenon thatwouldnothavesurprisedHajiAli,who,tomysadness,passedawayin2001.HajiAlineverlearnedtoreadorwrite,andoverthecourseofsevendecadeshelefthishome village only once, to perform a pilgrimage to Mecca. Nevertheless, heunderstood that hope resides in the future, while perspective and wisdom arealmostalwaysfoundbylookingtothepast.Sometimes, it seems like everything I’ve ever learned traces back to that

irascibleoldmanIfirstmetinthebarleyfieldsofKorphe.

GREGMORTENSONBaharak,AfghanistanAugust2009

PARTI

ThePromise

Prologue

Theeducationandempowermentofwomenthroughouttheworldcannotfailtoresultinamorecaring,tolerant,justandpeacefullifeforall.

—AUNGSANSUUKYI

GregMortensonintheWakhan

TheIrshadPassisoneofthreegreatgapsleadingnorththroughtheHinduKushinto themost forgottencornerofAfghanistan.Along thecrestof thispass thegroundisfreeofsnowforonlyfourmonthseachyear,andtheairissothinthatthetraderswhoemploythisroutehavebeenknowntosliceopenthenostrilsoftheirdonkeys tohelp thembreathe.Beyond thePakistanihighpoint, the trackmakesalong,talus-littereddescent,atthebottomofwhichisamassiveravinethatforcesthetrailtoperformasharpdogleg.Thismeansthatanyonewaitingatthesouthernentrance to theIrshadcannotseewho iscoming through thepassuntiltheverylastminute—andthatishowIcametomissthemomentwhenthesquadronofKirghizhorsemenmade theirentrance intoPakistan inOctoberof1999.Itwasthekeen-eyedSarfrazKhan—thehunteroftheibex,theex-commando

withthecrippledhand—whospottedthemfirst,justastheyroundedthecorner,

fromhalfamileaway.Thesecondhecaughtsightofthem,heleapedupfromtheblanketonwhichwewere sitting,dashedover toour jeep, flungopen thedoor,andstartedlayinghisfistintothehorn.“Theyarecoming,theyarecoming!”heclamoredinWakhi,unabletocontain

hisexcitement.“Wazdey,Wazdey!Welldone!”Iwasabouttotakeanotherswallowofthenemekchoi (salt tea) thatwehad

beensippingallmorningtowardoffthewindandthesleet,butmyhandhaltedwhenthecupwashalfwaytomylips, thenreturnedthecupto thegroundandgentlyplacedittherewhileIwatchedthehorsemenadvance.Itwasnotaspectacleonecouldwitnessinanoffhandmanner.Therewerefourteenriders,comingfastthroughascrimofcoldrain,andeven

from the distance of nearly a thousand yards, the timeworn music of theircavalry—thehollowclompingofthehoofbeatsandthemetallicclankingofsteelin thehorses’mouths—cleaved thealpineair.Wecouldhear, too, themuffledcreakofwetleatherunderstrain,andafaintpatterasthickclodsofdirtthrownup by the horses’ hooves arced above the riders’ heads and rained onto thegroundbehindthem.Themanintheleadwascladinaweather-beatenduster,blackleatherboots

that rose to his knees, and corduroy pants that were dark and shiny with thesmearofmuttongrease.AbatteredBritishLeeEnfield rifle floppedalonghisback, hiswaistwas beltedwith a strap of leather sowide that it spanned hisbelly,andonhisheadheworeaSoviet-erapilecapwhoseearflapsgallopedwiththemovementofhishorse.ThemenwhofollowedhimcarriedAK-47sandanabundanceofotherweapons,andtheircartridgebeltswereslungheavilyacrosstheirshouldersandchests.Theirhorses,likehis,wereshortleggedandshaggyandiridescentwithsweat.Theythunderedtowardusinaheadlongrushuntil,atthelastpossiblesecond,

they pulled to an abrupt halt and leaped in unison from their saddles with acatlikegrace thatseemedbothcavalierandprecise. Itwas thekindofcarelessperfection that only men who have spent their entire lives on horseback canachieve.Theleader,Icouldseenow,wasayoungmanwithanill-trimmedmustache

andaflat,coppery,wind-burnishedface.Hewasthinandraggedandhardened,andthiscombinationoffeaturesmadehimseemtostepdirectlyfromastreamoftime that flowed unbroken from the forty or fifty generations of his nomadicforbears, who were among the greatest horsemen the world has ever known.Standing there in themud,he reached intohis coatpocket, removedawadofmoist green chewing tobacco, and greeted us with the customary As-SalaamAlaaikum.Thenheremarked,softlyandwithgreatcourtesy,thatheandhismen

hadbeenridingforsixdayswithoutstopping.They had been dispatched, it turned out, as emissaries fromCommandhan

Abdul Rashid Khan, the leader of the last group of Kirghiz left in the HighPamir. In the impoverished land fromwhich thesemenhad ridden, conditionswere now so harsh that each winter their families and their herds of camels,sheep,andyaksseesawedonthethresholdofstarvation.YetofallthethingsthatAbdulRashid’s people lacked,what he desiredmostwas the chance for theirchildren to learn to readandwrite—and therein lay the errand thathaddrawnthishorsemanandhisretinueovertheIrshadPass.For thepast severalyears, thehorsemanexplained, strange storieshadbeen

filteringintotheHighPamirfromthesouthernsidetheHinduKush,talesofamysteriousAmericanmountainclimberwhowassaidtobesettingupschoolsinthemostremotevalleysofnorthernPakistan, theplaces thegovernmentdidn’tseemtocareaboutandwheretheforeignNGOsrefusedtoventure.Therewererumors,too,thatinadditiontoeducatingtheboys,theinstitutionsthismanwasraisingupwouldalsoopentheirdoorstoanygirlwhoyearnedforliteracy.WhenwordhadreachedAbdulRashidKhanthattheAmericanschoolbuilder

wasscheduledtopayavisittotheCharpursonValley,hehadsentoutaplatoonof his strongest riders and his swiftest horses to find this man and ask if hewould consider coming intoAfghanistan to build schools for the sons and thedaughtersoftheKirghiz.Few thingshappenquickly in thehinterlandsof thewesternHimalayas,but

therewasaspecialurgencytothisman’smission.Thefirststormofthewinterof 1999was alreadydescendingupon theHinduKush, and if these horsemenfailed to return before the snows blocked the crest of the Irshad, they riskedbeingcutofffromtheirhomesandfamiliesuntilthefollowingspring.Preferablyrightnow,butnolaterthanthefollowingmorning,theywouldneedtoracenorthoverthepasswithmyanswer.“Waalaikum-Salaam (Maypeacebewithyoualso),”Ireplied.“Iunderstand

that timeisshort,butfirst letusgoto thehomeofmyfriendSarfrazKhansothat you and your men can eat and take some rest,” I told the leader of thehorsemen.“Thenlater,wewilltalkofAbdulRashidKhan’srequest,andwewilldiscussifitispossibletomakeaschool.”

CHAPTER1

ThePeopleattheEndoftheRoad

Idon’tknowwhatyourdestinywillbe,butonethingIknow:theonlyonesamongyouwhowillbereallyhappyarethosewhowillhavesoughtandfoundhowtoserve.

—ALBERTSCHWEITZER

GrandTrunkHighwaynearJalalabad,Afghanistan.

WheneverIheadfortheairporttocatchaflighttoPakistanorAfghanistan,myluggageusuallyincludesasmallplasticbriefcaseemblazonedwithagreenandwhitebumpersticker that readsTHELASTBESTPLACE.Thosewordswerefirst put together as the title to an anthology of Montana-based writings thatWilliamKittredgeandAnnickSmitheditedbackin1988.Sincethen,“TheLastBestPlace”hasbecometheunofficialmottoforthestateinwhichIhavespentthe last fourteenyears livingwithmywife,Tara,our twochildren,AmiraandKhyber, and ourTibetan terrier, Tashi. The slogan neatly sums up the stirring

landscapes and the vast sense of openness that draw so many Americans toMontana, and the words are now as synonymous with my adopted home’sidentityasthesilhouetteofthemountainsonourlicenseplates.Forme,though,Kittredge’scatchphrasecarriesaradicallydifferentmeaning.IfyoulookatthemapoftheschoolsthattheCentralAsiaInstitutehasbuilt

since1995,youwillseethatnearlyeveryoneofourprojectsisinalocationthatlacks an educational infrastructure because of geographical isolation, severepoverty, religiousextremism,orwar.Theseareareas that fewpeople fromtheoutside world even know about, the regions where almost nobody else goes.Theyaretheplaceswherewebegin.This approach is markedly different from the way development normally

works.MostNGOs, for all sorts of soundandwell-justified reasons, prefer toestablish a base of operations in a region that enjoys favorable access toresourcesandcommunications,andonlythenwilltheseorganizationsgraduallyexpand into the harder areas. It’s a sensible way to proceed. The problem,however, is that ifyouworkinawaythatis incrementalandcontrolled, itcansometimes take a lifetime to get to the people who need your help themost.What is farmore difficult—and sometimesmore dangerous—is to start at theendoftheroadandworkyourwayback.Andforbetterorworse,that’sexactlywhatwedo.Theotherthingthatdistinguishesusfromsomeotherdevelopmentgroupsis

thatouraimisnottosaturatearegionwithourpresencebylaunchinghundredsofprojects.Wesimplywanttoplantahandfulofschoolsinthehardestplacesofall,empowerthecommunitiesintheseareastosustainthoseprojects,andthenstep back in the hope that the government and otherNGOswill startmovingtoward these points from the areas that aren’t quite so rough, until the gap iseventuallybridged.Surprisinglyoften,that’sexactlywhathappens.InBaltistan,theruggedandbeautifulcornerofnortheasternPakistanthatlies

in theheartof theKarakoram,wespent thesecondhalfof the1990s targetingthevillagesatthefarthestendsofthemostremotevalleys,placesataltitudesofup to eleven thousand feet that are perched along the outer limits of humanhabitation. We broke ground on more than three dozen sturdy, stone-walledschoolhouses, providing construction materials and teachers on the conditionthat each village chip in free land and labor—and that they agree to increasefemaleenrollmentuntil thegirls reachedparitywith theboys.The first schoolweestablished, inKorphe, is in the lasthumansettlement in theBralduValleybeforeyou reach theBaltoroGlacier,which leads toK2.Ourschool inHusheliesattheendofavalleythatculminatesatthebaseofMasherbrum,oneofthemoststunningoftheworld’sgreatseven-thousand-meterpeaks.

Insimilarfashion,wehavealsospearheadedprojectsinareasthatareplaguedby armed conflict and religious extremism. In 1999, at the request of thePakistani military, we launched two projects in the Gultori region, where thearmiesofIndiaandPakistanwerelockedinfiercefightingalongthecontestedborder of Kashmir. The schools we put in were tucked into the slopes ofmountains and featured pitchedmetal roofs capable of deflecting fallout fromthe Indian army’s artillery shells. More recently, in 2008, we have helpedcommunities in eastern Afghanistan’s Kunar Province in building two girls’schools in the center of the volatile border region between Pakistan andAfghanistan that shelters many members of the Taliban. The Pathan triballeaderswhoaskedfortheseschoolsapproacheduswiththeirinitialrequestforassistancethroughthecommanderofanAmericanmilitarybasethatis locatedinthesamearea.This “last place first” philosophy of ours is unconventional, and it

occasionally provokes criticism; but sometimes there is simply no otheralternative. If an organization like theCAI doesn’t leapfrog directly into suchplaces,anothergenerationortwoofgirlswillhavelosttheopportunitytoattainliteracy. In addition to these practical considerations, however, there’s anotherreasonwhywedothingsthisway—onethathaslittletodowithpragmatism.Thegoodpeoplewhoinhabitthefrontiersofcivilizationdonot,asarule,tend

tobetheworld’smostsophisticatedorcosmopolitanhumanbeings.Often,theyaren’tespeciallywelleducatedor refined,norall thatconversantwithcutting-edgetrendsinareaslike,say,fashionandcurrentevents.Sometimes,they’renotevenallthatfriendly.Butthefolkswholiveattheendoftheroadareamongthemostresilientandthemostresourcefulhumanbeingsyouwillevermeet.Theypossessacombinationofcourage,tenacity,hospitality,andgracethatleavesmeinawe.WhatIhavealsodiscoveredovertheyearsisthatwithjustalittlebitofhelp,

suchpeoplearecapableofpullingoffastonishingthings—andindoingso,theysometimes establish a benchmark for the rest of us. When ordinary humanbeingsperformextraordinaryactsofgenerosity,endurance,orcompassion,weare all made richer by their example. Like the rivers that flow out of theKarakoramand theHinduKush, the inspiration theygeneratewashesdown totherestofus.Itwaterseveryone’sfields.So forme, that THELASTBEST PLACE sticker onmy briefcase doesn’t

representasloganoramarketingcampaigntopromotethewondersofmyhome.Instead,thosewordsaffirmmybeliefthatthepeoplewholiveinthelastplaces—thepeoplewhoaremostneglectedandleastvaluedbythelargerworld—oftenrepresentthebestofwhoweareandthefineststandardofwhatwearemeantto

become.Thisisthepowerthatlastplacesholdoverme,andwhyIhavefounditimpossibletoresisttheirpull.Backin1993,whenthiswholeschool-buildingbusinessfirstgotstarted,the

little village of Korphe struck me as the apogee of remoteness, the supremeexpressionofwhat itmeans to live in thevery lastplaceat the far endof theroad. In the years that followed, it has been my privilege to work in someequallyisolatedanddifficultplacesthatthankstothepeoplewhoinhabitthemare blessed by the same roughmagic as Korphe. But until I met the KirghizhorsemenwhohadriddenoutoftheWakhanonthatOctoberafternoonin1999,Ihadneverencounteredagroupofpeoplewhocamefromaplacesoremote,soaustere, that it didn’t seem like the endof the road asmuchas the endof theearthitself.AplacethatmadeevenKorphefeellikeasuburbofLosAngeles.

ThePashtunssay thatwhenAllahwas finishedcreating theworld,hecobbledtogetheralltheleftoverbitsandpieces,anditwasfromthispileofrubblethathe fashionedAfghanistan.The impressionofa landscape thathasbeenpiecedtogether from discarded debris is evident in every part of this country, butnowhere is this sense of brokenness more acute than inside the panhandle ofnortheasternAfghanistanthatthrustsbetweenPakistanandTajikistanfornearly120milesuntilittouchestheborderofthePeople’sRepublicofChina.Someofthe loftiestmountain rangeson earth—theKunlun, theTienShan, thePamirs,theKarakoram,and theHinduKush—converge insideornear this region.Thehighest of their summits soars more than twenty thousand feet, and theinhabitantsof the forbidding,desolate,bitterlycoldalpineplateaus that stretchbeneath those peaks refer to this place asBam-I-Dunya, the “Rooftop of theWorld.”For more than twenty centuries, the Wakhan Corridor has served as a

thoroughfare for traders, diplomats, invading armies, pilgrims, explorers,missionaries, and holy wanderersmaking their way between central Asia andChina.TheCorridornotonlydefinedthemeetingpointbetweenInnerandOuterTartary—the realms that the Greek geographer Ptolemy called “the TwoScythias”—butalsoformedoneofthemostarduoussectionsoftheSilkRoad,thefour-thousand-mileroutebywhichthecivilizationsofIndia,Europe,andtheNearEasttradedandcommunicatedwiththoseoftheFarEast.OnlyahandfulofwesternersareknowntohavepassedthroughtheWakhan,

startingwithMarcoPolo,whospentfouryearsmakinghiswaythroughPersia

andacrosscentralAsiatoreachthecourtoftheChineseemperor,KublaiKhan.While traversing the length of the Wakhan in 1271, the legendary Venetiantraveler wrote of ridgelines so high that birds found it impossible to fly overthemandacoldsointensethatitstifledtheheatofhiscampfireswhilerobbingtheflamesoftheircolor.Nearly350yearslater,aJesuitpriestnamedBenedictde Goes was chosen by his order to follow in Polo’s footsteps in search ofCathay.DisguisedasanArmeniantrader,hejoinedacaravanofmerchantsandmadehiswaytotheChinesecityofSuchow,wherehewasdetained,becameill,andeventuallyperished.DeGoes’sdeath, in theyear1607, roughlycoincidedwith theSilkRoad’s final eclipse, as thegreat terrestrial thoroughfareof tradewassupplantedbythesearoutesthatwerebeingpioneeredbetweenEuropeandtheFarEast—althoughasmallbutpersistenttrickleofcommercecontinuedtodribble across the Pamir from Chinese Turkistan to Tibet and Chitral, thenorthernmostoutpostofIndia.TheWakhan did not reemerge on theworld stage until the later part of the

nineteenthcentury,whenGreatBritainandRussiabegantusslingforcontrolofcentral Asia in the imperial contest known as the Great Game. During thisperiod,Russiawas expanding its southernborders toward the ancient cities ofthe Silk Road, while Britain was seeking to explore and protect the passesthroughtheHimalayasandtheHinduKushthatledtoIndia,therichestgeminBritain’s imperial crown. An eccentric collection of explorers and militaryofficersplayedacat-and-mousegamealongthehighcountryoftheHinduKushand thePamirs. In1895, after the twosideswerebrought to thebrinkofwar,politicians inLondonandSaintPetersburgestablished theWakhanas abufferzonetoensurethattheunderbellyoftheczars’kingdomwouldatnopointtouchthenorthernmostcrestoftheRaj.Twenty-two years later, the creation of the Soviet Union shut down the

Wakhan’s northern borders, severing most of the remaining north-southcommerce.Then, in1949,MaoZedongcompleted theCommunist takeoverofChinaandtheCorridor’sdoortotheeastwasslammedshut,permanentlyhaltingalmost all east-to-westmovement.Withina singlegeneration, aplace thathadonce served as the linchpinof thegreatest trade route inhistory andhad latercome to demarcate the farthest borders of the world’s two foremost imperialpowerswastransformedintothepoorestandthemostobscuredead-endroadonearth.Today,theresidentsoftheCorridorareconsignedtoastateofquarantinethat

is impossible to imagine for anyone who inhabits a world whose borders aredefined by e-mail, Twitter, and satellite phones. Implacably isolated andbreathtakingly remote, theWakhan is central Asia’s Ultima Thule: a place so

distant and so far beyond the margins of the known world that it seems todelineatenotonlytheouterlimitsofgeographybuttheedgeofcivilizationitself.

The Kirghiz horsemen who rode over the Irshad Pass in the autumn of 1999were descendants of nomadic tribes from the Tuva region of Russiawho hadmigratedintocentralAsiainthethirteenthcentury,duringtheriseoftheMongolempire—and for the better part of eight centuries, these tribes’ lives revolvedaroundseasonalmigrationsacrossthemountainrangesseparatingwhatarenoweasternAfghanistan,westernChina,andsouthernTajikistan.Eachyearthetribeswould rove freelyacross thegrasslandsof theHighPamirwith their feltyurtsandtheirflocksofgoats,yaks,anddouble-humpedBactriancamels,unmolestedbygovernmentofficials,taxcollectors,orsecurityagents.Thewinterswouldbespent in the lower valleys of Tajikistan or western China, where they couldshelterfromtheweatherandprotecttheirflocksfrombearsandwolves.Inthesummer,theywouldslowlymovebackintothealpinegrasslands,wheretheonlyotherinhabitantswereMarcoPolosheep,ibex,andotherwildanimals.FollowingtheBolshevikRevolution,theSovietgovernmentdevotedmuchof

the1930stoapolicyofforcingthenomadiccultureswhoinhabitedtheUSSR’scentral Asian republics to abandon their migratory traditions and settle oncollective farms.AgroupofKirghizeventually rebelledagainst thiseffortandpetitionedthekingofAfghanistanforsanctuaryintheWakhan.ThisprotectedthemfromtheSoviets,butitreducedtheirmigrationstoaseriesofshortshiftsbetween theeasternWakhanandChina’sXinjiangProvince.During the1950sand1960s,theChineseCommunistsrestrictedthesemovementsevenfurther.Thenin1978,justpriortotheSovietinvasionofAfghanistan,roughly1,300

KirghizledbyanimamnamedHajiRahmanQuldecidedtoabandonthePamirsandcrosssouthovertheHinduKushintoPakistan.Theyfoundlifeinthisnewhomeintolerable(theKirghizwomenwereforcedtofollowtherulesofpurdah,and the heat caused many members of the group to fall ill). After tryingunsuccessfully to acquire American visas and move his people to Alaska,Rahman Qul embarked on a new journey in 1982. Referred to as the LastExodus, this odyssey eventually took his followers to easternAnatolia,wheretheyweregivenpoliticalasylumbytheTurkishgovernmentandsettlednexttoagroupofresentfulKurdswhohadbeenforcedouttomakeroomforthem.Thecommunitytheyestablishedtherecontinuesflourishingtothisday.Meanwhile, a secondgroupof roughly twohundredKirghizwho refused to

participateintheLastExodusbrokeawayfromRahmanQulandreturnedtothe

Wakhan, where they resumed the migratory lifestyle of their forebears. LostwithintheimmensityoftheHighPamirsthedescendantsoftheseKirghiznowstruggle to uphold an ancestral lifestyle that represents one of the last greatnomadichorseculturesonearth.As romantic as thatmay sound, life has been exceptionally difficult for the

Wakhan Kirghiz, and their capacity to survive seems to grow more marginalwith each passing year. Unable to migrate to the warmer lowlands, they areexposedtothefullfuryofwinters,whichcanlastfromSeptemberthroughJune,with temperatures plummeting as low as negative twenty degrees.Despite thefact that the entire community often teeters on the threshold of starvation,especially during the early spring, they are cut off from even the most basicgovernment services.As late as 1999, therewas not a single school, hospital,dispensary, police station, bazaar, veterinary facility, post office, or doctor’sclinic in the eastern sector of theWakhan. Even by the extreme standards ofAfghanistan, a country where 68 percent of the population has never knownpeace,theaveragelifeexpectancyisforty-fouryears,andthematernalmortalityrate is exceededonlyby that ofLiberia, thehomelandof theWakhanKirghizcanbeadesperateplace.The sole connection between theKirghiz and the outsideworld is a single-

lane dirt road that starts in the provincial city of Faizabad, in the AfghanprovinceofBadakshan,andrunsmorethanahundredmilesthroughthetownsofBaharak,Ishkoshem,andQala-e-PanjtothevillageofSarhad,abouthalfwayintotheCorridor,wheretheroadends.BeyondSarhad,allmovementtakesplaceonfootoronpackanimalsalongnarrowtrailsthathewcloselytotheDarya-i-Pamirand theWakhanriversandextendall thewayto theeasternmostendoftheCorridor,where the frigidwaters of a shallow, glassy blue lake lap at theedgesofagrass-coveredfieldknownasBozaiGumbaz.Itwashere,notfarfromtheexactspotthatMarcoPolospentthewinterof1272recoveringfrommalaria,thattheKirghizleaderwhohaddispatchedhisemissariesovertheIrshadPasstofindmewashopingtobuildaschool.If any placemet the definition of our last-place-first philosophy, surely this

wasit.Needless to say, the logistics of even getting to such a location,much less

constructingaplacewhereteachersandstudentscouldgathertostudyandlearn,weregoing tobedaunting,especially foranorganizationas tinyasours.Plus,there was enough work to keep us busy in Pakistan for the next fifty years.Prudencesuggestedthatitmightnotbewisetospreadourresourcestoothinbyventuringintounknownterritoryatthefarendofanothercountryandattemptingtoworkwithcommunitiesweknewnothingabout.

Then again, that’s prettymuch exactlywhat got us into this business in thefirstplace.Andbesides,theteamofpeoplewe’vebuiltupovertheyearstendstorelishthiskindofchallenge.Asmywifeoftenremindsme,Ihaveaveryunusualstaff.

Therearemanyunorthodoxaspects tomystyleofoperation, startingwithmytendencytoflybytheseatofmypantsandextendingthroughmywillingnesstofashion working alliances with unsavory characters who have includedsmugglers,corruptgovernmentflunkies,andTalibanthugs.Evenmoreunusualis my preference for employing inexperienced, often completely uneducatedlocals,whomItendtohiresolelyongutinstinct—apractice,itturnsout,thatIlearnedfrommyfather.In the springof1958,when Iwas threemonthsold,myparentsmovedour

familyfromMinnesotatoEastAfricatoteachinagirls’schoolandfouryearslaterhelpedestablishTanzania’s first teachinghospitalon theslopesofMountKilimanjaro. My sisters Sonja and Kari and I attended a school where thechildren hailed frommore than twodozen different countries.Meanwhile,myfather,Dempsey,struggledto lay thefoundationsfor theKilimanjaroChristianMedical Centre (KCMC). His greatest challenge was to overcome the expatcommunity’s fear of empowering local people. He was told repeatedly thatgetting anything done in Africa required amuzungo (white man) wielding akoboko (ahippo-hidewhip).Despite theseprejudices,heneverwavered inhisconviction that the key to successwas listening and building relationships. Inlieuof teadrinking,hewouldheadover to thenearby townofMamba,whereafterSundaychurch,maleandfemaleelderswouldsitincircles,passingaroundacommunalgourdofpombe(bananabeer)whiletheycelebratedtheirfriendshipandresolvedtheirproblems.Over a decade, my father slowly put together a team that resembled a

miniature United Nations. The construction firm that built the hospital wereZionists from Haifa. The engineering consultants were Egyptian Sunnis. ThearchitectwasaRomanJew,manyoftheseniormasonswereArabMuslimsfromthe Indian Ocean coast, the accountants were Hindus, and the project’s innercircleofadvisersandmanagerswereallnativeAfricans.Communicationwasachallengeduring theearlyyears,and therewereseveral timeswhen thewholethingalmostfellapart.Nevertheless,mydadpersisted,andby1971theKCMCwasfinallyupandrunning—atwhichpointhedidsomethingreallyinteresting.Tocelebrate theopeningof thehospital,hebuiltagiantcementbarbecuein

ourbackyardandheldadaylongparty,inthemiddleofwhichhestoodupandgave a speech. After apologizing for all the hard work he had put everyonethough, he thanked every single personwho had been involved, from the topadministrators down to the lowliest laborers, and praised them for a job welldone.Thenhesaidthathehadapredictiontomake.“Intenyears,”hedeclared,“theheadofeverydepartmentinthehospitalwillbeanativefromTanzania.”Therewas an awkwardmoment of silence, and from the audience of expat

aristocratscameacollectivegaspofdisbelief.Whodoyouthinkyouare? theydemanded. How dare you boost these people’s hopes with such unrealisticexpectationsandsetthemupforfailure?Theexplicitassumptionwasthatitwasnaive and inappropriate to hold the Tanzanians to the same standards thatwesterners might expect of themselves. The implicit—and more insidious—assumptionwasthattheseAfricanslackedambition,competence,andasenseofresponsibility.OurfamilyreturnedhometoMinnesotain1972,andin1981myfatherdied

ofcancer.Ayearlater,whenthehospital’sannualreportfor1981arrivedinthemail,mymomshowedittomewithtearsinhereyes.EverysingledepartmentheadwasfromTanzania,justashehadpredicted—afactthatremainstruetoday,twenty-eightyearslater.Oneofmygreatregretsis thatmyfatherdidn’t livelongenoughtoseethat

hisinstinctsnotonlywerevindicated,butalsoinspiredsomecopycats.Becausein my own way, I’ve adopted the very same approach in Pakistan andAfghanistan.Altogether, the Central Asia Institute field staff totals about a dozen men,

almostallofwhomhaveappointed themselves to theirpositions.Even thoughI’mnotthesortofpersonwhonormallytravelswithasecurityteam,ahulkingtribesmanfromtheCharpursonValleywhoonceworkedasahigh-altitudeporteronK2(untilhisshoulderwastorntopiecesinacaraccident)insistsonservingas my bodyguard. His name is Faisal Baig, and he embraces his duties withunapologeticfanaticism.InSkarduinthesummerof1997,Faisalcaughtamanleering through thewindowof theCAILandCruiser atmywife,Tara, as shewas nursing our daughter, dragged him into an alley, and beat the poor mansenseless.Until a few years agowhen he retired, the driver of that LandCruiserwas

Mohammed Hussein. A gaunt-faced chain-smoker who could be moody andmercurial,Husseintookchauffeuringsoseriouslythatheinsistedonstashingabox of dynamite under the passenger seat—where I usually sit—so he couldblast through the landslides and avalanches that often block the roads throughtheKarakoram.Ourworkwas too important,Hussein believed, towaste time

waitingaroundforgovernmentroadcrews.Then there is Apo Abdul Razak, a tiny, bow-legged seventy-five-year-old

cookwhospentmorethanfourdecadesboilingriceandchoppingvegetablesforsome of the most famous mountaineering expeditions ever to climb in theKarakoram.Apo,whohasfatheredeighteenchildrenandneverlearnedtoreador write, is so fond of tobacco that he smokes Tander cigarettes and useschewing tobacco at the same time. (His few remaining teeth are the color ofturpentine.) Apo’s gift is his decency, which is infused with a sincerity sobottomless and so transparent that it endears him to everyone from PervezMusharraf, the former president of Pakistan (who has taken tea with Apo onthree different occasions), to the glowering security guardswho are endlesslyconfronting us at airports, hotels, and highway checkpoints—and who oftenreceiveahug fromApoafter theyare throughpattinghimdownforweapons.AlsoknownasChacha(uncle),AposervesastheCentralAsiaInstitute’sseniorstatesman and diplomatic emissary, smoothing over disputes with recalcitrantmullahs,greedybureaucrats,andbad-temperedgunmen.It’s true, I suppose, that our payroll includes one or two people whose

qualifications might meet the definition of “vaguely normal.” Haji GhulamParvi, for example, is a devout Muslim from Skardu who quit his job as anaccountant with Radio Pakistan to become our chief operations manager inBaltistan.MohammedNazir, twenty-nine, an earnest youngmanwith hoodedeyesandawispygoateewhomanagesseveralofourprojectsinBaltistan,isthesonofarespectedSkardubusinessmanwhosuppliesfoodtothePakistanitroopsbivouacked on the twenty-three-thousand-foot ridgelines looming above theSiachenGlacier,thehighesttheaterofcombatinthehistoryofwarfare.Mostofouremployees,however,aremenwhoserésuméswouldneverreceiveasecondglance at a conventional NGO. The remainder of our payroll features amountaineeringporter,anilliteratefarmerwhoisthesonofaBaltipoet,afellowwho used to smuggle silk and plastic Chinese toys along the KarakoramHighway, a man who spent twenty-three years in a refugee camp, an ex-goatherd,andtwoformermembersoftheTaliban.Athirdof thesemencannotreadorwrite.Twoof themhavemorethanone

wife.And crucially, they are evenly divided between Islam’s three rival sects:Sunni,Shia,andIsmaili(aliberaloffshootoftheShiawhosespiritualimam,theAga Khan, lives in Paris). I have often been told that under normalcircumstances in Pakistan, it would be unusual to find men of such diverseethnic backgrounds in the same room sharing a cup of tea. Thatmaywell betrue.Yetwithlittlepayandalmostnosupervision,theyhavesomehowfoundaway towork together—and like the people at the end of the roadwhom they

serve,theyhaveaccomplishedsomeamazingthings.FromthemomentIsetfootinPakistan,Itravelinthecompanyofatleastone

or twoof thesemenat all times.We spendweeks along the tortuous roadsofBaltistan,Kashmir, and theHinduKush.Despite the long hours and the hardtravel,theytendtoexhibitthesortofbehaviorthatmakesmesuspecttheymayactuallybelong toa roving Islamic fraternity.Theyoften roarwith laughterasthey tease one another without mercy. Much of the humor is supplied bySuleman Minhas, a sharp-tongued, slickly mustached Sunni taxi driver whopickedmeupattheIslamabadairportoneafternoonin1997anduponlearningwhatIwasupto,promptlyquithisjobanddeclaredthathewasnowourchieffixer. Among the rest of the staff, Suleman is renowned for his symphonicsnores, the gaseous emissions produced by his “other engine,” and themysterious splashing sounds that emerge whenever he’s in the bathroom—asourceofendlessspeculationandamusementamonghiscolleagues.Another popular source of diversion involves booting up our solar-powered

laptop with SatLink capability and watching YouTube videos of firefightsbetween theU.S.militaryand theTaliban.Thehands-downfavorite featuresamilitant cryingAllah Akbhar! (God is great!) while loading a mortar shell inbackwardandaccidentallyblowinghimself topieces.Apo,apiousSunniwhodetestsreligiousextremism,iscapableofwatchingthisvideotenorfifteentimesinarow,cacklingwithgleeeachtimetheexplosiontakesplace.The other big pastime revolves around teasing Shaukat Ali Chaudry, an

earnestschoolteacherwithashysmile,gold-rimmedglasses,andanenormousblackbeardwhofoughtwiththeTalibanbeforebecomingoneofourpart-timefreelanceadvisersinKashmir.Havingrecentlyturnedthirtyinacountrywheremostmenaremarriedbytheirlateteensorearlytwenties,ShaukatAliisbehindschedule on the important business of finding himself a wife and starting afamily. By way of addressing the problem, he recently sent out marriageproposalstonofewerthanfourdifferentwomen—and,sadly,wasturneddownbyallofthem.Amongthestaff,theserejectionsareexplainedbyShaukatAli’sfondness for launching into long-winded and rather tedious religiousmonologues thatoften lastup to forty-fiveminutes.Thefastestway to resolvethemarriagesituation,hiscolleaguessolemnlyadviseShaukatAli,wouldbeforhimtostartcourtingdeafwomen.IftherewereaMuslimversionofEntourage, itwouldprobablybemodeled

onmystaff.I often refer to thisgroupas theDirtyDozenbecause somanyof themare

renegadesandmisfits—menofunrecognizedtalentswhostruggledforyearstofindtheirplaceandwhoseformeremployersgreetedmuchoftheirenergyand

enthusiasm with indifference or condescension. But inside the loose andseeminglydisorganizedstructureoftheCAI,theyhavefoundawaytoharnesstheiruntappedresourcefulnessandmakeadifferenceintheircommunities.Asaresult, these men are performing a job that it would take half a dozenorganizations tomatch, all of it fueledby their ferociouspassion forwomen’seducation.TothemembersoftheDirtyDozen,schoolsareeverything.Despiteallthejoking,theywouldlaydowntheirlivestoeducategirls.Even for a crew like this, however, the idea of setting up shop inside

Afghanistan’s Wakhan Corridor seemed, to put it mildly, somewhat insane.Pulling off such a feat would require a point man who possessed an unusualcombination of physical courage and stamina, a mastery of at least fivelanguages,andawillingnesstotravelonhorsebackforweeksatatimewithouttakingabath.Amanwhowouldn’tmindcrossingthepassesoftheHinduKush,unarmedandwithoutfear,whilecarryinguptofortythousanddollarsincashinhis saddlebags. Someone who could negotiate with warlords, heroin dealers,gunrunners,corruptgovernmentofficials,andsomeveryshadytriballeaders—andwhennecessary,charmthehelloutofthesepeople.Fortunately, we were just about to hire someone who fit the bill—a man

whomIrefertoasourIndianaJones.

CHAPTER2

TheManwiththeBrokenHand

Mountainscanneverreacheachother,despitetheirbigness.Buthumanscan.

—AFGHANPROVERB

WidowinKabul,Afghanistan

Wemetintheautumnof1999inthevillageofZuudkhan,atthefarendoftheCharpurson, on the night before the Kirghiz horsemen came riding over theIrshad Pass. I had come to Zuudkhan ostensibly to inspect a project we hadfunded that involved laying a seven-kilometer-longpipe to provide thevillagewithcleanwaterandhydroelectricity.Normally,wedon’t involveourselves inthings like this, but it was the only way the government’s inspector generalwouldallowmeintotheCharpurson,whichhadbeenclosedtoforeignerssince

1979 when the Soviets invaded Afghanistan. The real purpose of my visit,however, was to learn something about the Kirghiz, Wakhi, and TajikcommunitiesjustacrosstheborderinAfghanistan.ForthepasttwoyearsIhadbeenreceivingsporadicreportsthatthepeopleon

the northern end of the Hindu Kush were desperate to begin educating theirdaughters.Thesemessages suggested that several tribal leaders in theWakhanCorridor had been attempting, without success, to get word to me—andZuudkhan seemed like the most promising place to set up a communicationslink. In thesesamereports, Ialsokepthearingaboutaman in theCharpursonwhomightbeabletohelp.His name was Sarfraz Khan, and the stories that clung to him were both

colorfulandprovocative.Somedescribedhimasamishmashofcontradictions:anex-commandowhowasskilledintheartsofalpinecombat,drovea“TalibanToyota,” lovedmusicanddancing,andworeapeacockblue,DickTracy-stylefedorainthemountains.Othershintedatamanwithanunusualpast:asmugglerofgemstones,an imbiberofwhiskey,a traderofyaks.Outlandishclaimsweremadeabouthismarksmanship,hishorsemanship,andhisdentistry:Itwassaidthathecouldtakedownanibexwithahigh-poweredriflefromadistanceofupto a mile; that he could ride like a Cossack; and that when he took part inbushkashi, the violent central Asian version of polo played with the headlesscarcassofagoat,hedidsowithsuchpassionandferocitythathisfrontteethhadbeensmashedtopieces,thenreplacedwithdenturesmadeofstainlesssteel.Therewere somedark rumors of scandal, too: tales that spokeof a divorce

fromafirstwifeand,followingontheheelsofthatdisgrace,anevengreateronearisingfromtheunthinkabledemandthathebepermittedtogazeuponthefaceof his secondbetrothedbefore hewould consent tomarry her. Such a requestwasanappallingbreachofpropriety,yetifthestoriesweretrue,therequesthadactuallybeengranted,thefirstandonlytimeademandsooutrageoushadeverbeenaccededtointheone-hundred-yearhistoryofZuudkhan.What’smore,noone could fully explain the reasonswhy—except, perhaps, as evidenceof thisSarfrazKhan’sprodigiouscharismaandhisuncannyability tocommandothermenbybendingtheirwilltohisown.Whocouldsaywherethetruthendedandthelegendsbegan?AllIknewwas

thatthiswassomeoneIneededtomeet.SnowwasfallinginearnestwhenIheadednorthwestfromthetownofSost

ontheonlyroadthroughtheCharpurson.BythetimeIarrivedinZuudkhan,justbefore9:00P.M.,theflat-roofed,mud-walledhomesofthevillageweredrapedinwhiteandtheplacelookedlikeasceneoutofDoctorZhivago.Iwastravelingwith Faisal Baig, the CAI’s security man, who had been born and raised in

Zuudkhan, and we were slated to spend the night with the family of Faisal’snephew,Saidullah,whowasrunningseveralofourschoolsinthenearbyHunzaValley.AfterduckingthroughthelowdoorwayintoSaidullah’shome,wegreetedhis

parents and settled cross-legged on some thick yak-wool rugs, leaning backagainst walls, which were coated in a layer of blackened soot that had theconsistencyofhardenedmolasses.Saidullah’ssister,Narzeek,hadjustservedathermos of hot tea when the door swung open and in blew a man clad in acavernousRussiantundrajacketwholookedasifhehadjustclawedhiswayoutofbedandrunasaladforkthroughhishair.Ashecameswishingintotheroom,heseemedpreoccupiedwiththedialonaplasticradiothatwasblastingaUighurrock-and-roll station from Kashgar, in western China. Then he spotted methroughthebluehazeoftheyak-dungfireandpromptlyforgotabouttheradio.“Ah,DoctorGreg, you have arrived,” he cried, flinging open his arms and

flashing a wide grin that revealed a row of metallic teeth. “That is baf(excellent)!”Heproceededtowadeacrosstheseaofyak-woolrugsandenvelopmeinamassivebearhugbeforesteppingbacktoshakehands.ItwasthenthatInoticedtheclaw.Threeofthefingersonhisrighthandhad

bent backon themselves in amanner that resembled the talonson a bird, andwhenweshook,hesqueezedmyhandwithonlyhisforefingerandthumb.Iwascuriousaboutwhatcouldexplainsuchaninjury,buthehadalreadyperformedanabout-face,whippedbackoutthedoor,anddisappearedintothenight.Amomentlater,however,hewasback.InhisarmshecarriedanexpensiveredblanketfromIranthatwasapparently

reservedforhonoredguests,andheinsistedthatIwrapmyselfinit.AfterIhadsettledtheblanketaroundme,wesharedourfirstcupofteaandIbegantolearnhisstory.

For the better part of the past forty-two years, Sarfraz had been, by his owntestimony, “no much success.” His first marriage had failed—a considerableembarrassmentinMuslimculture—andhissecondmarriagewasapprovedonlyafterhehad lied tohisprospective in-lawsaboutnothavingchildren fromhisfirstmarriage (in fact, he had twodaughters) and then shocked themwith thedemand to see the face of their daughter prior to the wedding. He had alsodrifted through a series of marginal business dealings in locations stretchingfromtheKarakoramto theArabianSeawithoutmanaging toestablisheitherahomeorasolidfutureforhimself.Mostimportant,perhaps,hehadfailedtofind

acallingthatdrewouthisinnateabilitiesasaleaderandanagentofchange.BornandraisedinZuudkhan,hewouldnevergetmorethananeighth-grade

education—acquired in a village at the opposite endof theCharpursonValleythat tookfivedaystoreachonhorseback.Theboardingexpenseat thisschoolwas a considerable burden for his father,HajiMuhamad,who drew amodestincome as a border patrolman collecting customs levies. Nevertheless, HajiMuhamad and Sarfraz’s mother, Bibi Gulnaz, were committed to their eldestson’s education because an eighth-grade graduation certificate would qualifyhimtoworkasaprimary-schoolteacher.In accordance with this plan, Sarfraz finished his studies and duly went to

work teaching first grade inZuudkhan’s very first elementary school. In goodweatherthestudentsmetoutside,andinbadweathertheygatheredinthekitchenof the communal jumatkhana (the Ismailis’ place ofworship).Within a year,Sarfrazhadrealizedthathedetestedteachinganddecidedtoenlistinthearmy,whereheservedasacommandointhePunjabRegiments’elitemountainforce.PostedtoKashmirin1974,hewaswoundedtwiceduringafirefightwithIndiantroops.Thefirstbulletgrazedthesideofhisupperrightarm,whilethesecondpasseddirectlythroughthepalmofhisrighthand.Themilitarydoctorsfailedtorepair the hand properly, and as paralysis set in, three of his fingers foldedpermanently around themselves to form the distinctive crook that is now histrademark.(Despitetheimpediment,heretainstheabilitytoholdapen,shootarifle, and manipulate the steering wheel of a speeding Land Cruiser whilegabbingonhiscellphone.)Sent homewith an honorable discharge and a four-dollarmonthly pension,

SarfrazresumedteachinginZuudkhanbutlastedonlyayearbecauseofhispoorpayandexpandingfamily.HethenmovedtothenearbytownofGilgit,wherehebecameaminivandriveronthetreacherousKarakoramHighway,oftendrivingforthirtyhoursstraightandrarelygoinghome.Plaguedbynomuchsuccess,hemovedontoKarachi,Pakistan’slargestcityanditscommercialcenter,wherehelandedajobasachokidar(securityguard)forsixmonths.ThenitwasnorthtoLahore, the country’s academic and cultural center, to work in a Chineserestaurant.Nomuchsuccessthereeither,andbytheearlyeightiesSarfrazwasonthe move again, this time to Peshawar, the capital of Pakistan’s volatileNorthwest Frontier Province, where he worked as a chauffeur, mechanic, andautobrokerbeforedeciding,onceandforall,togiveuponcars.Outofoptions,hereturnedhometoZuudkhan—completingacirclethatisfamiliartomillionsofmenwho come from Pakistan’s tribal areas, where the unemployment ratehoversaround80percent.Bythistime,theSovietUnion’soccupationofAfghanistanwasinfullswing.

WhentheSovietsdispatchedasquadronofhelicoptersacrosstheborderandintothe skies above Zuudkhan, Pakistan’s government responded by declaring theCharpurson Valley a security zone and closing it to all outsiders. Sensing anopportunity,SarfrazdecidedtotakeuptradingovertheborderwithAfghanistanby leveraginghis family’sconnections inside theWakhanCorridor. (Acenturyearlier, Sarfraz’s ancestors had moved to the Charpurson Valley from theWakhan,andmanymembersofhisextendedfamilyremainedintheCorridor.)Hespentthenextdecadeasahigh-altitudetrader.Threeorfourtimesayear,

hewouldworkhiswayover theIrshadPassonhorsebackoronfoot, ferryingrice, flour, sugar, tea, cigarettes, cooking oil, knives, batteries, salt, pots andpans,chewingtobacco,andanythingelsetheinhabitantsoftheCorridormightneedtomakeitthroughthewinter.Theseitemswouldbeexchangedforbutterand animals—mainly yaks and fat-tailed sheep—which he would drive backoverthepass.Hewasalsonotaversetosmugglingtheoccasionalconsignmentofgemstonesorwhiskey,thoughhesteeredclearofopiumandguns.It was a hard way to make a living, even when it was supplemented with

sporadicemploymentasahigh-altitudemountaineeringporteronK2andothernearby peaks. Nevertheless, these experiences imbued Sarfraz with animpressiveskillset.HecametoknownotonlythenuancesoftheterrainandthemovementsoftheAfghanandTajikmilitarypatrols(whichheavoided)butalsothe habits of the wild animals, especially the ibex and theMarco Polo sheep(whichhetookgreatpleasureinhunting).Intheprocess,hegraduallybuiltupadensenetworkofbusinessassociateswithinthevillagesandsettlementsnorthoftheHinduKush.Bytheendofadecade,hislinguisticrepertoirehadburgeonedto the point where he could speak seven languages: Urdu, Punjabi, Dari,Burushkashi,Pashto,English,andWakhi.ThosegypsyyearsthatSarfrazhadspentasanitinerantjack-of-all-tradesand

as an alpine peddlermayhavebeen rich in adventure, butwhenhe recountedthem beforeme that night in Zuudkhan, he did not romanticize this nomuchsuccess period of his life. In his view, his aimlesswanderings and his lack offinancial success seemed to underscore how difficult it can be for almost anyman(orwoman)withastreakofindependencetofindhisplacewithinthepoorvillagesandtheteemingcitiesofPakistan.Formy part, however, I perceived something quite different—and farmore

valuable.

By now the hour had grown late and the other members of Saidullah Baig’s

household had begun dropping off to sleep. When I realized just how muchSarfrazknewabout the far sideof theHinduKush, however, I tossed anotherclumpofdriedyakdungontothefireandtoldhimthatIwantedhimtogivemeacrash-coursetutorialontheWakhan.Howmanypeoplewerelivingthere,whattribedidtheybelongto,andwhatweretheirreligiousandpoliticalaffiliations?Sarfraz chuckled and replied that it wasn’t that simple. It was true, he

acknowledged,thattherewereonlyaboutfivethousandresidentsintheWakhan.But insidetheCorridor’s120-milestretch—whichinplacesis less thantwelvemiles wide—one encountered three different communities, each with its owndistinctive customs, traditions, and ethnic identity, speaking three differentlanguagesandadheringtotwoseparatebranchesofIslam.At the fareasternendwere theKirghiznomads,whomovewith theirherds

along the alpine pastures above twelve thousand feet. Descendants of thehorsemenwhofoundedtheOttomanEmpire,theKirghizareSunniswhospeakacognate of Turkish—attributes that differentiate them from their Wakhineighborsdirectlytothewest.TheWakhipeople,Sarfrazexplained,areethnicTajikswhotracetheirancestrybacktothePersianEmpireinmodernIran.Theyaresedentaryfarmerswhogrowbarley,buckwheat,andpotatoesalongtherivervalleysataltitudesconsiderablylowerthanthosewheretheKirghizdwell.TheWakhispeakacognateofPersian,andtheybelongtotheIsmailisectofIslam.Finally, at the far western end of theWakhan, where the Corridor spills intoBadakshan, the northernmost province of Afghanistan, one finds a thirdcommunity.LiketheWakhi,theyareethnicTajiks.ButinsteadofIsmaili,theyare conservative Sunnis, and their languages, Tajik and Dari, are separatecognatesofPersian.WhenSarfraz saw that Iwas struggling tomake senseof theseoverlapping

religiousandlinguisticcharacteristics,heseizedanotebook,toreoffasheetofpaper, and declared that he was going to draw a special map that would cutthrough the confusion. Like everywhere else in Afghanistan, he intoned,geographyisfarlessimportantthanrelationships.IfyouwanttounderstandthewaythingsworkintheWakhan,thelocationsofthevillagesandtheriversandthe roads really don’t matter all that much.What does matter is who swearsallegiance towhom.This is thekey to grasping theway that power flows, hedeclared, and when you comprehend the dynamics of power, everything elsefallsintoplace.Thenhedrewthreecirclesacrossthepage—left,right,andcenter—andinthe

middle of each circle he wrote a name. The Kirghiz were represented by thecircletotheright(theeast),andthenamehewroteinsideitwasthatofAbdulRashidKhan.ThiswastheheadmanwhohadrefusedtoparticipateintheLast

ExodustoTurkeyin1982andelectedinsteadtoremainintheHighPamirwithasmallgroupoffollowers.Thenameinsidethecentercircle(whichrepresentedtheWakhipeople)wasShahIsmailKhan.Hisheadquarters,Sarfrazexplained,wereinthevillageofQala-e-Panj,halfwaythroughtheCorridor,andhetookhisordersfromtheAgaKhan,thesupremeleaderoftheIsmailis.Theleftcircle(theTajiks)borethenameofSadharKhan,amujahadeencommanderwhohadspenttenyearsfightingtheRussiansandanotherfiveyearsfightingtheTaliban.Power flows from west to east, Sarfraz explained. The Tajiks have more

money and better weapons than the Wakhi; the Wakhi are more productivefarmers than theKirghiz; and theKirghiz have huge herds of sheep and yakswhosewoolandmeatarecovetedbyeveryoneelse.EventhoughSadharKhanisthestrongestleaderintheentireCorridor,thecivilaffairsoftheWakhanhingeonadelicatebalancebetweenhim,ShahIsmailKhan,andAbdulRashidKhan,eachofwhomactsasakindofsupremecommanderwithinhisrespectivesphereof influence.Nothing takes place inside theCorridor that does not escape theknowledge of these three “big men.” No new venture unfolds without theirpermission.WhenSarfrazhadfinishedlayingallofthisout,heplungedintoatopicthat

heldfargreaterinterestforhimthanthehumandynamicsoftheWakhan.“Andnowwewilldiscusshorses,”heannounced,growingvisiblyanimated.“BecauseforthepeopleoftheWakhan,nothingismoreimportant!”As the night wore on, we talked of serious equine matters: the beauty of

horses, their capacity to elevate the status of thosewho canmaster them, theimportanceoftheviolentgamesthatthemenofthisregionplayonhorsebackinordertodemonstratetheircourageandprowess.Bythetimewehadexhaustedthis topic, it was nearly dawn. Before breaking off for the night, however,Sarfrazsaidhehadasuggestiontomake.“Ifyouare truly interested in theWakhan,”he said, “then tomorrow letme

takeyoutotheentrancetoIrshadPass,andyouwillbeabletoseetheroutethatleadsintotheCorridor.”Andwiththat,hebidmegoodnightandslippedoutthedoortoreturntohishome.That was the first of what would eventually become an endless string of

conversationsbetweenSarfrazandme.Atthetime,Inowbelieve,heregardedmeasnothingmore(andnothingless)thananeccentricAmericanwithalustforadventure who offered the chance for him to earn some cash.What I saw inSarfraz, however, was a man who possessed energy, ambition, and a ratherflamboyant sense of his own theatricality—and who seemed to be genuinelyintriguedbyourlast-place-firstapproachtobuildingschools,perhapsbecauseitmirroredsomethinginhisownsoul.

IalsoknewthatIwasinthepresenceofaproud,innovative,frustrated,andimmenselycompetentmanwhoseemedtobeconductinghislifeasifitwereanendlessbushkashimatch.Inshort, I recognizedaspirit thatwasnotkindredtomy own somuch as its complement. In ways that neither Sarfraz nor I fullyunderstoodatthetime,eachofusseemedtoroundoutandfinishoffsomethinginsidetheother.And so it was that our conversation on that snowy evening in Zuudkhan

markedthebeginningofthegreatestfriendshipofmylife.

Thefollowingday,aftertheeldersofthevillagehadtakenmeonatouroftheirnewwaterpipeand thehydroelectricgeneratorwhoseconstruction theCentralAsia Institute had financed, Sarfraz and I clambered into his cherry red LandCruiseranddrovenorthonahorrendousroadwhosesurfacewascoatedwithagelatinous soup of ice, mud, and loose boulders. Our destination was BabaGundiZiarat,asmallhexagonalshrineattheedgeofPakistan’snorthernborder,onthethresholdoftheAfghanfrontier.It took an hour to complete the fifteen-mile trip, which took us through a

barrenlandscapeoftreeless,rock-strewnhillsthatresembledthesurfaceofthemoon.ThebleaknessoftheCharpurson(whichtranslatesto“placeofnothing”inWakhi)washardenedevenfurtherbytheweather,afrigidmixtureofsleetandsnowthatwasperiodicallyturnedhorizontalbythestronggustsofwindcomingofftheHinduKush.Aswedrewneartheshrine,wespiedaherdofroughlytwentyyaks,tended

byfivemenonhorseback.AgroupofKirghizhadapparentlyjustcomethroughtheIrshadPassforafinaltradingsessionbeforewintersetin.These men were Sarfraz’s friends and acquaintances, so after a round of

introductions had been made, we gathered up several yak-wool blankets andspreadthemonthewetground.ItwaswhileweweresittingtheredrinkingsaltteathatthesquadronoffourteenKirghizriders,themenwhohadbeensentoutbyAbdulRashidKhantofindme,abruptlythunderedaroundthecornerattheentrancetothepass.Their leader was RoshanKhan, the oldest son of Abdul Rashid Khan, and

whenwehad finishedexchangingpleasantries,Sarfraz leaped into thebackofhisLandCruiserandpresentedtheKirghizwithfortybagsofflourasanearlycelebrationofId(oneofthetwobiggestholidaysontheIslamiccalendar).Whenthecargowasunloaded,weheadedback towardZuudkhan,surroundedby thehorsemen.

WewerebackatthevillagebyearlyeveningandconvergedonSarfraz’smud-walledhome.WhiletheKirghizdismountedandtendedtotheirhorses,Sarfrazselectedafatmai(sheep),droppeditgentlytothegroundwithitsheadpointingsouthwest toward Mecca, said a quick blessing, and drew a knife across itsthroat.When theanimalhad finishedbleedingout,Sarfraz’swife,BibiNuma,removedtheskinfromthecarcassandsetaboutpreparingthemeat.By nightfall, nearly forty people had crammed into Sarfraz’s one-room,

sixteen by twenty-foot home and arranged themselves with their backs to thewalls. TheKirghiz sat cross-legged in their enormous boots, fromwhich theypulledouttheirridingknivestoserveassilverware.(Itisgenerallyforbiddentowearshoesinsidesomeone’shome,butSarfrazhadgiventheKirghizaspecialdispensationbecauseiftheyremovedtheirboots,theirfeetwouldswellupasaresult of the high-altitude crossing they had just completed, and it would bealmostimpossibletogettheirbootsonagain.)Mostof themuttonhadbeenboiled ina largepot,althoughasmallportion

hadbeenfriedintokebabsinapan.Therealdelicacy,however,wasthedumba,theblubberlikefatfromtheanimal’stailanditshindend.Thiswasplacedonaplatter in the center of the room,where it sat quivering like a hunkof goldenJell-O.TheKirghizinhaledthisfeastwiththeharrowingrelishofmenwhohadbeen

subsistingonrainwaterandchewingtobacco.Theyscoopedupthefatwiththeirfists, they stripped themeat from the boneswith their riding knives, and theysnappedthebonesinhalfandsuckedthemarrowintotheirmouthswithmoistslurpingsounds.Everythingwasconsumed—thehead,thetesticles,theeyeballs—and when they were through, the men took their hands, which were nowslatheredingrease,andcarefullysmearedthemovertheirfaces,theirhair,andtheirbeards.Later,wheneveryonehadpronouncedhimselfsated,Chinesethermosesfilled

withsaltteawerebroughtin,followedbylargebowlsofarak,fermentedmare’smilk. Then it was time to prepare for bed, and as blankets were brought toSarfraz’shomefromallover thevillage, theguestssteppedoutside toperformfinalablutions.By this time, thewindwas settled, the snowhadsubsided,and the skywas

litteredwithasprayofconstellationssodenseandsobrightthatthemilkyglowoftheheavensdefinedeveryinchoftheridgelinesalongthepeakssurroundingZuudkhan.As the horsemen squatted in the starlight cleaning their teethwithmatchsticks or the tips of their knives, Roshan Khan stood beside me for amoment, looking up at the night sky. Then, with Sarfraz translating so that Icould follow, he said that he had amessage fromhis father that he needed to

recite:

Forme,ahardlifeisnoproblem.Butforourchildren,thislifeisnogood.Wehave little food,poorhouses, andno school.WeknowyouhavebeenbuildingschoolsinPakistan,sowillyoucomeandbuildthesameforusinAfghanistan?Wewilldonatetheland,thestones,thelabor,everythingthatyouask.Comenowandstaywithus for thewinterasourguest.Wewilltaketeatogether.Wewillbutcherourbiggestsheep.Wewilldiscussmattersproperlyandwewillplanaschool.

IrepliedthatIwashonoredbythisinvitation,butIcouldnotpossiblyreturnover the Irshad Pass to camp out with Abdul Rashid Khan for the next fivemonths.First,IhadnoformalpermissiontoenterAfghanistan—andtheTaliban,who ran the government in Kabul, weren’t exactly handing out visas to U.S.citizens.Moreimportant,mypregnantwifewasexpectingmehome,andifIdidnotreturnsoon,shewouldbedeeplyupset.SurelytheKirghizcouldunderstandtheseriousnessandthemagnitudeofawife’sdispleasure?RoshanKhannoddedgravely.However, I continued, Iwoulddefinitelycome tovisit themwhen Igot the

chance,andwhenIarrived,Iwoulddomybesttohelpthem.Inthemeantime,Ineededsome information.CouldAbdulRashidKhanperhapsgivemea roughsenseofthenumberofchildren,agesfivetofifteen,whoneedededucation?“Noproblem,”Roshan toldme. “Soonwewill give you the nameof every

singlepersoninsidetheWakhan.”Thisseemedabitfar-fetched.Intheregionthatthesemenhadjustriddenout

of, there are no phones, no faxes, no e-mail, no postal system, and no roads.Moreover,thankstothesnowandthestorms,theareawasabouttobesealedofffromtherestoftheworldforsevenmonths.“How in theworld do they propose to get this information to us?” I asked,

turning to Sarfraz. “Andwhen it comes time for us to enter Afghanistan andmake ourway up to theWakhan, how canwe tell Abdul RashidKhanwhenwe’recoming?”“Noproblem,wedonot need to tell,”Sarfraz replied airily. “AbdulRashid

Khanwillfindawayofgettingustheinformation.Andhewillknowwhenwearecoming.”Havingnootheralternative,Ishruggedandtookhimathisword.Now Roshan Khan and I enacted a ritual that I recognized from six years

earlier,whenHajiAlihadstoodinthebarleyfieldsofKorpheandaskedmetoprovideanassurancethatIwascomingbacktohim.TheleaderoftheKirghizhorsemenplacedhisrighthandonmyleftshoulder,andIdidthesamewithhim.

“So,youwillpromisetocometoWakhantobuildaschoolforourchildren?”heasked,lookingmeintheeye.InaplacelikeZuudkhan,anaffirmativeresponsetoaquestionlike thatcan

conferanobligationthatisakintoabloodoath—andforsomeonelikeme,thiscan be a real problem. As those who work with me in the United Statesunderstand all toopainfully, timemanagement is notmy strong suit:Over theyears, I have missed so many plane flights, failed to appear at so manyappointments,andbrokensomanyobligationsthatI longagostoppedkeepingtrack. But education is a sacred thing, and the pledge to build a school is acommitmentthatcannotbesurrenderedorbroken,regardlessofhowlongitmaytake,howmanyobstaclesmustbesurmounted,orhowmuchmoneyitwillcost.Itisbysuchpromisesthatthebalancesheetofone’slifeismeasured.“Yes,”Ireplied.“Ipromisetocomeandbuildyouaschool.”The next morning by five o’clock, they were gone. It would be five years

beforewesaweachotheragain.

CHAPTER3

TheYearZero

Butitwasthewomenwhoburnedtheeyeswithtears.TheTalibanhadhatedthem.—COLINTHUBRON,ShadowoftheSilkRoad

Girls’schoolbombedbyTalibaninBaujur,NWFP,Pakistan

If the band of Kirghiz horsemen riding north toward the Irshad Pass on thatOctober morning seemed to belong to the thirteenth century, the Afghanistantheywere returning towas trapped in amodern-dayDarkAge inwhich civilsocietywasundersiegeandtimeitselfseemedtobemovingbackward.Ten years earlier, the country had shattered into a patchwork of isolated

fiefdomsastherivalmujahadeenmilitiaswhohadbeenresponsiblefordrivingthe Soviet army back beyond the borders of the USSR started battling oneanother forpower.During theearly1990s,virtuallyevery townanddistrict inAfghanistandescended intounbridled lawlessness.Themain roads connectingthe cities of Quetta, Herat, Kabul, Jalalabad, andMazar-i-Sharif were chokedwithhundredsofextralegalcheckpoints,eachmannedbyapettychieftanoraband of young fighters armed with a few Kalashnikovs who would demand

paymentsfromtravelers.IntownssuchasTorkhamandKandahar,youngboysandgirlswereregularlyabductedandpressedintoservitudeorraped.Merchantsand shopkeepers were forced to contend with gangs that indulged in looting,extortion, andmurder.Thearbitrarynatureof thesecrimesand thechaos theyunleashedeventuallygaverisetoanatmosphereofwidespreadpublicrevulsion,fear,andbetrayal.Then inOctober 1994, a group of about two hundred youngmen,many of

whomhadgrownupinthesqualidrefugeecampsaroundthecityofPeshawar,joinedforcestolaunchanewjihad.Thevastmajorityofthesemenhadstudiedinhard-linemadrassas,orreligiousschools,sponsoredbySaudiArabiandonorsorthegovernmentofPakistan,wheretheyhadbeenindoctrinatedwithavirulentandradicalbrandofIslamistideology.CallingthemselvestheTaliban,aPashtoword that means “student of Islam,” they crossed the Pakistan border andswarmed into the Afghan truck-stop town of Spin Boldak with the aim ofrestoringrighteousnessandstabilitybyunitingthecountryunderthebannerofa“trueIslamicorder.”TheTalibanworeblackturbans,flewawhiteflag,andsworeallegiancetoa

reclusive,one-eyedPashtunnamedMullahOmarwhomadehisheadquartersinKandaharandwasrumoredtoanointhimselfwithaperfumehesaidwasbasedon the recipe of the scent used by the Prophet Muhammad. During the nextseveralweeks,theirranksrapidlyswelledwithnewrecruitsuntiltheirnumbersreachedmore than twenty thousand fighters. Aided byweapons, ammunition,and communications technology supplied by Pakistan’s most powerfulintelligence agency, they achieved a series of decisive victories against theirmujahadeenrivals.WithinamonththeyhadstormedKandaharandcapturedthetown’sairport,wheretheycommandeeredsixMiG-21fighterjetsandfourMi-17transporthelicopters.BythefollowingSeptember,theirmotorizedcavalryofJapanesepickuptrucksmountedwithmachinegunshadoverrunthewesterncityof Herat. A year after that, they took the eastern town of Jalalabad and thenKabul itself, where they seized Afghanistan’s Communist leader and formerpresident,MohammadNajibullah,castratedhiminhisbedroom,tiedhimtothebackofaLandCruiser,anddraggedhimroundandroundthecompoundofthepalacebeforehanginghisbodyfromatrafficpostforallthecitytosee.Bytheendof1996,theTalibancontrolledovertwo-thirdsofthecountryand

had established a draconian regime that blended sadism with lunacy. Bizarreedictswhere issued that forbadepeople fromlistening tomusic,playingcards,laughing in public, or flying a kite. Marbles and cigarettes were taboo.Toothpaste was banned, along with sorcery and American-style haircuts—especially those thatmimicked the look sported by LeonardoDiCaprio in the

movieTitanic.Thesenewruleswereenforcedbythuggishofficialsfromthe“Departmentof

thePromotionofVirtueandthePreventionofVice,”whopatrolledthestreetsinpickuptruckswieldingAK-47sorwhipsmadeofradioantennae.Intheirzealtoimposeanewmoralorder, theycreatedanatmospheresoaustere that theonlyacceptable form of public entertainment was attending executions in whichcriminalswerestonedtodeathinsoccerstadiumsorhungfromstreetlamps.Allacross the capital city, a place once beloved for the songs of its nightingales,thrushes, and doves, anyonewho dared to keep birdswas imprisoned and thebirdswereslain.Inadditiontotheirmanyothertargets,theTalibanfiercelyopposedanything

deemedbid’ah,theArabicwordforinnovationthatleadstodeviationfromtheKoran.Aspartof theircampaigntosevervirtuallyallcontactwith theoutsideworld, they banned movies and videos, destroyed television sets by runningthem over with tanks, strung spools of music cassettes from lampposts, anddecreed that anyone caught carrying a book that was “un-Islamic” could beexecuted.Eventually,thisviolentcatechismspilledoverintoanassaultonthesocialand

culturalfabricofAfghanistanitself.At theNationalMuseum,whichcontainedperhaps theworld’s finestcollectionofcentralAsianart,virtuallyeverystatueandstonetabletwassmashedtopieceswithhammersandaxes—anexpressionof the Taliban’s conviction that artistic depictions of living creatures help topromote idolatry.For the same reasons, theyblewup twomammothBuddhiststatues in the province of Bamiyan that had been carved into the side of asandstone cliff during the third and fifth centuries. InsideKabul’s presidentialpalace, the head of every peacock on the silk wallpaper was painted over inwhite,andthestonelionsguardingthebuilding’sentranceweredecapitated.Bythelate1990s,thisinfernohadbeguntowarpandconsumeeventhemost

sacredprinciplesat theheartof theTaliban’svision—thespiritof Islam itself.Islam is not simply a religious faith based upon the words of the ProphetMuhammadandfoundedontheprincipleofabsolutesubmissionto thewillofAllah.IslamisalsotheframeworkofacivilizationcreatedbythecommunityofMuslim believers—a framework that includes not simply theology but alsophilosophy,science, thearts,andmysticism.WheneverIslamiccivilizationhasachieveditsfullestandmostbeautifullevelsofexpression,ithasdonesoinpartbecauseitsleaderspermittedthesocietiesoverwhichtheyruledtobeenrichedbytolerance,diversity,andanabidingrespectforboththedivineandthehuman.Bydeliberately seeking to destroy this tradition, theTaliban—likemanyothercontemporary Islamic fundamentalist groups—abandoned the message of the

Korantobuildasocietythatisjustandequitableandwhoserulersaredirectlyresponsibleforthewelfareofalltheircitizens.OfthemanywaysinwhichtheTalibanpervertedandbrutalizedthetenetsof

Islam, however, nothing quitematched the crimes that they visited upon theirsisters,daughters,mothers,andwives.

During the early 1970s, the women of urban Afghanistan enjoyed a level ofpersonal freedom and autonomy that was relatively liberal for a conservativeMuslimsociety.According to theU.S.-AfghanWomen’sCouncil,a significantpercentage of thewomen inKabulworked for a living—tens of thousands ofthemservinginmedicine,law,journalism,engineering,andotherprofessions.Inthecountry’s ruralareas,ofcourse, theopportunities for femaleeducationandemploymentwerefarmorelimited;but inKabul itself,unveiledfemalescouldbe seen inside factories and offices, on television newscasts, andwalking thestreetswearingEasternEuropean-styledresses andhighheels.Within the firstweekoftakingKabul,theTalibanstrippedawaytheseprivilegesandsummarilyrenderedthefemalepopulationsilentandinvisible.Ineverymajorcityandtownacrossthecountry,womenwerenowforbidden

togooutsidetheirhomesunlessaccompaniedbyaclosemalerelativeandcladinanink-blueburka.Thefewwhodaredventureoutinpublicwerenotallowedtopurchasegoodsfrommaleshopkeepers,shakehandswithortalktomen,orwear shoeswhoseheelsmadeaclickingsound.Anywomanwhoexposedherankleswassubjecttowhipping,andthosewhopaintedtheirnailscouldhavethetipsoftheirfingerscutoff.Younggirlswerebannedfromwashingclothinginrivers or other public places, participating in sports, or appearing on thebalconiesoftheirhomes.Anystreetortownthatborethenameofafemalehadtobechanged.Astheseinjunctionsagainstwomenpiledup,unforeseencontradictionsgave

rise to even more grotesque levels of absurdity. Women who were ill, forexample, could be treated only by female doctors—yet during the first weekafter the Taliban seized Kabul, all women physicians were confined to theirhomesanddeniedpermission togoout, therebyseveringhalf thepopulation’saccess tohealthcare.Thosesamerestrictionsalsomeant that thecapitalcity’swar widows who had no living male relative—a group whose numbers theUSAIDestimatedtoexceedfiftythousand—suddenlyhadnowayofearninga

living except through begging, stealing, or prostitution. Those enterprises, ofcourse, were violations of the law that merited punishments ranging frombeatingandamputationtobeingstonedtodeath,dependingonthewhimsofthereligiouspolice.One of the primary targets in this war against womenwas, quite naturally,

education. The moment the Taliban captured Kabul, every girls’ school anduniversity in the countrywas abruptly closed, and the act of teaching girls toread and write was outlawed. In the capital city alone, this resulted in theimmediatesuspensionof106,256elementary-schoolgirlsandmore than8,000femaleuniversitystudents.Inthesamemoment,7,793femaleteacherslosttheirjobs.To enforce this policy, thevice-and-virtue squads started carrying rubberwhipsmadefrombicycletiresthatwerespecificallydesignedtobeusedongirlsattemptingtoattendclass.Anyteachercaughtrunningaclandestinegirls’schoolwassubjecttoexecution,sometimesdirectlyinfrontofherstudents.In response to such outrages, a handful ofwomen resisted by setting up an

underground network to provide health care, education, and a means ofcommunicating with the outside world. Groups that included the Britishgovernment’sDepartmentforInternationalDevelopment,SavetheChildren,andtheSwedishCommitteeforAfghanistanhelpedcourageouswomensetupsecretschools forgirls inhouses, offices, andeven caves.By1999, some thirty-fivethousand girls around the country were being homeschooled. Despite thesedevelopments, however, the experience of finding themselves imprisoned insmall apartments and cut off from all aspects of public life began to take anappallingtoll.InahealthsurveyofAfghanwomenconductedbyPhysiciansforHumanRightsin1998,42percentoftherespondentsmetthediagnosticcriteriafor post-traumatic stress disorder, 97 percent displayed symptoms of majordepression, and 21 percent revealed that they experienced thoughts of killingthemselves“quiteoften”or“extremelyoften.”Underthesortsofconditionsimposedbythisfanaticaltheocracy,theideathat

an ex-mountain climber from Montana might consider venturing intoAfghanistan in order to start building schools and promoting girls’ educationwas,quitesimply,unthinkable.Bythesummerof2001,however,theTaliban’sfortuneswerepoisedtosufferaradicalreversal.Several years earlier, having already been evicted from his native Saudi

Arabia,OsamabinLadenhadbeenexpelledfromhisbaseinSudanalongwithhiswives,hischildren,andscoresofhisclosestfollowers.Withtheblessingofthe Taliban leadership and the government of Pakistan, Bin Laden and hisentouragehadbeenpermittedtosettleinAfghanistan,wherehehadproceededto plan and finance a series of terrorist operations, including theAugust 1998

bombings of theAmerican embassies inKenya andTanzania,which theU.S.StateDepartmentreportedkilledmorethan230peopleandwoundedmorethan4,000.AlthoughtheTalibanleaderswereclearlyuneasyaboutBinLaden’sterrorist

activities,theyhadrebuffedrepeateddemandsbyU.S.governmentofficialsthathebeexpelledfromthecountryorhandedoverfortrial.TheTaliban’sreasoningwasstraightforward:BinLadenwasafellowMuslimwhohadfoughtwiththemagainsttheRussians,andtoturnhimovertotheAmericans—oranyoneelse—would have violated the Pashtun code of nenawatay, the right of refuge andprotection that is afforded all guests. This is where matters stood during thesecondweekofSeptember,2001.Atthetime,IhadreturnedtoZuudkhan,SarfrazKhan’svillageinthewestern

part of the CharpursonValley, in order to check up on awomen’s vocationalcenterthatwehadrecentlyestablished.Onthesecondnightofmyvisit,Istayedupquitelatemeetingwithagroupofcommunityeldersanddidn’tmakeittobeduntilafter3:00A.M.Sarfraz,asheoftendoes,remainedawake,fiddlingwithhisRussianshortwaveradiointhehopeofcatchinghisfavoriteradiostationoutoftheChinesecityofKashgar,whichbroadcaststhereedyUighurmusichelovestolistento.Instead,hepickedupadisturbingnewsbroadcastaboutaneventthathad just taken place on the other side of the world. Shortly after 4:30 A.M.,FaisalBaigshookmeawake.“I’msorry,”hesaid.“AvillagecalledNewYorkhasbeenbombed.”

The American response to the attacks on the World Trade Center and thePentagonwasswiftanddevastating.OperationEnduringFreedom,launchedonOctober7,involvedbothamassiveaerialbombardmentandagroundoffensivespearheaded by a loose coalition of mujahadeen militias from northernAfghanistanwho received the support of several hundred Central IntelligenceAgency operatives and U.S. Special Forces. By November 12, the NorthernAlliance had seized nearly all of the territory controlled by the Taliban andretakenKabul.Amonthlater,TalibanfightersabandonedtheirlaststrongholdinKandahar, the southern city from which they had launched their originalcampaigntoconquerthecountry.Astheleadersscatteredandordinaryfightersmelted back into the villages or fled across the border to seek refuge inPakistan’sTribalAreas, themovementofbeardedclericsandearnestmadrassapupilsthathadsweptacrossallbutatinysliverofnorthernAfghanistanseemedtovanishintothinair.Andsoitwas,inthesecondweekofDecember,thatIwas

finallyabletopaymyfirstvisittoKabul.The road from Pakistan to theAfghan capital is on thewestern end of the

1,600-mile Grand Trunk Highway, which is one of South Asia’s longest andoldestmajorroads,datingbacktotheMauryanEmpirethatbeganin322B.C.TheGrandTrunkwasoriginallyaseriesof traderoutes that linked theBayofBengal andpresent-dayPakistan toAfghanistan and thePersianEmpire.Overcenturies,dozensofsuccessiveempiresusedthisroutetomovearmiesrangingfromfoot-soldierinfantriesandelephant-mountedcavalriestomechanizedtankdivisions.My trip started out with Suleman Minhas driving me through the western

suburbsofPeshawarandpastacheckpostfeaturingatwenty-year-oldsignboardthat declared NO FOREIGNERS ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT. Fromthere,theroadheadsupintotheSafedKohMountains,aperiloustwenty-three-milestretchthatneedstobenavigatedwithprecisiontododgeoncomingtrafficfrombothfrontandrear. (Somelocalscall thissectionof theGrandTrunktheMartyr’s Road because so many drivers have been killed in accidents or bybandits.)Thissegmentconcludesat the townofLandiKotal,which featuresasmuggler’s bazaarwhere one can purchase everything from tires to televisionsetstoheroin.DirectlyofftheroadinLandiKotalisacolonialcemeterywherehundreds of British soldiers whowere slaughtered during the SecondAfghanWar(1879-90)andtheThirdAfghanWar(1898and1919)areburied—agraphicreminderofthefatethathasbefalleneveryforeignarmythathaseverattemptedtoinvadeandcontrolAfghanistan.From there, theGrand Trunk begins a dramatic descent toward theAfghan

border.Alongthissteepandnarrowincline,overladensupplytrucksshiftdownto their lowest gears as they thread through the rust red limestone walls thatmark the legendary Khyber Pass, through which armies from Alexander theGreat and Genghis Khan to the Persians, the Moguls, and the British havepassed.FromtheKhyberPass,itisonlyaboutthreemilestotheAfghanborderandthetownofTorkham.InDecember 2001, Torkhamwas a frenzied circus of thousands ofAfghan

refugees, some of whom were returning to Afghanistan while others wereheadingbacktoPakistan.OneelderlyAfghanmanwithawispybeardtoldmehewasfleeingAfghanistanduetotheU.S.bombingcampaign,whileawomanwith a handful of kids declared that shewas evacuating because her land hadbeenseizedbysquattersandshehadnowheretogo.Theactualborderwasanopencircularareacrownedonbothsidesbymassivemetalgates.ThePakistaniimmigrationclerks’officefeatureddozensofofficial-lookingfilingcabinets.OntheAfghanistanside,thearrangementsconsistedofadesk,achair,andasingle

courteousofficialwhogavemeonelookandperformedastaccatoofstampingonthesurfaceofmypassport.“MostwelcometoAfghanistan,”hedeclaredwithabigsmile.“CanIgiveyousometea?”Sofar,sogood,Ithought.ThefirstAfghanImeetoffersacupoftea.Ipolitelytriedtodecline,butheinsisted,andafterhebarkedanorderoutthe

back door, two small cups of steaming green tea were handed to us by adisheveledboy.Afterthankinghimforhishospitalityandbiddinghimfarewell,Idrove throughthecheckpointandenteredAfghanistan,whereI foundmyselfgreeted by a mile-long line of metal shipping containers whose sides werepockmarkedwithbulletholes.Fromtheinteriorofeachcontainer,entrepreneurswere hawking televisions, kites,music cassettes, and a host of other productsthathadbeenforbiddenundertheTaliban.Drivingpast thisAfghan-styleshoppingmall,Iwasofferedamoresobering

reminderof thewars thathadbeenraginguncheckedherefor thepast twenty-twoyears.As farasmyeyecouldsee, thesidesof theGrandTrunkHighwayand the surrounding hills were littered with the carcasses of tanks, artillerylaunchers,andarmoredpersonnelcarriers.Amidthedetritus,Icouldpickoutascattering of rusted helicopters. They resembled the broken skeletons of deadbirds.

Twelve hours later, when I finally reached the capital, the devastation waseverywhere. Kabul in the winter of 2002 was effectively at “year zero”: itspopulationtraumatized,itsinfrastructuredestroyed,itssufferinganditshorrorsetched upon the gray and shattered surfaces of what had once been itsarchitecture.Regardlessofwhichdirectiononelooked,itwasimpossibletopickoutasinglebuildingwhosefacadehadnotbeenhoneycombedwithblackenedholespunchedbygrenadesandrockets.Twodecadesofvirtuallyuninterruptedfightinghadmadeeventhemostdignifiedstructuresappeardrunken,wounded,orlost.Theentirecityseemedtoaffirmthenotionthatwarfareisadisease.Amid this destruction, government officials conducted their business under

burlap or plastic sheets tethered to the remains of the various ministerialbuildings.Passingtheairport,Icouldspotpiecesofbombedplaneslyingbytherunway, and demining crews were clearing the edges of the taxiways witharmoredbulldozers.Thenationalairline,Ariana,wasinshambles:AftertheU.S.bombs had knocked six of its old planes out of business threemonths earlier,onlyasingleagingBoeing727remainedoperational.Inthemonthstocome,Iwould learn that Ariana’s pilots and stewardesses who flew to NewDelhi or

Dubai were forced to sleep on the plane at night because the crew could notaffordhotelrooms.Theflightengineersusedaslideruletocalculateweightandbalance,andeachflighthadtocarrycashinordertopayforfuel.Eventually I made my way to a crumbling building on Bagh-e-Bala Road

called the Peace Guest House. Snow had fallen, and there was no heat,electricity,orrunningwater.ThesparsesurroundingsremindedmeofbeinginaremotemountainvillageinPakistan,except thatIwasinabustlingcityof1.5million.Thatfirstnight,Ilayinbedlisteningtothesporadicburstsofautomaticweaponfireresoundingacrossthecity.Aftereachvolley,therewasabrieflullofsilencethatwasfilledbyashrillchorusofhowlingdogs.Overthenextfewdays,Imovedaboutthecapitalcitywiththehelpofataxi

drivernamedAbdullahRahman,amanwhoseeyelidshadbeenscorchedawaybyanexplodinglandmineandwhosehandshadbeensobadlyburnedthathewasunabletoclosethemaroundhissteeringwheel.OneofAbdullah’sseveraljobsinvolvedsafeguardingthreelockedcasesofbooksattheMilitaryHospitallibrary.Everymorning,Abdullah,alongwithsixotherlibrarians,wouldsigninto the register tomark their presence, sit together at a long desk for about anhour,andthenleaveatthedirectiveoftheirboss.Abdullahhadbeendoingthissix times aweek for twelveyears, and for his services hewaspaid $1.20permonth.Hetoldmethatonaverage,aboutonebookaweekwascheckedout.Duringthenextweekandahalf,ItouredaroundthecitywithAdbullahinan

effort to get a sense of how much damage had been done to the capital’seducationsystem.Despitethefactthatclasseswerescheduledtoreopenlaterinthespring,onlyahandfulofthe159schoolswerepreparedtoreceivestudents,andeventhesewereinhorrendouscondition.Insomecases,thebuildingswereso unstable that classes would have to be held outside or moved to metalshipping containers. In other cases, the students would have to scale crudeladdersbuiltfromlogsafterthestairwayshadbeendestroyed.Toward the end of my stay, I paid a visit to Dr. Ashraf Ghani, who was

Afghanistan’sministeroffinanceandapersonaladvisertoHamidKarzai,whowouldsoonbeappointedtoserveasthecountry’sinterimpresident.Dr.GhanihadreceivedhisgraduatedegreeinanthropologyfromColumbiaUniversityandlater pursued a successful career with theWorld Bank, but after 9/11 he hadgivenupeverythingtoreturntoAfghanistanandhelphiscountrygetbackonitsfeet.Whenwemetinhisoffice,theministerinformedmethatlessthanaquarter

oftheaidmoneythatPresidentGeorgeW.Bushhadpromisedtohiscountryhadactuallybeendelivered.Ofthosefunds,Dr.Ghaniexplained,$680millionhadbeen “redirected” to build runways and bulk up supply depots in Bahrain,

Kuwait, and Qatar for the upcoming invasion of Iraq. Afghanistan was nowreceivinglessthanathirdoftheper-capitaassistancethathadbeenplowedintoreconstructioneffortsinBosnia,EastTimor,orRwanda—andofthat,lessthanhalfwasgoingtolong-termdevelopmentprojectssuchaseducation.Moreover,toadministerthisinadequatestreamofcash,amassivelyexpensivebureaucracyhadsprungup.Asbadasthissounded,Ilearnedlaterthatthesituationwasevenmorebleak.

A significant amount of the developmentmoney offered by theUnited Stateswas,it turnedout,simplyrecirculatingintothehandsofAmericancontractors,someofwhomwerepayingAfghanconstructionworkers fiveor tendollars aday to construct schools and clinics whose price tags could exceed a quartermilliondollarsperbuilding.Equallydisturbing,almostnoneofthetinyamountof money that was actually reaching Afghan citizens in Kabul was flowingbeyond the capital and into the rural areas, where the devastation was evengreaterand theneed forassistanceevenmoredesperate.TwentymilesbeyondKabul’ssuburbs,mostofthecountrywaslargelyonitsown—astateofaffairsthatseemedtobelostonDr.Ghani,overwhelmedashewasbythedevastationathisfeet.“Lookaroundyou—Kabulisamess,”heexclaimed.“Wedon’thaveenough

buildingstolivein,nottomentionelectricity,food,communications,plumbing,orwater.Atleastinthecountrysidethepeoplehavelandonwhichtogrowcropsandriverstodrinkfrom.Theycansleepinatentunderthestarswherevertheyplease,andtheyhaveanimalstoeat.”Hereachedforablackbookfilledwithcontactinformation.“Soyoushould

begin your work right here in the city,” he continued, opening the book andrunninghisfingerdownalistofnames.“Iknowmanygoodcontractorsthatcanhelpyou.”Clearly,therewasacompellingcasetobemadethattheCAIshoulddevoteits

limited resources to working in Kabul. Serving the girls of Afghanistan’sravagedcapitalcitywouldbeenoughtokeepusbusyforthenexttwodecades.Theproblem,however,wasthatIalreadyhadgivenmywordtotheKirghiz—and in order to honor that commitment, Iwas going to have to find away todisengagefromKabulandbeginmakingmywaytowardtheWakhan.“I’msorry,”Itoldhim,“butourmissionistoserveremoteareasandtosetup

schoolswherenonealreadyexist.”“Well,youngman,haveitasyouwish,”saidDr.Ghani,clearlydisappointed.

“Butasyouwill findout, the last thing thepeople in theremoteareaswant isschools.”“Thankyoufortheinformation,”Ireplied.“ButIstillneedtoheadnorth.”

CHAPTER4

TheSoundofPeace

TravelinginAfghanistanwaslikewanderingthroughtheshadowsofshatteredthings.—CHRISTINALAMB,TheSewingCirclesofHeart

GregwithschoolgirlsinLalandervillage,Afghanistan

WhentheKirghizhorsemenandIhadmetforthefirsttimeinthefallof1999,IhadtoldthemIneededaroughcountofthenumberofschool-agechildrenintheeastern Wakhan. More than a year later, a group of traders crossed over theIrshadPass,rodeintoZuudkhan,anddelivereduptoSarfrazasheafofseveraldozenpagesofyellow,legal-sizednotebookpaper,boundbetweentwopiecesofcardboard andwrapped in a purple velvet cloth.The pages contained the first

comprehensive census of every single household in the Afghan Pamir,painstakingly recorded by hand with a black fountain pen. According to thisdocument,inatotalpopulationof1,942Kirghiznomads,thereweremorethannine hundred children under the age of nineteen who were cut off from anyaccess toeducationandwhosefamiliesspent theyearroamingoveranareaofapproximatelyone thousandsquaremiles.Fartherwest,along thebanksof theAmu Darya, the river that delineates the Russian and Afghan frontiers, therewerealsomorethansixthousandWakhifarmersscatteredamongtwenty-eightvillages who, having received word of our pledge to the Kirghiz, were nowapparentlyclamoringforschoolsfortheirownchildren.When Sarfraz showed me this census, I was dumbfounded not only by its

thoroughnessbutalsobywhatthenumbersrevealedaboutthetruescopeofthedemandforeducationintheWakhan.By thispoint, itwas clear tome thatSarfraz’smanyyearsofwheeling and

dealingthroughouttheCorridorqualifiedhimastheperfectpointmantoramrodthis initiative—so I decided to offer him a job as the Central Asia Institute’s“Most-Remote-Area ProjectDirector”with a salary of two thousand dollars ayear. It would be his responsibility, I explained, to coordinate our most far-reaching ventures at every level, from drinking tea with the elders in eachcommunity to hiring the masons and carpenters who would do the work. Heacceptedwithenthusiasm,exclaimingthathewasfinallyabouttoembarkonanenterprisethatwouldinvolvemuchsuccess.“So ifwewant toput things inmotion in theWakhan,” I then said tohim,

“howdowefigureoutwheretoactuallyputtheschoolsthatweneedtobuild?”Sarfraz—who as alwayswas one step ahead ofme—promptlywhipped out

anothersheetofpaperwithalistofeightlocations.Langhar,BozaiGumbaz,andGozkhonIhadheardof;theotherfivewerenewtome.ThenheunfoldedamapofnorthernAfghanistanandstartedpointingwithhisindexfinger.“Wewillbuildhereandhereandhereandhereandhereandhereandhere

andhere,”hedeclared.“Andonce theseschoolsare finished, thechildrenwillcome.”Thatsoundedstraightforwardenough,buthewentontoexplainthatwehad

twoproblems.First,ifwewantedtosetupoperationsinsidetheWakhan,itwasnecessarytoenlistthepermissionandsupportofthenetworkof“bigmen”whorantheaffairsoftheCorridor,whichmeantthatweneededtofigureoutawaytoget from Kabul to the northernmost part of Afghanistan and start buildingrelationships.The second problem was that Sarfraz did not yet have a passport—which

meantthatforthefirstphaseofthisnewventure,Iwasgoingtobeflyingsolo.

ThenorthernprovinceofBadakshanhasalwaysstoodsomewhatalooffromtherest ofAfghanistan—an isolated region, cut off from the south by the soaringescarpments of the Hindu Kush, whose deepest cultural and historical linksextendnorthintoTajikistanandUzbekistan.BetweenKabulandBadakshan,thedry,rust-coloredplainsofsouthernAfghanistangivewaytothePamirKnot,thegreattangleofpeaksthatmarksthepointwheretheHimalayascollidewiththeKarakoram. It is an implacable geographic barrier, and thanks to this greatdivide,Kabulcansometimesseemsmoredistant—andmoreforeign—than theremotecentralAsiankhanatesofBukhara,Bishkek,andSamarkhand.Harshlybeautifulandhorrendouslypoor,Badakshanhashistoricaltiestothe

kingdoms beyond its bordersmainly because some of themost popular traderouteslinkingChina,Kashmir,andcentralAsiapassedthroughthisarea—anditwas along these thoroughfares that one of the province’s few treasures wasshippedtotheoutsideworld.Formorethansixthousandyears,theminesofSar-eSang,fortymilesnorthofthePanjshirValley,haveprovidedtheworld’smostimportantsourceoflapislazuli,thegemstonethatlentitsintensebluefiretothedeath mask of Egypt’s King Tutankhamen, the official seals of Assyrian andBabyloniangovernments,and thepaintingsofRenaissanceEurope. (Thestonewas ground into a powder to make the pigment the Venetians calledultramarine.) In ancient times, Badakshan’s seams of lapis were mined bylightingfiresinthetunnelsandthencrackingthehotrockbypackingitwithice.In recent years, the mujahadeen commanders who control the mines havepreferredtheuseofmilitaryexplosives.Until recently, Badakshan’s only other source of wealth was opium. The

terrainandclimatequalifythisasperfectpoppycountry:suitablesoil,steepandwell-drainedhillsides, longhoursofsunshine,andtherightamountofrainfall.Theprovincesitsdirectlyinthemiddleofthe“heroinhighway”thattransportsrawopiumnorthintoTajikistan,thenTashkent,Moscow,andpointsbeyond.AsinotherremotepartsofAfghanistan,Badakshan’spoliticalandeconomic

powerhastraditionallyrestedinthehandsoflocalwarlords,orcommandhans,who fulfill many of the functions of a centralized government: guaranteeingsecurity, providing small-business loans, maintaining roads, digging wells,sittingasjudgeandjury,supportingeducation,and,ofcourse,levyingtaxes.ItwasthecommandhanswholedthemujahadeenstruggleagainsttheSovietsfromthemoment the first Russian tanks clattered across the borders ofUzbekistanand Tajikistan in the winter of 1979; and it was these men who kept the

resistancealivewhentheTalibansweptover therestof thecountryduring themid-1990s.Since Hamid Karzai was first appointed interim president in 2002, this

hierarchy has remained unchanged. Nothing takes place inside Badakshan’srocky gorges, lush valleys, and highland plateaus—no business venture, nomarital alliance, no negotiation with outside authorities—without the expresspermissionandtheblessingofthecommandhans.For theprevious fiveyears, the reigningcommandhan in easternBadakshan

hadbeenamujahadeenbythenameofSadharKhan,amanwhopossessedthemind of aWest Pointmilitary tactician and the soul of a poet.Born in a tinyhamletnotfarfromthemouthoftheWakhanCorridor,hehadhopedtobecomeahistorianandscholarbutwasforcedtoabandonthoseplanswhentheRussiansinvadedin1979andvirtuallyeveryable-bodiedmanandboywithinahundredmilesofBaharakfledintothesurroundingmountainstojointheresistance.Duringtheearlyyearsofthewar,SadharKhan’sspeedandcunningoftengot

himpickedtoleadquick,dangerousraidsdeepintoenemyterritory.Thankstothese exploits, he rose swiftly through the mujahadeen ranks and eventuallyemerged as a lieutenant of Ahmed Shah Massoud, the famous “Lion of thePanjshir,”whowasperhapsthemostgiftedandformidablemujahadeentofightagainsttheSoviets.Inadditiontohisleadershipandplanningskills,Khanalsoacquiredareputationforruthlessnessandferocity.InsidethenortheasterncornerofBadakshan,hispowerwasabsolute.Khan’s base lay just outside of Baharak, a town of about twenty-eight

thousand people where the roads arriving east from the regional capital ofFaizabadandnorthfromthePanjshirValleyconverge.ThereisalsoathirdroadinBaharakthatprovidestheonlymotorizedmeansofaccessingtheWakhan—and thanks to this, Sadhar Khan was effectively the gatekeeper for the entireCorridor.Withouthim,itwouldbeimpossibletodriveanailorlayasinglebrickforaschoolanywherebetweenthePamirsandtheHinduKush.“Beforeyoudoanything,youmust firstgo toBaharakandspeak toSadhar

Khan,”Sarfrazadvised.“Heisthechabi.”Hetwistedhiswrist—thekey.

NortheastofAfghanistan’scapitalcity,nearlyeverymountainpassthroughtheHinduKushisovertenthousandfeetandthusislockeddownbysnowforsixmonthsoftheyear.Inthe1960s,however,athree-mile-longtunnelwasdrilledbySovietengineersbelowtheSalangPasstocreateanall-seasonroutelinking

KabulwithBadakshan.ThetunnelisreachedbyawindingroadonwhichSovietmilitary convoys were ambushed repeatedly by mujahadeen units thatspecialized in dismantling trucks, artillery cannons, even tanks, and haulingthem,piecebypiece,overthemountainsandbacktothePanjshirValley.Inthespringof2003,IheadedthroughtheSalanginarentedRussianjeepdrivenbyAbdullah Rahman, the taxi-driving librarian with the scorched hands andeyelids,inthehopeofpayingmyfirstvisittoBaharak.Intheyearstocome,IwouldlookbackontheobstaclesIencounteredduring

that first trip north and understand that together they represented a kind ofmetaphor for what our “Afghan adventure” would be like. When we weredrivingthroughthetunnel,thedustandthefumesbecamesodensethatwewereforcedtostopthejeepandgetout.Hopingtofindanexit,Iclimbedthroughaviaduct leading to theoutside, stumbled into a fieldwhere the rockshadbeenpainted bright red, and realized I was surrounded by land mines. (After Icarefullyretracedmystepsanddescendedbackintothetunnel,AbdullahandIeventually blundered through and resumed our drive.) Later on that samejourney,wefoundourselvescaughtinafirefightbetweenopiumsmugglersandwereforcedtotakecoverinaroadsideditch.Whentheshootingsubsided,ItoldAbdullahthatitwastoodangerousforhimtocontinue,jumpedontothebackofatruck,andhidmyselfbeneathapileofputridanimalhidesheadedtoaleather-tanningfactory.Intheend,ImadeittoBaharakbutwasforcedbymyscheduletoturnaround

withouthavingmetSadharKhan, return toKabul,and flyhome to theUnitedStates.A fewmonths later, however, Iwas back inAfghanistan, repeated thesamejourney,anduponarrivinginBaharak,immediatelystartedcastingaroundfor thecommandhan. Standing in themiddle of themarket, I spotted awhiteRussianjeeppackedwithgunmenrollingtowardmeandflaggeditdownontheassumption that anyone who could afford such a vehicle in Baharak wouldprobablyknowSadharKhan.The driver, a small, elfin man with refined features and a neatly trimmed

beard,gotouttoaddressme.“IamlookingforSadharKahn,”IsaidinbrokenDari.“Heishere,”themanreplied,inEnglish.“Where,exactly?”“IamCommandhanKhan.”Havinganticipatedbeingforcedtospendaweekwaitingforameetingwitha

manwhodidhisbusinessfrombehindawallofgatekeepersandarmedguards,Iwasmomentarilyatalossforwords.“Oh,Iamsorry,”Istammered,realizingthatIhadfailedtointroducemyself

inproperAfghanfashion.“As-SalaamAlaaikum,IhavecomefromAmerica—”“Iapologize,but rightnowit is timeforprayers,” interjectedKhan.“Please

getinandIwilltakeyoutoasafeplacewhileIgotothemosque.”Hedroveusthroughthebazaarandtothenorthernendofthetown’scenter

and parked in the middle of the road next to the Najmuddin Khan Wosiqmosque. While a handful of plain-clothes guards surrounded the jeep andwhiskedKhan into themosque, Iwas led by a single uniformed guard to thesecond story of a nearby office building.When the guard ushered me into adingy,windowlessroom,Irequestedtobepermittedtogouptotheroof.Hewasabitpuzzledbutusheredmeupthestairsandinvitedmetositonareedmat,whereIhadadramaticviewoftheHinduKushrange.Turningmygazedownintothestreet,Iwatchedasseveralhundredmenstreamedoutofthebazaarandintothemosquefortheirafternoonprayers.Aboutthirtyminuteslater,theprocessionofmenemergedfromthemosque,

ledbySadharKhanandthelocalulema(religiousleader).Ashesteppedintothestreet,Khanlookedup,spottedmeontheroof,andpointed.Iwatched,startled,as several hundred pairs of eyes followed themotion of his hand towardme.ThenKhangaveawaveandcrackedasmile.Whenhehadjoinedmeontheroof,Iintroducedmyselfandbegantotellhim

the story of theKirghiz horsemen and ourmeeting at the southern end of theIrshadPass.BeforeIwashalfwaythrough,hiseyeslitupwithastonishmentandhewrappedmeinafiercebearhug.“Yes! Yes! You are Doctor Greg!” he cried. Word of the promise to the

horsemen had already filtered out of the Wakhan and reached Sadhar Khan.“Thisisincredible.Andtothink,Ididn’tevenarrangeamealorawelcomefromthevillageelders.Forgiveme.”Laterthatevening,aftereatingdinner,Khaninvitedmetotheroofofhisown

housesothatwecoulddiscussplans.Hetoldmehoweagerthecommunitiesinhis jurisdiction were to have schools, as well asmany other services that hispeoplesodesperatelylacked.Hetoldmeaboutallthegirlswhohadnowheretostudy,notonlyintheWakhanbutalsoinBaharakandacrosseasternBadakshan.Hespokeofthedestructionthathadbeenwreakedoverthecourseoftwowars—the first against the Soviets and the second against the Taliban—and howmuchrebuildingneededtobedone.“Lookhere.Lookatthesehills,”hesaidashepointedtowardthemountains

looming over the town,whose lower slopeswere strewnwith countless rocksand boulders. “There has been far toomuch dying in these hills. Every rock,every boulder that you see before you is one of my mujahadeen, shahids,martyrs,who sacrificed their lives fighting theRussians and theTaliban.Now

wemustmaketheirsacrificeworthwhile.”He turned to me with a look of fierce determination. “Wemust turn these

stonesintoschools.”Theimplicationwasclear.SadharKhanwasmorethanhappytoallowusto

assisttheKirghiz,andhewaseagertohelpthiseffortinanywayhecould.Butbeforewe couldwork ourway out to the farthest reaches of theWakhan,weneededtostartbyhelpinghimtoaddresstheneedsofhisowncommunity,righthereinBaharak.Thatwashowourrelationshipbegan.

Overthenexttwoyears,ImadeseveralmoretripstoBaharakinordertocementourtieswithSadharKhanandplantheschoolthatwouldopenthedoorforustoentertheWakhanitself.Eachofthesevisitstookplaceinsidehisheadquartersinthe tiny village of Yardar, about three miles outside of Baharak. Here Khanmaintained two compounds. The first was a modern, two-story, Soviet-stylebunker with discreet defensive features that included false doors and hiddenholes throughwhichgunfirecouldbedirected.This iswhereKhanentertainedhis guests. The other dwelling, a cluster of three mud-brick buildings fivehundred yards east of the guesthouse,which featured dirt floors coveredwithdozensoftribalrugs,washisactualfamilyhome.Insidetheconfinesofthemeagerboundarywallthatranaroundtheperimeter

of this property, the numerousmembers ofSadharKhan’s extended family alllived together, the same kind of “village within a village” that can be foundanywhere in ruralAfghanistan or Pakistan.The buildingswere surrounded byfieldsofwheat,barley,spinach,andokra,whiletheedgesoftheirrigationcanalswerelinedwithneatrowsofwalnut,pistachio,almond,cherry,mulberry,apple,andpeartrees.Inthesummerandfall,Khanwoulddelightinpluckingsomeofthechoicestfruitsandnutsfromthetreesandpressingthemonhisguests.“Forgetaboutwar—farming ismuchbetter than fighting,”heoncedeclared

whenhegrew tiredofmyendlessquestions abouthisyearsduring theSovietoccupation.Onanotheroccasion,heapologizedforthefactthatthepearhehadselectedformewasnotassweetashethoughtitshouldbe.“Mostofmytreesaretooyoung,”heexplained.“Iamtryingtocatchupforthetwenty-fiveyearswelostwhenweweretoobusywithfightingtobeabletofarm.”WheneverIrolledthroughtheentrancegatetoKhan’scompound,glassy-eyed

after yet another harrowing thirty-hour drive from Kabul, I found myselfsurroundedbyascenethatofferedanincongruousblendoftheancientandthe

modern.ItwasalmostalwayslateafternoonorearlyeveningwhenIarrived,andassmokefromtheeveningcookingfiresfilteredthroughtheraysofthesettingsun, the call of the muezzin resounded across the fields, punctuated by thetinkling of the little bells tied to the necks of cows and goats as small boysherded the animals home for the night.Meanwhile, a group of up to a dozenyoungmendressedincombatbootsandarmyfatiguesmightbekickingasoccerballneartheentrancegatewhiletheiroldercomradesstoodbeneaththesatellitedishesmounted to the thatched roofs, cradling AK-47s in the crooks of theirarmsandmutteringintotheircellphones.Ifitwasstilldaylight,SadharKhanusuallymetmebeneaththebranchesofa

massivewalnuttree,whereheheldcourtonacementplatformthathismenhadbuiltdirectlyovertheirrigationcanal.Hewasabusyman,andtherewasalmostalwaysalineofseveraldozenpeoplesquattingattheedgeofthedirtdrivewaypatiently waiting for an audience. These petitioners might include a group offarmers who had fallen into a boundary disagreement and were hoping thecommandhancouldresolvetheirdisputeorthewidowsoffallensoldierscomingtocollectcash.YetwheneverIarrived,hewouldgetuptoexchangeembraces,thenushermeontoanenormousredPersiancarpet,wherewesettledourselves,cross-legged, in a nest ofmaroon pillows. Then the commandhanwouldpourgreen tea intoasetof tinyporcelaincupswhilehisbodyguardspassedarounddishesfilledwithraisins,pistachios,walnuts,andcandyasapreludetowhateverbusinessweneededtodiscuss.Later,asdarknessdescendedoverthevalley,Iwouldbeinvitedtowalkwith

the rest of his visitors and familymembers across the compound and into theguesthouse’s long, narrow dining room. Only men were admitted, and aftereveryonewas properly seated, SadharKhanwouldwalk in andwewould allstand up to formally shake his hand, thenwait until hewas seated beforeweresumedourplaces.(Ifanotherguestormalefamilymemberarrived,thesameritualwouldberepeated.)Oncethesecourtesieshadbeenproperlyobserved,agroupofthreeorfouryoungermen,ledbythehost’soldestson,wouldunfurlared plastic tablecloth across the length of the floor, and upon this surface thebanquetwouldbelaidout.Thedishesservedweresimpleanddelicious:lamb,chicken,dal,spinach,okra,tomatoes,cucumbers,andrice.When the meal was finished, the oldest guest would offer up the dua, a

blessing of thanks.As thewordswere spoken, everyonewould cup his handstogether, palms raised, andwhen the blessingwas complete each guestwouldsweephishandsoverhisfaceandintone,“Alhamdulillah”(“praisebetoGod”inArabic).Finally,cupsofgreenjasmineteawithasmallsprigofmintwouldbeserved,andthenwewouldtalkdeepintothenight.

These discussions could sometimes last until the muezzin sounded themorningcalltoprayerat4:30A.M.,anditwasduringtheseritualsthatIbegantolearnaboutSadharKhan’spastandtogainasenseoftheexperiencesthathadshapedhim,especiallythewaragainsttheSoviets.

InthefirstseveralyearsfollowingtheSovietinvasionofAfghanistan,Khanandhismujahadeenhaddeployedahostofdesperateguerrillatacticsinthehopeofcountering the Soviets’ overwhelming technological superiority. Along thenarrowmountainroadstotheeastofBaharak,forexample,hismenwouldleapfrom ledges or boulders onto the tops of passing tanks and smear handfuls ofmudoverthedrivers’viewingports,thenflingMolotovcocktailsfashionedfromCokebottlesintothehatches.TheyalsoadoptedrusesthatincludedbroadcastingthetaperecordingsofprayerchantsonloudspeakersasawayofluringRussianinfantry patrols into ambushes. During those early days of the struggle, theyfoughtwithwhateverweapons theyhad—scythes, rocks,andsharpenedsticks.Strikingwhen theywere able, they fled into themountains,where theyhid incaves,survivingonrootsordriedcheeseand,whennecessary,eatinggrass.Forthisresistance,theyweremadetopaydearly.AnytimeaRussiansoldier

was killed, civilians were forced to flee as their homes were bombed byhelicoptersconductingreprisalraids.Duringthefirstfiveyearsofthewar,itwasnot unusual for mujahadeen units like Sadhar Khan’s to suffer 50 percentcasualties inbattle,but the reprisalsagainst theirhomesand familiescouldbeevenmoredevastating.WhilewomenandchildrenspentweekslivingincavesinthehillsaroundBaharak,animalsweremachine-gunned,cropsweretorched,andfieldswereseededwithlandminesinanefforttoforcethepopulationintosubmission through hunger and starvation. Today many of the trails leadingdown to the streams are adorned with small stone cairns marking the placeswherechildrenwhoweresenttocollectwaterwerekilledbySovietsnipers.Asoneofthemostimportantcommanders,SadharKhanfeaturedprominently

on the Soviets’ target list. During the decade in which the Soviets occupiedeasternBadakshan,thevillageofYardarwasshelledmorethansixtytimes.Eventhougheverybuilding inKhan’s compoundhadbeencompletelydestroyedby1982,theSoviets’Mi-24helicoptergunshipscontinuedbombingwhathecalled“mydeadland”andseedingitwithlandminesmorethanadozentimes.It was those helicopters, which the Afghans called Shaitan-Arba (“Satan’s

chariots”),thatwreakedthegreatestdestructiononthemujahadeen.TheMi-24swould conduct “hunter-killer” sorties, flying in formations of up to eight

gunships,attackingmujahadeenpositionswitharangeofweaponsthatincludedS-8 rocketsmountedwith fragmentationwarheads and 30mm high-explosivegrenadelaunchers.Noamountofbraveryorguileonthepartoftherebelscouldovercome such overwhelming firepower—until 1986, that is, when theAmericanCentral IntelligenceAgencystartedsupplying theAfghan insurgentswith shoulder-mounted Stinger missiles equipped with heat-seeking guidancesystems that were shockingly effective at taking out the slow-flying Mi-24s.During the next three years, the CIA flooded Afghanistan with over onethousand Stingers, resulting in hundreds of helicopters and Soviet transportaircraftbeingshotoutofthesky.In eastern Badakshan, the first mujahadeen to succeed in shooting down a

helicopter with a Stinger was one of Sadhar Khan’s most importantsubcommanders,amannamedHajiBaba,whoisnowmarriedtooneofKhan’sdaughters.Duringourvisitsunderthewalnuttree,IwasgiventhechancetohearHajiBabahimselfrecountthesagaofhisexploit,inexhaustivedetail,onseveraldifferentoccasions.Eachtellingwasslightlydifferent,andthelongestof themlastedmorethananhour.From Sadhar Khan I also learned about the sacrifices that the residents of

Baharak and the surrounding countryside had made, after having fought theRussiansfrom1979to1989,inordertopreventtheregionfrombeingoverrunby the Taliban between 1994 and 2001.Out of these conversations I came toknow a man who seemed to embody many of the contradictions andcomplexities of his torn and ravaged landscape, and also amanwhowas notashamedtoexpresshisloveofpoetry,solitude,andflowers.Earlyonemorning,he invitedme towalkwith him five or six hundred yards to the bank of theWarduj River, where two enormous boulders are suspended over the rushingwater.Here,heexplained,heoftenretreatedtospendafewminutesalonebeforewalking to themosque toperformhiseveningprayers.Aswesat thereon therock,Iaskedhimifhewouldmindansweringaquestion.“Please,”hesaid,“askanything.”“Youareabusymanwithenormousresponsibilities,”Isaid,“sowhyisitthat

youspendsomuchtimejustsittingherewatchingtheriverrunby?”KhansmiledtohimselfandsaidthatIwouldn’tunderstandtheanswertomy

questionbecauseIhadnever fought ina realwar.“Youmaybeaveteran,butyou are not a warrior because you have never fought in battle,” he gentlyexplained.Thenhebegantodescribe,ingraphicterms,someofthehorrorshehadwitnessed:theconcussiveshockofagrenadeasittearsapartthebodyofamanhehadsharedbreakfastwithonlythirtyminutesearlier;thenauseatingodoremanatingfromthefleshofanothercomradeincineratedbyarocket;thesound

that escaped the lips of a man who was dying from infections because hiscommander lacked even the most rudimentary medical supplies to treat hiswounds.Unlikeothermujahadeen, suchasHajiBaba,whooftencacklewithdelight

whentheyrecountthegloriousstrugglewagedbythemujahadeen,SadharKahnwasneithergloatingnorboastful.Instead,hedescribedwhatitfeltliketohaveafriendwhomonehasknownsincegradeschoolbleedtodeathinone’sarmsandthen dump his body into a shallow grave.He talked of the impossibility of anormallifeforwomenandchildrenduringwar.Hespokeofthemountinglitanyof lossasa life that shouldhavebeendevoted toworthwhilepursuits, suchasreadingormusicorthecultivationofpeartrees,isgivenovertothebusinessofdeath.Wetalked—hetalked—foralmosttwohoursthatafternoon,andintheend,he

said this:“Sittingherewatching thewater rushpast is theonlyway that Icanjustify having gone towar. The reason that I fought the Soviets and then theTalibanwas formoments suchas theonewe’rehaving rightnow.Unlessyouhave been inside the fire of a battle, this is something that you will neverunderstand.”About ayear later, duringanotheroneofour encounters,Khan said thathe

had been thinking of our conversation next to the river thatmorning andwasworriedthathehadfailedtoanswermyquestion.Thenhehandedmeapieceofpaper. He explained that he had written a poem that might, perhaps, havesucceededincapturingthesentimentsthathehadbeentryingtoexpress.Hereisthetranslation,fromDari:

YouwonderwhyIsit,hereonthisrock,bythesideofthisriver,doingnothing?

Thereissomuchworktobedoneformypeople.Wehavesolittlefood,wehavesofewjobs,ourfieldsareinshambles,andstilltherearelandmineseverywhere.

SoIamheretolistentothequiet,thewater,

andthesingingtrees.

ThisisthesoundofpeaceinthepresenceofAllah.Afterthirtyyearsasamujahadeen,Ihavegrownoldfromfighting.Iresentthesoundsofdestruction.

Iamsowearyofwar.

CHAPTER5

StyleIsEverything

“Gregisveryimportanttome.Withouthim,I’dbenothingmorethanaguywhotradesyakbutter.”

—SARFRAZKHAN

WakhifamilyhearthinSarhad,Afghanistan

Duringourmanyencounters,SadharKhanwas invariablyamodelofgraciousandrefinedhospitality—andyet,formeatleast,hiswrysmileandhiselaborateritualsofcourtesysomehowneverquitemanaged tosoften the intensityofhisstare.His eyeswere amerry shade of green andhis laughhad a high-pitchedtimbre,butwhenhesaworheardsomethingthatdispleasedhim,hisfacecoulddarken into thekindof expression thatmadeonewant to take a stepback. Insuch moments, he seemed to bear a disquieting resemblance to one of theRussian land mines he so despised: a small container, lying just below the

surface,thathousedthepotentialforenormousviolence.Despite this sense ofmenace,Khan ultimately personified the kind ofman

that Iwould encounter over and over again duringmy time inAfghanistan: aformer mujahadeen who had emerged from the savageries of the Sovietoccupation and the atrocities of the war against the Taliban with a desire tospendhisremainingyearsrepairingthedamagetohiscommunity.Likealmostallcommandhans,hewassavvyandshameless in thewayhewentabout this,installingsupportersandfamilymembersinplumjobs,dippinghishandintothelapislazuliminessixtymilessouthofYardar,andexactingastifftarifffromtheherointraffickerswhosemuletrainsmovedasignificantchunkofBadakshan’sopium supply through his territory on theway to the Tajik border.Unlike hismore corrupt colleagues, however, hewas implacably determined to plow thebulkoftheseprofitsdirectlybackintothewelfareofhispeople.Fortheveteranswho had served under his command, he had constructed a thriving bazaar inBaharak.Hedisbursedsmallloanssotheycouldstartbusinesses,helpingtoeasethetransitionfromsoldiertomerchant,andhandedoutseedsandtoolstoalmostanyfarmerwhoevenhintedatneedinghelp.Hisspecialpassion,however,waseducation,especially forgirls.Foralmost

twenty-fiveyears therehadbeenvirtuallyno schooling in the ruralvillagesofhisregion,andthelossthisrepresentedtothecurrentandupcominggenerationsweighedonhimdeeply.“Warhasforcedustostarvenotonlyourbodiesbutalsoourminds,”heoncesaidtome.“Thisshouldneveragainhappentomypeople.”Unbeknownst toSadharKhan, theCentralAsiaInstitutewasabout tobehit

bya tsunamiof cash thatwouldenableus to takeadramatic step forward. InApril 2003, Parade magazine ran a cover story about our school-buildinginitiatives in Pakistan, and during the tenmonths following the publication ofthat story, our Bozeman office was flooded with more than nine hundredthousanddollars in donations. I hadwiredmost of those funds to our bank inIslamabad and ordered theDirtyDozen to embark on a score of newprojectsinsidePakistan,butIhadalsoreservedaportionoftheParademoneytolaunchourWakhan initiative. In the springof 2004, I informedSadharKhan thatwewerereadytobeginbuildinginBaharak.Aswesatontheredcarpetunderhiswalnuttree,Ilaidoutexactlyhowthe

financesandothermatterswouldbehandled,explainingthattheseaspectsoftheproject would not be subject to negotiation, even with a commandhan of hisstature, because theywere theonlywaysofguaranteeing that ourprojects areproperly supervised and accounted for. The shura (local council of elders) inBaharakwouldbeinchargeof thefunds,I toldhim,andheandhisneighborswouldberequiredtodonatethelandfortheschool.Wewouldhireexclusively

fromwithinthelocalcommunityforthebasiclabor,andwehadbudgetedfiftythousand dollars for construction and teachers’ salaries, plus another tenthousand dollars for supplies, furniture, and uniforms.Wewould deliver one-thirdofthisfinancingupfront,incash.Anothertwentythousanddollarswouldbepaidonlyaftertheworkershadfinishedtheconstructiontorooflevel,andthelastpaymentwouldbedelivereduponcompletion.Asafinalcondition,atleast33percentof thestudentswouldhavetobefemalefromthefirstdayofclass,and this number would need to increase each year until the girls’ numbersreachedparitywiththeboys’.“Only33percentfemaleenrollment?”Khanexclaimed,shakinghisheadand

chuckling.“Thenumberofgirlswaitingtoattendthisschool isalreadyalmostdoublethat,soperhapsyoushouldconsidergivingourlocalcouncilofeldersaperformancebonusforalreadyexceedingyourquota,no?”I handed over the first down payment to the shura thatmorning, andwork

startedimmediately.Bymidafternoonthegridlinesoftheouterwallshadbeenmarked with twine and a crew of laborers was digging the trenches for thefoundationwithpicks and shovels.Toward the evening, a seriesof explosionsechoed between thewalls of the surroundingmountains as themasons begandynamiting the granite boulders thatwould yield the stones for thewalls. ForSadharKhan,thereverberationofthoseblasts—whichsoundedeerilysimilartoSovietorTalibanartillery—musthaveofferedadeeplysatisfyingconfirmationthat we were truly turning stones into schools. For me, however, thoseconcussiveburstssignaledsomethingelse.The door to theWakhan Corridor was now unlocked, and it was time for

Sarfrazandmetoplanournextmove.

WhenSarfrazandIdrewupour2004planfornortheasternAfghanistan,itwasfairly straightforward. Since the only road into theWakhan began in BaharakandendedhalfwaythroughtheCorridoratthevillageofSarhad,wedecidedona two-prongedattack inwhichwewouldhit thebeginningandendof the trailfirst, then literally build ourway toward themiddle until the literacygapwasclosed. Once this process was complete, we would embark on the far morechallenging taskof leapfrogging into the roadless reachesat the farendof theWakhanandfulfillingourcommitmenttotheKirghiz.Bythispoint,wehadfinallymanagedtogetSarfrazhisfirstpassport,andhe

hadflunghimselfintoaseriesofgruelingtripsfromKabultoFaizabad,throughBaharak, and into theWakhan in order to negotiate, launch, and supervise thefirstwave of school projects.Many of these journeyswere solo undertakings,

butwheneverIflewintoKabul,SarfrazandIwouldtraveltogether—anditwasduring these ventures that our connection and our friendship began to deepeninto something we both found rather remarkable. The chemistry we sharedenabledus tounderstandeachothersowell thatbefore long,eachwasable toanticipatetheother’smovesandcompletehissentences.Eventually,weevengotto thepointwherewecommunicatedusinganonverbalvocabularyofglancesandfacialexpressions.Thisdidnothappenimmediately,however—andbeforeweachievedthislevelofsynthesis,itwasfirstnecessaryformetopassthrougha kind of cultural version of Afghan boot camp: a series of tutorials, run bySarfraz,thatInowrefertoasStyleSchool.Startingwithourveryfirsttripnorthfromthecapital,Ilearnedthattraveling

with Sarfraz through Afghanistan would be a far more complex and perilousaffairthaninPakistan.Amongthenewconcernswefaced,thebiggestinvolvedgettingkidnapped.Atthetime,thegoingrateforbribingsomeonetohelpsetupthe abduction of an American citizen was around five million Afghans, orroughly $110,000. (Today, that number has increased tenfold.) To avoid thisdanger, Sarfraz was willing to go to extraordinary lengths, starting withcamouflage.Afghanistan is one of themost ethnically complicated countries on earth, a

placewhere the overlapping cultures, languages, religions, and tribal loyaltieshavebedeviledhistorians,anthropologists,andmilitarystrategistsforcenturies.Understandingthesedistinctionswasanessentialpreconditiontosafetravel,andthisaccountedforSarfraz’sobsessionwithaword thatnormallyapplies to thesartorialandbehavioralnuancesdisplayedonthestreetsofManhattanorParis,as opposed to the deserts and mountains north of the Hindu Kush. “To havemuch success inAfghanistan, youmust understand style,” hewould patientlylecturemeagainandagain.“Styleiseverythinghere.”In any given situation, regardless of whether it involved an all-night

negotiation with a group of conservative mullahs or a five-minute break at aroadside tea stall, he paid keen attention to the body language of everyoneinvolved.Whosatwhereandwhy?Whosippedhisteafirstandwhohungback?Whospokeandwhoremainedsilent?Whowasthemostpowerfulpersonintheroom, who was the weakest, and how did their respective agendas influencewhattheyweresaying?Therecanbemanylayersandshadesofmeaningwithineach of these distinctions, and by responding to them all with equally subtleadjustments of his own, Sarfraz strove to avoid drawing unwanted attentioneither to himself or tome.As ameansof blending in aswemoved fromoneregion toanother, for example,heoftenadopteddifferentheadgear,donningalunghi(aPashtunwrap-aroundturban)intheTalibanareasofWardakprovince,

exchanging it for a mujahadeen’s pakol (woolen hat) in the Tajik-dominatedareasofBadakshan,andeventuallydiscardingthatforakufi(awhiteskullcap)aswe entered themosque inBaharak.Amonghis networkof tradingpartnersandrelativesintheeasternpartof theWakhan,hewasalsofondofputtingonhisfavoritehatofall,adashingpeacockbluefedora—anexpression,Isuppose,ofstyleinthemoreconventionalsenseoftheword.Sarfraz’schameleon-likequalitiesincludedthespokenwordaswellasdress.

Hismastery of the seven languages at his command extended beyond lexiconandgrammartoembraceasmorgasbordofaccentsandinflections.InKabulhisDarimightsoundcrispandgentrified,butassoonaswewereinthemountains,hewouldgraduallydownshift, likea truckdescendinga longgrade, throughaseriesof increasingly less refinedaccentsanddialectsuntilheabandonedDarifor Wakhi before finally sliding into Burushkaski—the patois of his Wakhanancestors. (Hekept his Pashto in reserve for thePashtun-dominated territorieseastofKabul,andhisUrdu,Punjabi,andEnglishforPakistan.)Perhapstheonlything Sarfrazwould not do in order to be as local as possiblewas to grow abeard.Otherthanthat,hefreelyadoptedanyrusehecouldconceive—includingtellingelaborateliesaboutwherehewasfromandwhathewasupto—inordertofitinandavoidhittingpeople’striggerpoints.Myjobwastofollowhisleadbycopyinghismannerismsandhisdemeanor.I

wouldmimicthemannerinwhichSarfrazcrossedhislegsashesat,theangleatwhichhehelda teacup,evenwherehepermittedhisgaze to fall.Under thesecircumstances,ofcourse,Iwasn’tdeludingmyselfintothinkingthatI’dactuallybe mistaken for a local. But by following Sarfraz’s mannerisms and bodylanguage, I was hoping to avoid giving myself away as a wealthy Americaninterloper. The goal was simply to make anyone whom we encounteredexperienceamomentofconfusion inwhich theydwelled,howeverbriefly,onthepossibilitythatinsomestrangewaythattheydidn’tquiteunderstand,Imightactuallybelong.AndaswemovedaroundthecountrysidenorthofKabul, thisoftenworkedsurprisinglywell—atendencyhelpedbythefactthatAfghanistanisavastmeltingpotinwhichgreeneyes,brownhair,andCaucasianfeaturesarenotatalluncommon.The second part of Sarfraz’s kidnap-prevention strategy involved

transportation,anditwasherethatthingsstartedtogetexciting.

Moving from one destination to the next inside Pakistan was a fairly simplematter.SulemanMinhas, theCAImanager in Islamabad, ferriedusaround the

cityinacompany-ownedToyotaCorolla,andforthemountainsofBaltistanwereliedonatwenty-eight-year-old,four-wheel-driveLandCruiser.Whennoneofthesevehicleswasavailable,wewouldhireonefromapoolof localPakistanidrivers whom we had known for years. Afghanistan, however, was quitedifferent.Becausewehadneitherafleetofourownvehiclesnoranetworkoftrustedchauffeurs,wewereusuallyforcedtorentacaranddriveronthespot,anarrangement that placedus at themercyof peoplewe’dnevermet andwhoseloyaltieswereunknown.TheprocessbeganwithSarfraz’spayingavisittoaroadsidebazaarinKabul

andnegotiatinganarrangementwithoutactuallytellinganyonewherewewereheading.Iftherewereabunchofmenstandingaroundtherentalplace,Sarfrazmightostentatiouslydeclarethathewaslookingforsomeonetotakeusto,say,Mazar-i-Sharif or Kandahar or Bamiyan—anywhere but our true destination.After hehad completedhis negotiations andwehadpiled into thevehicle, hewould announce that our plans had changed, divulging as little information aspossibleaboutthe“new”destination—oftennomorethanthenameofavillagetwentyorthirtymilesuptheroad.Oncewewereheadinginthecorrectdirection,hewouldbeginsniffingtheair

forsignsthatsomethingmightbewrong,andifhissuspicionswerearoused,allbetswereoff.Ifthedriverseemedtobeaskingtoomanyquestionsorspendingtoo much time on his cell phone or simply didn’t look right, Sarfraz wouldabruptly exclaim that we needed to pull over at the next roadside truck stop,explain that hewas dashing inside for a cup of tea, and once inside set aboutarranging for another car anddriver.Whenhe found someonenew, he’d dashbackout, open thedoor, and start flingingourbags into theparking lot.Thenhe’dtossahandfulofmoneyatthedriverandtellhimtogetlost,andoffwe’dgo—untilitwastimetofirethenewdriver.Whenitcametosuchprecautions,hewasunapologeticandcompletelyruthless.Sarfraz also preferred to hire and fire drivers based on ethnicity and tribal

affiliation. At any given point on the road, the goal was always to placeourselvesinthehandsofsomeonelocal,amanwhosefaceandnamewouldbeknownin theevent thatwewerestoppedataroadblockorpulledover.Hiringlocalwas also, in his view, the bestway to obtain accurate information aboutroadconditions,theweather,andthelikelihoodofbeingrobbed.Thisapproachdifferedmarkedlyfromtheconspicuoustransportarrangements

preferred by the larger humanitarian organizations and the internationalconsultinggroups,mostofwhomwereeasilydistinguishedbytheirshinySUVsequipped with tinted windows, air-conditioning, and twelve-foot-long radioantennae. “That big antennamakes them a perfect target for the Taliban!” he

wouldexclaim.Hewasalsocontemptuousofthedisconnectthatsuchequipmentcreatedbetween theemployeesof thoseorganizationsand the localsonwhosebehalftheywereworking.The greatest likelihood of our being abducted or attacked was during the

thirty-hour drive from Kabul to Baharak, and on this stretch of the drive,Sarfraz’sconcernsaboutsecurityoccasionallyplacedhimatoddswithmydesiretogettoknowordinaryAfghans—apointofcontentionthatheandIstillwrestlewith even today. This difference first surfaced during one of our earliest tripstogetherinthespringof2004.As usual, we had left from Kabul late in the afternoon in order to pass

unimpededthroughtheSalangTunnel,whichwasonlyopentociviliantrafficatnight. Just north of the tunnel, the rattletrap jeepwe had hired emitted a loudsizzle,andsteambeganpouringoutoftheengine.Sarfrazorderedthedrivertodriftdownthehillaboutamileandpullintoaroadsidemechanicshop.There,aboywhowasnoolderthanelevensteppedupinapairofflip-flopstoaskwhatweneeded.Hisheadwasshavedandcoveredwithablackwoolencap,andheworeanoil-stained shalwarkamiz thatwas coatedwithgrease.HisnamewasAbdul,andhewalkedwithalimp.Abdul jumped into theenginecompartment likeanacrobat,andby the time

SarfrazandIhadeatenaquickmealandhadacupofteaatanearbycanteen,ouryoungmechanichaddeftlyreplacedourradiatorandhoses.Hetoldus thepricewasfourteenhundredAfghans(abouttwenty-eightdollars),andasSarfrazcountedout themoney, I tried toget a senseofwhoAbdulwas andwhathisstoryentailed.“Whereisyourfather?”Iasked.“It isnearlymidnightandyouareworking

alone?”“IamanorphanfromPul-e-Khumri,”herepliedmatter-of-factly.“Ihaveno

fatherbecausetheTalibankilledmyentirefamily.”“Wheredoyoulive?”“I livehere—Isleep in the truck trailerover therewherewekeepourspare

parts.”Hepointedtoarustingmetalcontainer.“Howmuchmoneydoyoumake?”IaskedasIsearchedinmypockettooffer

himasmalltip.“None,”hereplied.“Idon’tgetpaid—Ionlygetsomefood,tea,andaplace

tosleep.Iworkdayandnight,everyday,andsleepwhenthereisnocustomer.AndifmybossfindsoutIhavetakenanymoney,hewillbeatmewiththeironrodoverthere.”Bythispointourdriverwasrevvingtheenginetosignalthatweneededtoget

moving,andSarfrazhadlitupacigaretteandwasglaringatmewithimpatience.

Itwas themiddleof thenightonadangerous road,wewerebehindschedule,anditwastimetogo.“Sarfraz,” I pleaded, initiating an exchange that he and I were to repeat

endlesslyoverthenextseveralyears,“can’twepleasedosomethinghere?”“Greg,thisisAfghanistan—youcannothelpeveryone!”Sarfrazbarked.“Ifhe

workshard,thisboymighteventuallyownhisboss’sgarage.Butfornowhehasfood and a place to sleep, and that is better than half of the orphans inAfghanistan.”“Okay,buthowaboutifwejust—”“No,Greg!”hedeclared,cuttingmeoff.“IpromisethatwhenIpassthrough

hereagain,IwillstoptocheckonAbdul.Butwereallyneedtogonow,orwewillbecomeshahidson thehighway,andfor thatyourwifewillnever forgiveme.”Knowingthathewasright,Ipulledoutmycameratotakeapictureoftheboy

mechanic,andthenwedroveaway.On his next trip north, Sarfraz did indeed stop to check on Abdul and

discoveredthatanotheryoungboywasworkinginhisplace.Sarfrazaskedwhathad happened to Abdul, but no one in the shop could offer any information.PerhapshehadgonenorthtoFaizabad,ormaybesouthtoKabul.NooneknewanythingexceptthatAbdul,whosestoryseemedtomirrorthatofsomanyothersinthisnationoforphans,hadsimplydisappeared.In the black-and-white image I shot that night, Abdul is standing in the

garage,coveredingreaseandoil,withaflatexpressionofresignationandlossthat no eleven-year-old boy should ever feel. The photo sits on my desk inBozeman,andIseeiteverydaythatIamhome.

OncewefinallyreachedBaharakandweretravelingthroughterritorycontrolledby SadharKhan, Sarfraz’s concerns about security began to drop away. Theywere immediately replaced, however, by a whole new set of challengesconnectedtotheterrain.The rutted dirt track through the western half of the Wakhan Corridor

followed thePanjRiver, andduring the springand summermonths the runofffromtheglaciersandsnowfieldsintheHinduKushcreatedaseriesofchannelsthatspilleddirectlyacrosstheroadbed.Thesefloodzonescouldbeuptohalfamilewide,consistingmostlyofloosegravelinterlacedwithbraidedstreamsofvaryingwidthsanddepths.Uponreachingtheedgeofanewseriesofstreams,weoftenwere forced to cruise up and down the shoreline for half an hour or

morebeforefindingaspotthatseemedtoofferapromisingplacetocross.ThenSarfrazwouldorderthedrivertogunhisengineandblastintothewaterwithasmuchspeedaspossible.Ifwewerelucky,we’dsmashthroughtotheotherside.If not, we might wind up in waist-high water that would gush through thefloorboardsandfillup the insideof thecar.Thenwe’dhave topileout,makeourwaytotheedgeofthestream,waitforatruckorajeeptocomeby,andpaythemtohaulusout.It’sfairtosaythatSarfrazandItreatedourdriverswithoutmercy.Wegoaded

them into pushing their vehicles to the point where the axle seized or thetransmissiondroppedoutorthemufflerwastorntopieces.Ifthedriverhimselfhadbeen forcedbeyond thepointofexhaustion,Sarfrazwouldorderhim intothebackandoneofuswouldgetbehind thewheel. In the springand the fallwe’dhydroplanethroughacresofmud(whichcanbetwoorthreefeetdeepintheWakhan)untilthevehicleswouldbogdownandgurgletoastop.Then,whilethe driver headed off to find a teamof yaks to pull his car out, Sarfraz and Iwouldtakeoffourshoes,andsometimesevenourpants,andstartwalking.(Thetunictopofashalwarkamizextendswellbelowtheknees,soexposurewasnotaproblem.)Sooneror later,wewould reachourgoal—whatever stretchof theCorridor

formed thefocusof the trip.And itwasat thispoint thatour realworkwouldbegin.Over the years, Sarfraz and I gradually developed a routine to which we

would adhere once we had arrived in a particular “project zone.” Each daywouldbeginwellbeforedawn,whenwewouldwakeup,blinking,inthesameclotheswe’dbeenwearingformorethanaweek,surroundedbythecomponentsof ourmobile office: one small black backpack, awheeled compact carry-on,and my black Pelican case bearing the THE LAST BEST PLACE bumpersticker.Togetherthesepiecesofluggageheldallthepaperworkforourschoolsin theWakhan, along with several extra copies of Three Cups of Tea (whichmade excellent presents to the mujahadeen), our sat phone, a Nikon batterycharger, one spare28mmcamera lens, a spare shalwarkamiz, a Sony laptop,threecameras,severallargebricksofcash,andourGPSunit.Firstontheagendaweremorningablutions,whichbasicallyconsistedofme

smearingsomealoe-scentedhandsanitizer intomyhairandSarfrazscratchinghimself in the right spots. (Showers, bathtubs, andwetwipeswere extremelyscarce in theWakhan.) Thenwewould pop the cap on our jumbo-size jar ofibuprofen, and each of us would take two or three tablets as a prebreakfastappetizer. (Whenwewere going hard, we’d each go through about twelve orfifteen pills a day in order to help dull the aches and pains induced by the

arduous travelandthe lackofsleep.)At thispoint,oneofusmightputonthepair of readingglasses thatwe shared—webothhave the sameprescription—whiletheothersteppedoutsidewiththetoothbrush.(Yep,wesharedthat,too.)The spectacle of twomen passing personal grooming items back and forth

wasbizarreenoughthatonemorningareporterfromanationalmagazine,whowastravelingwithusinordertowriteanarticleabouttheWakhan,askedmetoprovidealistofeverythingthatSarfrazandIusedincommon.“Well, let’s see,” I replied.“Weshareour jackets,our razors,ourhairbrush,

oursoap,oursocks,ourhats,ourshalwarkamiz,ourundershirts—”“How about your underwear?” the reporter interjected. “Do you guys share

that?”“Look, I’m not sure I want to reveal this,” I said, squirming with

embarrassment, “but there’s really no sense in lying about it either.” Then Iexplained that having spent the first fifteen years of my childhood in ruralTanzania—where underwear is not a big priority—Ihave sort of gone “alpinestyle”formyentirelife.“Andwhat about you, Sarfraz?” demanded the reporter,whowas diligently

writingallofthisdown.“Alpinestyleforme,too.”

Whenwehadcompletedourmorningritual,itwastimetopilebackintothecar,hit the road, andheadoff toward thatday’sdestination.Uponarrival, the firstitemontheagendacalledforaninspectionoftheschool—usuallysurroundedbya scrum of children tugging us by the hands. (One of the greatest joys inmywork is spending time with the students and teachers, and at every school, Imakeitaprioritytogreeteachchild,onebyone,andencouragethemtogivemeanupdateonhowtheirstudiesareprogressing.)At every stop where there was a project, the bricks of cash that we were

carryingwerebroughtoutandSarfrazwouldbalancetheaccountswithMullahMohammed, sixty-three, a former Taliban bookkeeper from the village ofKhundudwhoservedasouraccountantfortheentireWakhan(andwhousuallytraveledwith us). Our ledgers were kept according to the old British double-entry system and were laid out by hand, from right to left, in Persian script.Every transaction was recorded down to the penny, and at the end of eachaccountingsession,whichcouldtakehours,Sarfrazwould“seal”theledgerbydrawingalineininkalongtheedgeofthepagesothatnoadditionalexpensescouldbewritteninlater.ThenhewouldsolemnlywarnMullahMohammedthat

ifanyerrors lateremerged,MullahMohammedwouldbeshippedoff torejointheTaliban.While this business unfolded, I often found myself besieged by people

submittingrequestsforassistance.InKhundud,theremightbeamanaskingformoney tosetupagrocerystore inexchange forproviding tutoringservices toourstudents.InthetownofIshkoshem,Imightbeapproachedbyapairoflocalofficials seeking funds for a water-delivery system. In the tiny hamlet ofPiggush, the school principalmight claim to need additional cash to purchasedesksandfilingcabinets forher teachers.Thepleadingwasalwayspolite,butthe needs were endless: more books, more pencils, more uniforms, anotherclassroom.Iwouldgetproposalafterproposal,andunfortunately,Iwouldhaveto say no to dozens of them, even thoughmany of the petitionersmight havetraveledfordaysonfootorbypublictransporttopresentmewiththeirrequests.Asthedayprogressed,SarfrazandIwouldalsofindourselvespassingthesat

phonebackandforth inorder tokeep incontactwith therestof theCAIstaffwhowere scattered throughout thePunjab,Baltistan, and easternAfghanistan.There were hourly chats with Suleman in Islamabad, who served as ourcommunicationshub andwhowouldkeepme abreast ofwho among the staffwas arguing with whom—an inevitable by-product of an organization staffedwithmembersofhalfadozendifferenttribalandreligiousbackgrounds.Finally,aseveningdrewnear,wewouldbeinvitedtogatheratthehomeofa

village leader and convenewith the local heavyweights for a jirga, or councilsession.Ajirgaisaformalgatheringofelderssittinginacircleonacarpet,orundera tree,andasa rule theparticipantsare forbidden fromadjourninguntilconsensushasbeenachievedaroundadecision.Asaresult,jirgascangoonforhoursandoftenextendthroughmuchofthenight.Theyinvariablyfeaturelongspeeches, periods of intense deliberation conducted in absolute silence, andprodigiousamountsofteadrinking.Toward dawn, Sarfraz and Iwould snatch a brief nap in an empty room in

someone’shouseorbunkdownon the floorof theschool.Twoor threehourslater,itwouldbetimetopackup,pileintoourhiredvehicle,andraceofftothenextproject.Andsoitwouldgo,schoolbyschoolandvillagebyvillage,untilwehadworkedourwaythroughtheplacesweneededtovisitanditwastimeforme to fly home to Montana and for Sarfraz to head back to the CharpursonValley.Thesetripswerelongandgrueling,andduringthecourseofthemmyrespect

andaffection forSarfrazcontinued todeepen.By theendof that firstyear,hehadimpressedmewithhisintelligence,hisdiligence,andhisworkethic.Hewasculturallysavvy,constantlyonthemove,andabletoswitchbetweencharming

andharshasthesituationdemanded.ForourpointmanintheWakhan,IdonotthinktherecouldhavebeenabetterchoicethanSarfrazKhan.There was one area, however, in which both he and I were an absolute

disaster.

ThankstoSadharKhan’ssupportandprotection,weweremakingfairprogressinside theWakhanitself.Eventually,however,wewouldneedtomakecontactwith the government inKabul and obtain official permission for our projects.Withthis inmind,SarfrazandIsetupmeetingswithanumberofgovernmentofficialsduringthecourseofthreeseparatevisitstothecapitalcity—anditwasinthoseofficesthatweachievedawholenewlevelofnomuchsuccess.To be fair to the officials with whom we collided, the country they were

attemptingtogovernhadbeenatwarformorethantwodecades,andvirtuallyeveryaspectofcivilsocietywasinshambles.Nevertheless,thepeoplewetriedtoworkwithinKabuldidn’tmakeiteasyforustohelpthemrebuildtheirownschoolsystem.Onthecontrary,I’dsay.Neverhavewedrunkthreecupsofteasomanytimestosolittlepurpose.Inthatpartoftheworld,ifanofficedoesn’thaveitsowntea,someonehasto

gofortakeout,whichcansometimestakeuptohalfanhour.Asoftenasnot,wewould wait for the tea and only after it had arrived be informed that theindividualweneededtoseewasn’tin.Onceortwice,weannouncedthenameofthe official we needed to see and were told “no problem,” invited for tea,eventually served, and then informed that this person wasn’t actually in theoffice after all, and couldwe come back tomorrow? To some degree you getusedtothisincentralAsia,butinKabulsuchtendenciesweremorepronouncedthanusual.During one of our first meetings, we ran into trouble at the offices of the

InteriorMinistry, towhichwehadbeen shuttled from theEducationMinistry.Interior occupied a decrepit multistory building in downtown Kabul, and theguards at the entrance and in the hallways were all armed with AK-47s.Wetrudgedupthestairstothereceptionareaonthesecondfloor,whereItoldtheyoung man behind the desk that I had with me letters from the educationofficials in Badakshan Province stipulating that the Central Asia Institute hadreceived approval to build schools inside the Wakhan Corridor. We hadconfirmed our appointment in advance by phone, and allwe neededwere theproperfederalcertificates.“Youhavearrivedunannounced,”declaredtheofficialafterrunninghisfinger

downtheday’slistofappointmentsandfailingtofindournames.“Andnowyouareaskingustogiveyoupermissiontobuildsomeschools?Whoinstructedyoutocomehere?”“Well,ourlettersarefromtheauthoritiesatthevillage,district,andprovincial

level,”weexplained.“Butnowweneedfederalapproval,andthat’swhywe’reheretoseeyou.”“ButwhyareyouproposingtobuildschoolsintheWakhan?”heexclaimed.

“Wealreadyhavehundredsofschoolsthere!Whydon’tyouinsteadproposetobuildsomeschoolsinKabulorKandahar—forthatIwouldbehappytogiveyoupermission.”“ButthereisnotasingleschoolintheeasternhalfoftheWakhanCorridor,”I

responded.“Thatisnottrue!”hesaid.Atthispoint,Sarfrazunfurledamapandbeganpointingouttheplacesinthe

Wakhanthatneededschools.“But this is not even part of Afghanistan!” the man cried. “Why are you

proposingtobuildschoolsinChina?”“Thefactofthematter,sir,”saidSarfraz,“isthatthisisyourcountry.”“Well,evenifitisAfghanistan,”hecontinued,“schoolsarenotnecessaryin

thisareabecausenoonelivesthere.”Within the span of a single five-minute exchange, this official had asserted

that theWakhanwasfilledwithhundredsofschools, that theWakhanwasnotpartofAfghanistan,andthatnooneactuallylivedintheWakhan.Needlesstosay,weleftthatofficeempty-handed.In the following months, our exchanges with members of the various

governmentministriestowhichweweredispatchedwereequallyfruitless.Thatwas the norm in Kabul. Out in the countryside, the main concern of theeducationdirectors, thecommandhans,and the local religious leaderswhohadalready provided us with stamped and signed authorizations was that wecontinuewithourwork.Andyet,bythebeginningof2005,wehadfailedeventoregisterasanofficiallyapprovedNGOworkinginAfghanistan,muchlesstoreceive retroactive permission for the schools that we had already startedconstructing.AsSarfrazwouldsay,“paperside”wasneverourstrongsuit.Onthe“project

side,” however, we were doing reasonably well. By now, Sarfraz and I hadlaunched fiveprojects in theWakhan,with anotherdozen in theworks.Therewasmuchtobepleasedabout—yetoneconcerncontinuedtoprodatthebackofmymind.TherewasstillthematteroftheunfulfilledpromisethatIhadmadetotheKirghizconcerningthemostremoteschoolofall.

CHAPTER6

TheSealoftheKirghizKhan

ButIknow,somehow,thatonlywhenitisdarkenough,canyouseethestars.—MARTINLUTHERKINGJR.

TeacherinAfghanistan

As I havementioned, the construction of SadharKhan’s school had started in2004.ThegeneralcontractorwasHajiBaba, themujahadeenwhoclaimed thehonor of having taken out a Soviet helicopter in Badakshan with a Stingermissile.Underhissupervision,thefoundation,walls,roof,andinteriorframingwere completed bywinter.When the snow began tomelt, his crews raced tocompleteeverythingelse—thefinishingcarpentryintheclassrooms,thelatrines,the kerosene stove heaters, and the boundarywall. By spring, the little whiteschoolhousewiththelimegreentriminthevillageofYardarwastheprideofthe

entire valley and was almost ready to open its doors to its first class of 358students. Just as SadharKhan had promised,more than two hundred of themweregirls,includingtwoofhisowndaughters.InearlyMay,IarrivedinKabulandcaughtaUNflightintoFaizabad,where

SadharKhan’soldestson,Waris,metmeinhisSoviet-erajeepandshuttledmetoBaharak,whereSadharKhanwaswaiting to takeme on a tour of the newschool.Withonlytwelveclassrooms,itwashardlyourbiggestormostelaborateproject.Butevenso,Ihadtoadmitthatitwasarealbeauty.Itsmostimpressivefeature was the intricate stonework, chiseled and carved from the blastedboulders in the mountains. It was clear that Sadhar Khan was enormouslypleasedandproud,and togetherwebasked inasenseofaccomplishmentoverthis,theveryfirstschoolwehadbuiltinBadakshan.Duringthecomingweek,Wariswasplanningtoenlistthehelpofseveralmen

inthesurroundingcommunitytobuildthedesksandchairs—asmartmovethatwouldavoidthehighcostofpurchasingthefurniturefromKabulandpayingtheexorbitantshippingcosts.Inthemeantime,myplanwastoheadintotheWakhanandmeetupwithSarfrazsothatwecouldattendtheinaugurationofourschoolinthevillageofSarhad.Ifeverythingwentasplanned,I’dbeabletotoast theopening of the projects on either end of our two-pronged “literary pincermovement.”A day later, traveling with a jeep and driver provided by Sadhar Khan, I

arrived inSarhad. Itwas a gorgeousmorning—the skywas a soft robin’s-eggblueand theshadowsofswiftlymovingcloudswereplayingacross the lemonyellowcontoursoftheenormouspeaksthatriseabruptlytothenorthandsouthofSarhad.SarfrazandIrodetowitnesstheopeningdayofschoolbysquattingin awooden trailer pulled by a red tractor.The lurching and bumpingwas soviolent thatwe had to brace ourselves against the sides of the trailer to avoidbeingpitchedout.Thestone-walledschoolhadbeenconstructedintheshapeofacircle,alocal

design, and it boasted nine classrooms with a sunroof that would permitstreamingsunlighttoilluminatetheinteriorwhileprovidingwarmth.Waitinginthecourtyardwere220eagerstudentsandtheirteachers.Thegirlswerecladintraditional crimson tribal dresseswithwoolen stockingswrapped around theirlegs,whiletheboysworethedrab,grayshalwarkamizthatisstandardattireintheregion.As often happens at such events, the kidswere just beside themselveswith

anticipation.AsSarfrazandIhoppedoutofthetrailer,theygatheredinalinetowelcomeus.One of the students at the front of the line, awispy third gradernamedAisha,displayedtheknock-kneedgaitthatisaby-productofrickets,an

ailmentcommontotheremoteinterioroftheWakhan,wherethedietisdeficientinvitaminD.Unlikemostofthegirls,whoshylygreetedmewithatraditionalkisstothebackofmyoutstretchedhand,Aishagavemeanenormoushugandrefusedtoletgo.The entrance to the school’s interior compound was guarded by a pair of

myrtlegreenmetalgates, and thehonorof taking the firstofficial steps insidewas given to a group of the village’smost respected elders, all of themmen.Then one by one, the children gingerly stepped through. Some were clad inrubber boots, others wore sandals, and several were in their bare feet. All ofthemwerecloselywatchedbyTashiBoi,thevillagechief,whorecitedthenameof each child as he or she walked through the gate and gave a crisp nod ofapproval.AsIwatched thechildrenstep into theschoolcourtyard, Icouldn’thelpbut

notice that the gray, lunar-looking dust now bore the imprints of amosaic offootprints, and I was reminded, oddly enough, of the moment when NeilArmstronghadsteppedontothesurfaceofthemoon.Onesmallstepforabraveyounggirl, I thoughtas theknock-kneedAishatotteredintothecourtyard,onegiantleapforthiscommunity.Standing beside me was Doug Chabot, the husband of Genevieve, CAI’s

international programmanager,whohasvolunteered tohelpusover theyearsandwhohadarrivedafewdaysearlierwithSarfraz.“Thisisreallysomethingtowatch,”murmuredDoug,turningtomewithalookofsubduedamazementthatsuggestedthathewasbeginningtofathomwhatthepromiseofeducationmeanttoavillagelikeSarhad.“Theyarejusthungryforthis,aren’tthey?”Inoddedsilentlyandcouldnothelpbut thinkbacktotheafternoonin2002

when Afghanistan’s minister of finance had told me that “the last thing thepeopleintheremoteareaswantisschools.”

The followingmorning, I bade farewell to Sarfraz and, together withMullahMohammed,theCAI’sex-Talibanbookkeeper,beganheadingbacktoBaharak.Bythispoint,wordofourarrivalhadspreadthroughouttheCorridor,andaswebouncedalongtheruttedjeeptrack,wewereunabletotravelmorethanacoupleofmileswithoutencounteringaclusterofpeoplewaitingbythesideoftheroadtoflagdownourvehicleandinviteusinsideforacupofteasothattheycouldsubmitaspecialrequest.Themessagewasalwaysthesame:Wehaveheardaboutthemaktab(school)

thatyouhave justopened inSarhad,andweknow thatyouplan tobuildnew

schoolsnextyearinWargeant,BabuTengi,andPikui.Whataboutus?Willyounotconsiderhelpingourchildrenbybuildingamaktab for them,too?Withallthestoppingandstarting,ittookmorethanforty-eighthoursbeforewemadeitback to Baharak and somewhere along that stretch of road, the outsideworldcaughtupwithus.Several days earlier, Newsweek magazine had published an article that

suggestedthatanAmericansoldierstationedattheU.S.prisoninGuantánamoBay had taken a copy of the Koran and flushed it down a toilet. The editorswouldsoonretractthestory,butthedamagehadalreadybeendone,andaswordof this alleged desecration reverberated throughout theMuslim world, eventsquicklybeganspinningoutofcontrol.InAfghanistan,thefirstriotstookplaceinJalalabadonWednesday,May11.

At about 10:00 P.M. that night,MullahMohammed and I arrived inBaharak.AfterdrivingtoSadharKhan’shomeandbeinginformedthathewasnotthere,weheadedintothecenteroftownwiththeintentionofspendingthenightonthefloor of a crowded public “guesthouse.” On the way there, however, I wasapproached by a guard who worked for Wohid Khan, a former mujahadeencommander and a colleague ofSadharKhan’swho is in charge of theBorderSecurityForceineasternBadakshan.Afterwarningusthattroublewasbrewingin town, theguardurgedMullahMohammedandme toproceed to abuildingowned byWohid Khan, where we could join a group of travelers who werespendingthenightunderhisprotection.Happytocomply,weheadedovertothetwo-storyapartmentbuilding,where

a cluster of perhaps twenty Afghans had gathered. By now it was nearlymidnight, and just aswewere preparing for bed, in strodeWohidKhan. In atypical demonstration of Afghan hospitality, he insisted on feeding everyonedinner.Weallfiledintoanotherroomandsatcross-leggedonPersianrugswhileplattersofroastlambandKabuliricewereserved.IfoundmyselfsittingnexttotwodignifiedbutraggedfigureswithMongolian

features.Thegentlemantomyimmediateleft,whowaswearingthickeyeglassesandablackrobemadeofdensecloth,lookedtobeaboutseventyyearsold.HepolitelyintroducedhimselfasNiazAliandexplainedthathewastheimam,orspiritual leader,ofagroupofKirghiznomadswho lived in theHighPamir,atthefareasternendoftheWakhan.Mypleasure atmakingNiazAli’s acquaintancewasquicklyovertakenbya

senseofastonishmentanddelightwhenheintroducedmetohiscompanion,whowassittingtomyright—adusty,disheveledeldercladincorduroybreechesandhighleatherbootswhowasdrapedintheexhausteddemeanorofamanwhohadbeenontheroadfarlongerthanhemighthavewished.Thiswasnoneotherthan

AbdulRashidKhan,theverymanwhohadsenthisson,Roshan,overtheIrshadPasstofindmeinthefallof1999.Itwasanextraordinarycoincidence.HereinBaharak,AbdulRashidKhanand

I had finally been brought together around a plate of roast lamb, long aftermidnightontheeveofafull-blownreligiousriot.Butevenmoreremarkable,asIwasabouttodiscover,weretheeventsthathaddrawnthismanfromhishomeinthemountainsatthefarendoftheWakhan.Aswetuckedintothefoodlaidbeforeus,hetoldmethestoryofthearduousjourneyhehadjustcompletedtomeet thepresident ofAfghanistan inKabul, and the reasonswhyhewasnowreturning,empty-handedandnearlybroke,tohispeopleintheHighPamir.

During the mid-1990s, the Afghan forces that had defeated the Soviet armyfound themselvesgrapplingwith the impossiblechallengeof rebuildingawar-shattered nation without any significant assistance from their former alliesabroad,includingtheUnitedStates.Intheabsenceofoutsideaid,oneofthefewreliablesourcesofwealthwasopium—acropthathadofferedalucrativesourceof income to a number of cash-strapped mujahadeen commanders during theSovietoccupation.By theearly1990s, somuchheroinwas flowingoutof thecountry that Afghanistan rivaled Southeast Asia as the prime source of theworld’sopiumsupply.Thenin1994,asoneprovinceandcityafteranotherfellto the armies of Mullah Omar, many members of Badakshan’s beleagueredmujahadeenfoundthemselvesturningtodrugdealingastheirprimarymeansoffinancing their war against the Taliban, sending enormous quantities norththrough new overland routes developed by organized crime groups in Russia,whowouldtransportittoMoscowandEuropeancitiesbeyond.Inaddition to taxing thegrowthandexportofopiumfromwithin theirown

territory,thesemujahadeenhadalsoplayedaroleinsellingdrugstopeasantsinremotevillages,especiallytheWakhiandKirghizoftheWakhan.Invillageaftervillage, the pattern repeated itself: Within the tight confines of a close-knithousehold, addiction would spread from an ailing husband or a rebelliousteenager toeverymemberof thefamily, including thewomen, theelderly,andeventoddlers.Fromtherethescourgewouldspreadtomembersoftheextendedcommunity, enveloping entire villages. Starting in the late 1990s, Ismaili andKirghiz communities all across theCorridor began reporting opium addicts ineverystratumofsociety,withestimatesashighasaquarterof theentireadultpopulation.The results were devastating. Families suffering from advanced levels of

addictionwoundupsellingeverythingtheyownedtofinancetheirthree-times-a-dayhabit.Firsttogoweretheirpossessions—mainlythegoats,sheep,andyaks—followed by their land, and in the most extreme circumstances, even theirdaughters,whocametobeknownasopiumbrides.(Itisnotuncommontofindentirefamiliessoldintoservitude.)Thosewhoremainedwerereducedtoadietofteaandbread,makingthemvulnerabletosicknessanddiseases.By early 2005, things had become so desperate that Abdul Rashid Khan

decidedtoformadelegationofleadersfromnortheasternAfghanistanandtravelto Kabul to lay these grievances before the newly elected president, HamidKarzai. In addition to making Karzai aware of the problems stemming fromheroin addiction, the representatives intended to present evidence that theirsector of the country lacked virtually any semblance of a functioning federalgovernment.For Abdul Rashid Khan, the trip to the capital took an entire month and

involvedtravelingbyhorse,jeep,andpublictransport.UponreachingKabulinearly March, he and Niaz Ali spent several weeks moving around variousgovernmentministries inaneffort tomeetwithofficialswhowereresponsiblefor services such as education, transportation, health care, and post offices.Duringtheseencounters,theygotthesamekindofrunaroundthatSarfrazandIhad met with during our own visits.Meanwhile, they set themselves up in arundown apartment with no heat or electricity and petitioned for an audiencewithPresidentKarzai.Theywaitedtwomonthsbeforereceivingareply.When theywere finally granted an audience, the president permittedAbdul

RashidKhantogethalfwaythroughhisitemizationoftheproblemsamonghispeoplebeforecuttinghimoff.“Don’tworry,”Karzaiinterrupted.“Iamgoingtoarrange food—Iwill sendyoubackwith foodonhelicopters.Youwill not gohomewithoutasolutiontoyourproblems.Wewillarrangewhatdocumentationisneededfortheclinics,andwewillgetyourfood.”Withthat,themeetingwasover.There was no follow-up from Karzai’s office on the matters of food,

helicopters,medicalservices,oranythingelse.InearlyMay,AbdulRashidKhanandNiazAlirealizedthatthepresident’spromiseswerenotgoingtobefulfilledandstartedtheirjourneyhometotheWakhanempty-handed—andbyroad.By the time Abdul Rashid Khan and I met at Wohid Khan’s supper in

Baharak,thetwoKirghizleadershadbeenawayfromhomeformorethanfourmonthsandhadsquanderedmuchof theirpersonalfortune.Uponreaching thePamirs,theywouldbefacedwiththedutyofinformingtheirpeoplethatithadallbeenfornaught.

Whenhehad finished relating this tale,AbdulRashidKhanconfirmed thatheknewallaboutmymeetingwithhissonat theentrance to theIrshadPassandexpressed his amazement that we were now, on the heels of his brutallydisappointingsojourninKabul,finallymeetingforthefirst time.Itwasaveryemotional exchange: He declared that he was deeply honored to meet me; Iprotested that itwas a far greater honor tomeethim. Then theduas began toflowfromhishands,oneafter theother,andheandNiazAlibeganaKoranicrecitationoutofsheerjoy.AduaisaprayerinvokedasablessingorthankstoAllah,andinthecaseof

AbdulRashidKhan’s invocation, itwaspartly an expressionof gratitudeoverthemiraclethatwehadfinallymetandpartlyanexpressionofhishopethatthehumiliatingandfruitlessquestonwhichhehadembarkedmightactuallyresultinsomethingpositive.“AllIreallywantformypeopleisaschoolsothatwecanprovideeducation

forour children,”he said. “Toachieve that, I amwilling togiveup all ofmywealth—allofmysheep,allofmycamels,allofmyyaks—everythingIhave,ifonlyAllahwillgrantthisonerequest.”“Butyouhavenothingtoworryabout,”Isaid.“Ihavealreadypromisedyour

sonthatwewillbuildyouaschool.”“If that is truly the case,” he replied, “then let us start now—this very

minute!”Ooba (yes), I told Abdul Rashid Khan, but first I have to call someone. I

steppedintothecooleveningoutside,turnedonmysatphone,andpunchedthenumber forKarenMcCown, one of our directors,who lives in theBayArea.SeekingpermissionfromourboardtofundaparticularschoolisnotthewaywenormallydothingsattheCAI.ButIwasexcitedandoverwhelmed,andsowaseveryoneelse,andtheemotionsofthemomenttookover.“Karen,”Iblurted,“doyouremembertheKirghiztribesmenwhorodeacross

theborder and foundme inZuudkhan inOctober of 1999?Well, I am finallyherewithAbdulRashidKhan,andheisindesperatestraits,andwehavetostarttheschoolforhimandhispeople.”Myexcitementwasapparentlycontagious,evenoverthephone.“Go ahead, Greg,” Karen declared. “I’ll check with the board and get

retroactiveapproval,butlet’sgetthisshowontheroad!”WhenI returned to thediningroomandannounced thatwehad thefunding

fortheschool,AbdulRashidKhandeclaredthathewantedtodrawupaformalagreementrightthenandthere.AstheleaderoftheKirghiz, itwashisdutyto

provideaguaranteethathispeoplewoulddonatethelandandthelaborinordertoensurethatthisprojectwouldgoforward.WohidKhansummonedaguardtogivemeaspiralnotebookandapen,andI

drew up a standardCAI contract, the document that codifies our arrangementwithanynewcommunity.IthenhandedthepapertoNiazAliandhetranscribeditintoKirghizwithavintagefountainpen.Itwasonlyeightsentenceslong,andinEnglishitreadasfollows:

Bismillahir-Rahmanir-Rahim

InthenameofAllah,theMerciful,theBeneficial

WiththewitnessofCommandhanWohidKhan,AbdulRashidKhan,MullahMohammed,andGregMortenson

Whereas, the Kirghiz people of the Wakhan have no school, teacher, oreducation

AndWhereas, theAfghanistangovernmenthasnotprovidedusschoolsaspromised

The Kirghiz people, under the leadership of Abdul Rashid Khan, herebysignthisagreementtobuildafour-roomschoolatBozaiGumbaz,Wakhan,withtheassistanceofregisteredcharityNGOCentralAsiaInstitute.

CentralAsiaInstitutewillprovidebuildingmaterials,skilledlabor,schoolsupplies,andhelpwithteachers’salaryandtraining

AbdulRashidKhanagrees toprovide free land, subsidizedmanual labor,andsupportforteachers.

The exact terms of the budget and agreement will beworked out after ajirgaisconvenedinBozoiGumbaz.

AbdulRashidKhanWohidKhan

GregMortensonMullahMohammed

ThenAbdulRashidKhan did something that I had never seen.He reached

insidehis jacketandpulledouta tinybrownleathersatchel. InsidewasaveryoldwoodenstampwiththeofficialsealoftheKhanoftheKirghizoftheLittlePamir.OnthissealwasemblazonedapairofMarcoPolosheephorns,twistedinaspiral.Healsohadaninkdipper,andwiththishecarefullyblottedinkontothestamp,which Inoticedhada tinycrack runningdown themiddle, thenplacedthis mark upon the contract. When he was through, he took a red candle,dribbled a small circle of wax at the bottom of the stamped seal, and withponderousgravity,pressedhisthumbprintintothewax.When this formalitywas complete,NiazAli launched into a lengthyprayer

thatapparentlyincludedhalfofKirghizhistoryandthatpetitioned,amongmanyotherthings,that

Allah theCompassionate, Allah theMerciful, Allah theBeneficent,mightwatchoverWohidKhan,whosefoodhadbroughtthesehumbleservantsofIslamtogetherforthismiraculousmeeting...andthemenoftheeasternBadakshan border security force, who were protecting us on this mostdangerousnight. . .and,yes,evenPresidentHamidKarzai,whomaynothavekepthispromisebutwhoboretheweightofashatterednationonhisshoulders,which surely isagreaterburden thananymanever shouldbecalled upon to bear . . . and this school-building Americanmountaineer,who is attempting to honor the first word of the Holy Koran, Ikra (“toread”)bylightingalampfortheilliteratedaughtersofIslam...andthisAmerican’sstrangebandofemployees—firstofall,blesstheSunnisamongthem,ofcourse,but theShiites, too;andyes,eventhiscrazyIsmaili fromPakistanwiththebrokenhandnamedSarfrazKhan...mayAllahshowerhisblessingsuponthemall...PraisebetoGod...ThereisnoGodbutGod...AndMuhammadisHisProphet...LaIlahaIlla-Allah...

Thiswentonforquitesometime.Whenitwasfinallyover,everyoneclapped.AbdulRashidKhanandIembraced.AndthenWohidKhansolemnlydeclaredthatifitbecamenecessary,hewouldpersonallytraveltoKabultoensurethatnocorruptbureaucratormisguidedgovernmentofficialdaredtointerferewiththeconstructionofthisschoolfortheKirghizoftheLittlePamir.ThusendedoneofthemostmemorableencountersIhaveexperiencedduring

the twelve years since I failed to climbK2 andwound up stumbling into thevillageofKorphe. Itwas remarkableon itsown terms, tobe sure—but itwasrenderedevenmoreastonishing,itnowseemstome,byvirtueoftheeventsthat

wereabouttounfold.

At about ten o’clock the following morning, Mullah Mohammed and I badefarewell toourKirghiz friendsand leftBaharak,headingwest forFaizabad. ItwasnowFridaythethirteenth,andaswemadeourwaythroughtownwecouldseethatalargegroupofmenhadgatheredaroundtheNajmuddinKhanWosiqmosque,whichwaslocatedjustoffthebazaar.Theylookedangry,andmanyofthemwerecarryinghoes,shovels,andsticks.Wekept driving, reachedFaizabad about threehours later, and immediately

checkedinto theMarcoPoloClub,aformerSovietguesthouseonan island inthemiddleoftheroaringAmuDaryaRiverthatcurrentlyfunctionsasadecrepithotel. By now, the Newsweek story about the desecration of the Koran hadfiltered into every corner of the Muslim world, and enraged imams fromMorocco to Islamabadwere preparing to launch fiery sermons on the subjectduring Friday prayers, which typically begin around 1:30 P.M. Fearing thatthingsmight get out of hand, the employees of almost every foreignNGO ineasternBadakshanappearedtobeevacuatingFaizabad,eitherbygettingaseatontheoneUNflightattheairportorbyheadingsouthontheroadtoKabulintheirLandCruisers.My thinking in these matters has always been different. When things get

tense,I’dratherbewithlocalpeoplethanwithforeigners,eveniftheforeignershaveguns.SoIstayedputattheMarcoPolo.Thatevening,agroupofaidworkerswhowerefleeingfromBaharaktoKabul

stopped inFaizabadandbroughtword that apairof conservativemullahshadgivenespeciallyinflammatoryspeechesthatafternoonattheBaharakmosqueinwhich they had declared that the insult to the Koran that had taken place atGuantánamo Bay was an unpardonable offense that needed to be met withviolence.Inresponse,severalhundredmenhadswarmedoutofthemosqueintothe streets of Baharak and headed southeast toward a street that houses theofficesofnearlyeveryforeignaidagencyintown.Duringthenextseveralhoursofrioting,eachoftheseofficeswasransacked.

The windows were smashed, the doors broken down. While every piece offurnitureandequipmentinsidewasdestroyed,thevehiclesparkedoutsidethemwere pummeled with sledgehammers and crowbars, then set on fire. In theprocess, four local residents who had been employed by these organizations

weremurderedand theentirebazaarwas smashed topieces.WohidKhanandthe Border Security Forcewere eventually able to restore order and quell theviolence, but only after shooting down two rioters,wounding at least a dozenmore,andarrestingmorethanfifty.Whenword of these events reachedme in Faizabad,my heart sank.Under

mostcircumstances,IremainoptimisticthatthingswillworkoutforusinAsia,butonthatevening,IwasconvincedthatournewschooljustoutsideBaharak,whichislessthanamilefromthestreetwheretheNGOofficeswereattacked,had been gutted and destroyed. If that had indeed happened, it would be asetbackforourentireWakhaninitiative,onefromwhichwemightnotrecover.Yearsofworkandpatientnegotiationmight spiraldown thedrain, alongwithour newly lit hopes of finally making good on our promise to Abdul RashidKhanandhispeopleinthePamirs.Inshort,ifthisnewschoolinthebackyardofourstrongestsupporterintheentireprovince—SadharKhanhimself—hadbeensackedbythemob,wecouldbeoutofbusinessintheWakhan.I had no confirmation that this had actually taken place, of course, butmy

fearsweregetting thebest ofme.Not helpingmy frameofmindwasMullahMohammed,whoatsomepointthatFridayhadboltedfromtheMarcoPoloandgoneintohiding,apparentlyconcludingthathe’dbesaferwithoutme.Iwasn’tangry—whocouldblamehim?Buthisactionsseemedtounderscoretheextenttowhicheverythingwasspinningoutofcontrol.

Two days later, Mullah Mohammed reappeared at the Marco Polo Club,apologizingprofuselyforhavingabandonedme.Iwantedtoaskhimwhyhehadviolated themost sacrosanct of tribal codes and desertedme, but I noticed hewas still terrified, literally trembling, and I reassured himwe bothwere quitefine—but I added thatwe needed to line up some transportation and head forBaharak,wherebynowtheriotinghadsubsided,inordertofindoutwhathadhappenedtoourschool.Hequicklyfoundaminivanforhire,andwewereoff.Aswe drove into the outskirts of Faizabad, I began to see piles of burned

wood,twistedrebar,andotherremnantsoftheriotingpiledatthenorthendoftown.Nearthemainmosque,afirebombedLandCruiserstillsmolderedandwasmissingitsbigantenna.Nervousmenandcuriosityseekerslingeredonallsidesof the locked-down bazaar stalls. A few local chai stands were doing a briskbusiness,withmencongregatingaroundthemtosortoutfactfromfictionamongtherumorsthatwereflyingthroughtown.BeyondFaizabaditself,therewasnoevidenceofriotingordestructiononthe

sides of the roads. The farmers were in their fields weeding and reroutingirrigation channels; the small shops along the road were mostly open forbusiness.For lunchwe stopped at a local tandoori shop to getwarmchai andfreshnaan,hotoutofaclayoven.Thebakertherecomplainedthatmostofthevehicles thatdaywere inahurry togetoutof theareaand racedbyhis standwithoutstopping.Hewasamusedwhenwetoldhimwherewewereheaded.“YoutwoarefoolstobeheadedforBaharaktoday,”hedeclared.“Youshould

begoingtheotherway.”JustbeforetheentrancetoBaharak,theroadsweepsoveraplateauandoffers

a stunningviewof the townwith the distantHinduKush in the south.Aswetoppedtherise,wefailedtospotanythingunusual—butuponcrossingthefinalbridge into Baharak and entering the main bazaar where the mosque and thegovernmentofficesarelocated,itseemedasifwewerepassingintoawarzone.Rubber tires still smoldered in the streets, which were covered with sticks,bricks,andstones.Inthemiddleofthebazaar,wheretheNGOofficesbegan,thereweregutted

Land Cruisers, smashed computers, and broken glass everywhere. The mob’sfuryhad clearlybeendirected at thesebuildings,whichhoused theAgaKhanDevelopmentNetwork,FOCUS,EastWestFoundation,AfghanAid,andotherNGOs.Theirofficeslayinruins,andeventhesafesanddeskshadbeensmashedtopieces.AswemadeourwaydownpastthesouthendofthebazaartowardYardar,I

wasbracedfortheworst.Butwhenwepulledupinfrontoftheboundarywallofthenewschool,Icouldhardlybelievemyeyes.Nowindowswerebroken.Thedoorwasintact.Thefreshcoatoflimegreenpaintthatthebuildinghadreceivedonlyaweekearlierwasasbrightasanewlyminteddime.“AllahAkbar,”mumbledMullahMohammed,andcrackedasmile.Aswestoodsurveyingthebuilding,SadharKhan’ssonWariswalkedupand

explained that during the peak of the riots, a faction of the mob that wasattacking thebazaarhadstormeddown the road in thedirectionof theschool.Beforereaching theboundarywall,however, theyhadbeenmetbyagroupofelderswhohaddonatedthelandfortheschool,organizedthelaborerswhohadbuiltit,andparticipatedinthelayingofthecorner-stone.Theseelders,orpirs,informed the rioters that the Central Asia Institute school belonged not to aforeign aid organization but to the community itself. Itwas their school, theywere proud of it, and they demanded that it be left alone. Andwith that, theriotersdispersed.Notastonehadbeenhurled,Waristoldme.Later,afterallthedamagehadfinallybeentabulated,thecostoftheBaharak

riotswasassessedatmorethantwomilliondollars.TheCAIschoolwasoneofthefewbuildingsassociatedwithaninternationalaidorganizationthatwasleftstanding, and the reason for this, I am convinced,was that our schoolwasn’treally “international” at all. It was—and remains—“local” in every way thatcounts.The outcome seemed to vindicate our three-cups-of-tea approach while

simultaneouslyfillingmewithasenseoftremendousreliefandpride—emotionsthatmightwellhavegottenthebestofme,hadthejourneyhomenotserveduparudereminderofhowmuchworkremainedtobedoneinthispartoftheworld.

Waris was kind enough to offer Mullah Mohammed and me a ride back toFaizabad, where we were scheduled to catch a UN flight to Kabul.WewereaboutanhourwestofBaharakjustoutsidethevillageofSimdarawhenIlookedtomyrightandsawanoldearthenhut twentyyards fromthesideof theroadthatappearedtobefilledwithchildren.Atleastthat’swhatIthoughtIsaw,butIcouldn’tbesure.“Wouldyoumindstopping?”IaskedWaris.“Ithinktherewasaschoolback

there.”Waris and Mullah Mohammed both laughed. “No, Greg, that’s actually a

public toilet,” explainedWaris. “Itwas left over from theRussianoccupation,when it was used by the construction crews who widened the road toaccommodatetheSoviettanks.”Hekeptdriving.“Thatmightbetrue,Waris,butitseemedtobefullofkids.Whatwerethey

doingthere?Weneedtogobackandfindout.”Warisrefusedtobelieveme,andthedebatecontinueduntilIfinallybecame

adamantandbasicallyorderedhimtoturnaround.Whenwegotbacktothehut,I got out,walkedover to theopendoor, andpeered in.Sure enough, itwas atoilet—oratleastithadbeenatonetime.Theroofwasnowgoneandthefourtoilet pits had been covered by old boards. There were twenty-five childrenbetween four and five years old, plus one teacher, and a slate board leaningagainstthewall.The studentswerequitehappy to chatwithWaris,MullahMohammed, and

meabouttheirclassandtheircurriculum.Afterabouttenminutestheteacher,apoliteyoungwomanwholookedtobeabouttwentyyearsold,askedifwemightlike to see “the rest of the school.” Curious to discover what sort of otherclassroomsmight havebeenpairedwith an erstwhile public toilet,wenodded

andfollowedherupthehill.Justover thecrest,ataspot thatwas invisiblefromtheroad,wereapairof

tatteredUNrefugeetents,eachofwhichfeaturedasinglechalkboardandatleastthirtychildren,allofwhomweresittingon theground.Thesestudentswerealittle older, second and third graders, and they were terribly excited because,unlike theircolleaguesdownat the toilet school,nooneever visited their tentclass.Afterafewminutesofchatting,oneofthetwoteachersturnedtomeandasked,“Doyouwanttoseeourupperschool?”“Byallmeans—pleaseleadtheway.”Down the other side of the hill was a structure that appeared to be an old

toolshed.Thisbuildinghadaroof,asmallwindow,andapieceoftarpaulinoverthe doorway. It was slightly larger than the toilet—perhaps ten feet wide byeighteenfeetlong—andverydarkinside.Itwasalsoquitenoisybecausenearlyonehundredstudentswerepackedinlikesardines.Thesewerethefourth,fifth,and sixth graders, and according to the twowomenwhowere teaching them,theywere doing extremelywell—although itmight havebeenhelpful to havesomebooks,somepaper,andsomepencils.This was my introduction to the education system serving the region of

Simdara,anareawithapopulationofroughly4,000people.Formorethantwodecades,thedistricthadbeenattemptingtokeepitsschoolsrunningwithoutanyassistancewhatsoever.The students hadneither booksnor school supplies noruniforms,andtheteachershadnotbeenpaidinmorethantwoyears—althoughthey had been receiving weekly rations of flour in compensation for theirservices.We were forced to get back on the road and catch our plane, but later I

telephonedSarfrazandaskedhimtolookintothissituationwiththeeducationofficeinFaizabad.TheofficialsinFaizabad,whichislessthanfortymilesdowntheroad,saidtheyhadneverevenheardoftheSimdaraschooldistrict—buttheywould be delighted if we would consider putting in a proper school for thevalley.BythispointwehadcommittedmostofourcurrentfundinginAfghanistanto

the new schools inside the Wakhan, but we did manage to scrape togetherenoughcashtobeginpayingthesalariesoftheSimdarateachers.Ourhopewasthat within a few months, we might be able to figure out a way to get thestudentsoutof thetoiletandthetentsandintoastructurethatat leastvaguelyresembledanactualschool.By the timeautumnarrived,however, theworldhadshiftedon itsaxis,and

the lives of Sarfraz,me, and the othermembers of theDirtyDozen had beensweptupin—andconsumedby—thedisasterthattookplaceonthemorningof

October8,2005.

PARTII

Qayamat(“TheApocalypse”)

CHAPTER7

ADarkandDistantRoar

OnOctober7,IwasPrimeMinisterofAzadJammu&Kashmir.OnOctober8,IwasPrimeMinisterofagraveyard.—SARDARSIKANDARHAYATKHAN

WidowinrefugeecampafterPakistanearthquake

One hundred and fiftymillion years ago, the landmass of India belonged to asupercontinent known asGondwana that splayed acrossmuch of the southernhemipshere and was bounded by a primordial ocean called the Tethys Sea.Sometime between the Jurassic and the Late Cretaceous periods, Gondwanastartedbreakingapart,andthisgeologicpartitioncastlooseIndia’smooringsandsentitplowingnorthwardthroughthesealikeanimmenseterrestrialbargeuntilitrammedintothesouthernedgeofEurasia.Theimpactgeneratedplate-tectonic

forcespowerfulenoughtocrushandcontortthebottomoftheTethysSea,thenthrust the entire ocean bed high into the sky. The result was a soaring arc ofsnow-drapedpeaksthatnowstretchesformorethan1,500miles,fromthelunar-looking escarpments of eastern Afghanistan to the dripping, flower-drapedforestsofBhutan.Today, the fossilized skeletons of the trilobites, crinoids, and other marine

creaturesthatwereoncesuspendedinthewarmcurrentsoftheTethysSeacanbefoundlitteringthesummitsoftheHimalayas,whichcontinuetoriseatarateof tenmeters eachcenturyas the Indian subcontinent sustains its slow-motioncrash into central Asia. At irregular intervals, the stresses and pressuresgeneratedby thisconcussioncauseearthquakes to rippleacross theaxisof theHimalayas, one of the most active fault zones in the world. Most of thesetemblors are minor events that scarcely draw notice. Every few decades,however, the earth’s crust is seized by a cataclysmic convulsion that sets thegreatest peakson theplanet to shaking like thebranchesof an apple tree in astrongwind.This is what took place in northeastern Pakistan around 8:50 A.M. on the

morningofSaturday,October8,2005.BecauseitwasstillRamadan,theninthmonthoftheIslamiccalendar,when

devoutMuslimsareforbiddentoeatordrinkbetweensunriseandsunset,manyadultswereinsidetheirhomesthatmorning,doingchoresornappingaftertheirpredawn meal. Saturday is also a school day in Pakistan, however, so mostschoolchildren had already gathered inside their classrooms by the time thequakestruck.The seismic shock wave originated more than sixteen miles beneath the

surface, deep under Kashmir’s Neelum Valley at a point whose surfacecoordinates corresponded almost exactly with the Government Boys’ DegreeHighSchoolinthevillageofPatika,abouttwelvemilesnortheastofthecityofMuzaffarabad. The school was a two-story brick structure, and at 8:30 A.M.,eighty-one tenth-gradeboyshadassembledat theirdesks in roomnumber six.Their first class was an English lesson conducted by a twenty-four-year-oldteachernamedShaukatAliChaudry,aformerKashmiriguerrillafighterandanex-member of the Talibanwhose pastwas as convoluted as the geography ofKashmir.ShaukatAliwasborn inPatika in1981, andat theageof twelve,whenhis

father died, he was forced to complete his own studies while simultaneouslyworkingasaprivatetutortosupporthismotherandhiseightyoungersiblings.His home lay just beyond the twenty-mile range of India’s Swedish-manufactured Bofors artillery cannons, but throughout his teenage years he

could hear periodic Indian bombardments of nearby villages in the NeelumValley.Itwasduringthisperiod,inthelate1990s,thathefoundhimselfdrawninto Kashmir’s burgeoning independence movement—a campaign that drewinspirationfromtheAfghanmujahadeen’svictoryovertheSovietsin1989.Notlong after his sixteenth birthday, Shaukat Ali joined the Jammu KashmirLiberation Front (JKLF), where he received guerrilla training before beingassigned to quick forays to raid Indian army convoys inside the portion ofKashmirthatwascontrolledbytheIndiangovernment.AroundthistimehealsomadethefirstofseveraltripstoKabultoobservethe

Taliban’seffortstoimposestrictIslamiclawinAfghanistan,andfromtherehewas able to roam across portions of central Asia and Chechnya. He initiallyfoundhimselfimpressedbytheTaliban’sideologicalfervoranddecidedtojointhemovement,but latergrewdeeply troubledby theTaliban’smanyatrocitiesagainstcivilians,andespeciallyby theirattitude towardwomen.Thanks tohiscommandofArabic—askill thatmanyofhis illiteratefellowmilitantsdidnotpossess—ShaukatAli understood that theywereviolating the teachingsof theKorananddidnothesitate to tell themso.“If thatwomanwasyourmotheroryoursister,”hewoulddemand,pointingtoawomanwhowasbeingpersecutedby one of his colleagues, “would you dare to beat or kill her in the name ofIslam?”Torn between his relationship with a group of men who were committing

crimesinthenameofIslamandhislongingtoreturntohisdutiesasateacher,he eventually sidedwith the latter. “One of the happiest days ofmy life,” heoncetoldme,“waswhenIfinallyputdownmygunforeverandtookupthepen.ThisisthejihadthatisAllah’scallingforme.”HetookajobattheGovernmentBoys’DegreeHighSchoolinPatika,where

healsojoinedthefacultyoftheGundiPiranHigherSecondarySchoolforGirls,an eighth of amile down the road, tutoring three hundred female students inEnglish,economics,andmathematics—thefirstmaninthehistoryofthedistrictpermitted to teachgirls.Sportinground,gold-rimmedglassesanda longblackbeard, he looked like a cross between anAfghanmujahadeen and aBerkeleyphilosophyprofessor.Andbythefallof2005,thisyoung,earnest,andtalentedIslamic rebel was passionately devoted to empowering Kashmir’s firstgeneration of science-educated girls to enter college and eventuallymove intotheworkforce.OnthemorningofOctober8,ShaukatAli’slessonplancalledforhimtoread

apassagetohisEnglishclassthatbeganwiththesentence,“Sportsandgamesareveryimportantforphysicalhealth.”Beforehestartedreading,helookedupandspottedastudentnamedTarik,whohadbeenabsentthepreviousday.

“Tarik,”hedemanded,“wherewereyouyesterday?”Tarikshottohisfeet.“Sir,Iwassickandunabletocome,”heexplained.“Wouldyoupleaserepeat

yesterday’slesson?”Before Shaukat Ali could respond, a dark roar engulfed the entire Neelum

Valleyandthewallsoftheschoolbuildingbegantoshakeviolently.“Run!”criedShaukatAli.

Heheldthedoortightlyastheboysthreadedthroughonebyone,thenfollowedafterthemwhilerecitingthewordsoftheFirstKalima,oneofthefivepillarsoftheIslamicdeclarationoffaith—Lailahaillal-Lah,Muhammadunrasulula-Lah.“ThereisnogodbutAllah,andMuhammedishisProphet.”Teacherandstudentsracedalongthehallanddownthestairstojointherest

oftheschoolinthecourtyard,whereeveryonewatchedindisbeliefasthewallssupportingthesecondstorycrumbledandthetopfloorofthebuildingfellapart.ShaukatAliandhiscolleaguesimmediatelystartedcountingheadstodetermineifanyonehadbeenleftbehindandquicklyrealizedthattheheadmaster,AkbarAhwan,andthehistoryteacher,ProfessorKhalidHusmani,werenowheretobeseen.Thetwomenwerelaterfounddeadintherubble,alongwiththebodyofKhoshnoodAliKhan, the schoolclerk,whoapparentlyhadbeenchecking theclassroomstomakesurethestudentshadallevacuatedbeforeattemptingtofleehimself.Itwasduringthebriefinterluderequiredtocompletethisinitialrollcallthat

several things happened. Roughly 450 miles to the southeast, tremors causedpanicinthestreetsoftheIndiancitiesofAmritsarandDelhi,whileinthedistrictofPoonch,thetwo-hundred-year-oldMotiMahalfortabruptlycollapsed.Faroffto thenorthwest, awall in theAfghancityof Jalalabad tumbledontoayounggirl, who became one of the quake’s only two casualties inside Afghanistan.Meanwhile, fifty-fivemiles southwest in Islamabad’sBlueArea, theMargallaTowersresidentialapartmentbuildingdisintegrated,killingseventy-fourpeopleaccording to the Associated Press. None of those events, however, couldcompetewith the carnage anddestruction that greeted the teachersofShaukatAli’sschoolwhen,uponcompletingtheirheadcount,theylookeduptosurveytheirsurroundings.Alongthehillsbeyondthetown,landslideshadseveredeveryroadandburied

entire villages. The bridge across the NeelumRiver had twisted sideways. InPatikaitself,therewasbarelyahouse,dukan(shop),orofficeleftstanding,and

peoplewererunning through thestreets,manyof themscreamingandcoveredwithblood.ShaukatAlistartedtorushacrosstothetownbazaarbutwasbroughtupshort

when his gaze turned toward the Gundi Piran Higher Secondary School forGirls, where all that was left was pile of gray and white rubble. The entirestructure had failed, trapping three hundred girls inside. Many were alreadydead,butsomewerestillalive,andwhentheparentsofthesestudentsbeganingrunning into the schoolyard, they were greeted by the muffled cries of theirdaughterscomingfromunderthewreckage.ShaukatAli’sownhomeinthevillageofBatangiwaseightmilesaway,and

astheheadofhishousehold,heknewthathisfamilywouldbelookingtohimfor leadership in thismoment.His responsibilities as theoldest sondemandedthatheleaveimmediately,buttherewasanothersetofobligationsthatrequiredhimtodotheopposite.“Ikneweverygirlinsidethatbuilding,”helatertoldme.“These were my students—they were like sisters and daughters to me, and Icouldnotleavethem.”The streets were impassable, foreclosing any possibility of getting heavy

equipmenttotheschool,andtheaftershockswerealreadytriggeringnewspasmsofvibration.Amid thedust anddebris, theparents and the teachers could spyarms and legs and bits of clothing, so theywent at the rubblewith their barehands.Muffled voices and screams helped guide the frantic rescuers to thosewhowerestillalive.Althoughthestudentswhowerepulledoutwereinshock,manyofthesesurvivorssettoworkseparatingthedeadfrominjured,layingthecorpsesoftheirclassmatesoutinthecourtyardwhilecaringforthestrickenandthebrokenasbesttheycould.During that first morning and afternoon there was no drinking water, no

medicalsupplies,andnoblankets.Atonepoint,ShaukatAlihelpedremovethemangledbodyofagirlnamedSabina,whohadtreatedhimlikeanolderbrotherandhadpromisedtohelpfindhimawife.HecouldnotbringhimselftolookatSabina’s face—and years later, he would still find it impossible to recall themomenthecoveredherbodywithashawlwithoutweeping.Byevening, theyhadbarelymadeadentintheremainsofthebuilding.ThedarknessthatdescendedoverthesouthwesternrimoftheValeofKashmir

thatnightwasabsolute,unbrokenbyasinglelightbulborstreetlampintheentireNeelumValley.Thenitstartedtorain.Thiswasnotasoftpatteroranintermittentdrizzle,butafull-ondeluge.The

torrentrenderedwhatwasleftofPatikacoldanddrenched.Itfellsohardandsorelentlessly that the ruins were swiftly filled with small rivers. They sluicedthrough the wreckage of the town’s buildings, and they threaded around the

bodiesofitsdead.ShaukatAlispent thatnightcaringforagirlnamedSura.Althoughshehad

beenhorribly injuredandwas in terriblepain, theonlycomforthecouldofferwas toholdherheadinhis lapandtry tokeeptherainfromherfacewithhisjacket.Longaftermidnight,when the rainhad finallystopped, theaftershockscontinued.Hetriedtokeeptrackofthenumber,butstoppedcountingwhenhegot to one hundred. The most haunting thing he remembered from that firstnight,however,hetoldmelater,wasthestillnessbetweentheconvulsions.Packsofgidhad(jackals)andwilddogsroamthroughoutthefoothillsofthose

mountainsaftersunset,andonanygivennight—especiallyduringtheazan(themuezzin’scall toeveningprayer), theirhowls tend tocreateamournful racketthatresoundsacrosstheridgetopsandthroughthevalleys.Thatnight,notasingleanimalmadeasound.

There is a twelve-hour time difference between Pakistan and the RockyMountains, andon thenightofOctober7, Iwas in ahotel room inSaltLakeCity,wheremysonanddaughterhada taekwondo tournamentscheduledforthefollowingmorning.Whenmywife,Tara,calledshortlyafter9:30P.M.withnewsofthefirstdamagereportsfromKashmir,thekidsandIhadjustreturnedfromdinneratT.G.I.Friday’s.Tarahadnodetails,andIcouldn’traiseanyoneinPakistan.ItriedtocallSuleman,Saidullah,Parvi,Nazir,andeveryotherpersonI could think of but couldn’t get through—not even to Sarfraz on his satellitephone.IaskedTaratokeeptryingtoreachSulemanandifshegotthrough,totellhim

to keep in touch whenever and however possible. The kids wanted to goswimming,butbeforetheydidIsatthemdownonabedandtoldthemwhathadhappened.“Dad, how canwe do a tae kwon do tournament tomorrow,” askedAmira,

“whenthekidsinPakistanaredying?”“Are Apo and Suleman okay?” chimed in Khyber, before tellingme that I

shouldimmediatelyheadofftoPakistantohelp.“It’shardtounderstandwhytherehastobesufferingandtragedylikethisin

theworld—andit’sgoingtogetworse,”Itoldthemastheyclungtightlytomyhands. “Butwewill do everythingwe can to help our friends over there. Fornow,let’ssayaprayertokeeptheminGod’shands.”Later that night, I jumped online. Tremors had been felt throughout central

and southernAsia, andmost of the early reports seemed to focus on the two

apartmenttowersinIslamabadthathadfallendown.Asforthevillagesdeepinthemountainsandthepeoplewholivednearthequake’sepicenter,Iknewthatitwouldbeanotherseveralhoursbeforedetailsevenstartedtoemerge.For now,my immediate concern was for the welfare of our staff and their

families, followed closely by that of our teachers, students, and schools. TheCAI projects that were closest to the epicenter were our pair of artillery-deflecting schools in Gultori, some eighty miles away. Many others were ahundredmilesdistant,certainlywithinrangeofamajorquake.Byworkingthephonesthroughmostofthatnightandagoodportionofthe

followingday,Iwasabletoconfirmthatallmembersofouroperationandtheirfamilies were safe and that all of our schools in Pakistan were still standing.Therehadbeennodeaths,notevenanyinjuries,andonlyaminorcrackinthelowerwalloftheAlAbidPrimarySchoolinSkardu.Bythattime,however,ithadalsobecomeclearthatthedamageinsideKashmirwascatastrophic.Reports indicated that numerous towns and villages throughout northern

Pakistanwerecompletelywipedout.Oneachstreetandineveryneighborhood,there were extended families in which every member of the clan—dozens ofmen, women, and children—had been killed instantly and interred togetherbeneaththerubbleoftheirhomes.InthecapitalcityofMuzaffarabad,themainhospital was demolished, killing more than two hundred patients. The city’sprisonhadalsopancaked,burying fifteenprisoners andwounding fortyotherswhilesixtysurvivorsrantosafety.(Oneoftheonlystructuresleftstandingwasaspecialsetofgallowsinthecourtyardthatcouldaccommodatethreecondemnedcriminals at the same time.) Somewhere amid the wreckage ofMuzaffarabadUniversity, hundreds of college students had been buried alive. Familieswandered the streets, refusing to return to their homes.Children,women, andmensatorstoodintheopenandwailed.Bynightfall,dogsroamedthestreets,tearingatthebodiesofthedeaduntilpatrollingsoldiersshotthemdown.Duringtheprevioushalfcentury,Pakistanhadsufferedthroughfourwars,two

military coups, and any number of floods, bombings, political assassinations,and other disruptions, but there had never been anything quite like this. Thetremblerregisteredamagnitudeof7.6,approximatelythesameasthe1906SanFrancisco earthquake. Satellite photos would later reveal that the quake hadtriggered2,252 landslides, according to twoAmerican seismologists.Within aten-mileradiusofthetownofPatika,therewasn’tasinglehospitalbed,workingtelephone,ordropofmunicipaldrinkingwater.ThedeathtollaccordingtotheU.S.GeologicalSurveywouldeventuallyexceedeighty-sixthousand,qualifyingit as theworstnaturaldisaster in thehistoryofPakistan, and the twelfthmostdestructiveearthquakeofalltime.

Aquarterofthosecasualties—nearlyeighteenthousanddead—werechildren,most of them students who were in school when the earthquake struck.Strangely, thevastmajorityofthosedeadschoolchildrenweregirls,andasthedebriswasclearedawayandthebodieswererecovered,theexplanationforthisimbalance slowly emerged. While the boys had tended to race to safety byboltingout thewindowsanddoors,mostof thegirlshad instinctivelyhuddledtogetherandperished.Also,thankstothegovernment’stendencytochannelthebest resources towardmalestudentsbefore seeing to theneedsof the females,many of the girls did not have desks—whichmight have saved thousands ofliveshadthegirlsbeenabletocrawlunderthemforsafety.AccordingtoPakistan’sMinistryofEducation,3,794schoolsandcollegesin

Kashmir and 2,159 in the Northwest Frontier Province had been destroyed.Roughly half a million students had been cut off from their studies. Theeducationinfrastructurefor theregion—offices,records,payrolls,everything—was gone, and more than five hundred teachers were dead. In less than fourminutes,anentiregenerationofliteratechildrenhadbeenwipedout.It would take months before the extent of the destruction had been fully

catalogedandanalyzed.For themoment, theonlythingthepeopleofnorthernPakistanreallyhadwasanameforwhathadbefallenthem.InUrdu,thewordforearthquakeiszalzala.ButthroughoutKashmir,thenand

to thisday, theevent that tookplaceon themorningofOctober8was simplyknownastheQayamat—“theapocalypse.”

ShaukatAli spentallofSunday,October9, clawingat the rubble in searchofinjuredgirls,threeofwhomwerepulledoutalive.Bynowhishandsweretornandhisclothingwascovered inblood.Thatnight, thecriesofgirlswhoweretrapped inside,which had been growing fainter, finally died out, leaving onlysilence. Just before noon on Monday, however, Shaukat Ali heard whimperscomingfromthesectionofthewreckagewherethefourth-gradeclassroomhadbeenlocated.Heandagroupofmenclawedfeverishlyataholeintherubble,dislodgingarainofstonesanddirt.“You idiot bastards, stop throwing rocks at us!” came a voice fromwithin.

“Can’tyouseethatwearehelplessandstuck?”“ThisisyourmasterShaukatAli,”shoutedChaudry.“Areyouokay?”“Weneedwater,”cametheresponse,“andwedon’tlikeyouthrowingstones

atuswhenwehavedonenothingwrong!”.Anhour later, adozenmenhadclearedawayseveral stonesweighingmore

thantwohundredpoundsandamazeoftwistedrebartoexposeapairoffourthgraders named Aanam and Anii. They were surrounded by a close circle offifteen of their dead friends, whose bodies had protected them from fallingdebrisandcushionedtheworstoftheimpact.AlthoughAanamandAniicouldnotseeeachotherinthedarknessandthedust,theyhadbeenholdinghandsforseventy-fivehours.After thegirlsweresafelyextracted,eachguzzledabottleofmineralwater,

then ran straight home.Later that evening, ShaukatAli decided itwas finallytimeforhimtodothesame.WhenhereachedthevillageofBatangi,hefoundhismother,SaheraBegum,

huddledshivering in the rainundera sheetofplasticnext to the ruinsof theirhouse. Nothing was left, not even her shoes or the family Koran. From hismother he learned that one of his sisters had been killed and already buried,alongwithhisbrother-in-lawandallofhisclosestchildhoodfriends.Ofthe165housesinhiscommunity,only2hadbeenpartiallyspared.The following day, Shaukat Ali walked back into the center of Patika to

purchase a shovel, a pick, some kerosene, and a pair of shoes for hismother.Thenhereturnedhomeandstarted todigoutherbelongings.With thehelpofhisbrothersandsisters,hespentthatdayandthenextexcavatingtheremainsofher household and rigging a temporary shelter. Then on the seventh day, hewalkedtwelvemilesintothecityofMuzaffarabadandwasamazedbywhathefound.Amid the wreckage and the chaos was a completely new town: a chaotic

bazaarfilledwithsuppliesflowninfromtheworldoutside,newneighborhoodsfashioned from tents andplastic, andmost strikingof all, new faces.TheRedCross, thePakistaniarmy,and theAmericanarmywereall there,alongwithahostofinternationalrelieforganizations,andthemedia.Theywerehandingoutfreeclothingandfood,whichShaukatAlicouldnotbringhimselftoaccept.Healso refused to accept a job: The Red Cross desperately needed to hiretranslators,andpeoplewithhisskillswereinhighdemand.Theywereofferingonehundreddollarsadayinpay,morethanhecouldmakeinamonth.Instead,hewent back toPatika andmetwithSaidaShabir, the principal of theGundiPiranGirls’School.A diminutive figure with dark eyes, thick glasses, and a limp, Shabir was

nevertheless a formidablewoman. She had been an educator for nearly thirtyyears,risingfromteachertoadministratoronthebasisofaferociousworkethic,and when she opened her mouth to express her displeasure, even the menstoppedtalking.Shewasknown—andfeared—forherfiercetemper,herabilitytomakethingshappenfast,andawillingnesstodressdownanystudent,teacher,

orgovernmentofficialwhofailedtoconformtothestandardsshehadset.Shabir and Shaukat Ali agreed that although rebuilding the region’s

educational infrastructurehardlyqualifiedasa toppriority in themindsof themilitary and government officials who were spearheading the relief efforts,schools—especially girls’ schools—were a potent symbol of progress.Gettingclassesupandrunningasquicklyaspossiblecouldofferabeaconofhopefortheentirecommunity.“Shaukat,”orderedtheheadmistress,“gobackdowntoMuzaffarabad,speak

tothearmycommanderwhoisincharge,andfindoutwhatsortofassistancehecanoffer.”UponreturningtoMuzaffarabad,heapproachedaPakistaniarmycolonelwho

had been taskedwith distributing relief supplies and explained that he neededseveral canvas tents so thathe andShabir could reopen theirgirls’ school andresume classes. When the colonel realized that Shaukat Ali was serious, hecalledhimafool.“Yes, thatmaybe thecase,” repliedShaukatAli.“But if thePakistaniarmy

refusestoprovideshelter,thenwewillhavetobeginteachingintheopenair—andasyouknow,winterisjustaroundthecorner.”WhenheleftMuzaffarabad,hehadfoureight-by-twelve-footcanvastents—

enoughtoaccommodatesixhundredstudents.BackinPatika,heandShabiragreedthattimewasshort.AllacrossPakistan,

government-administered schools would conduct final exams the followingMarch, and if the girls of theGundiPiran schoolwere to have any chanceofpassing those tests,classesneededtoresumeasquicklyaspossible.WordwassentoutthattheschoolwouldreopenonNovember1.Thatafternoon,October13,therainfinallystoppedanditstartedtosnow.

Inthemeantime,havingreturnedhometoBozeman,Iwasanxioustosurveythedamage and talk with people on the ground. I realized, however, that it wasprobablymoreimportantformetostayintheStatesfornow.Oursupportersanddonors,oldandnewalike,wouldbesendinginchecksandwantingtoknowhowwe were going to spend the money. The mountaineering and the outdoorcommunities would surely want to donate tents, sleeping bags, parkas—andmanyofthesepeoplewouldbelookingtousforguidanceonhowtogetthose

suppliestoPakistan.Allofwhichputmeinaratherawkwardanduncomfortableposition.Providingaidinthemidstofanaturaldisasterisanextraordinarilycomplex

and expensive job that presents almost impossible difficulties, even fororganizations that specialize in this kind of work. The infrastructure fordelivering food, providing shelter, and ensuring sanitation—not only for thevictimsbutalsoforthereliefworkers—oftenhastobecreatedfromscratchandset up on the fly. Restoring power, transportation, communication, and propermedicalcarerequiresprofessionalswithenormousexpertise.Inthefaceofsuchchallenges,thenotionthatagroupastinyastheCentralAsiaInstitute—anNGOthatbythenhadbuiltfewerthanfiftyschoolsonabudgetoflessthanamilliondollarsayear—mightsomehowreinventitselfovernightasanemergencyreliefproviderwaswellmeaningbut supremely impractical.Wewerenot setup foremergencywork,weknewalmostnothingaboutthebusinessofdisasterrelief,andwithournewinitiativeinAfghanistan,ourlimitedmanpowerandfinancialresourceshadalreadybeenstretchedtothebreakingpoint.On the other hand, given what had just happened, a large chunk of

northeasternPakistanhadjustbeencutofffromtherestoftheworldandlefttofendforitself.Whetherwelikeditornot,theresidentsofthisregionwerenow,quiteliterally,thepeopleattheendoftheroad.OnOctober10,Sarfrazfinallycalled.Hewasalreadyintheearthquakezone.SarfrazhadfeltthevibrationsathishomeinZuudkhan,instantlygraspedthe

significanceofwhathad takenplace, andhit the road. It had takenmore thanforty-eight hours for him to make his way to Islamabad and then head east,hitching rides in trucks,minivans, and jeeps and hiking over the sections thathadbeenburiedbylandslides.AssoonasIheardhisvoice,Istartedgrillinghimaboutwhatwashappening,

but he told me to hold off with the questions. It would be several days, heexplained, before he would be able to reach the most remote sections of thedisaster area. Once there, he would take stock of the situation and report hisfindings back to me. Then we could decide together how the Central AsiaInstitutemightbeabletohelp.Ifwehadaroletoplay,hesuggested,itwoulddepend heavily on what had happened to the local schools. For the moment,whatweneededmostwasinformation.His first destinationwas Balakot, a town on the eastern edge of Pakistan’s

NorthwestFrontierProvince.Thescenethatgreetedhimtherewasshocking.Insomeplaces, the roadwas linedwithbodieswaiting for relativesor friends toidentify them for burial. In other places burialswere already takingplace, butthanks to a shortage of picks and shovels, people were digging graves with

wooden boards or their bare hands. In one particular spot, he came upon awomansittingbythedebrisfromacollapsedschoolthathertwodaughtershadattended. The rubble had already been pushed asidewith a bulldozer, and theareahadbeencombedbycadaver-sniffingdogs,whohadfailedtoturnupanysign of her daughters, but the grieving mother refused to believe that herchildren’s bodies were not inside. Sarfraz tried to console her, but she wasrefusingtoeat,drink,orsleep.From Balakot he continued working his way north up the Kaghan Valley,

whichisheavilypopulatedbyethnicPathans,anotoriouslyinsularcommunity.Manyofthesepeopleseemedtoreactnegativelytotheideathatintrudersfromthe outside were there to help. “Why are you coming here?” several localsdemanded of Sarfraz. “We have no food or shelter for even ourselves—goaway!”EventuallySarfrazmanagedtobefriendanelderlyPathannamedMohammed

Raza,whoadvisedhimthatitwouldprobablybebestifhelefttheareafornow.The residentswouldeventuallybegin turning their attention to thebusinessofrebuilding schools, counseledRaza, but nowwas not the proper time. ShouldSarfrazreturninayearortwo,hewouldprobablymeetwithabetterreception.Based on the response he had received in theKaghan, Sarfraz’s conclusion

waspessimistic.Ifpeopledidn’texactlywelcomehim,afellowPakistani,howwould they respond to thearrivalof anAmericanworking for a foreignNGOlike the Central Asia Institute? After returning to Islamabad and sharing hisnegativeprognosiswithme,heposedadifficultquestion.If theKaghanValleywould notwork out,was it appropriate for us to start

exploringthemoreremoteareasthatlaydirectlyalongtheborderbetweenIndiaand Pakistan—the placeswhere outsiders had not ventured in years? In otherwords, should we consider venturing into the heart of Pakistan-administeredKashmir?Thismadebothofuspausetotakeadeepbreath.

In addition to its notorious geological instability, Kashmir lies atop a web ofpolitical fault lineswhose intractable complexity ismatchedonlyby the clashbetween the Israelis and the Palestinians. The origin of this conflict can bepreciselydated tomidnightonAugust15,1947,whenBritain’s IndianempirewasofficiallypartitionedintothenewnationsofIndiaandPakistan.TheupheavalofPartitionproducedoneofthelargestmigrationsofrefugees

inmodernhistory (twenty-fivemillionpeople)and the slaughterofnearlyone

millioncivilians,asHindusandSikhsfledsouthintoIndiawhileMuslimsracedin the opposite direction toward Pakistan. Another casualty was India’snorthernmost principality, the state of Jammu and Kashmir, which had aMuslim-majority population ruled by a Hindu maharaja named Hari Singh,whosegreat-grandfatherhadpurchasedKashmirfromtheBritishin1846for7.5million rupees, or about 5 rupees per citizen—the cost of a cup of tea at anIndianroadsidecafé.Two months after Partition, Pakistan invaded Kashmir and rattled the

composure ofHari Singh, amanwhose interests up to that point had focusedmostlyonpolo,late-nightchampagneparties,andshootingsafaris.Intheearlyhours of October 26, the maharaja fled the kingdom with his most exquisitejewels,hisWebley&Scottshotguns,andhisdogTarzan.Meanwhile,theIndiangovernment mobilized its entire fleet of passenger planes and airlifted threehundredSikhtroopsintothecapitalcityofSrinagar.Whenthefirstroundoffightingended,two-thirdsofKashmirwasinIndian

hands,includingJammu,theBuddhistregionofLadakh,andthebiggestprizeofall,thelegendaryValeofKashmir.PakistancontrolledtheregionsofGilgitandBaltistan, plus a sliver of southwestern Kashmir that India now refers to asPakistan-Occupied Kashmir (POK) and Pakistan calls Azad Kashmir (FreeKashmir).Onthemap,AzadKashmirisanarrowtongueofland,atsomepointsonlyfifteenmilesacross,whoseshapeissimilartothatoftheWakhanCorridor,butwithanorth-southorientation.ThedemarcationbetweenthetwoKashmirscorresponds almost exactly to the final position of the battle lines when themilitary ceasefirewas declared in January 1949. This 450-mile border, whichstartsnear the Indian cityof Jammuandcuts adiagonal, northeastward swathtowardChina,isknownastheLineofControl(LOC).In1965andagainin1971,IndiaandPakistanfoughtwarsinKashmir,bothof

whichPakistanlost.Thenduringthesummerof1989,aciviluprisingexplodedamong ordinary Kashmiris who wanted independence from both India andPakistan.Within months, the revolt had turned into a violent war that wouldeventuallypitsomesixtyseparateIslamicguerrillagroupsagainsthalfamillionIndian army troops and result in the deaths of more than thirty-six thousandpeople.Atrocitieswere committedonboth sides.While Indian security forcesdetained,tortured,andexecutedcivilians,IslamicmilitantswhohadbeentrainedinPakistanslippedacross theborder toattackIndiansoldiersandcarryoutanassassination campaign against Hindu poets, judges, and social workers. Thesituation was not helped by the fact that twelve months earlier, Pakistan hadconducteditsfirstsuccessfulnuclear-weaponstest.Repression and reprisal followed one another until April 1999, when eight

hundredPakistan-supportedmilitantslaunchedasurpriseattackacrosstheLineof Control, seized a seventeen-thousand-foot ridge overlooking the cities ofKargilandDras in India-controlledKashmir,andbeganshellingavital IndianmilitaryroadthatconnectsthecitiesofSrinagarandLeh.Indiarespondedwithfullforce,andbyearlyMaytherewasheavyfightingalongonehundredmilesof theborder.By July4,when the Indiancounterattackandpressure from theClintonadministrationhadforcedPakistaniprimeministerNawazShariftobackdown, both sides had reportedly put their nuclear strike forces on alert,provokingPresidentClinton todeclareKashmir “themostdangerousplaceonearth.”AccordingtotheUnitedNations,thefinaldispositionofthisdisputedregion

—whichhasbeenpendingformorethansixtyyears—istobedeterminedbyaplebisciteamongKashmiricitizens,themajorityofwhomarestillMuslim.Untilthat vote takes place and residents on both sides of theLOC are afforded thechance to exercise theirUN-sanctioned right of self-determination,Kashmir islikelytoremaininherentlyunstableandhighlyvolatile.Bythetimeofthe2005earthquake,AzadKashmirhadbeenclosedtoalmost

all foreigners fordecades.Asa result,despitehavingspentmore thanadozenyearslivingandworkingthroughoutPakistan,Iknewalmostnothingaboutthisplace.TheCentralAsia Institute had no relationships, no connections, and nohistoryinthispartofthecountry.Inshort,wehadn’tsharedasinglecupofteainAzadKashmir.Giventhemagnitudeofthedisaster,however,therestrictionsonforeigntravel

hadbeenliftedovernightandNGOsfromallovertheworldwerenowpouringintothearea.SoIsuggestedtoSarfrazthatheshouldgetbackontheroadanddohisbesttomakehiswayintotheeasternsideofthedamagezone,deepinsideAzadKashmir.At this point, of course, neither Sarfraz nor I had ever heard of the Gundi

PiranGirls’School—norhadwemetShaukatAliChaudryorSaidaShabir.Butthe events thatwould eventually draw all of us together had now been set inmotion.

CHAPTER8

NoIdeaWhattoDo

Whenyourheartspeaks,takegoodnotes.—SUSANCAMPBELL

Distributionpointafterearthquake,NeelumValley,Pakistan

OnOctober15,SarfrazagainheadedoutofIslamabad,thistimeinthedirectionofMuzaffarabad,gateway togroundzeroof theearthquake.The roadhe tookproceeded east from Pakistan’s capital and wound into the foothills past theidyllicsummerresortofMurree,aformerBritishhillstationwherelowlandersflee the Punjab’s sweltering, humid heat in summer. From Murree, the roadplungeddownthroughaseriesofstunningcanyonstotheKohalaBridge,whichmarks theentrance to thegreenhillsofAzadKashmir.Sarfrazwasamazed tonote that the Frontier Works Organization (FWO), Pakistan’s military civil-engineering unit, had already managed to clear more than a dozen massivelandslides and open the road.But upon rounding the bend intoMuzaffarabad,whichsitsattheconfluenceoftheNeelumandJhelumrivers,hefoundhimself

confronted once again with the sort of carnage and suffering he had alreadywitnessedintheKaghanValley.Almost every structure in the citywas cracked, leaning, or collapsed. Each

streetandalleywascrowdedwithhomeless,wandering,injured,ortraumatizedadultsandchildrenwhoseemotional stabilitywasnothelpedby thenumerousaftershocks. Ineveryneighborhood,Pakistaniarmycrewsweresifting throughwreckagesearchingforbodiesandanypossiblesurvivors.Peopleweremillingeverywhere,dazedandlookingforfoodandwater.SarfrazspentthatfirstnightinasleepingbagonthesidewalkoutsidetheAl-

Abbas Hotel and Restaurant, which was perched on a cliff high above theNeelumRiver(andwhichthemembersoftheDirtyDozenwouldeventuallydubtheCrackHotelonaccountofthemassiveverticalfissurethatzigzaggeddownonesideofthestructure).Thenextday,ashemovedaboutthecity,hecalledmeon his sat phone to report that there would be an inevitable bias towardconcentratingmostemergencysuppliesinMuzaffarabadinordertousethecityas thestagingareafor thewholeregion.This,Sarfrazwenton toexplain,wasgoodnewstotheresidentsofMuzaffarabad;butitwouldofferlittlecomforttothe 2.5million displaced people in the surrounding valleys and hillsides whowerecutofffrommostcontactwiththeoutsideworld.After laying thisout,Sarfrazproposed thatheheadnortheast inaneffort to

reach themost remote villages along themost distant reaches of the NeelumValley,a150-mile-longgorgecarvedbytheNeelumRiver,whichisnamedafterthecolorof the rubies thatcanbeminedatvariouspointsalong its folds, andwhichonce servedasoneof theworld’smost importantcentersofBuddhism.Thankstoitsprecipitouscanyonwallsandthefactthatithadreceivedsomeofthe heaviest Indian artillery shelling during the past two decades, theNeelumqualified as perhaps themost underserved district in all ofAzadKashmir.Byvirtue of these attributes, argued Sarfraz, this was probably where we wouldwanttotargetourwork.(Althoughwedidn’tknowthisatthetime,morethan10percentofthevalley’s140,000residentshadperishedintheearthquake,andthemajorityofthesevictimswereschoolchildren.)ItoldhimIagreedcompletely,andIwishedhimluck.Sarfrazhadhiredacartobringhimthisfar,butwhenhesawtheconditionof

the road beyond Muzaffarabad, he sent the driver back to Islamabad andcontinued on foot, carrying several bottles of water, his sleeping bag, and apackage of salted crackers. The road up the Neelum Valley was blocked bydozensoflandslides,andinsomeareasentireslabsofmountainhadcrashedintotheriver.Ashe threadedhisway through themudand thedebris,everyonewhomhe

spoketohadastory,andeverystorywastragic.Withoutexception,eachpersonheencounteredhad lost at leastoneclose relative,usuallymore.Anyonewhohadbeeninsideabuildingwasluckytobealive,althoughmostofthemhadlostalloftheirworldlypossessions.Itseemedlikenearlyeveryonewaslimpingorhada fielddressing thatwasmattedwithdriedblood.Menandwomeneithercarried twoor threechildrenon theirbacksorpushed their familiesalonginawheel-barrow. With his sleeping bag and his package of biscuits, Sarfrazqualifiedasamanofenviableriches.That night, while sleeping under a smashed truck, he called me on his sat

phone. “The roads are filled with people: people walking, people looking forfood,peoplecrying,”he reported.“It isverybadeverywhere.When it isdarkandwhennobodyislooking,evenIstarttocry.”Most natural disasters are followedby a highdegree of chaos, and the first

goaloftheauthoritiesistotrysystematicallytoreducethatchaos.ButinAzadKashmir during the second week of October, things only seemed to becomemoreconfusedandmoredisorganizedwitheachpassingday.Withinforty-eighthours,theonlytworoadsleadingfromIslamabadintothedevastatedvalleystothe north were jammed with every kind of conveyance, including donkey,bicycles,andrickshaws,asrelativesandfriendspouredintotheprovinceinthehopeoffindinglovedones.FromallacrossPakistan,well-intentionedvolunteerswere now rushing into themountains to offer assistance.As a result, the fewstretchesofhighwaythathadnotalreadybeenblockedbylandslideswerenowhopelessly gridlocked. At one point, the Pakistani army began bulldozingvehiclesofftheroadinordertogettheflowoftrafficgoing.Adding to the confusion was the flurry of international assistance that was

convergingonthestrickenregion.TheinternationalNGOsneededaplethoraofancillarysupport, includingLandCruisers,kitchens,generators,remoteserversfortheirlaptops,mineralwater,andmuchmore.Inordertofacilitatetheflowofhumanitarianandmedicalaid,fivecrossingpointsalongtheLOCbetweenIndiaandPakistanhadbeenopened—butthesethoroughfaresweresoonbottleneckedasaidteamsbeganarrivingfromaroundtheworld.Twelvedaysafterthequake,thePakistanigovernmentstillhadnotreached20percentofthedamagedareas.Twoweeks after that, theU.N.WorldFoodProgramwould estimate that fivehundredthousandpeoplestillhadnotreceivedanyaidatall.BythemiddleofNovember,morethanthreemillionrefugeeswouldbehuddlinginthemountainswithoutshelteroradequatefoodonthethresholdofthewinter.AsSarfraz headednorth, hiking first fromMuzaffarabad toPatika and then

proceedingforseventeenhoursfromPatikatothevillageofNousada,hecouldsee that in many places the landslides that had destroyed the roads had also

obliteratedentire communities.TenmilesnorthofMuzaffarabad, for example,laytheKamsarrefugeecamp,hometoaboutathousandMuslimrefugeesfromIndia-controlledKashmirwhohadbeenlivingtheresince1992.Thecamphadbeen situated on a narrow bench approximately two thousand feet above theNeelum River; during the quake, half of the settlement had broken off thehillsideandplungedintothegorge,takingwithitmorethanthreehundredofthecamp’sresidents.Thebuildingsontheportionofthebenchthatremainedintacthad all been destroyed, rendering the seven hundred survivors refugees twiceover.ThreedaysafterleavingMuzaffarabad,SarfrazreachedthevillageofNouseri,

whereeveryhousehadbeenobliteratedandpeoplewerewanderingthetrail inrags, still unable to fathomwhat had taken place and having not the faintestnotionofwhereorhowtobeginrebuildingtheirlives.Eightmilesfartheron,inthetinyhamletofPakrat,hemetawomannamedAlimawhosehusbandandtwochildrenhadperishedinthequake.Shewassquattingatopawoodenbedoutsidethe remainsof her home, staringblankly at a sheaf of papers.Thesewere theofficial documents that she was supposed to fill out in order to qualify for agovernment disbursement of cash. In addition to being immobilized by herdespondency,Alimawasilliterate.“Iaskedthefaujihavildar(armysargeant)forhelp,”shesaidtoSarfraz,“and

allhegavemewasthispieceofpaper—andwhenIstartedtocomplainandaskforfood,hetoldmetogoawayorhewouldbeatmewithhisstick.Thispaperisnotevenfoodenoughforadog.”Alima’spredicamentstruckSarfrazastwistedandsurreal,akindofsatireof

cruelty.Theformsthatshewassupposedtofilloutfeaturedaslewofquestionstowhichshehadnoanswer, includingtheplaceanddateofherbirth,herage,andhernationalidentificationnumber.“Howisawomanlikethisevergoingtosurvive?”heexclaimedthatnighton

thesatphone.“EverywhereIamlooking,therearedeadbodies,andthepeoplewhoarenotdeadactliketheyaredead.Thisistoomuch.Noonehasanyideaofwhattodo.”Sarfrazisaresilientmanwhohaslivedachallenginglife,but thesceneshe

was encountering in AzadKashmir were beginning to grind him down. Eachnight,hisreporttomewasdepressinglythesame.Ineverydirection,fromeveryangle,theworldseemedtobefilledwithchaosanddespair.

One of the few bright spots to which Sarfraz could point during hisreconnaissance trips involved Operation Lifeline, an internationally organized

effort to transport emergency supplies via helicopter into isolated villages andtownsallacrossAzadKashmir.ThismissionincludedseveralchoppersprovidedbytheBritishandtheGermans,alongwithanumberofPakistan’sownSoviet-eraMi-17 helicopters. The heart and soul of the operation, however, involvedfourteen American Chinooks flown by an Army Reserve unit from Olathe,Kansas.Thesemachines,alongwiththeirtwohundredpilotsandsupportcrew,weretheunsungheroesoftheearlyreliefeffort.TheChinookshadflowninstraightfromthewar inAfghanistanwithin two

daysof the quake, and their firstmission involved ferryingbulldozers, trucks,andotherheavyequipmentnecessarytorebuildthemainroads,whileusingtheirreturnflights toevacuate theseverely injured.Later, theyhauled tents, roofingmaterials,medicalsupplies,flour,cement,babyformula,andanythingelsethatmight be needed—including a special consignment of sewing machines. The6,000 tons of material that the helicopters delivered in the first three monthsfollowing the earthquake—one of the most massive helicopter airlifts everconducted—was eventually credited with keeping half a million people aliveovertheensuingwinter.As the choppers penetrated ever deeper into the damage zone, their fame

increased, and eventually the toys that were most coveted by the children ofAzadKashmirwerelittleplastichelicopters.EveryonelovedtheChinooksandtheircrews,whowereinvariablygreetedwithwavesandcheersand,ofcourse,hordesofkids.Sarfraz talked tosomeof thepilotsand learned that thosewhohad served in Iraq could not believe that the people of Pakistan actually likedthem.Inthecomingyears,manyofthesepilotsandtheircrewmemberswouldlookbackuponthoseweeksasthehighlightoftheirmilitarycareers.As the Chinooks delivered their payloads of heavy equipment and as the

trafficjamsweresortedout,theroadsgraduallybegantoopenup.BythemiddleofOctober,SarfrazreportedthatMuzaffarabadhadbecomecommandcentralforthe entire relief effort as the big international aid organizations—UNICEF,Oxfam,theRedCross,CARE,theRedCrescentSociety,andmorethanadozenothers—erected satellite dishes, set up computer banks, and began stockpilingsupplies.But“upside”inthemoreremotecommunities,therewaslittleevidenceof this progress, which created a troubling dichotomy. In downtownMuzaffarabad,forexample,Sarfrazsawsixlargeemergencyfieldhospitalslinedupinarow,eachequippedwithgeneratorsandsurgicalsupplies.Avillageonlytenmiles away, however,might have received absolutely nothing. Sixmonthsafter the earthquake—in some instances even a year later—Sarfraz was stillhearingaboutvillagesthathadnotreceivedasingleounceofaid.Another problem was lack of coordination. In the earliest weeks of the

catastrophe,thesuppliesthatwereflowninbyhelicopterweredistributedalmostrandomly. Whenever a helicopter began heading up a valley, everyone couldhear it coming, and the racewas on.The supplieswere distributed on a first-come-first-served basis, andmany of the scenes that unfolded on the chopperlandingzoneswerequiteunpleasant.Insomeareas,arefugeecampstockedwithtents,clothes,andfoodwouldsimplymaterialize—courtesyof theChinooks—and thousandsofpeoplewould rush in tograbwhat theycould.Aweek later,anothercampmightbesetupfourmilesaway,andeveryonewouldrushthere.Amidthe“everymanforhimself”atmosphere,somepeopleenjoyedawindfallwhileotherswoundupwithnothing.BytheendofOctober,Sarfrazwasalsostartingtonoticeanoddgapbetween

whatwasbeingdeliveredandwhatpeopleactuallyneeded.Anumberofoutdoormanufacturers from the United States, for example, had donated impressivequantitiesofhigh-techmountaineeringtentsmadewithsyntheticfabricsthatarehighlyflammable.Astheweatherturnedcold,thesetentsbecamecrammedwithfamilieswhoreliedoncandlesandkerosene lanterns for illuminationandwhoprepared theirmeals on cooking fires directly outside the front flap.Many ofthesetentsendedupcatchingfire,resultinginhorrificburnsandseveraldeaths,especially among children. In retrospect, low-tech, heavy-duty canvas shelterswouldhavebeenmoreeffectiveandlessdangerous.Anotableexceptiontothistrendwerethe“home-rebuildingkits”donatedby

the Turkish government after significant consultation with refugees on theground. The kits, which Turkish officials purchased in Pakistan, consisted ofhammers,nails,shovels,saws,wire,corrugatedsheetmetal,andotheressentialbuilding items so that people could fashion temporary shelters in their ownvillagesinsteadofpackingupandmovingtoarefugeecamp.WhenIlateraskedpeopleinAzadKashmirwhathadbenefitedthemthemostduringtheaftermathoftheearthquake,thereplywasfairlyconsistent:gettingtheroadsreopenedandtheTurkishhome-constructionkits.ByearlyNovember,Sarfrazwasstartingtoseegroupsofwomenwhowould

bundleuphugebalesofdonatedclothing—expensivewaterproofparkas,pants,andbibs—andset themon fire toheatwateror forcooking. It turnedout thatwhat thesewomen really neededwas an efficient source of cooking fuel, andwithoutasteadysupplyofkeroseneorpropane,theywereforcedtopreparetheirfamilies’mealsoverfiresmadefromTheNorthFace,Patagonia,andMountainHardweargear.Thisclothingwasusedforotherpurposesaswell.Laterthatmonth,Sarfraze-

mailed me a photograph of a sheep grazing on a hillside with a puffy downjacket wrapped around its hind end. Clearly, what these refugees needed was

buildingmaterialwithwhich to fabricate shelters tokeep their livestockalive.Sincenoonehadaskedthem,however,theyweredoingtheirbesttoimprovise.The instinct to helpwaswonderful, but one can only imaginewhat the downjacket donor would have thought if he or she had seen what his or her gifteventuallywasusedfor.Thesheepphotographically illustrated the limitationsofsimplyfirehosingreliefsuppliesintoanareawithoutpropercoordination.Suchchaoticmethodssometimesprovokedcynicismandexacerbatedpeople’s

frustration.Ononetrip,SarfrazmetapoliceofficerfromMuzaffarabadnamedQurbanAliShah,whosefatherhadbeenkilledinthequake.Thismanwasquickto pull out an impressive sheaf of calling cards collected from variousindividualsandaidgroupswhohadarrivedinthecityovertheprecedingweeks.OnewasfromaChinesedoctor,anotherfromaGerman“emergencyarchitect.”DozensofthesepeoplehadpassedtheircontactinformationalongtoQurbanAliShah, andnot oneof themhad ever followedup.All hehad to showwashiscollectionofbusinesscards.Inotherinstances,expressionsofinternationalconcernthatfailedtoresultin

concreteactionprovokedfeelingsofbetrayalandanger.SuchwasthecaseattheGundi Piran school, where the tragedy itself and the valiant rescue effortsbecame a focal point for the international broadcast media, whoserepresentatives flew inonquickhelicopter jaunts toobtaingraphicvisuals fortheir broadcasts. According to teachers at Gundi Piran, crews from majortelevisionnetworksbasedinBritain,France,theUnitedStates,Germany,Japan,and Italy all descended on the school, along with dozens of reporters fromvariousradiostations,newspapers,andmagazines.Anumberofthesejournalistsapparently reacted angrilywhenheadmistressSaidaShabir, in order to protecther staff and students’ fragile emotional state, prevented the reporters fromconductingintrusiveinterviewswiththem.Monthslater,Shabirregrettedhavinggiven them any access to the school whatsoever. Despite the massive newscoverage, she said, she had yet to receive a single substantive gesture ofassistance—not one brick, not one pen—from an NGO or a member of thePakistani government. No one had even helped to provide decent funerals orburialsforthesevengirlswhohadbeenpulledfromthewreckageoftheschooland whose bodies had never been claimed—presumably because their entirefamilieshadbeenkilled.Intheend,ShaukatAliandseveralothermembersofthefacultywereforced

todigasetofgravesthemselvesandtolaythegirlstorestinthecourtyardoftheruinedschool.

Unfortunately,someofthesmartestandmosteffectiveassistancewasprovidedbygroupsofIslamicmilitants.Withinseventy-twohoursoftheearthquake,AlQaeda’s number two leader,Ayman al-Zawahiri, issued a dramatic videotapedmessageurgingMuslimsaroundworldtohelpthevictimsofthisdisaster.“IcallonallMuslimsingeneral,andIcallonallIslamichumanitarianassociationsinparticular, tomove toPakistan to providehelp to theirPakistani brothers, andthattheydoitquickly,”hedeclared.“AllofusknowtheviciousAmericanwaronMuslimhumanitarianwork.”In response, resourceful and energetic young jihadis were often the first to

show up during the earthquake’s aftermath, in many cases appearing days oreven weeks before the Pakistani army or the international aid organizationsarrived. According to Ahmed Rashid, author ofDescent Into Chaos and theforemost independent journalist reporting from Afghanistan and Pakistan,seventeen extremist groups that were either on the United Nations’ list ofterroristorganizationsorbannedby thePakistanigovernmentwere reactivatedduringthistimeasIslamicNGOs.Theydidanimpressivejobofputtingtogethersophisticated relief operations, delivering supplies andmedical care to victimswithspeedandefficiencywhennooneelsecould.Oneof thefirstsuchgroupsonthescenewasJamaat-ud-Dawa, thepolitical

armofthebannedextremistmilitiaLashkar-e-Taiba, thepro-Taliban,Pakistan-basedorganizationthatwouldcarryoutthehorrificterroristattacksinBombayinNovember2008thatresultedinthedeathsof173civilians.Anotherelaborateoperationwas run by the extremely conservative group Jamaat-e-Islami.Aftersetting up base camps in several ravaged towns, Jamaat’s Al-KhidmatFoundation began dispatching its operatives to remote areas wheremotorizedvehicles could not penetrate. Not far from the Jamaat-e-Islami operation inMuzaffarabadwasanothercampsponsoredby theAlRashidTrust,whichwascreatedbyDr.AmirAziz,aBritish-trainedorthopedicsurgeonwhohasadmittedtotreatingAlQaedaleaders,includingOsamabinLaden.Amidtherushtoprovidetents,food,andmedicalsupplies,fewofthewestern

NGOsseemedtobegivingmuchthoughttoschools.Basedonpastexperience,however,themilitantgroupswhowerebusysettinguptheiraidnetworksfullyunderstoodthepowerofeducationundersuchcircumstances.Backinthewinterof 1989,when theSoviets hadpulledout ofAfghanistan and the countrywasstruggling togetbackon its feet after tenyearsofwar, theSaudigovernmenthadsponsored thousandsofconservativemadrassas, religious institutionsopenonly to boys and designed to instill a fundamentalist interpretation of Islamiclaw.During the1990s,abouteighty thousandboyswhohadreceivedhard-line

religious instruction in thesemadrassaswere feddirectly into the ranksof theTaliban. Now, it seemed a similar dynamic was beginning to unfold in AzadKashmir. Within a year, a number of these camps would become fertilerecruitinggroundsforIslamicmilitantslookingfornewfollowers.Inside one refugee camp that I saw in Muzaffarabad, the mess tent where

familiescametoreceivetheirdailyrationshadbeensetupdirectlyadjacenttoanenormous tent that functionedasamadrassawhereyoungboyswerebeingtutored on the nuances of jihad.Many of the refugee parentswere not happyabout the fact that their children were attending these extremist schools, butbecausethejihadiswereprovidingthemwithfood,shelter,andmedicine, theywerereluctanttoobject.Combiningaidwithideologywasahighlyeffectivestrategy—andthissame

formulawouldrepeatitselffouryearslaterwhentwomillionPakistaniciviliansweredisplacedbythePakistaniarmy’soffensiveagainsttheTalibanintheSwatValley. (By the summer of 2009, hard-line Islamist charities had establishedpreciselythesamekindoffootholdandwerepushingtheiranti-westernagendaamongtheresidentsoftheSwatrefugeecamps.)I have always been dismayed by the West’s failure—or unwillingness—to

recognize that establishing secular schools that offer children a balanced andnonextremistformofeducationisprobablythecheapestandmosteffectivewayof combating this kind of indoctrination. Despite the fact that the Americangovernmenthasnevergraspeditsimportance,thiscalculushasbeenattheheartof what we do from the very beginning—and with Sarfraz in the lead, wecontinuedtopursuethisagendainAzadKashmirduringthewinterof2005.ByJanuary,SarfrazhadmanagedtocommandeerseveralUNICEFtentsfrom

armydepots inBalakotandMuzaffarabad.After transportingthesetents to themostdistantvillagesintheNeelumValley,suchasNouseri,Pakrat,andBehdi,Sarfrazsetabout identifying the leaders—themostenergeticpeople,whowerethe survivors in the broad sense of theword.With their help, he then locatedteachers,arrangedfortheirsalaries,andthenstartedroundinguptheparentsandkidsinordertogettheschoolsgoing.Withinacoupleofmonths,Sarfrazhadsetupmorethanadozenoftheselittle

operationsinplacesthatlaybeyondthereachofthemostoutstretchedNGOorgovernmentauthority.Needlesstosay,inaregionwhereeveryschoolineverycommunityhadbeencompletelydestroyed,thiswasbarelyadropinthebucket.ButeveryonewhoworkswiththeCentralAsiaInstitutebelievesinthevalueandthepowerofthislittledrop.Onthegrandscaleofthings,Sarfraz’stentschoolswere miniscule; but among the people at the end of the road, these projectsofferedacatalystforhope.

AmidthedevastationofKashmirthatautumn,thisiswhatpassedforsharingthreecupsoftea.

Meanwhile,back inMontana, Iwasnothavinganeasy timeof things.Withinhours of the earthquake, the e-mails, phone calls, letters, and checks werepouringintoourlittletwo-roomofficeinBozeman.Thepeoplewhowerecallingand writing were often quite insistent about the fact that as far as they wereconcernedwehadtheresourcesandtheconnectionstohelpinthisdisaster—andtheyexpectedustodosomethingimmediately.Truthbetold,however,IhadnoideawhattheCAIcouldorshoulddoatthis

point—and indeed, the entire purpose of Sarfraz’s reconnaissance tripswas tocollect the information that would enable us to make wise decisions anddistribute our resources intelligently.Thatwasmymessage to the peoplewhowerecontactingus,butatthetimemymethodicalandpragmaticapproachdidn’tseemtocarrymuchweight.ThroughoutOctober,donorsfloodedourofficewithtents, clothing, and outdoor gear; and attached to each contribution was arequest,implicitorotherwise,thatwepleasedosomething—anything—toassistthestrickencitizensofPakistanduringtheirbleakesthourofneed.Many of our supporters also sent money, and by the week before

Thanksgiving,weweresittingonmorethan$160,000thatneededtobespentinbehalfofeducation.As I huddled in my basement office listening to Sarfraz report on the

confusion and the despair, the madrassas, and all the other things he waswitnessing, themostpowerfulreactionIexperiencedwasadeepsenseofguiltovermyabsencefromthefrontlines.Atnight,Iwouldwakeupatabout2:00A.M.withtherefugeesonmymindandfindmyselfunabletogetbacktosleep.Thenat4:30,IwoulddriveovertoGold’sGymtoworkoutwithJeffMcMillan,atrainerwhoisalsoafriendandwhofrequentlystopsbytoassistTaraandthekidsduringmylongabsences.Nothingseemedtohelp,however,andIquicklybecametrappedinanobsessionwiththefactthatIsimplywasn’tdoingenough.ItwasfinallyTara,whounderstandsmebetterthananyotherhumanbeing,whodecidedtoact.“Let’sgoouttodinnertonight,”shesaid.“Weneedtotalk.”Whenwegottotherestaurant,shegotstraighttothepoint.“Sweetie,ifyoujuststayhereyouaregoingtodriveyourselfandtherestof

uscrazy.Sowhenwegethome, I’mgoing topulloutyourduffelbags,and Iwantyoutostartpacking.It’stimeforyoutogoanddowhatyoudobest.This

isyourcalling.Andwhenyougethome,wewillbeherewaitingforyou.”Thetimingwasterrible—theholidayswerejustaroundthecorner,andasTara

and I both knew, if I left now there was no way I could be back home forChristmas. Thiswas a very difficult decision, and in the end, the personwhomadeitonmybehalfwasmywifeandbestfriend.SheknewthatalthoughIwashome, Iwasnot reallyhome—and inorder to returnhomewith fullheartandmind,Ineededtoleavenow.OnThanksgivingmorning,Iwasonmyway.

CHAPTER9

Farzana’sDesks

Butoncetheruinsflutteredwithvoicesandwecameuponanimprovisedschool....Inthesunlightfallingthroughthefracturedwalls,thechildrenturnedtostareatus,clear-facedandsmiling.

—COLINTHUBRON,ShadowoftheSilkRoad

Housedestroyedinearthquake,AzadKashmir,Pakistan

Over the next six weeks, shifting combinations of Sarfraz, myself, and thePakistanimembersoftheDirtyDozenpenetratedintothefurthestcornersoftheNeelumValley.Occasionallywehitchhiked,onceortwicewerodedonkeys,butmostlywejustwalked.Wesubsistedoncrackersandramennoodles,wedrankriverwatertreatedwithiodinetablets,andwesleptbeneathwreckedvehiclesontheroadorunderatarp.WhenSarfrazandIwerealone,wemovedevenfurtherintowhatwe referred toasour lean-and-meanmode,dozing for threehoursa

night and keeping ourselves going by swallowing handfuls of ibuprofen andguzzling endless cupsof tea. I calledTara everynowand then, but thehorrorthatsurroundedusrobbedmeoftheenergytothinkmuchabouthome.I quickly discovered that Sarfraz had not exaggerated the extent of the

destruction and the misery. Even now, nearly two months after the quake,thousands of people were still missing.Were they dead, injured, in a refugeecamp,or stayingwith relatives somewhere else?Nooneknew,partlybecausethe search crews were still uncovering bodies from the wreckage, and partlybecauseeveryoneseemedtobeonthemove.Theroadswerefilledwithlittlegroupsofmen,almostalwaysfromthesame

community, who had ventured forth together in search of a distribution pointwheretheycouldobtainfoodandshelterfortheirrelativesandneighbors.Oncetheydiscoveredacampthatwasstockedwiththesesupplies, thesemenwouldjoinupandthensendwordbacktotheirhomevillageformorepeopletocomedown. Soon enough, almost all of the survivors of a destroyed village wouldhaverelocatedenmasse.Thecampsinwhichtheycongregatedremindedmeofthe Afghan refugee settlements I had often visited on the opposite side ofPakistan—overwhelmed by the stench of humanwaste and lacking sanitation,sewage treatment, and adequate drinking water. At night, people struggled tosleepinclose-packedtents.Duringtheday,theymilledaroundwithnothingtodo.Overtime,someofthesecampsbrokeupasthesuppliesevaporated,forcing

theresidentstodisperseandmoveon.Inothercases,thecampmightemergeasa semipermanent supply hub and begin transforming into something thatresembledanactualcommunity.Undersuchcircumstances,therefugeeswouldbegin findingmenial jobs and replacing their plastic-tarp shelterswith shackscobbledtogetherfromconstructionscraps.This changing human dynamic drew us into the refugee camps, too. Once

inside,we’daskwhatvillagethepeoplewerefrom,howmanychildrenwereintheircommunity,andwhethertheirschoolshadsurvivedthequake.Theanswertothislastquestion,wediscovered,wasalwaysno.InthefiftyorsixtyvillagesoftheupperNeelumValley,everysingleschoolhadbeencompletelydestroyed.Wethoughttheremightbeanexceptionsomewhere,butiftherewas,weneverfoundit.Each of the schools in this region had hosted anywhere from 150 to 600

students,andinalmosteverycase,betweenathirdandhalfofthechildrenhadperished.Shoddyconstructionwasoftenthemainculprit.Inmanyinstances,thegovernment subcontractorswhohadputup thesebuildingshadcut cornersbyplacing their roof beams forty ormore inches apart (the spacing shouldbe no

morethantwenty-eightinches).Othershadalsousedasand-to-cementratiooftentoone(asopposedtosixtoone)orhadfailedtoemployrebarordouble-caststeelforreinforcement.The resulting structural failures tended to conform to one of two patterns:

Either the roof had come apart and the pieces had fallen directly onto thechildren’sheads,orthewallshaddisintegratedandtheroofhadcrasheddownasasolidunit.Inthelattersituation,itwasnotunusualforeverysinglestudenttohavedied.InthetinyvillageofNousada,198studentswereburiedaliveinthismanner.Threeyearslater,inthesummerof2009,thecementroofslabwasstillsplayedacrossthesideofthehillwheretheschoolhadoncestood.Tothisday,itcontinuestoserveasamemorialstonemarkingthemassgraveofthechildrenofNousada.Withintheseremotevillages,therewasoftenverylittlegovernmentorNGO

activity for the purpose of providing food or medical care and no effortwhatsoevertoaddresseducationneeds.Inafewplaces,thePakistaniarmyhaderectedalargetentandannouncedthatitwasnowthelocalschool,butthiswasrarely adequate. In such traumatized communities, it was necessary to findsomeone who was capable of teaching—or to bring in a teacher from thesurrounding area—and then to support that person with books, teachingmaterials,andasalary.Intheareawherewewerefocusingmostofourefforts,Sarfraz’s tent schoolswereoften theonly institutions that seemed tohaveanystayingpower.ThroughoutDecemberandthefirstpartofJanuary,wepaidvisitstoeachof

thecommunitieswhereSarfrazhadstartedatentschoolinordertofindoutwhatkindofsupportwasneededtokeepthemgoing.InthecommunitiesSarfrazhadnotyetvisited,westartedthisprocessfromscratch.Theinitialresultswereoftenchaoticandconfusing.The keywas to find one or two dedicated teachers aroundwhomwe could

establishtheschool.Ifwehadoveronehundredstudentsperteacher,wesetuptwoshiftsofthreeorfourhourseach,oneshiftfortheboys,anothershiftforthegirls, with the older students helping the younger ones. Given the extent towhich people were moving around, a certain school might have two hundredstudents one day and four hundred students the next. The teachers came andwentwithequalunpredictabilityastheytriedtoputtheirlivesbacktogether.Obviously,thiswaslessthanideal,butoftenitwasthebestwe—oranyone—

could do.Given our limitedmanpower and resources in thesemountains, ourfollow-upworkduringthefirstmonthsafterthecatastrophewasn’tastightasitneededtobe.Nevertheless,duringthewinterof2005-6,someonefromourlocalstaff visited each of these tent schools everyweek or two in order to pay the

teachers, monitor the progress of the students, and make arrangements forsuppliestobedelivered.Intheabsenceofassistancefromthegovernmentorthebiginternationalaidorganizations,thiswastheonlyhelpthatthesecommunitieswouldget fornow—andoften the impactwassignificant.Despite thefact thatclassesweresupposedtobeinrecessduringthecoldestmonthsofwinter,heroicteacherslaboredtokeeptheschoolsrunningsothattheirstudentswouldnotgetbehind.This became a point of pride inmany of the devastated communities.Parentswouldbringteaandchapattisforthestudents’lunch,thensitinthebackoftheclass,listeningtothelessonsandreadytostepinandhelpifasked.During this time, themanner inwhichpeople responded touschanged, too.

Slowlybutsurely,wordbegantospreadabouttheoddcoupleofAzadKashmir:thebroken-handedIsmailifromtheCharpursonValleyandhislumbering,bear-shaped American sidekick dressed in a mud-colored shalwar kamiz. Andgradually,relationshipsbegantotakeroot.Sarfraz and I never presented ourselves as emergency-relief workers, but

peopleknewthatwewantedtohelp.Thiscountedforalot,especiallyinplaceswhere no one else from the outsideworld, except for theChinook crews, hadmanagedtopayavisit.Butwhatcountedevenmore,Ithink,wasthefactthatineachcommunitywemadeapointofconsultingwiththeeldersandtheparentsinordertofindoutwhattheythoughttheyneeded.Inaway,eventhoughwehadcomeintothisstrickenvalleyinordertobuildschoolsandtopromoteeducation,wewereinvitingthepeopleoftheareatobecomeourteachers.Andinsodoing,SarfrazandIwounduprelearningthelessonthathadoriginallybeenimpartedtome,allthoseyearsago,bythesilver-beardedHajiAliinthevillageofKorphe.Whenyoutakethetimetoactuallylisten,withhumility,towhatpeoplehave

tosay,it’samazingwhatyoucanlearn.Especiallyifthepeoplewhoaredoingthetalkingalsohappentobechildren.

Farzana was a beautiful ninth grader with deep brown eyes and dense blackeyebrows who lived in the village of Nouseri. Her story bore the samedimensions of tragedy and loss that hadmarked the lives of all the survivingchildren of Nouseri, where more than a third of the community’s 1,500-oddresidentshadbeenkilledandonlyahandfulofhomeswerestillstanding.Farzana’s mother, Jamila Khattoon, and her twelve year-old brother, Nabil,

hadbeenkilledinsidetheirhousewhentheroofcollapsed.Twomilesdowntheroad lay the ruins of the local girls’ school where Farzana’s thirteen-year-oldsister,Sidra,wasoneofforty-sevenstudentskilled.AsidefromFarzanaherself,

thesurvivingmembersofherfamilyincludedherfather,NurHussein,aveteranofthePakistaniarmy,andherthree-year-oldsister,Kurat.The weeks following the earthquake left little time for grieving. Nouseri’s

water system had been completely destroyed, which meant that every day,Farzanaandtheotherwomenofthevillagewereobligedtohiketwomilesanddescendthreethousandfeettotheriverandclimbbackupcarryingfifty-poundjugs filledwithwater.Meanwhile, Nur Hussein had to leave the village eachmorning for a six-hour round-trip hike to the nearest Pakistani army camp,wherehecollectedthefamily’sdailyallotmentofflour,plussomecookingoil,salt,andtea.WhenSarfrazandImadeittoNouseri,thesurvivingstudentsweresupposed

tobestudyingtheirlessonsinoneofthetentschoolsthatSarfrazhadsetuponanearliervisit.Attendanceat this school, however,was extremely spotty.Thekidswere around—wecould see themmoving about the village—butmost ofthemwereavoidingtheschoolanddidnotevenseemtowant tocomenear it.Noonecouldtelluswhy,untilonedaywhenIwassittingonthefloorofthetentschoolwiththeteacherandthehandfulofkidswhowerewillingtoattendclass,includingFarzana.Before I leftBozeman,mywife,who is a psychotherapist and oftenworks

with traumatizedwomen, had advisedme to encourage the childrenwho hadsurvivedtheearthquaketotalk,draw,write,orevensingabouttheirexperience—anything thatmight enable them toget their feelingsout in theopenwouldstart the healing process, she said. So during a lull in the class, I clearedmythroatandposedaquestion.“Wouldanyoneliketotalkabouttheearthquaketoday?”Therewasdeadsilence.Severalofthechildrenglared.Oneofthegirlsranout

of the tent, satdownby thedoor, and started tocry,wipingher eyeswithherdupatta(headscarf).Well,nowyou’vereallygoneanddoneit,Greg,Ithoughttomyself.Thenaquiet,lowvoicecamefromthebackcornerofthetent.ItwasFarzana,

whoselittlesister,Kurat,wasclingingtoherback.“Letmetellyouforallofus,”shebegan.Therewasa longpauseandsomereshuffling.Thegirlwhohadbeensitting

outsideintearspaddedsoftlybackintothetent.“Bismillah ir-Rahman Rakham ir-Rahim,” Farzana spoke. “In the name of

Allah,theMerciful,theBeneficent.”“Thisisverydifficultforallofus,”shecontinued.“ThedayoftheQayamatis

likeablacknightthatwewanttoforget,sopleaseforgiveusforbeingsosad.”Inpainstakingdetail,shewentontodescribethequakeitself—pausingoften

to keep herself from breaking down, allowing time for her fellow students toinsertamurmuredcomment.“Wewerejuststartingschoolwhenastrangeroarcameupthevalley, likea

lion,and then therewasaquiet fewseconds,whichwasfollowedbyaviolentruffling,likeanoldmanshakingthebaseofayoungapricottreeashardashecould.Thenafteraminute,itwasquietagain.Andthentherewasarippleinthewholemountain—likeawaveonthewater.”Everyonenodded.At thatpoint,explainedFarzana, thebuildingsstarted tocollapse.Thewalls

disintegratedfirst,thentheroofscamedowninanexplosiveshowerofconcreteandwood.Asthebuildingsshattered,cloudsofdustrosefromthedebrisandtheskyturneddark.Thenthescreamingbegan,andoverthescreamsyoucouldheartheshoutsoftheparentswhowererunningdownthehillfromthevillagetofindtheirchildren.Withinminutes,theclatterofpicksandshovelsaroseasthemenstarted attacking the rubble. There were fewer screams now—it was mostlymoansandcrying.Andtheairwasstillthickwithdust.Farzana’s description of the events of that morning was very vivid and

exceptionallydetailed,andsomethingaboutnotonlytheprecisionofherwordsbutalsothemannerinwhichherthoughtsandemotionsseemedtoplayacrossher face as she spoke ledme to wonder if shemight be able to clear up theconfusionsurroundingtheschool’sattendanceproblem.Whenshewasfinished,Iaskedherwhysofewkidswerecomingtoclass.“Becausetherearenodesksinthetents,”shesaidmatter-of-factly.Thiswasinteresting,butalsoodd.Inthispartoftheworld,manyhomeslack

chairsandpeoplearemuchmorecomfortablesittingonthefloor.InmanyofourschoolsacrossPakistanandAfghanistan,itisnotunusualforanentireclasstositcross-leggedonthefloorwhiletheteacherstands.Thelackofdesksseemedlikeastrangereasonnottogotoschool.“Whyaredeskssoimportant?”Iasked.“Theymakechildrenfeelsafe,”sheexplained.“Andwithdesks,thetentsfeel

morelikearealschool.”Thisseemedtomakesense,andInodded,butshewasn’tfinished.“Buteveniftheclassesareheldoutside,youshouldhavedesksoutside,too,”

shesaid.“Onlythenwillthechildrencometoclass.”This seemed rather mysterious, but something about Farzana’s earnest

directness made me want to trust her. So the next day Sarfraz and I beganrummaging around a pile of rubble in the remains of the girls’ school andscavenged the shattered remains of several dozen desks. That afternoon, weroundedupafewmenandpaidthemtostartrefurbishing.Wordofthisactivity

spreadquickly,andwithinanhourortwoofourinstallingthedesksinthetent,dozensofkidswerefilingintoclass.What Farzana had understoodwas that in theminds of the children, desks

providedconcreteevidencethatatleastwithintheconfinesoftheirclassroom,adegree of order, stability, and normalcy had returned to their lives. In atraumatized world where everything had been turned upside down and theground itself had given way, a desk offered certitude. It was something youcouldtrust.Thatmarkedthebeginningof“OperationSchoolDesk.”Armed with Farzana’s insight, we started retrieving the remains of broken

furniture from every possible source, and over the next week, our team ofamateur carpenters knocked together about eight hundred desks for every tentschool in the area.But it didn’t end there.Other organizations inBalakot andMuzaffarabadgotwindofFarzana’sinsight,andsoonschoolsupanddowntheNeelumValleywerefillingupwithdesks.Fromthattimeforward,desksbecamearequirementforallofthetentschoolsweestablishedinAzadKashmir.In terms of solving the staggering crisis besettingAzadKashmir, this desk

businessbarelymeritednotice. Itdid,however, represent a small step forwardduring a moment when almost nothing seemed to be going well. And moreimportant, perhaps, it was something that had been initiated by the childrenthemselves.AsIwasabouttodiscover,however,itwasn’tsimplythechildrenofKashmir

whohadsomethingtosaytous.

InthemiddleofJanuary,IwasforcedonceagaintosayfarewelltoSarfrazandreturnhometoMontana.Iwasloathtoleavetheearthquakezone,buttherun-uptothepublicationofThreeCupsofTeawasinfullswing,andthiswouldofferachance to raise some much-needed funds for our work in Pakistan andAfghanistan.BackinBozeman,asIstruggledtoimmersemyselfintheendlessroundsof

phonecallsande-mails,allIcouldreallythinkaboutwerethesurvivorswhomI’d left behind in Azad Kashmir. I found myself dwelling on the disparitybetweentheurgentworkthatneededdoingoverthereandwhatstruckmeastherathermundaneofficetasksthatIwasperformingintheUnitedStates.Withinaweekofgettinghome,Iwasdepressed,disengaged,andalreadyplottinghowtoreturntoPakistan.That’s where things stood one evening in late January as I was reading a

bedtimestorytoKhyber,whowasfiveyearsoldatthetime.HewashappyIwashome,and thatmademehappy, too.Moreover, reading tohimandAmirahadalwaysbeenoneofTara’sandmyfavoritethingstodo.ButasIreadthewordstoWheretheWildThingsArebyMauriceSendak,tracingeachsentencewithmyfinger,mymindwaspreoccupiedwithissuesontheoppositeendoftheplanet.What time was it in Kashmir, and where was Sarfraz right now, and when

would he be calling?Howmany teachers were on our payroll in the NeelumValleyatthemoment,anddidIneedtowirefundstoIslamabadinordertocovertheirsalariesforthismonth?Ohmygoodness!Myreveriewasderailedbytherealizationthatmysonhadstoppedlistening

tomyvoiceandbeguntoenunciatethewordsonthepageforhimself.Hewasnotrecitingthesewordsfrommemory.Khyberwasreadingforthefirsttimeinhislife.Whenyouareaparent,theinstantyourchildfirstbeginstoreadisamoment

ofthepurestmagic.Itdoesn’tmatterwhetheryouhappentoliveinKashmirorMontanaorTanzaniaorManhattan—witnessingthefireofliteracyigniteinthemindofachild is something transcendent.Tome, it feltexactly like releasingthestringonahelium-filledballoonandwatchingitascendintotheskyallbyitself.But there was another feeling, too. Mixed with the intoxicating sense of

buoyancywas an awareness of themany othermile-stones in the lives ofmychildrenthatIhadirrevocablymissed.Theirfirststeps.Theirfirstspokenwords.Theirfirstbikerides.Theirfirstdayofschool.These developments, which are the delight of so many parents, had all

unfoldedwhileIwasatworkonthefarsideoftheworld,attendingtotheneedsandthedreamsofotherpeople’schildren.Andyetrightnow,Iwaspermittedtobe lying next to my own son for this one precious moment. The piercingcombinationof joyand losswas toomuch tobear,and the tearsbegan rollingdownmyface.This was deeply puzzling to Khyber, who had no way of grasping the

enormityofthismomentforhisfather.“Daddy,what’s thematter?Areyouokay?”heasked,comfortingmewitha

patontheshoulder.“Yes,Khyber, I’mokay,andI’msoproudofyoutoday,”I responded.“You

knowhowtoread!”Khyber then called out to Tara,whowas in another roomwithAmira, and

theydashed into thebedroomand tumbledonto thebedwithus.For thenexthour we stayed up past the children’s bedtime, snuggled together as a family

whileKhybercontinuedtoread,withsomehelpfromhisbigsister.TaraandIproudlycelebratedtheprecioustimetogether.Thateveningofferedoneofthemostsuccinctencapsulationsoftheblessings

andtheburdensthatcomeoutoftheworkIdotopromoteliteracyandeducationfor young readers in central Asia. It also helped sustain me through thechallengesthatweretounfoldintheweeksahead.

ByFebruary,Sarfrazhadcometotheconclusionthatregardlessofhoweagerwemight be to use some of our earthquake-reliefmoney to begin converting ourtent schools into permanent structures, circumstances required that we wait.BackinDecember,wehadbeenabletocatchafewflightsontheChinooks,andfromabove itwas easy to see how radically the landscapehadbeen changed.Alluvialfanshadbeenaltered,drainagechannelshadchanged,andhillsidesthathadtakencenturiestoterraceintoarablefieldshadbeeneliminated.Thankstothosechanges,entirevillageswouldneedtorelocate,whichmeant thatnoonecouldbesureexactlywherehundredsof thousandsofpeoplewouldultimatelyendup.Giventhisuncertainty,Sarfrazcounseled, itwastooearlytostartputtingup

actual buildings. Instead, he declared, what we needed to concentrate onwasfiguringouthowtoprovideclean,dependablewatersources.Inthecommunitieswherewewereworkingthiswasatopprioritybecause,amongotherreasons,agoodsourceofwaterisaprerequisiteforaschool.InthevillagesofBaltistan,mostofthewatersystemsreliedonglacialmelt.In

the villages ofAzadKashmir, however, therewas an almost total reliance onsprings,manyofwhichhadnowbeenpermanentlypluggedorrerouted.Takingeverythingintoaccount,Sarfrazthoughtitwasnecessaryforustoputinsmallwater-collection tanks and delivery pipes for five villages, including Nouseri.Withmyapproval,hepaidmodestsumstotwowaterengineerstodesignthesesystems.He alsomanaged to finagle quite a bit of free PVC piping from thePublic Works Department in Rawalpindi, including twenty thousand feet forNouserialone.So far, so good. Who could possibly be opposed to such a project? As it

turned out, a Pakistani subcontractor who was working for an Americancontractorwho,inturn,wasreceivingfundingfromtheUSAIDobjectedonthegrounds that the Central Asia Institute did not have an official permit todistributewaterinAzadKashmir.You are an educationNGO, he argued,whereas I have prepaid contracts to

distributehundredsofthousandsofplasticbottlesofmineralwater,bytruckandby helicopter, from warehouses in Muzaffarabad to the villages of AzadKashmir.WhenSarfrazreportedthistome,Iinitiallythoughthewaskidding.Byany

yardstick one might care to use, the prohibitively expensive bottled-waterdeliverycontractwasaridiculousboondoggle.Nevertheless,wewereforcedtospend several weeks wrangling with various government ministries in AzadKashmir before the mess was sorted out and we were granted retroactiveapproval for the water-delivery systems that Sarfraz, exasperated by theunnecessaryredtape,hadalreadybegunconstructing.AthomeinMontana,theseandmanyotherchallengesformedthegristformy

family’s dinner-table conversations throughout February andMarch. Sarfraz’sphoneupdatesandthephotosthathee-mailedprovidedKhyberandAmirawithasenseofthechallengeswewereupagainst,andIwaspleasedbytheinterestthatmysonanddaughterappearedtotakeinthesematters.Thenoneevening,Amira posed a question that seemed to leapfrog over the tangled talk of PVCpipingandthepoliticsofsweetheartgovernmentdealsforAmericancontractors.“Hey,Dad,”sheasked,“whatkindsofgamesdothechildreninyourKashmir

schoolsplay?”Amid thedevastationand thedespairof theearthquakezone, Ididn’t recall

seeingmuch in thewayofgames.But thenagain, itwaspossible thatSarfrazand I had been so focused on the mechanics of getting our water-deliverysystemsandourtentschoolsupandrunningthatwesimplyhadn’tbeenpayingattention.“Um...I’mnotsure,”Ireplied.“Ihonestlyhavenoidea.”“Well,”declaredAmira,“youshouldgetthosekidssomejumpropes.”Thenshe threwmea sharp look,as if a switchhad justbeen flipped inher

mind.“Dad,youdon’thaveanyplaygroundsatallinyourschools,doyou?”“No,”Iadmitted.Playgroundshadnotexactlybeenatthetopofthepriority

listforSarfrazandme.“You really need to put them in,” she declared. “All children need to play,

especiallyonesthataresufferingandhurtinglikethekidsinPakistan.”Intruth,someofourschoolsdidfeaturedirtfieldswherethekidswereableto

playsoccer.Butwehadnorealplaygroundswithswingsandslidesandseesaws.Howhadwenotthoughtaboutthisearlier?The next day, Amira phoned two of my friends, Jeff McMillan and Keith

Hamburg,atGold’sGyminBozemanandtoldthemthatsheneededtheirhelpinroundingupjumpropes.Wordspreadquickly,andbeforeweknewit,Amirahad

morethantwothousandjumpropesinourlivingroom.WeshippedthemofftoSuleman in Islamabad, and later that spring—along with an additional seventhousand jump ropes thatwe purchased in Rawalpindi—theywere distributedthroughoutourtentschoolsandbeyond.The kids responded in a manner that mirrored their reaction to Farzana’s

desks. The play and exercise brought joy and delight to them, and theirenthusiasmspreadlikewildfireintothedepressedcommunities.Beforelong,wewerefieldingrequeststosupplementthejumpropeswithcricketbatsandsoccerballs.AndlikeFarzana’sdesks,Amira’sjumpropesprovokedarevisionoftheCentralAsiaInstitute’soperationspolicy.Since the spring of 2006,we’ve incorporated playgrounds intomost of our

new schools, andwe have also beenworking to retrofit a few of our existingschoolswith swings, seesaws, and slides.Our loyal donors love this idea andhavebeenmorethanhappytochip in.Theplaygroundshavealsowonfans insome unexpected quarters. In the summer of 2009, for example, a group ofelderswho sympathizedwith theTaliban paid a visit to one of our schools inAfghanistan with a request to tour the facility. As they walked into thecompound and put down their weapons, the leader of this delegation, a mannamedHajiMohammad Ibrahim, spotted the playground and broke into a bigsmile. For the next half hour, he and his companions gleefully sampled theswings, the slide, and the seesaw. When they finally quit playing, HajiMohammad Ibrahimannounced that theydidnotneed to see the insideof theschool.“Butdon’tyouwanttotakealookattheclassrooms?”askedtheprincipal.“No, we have seen enough,” repliedHajiMohammad Ibrahim. “Wewould

like to formally request you to come to our village in order to start buildingschools.Butifyoudo,theyabsolutelymusthaveplaygrounds.”

CHAPTER10

Sarfraz’sPromise

Nobodyeverlivestheirlifeallthewayupexceptbull-fighters.—ERNESTHEMINGWAY,TheSunAlsoRises

TwosistersinUNHCRearthquakerefugeecamp,Pakistan

Whilewecontinuedmovingforwardwithour tent-schoolprojects in theupperNeelumValley, down in Patika the teachers at the Gundi Piran Girls’ Schoolweredealingwiththeirownsetofchallenges.OnNovember1, theschoolhadreopened for business in the tents that ShaukatAli had requisitioned from thePakistaniarmy.Onthefirstdayofclass,onlysevengirlsmadeanappearance,alongwithahandfulof teachers.Oneof those teacherswasSaimaKhan,whocontinued to show up every day despite the fact that shewas still recoveringfromaseverelegfracture.

Becausemostofthegirlswerestillinmourningandallofthemhadlosttheirtextbooks,notebooks,evenpencilsandpens,ShaukatAlibeganthefirstclassesby reading to them from poetry and religious texts. “Reading, literature, andspirituality are good for the soul,” he told them. “Sowewill start with thesestudies.”As theweeksrolledby,wordspread that theschoolhadreopened,andgirls

slowly began trickling back. By the middle of December, there were 145students—a remarkablenumber,given thatonly195of themhad survived theearthquake.They spent the winter of 2006 huddled in the tents without electricity or

runningwater,tryingtokeepwarmwithblanketsandseveralboxesofclothingdonated by a nearby Red Cross compound. Some of the students wore blackleather aviator jackets or blue blazers from American businessmen; otherswrappedthemselvesinsilkscarvesorhigh-techNordicskigear.Onegirlinthefifthgradewoundupwithabrightbubble-gumpinkcoatthatwouldhavedonejusticetothewardrobeofaMileyCyrusgroupie.Adding to the physical hardship was a general anxiety over the upcoming

exams, which would serve as a prerequisite for entry to the region’s upper-division schools. After the trauma of the earthquake and the many weeks ofmissedclasses,teachersandstudentsalikebegantoworrythatmanyofthegirlsmight fail. During the evenings, scores of them stayed beyond normal schoolhourstogetcaughtup.InMarch,theyheldtheexams.Whentheresultsarrived,itturnedoutthat82

percentofthegirlshadpassed.SaidaShabirconsideredtheperformancetrulyremarkable,giventheoddsthat

herteachersandstudentswereupagainst.Atthesametime,though,theresults—whichwouldhavebeen acceptable under normal circumstances—seemed tounderscoretheenormityoftheproblemsthatGundiPirancontinuedtoconfront.Sixmonthsaftertheearthquake,theschoolstilllackedabuilding,basicservices,and teaching supplies—and given the doleful state of reconstruction in AzadKashmir, itwas doubtful that any of these issueswould be redressed anytimesoon.Despitetheprogresstheyhadmade,thefuturelookedbleak.WhatMs.Shabirhadnowayofknowingatthetime,however,wasthathelp

wason itsway—although the emissarywhohadbeendispatchedby fatewiththemissionofuntanglinghertroubleshadquiteadistancetotravel,andhewasabouttoconfrontsomemajorobstaclesofhisownalongtheway.

Despitethenearlyimpossibledemandsassociatedwithmanagingthetent-schoolprojectsinAzadKashmir,Sarfrazwasstillalsoresponsibleforramroddingourinitiative in theWakhanCorridor.ByMay2006,hisduties inAfghanistanandPakistanhadexpandedtothepointofabsurdity.Hewasnowmanagingeighteententschoolsandfivewater-deliverysystemswithinAzadKashmir’searthquakezonewhilesimultaneouslysupervisingtheconstructionofsevennewschoolsintheWakhan.Inadditiontothechallengesofkeepingallofthisontrackatthesametime,

therewas the fact that these thirty projectswere spreadbetween twodifferentcountriesandseparatedbythedensest,mostruggedconcentrationsofhighpeakson earth. Each two-hundred-mile trip from Azad Kashmir to the Wakhanrequired him to cross four separate mountain ranges—the Pir Panjal, theKarakoram, the HinduKush, and the Pamirs.Moreover, the logistical hasslesSarfraz faced inside the Wakhan were every bit as demanding as those ofworkinginsidetheearthquakezone.Oneofhisbiggestheadaches,forexample,stemmedfromourdiscoverythatafternearlythirtyyearsofwarinAfghanistan,there was an insufficient number of skilled masons and carpenters inside theWakhan.Thesolutiontothisparticularproblem,Sarfrazdecided,wastoimportteams

ofskilledcraftsmenfromPakistanwhocouldbuild the first schools inside theCorridorwhiletrainingtheirAfghancounterparts.SohebeganescortingpartiesofuptotwentyconstructionworkersatatimeovertheIrshadPassandinsertingthemdirectlyintotheWakhan.Noneoftheseworkershadvisasorpassports,butSarfraz was able to negotiate special permission from Wohid Khan’s BorderSecurityForce.Eachtriptookthreedays.Themasonsandcarpenterswouldstartoff at 4:30A.M. and trudge for fourteen hours before stopping for the night.Theycarriedalmostnofoodbecausethetoolsintheirbackpacksweighedmorethaneightypounds.Oncethemasonsweresetuponajobsite,Sarfrazwouldwhipbackoverthe

pass on his horse, jump into his Land Cruiser, andmake a beeline down theKarakoramHighwayforAzadKashmir.Afteraweekortwoofmadlydashingaround theNeelumValley, theLandCruiserwould again racenorth along theKarakoramHighwaytotheCharpursonValley.ThereSarfrazwouldtransfertohishorseandscuttlebackovertheIrshadtomonitorthemasons’progress,orderup new supplies of cement and rebar, and settle accounts with MullahMohammed,ourex-Talibanbookkeeper,balancingthedebitsideoftheledgerswith the bricks of cash that Sarfraz had stuffed into his saddlebags. (He oftenhauled tensof thousandsofdollars at a time,wrapping themoney inhisdirtyclothesandhidingitundercartonsoftheK2cigarettesthatheincessantlychain-

smokedaspartofwhathecalledhis“high-altitudeprogram.”)Theseround-tripjourneysovertheHinduKushcouldbebrutal.Sarfrazrigged

aspecialropethatenabledhimtosleepinthesaddle,andhesetsucharelentlesspacethatononeoccasionuponreachingthevillageofSarhadonthefarsideofthepass,hishorse,Turuk,dropped to thegroundanddied. (Uponhearing thenews of Turuk’s passing, one of our board members donated four hundreddollars for the purchase of a replacement, a sturdywhite ponywhom Sarfraznamed Kazil, who continues to this day to perform heroically on behalf ofeducationintheWakhan.)Thiswas grueling, relentless, burnout-inducingwork that involved constant

motion, little sleep, and no time off whatsoever. And yet Sarfraz seemed tothriveonallofit.ListeningtohisprogressreportseverythirdorfourthnightasImoved across theUnitedStates onmyownmaddash to raise themoney thatwould pay for what we were doing in Pakistan and Afghanistan, I picturedSarfraz less as amanwith a crippled right hand andmore as an unstoppableforce of nature: a whirling gyre of pigheaded determination quite unlikeanything that had ever blown itself across the hinterlands of the westernHimalayas.Thatsummer,however,hegavemeoneofthebiggestscaresofmylife.JunemarkedthehighpointoftheWakhan’ssummerconstructionseason,so

Sarfraz was going full steam on all seven of his projects inside the Corridorwhen,onJune12,IreceivedanemergencyphonecallfromTedCallahan,apart-time mountain guide who was conducting an extensive study of the KirghiznomadsoftheeasternWakhanaspartofhisPh.D.researchinanthropologyatStanfordUniversity.Ted,whohadhookedupwithSarfrazinthehopeofgettinganintroductiontotheKirghiz,reportedthatforty-eighthoursearlierSarfrazhadbegun experiencing sharp pains on the right side of his abdomen.As the painworsened, Sarfraz had grown weaker and developed a pasty, feverishcomplexion.Itwasnighttime,andtheywerenowinBabuTengi,avillageinthecentralWakhan,effectivelythemiddleofnowhere.Ted,acertifiedEMT,fearedthatSarfrazwasindangerofdying.TedandIagreedthatthenextmoveinvolvedgettingSarfraztoQala-ePanj,

lessthantwentymileswest.Unfortunately,therewasn’tasinglevehicleinBabuTengi,sotheyhadnochoicebuttostartwalking.Sarfrazwasstumblingbadly,soTedandtwomasonskepthimbracedfrombothsides.Meanwhile, IstartedworkingthephonesfromBozemantofigureouthowwecouldextractourmanfromtheWakhan.IplacedcallstoWohidKhanandtosomecontactsattheStateDepartment,aswellasphoningsomefriendsattheU.S.militaryheadquartersinBagram,thirtymilesnorthofKabul.

Twohours later, a decrepit Soviet-era jeep came chugging down the trail—wordhadspreadthatSarfrazwasintroubleandneededhelp.Deepintothenightthejeepcreptalong,skirtingthewashoutsandthecrater-sizeholesthatdotthetrailbetweenBabuTengiandQala-ePanj.Havinglittlesuspensionandnoshockabsorbers,thevehiclebouncedhardonthehorrendousroad.Sarfrazhadnopainmedicationexcept forhis jumbo-sizebottleof ibuprofen,whichwasofnousebecausebynowhewasunable to swallow.Thepainhe enduredon that four-hourdrivemusthavebeenexcruciating.When the jeep ambulance arrived inQala-ePanj, Sarfraz beggedTed to let

himstop.“Justleavemeheretodie,”hepleaded.“Itisnotpossibleformetogoanyfurther.”Tedwasdeterminedtopushon,however,andaskedthedriver tokeepmovingtowardthevillageofKhundud,wherehehopedtheymightfindabettervehicleandperhapssomemedicalassistanceatthelocaldispensary.WhentheyreachedKhundud,severalmeninthevillagescouredthedispensaryandallthelocalshops,buttherewasnomedicinetobefound.Atthispoint,Sarfrazhadcurled into a fetal position and was nearly unconscious from the pain. Teddecidedtolethimspendadayrecuperatingbeforetheyproceededfurther.The followingday,afteranotherhorrific ride inaminivan, they reached the

town of Ishkoshem,which sits along the Tajikistan border. Ted rounded up adoctor, who took one look at Sarfraz and advised an immediate helicopterevacuation to Pakistan. Even a delirious Sarfraz, however, understood that aprivate, cross-border flight between Afghanistan and Pakistan would beextremelydifficulttosetuponsuchshortnotice—andevenifitwerepossible,the chopper would wind up delivering him directly over the Hindu Kush toChitral, a two-day drive from the hospitals in Peshawar. Perhaps it would bebetter,Sarfrazsuggested,tokeepmovingwestinthehopeofreachingFaizabadanditsairport.UnbeknownsttoSarfrazorTed,ourfriendsatBagramhadbynowcalledto

informmethattheU.S.militarywasreadytodispatchachopperintoIshkoshemandflySarfraztoKabul.Thereweresomeconcernsabouttheweather,however,andbeforewecouldsetuptherendezvous,apairofFordRangerpickuptrucksdispatchedbyWohidKhanroaredin,scoopedupSarfrazandTed,andracedoffinthedirectionofFaizabad.Evenwhile teetering on the edge of catastrophic organ failure, Sarfrazwas

impossibletokeepupwith.WhentheyreachedFaizabad,TedhadSarfrazrusheddirectlytothehospital,

whereadoctortoldhimhehaddevelopedamassivesepticinfectionandneededan operation. Sarfraz, who had zero interest in undergoing surgery anywhereinsideAfghanistan,toldthedoctortopumphimfullofantibiotics,andthenext

morningheandTedcaughtaRedCrossplaneintoKabul.Whentheyarrived,aspecial flight arranged by our good friend Colonel Ilyas Mirza, a retiredPakistani military aviator who managed Askari Aviation charter service, waswaiting to fly him to Islamabad.Withinminutes of arriving at the CombinedMilitaryHospital inRawalpindi, Sarfrazwas rushed directly into surgery.Hisentireextractionhadtakenfourdays.On the operating table, the surgeons discovered an enormous abscess in

Sarfraz’s gall bladder and also determined that the infection had spread to hisliver.Theyremovedhisgallbladderduringthatfirstsurgery,thenputhimbackunder the knife three days later to dealwith the liver.Between operations, hewasunderthecontinuoussupervisionofSulemanandApo,whotagteamedthedutiesofmeetingwithhisdoctors,obtaininghisprescriptions,seeingtohisbills,makingsurehewasfed,andkeepingmeconstantlyinformed.At some point during his five-day stay in the hospital, Sarfraz casually

mentionedtohiscolleaguesthathisstomachpainshadactuallysurfacedbeforehis trip into Afghanistan and that the pain had been severe enough that he’dconsultedaphysicianinGilgit,whohadurgedhimnottoleavefortheWakhanbeforegettinganoperation.Sarfraz’sresponsetothisnewshadbeentodeclarethattheschoolprojectsinAfghanistanweretooimportanttobepostponedandthathisoperationwouldsimplyhavetowaituntilhegothome.SulemanandApodecideditwasbesttokeepsilentforseveralmonthsbefore

sharingthisinformationwithme.WhenSarfrazwasfinallydismissedfromthehospital,Itoldhimtorestfora

fewdaysinIslamabadandthentoheadhometoZuudkhan,wherehewastobegivenaspecialsetofprotocolsdesignedpersonallybyme.Bythispoint,IhadcalculatedthatSarfrazhadbeenonthemovealmostcontinuouslysincetheearlyspringof2005,nearlysixteenstraightmonthswithoutabreak.“You are to spend aminimum of onemonth, but preferably two, sitting in

Zuudkhandoingabsolutelynothing,”Ibarkedathimoverthephoneafewdayslater.“Youarepermittedtotendtoyourgoats,gentlybrushKazil,andlookafteryourwife.Otherthanthat,anyformofworkoractivityisstrictlyforbidden.”“Thoseareyourorders,sir?”Sarfrazasked.“Yes,Sarfraz,thosearemyorders,andtheyarenotnegotiable.Nowgohome

andgetsomerest!”“Okay,sir.Noproblem.”Several months later, when I finally pieced together the story of what

happenednext,IlearnedthatSarfrazhadbegunplottinghisreturntotheNeelumValleybeforehewasdischargedfromthehospitalinRawalpindi.Withinforty-eighthoursofarrivingbackinZuudkhan,hewashunchedbehindthewheelof

hisredLandCruiser,clutchingthestill-healingincisionsinhisabdomen,roaringdowntheKarakoramHighwayinthedirectionofAzadKashmir.

WhenhearrivedinMuzaffarabad,hewasstruckbyhowlittleprogresshadbeenmade during the month that had passed since his last visit to the earthquakezone.Northofthecity,despiteallthereliefefforts,womenstillcarriedwaterinplasticgrocerybags.IntheupperreachesoftheNeelum,bodieswerestillbeingdiscoveredinthewreckage.Bulldozerswereeverywhere.Sarfrazspentmostofthenextfourweekssupervisingthetentschoolsandthe

water-delivery projects in the upper Neelum. Then one day in late July, henoticedthattherewasanewfoot-bridgeacrosstheNeelumRivertoPatikaandhedecidedtodoalittleexploring.WhenhegottothePatikabazaar,heheardforthe first time about the plight of the Gundi Piran girls’ school and figured itcouldn’thurttodropbyandpayavisittoSaidaShabir.Tohissurprise,shewasnotatallpleasedtoseehim.Allspringandsummer,

Saidahadbeenwrestlingwithaburgeoningsenseoffrustrationandoutrageoverthe fact that despite the dozens of visits from journalists, relief workers, andconcerned government officials, still no one had made the slightest effort torebuild her ruined school. By the time Sarfraz showed up, the headmistress’spatiencewasfinished.“Whatareyoudoinghereandwhatdoyouwant?”shedemanded,pointedly

decliningtoofferhimacupoftea.Sarfrazpolitelyexplainedthathewouldappreciatebeinggiventhechanceto

tourtheschool.“Youdon’tseemtounderstand,”shereplied.“Iamtheheadmistress,andIam

askingyoutoleavenow.Goaway!”Sarfrazhasanuncannywayofwinningpeopleover,andassheproceededinto

abarrageofcommentsabout theunwantedguestsshehadreceivedweekafterweek,helistenedwithoutsayingaword.“As-SalaamAlaaikum,”hesaidwhenshehadfinished,invokingtheIslamic

greeting that is traditionally offered before a conversation begins. “HonorableMadam,mynameisSarfrazKhan.Iamavillageman,aformerteacher,andarepresentative of the Central Asia Institute, which specializes in helping topromotegirls’education.”Withthat,theheadmistressreluctantlyagreedtogivehimtenminutestotour

the school—but she warned him that he did not have permission to takephotographs,takenotes,orspeaktotheteachersorthestudents.Aftertheyhad

walked past the tents and observed the classes, Sabir sat him down on somerocksoutofviewofthestudents.“Okay,nowyouarehere,andI’msorrywedonotevenhaveachairorcarpet

foryoutositon,”shesighed.“Whatexactlydoyouwant?”“Madam,theCentralAsiaInstituteisnotatypicalNGO,”heassuredher.“It’s

truethatwedotendtotalkanawfullot,butwealsobuildschools.”Ifshewouldpermithimtotakesomephotographsandassessthedamagethathadbeendone,he promised her that he would find the money, return, and build her a newschool.“I’llbelieve itwhenIsee it,” repliedShabir,stillsuspiciousbut readytobe

convinced.

InadditiontothefactthatSarfrazhadabsolutelynoauthorizationtobemakingsuchapromise,henowfoundhimselfconfrontinganotherproblem.Asarule,the CAI’s schools are more solidly built than the norm in Pakistan orAfghanistan—althoughourbuildingsareconstructedcheaplyandefficiently,wedon’tcutcornerswhenitcomestodesign,materials,oradherencetocode.Buteven so, nothingwe had built so farwas capable ofwithstanding a direct hitfromamajorquake—andinAzadKashmir,earthquake-proofconstructionwasclearlygoingtobeaprerequisiteforgettingkidsbackintoschoolonalong-termbasis.Havingspentthelastseveralmonthstalkingtostudentsandtheirparentsup

anddowntheNeelumValley,SarfrazandIhadbothrealizedthatmostparentswouldnotpermittheirchildrentoresumeclassesinsidebuildingsresemblingtheones that had suffered such catastrophic collapse the previous October. If weeventuallywantedtomoveawayfromtemporarytentprojectsandstartputtingup permanent schools in these devastated villages, we would have to dosomething different. And it turned out that several years earlier, Sarfraz hadheardarumoraboutsomethingthatmightwork.China’s Xinjiang Province, which shares a border with northern Pakistan,

suffers from almost as many earthquakes as Kashmir, and over the years,western Chinese architects and engineers had developed a keen interest inearthquake-proof construction techniques.More than twodecades ago,SarfrazhadheardaboutthisduringconversationswithseveraloftheChineseengineerswhohadhelpedbuildtheKarakoramHighway(whichpassesjusttotheeastoftheCharpursonValley).Morerecently,hehadheardrumorsthattheChinesehadbeen trying to expand their earthquake-proof techniques into Pakistan. If so,

mighttheyhavesomethingthatwouldworkinKashmir?Thesearchforananswertookhimtoadenselypackedcommercialdistrictin

IslamabadknownasG9andintothelocalofficesofaChinesecompanycalledCAC,whichwasbasedinthecityofUrumqi,inXinjiangProvince.ThreedaysafterhavingbidfarewelltothedubiousheadmistressofGundiPiran,hedroppedbytheCACofficesandaskedtoseeasampleofthefirm’swork.At first glance, the Chinese design was a bit disappointing, especially

comparedwiththekindofschoolsSarfrazwasusedtoconstructing.AlmostalloftheCAIbuildingsfeatureimpressivestoneworkandsomeaesthetictouchesofdesignandcolor.Bycontrast,theChineseearthquake-proofbuildingsappeareduglyandutilitarian.Theyalsohadaprefab look thatmade themseem,on thesurface, rather flimsy.EvenSarfraz had to concede, however, that the sciencebehindthedesignwasimpressive.Thebuildingswereputtogetheronprinciplesthat western Chinese designers had identified more than fifty years earlier,workingwithwoodenstructureswhosepiecesfittogetherlikealooselyjointedlogcabin.Thedetachedfittingsgavetheframesabuilt-in“play,”whichenabledthemtodisperseseismicforcesbyshakingandrattlingwithoutcollapsing.Theywereengineeredtowithstandmagnitude-8.2earthquakes,andtheChinesewerepreparedtoofferatwenty-yearguarantee.Impressed, Sarfraz concluded that the design would have met with my

approval had he bothered to pick up the sat phone and pass this informationalongtome—which,ofcourse,itwasimpossibletodowithoutrevealingthathehadgone“offprotocol” andwasno longerhome inZuudkhan.So instead,hegulpedandmovedontothenextstage.Did theChinese think that theschoolyard inGundiPiranofferedasuitable

buildingsite?Perhaps, replied the Chinese engineers, but they would need to see some

photographs.Noway,retortedSarfraz.Thesafetyofthepeoplewhowouldbeusingthese

buildings could not be entrusted to photographs. If the Chinese were seriousaboutwantingtodobusiness,theywouldneedtogetintotheredLandCruiser—rightnow—andmakethetriptoAzadKashmir.During the following three days, Sarfraz and a trio of Chinese engineers

toured three possible building sites in the Neelum Valley, including Nouseri,Pakrat,andGundiPiran—where,despitethefactthatSarfrazhadbroughtalongteaandbiscuits,thevisitorsfailedtomakeadentinSaidaShabir’sskepticism.“Don’tworry, Iwill have the firm commitment shortly!” he assured her as

theyleft.“Inshallah,”shereplied.“Butifyouwanttocomebackhereagain,youbetter

havesomebuildingmaterialswithyou.”As they toured thesites, theChineseengineersexplained toSarfraz that the

aluminumframesfortheschoolbuildingswouldneedtobeprefabricatedtotherequired dimensions in Urumqi, then hauled in trucks over the 15,397-footKhunjarabPass,thendowntoIslamabadandovertoAzadKashmir.There,thecompany’sowncrewwouldbolt the structure intoplaceon a special concretefoundation that floatedonabedof crushed rockandStyrofoam,whichwouldhelptodampentheseismicshockwaves.Fairenough,repliedSarfraz.BackinIslamabad,SarfraztoldtheChinesehe’dbeintouch, thensetabout

confirming everything he’d been told. He checked in with several engineersserving in the Pakistani army who were familiar with earthquake-proofconstructiontechniquesandthenranthosefindingspastanothersetofengineersworkingwith theAmericanmilitary inAzadKashmir.He also hauled out hislaptop and pored over several Web sites with dense reports on earthquake-resistantdesign.Whenitallcheckedout,hereturnedtotheChinese.“Okay,wearereadytostart,”announcedSarfraz.“Wedon’tstartanythingwithoutmoney,”repliedYanjing,theheadengineer,

ashehandedoveranestimateofthetotalcostforthreeschools.NowitwastimeforSarfraztositdownandputtogetheramemoaddressedto

me.Even thoughAugust 13was a Sunday, Iwas, as usual, sitting down atmy

deskinthebasementtostartmydayat5:00A.M.,whenthefaxmachinebleatedandadocumentstartedscrollingthrough:Iamverysorrysir,butIneedawiretransferof$54,000forthreeschoolsin

AzadKashmir—Pakrat,Nouseri,andPatika....The memo, which was three pages long, included sample drawings and a

budgetforbolts,rebar,sheetmetal,andhammers.ItendedwithatypicallydirectsuggestionfromSarfraz.PleasediscusswithCAIboardandsendfundsimmediately.ThiswasthemomentIfirstbecameawarethattheCentralAsiaInstitutewas

apparently ready to leap into thebusiness of building earthquake-proof schoolbuildings.

My first reaction, it must be said, was one of surprise and some annoyance.GivenSarfraz’spreviousrecommendationsaboutthewisdomofholdingbackonconstructing permanent buildings until the population of Azad Kashmir hadstopped moving around and the situation had stabilized somewhat, I hadassumedthatwewouldberunningourtentschoolsforquitesometime,perhaps

evenyears.Ihadalsoassumedthatwewouldwaitfortheprovincialgovernmentof Azad Kashmir to take the lead on developing a new earthquake-resistantbuildingcodeandthenfollowsuit.Theideathatwemightdecidetospearheadthis initiativeonourownduringa timewhenourpersonnelandour resourceswerealreadysorelyovertaxedhad,quitefrankly,neveroccurredtome.SowhatintheworldwasSarfraztalkingaboutinthismemo?I was about to pick up the phone and put this question to him, but it was

alreadyringing.“Didyougetmyfax?”hedemanded.“Yes,”Ireplied.“Let’sstartwiththefactthatyou’renotinZuudkhansitting

underatreetendingyourgoats.”Sarfrazhadnointerestinexploringthattopicandsteamrollereddirectlyinto

the issue at hand.Nearly a year had passed since the earthquake occurred, hedeclared, and the people ofAzadKashmir—especially thosewho lived in theNeelum Valley—needed to see something real happening, not just a coupledozen tentschools.Moreover, thefewpermanentgovernmentschoolbuildingsthathadbeenreconstructedwereinappropriate,havingbeenraiseddirectlyoverthe footprints of the old schools, and with the same techniques that wereresponsibleforthestructuralfailuresthathadkilledsomanychildren.Thiswasnowaytoproceedbecausethenexttimeanearthquakeoccurred,evenmorekidswoulddie.Whatwasneeded—immediately—wasforsomeonetodemonstratetothegovernmentthatsaferschoolscouldbebuiltfortherightcost.Sincenooneelse had stepped up, we had no choice but to take on this responsibilityourselves.“Thatmayallbetrue,Sarfraz,butyouknowthattheboardoftheCentralAsia

Institute has to approve all of our expenditures, and the budget for 2006 hasalreadybeenallocated.”“Yes.Thatiswhyyoumustconvincethemtomakeaspecialexception.This

isaproblemyoucansolve.”“ButSarfraz,theboarddoesn’tevenmeetagainforanothertwomonths.Even

ifIcouldconvincethem,thiscan’thappenuntilOctober.”“WecannotwaituntilOctober.Winterwillbeheresoon.Pleasecallthemnow

andgetapprovaloverthephone.”“Sarfraz,letmeexplainsomething—”“Sir!” he interjected. “Imade a promise to amadamwho is principal of a

school.Youalwaystellusthatwemustlistentofindoutwhatpeopletrulywant.Well,okay.Ilistened,Ifoundout,andthenImadeapromise.Ifwedon’tkeepourword,shewillneverbelieveusagain.”Sigh.

“Soyouwillsendthegoattoday?”SarfrazandtherestoftheDirtyDozenhaveahabitofreferringtoanyfunds

thatarewiredfromtheUnitedStatesas“thegoat”—anodtoHajiAli,thechiefofKorphe,whohadbeenforcedin1996togiveadozenofhisprizedramstoarivaltribalchiefinexchangeforKorphebeingaccordedthehonorofhavingthefirstschoolattheupperendoftheBralduValley.Asithappened,westillhad$75,000leftinourspecial$160,000earthquake-

relief fund, and allwe neededwas the board’s approval. Even so, the idea ofcommittingthebulkofwhatwehadlefttosomefancytechnologybroughtintoPakistanfromwesternChinaseemedrisky.TheRedCrosshadbynowsetupabigbaserightacrosstheNeelumRiverfromPatika,soeverybodyupanddowntheriverwouldbewatching.Ifthisprojectbackfiredinsomeway,notonlyourfinances but also our credibility would suffer. And finally, there was thecalendar.“It’salreadySeptember,Sarfraz,” Imoaned.“Youknowaswellas Ido that

nobodystartsbuildinganythinginthemountainsinSeptember.”“Noproblem,sir.Itisnottoolate.”(Infact,hewentontopointout,hiscalculationsindicatedthatwecouldfinish

allthreeprojectswithinonemonth.)“Well, okay, what about customs and everything having to come in from

China?Haveyouthoughtaboutthat?”“Noproblem,sir.Everythinghasbeenarranged.”(Hehadalreadyconfirmed that theChinesehad theircustomspaperwork in

perfectorder.ThetrucksfromChinawouldbeoff-loadedatthecustomsstationaboutanhour inside theborder,where thePakistani truckerswould takeover.Sixorseventruckloadswouldbesufficientforallthreeschools.)“Starttofinish,onemonth,sir,”declaredSarfraz.“Ipromise.”Still I was reluctant. The whole scheme seemed to be unfolding much too

quickly.MaybeSarfraz’s energy and enthusiasmhad finallygotten thebest ofhimandaffectedhisjudgment.“Sarfraz, forme to evenconsider agreeing to this, first I’dhave to research

thistechnologyformyself,andthenI’dhavetotalktotheboard,andthen...”“No problem, sir,” he interrupted. “Call me when you have made your

decision.Iamwaitingbythephone.”Thenhehungup.Five minutes later, he sent me another fax, this one a sheaf of pages with

budgets, contracts, and engineering specifications. I peeled off the schematicsanddroveovertoMontanaStateUniversity,justafewblocksaway,torunthempast Brett Gunnink, the head of the civil engineering department. Brett was

impressed and confirmed that the designwas sound.Then I began calling theboardmembers and walked each of them through the arguments: The peopleneeded hope; we had the money; a new standard of safe school constructionneededtobeset.Fairenough,saidtheboardmembers.Let’sdoit.TimetocallSarfraz.“Sarfraz, you realize that if this doesn’tworkout,we’ll lose credibility and

our reputationwill behatam (finished) inAzadKashmir?” I told himwhen Iphonedbackwiththenews.“Youunderstandhowimportantthisis,don’tyou?”“Noproblem,sir,theU.S.ArmyChinooksarereadytoflytheloadsintothe

NeelumValleytomorrow.Soyouwillsendthegoattoday?”“Inshallah,Sarfraz,Iwillsendthegoattoday.”

ThelastofthemanyaspectsofthisenterpriseonwhichSarfrazhadkeptmeinthe darkwas the fact that he had already set hismachinery inmotion on theassumption that I would say yes to the proposal. Word had been sent to theWakhan,andasquadronofhismosttrustedmasonsfromtheCharpursonValleyhaddashedback across the IrshadPass, raceddown theKarakoramHighway,andwerenowinMuzaffarabadwaitingtoassisttheChinese,whohadbeenputonstandby.IwiredthemoneytoPakistan,andworkstartedimmediately.I learnedlater

that the atmosphere at each job site was cheery to the point of being almostjubilant. This was one of the first enterprises in the region that conveyed thefeeling that whatwas being raised upmight actually be better thanwhat hadbeendestroyed.Asaresult, themoodamongthemenwhobuilt thoseschools,PakistaniandChinesealike,wasunlikeanythingtheNeelumValleyhadseeninmorethanayear.Theylaughed,theyjoked,theysangatnight—andtoaman,theyworkedlikedemons.Nineteen days later, all three schools—Pakrat, Nouseri, and Patika—were

finished.ThepicturesSarfraz tookof thenewstructureswereuploadedadayor two

later and e-mailed tomy account. I looked them overwith Tara,Khyber, andAmira. The school in Pakrat was tucked into the side of a steep hill, and abeaminggirlinacolorfuldupattastoodbythedoor.InNouseri,theyhadcreateda six-room structure, and each of the photographs offered proof of Farzana’sdesks. It was the pictures from Gundi Piran, however, that we found mostarresting.

At Saida Shabir’s school, the structure that Sarfraz had createdwas a 162-foot-long, one-story building containing twelve classrooms that was paintedwhiteandneatlyhighlightedwithredtrim.Aboutfiftyfeetawayandfacingtheschoolwasanopen-airveranda,supportedbysteelpostsandcoveredbyametalroof.Here, girlswhowere still too traumatized by themorning ofOctober 8,2005, could sit at their desks and attend classeswithout fear of being trappedinside.Directlyinthecenteroftheveranda’scementfloor,theconstructionteamhad

lefta rectangularpatchofopenground.Thiswaswhere thesevengirlswhosebodieswerenever claimedhadbeenburied.Separated from their families andtheirlovedones,theynowlaytogetherinaneatrow.Eachgravewasmarkedbyamodeststone,andallofthemrestedwiththeirheadstowardtheblackboard.Thereasonforthisdesignwasbeautifullycleartoanyonewhomightstepinto

theopen-airclassroom.Ifanygraceorredemptioncanbesaid toreside in thewordsofateacherwhoisimpartingthegiftofliteracy,thenthatbenedictionwillnow pass directly over the graves of those lost little girls every day that theGundiPiranschoolisinsession.Later that night, aftermywife and children had fallen asleep, I went back

downtothebasementandpulledthephotosuponmycomputertomarvelagainat what had been achieved. As I scrolled through the images, I couldn’t helpthinkingbacktomyfatherandthefulfillmentofthepredictionhe’dmadeinthesummerof1971whenheinauguratedtheKilimanjaroChristianMedicalCentrewith thedeclaration thatwithinadecade, theheadofeverydepartment in thathospitalwouldbealocalfromTanzania.Itwasthenthatitoccurredtomethatwithoutquiteintendingtofollowinmy

dad’s footsteps, I was now watching something no less marvelous unfold inKashmir.

CHAPTER11

TheChanceThatMustBeTaken

Historyisaracebetweeneducationandcatastrophe.—H.G.WELLS

RefugeesleavingPakratvillageafterPakistanearthquake

OnNovember1,2006, just fiveweeksafter thenewearthquake-proof schoolswerecompleted,PrinceCharlesandhiswife,theDuchessofCornwall,arrivedin Islamabad for a five-day goodwill tour. During this trip, their first visit toPakistan,theroyalcouplewasscheduledtospendaboutthreehoursconductingareviewofseveralreconstructionprojectsinPatika.Partofthepurposebehindthestopoverwastoreturnglobalmediaattentiontothecontinuingplightoftheearthquake victims in Azad Kashmir and to underscore how much workremained tobedone.Theplancalledfor theroyalcouple todropbyahealth-

care facility built by the InternationalCommittee of theRedCross, aGermanveterinarycenterthathadgivenawaynearly1,500milkcowstolocalresidents,andthebrand-newGundiPirangirls’school.Prior to the event, Shaukat Ali, who had helped to spearhead the effort to

reopenclassesattheschoolthepreviousNovember,wasinterviewedandvettedby personnel from the British embassy, then prepped on greeting the royalcouplewhentheyarrivedattheGundiPiranschool.Fortheoccasionheworeasnow white shalwar kamiz and polished black shoes. With his round gold-rimmedglassesandhismujahadeen-stylebeard,hecutquiteafigure.Security was tight throughout the royal visit, with British bodyguards

shadowingthecouple’severymove.EachmajorroadwithinPatikawascloseddown early in themorning, and around 10:00A.M. a RoyalNavy helicopter,accompaniedby apair ofPakistaniMi-17military choppers, toucheddownatthesupplydepotnearthecenteroftown.Theprinceandtheduchesssteppedoutin matching cream outfits, and after walking through Patika’s bazaar, wherechildren welcomed them with Union Jack flags, applause, and waves, theywalkedtotheRedCrosshospitalandthenproceededtotheGundiPiranschool.ShaukatAlipresentedtheduchesswithapashminaKashmirishawl,whichhe

placedaroundhershoulders.SaidaShabirgreetedtheroyalcouplewithteaandbiscuits, and two girls handed them bouquets.After greeting the teachers, theprinceandtheduchesspaidvisitstoseveraldifferentclassroomsandspentafewminutesat thegravesof thegirlswhosebodieshadneverbeenclaimed.Thensomethingoddhappened.TurningtoShaukatAli,theprinceaskedwhowasresponsibleforrebuilding

theschool.Withoutmissingabeat,ShaukatAlideclaredthatcreditwenttotwoorganizations: theAgaKhanFoundation—an IsmailiNGO that does excellentwork in Muslim communities throughout Asia—and a construction companyfromChina.TheCentralAsiaInstitutewasnevermentioned.This struck the CAI staff as rather strange, and after the royal couple had

departed,severalofthemapproachedShaukatAlianddemandedthatheexplainhimself.Flusteredbytheangerandthehurthehadcaused,heprotestedthathehad been confused about theCAI’s role in the reconstruction of the school—confusion that was exacerbated by the fact that, unlike most NGOs, we hadfailedtoadvertiseouraccomplishmentbyputtingupalargebillboardwithournameinfrontofthebuildingwhenitwascompleted.He had a point about the billboard—a detail that had somehow slipped

throughthecracksduringtherushtofinishthebuilding.Moreover,theremorseheexpressedoverhis fauxpasseemedgenuineandquitesincere.Whatstruckmemost forcefully,however,wasacomment thatShaukatAli latermade toa

visitingAmericanjournalist,whosharedtheremarkswithme.“You know, I think that what the Central Asia Institute has done here is a

smallkindofmiracle,”hesaid.“Withouthelpfromanybodyelse,andwithoutdifferentiating on the basis of religion, tribe, or politics, this organization haschangedthemindsofthepeoplewholiveinthisarea,70to80percentofwhomareconservativeMuslims.Beforetheearthquakeoccurred,manyofthesepeoplewere thinking that theAmericanpeoplearenotgood.But theCAIhasprovedthat this isnot true—andnow thepeoplehere arepayingmuch respect,muchhonor,tothisorganization.”Unfortunately, this failed to carry much weight with Sarfraz, who was

incensedwhen he heard the news that our role in rebuilding theGundi Piranschoolhadgoneunrecognized.Afterapologizingtomeforfiveminutesonthephone, he laid into Shaukat Ali with a vengeance, offering several colorfuloptionsforwhatsortofpunishmentwouldbemostfitting.“Sarfraz,Sarfraz—please relax,” I pleaded. “None of thismatters.The kids

havetheirschool,andintheend,that’sallthatcounts.Whydon’tyouandItrytofindsomethingelsetogetmadabout?”Andsureenough,wedid.

Oneof thesurvivorsof thecollapseof theGundiPiranschoolwasaneleven-year-oldgirlinthefifthgradenamedGhosiaMughal,who,asithappened,wasfilling a teapotwithwater from theoutdoorwater spigotwhen the earthquakestruck.Ghosia’sescapecarriedwith it acruel twist.The108victimsatGundiParan includedhermother,KosarParveen,whotaughtUrduandArabic to theeighth grade. The roster of thosewho perished also included two ofGhosia’ssisters,SabaandRosia,alongwithmanyofherclosestfriends.Ghosia’s family’s home on the mountainside above the school was also

destroyed, so a distant uncle took in the survivingmembers of the household,whoincludedGhosia,heroldersister,heryoungerbrother,andherfather,Sabir,whohadbeenparalyzedbyastroketenyearsearlier.SinceOctober2005,theyhadbeenlivinginametalshednexttotheuncle’shouse,whichwaslocatedonahillside at the edge of Patika. In summer, the interior temperature of the shedwouldclimbto120degrees;duringwinter,abucketofwaterwouldfreezesolidovernight.Ghosia came to our attention several months after the royal visit to Gundi

Piran,andshequicklyemergedasoneofthefirst testcasesinanewinitiativethatmystaffandIhaddevisedinresponsetoaninterestingproblem.

Providinggirlswithabasiceducationthatincludesliteracyandmathskillsis,ofcourse,fundamentaltowhatwedo—andthebenefitsofthatbasiceducationpackage,inPakistanandAfghanistanalike,areindisputable.Butstartingaround2003, when the first generation of CAI-educated girls began graduating, wefoundourselvesconfrontingthebluntfact that in theremoteandimpoverishedvillageswherewedothebulkofourwork,agirlwithagrade-schooleducationfacesextremelylimitedopportunitiesintermsofwhatshecandowithherskills.Her schooling will eventually correlate with improved health standards andlowerbirthratesinhervillage,whichwillenhancehercommunity’squalityoflife.Andhereducationwill,ofcourse,alsoserveasaspringboardforherownchildren’seducation.Butunless thatgirlcan landa joboutsideherhome, it isunlikely that her skills will translate into a substantial boost in her family’sincome—and in the isolated villages of rural Pakistan and Afghanistan, theseopportunities are almost non-existent. Women cannot work as shopkeepersbecause in conservative Islamic culture, interaction with men outside theirfamilyisforbidden;andforsimilarreasons,theycannotmovetoacitytofindajob.Asidefrombecomingateacher,therearealmostnojobsavailableforruralwomenoutsidethehome.This,wediscovered,hasseveralconsequences.First,itgivesrisetoacycleof

studentsbecomingteacherswhoeducatetheirownstudentstobecometeachers,andsoon.Second,thefirstwaveofeducatedwomentoemergeinacommunityhavenorolemodelsorsupportnetworkwhatsoevertohelpthempursuehighereducation and eventually move into the workforce as doctors, lawyers,engineers, anda rangeofotherprofessions throughwhichwomencan, if theywish,buildwealthandattaingreatercontroloftheirlives.Inshort,webegantorealizethatnotonlytheinstitutionswebuilt,butalsothepeoplepassingthroughthem, would require intensive follow-up, broad support, and long-termcommitment in order to eventually become self-sustaining.For poor people inpoorcountries,verylittlesimplyfallsintoplace.Aswe observed these issues emerging,we began asking ourselves howwe

mightbreak thiscycleandwiden theoptionsof thegirlswhoweregraduatingfromourschools.Theanswerwecameupwithwastostartaprograminwhichwe identified thebest studentsand financed theiradvancedstudiesbeyond thehigh-school level. The idea was that these scholarship girls would serve astrailblazers who would open the doors for those who followed. We wouldchannelaportionofourresourcesintothiscadreofelitegirls,andtheywouldserveasavanguardforothers.Slowlybutsurely,wewouldprepareouryounggraduatesforcareersofallsorts.That,atleast,wasthetheory.Inpractice,itturnedouttobequiteabitmore

complicated.When we first started wrestling with this idea, we soon realized that any

scholarshipprogramwouldbecomplicatedbytheproblemofprovidingsecurityand supervision forgirlswhowere studyingaway from theirhomes.This is aparamountconcern foralmostall rural families,whoaredeeplyanxiousabouttheliberalizing,westernizingeffectsof livinginabigcity.Toaddress this,wewould need to provide conditions under which the girls could live and studyunder theeyesof trustedfemalechaperonesandbeguarded24-7byanarmedmanatthedoor.Wealsoneededthespiritualblessingsoflocalmullahs.Withthisinmind,inearly2007webeganfundingtheconstructionofourfirst

girls’hostel. InSkardu,HajiGhulamParvi, the formeraccountant fromRadioPakistan who had quit his job to become our Baltistanmanager, oversaw theconstruction of a large building designed to house five dozen of the brightestgirlsfromourschoolsinvillagesinthesurroundingarea.Theseweregirlswhohadwonscholarshipseithertosupplementtheirstudieswithadditionalworkatthe local high school or junior college or to help them undertake two-yearprogramsinareassuchasmaternalhealthcare.Thatsamespring,westartedasimilarprogramforeightgirlsintheCharpursonValleyandbegansendingthemtoGilgit for their studies,where theywere supervised by SaidullahBaig, ourHunzamanager.Aroundthesametime,wealsoturnedourattentiontoAzadKashmir,where

the scholarship programwould have to be set up in tandemwith our school-building efforts. Our first task was research. I wanted to know how manypotentialscholarshipstudentswereoutthereintheNeelumValley;howmanyofthesegirlswereinourschools;andwhatsortsofchallengesthesestudentsfacedwithrespecttotheirfamilies.Toanswerthesequestions,IturnedtoGenevieveChabot, an energeticwoman fromBozeman. It turnedout thatGenevievewascompletingherEd.D.ineducationatMontanaStateUniversity.IproposedthatweplaceherinchargeoflaunchingourAzadKashmirscholarshipprogram.HerfirstmissionwouldbetocanvasstheNeelumValleyinorder tosearchout themostpromisingyounggirls for scholarshipconsideration.And this ishowshecametomeetGhosiaMughal.

In the spring of 2007, on her first visit to Pakistan to begin assembling herdossier of nominees,Genevieve paid a visit to theGundi Piran school,whereseveralstudentsurgedhertospeakwithatwelve-year-oldgirlsittinginthefrontrowofher class.Ghosiawasbynow in the seventhgradeandhad scored the

highestmarksinherclass.Despitethefactthatherfamilyhadnomoneyasidefrom her stricken father’s meager twelve-dollar-per-month pension, she wasbrimmingwithconfidenceandambition,andshehadsethersightsonattendingmedical school in Islamabad and returning toPatika as a doctor. SaidaShabirconfirmed that Ghosia was the school’s “top student.” Based on Genevieve’sreport,IdecidedthatsheshouldbeoneofthefirstCAIscholarshiprecipientsintheNeelumValley.There was only one problem: Her father, who had initially agreed to give

permission for her to accept the award, had now changed his mind andwithdrawnhisconsent.This,itturnsout,isnotanuncommonresponsetotheprospectofayounggirl

receiving funding for higher education. After expressing their delight at thechance topursueanadvanceddegree,manyofourscholarshipcandidateswillthengoontoexplainthatagrandfatherorgrandmotherorauntisfromthe“oldtimes”anddoesnotsupportthem.“They will have to pass away,” we often hear, “before I am permitted to

continueanyfurtherinschool.”Another major obstacle involves local community leaders and religious

authoritieswho,foravarietyofreasons,havetheirownsetofobjections.Asaresult,wetendtoseemanytearsduringtheseinterviews.Itcanbepainfulanddeeply frustrating towatch as the ambitions of a talented girl are thwarted orunnecessarily delayed. In this manner, Nasreen Baig, the green-eyed womanfromtheCharpurson,wasforcedtowaitafulltenyearsbeforeshewasallowedtotakeuphermaternal-health-carescholarship inRawalpindi.Similarly,JahanAli, the granddaughter of Korphe’s headman and mymentor, Haji Ali, facedstridentobjectionsfromherfather,Twaha,whowasmoreinterestedinfetchingahighbride-priceforhisdaughterthaninseeingJahangotoourhostelinSkarduforadvancedtraininginpublichealth.(Twahalaterrelented,andJahanisnowstudyingattheGovernmentDegreeCollegeinSkardu.)The true reasonsbehind theseobjections canoftenbedifficult to ferret out,

andwhen they eventually reveal themselves, they sometimes have a powerfullogic.SuchprovedtobethecasewithGhosia.When Genevieve, Sarfraz, and Saidullah Baig paid their initial visit to the

family, Ghosia’s father, Sabir, and both of her uncles were skeptical, and anumberofissueswereraised.TheywereconcernedthatGhosiawastooyoung.Theywereworriedthatitwasunfairtogiveherascholarshipwhileignoringthedesiresofheroldersiblings.Andtheydidn’twanttoseeherleavehome.Afterseveral follow-up visits, however, another issue emerged. As the youngestsurvivingdaughter,itturnedoutthatGhosiawasherfather’sprimarycaregiver.

Withoutherservices,hewouldbecompletelyincapacitated.Sabir’s fears were entirely understandable, and when they finally became

clear, we decided to tackle the problem in two directions at once. First, weproposedthatpayingforanursewhocouldattendtoherfathershouldbepartofGhosia’sscholarship.Andsecond,weinvokedthemostpowerfulargumentwehaveatourdisposal,whichIsometimesthinkofasthe“carpediemappeal.”Inthiscase,itwasdeliveredbySaidullahBaig.“In the life of a person,” Saidullah reminded Ghosia’s father one evening,

“there may come along the one opportunity that must be taken. When thisopportunityarrives,youcannotletyourconcernsaboutyourselfbeaburdentoyourdaughter,whomyouloveandforwhomyouwantthebest.Wewilltrytohelp everyone in your family, but you must recognize that this is Ghosia’sopportunity.Manypeopleinourcountrynevergetthisopportunityatall.Ghosiamaynevergetanotherone.Ifyouallowittopassbywithoutseizingit,youmaynothaveanotherchance.”Saidullahwastoomodesttomentionaspartofhisargumentthatyearsearlier

andatconsiderablepersonalsacrifice,hehadputhisownwifethroughbothhighschoolandcollege,oneofthefewmeninnorthernPakistanevertohavedonesuchathing—andthatasaresultofthiscommitment,shenowhasanexcellentjob in a private school in Gilgit. Nevertheless, Saidullah’s exhortation had apowerfuleffectonGhosia’sfather.“Yes,”henoddedafterdeliberatingforseveralminutes.“Wewilldowhatever

isbestformydaughter.”Since that conversation, Sabir has continued towaver.We are very hopeful

that with time and patience, he will eventually see the wisdom of allowingGhosia to accept her scholarship and give his consent. In the meantime,however,wefoundourselvesconfrontinganothersituationinwhichithasbeenalmostimpossibletoremainoptimistic.

During the same period when we were negotiating with Ghosia’s family, Ireceived word about a man named Dr. Mohammad Hassan, a relativelyprosperousdentistwho lived in avillage calledBhedi, highup in theNeelumValley, and who was hoping we might consider giving his daughter Siddre ascholarship.Althoughweusuallytrytotargetthepoorestfamilies,whoneedourhelp themost, Ipassed thisman’scontact informationalong toGenevieveandsuggestedshemightwant to followup. Inaddition to the fact thatDr.Hassanhadprovided somevaluable assistanceby steeringus in thedirectionof other

qualifiedscholarshipapplicants,hewasanimportantmanwithinfluenceinhispartoftheNeelumValley—someonewithwhomwewoulddowelltomaintainfriendlyrelations.So one evening, Genevieve, Sarfraz, and Mohammed Nazir drove up the

mountainside inBhedi tomeetwithDr.Hassan and the othermembers of hisfamily,whobesidesSiddreincludedhiswife,hisfourotherdaughtersandtwosons, and a son-in-law named Miraftab, who was visiting that evening fromMuzaffarabad. Siddre proved to be a bright and articulate youngwomanwhowas finishing the twelfthgradeat theGundiPiran school andwhoseambitionwastoattendcollege,becomeadoctor,andthenreturntoBheditoputherskillsto use. After her mother greeted the three guests in the common room, thewomenofthehouseholdusheredGenevieveintothekitchen,leavingSarfrazandNazirtotalkwithDr.HassanandMiraftababoutSiddre’sfuture.Sittingontheconcretefloorinthefirelitkitchen,Genevievelearnedthatthe

women of the family were absolutely giddy about the prospect of Siddrepursuing her medical degree, but her brother-in-law, Miraftab, stood inopposition. Inside the common room, Sarfraz and Nazir quickly came to thesame conclusion. Dr. Hassan was halfheartedly concerned that this AmericanNGOwantedtoconverthisdaughtertoChristianity,butSarfrazwassuccessfulin explaining that the CAI was a secular organization and had no interest inreligious conversion. Miraftab, however, objected fiercely to the idea of ascholarshipforhissister-in-law,andwhenthemenhadfinishedtheirdiscussioninthelivingroom,hemovedintothekitchen,tookupapostonabenchwiththewomensittingonthefloorbelowhim,anddirectedhisremarkstoGenevieveinEnglish.Why,hewantedtoknow,didshethinkshecouldcomeintothisculturefrom

theWestandproposetosend“ourgirls”offtoschool?Whatdidshethinkhadgivenhertherighttoevendaretosuggestascholarshipforagirl?Miraftab then went on to ask what Siddre could possibly do with her

educationthatwouldbeofbenefittoherfamilyandtothepeopleinBhedi.Andfinallyhegotaroundtotheheartofthematter.WhattheCAIreallyneededtobeoffering to this family—theonlykindof sponsorship thatmadeanysenseandthatwouldhaveactualvalue—wasascholarshipnotforSiddre,butforhim.TheCAIstaffspentthatnightwithDr.Hassan’sfamily,andGenevieveslept

in the same roomwith the daughters, whowereweeping and distraught overMiraftab’s behavior. The following morning, Siddre reiterated her dream ofattending medical school. (Like so many of the girls we interview in thesesituations, sheused theword for “dream” inUrdu—khawab.)Before they bidfarewell and left, however, Miraftab made it clear that his position had not

changed,therebyensuringthatSiddre’skhawabwouldneverberealized.Driving down the mountainside that morning, Sarfraz turned to Genevieve

and asked what she thought of Miraftab. She replied that he didn’t seem tounderstandhowimportant theeducationof justonegirlcouldbefor theentirevillage.SarfrazandNazirbothagreedandwentontoventtheirfrustrationoverthe manner in which a son-in-law had been permitted to sabotage a talentedyoungwoman’schanceofpursuinghighereducation.Itisalwaysdifficulttowitnesstheendofagirl’skhawab,butit’sespecially

hardtoswallowwhensuchathinghasbeenunderminedbyamalememberofher own familywhohas failed to overcomehis envy and resentment over theopportunitysheisbeingpresentedwith.Inmanyways,Sarfraz,Genevieve,andNazir agreed, building schoolswas proving to be easier than dealingwith theobstaclesthrownupbytheextendedfamiliesofourscholarshipcandidates.Later,GenevievewroteupareportthatconcludedthatalthoughSiddrewould

have made an excellent scholarship candidate, Miraftab had rendered thesituationimpossible.Afterreadingwhatshehadwritten,IreluctantlyagreedthataslongasDr.Hassanwaswillingtopermithisson-in-lawtohaveavetooverhisdaughter’sfuture,wewouldnotbeabletofundhermedical-schoolexpenses.Thatiswheremattershavestood—andwillcontinuetostand—untilMiraftab

changeshismind. If andwhenhe relents,Siddre’s scholarshipwillbewaitingforher.Inthemeantime,however,Iwasabouttoconfrontsomenewandunexpected

challengesofmyownbackintheUnitedStates.

In February 2007, the just-published softcover edition of Three Cups of TeasurgedontotheNewYorkTimespaperbacknonfictionbest-sellerlist.Drivenbyagrassrootsinterestfromlocalbookstores,women’sbookclubs,andcommunityorganizationsallacrossAmerica,thebookasofthiswritinghasspentmorethan140weeksonthatlist,forty-threeoftheminthenumberoneposition.Thisexposureandpublicity,weekafterweekandmonthaftermonth,seemed

toofferanunparalleledchancetospreadthewordabouttheimportanceofgirls’educationinPakistanandAfghanistanwhileraisingmoneyfornewschools.Soon behalf of the thousands of young girls who were still waiting to attendclasses,IsetouttoturntheCAIintoapromotion-and-fund-raisingmachine.WithwordspreadingaboutthestorybehindThreeCupsofTea,theinvitations

started pouring in.As the campaign accelerated, several experts onmarketingandpromotionstronglyadvisedmetoconcentratemainlyonaddressingadults,

fortheobviousreasonthattheyweretheoneswhowouldbepurchasingcopiesof the book and donating money to the CAI. This strategy struck me asshortsightedandnarrow.Plus,Isimplypreferhangingoutwithkids.SoIdidmybesttocombine“official”events—thelecturesandthebooksigningswithadultsintheevenings—withmoreinformalappearanceswithchildreninthemorningsandafternoons,manyofthematlibrariesandschools.As the bookings were made, my schedule quickly ballooned to the point

whereitwasoutofcontrol.Backin2005,IhadtraveledtoeightdifferentcitiestogivepresentationsontheworkthatwedointhewesternHimalayas.During2007, I made a total of 107 appearances in eighty-one American cities. Theresultswereimpressive:Between2005and2007,theCAI’sgrossintaketripled.The emotional and physical toll, however,was enormous. In January of 2007alone,ImadeeighteenappearancesinfourteencitiesatvenuesrangingfromtheHarvardTravellersClubinBostonandtheRochesterPublicLibrarytotheBlueHeronCoffeehouseinWinona,Minnesota.InApril,therewerefifteeneventsinthirteen cities. By September, my calendar called for speeches in Rosemont,Illinois; Charlotte, North Carolina; Helena, Montana; Bainbridge Island,Washington;andeighteenotherplaces,allofwhichmergedintoamuddledblurinmymind.OnNovember20,Icrashed.The venue wasWest Chester University in Pennsylvania. I had flown into

Philadelphia from California, having made eleven appearances during theprevious seven days inSanFrancisco, PaloAlto, San Jose,ColoradoSprings,andCarbondale.IrentedacarandpunchedintheaddressontheGPSsystem,andasImademywaytowardyetanotherhotel,Iwasovercomebythesuddensensationofbeingwipedoutandutterlyoverwhelmed.IalsohadnoideawhatIwas going to say to all those people in five or six hours and found myselfstartingtopanic.IcalledmywifefromthecarandtoldherthatIwasintrouble.Upon hearingmy voice, Tara feared that Imight be experiencing a full-on

panic attack.Nevertheless, after settlingme down and talkingme throughmyanxieties,sheaskedmetoeatsomefood,getalittlesleep,andgivethespeech.Igot to thehotel, tookashower, ironedmyshirt,andslept for twoor three

hours. The next day I made it to the university on time and gave mypresentation.But after itwas over,with hundreds of people comingup to sayhello,IfoundmyselfconfrontingoneofthethingsIfindmostdaunting.Followingmypresentations,itisnotuncommontobegreetedbyalineofup

toone thousandpeoplewhohope topurchasea signedcopyofThreeCupsofTea,shakemyhand,andshareafewwordsabouttheirownexperiencesinthethirdworld or express their interest in volunteering their services overseas. In

such situations, I understand that it’s important forme tomaintain speed andavoid getting into a long discussionwith each and every person.My instinct,however,istohangontoeachexchangeratherthanlettingitgotomovealongto the next one. Slowing down,making eye contact, and trying to establish aconnectionisimportanttome.Thepaceisdrainingandtime-consuming.(Someof these book signings have gone on for five hours until 2:00 A.M.) ButbalancingoutthatscaleisthevaluetotheCentralAsiaInstituteofhavingpeoplewalkawaywithapositivefeelingofacknowledgment.Thereisalsoanelementof basic respect and gratitude:After all, these are the peoplewhopay for ourschools.Withouttheirsupport,itwouldbeimpossibletodowhatwedo.In West Chester on that day, however, I lost the desire and the ability to

connectwithothers. Insteadof reachingout to thepeople in frontofme, all Iwantedwastopullbackinsidemyself.IfeltasifIwerestandinginsideatunnelwiththewallssqueezingin.Overtakenbyasenseofdismayoverhowdisjointedandprofoundlyexhaustingmyoutreachcampaignhadbecome,Iwasseizedbytheimpulsetorunoutofthere.Towardtheendoftheline,however,wasathird-gradegirlwhohadbeenwaitingpatientlytohandmealetter totaketooneofour students in Pakistan—a letter that started: “Tomybest friend in Pakistan,youaremyhero.IhaveabucketofpenniesathomethatIcollectedsoyoucangotoschool....”ThuswasIreminded,eveninthismomentofpersonalextremis,ofoneofthe

mainreasonswhyIdowhatIdo.Iwasscheduledtoattendadinneroncampuslaterthatevening,buttherewas

nowayIcouldhavepulledthatoff.InsteadIreturnedtothehotel,fellontothebed, and passed out. Several hours later, I phoned Tara and told her I didn’tknowwhereIwasorwhatwasgoingon.Shecalmedmedownagain,thentoldmetogetonaplaneandcomehome.WhenIreachedBozeman,sheandthekidsmetmelateatnightattheairport

andgavemeabighug,andthenwereturnedtothehouseandsnuggledupforstory time.Later,mywife toldmeshehadalreadyarrangedwithourboardofdirectorsandwithJenniferSipes,ouramazingoperationsdirectorinBozeman,tocancelmynextappearance.Bothofmycellphoneswouldbeturnedoff,andattheperilofarousingmywife’sdispleasure,Iwasnowunderorderstoignorealle-mailsandremainathomeforthenextweek.Mulling over what had happened, I found myself frightened and a bit

confused.Up to this point, the idea of “crashing”was something I had neverevenconsidered.WhenI’mworkingwithSarfrazandtheothermembersofthestaffinPakistanandAfghanistan,Ioftenlaboratanintensepaceforweeksonend with almost no sleep and little nutrition. As I was beginning to realize,

however,therewasabigdifferencebetweenbeinginAsiaworkingdirectlywithcommunitiesandwithourteachersandstudents(whichisaformofinteractionthat I findenergizingand inspiring)andbeing in theUnitedStatesengaged innonstop promotion, salesmanship, and fund-raising—which leaves me feelingdrainedanddebilitated.Taraputsitsimply:“Somepeopleneedtochargeupbygettingpluggedinto

others,whileGregneedstochargeupbygettingunpluggedfromothers.”Whatwasequallyclear tome,however,was that theunexpectedsuccessof

ThreeCupsofTeahadcreatedauniquemoment for theCentralAsia Institute,onethatmightnotoccuragain.Inshort,thiswasoneofthoseopportunitiesthatmustbetaken.Personally,IwouldprefertospendmytimerattlingalongthedirtroadsofBaltistan andBadakshanwithSarfraz, butwhat Iwanted andneededdidn’t reallymatter. If theCentralAsia Institutewasurging theparentsofourscholarship nominees to set aside their personal concerns and desires in theserviceofsomethinglarger,howcouldInotholdmyselftothesameobligation?Theconclusionwasunavoidable.Like it or not, Iwasnow the fund-raising

engineoftheCentralAsiaInstitute,andassuch,mydutywastoremainmostlyin the United States pulling in the donations that would fuel the work thatSarfrazandhiscolleagueswerehandlingsosuperblyontheirown.Soin2008,Ihurledmyself into yet another 169 appearances in 114 cities, traveling almostnonstop,andeveryfewweeksexperiencingyetanother“crash”thatwouldforcemetoholeupinahotelroomormakeabeelinebackhometoBozeman.During this time, Ibarelymade itoverseas,whichmeant that Iwasnowall

butcutofffromthepeopleandthelandscapesthatI lovedandthathaddrawnme into thiswork in the firstplace.Thiswasunbearablydifficult andpainful.ButasSarfraz’sphonecallsande-mailscontinuedtoremindme,itwasalsotheonlyway to completewhatwehad started inAfghanistan—aplacewherewestillhadbusinesstofinishandacommittmenttokeepwithAbdulRashidKhan’sKirghizhorsemen.Acommittment,itturnedout,thatwasabouttodrawusintoanewrelationshipwithagroupofindividualswhohaddedicatedtheirlivesnottothemissionofpeace,buttotheinterpriseofwar.

PARTIII

TheSchoolontheRoofoftheWorld

CHAPTER12

AnE-mailfromtheAmericanColonel

Educationisthelong-termsolutiontofanaticism.—COLONELCHRISTOPHERKOLENDA,U.S.ARMY

DECEMBER26,2008,TheWallStreetJournal

CaptainNathanSpringer(left),GhulamSahki,andColonelChristopherKolenda,KunarProvince,Afghanistan

AsaveteranwhoenlistedintheU.S.armyfourdaysaftergraduatingfromhighschoolandspenttwoyearsonactivedutyinGermanybetween1975and1977,Ihave the utmost respect and admiration for the men and women who havechosen to serve in the American armed forces. As a humanitarian and anadvocateof literacy,however, Ihavealsohadmyshareofdisagreementswiththemilitaryovertheyears.In 2001,my initial support for the U.S. decision to go war in Afghanistan

quickly faded after I began hearing about the high level of civilian casualties

inflicted by the American bombing campaign—an estimated 2,700 to 3,400deaths between October 7 and December 10 according to Marc Herold, aneconomistattheUniversityofNewHampshire.Whatdisturbedmewasnotonlythe level of suffering inflicted by the Department of Defense on the Afghanpopulationbutalso themanner inwhich these tragediesweredescribed. Inhisdaily press briefings, Donald Rumsfeld triumphantly cataloged the lossesinflictedonTalibanandAlQaedaforcesbyAmericanbombsandcruisemissilesthat were dropped into heavily populated areas. But only when pressured byreporters—andeven then, resentfully andas an afterthought—didhebother tomentionthe“collateraldamage.”Inmyview,Rumsfeld’s rhetoricandhisdemeanorconveyed the impression

thatAmerica’s armyof laptopwarriorswas largely indifferent to thepain andmisery that were being inflicted on innocent women and children. Thisimpressionwasreinforcedby theBushadministration’scompletedisinterest inacknowledging,muchlesscompensating,thosecivilianvictims.Intheend,thesignalthatthiswoundupsending—bothtomeandtotheCentralAsiaInstitute’sstaffandfriends inAfghanistan—was that theUnitedStatesplaced littleornovalue on the lives of noncombatants in one of the poorest andmost desperatecountriesonearth.Toward theendof2002, Iwasgiven theopportunity toexpress theseviews

whenamarinegeneralwhohaddonateda thousanddollars to theCAI invitedme to the Pentagon to address a small gathering of uniformed officers andcivilianofficials.Inthecourseofmytalk,Idevotedafewminutestoexplainingthe tribal traditions that governed conflict in that part of theworld—includingthemannerinwhichwarringpartiesholdajirgabeforejoiningabattleinordertodiscusshowmanylosseseachsideiswillingtoacceptinlightofthefactthatthevictorswillbeobligatedtocareforthewidowsandorphansoftherivalstheyhavevanquished.“Peopleinthatpartoftheworldareusedtodeathandviolence,”Isaid.“And

if you tell them, ‘We’re sorry your father died, but he died a martyr so thatAfghanistancouldbefree,’andifyouofferthemcompensationandhonortheirsacrifice,Ithinkthatpeoplewillsupportusevennow.Buttheworstthingthatyoucandoiswhatwe’redoing—ignoringthevictimsbycallingthem‘collateraldamage’andnoteventryingtocountthenumbersofthedead.Becausetoignorethem is todeny theyever existed, and there isnogreater insult in the Islamicworld.Forthat,wewillnotbeforgiven.”Iconcluded that speechwithan idea thathadcome tomewhile touring the

wreckageofahomeIhadseenatthesiteofacruise-missilestrikeinKabul.“I’mnomilitaryexpert,andthesefiguresmightnotbeexactlyright,”Isaid.

“But as best I can tell, we’ve launched 114 Tomahawk cruise missiles intoAfghanistan so far.Now take the cost of one of thosemissiles, tippedwith aRaytheon guidance system, which I think is about $840,000. For that muchmoney,youcouldbuilddozensofschoolsthatcouldprovidetensofthousandsof students with a balanced, nonextremist education over the course of ageneration.Whichdoyouthinkwillmakeusmoresecure?”Itwasaharshmessage,andalthoughmyhostandtheothermembersof the

audiencewereunimpeachablygraciousandpolite,Icouldnothelpbutimaginethat my words were met with a dismissive response. And so it came assomethingofasurprisewhen,duringthemonthsthatfollowed,membersoftheU.S. military continued reaching out to ask questions, exchange ideas, andexpresstheirthanksfortheworkthatweweredoing.The watershed moment came with the publication of theParade article in

April2003andthemassiveinfluxofdonationsthatresulted,whichplacedusona stable financial footing in Pakistan while funding our expansion intoAfghanistan. During the next ten months, we were inundated with mail (theinitial letters we received had to be carted out of the Bozeman post office incanvassacks),andsomeofthemostmovingcorrespondencewereceivedcamefromAmericanservicemenandservicewomen,suchasJasonB.NicholsonfromFayetteville,NorthCarolina.“AsacaptainintheU.S.ArmyandaveteranofthewarinAfghanistanwith

the Eighty-second Airborne Division,” Nicholson wrote, “I have had a veryuniqueandup-closeperspectiveonlifeintheruralportionsofCentralAsia.ThewarinAfghanistanwas,andcontinuestobe,bloodyanddestructive;mostofallonthosewhodeserveittheleast—theinnocentcivilianswhoonlywishtomakeawageandliveadecentlifewiththeirfamilies.CAI’sprojectsprovideagoodalternative to theeducationoffered inmanyof theradicalizedmadrassas fromwhere the Taliban sprung forth with their so-called ‘fundamental Islamacism[sic].’Whatcanbebetterthanafutureworldmadesafeforusallbyeducation?TheCentralAsiaInstituteisnowmycharityofchoice.”ThismarkedanewbeginninginmyrelationshipwiththeAmericanmilitary.

Thestoryofhowthatprocessunfolded—theopportunitiesitcreated,thelessonsit imparted, and the rather dramatic role it came to play in the final push thatSarfrazandImadetofulfillourpromisetotheKirghizoftheWakhan—isoneofthemoreremarkablewondersthatbefellusduringourtimeinAfghanistan.

As it turned out, Captain Nicholson’s overture coincided with the start of an

immensely challenging transition formembers of the U.S. armed forces, whofound themselves confronting twomassive insurgencymovements, the first inIraqandthesecondinAfghanistan.Astheviolenceescalatedinbothcountries,a growing number of American officers became convinced that the militaryneeded to transform itself from an organization focused exclusively ondestroyingitsenemiestoonethatcombinedlethaloperationswiththepromotionof security, reconstruction, and development. “Nation building,” a phrase thathad provoked immense derision following the Clinton administration’sinvolvementinBosnia,Kosovo,andSomalia,reemergedasanintegralpartofanew doctrine framed by General David Petraeus, who jointly oversaw thepublication of theU.S.ArmyMarineCorpsCounterinsurgency FieldManual.Thekey idea—thenotion thatwhen it comes to long-termsecurity, stabilizingwar-torn countries can be as important as defeating the enemy—was mostsuccintly expressed byAdmiralMikeMullen, chairman of the JointChiefs ofStaff,whotoldtheHouseArmedServicesCommitteeinSeptember2008,“Wecan’tkillourwaytovictory.”At the center of this approach to warfare is a skill set that extends

considerablybeyondthetraditionaldutiesofsoldiering.Inpart,itincludestasksthat have typically fallen under the umbrella of civil affairs and engineering:rebuilding water-treatment plants, schools, electrical power grids, and othermunicipalservicesthatarevitalforastablesociety.Equallyimportant,however,is theefforton thepartof soldiers—especiallyofficers—tomaster theculturalnuancesofthecountriesinwhichtheyaredeployedbyembracingfieldsofstudythatincludeanthropology,history,sociology,language,andpolitics.Theaimistoenhancesecuritybyfosteringrelationshipsandbuildingasenseoftrustatthegrassrootslevelwithcommunityleaders,villageelders,andtribalauthorities.Amongtheproponentsofthisapproachtocounterinsurgencywereanumber

of officers who had stumbled across Three Cups of Tea, which was neverintended to appeal to a military audience. In some cases, the book had beenrecommended by the officers’ spouses, who had been exposed to it inneighborhood book clubs or churches, where it garnered quite a followingshortlyafteritspublicationin2006.Inothercases,childreninmilitaryfamiliesheard about the book in school as a result of Pennies for Peace, a programdesignedtoraisemoneyforchildreninPakistanandAfghanistanthatwestartedupin1996andthat iscurrentlyrunninginmorethan4500elementaryschoolsacross the United States and abroad. Finally, hundreds of servicemen andservicewomenencountered thebookwhenitwasadoptedaspartofarequiredreading list forofficersenrolled ingraduate-levelcounterinsurgencycoursesatthePentagon.

Before long, we were receiving hundreds of e-mails, letters, and donationsfrompeoplewhohadservedinAfghanistanorIraqandwhowerewritingtoletus know that theyhad returned from their tours of duty firmly convinced thatproviding young men and women with a moderate education was the mostpotent and cost-effective way to combat the growth of Islamic extremism.Aroundthesametime,ChristianeLeitinger,whorunsPenniesforPeace,noticedthat the program was becoming enormously popular in school districtsdominatedbyfamilieswhoseparentsservedin themilitary—places likeCampLejeune,NorthCarolina(thelargestMarineCorpsbaseontheEastCoast),SanAntonio,Texas(wherearmymedicstrainatFortSamHouston),andCoronado,California(headquartersoftheNavalAirForcesCommandandamajortrainingsiteforNavySEALs).By early 2007, Jennifer Sipes, our office manager in Bozeman, had begun

fielding invitationsaskingme tocomeandspeakatanumberofgatheringsofactive and retired members of the military. The first of these came from Dr.SteveRecca,aretirednavalofficerwhoatthattimeservedasthedirectoroftheCenter for Homeland Security at the University of Colorado in ColoradoSprings. When I returned Dr. Recca’s phone call, he explained that hisorganization was hoping to gain a better understanding of “how homelanddefensecanbepromotedthrougheducation”and“theexenttowhichignoranceistherealenemy.”IflewouttoColoradoonabitterlycoldeveninginJanuaryand was ushered across campus to a chapel that seated an audience of twothousandpeople,whichmeant thatmore thanhalfof the five thousandpeoplewho showed up wound up standing outside in the snow. At the end of mypresentation,amanwalkedupandhandedhiscardtome.Hewasageneralatthe North American Aerospace Defense Command and asked if I might beinterestedingivingasimilarpresentationatNORAD.From that point, invitations began pouring in from all over the country:

serviceacademiesandwarcolleges,veterans’organizations,andmorethantwodozen military bases. I was asked to return to Washington and give anotherbriefingtothePentagon,thenlaterflewtoFloridatotalktoseniorofficersfromCENTCOM (U.S. Central Command, which manages all American militaryoperations in the Middle East and central Asia) and SOCOM (SpecialOperationsCommand,whichdirectseliteunitslikethearmy’sDeltaForce.)As I responded to these overtures, I began to glimpse the earnestness with

which the American military was incorporating cultural education into itsstrategicdoctrines.As I spent timeatplaces likeWestPoint inNewYork, theAir Force Academy in Colorado, or the Marine Expeditionary ForceheadquartersatCalifornia’sCampPendleton,Iwasstruckbythesheeramount

of effort and energy that soldiers were pouring into understanding Islamichistoryandcivilization.AttheU.S.NavalAcademyinAnnapolis,forexample—where I was invited byMatthewMorse, amidshipmanwho had joined upafter9/11and later readThreeCupsofTea—Iwasable to sit inona religionclassinwhichthestudentsanalyzedasectionofLeviticusintheOldTestamentand then compared it to related passages in theKoran.Later that sameday, asociologyclassfeaturedaspiriteddiscussioninvolvingthemannerinwhichtheformershahofIranandtheAyatollahKhomeinibasedtwospeechesonradicallydifferentinterpretationsofthesamesentenceintheKoran.During these encounters, I was struck by the realization that some of the

valuesheldbycadets,officers,andenlistedpersonnelseemedtomirrormyown.Forexample,manyofthesepeopledisplayedgenuinehumility,aswellasadeeprespectforothercultures.Afterspendingtimewiththem,itwasalsocleartomethattheirpatriotismwasrootedin,amongotherideals,areverencefortoleranceand diversity. But perhaps what impressed me the most was their emotionalsincerityandtheirmoralhonesty.MorethanalmostanyotherprofessionIhaveencountered,membersofthemilitaryseemwillingtoacknowledgetheirfailuresand mistakes and to recognize that this is the first step toward learning andgrowth.Eventually,Icametounderstandthatagroupofpeoplewhowieldenormous

powerhappen,oddlyenough,toespousesomeoftheverysameidealsimpartedtomebypeopleinAfricaandcentralAsiawhohavenopoweratall.Thereasonfor this, inmyview, is thatmembersof thearmed forceshaveworkedon theground—inmanycases,duringthreeorfourtoursofduty—onalevelthatveryfew diplomats, academicians, journalists, or policy makers can match. Andamong other things, this experience has imbued soldiers with the gift ofempathy.In April 2009, I paid a visit to the Marines’ Memorial Association in

downtown San Francisco, where Major General Mike Myatt, the formercommanding general of the First Marine Expeditionary Force who led theinvasionintoKuwait,gavemeatouroftwoL-shaped,ashgraywallsengravedwith the names of every marine who has died in Iraq and Afghanistan since2001.WhatstruckmeasforcefullyasthelitanyofnamesonthosewallswasacommentthatGeneralMyattdropped.“There were thousands of civilians killed,” he remarked. “I wish we could

havebuiltawallforallofthem,too.”Inaddition to theenhancedfeelingsofadmirationandrespect thatwere, for

me, invariably a by-product of these encounters, I was also struck by anunexpectedreciprocityofvisionwhenitcametowhat,inmyview,maybethe

mostimportantinsightofall.OfthehundredsofsoldiersIhavespokenwithduringthepastsixyearswho

have been deployed inAfghanistan, almost every one of them firmly believesthat the best way to augment our security is by truly being of service to theAfghan people—and moreover, that the capacity to render this servicemeaningfullyandwellispredicateduponlistening,understanding,andbuildingrelationships. In this respect, the goal of enhancing our own security is bestachieved by enhancing theirs. And the most critical building block toaccomplishingbothiseducation.Prior to thesemeetings,my judgmentof theAmericanmilitary’sconduct in

Afghanistan was harsh and rather uncompromising—and even after theseencounters, I still havemyobjections.Between June andNovember 2006, forexample, the U.S. Air Force according to a Defense Department briefing,droppedroughly987bombsonAfghanistan,exceedingthe848bombsthatweredropped between 2001 and 2004. The resulting civilian casualties generateddeeprevulsionamongtheAfghanpublic.Nevertheless,asIexperiencedtheequivalentofsharingthreecupsofteawith

the U.S. military, my perspective began to change. In a way, each side hadsomething to teach the other, and we both wound up emerging wiser andenrichedbytheencounter.Intheend,IalsocameawaywiththeconclusionthatthemilitaryisprobablydoingabetterjobthananyotherinstitutionintheUnitedStates government—including the StateDepartment, Congress, and theWhiteHouse—ofdevelopingameaningfulunderstandingofthecomplexdynamicsonthegroundinPakistanandAfghanistan.

MyencounterswithAmericansoldiershavebeenextremelygratifyingformeonapersonal level,but theyhavealso influencedthemanner inwhichwedoourworkat theCentralAsiaInstitute.Nothingillustratesthisbetter thanthesetofeventsthatbegantounfoldonSeptember15,2007,whenIopenedmye-mailin-boxandclickedonthefollowingmessage:

DearCentralAsiaInstitute,I am the Commander of Task Force Saber which serves the 190,000

people innorthernKunarandeasternNuristanProvinces inAfghanistan.OurprimarygoalinthiscounterinsurgencyistoprovidehopeforthegoodpeopleofAfghanistan,particularlythechildren.Buildingschoolsisoneofmytopdevelopmentpriorities.I amconvinced that the long-term solution to terrorism ingeneral and

Afghanistanspecificallyiseducation.Theconflictherewillnotbewonwithbombsbutwithbooksandideasthatexcitetheimaginationtowardpeace,tolerance,andprosperity.Thethirstforeducationhereispalpable.Peopleare tired of war after 30 years and want a better future. Education willmake thedifferencewhether thenextgenerationgrowsup tobeeducatedpatriotsorilliteratefighters.Thestakescouldnotbehigher.As you know, Kunar and Nuristan are among the most impoverished

areasinthiswar-torncountry.Wellover90%oftheschoolsintheareaare“open-air”schools;somehavetarps,otherssimplytrytoholdclassunderatree.WehavebegunaschoolpartnershipcampaigntoconnectAmericanwith Afghan schools to help build grassroots connections between ourchildrenandourcountries.Wehavedeliveredawealthofschoolsupplies,butthereisneverenough.ReadingThreeCupsofTeahas inspiredmeeven further topursue the

developmentofAfghanschoolsandeducation.IamnotsureiftheCAIcanhelptheseschoolsinanyway.IdowanttoletyouknowhowinspirationalyourworkisforthepeopleofAfghanistanandPakistan.Bestregards,LTCChrisKolenda,U.S.Army

I was, of course, gratified to be hearing from an officer whose respect foreducationmirroredmyown.Butwhatreallycaughtmyattentionwastheplacefromwhichthiscolonelwaswriting.Northern Kunar and eastern Nuristan is a storied landscape of soaring

mountains and steep-walled gorges embedded in the heart of theHinduKush.The region,which definesAfghanistan’s northeastern borderwith Pakistan, issteeped inawebofmyths surrounding theoriginof its inhabitants—a raceoffierce pagans who bore the features of southern Europeans, were fond ofimbibing wine, furnished their homes with tables and chairs, and spoke alanguageunintelligible to anyof theMuslimneighborswho surrounded them.Known since ancient times as Kafiristan, “the country of the unbelievers,” itqualifies as one of the most isolated, mysterious, and least-known places onearth,evenaslateasthesecondhalfofthetwentiethcentury.AsEricNewbyrelatesinhismarveloustravelogue,AShortWalkintheHindu

Kush, the inhabitants of this area descended from stragglers of the army ofAlexander the Great, who passed along the edges of what is now NuristanProvinceonhiswaytoIndiain326B.C.andfoughtabattleagainstresidentsoftheKunarValley.Sincethen,visitorstotheareahavebeenfewandfarbetween.ChineseBuddhistmonksmade scattered reference to it during their travels to

India in the sixthcentury,Tamerlane’s forces invadedoneof itsvalleys in thefourteenth, and theEmperorBabur sampled some of itswine in the fifteenth.Other than that, the inhabitants of Kafiristan were largely left to their owndevicesuntil1895,whenAbdurRahman,theemirofAfghanistan,invadedwithatrioofarmiesthatattackedsimultaneouslyfromthreeseparatedirections.Themain force,whichconsistedof eight infantry regiments,onecavalry regiment,and a battery of artillery,marched through theKunarValley and defeated theKafirsinasingledecisivebattle—althoughholdoutsfoughthousetohousewithspearsandbowsandarrowsandsetfiretotheirownvillagesbeforesurrendering—atwhichpointtheentirepopulationwasconvertedbyswordtoIslam.Thanks to their impenetrable terrain, their extensive cave networks, and the

border they share with Pakistan’s lawless Tribal Areas, northern Kunar andeasternNuristanemergedasafavoredsanctuaryforseveralmujahadeengroupsduring the 1979-89 occupation of Afghanistan by the Soviets. In the 1990s,severalthousandArabmilitantsestablishedanumberofbasesthroughoutKunarand Nuristan with the help of Osama bin Laden. Following 2001, the regionserved as a safe haven for Taliban and Al Qaeda fighters, who used it as aconduitformovingweaponsandfightersfromPakistanintoAfghanistan.Inthesummerof2005,afterinsurgentsshotdownanAmericanChinookhelicopterintheKorengalValley,killingsixteenSpecialForcessoldiersandthecrew,KunarbecameknownamongU.S.soldiersas“enemycentral.”Bythesummerof2006,notasingleNGOwasoperatinganywhereinsidetheregion.Thanks to all of this, itwas hard to conceive of a part ofAfghanistan that

offeredamorepotentcombinationofdanger, remoteness, andhostility towardoutsiders.AndyetherewasaU.S.commanderwhowasaskingforhelpbecauseheconsideredbuildingschoolstobeoneofhistoppriorities?Clearly,thiswassomeoneworthgettingtoknow.

ChristopherKolendagrewupinOmaha,Nebraska,thesonofaJAGlawyerintheArmy,whichperhapswaswhatledtohisjoiningtheUnitedStatesMilitaryAcademyatWestPoint.Hewasanexcellentstudentwholovedhistoryandreadeverything he could about the Romans, the Greeks, and the rise and fall ofempires. As a captain, he attended graduate school at the University ofWisconsin,wherehecompletedadegreeinmodernEuropeanhistory,andwherehe also began to collect the writings ofmilitary leaders, which he eventuallycompiledintoabookcalledLeadership:TheWarriors’Art,which isnowreadmymany aspiringmilitary commanders. He became an Airborne Ranger and

later theCommanderof the1stSquadron,91stCavalryof the173rdAirborneDivision,whichin2005wasnotifiedthatitwouldbedeployingforIraq.Astheycontinued training and organized Arabic language classes, they receivedmandatory orders instead to deploy to Afghanistan—which they did in May2007. Their headquarters was at Forward Operating Base (FOB) Naray innorthernKunar.TaskForceSaber’sfivemainforwardoperatingbaseshadinitiallybeensetup

in 2006 when the U.S. Army put in a string of posts extending alongAfghanistan’seasternborderwithPakistan.Theprimarymission for the sevenhundred plus U.S. soldiers under Kolenda’s command and the six hundredAfghan soldiers partnered with them was to conduct counterinsurgencyoperationsandbringstability to thearea.Amajorpartof thatmission,as theysaw it, involved building relationships with hundreds of village elders, triballeaders, andmullahs in the surrounding communities.Kolenda’s headquarters,located justoutside thevillageofNaray,waspoisedalong theborderbetweenKunar and Nuristan, an area with 190,000 residents where U.S. forces hadundergone some of their most ferocious fighting against the Taliban and AlQaedain2007.In a classic army command outpost, an officer like Kolenda would keep a

detailed set of maps cataloging the most vital pieces of military intelligenceabouttheopposingforce:anoutlineoftheenemy’sresourcesthatincludedtroopdeployments, supply and transportation networks, patterns of movement, andlevel of firepower. ColonelKolenda’s information certainly included a similarlayoutoftheTalibanandAlQaedaunitsoperatinginthesurroundingarea.Buthis data extended far beyond the usual inventory of the insurgents’manpowerand their rangeofweaponry.After sixmonthsofdrinking teaand listening tospeechesat tribal jirgas, he andhis soldiershadestablisheda connectionwithalmosteverymajorandminorcommunity leaderand religiousauthority in thecivilian population. In addition to knowing their names, faces, and tribalaffiliations, theAmericans understood exactlywhere each of them fit into theregion’spoliticalandeconomichierarchy.Inshort,Kolendaandhismenhadagraspof thecomplexnetworkofkinship ties,blood feuds, economicdisputes,andethnicrivalriesthatshapedeveryaspectoflifeintheruralcommunitiesofthesurroundingregion.During the course of their deployment, Kolenda and his soldiers had

scrambled to assemble an accurate assessment of the innerworkings of tribalsocietyinnorthernKunarandeasternNuristan.Thisbodyofknowledgewasn’tperfect,buttheinformationthesemenhadgatheredwasimpressive—andwhenthey rotated to their next postings, the information would be passed along to

theirreplacements,whowouldcontinuetheprocess.Inthemeantime,however,thecolonel’sconnectionshaddevelopedtothepointwherehewasbeginningtogetahandleontheproblemsthatthesurroundingcommunitieswerestrugglingwithandhowhemightbeabletohelp—whichbringsusbacktothereasonwhyhehade-mailedme.After responding toKolenda’s firstmessage,we corresponded severalmore

times,andduringoneoftheseexchangeshetoldmeaboutavillagecalledSaw,whichwaslocatedacrosstheKunarRiverseventeenkilometersfromhisNarayheadquarters,andwhichpresentedanunusualopportunity.Several times each month, the Naray outpost had been subjected to rocket

attackslaunchedfrommountainridgelinesnear thevillage.Havingreceivedanumber of credible reports about insurgent activity in and around Saw, thecolonel had good reason to suspect that people from Saw might have hadsomething todowith theseattacks. Insteadofconductingacordonandsearchoperationthroughthevillage,Kolendaandhisteamdevelopedamorecreativeapproach:Theydecidedtoconvenea jirgawiththevillageinordertofindoutwhatgrievancesmightbemotivatingthemtoconductrocketattacks.Kolenda’s counterpart in the Afghan National Army (ANA), Lieutenant

Colonel Sher Ahmad, submitted the request for the jirga. In themeeting, theelders explained that a previous cordon and search had been conducted in thevillageseveralyearsearlier,andduringthecourseofthisoperation,anumberofbelongings had allegedly been stolen. As a result, the villagers felt that theirhonorhadbeenviolated,andsomeamongthemwerekeenonseekingrevenge.During this samemeeting, severalof theelders alsohappened tomention thateducation was extremely important to the community, but that because theylackedaschool, theireighthundredchildrenwereforced tostudyoutside,andwinterwasapproachingquickly.Many of the American soldiers, it turned out, had been receiving school

suppliesdonatedbytheirfamiliesandneighborsbackinthestates.Soafterthejirga,thesesuppliesweregatheredtogether—theyamountedtothreetruckloads—and the following week, a second jirga was convened for the purpose ofhandingthesematerialsovertothevillage.Theverynextday,theeldersofSawshowed up outside the Narray outpost asking to see Colonel Kolenda andColonelAhmad.Theyhadbroughtwiththemmorethanonehundredthank-younotes,writteninPashto,bythechildrenofthevillage.Theeldersand the twocolonelswoundup talking formore than twohours,

and during this conversation, it became clear that residents of Saw weredesperate to findawayofbuildinga school.Kolendawasconvinced that thisshared passion for education offered a basis for building a solid, long-term

relationship.Unfortunately, however, the coloneldidnothave the resources togivethevillagerswhattheywanted—whichiswhyhehadturnedtome.CouldtheCAIpossiblyhelp?Atfirst,Iwasn’texactlysurethatwecould.TheCentralAsiaInstituteisnot

affiliatedwiththeU.S.military,andinorderforustomaintaincredibilitywiththe communities in which we work, we bend over backward to keep thisdistinction clear. (For that reason, Iwill not even permit peoplewhovisit ourschoolstowearmilitary-typecamouflagefatigues.)Therewerealsoanumberofpracticalconcerns,startingwiththefactthatKunarandNuristanareextremelydangerous, and extending into the same issue thatwe confronted inKashmir:Havingneverworkedinthisareabefore,wehadnorelationships,nonetworkofcontacts,andnofriends.Those concernswere substantial. Offsetting them, however, was the simple

fact that Iadmiredwhat thisAmericancommanderstoodforandwhathewastrying to accomplish. If therewas away forus tohelpwithout compromisingour reputationasanorganization thathadnoconnection, financialorpolitical,withtheU.S.government,itmightbeworthexploring.Butfirst,we’dneedtofindapersonwhocouldpullthisoff.Andasitturned

out,Ihadsomeoneinmind.

CHAPTER13

TheManfromtheJalozaiRefugeeCamp

Itisonlywiththeheartthatonecanseerightly;Whatisessentialisinvisibletotheeye.

—TheLittlePrince,ANTOINEDESAINT-EXUPÉRY

UrozganelderswithWakilKarimi(lowerright),HajiIbrahim(upperright),andGregMortenson

WakilKarimi and Imet in the spring of 2002when I checked into thePeaceGuestHouse onKabul’s Bagh-e-Bala Road during one ofmy early trips intoAfghanistan. A bearded Pashtun with rounded facial features and kind browneyes who dressed in a neatly pressed shalwar kamiz and vest, Wakil was nodifferentfromanyofthethousandsofambitiousyoungAfghanmenwhoweretentativelyventuringbacktotheirhomelandinthewakeoftheTaliban’sdefeat.

And like many of his compatriots, his story—which I learned shortly aftergettingtoknowhim—wasthetaleofamanwhohadspentthebulkofhislifeinacrowdedrefugeecamp.Wakil’sboyhoodmemoriesofAfghanistanendedinDecemberof1979when,

attheageofseven,heandhisentirefamilywereforcedtofleefromtheirhomefollowing the Russian invasion. For two weeks, Soviet MiG fighters hadpummeledtheirvillagewithbombs,flatteningnearlyall thehousesandkillingmanyoftheinhabitants.TheKarimistraveledbyfoot,horse,anddonkeyforfourdaysandnightsuntil

theycrossedtheborderintoPakistanonprecipitousmountaintrailsandsettledinto JalozaiRefugeeCamp,about twentymiles southeastofPeshawar.Oneofthelargestofthe150campsthatPakistanwashastilyassemblingtohousesomeof the 4.5millionAfghanmuhajir (refugees)whowould eventually pour intoPakistan following the Soviet occupation, Jalozai was a barren area whereseventy thousand people huddled in ramshackle tents andmakeshift tarpaulinshelters without running water, electricity, plumbing, transportation, or theability to feed themselves. The guardswere cruel, some of the administratorsstolemuchof the food and supplies for themselves, and entire sections of thecampwere controlled by thugs. Itwas not the sort of placewhere onewouldwanttospendmorethanaweek,muchlessseveralmonths.AlthoughWakildidnotknowitthen,thiswouldbehishomeformostofthe

nexttwenty-threeyears.Aweekaftersettlinghiswife,hisfather,hissister,andhissixchildreninthe

camp,Wakil’s father,AbdulGhani, didwhatmostof themenof Jalozaiweredoing at the time. He bade farewell to his family, made his way back toAfghanistantorejointhemujahadeen,anddisappearedintothefiresofthejihad.Wakil’slastmemoryofAbdulGhaniconsistsofahugandapromisethattheywouldseeeachotherinamonth.Tothisday,Wakilhasnoideahowhisfatherwaskilled,whenithappened,orwhereheisburied.Wakil and his younger brother, Mateen, set out to make the best of the

situation.At thedirectionof theirmother, awomanwhohadnever learned toreadorwrite butwho revered education, they studied in oneof themakeshiftclassrooms in the camp for half of each day. The other half of the day, theyworked to support their mother, grandfather, and four younger siblings. Theysoldwater, theyworked in a kiln that baked bricks, and eventually, after theylearnedEnglish, theystarted the theirownafter-hoursmaktab, theWashingtonEnglish Language Center, which taught English vocabulary and grammar tosomeof thecamp’smostambitious language students.Then in the summerof2002,word reachedWakil that the owner of the PeaceGuestHouse inKabul

was looking for a manager who could speak English. The salary was twohundreddollarsamonthplusgratuities.Intrigued,hemadehiswayalonebacktoAfghanistan, interviewedfor the job,andwassittingbehind thedeskof theguesthouseontheeveningthatIarrived.WhenWakillearnedthatIwashopingtosetupgirls’schoolsinhiscountry,

he approved in the strongest possible terms. “Oh, Afghanistan is the perfectplace for yourwork,” he exclaimed, “andgirls’ education is amust!”He alsoconfidedthathehappenedtoknowtheidealspotwhereweshouldbegin:alittlevillage thirtymiles southwest ofKabul calledLalander,where the school hadbeen destroyed by the Soviets and where—incidentally—Wakil’s familyhappenedtobefrom.When I explained that we specialized in building schools in exceptionally

remoteareas,helistenedpolitely,nodded,andproceededtostay“onmessage”with the kind of unwavering discipline and blatant disregard of the facts thatKarlRovewouldadmire.Overthenexteighteenmonths,asSarfrazandIflittedback and forth through the Peace Guest House on our way to and from theWakhan,WakilpresentedhimselfasaPashtunversionofanexceptionallygiftedusedcarsalesman.Heneverstoppedsmiling,heneverraisedhisvoice,andhenever once abandoned his conviction that if he kept pressing, gently andearnestly, he would eventually persuade us to adopt Lalander as a “specialexception”toourend-of-the-roadpolicy.Eventually, Wakil augmented his relentless persistence with a subtler and

more devious strategy that involved arousing our sympathy by invoking anelaboratecatalogofLalander’smiseriesandmisfortunes.Eachtimewearrivedat thePeaceGuestHouse,Sarfraz and Iwere treated to a litanyofLalander’sliabilities that included the poor state of the road, themiserable quality of thewater, the straitened circumstances of the inhabitants, and the level of apathylavisheduponthevillagebytheAfghangovernment.Aftermorethanayearofthis,WakilfinallyworeSarfrazandmedowntothe

pointwhereoneofusmadethemistakeofaskinghimtoelaborateonsomethinghe’dsaidaboutLalander—ifmemoryserves,ithadtodowiththerevelationthattheTalibanhadrecentlybegunusingthevalleyinwhichthevillagewaslocatedasaconduitforrunningheroin.Ourrequestformoreinformationprovidedtheopeninghe’dbeenwaitingforsopatiently.“Please, letusgoandhave teawith the shura elders,”he replied, “andyou

willbeabletoseeforyourselves.”Howcouldwepossiblysayno?

IttakestwohourstodrivefromKabultoLalander,whichliesintheheartoftheCharAsiabValley,ariver-carvedcanyonwhosewallsofbareorangeandblackrock soar nearly two thousand feet into the sky and whose narrow bottom isquilted with a patchwork of orchards that include peach, apricot, cherry, andmulberry trees. They also grow a lot of garlic around Lalander, so the air isanointedwithascentthatissweetandfaintlycloying.For all his salesmanship, Wakil had not misrepresented the place or

exaggerateditsmisfortunes.Thedirtroadwassoawfulthatagoodrunnercouldeasily haveoutpacedus during the fiftyminutes required to cover the last tenmiles.Thanksto theextensiveSovietstrafingandbombing,manyof themud-walledbuildingsinthevillagelookedlikedecayingMesopotamianruins.Withthe exception of the rusted carcasses of Russian tanks and armored personnelcarrierslitteringtheriverbed,itfeltasifwehadsteppedoutofthetwenty-firstcenturyandbackintotheMiddleAges.When we arrived and convened with the elders in a jirga that Wakil had

arranged in advance, it also became clear that the place desperately needed aschool.Theonlyformofeducation,itturnedout,wasinformalreligiousclassestaughtinamosquebyoneofthethreelocalmullahs.Oneofthesemullahswasresistant,butthecommunity’s160familiesandtheothertwomullahswerekeenonbuildingsomethingbetter.It was during this jirga that an unusual idea first occurred to us. Although

Lalanderlookedandfeltasremoteasmanyoftheplacesinwhichwenormallywork,itsproximitytoKabulmightmakeitaccessibletotheincreasingnumberof journalists, donors, and officials from the Afghan government who wereexpressing interest in seeing the kind of work we do but could not afford tocommittoanarduoussix-dayjourneynorthtoBadakshanandintotheWakhan.Thus,thequestionarose,mightitnotmakesenseforustobuildademonstrationschoolinLalanderthatcouldserveasashowcaseforthekindofworkwedo?Inearly2004,IranthisquerypasttheCAIboardandwasgivenagreenlight

tomoveforward.Laterthatspring,withthehelpofthirtythousanddollarsraisedbythecommunityofLafayette,California,withthehelpofanattorneywhowasinterestedinfundingasingleschool,constructionstartedundertheenthusiasticsupervision ofWakil,who volunteered to act as the project’s unpaidmanager.Every Thursday and Friday—his days off at the Peace Guest House—WakilmadethedrivefromKabultothejobsiteinordertomonitorprogress,orderupnewsupplies, andkeep thingsmoving forward.And itwasduring thesevisitsthathestruckupafriendshipwiththeboynamedGulmarjan.Gulmarjan, who was fourteen years old and lived with his five sisters in

Lalander,hadneverhadthechancetoattendschoolandcouldbarelycontainhisexcitementovertheprospectoflearningtoreadandwrite—anopportunitythat,asfarasGulmarjanwasconcerned,couldnotarrivefastenough.Astheweeksslippedpast,hisagitationburgeoned to thepointwherehewasconvinced thatthepaceofconstructionwasnotuptoacceptablestandardsand,inanefforttoprodthingsalong,madeaspecialpointofbadgeringWakilandremindinghimhow important it was to get things finished quickly.WheneverWakil was inKabul,Gulmarjanalsodevelopedahabitofgrazinghisgoatsascloseaspossibletotheconstructionsitesothathecouldmonitorprogressashewatchedoverhisanimals,thenreporthisobservationsduringWakil’snextvisit.Itwasduringthecourse of this surveillance, one afternoon in early June, that everyone in thevillageheardthesharpcrackofanexplosionfromthedirectionofGulmarjan’sherdofgoats.Afghanistanisoneofthemostheavilyminedcountriesintheworld—during

theSovietoccupationandthecivilwarthatfollowed,virtuallyeverycornerthecountrywas seededwith landmines—andaccording to thebest estimates, thecountrystillhassomewherebetween1.5and3millionofthesedevicesburiedinitssoil.Theycontinue tokillormaimroughlysixty-fivecivilianseachmonth,and as in somanyother aspects ofwar, the peoplewhobear the brunt of thesufferingarechildren.Thedevice thatGulmarjanhad steppedonwas aSoviet anti-personnel land

mine that had been placed in the groundmore than twenty years earlier, andwhenhetriggeredthedetonator, theexplosionblewapart the lowerhalfofhistorso.Whenhisdistraughtfatherreachedhim,heput theboyonadonkey(nooneinLalanderhasacar),thentransferredhimtoabicycleandfranticallyracedtowardthenearestmedicalcenter,inKabul.FivehourslaterandbarelyaquarterofthewaytoKabul,Gulmarjandiedin

hisfather’sarms.

InJuly2004,IpaidmyfirstvisittoLalanderandwasimpressedbyhowmuchprogressWakil’sconstructioncrewhadmade.ThetragedyofGulmarjan’sdeath,however, had dampened everyone’s spirits, especially when his father, FaisalMohammed,droppedbytopayhisrespects.A handsome man in his early forties with a salt-and-pepper beard and

aquamarine eyes, Faisal Mohammed wanted to show me where his son wasburied. It took less than fiveminutes towalk from the construction site to thespot where Gulmarjan had set off the land mine. His grave was a simple

rectangular cairnof stonespiled roughly two feet high, and at theheadof thegrave was a green metal cylinder—a Soviet-era artillery canister—supportingseveralwoodenpolestowhichwereaffixedthegreenandwhiteflagsthatflutterabovegraves all overAfghanistan.Scattered among the surrounding rockswecould spot fragments ofmetal—jagged pieces of copper and steel—that werepartsoftheminethathadkilledhim.AsWakil,Sarfraz,andIstoodinsilence,Faisalcuppedhishandsinfrontof

hischestandofferedupaduafortheboywhosebodylayathisfeet.FormanyMuslimmen,thebirthofasonislife’sgreatestevent,andthusthedeathofasonissurelyoneof themostdevastating.ButFaisal’ssorrowpenetrated toa levelthattherestofusfounddifficulttofathom.Inadditiontohisfivedaughters,hehad also had two other sons—Gulmarjan’s older brothers—and both of theseboyswerealsodead.FaisalHaq,theoldest,hadbeenclaimedbydiphtheria;andZiaUllah,themiddleboy,hadbeenkilledinacaraccident.Nowthethirdandlastsonhadbeentaken,andtheagonyetchedinFaisalMohammed’sfacewasbeyondanythingtowhichSarfraz,Wakil,orIcoulddojusticewithwords.Aswestoodbesidethegraveandboretheweightofthesethoughts,wecould

hear the sounds ofmen atwork. The rattle of gravel flung from the end of ashovelandthewetslapsoffreshmortartroweledontostonecarriedclearlyfromthejobsite,lessthanahundredyardsaway.Perhapsitwasourawarenessoftheproximity of this labor—and the manner in which the noise of the toolsoverlappedwiththewordsofFaisal’sdua—thatdrovehomejusthowcloselythebirthofourschoolandthedeathofthisboyhadbeenenjoined.Inanycase,aftera moment or two of silence I turned to Faisal and suggested that, with hispermission, we would he honored to construct a concrete memorial pathwaylinking the school toGulmarjan’sgrave thatwould serveasamemorial tohisson.WhenFaisal nodded his agreement and thanks,Wakil set aboutmaking the

arrangements.TheschoolthatWakilsawthroughtocompletionisarealbeauty.Thegreen

andwhite,single-storybuildingsitsonaslope justbefore theendof theroad,perchedaboveagroveofcherryandappletrees.Therearesixclassrooms,plusateacher’sofficeandaplayground.Justbeyondthenorthsideofthecourtyard,aset of twenty steps leads to a concrete path, and at the end of the path isGulmarjan’sgrave.Heneverhadachancetositinaclassroomandlearnfromoneoftheteachers,butweallbelievethatheisconnected—symbolically,tobesure,butalsoinspirit—totheschoolhedreamedofonedayattending.Shortlyafterthisprojectwascompleted,threethingshappened.With the approval of her father, Gulmarjan’s energetic sister, Saida, was

enrolledinfirstgrade.Shehasproventobeanexceptionalstudent—herdreamistobecomethefirstfemaledoctorinthehistoryofLalander.Andintheeyesofher father—a man who until recently believed that all five of his daughtersneeded to remain at home—Saida now carries the unfulfilled promise of herthreemissingbrothersinthepalmofherhand.Meanwhile,Faisalhimselfdecided togo toschool.Severalmonthsafterhis

son’sdeath,he enrolled in aneighteen-month trainingprogram toqualify as aprofessionaldeminer,attheendofwhichhejoinedacompanycalledRONCO,which removes land mines all over Afghanistan. The money was good (heearned about five hundred dollars a month, more than four times what henormally made), but the work deprived him of time with his family, soeventuallyhequit,soldaportionofhisland,andvoluntarilybegancleaningthearea aroundhis village of landmines.BySeptember 2009, he had discoveredandremovedthirtylandminesaroundLalanderanditsschool.Andfinally,SarfrazandIdecidedtohireWakilastheCentralAsiaInstitute’s

Afghanistandirector.By accepting this offer, hebecame theonlyPashtun andmuhajirmember of theDirtyDozen.Which is how theman from the JalozaiRefugeeCampbecamethefirstpersonIcalledinconnectionwithColonelChrisKolenda’s request forassistance insettingupaschooldirectlyacross theriverfromtheAmericanfirebaseinKunarProvince.

Inlate2007,IphonedWakilandaskedifhethoughthecouldsafelyundertakeaweeklongscoutingtriptothevillageofSaw.Thesafetypartofmyquestionwaskey,becauseaswebothunderstood,thisrequestcouldnothavecomeatamoredangeroustime.Sincelate2005,theTalibaninsurgencyhadbeensteadilyescalatingaswave

after wave of hardened and fanatical foreign fighters from Uzbekistan,Chechnya,westernChina, SaudiArabia, andYemen poured intoAfghanistan.HavingalreadyspenttimeinIraq,anumberoftheseinsurgentswerewellversedin the latest techniques for constructing improvised explosive devices (IEDs),conducting ambushes, and carrying out suicide attacks. The results showedalmost immediately. According to the United Kingdom’s Foreign &CommonwealthOffice,from2005to2006,thenumberofTalibanandAlQaedasuicide bombings shot from twenty-one to 141, and the number of IEDs theydetonatedsoaredfrom530to1,297.Therisingviolencespilledintononmilitaryareasaswell.In2007,according

totheUNHCR,theTalibankilledthirty-fouraidworkersandabductedanother

seventy-six.Theyalsosteppeduptheirattacksongirls’educationbyexecutingteachersandstudentsaswellasburningschools.In2006,MalimAbdulHabib,theheadmasterofShaikMathiBabaGirlsHighSchoolinZabulProvince,waspulled frombed at night, dragged into the courtyard of his home, and shot infrontofhisfamily.Thefollowingyear,Timemagazinereported,theTalibanshotdead three female students comingout of a high school inLogarProvince. InseveralschooldistrictsaroundKandahar,attackerstossedhandgrenadesthroughschool windows and threw acid into the faces of girls attending classes. Inneighboring Helmand Province, a teacher was shot and killed by gunmen onmotorbikes,halfadozengirls’schoolswereburnedtothegroundbyarsonists,andahigh-schoolprincipalwasbeheaded.By2007,accordingtoTheGuardian(U.K.),nearlyhalfofthe748schoolsinAfghanistan’sfoursouthernprovinces,whichwereunderthemostseriousassaultbyTalibanforces,hadclosed.Theseweretheconditionsunderwhich,onemorningintheautumnof2007,

Wakil said good-bye to hiswife, climbed into a battered Toyota Corolla, andheadedeastinthedirectionofKunar.HisfirststopwasJalalabad,asix-hourdrive,wherehemetupwithafriend

named Gul Mohammed, who had several relatives in Kunar and planned toaccompanyWakil the restof theway.Theyspent thenightatahotel in town,andduringdinnertheyquizzedseveraloftheotherguestsaboutthesituationinKunar.OneofthemenWakilapproached,itturnedout,workedforademiningcrewandhadspentquiteabitoftimeinKunar.Hisreportwaschilling.“The situation is okay for locals, but for foreigners and for anyonewho is

workingwith the foreigners, it is extremelydangerous,” themandeclared. “IfyougointoKunar,Idonotthinkyouwillcomebackalive.”AfterWakil andGulMohammed retired to their room,Wakilwrestledwith

theideaofturningaroundinthemorningandreturningtoKabul.Hehadawife,six children, a mother, and more than a dozen other relatives who werecompletelydependentonhim.Howcouldhejustifytakingsuchrisks?Butthenhefellasleepandhadadream.Inthedream,Wakilwastypingatakeyboardinfrontofacomputerscreen.

Whenever he pressed the Enter key, the screen turned bright green.When hepressedtheBackspacekey,however,thecolorofthescreenchangedtobrown.Enter—green.Backspace—brown.Green.Brown.Green.Brown.WhenWakilawoke the followingmorning, thedreamwasvividlyetched in

his mind, and its meaning was equally clear to him. As soon as he and GulMohammedhadfinishedtheirbreakfast,hepushedhischairbackfromthetable

andannounced,“Okay,itistimetogo.”“SoyouaregoingbacktoKabul?”askedGulMohammed.“No,”repliedWakil,“youandIaregoingtoKunar.”“ButIwasthinkingthatyouhaddecidedweshouldn’tcontinuebecauseit’s

sodangerous.”“Iknow,” repliedWakil. “But lastnight Ihadadream that toldme tokeep

going.”“Whatwasthedream?”askedGulMohammed.“Mycomputer screen turnedgreenwhenever IpushedEnter,butwhen Ihit

theBackspace key, it turned brown. I think the dreammeans that ifwe don’tkeepmovingforwardandhelpthepeopleofSawvillagewiththeirschool, thewholeareamaybecomedryandbrown.Theelders,women,andchildrenneedourhelp,sowehavetogo.IfIwindupdying,that’stoobad,butIcannotjustignoreadreamthatrevealswhatAllahwantsmetodo.”Thatmakessense,”noddedGulMohammed.“AllahAkbhar—let’sgo.”

The road out of Jalalabad headed straight north into theHinduKush, and tenhours later, as theypassed fromNangarharProvince intoKunar itself, the twomenwerestruckbythebeautyofoneofAfghanistan’sleastknownregions.TheroadmeanderedthroughtheheavilyforestedvalleyoftheKunarRiverpasttinymud-walled villages, each surrounded by a network of neatly terraced fieldswhosebordersfittogetherlikeajigsawpuzzle.Thewater-filledirrigationcanalswere linedwith tallpoplar treeswhosepalegreen leavesshimmeredwhen thewindplayedamongthem,whilethetopsofthemountainsinthedistancewerecappedwithamantleofsnow.Everyfewmiles,theroadwouldpassthroughacluster of tea khanas, stalls that sold cheap clothing and plastic sandals, andbutchershopswherelegsoffreshmuttonweresuspendedfrommetalhooks.Thescenehadapastoral somnolence that lulledWakil intomomentarily forgettingthatthiswasalsoatheaterofwar.Wakil knew no one in Kunar, but he was carrying several letters of

introduction fromSahilMuhammad,apoliticianwho represented theprovincein Parliament, as well as a list of local leaders supplied to us by ColonelKolenda.UponreachingthevillageofNaray,afewmilesfromKolenda’spost,hemadecontactwithHajiYoussef,animposingmanwithacarefullytrimmedbeard and copper-colored skinwho served as the chief of police. LikeWakil,Haji Youssef had spent much of his boyhood in a refugee camp in Pakistan.UnlikeWakil,hehadjoinedtheTalibanshortlyafterreturninghome,thenbrokeoffhisaffiliationsixmonthslater,havingrealizedthathewantednothingtodo

with them—amove that earnedhim a spot on aTaliban hit list and provokedseveralattemptsonhislife.ToWakil’ssurprise,therewasnoevidenceofthesortofreceptionhehadbeen

warned about by the demining expert back in Jalalabad. In fact, quite theopposite.HajiYoussefwasdelightedtomakehisacquaintanceandappreciatedtheletterofintroductionfromhismemberofParliament.ThechiefofpolicealsohadnoproblemwithWakil’sassociationwithanAmericanNGO,andheknewtheAmericanarmycommanderpersonally,havingattendedanumberof jirgaswithKolenda.WhenWakilexplainedabouttheschool-buildingprojectinSaw,HajiYoussefpromptlydispatcheda trustedbodyguard toguideWakilandGulMohammeduptheroadtothevillage.AftercrossingtheKunarRiveronawoodenbridgethathadbeenbuiltbythe

Americans,WakildroveintoSawandpolitelyintroducedhimselftoagroupofeldersasafellowAfghanfromthevillageofLalanderwhowasworkingwithanAmericanNGOthathopedtobuildaschoolforthechildrenofthevillage.HerequestedajirgathatwouldincludetheeldersandmullahsfromSawitselfandthethreesurroundingvillagesthatwouldalsobeservedbytheschool.When the jirga convened the following morning, the leaders of all four

communitiesexplainedthattheyweresoeagerforaschoolthattheyhadalreadydecidedonasuitablelocationandwerepreparedtosignacontractonthespot.Pleasedandabittakenaback,Wakilfoundhimselfintheoddpositionofhavingtoapplythebrakesandslowtheprocessdown.Beforeacontractwassigned,hewouldneedtoinspectthelocationandthendrawupabudget.Therewasalsothequestionof finalapproval fromMr.Mortensonandhisboardofdirectors.Butthis is an excellentbeginning,he assured the jirga.Wewill allwork together,andyouwillhaveyourschool.ThatwasourfirstcupofteaintheheartofTalibancountry.Amonth later,Wakil returnedwithSarfraz.Thepurposeof this second trip

was twofold: In addition to finalizingarrangementswith thevillage leadersofSaw,thetwomenfeltthatitwasnowtimetoformallymaketheacquaintanceofthe American military commander who had launched this initiative. So aftermakingtheirwaytoNarayandpayingtheirrespectstothefriendlypolicechief,theydroveuptotheheavilyguardedentrancetoForwardOperatingBase(FOB)NarayandexplainedtoaratherconfusedAfghanNationalArmysoldierthatonthe instructionsof theirboss fromMontana,whohadbeencorrespondingwiththecommandingofficer,theywerehopingtopayacallonColonelKolenda.Like all foreignmilitarybases inAfghanistan,FOBNarayboastedmultiple

layers of security, and threading through them normally requires a substantialdossier of letters, authorizations, and security-clearance badges. Wakil and

Sarfraz had nothing beyond their identification cards and a copy of one ofKolenda’s e-mails. Haji Youssef, who was with them at the outer perimeter,offered to help things along by firing several rounds into the air to draw theattention of theAmerican soldiers inside—an offer thatwas politely declined.Afteranhourofextensivesearches,WakilandSarfrazwerefinallypermittedtoproceedtothelastgate,whichwasguardedbyAmericansoldiers.“YoumustbeWakilandSarfraz,hereforthreecupsoftea,”exclaimedoneof

the soldiers. “The colonel has been talking about you for days—welcomeaboard!”Aminuteortwolater,atrim,clean-shavenofficerwiththeblackcluster-leaf

insigniaofalieutenantcolonelonhiscamouflageuniformcamewalkingupandgreetedbothmenwithawarmhugand“As-SalaamAlaaikum.”AstheywalkedinthedirectionofaQuonsethutthatservedasKolenda’sHQ

office, Wakil spotted the minaret of a small but elegant mosque. Pleasantlysurprised to discover a mosque sitting in the middle of a frontline Americanmilitarybase,heaskedKolendaifitwouldbepermissibleforhimmakeupforseveralprayers thathehadmissedwhile theywereon the road toKunar.“Wehavecomealongwayandwearestillalive,”explainedWakil,“soIwouldliketoexpressmythankstoAllahfortheblessingswehavehadonthistrip.”“Bemy guest,Wakil, and we will have tea waiting for you when you are

finished,” repliedKolenda.“Ialso insist thatyoudous thehonorofacceptingourhospitalitybystayingfordinnerandspendingthenight.”Later that afternoon, Sarfraz and Wakil were introduced to several of

Kolenda’sjuniorofficersandenlistedmen.Laterstill,asimplemealwasserved,afterwhich the threemen talkeddeep into thenight about everyaspectof thesurroundingcommunityandtheimportanceofpromotingeducation.Sarfraz was fascinated and intrigued to be making the acquaintance of an

AmericansoldierwhohaddevelopedsuchakeeninterestinAfghanistan.“Youknowmanythingsaboutthereligion,thepolitics,andthecultureofthisplace—whatIcall‘style,’”hesaidtoKolendaatonepoint.“Whatisthewordthatyousoldiersuseforstyle?”“COIN,”repliedKolendawithoutmissingabeat.“It’sanacronymthatstands

for‘CounterinsurgencyOperations.’”“Aha, ‘coin,’ likemoney, yes?” exclaimedSarfraz. “This is a goodword to

remember.‘Coin’and‘style’arelikebrothers.”

Wakil and Sarfraz spent a total of seven days inKunar during that trip. Theytouredallfourvillages.Theymetwitheveryoneofthelocalelders,themullahs,

andthecommandhans.Theyeachdrankseveralgallonsoftea,andbythetimetheywerebackon theroadandheaded towardKabul, the locationandsizeofthe Saw school had been agreed upon; a committee had been appointed tomonitor the progress of the work and keep the books; and a thousand-dollardownpaymenthadbeenhandedovertogettheprojectstarted.Construction kicked off inMay 2008 and extended through that summer, a

periodwhenAfghanistanwitnessedtheheaviestboutoffightingandthehighestdeath toll forU.S.andNATOtroopssince2001.OnJuly13,2008,atapatrolbaseoutsidetheNuristanvillageofWanat,aday’stravelfromNaray,StarsandStripes reported that nine American soldiers were killed and fifteen werewounded during an all-day battle with Taliban forces—the highest singlebattlefieldlossfortheUnitedStatessincethewarhadbegun.The school in Saw, our first undertaking within the confines of an active

Taliban combat zone, was finished shortly before the seventh anniversary of9/11. Several days later, the number of U.S. troops that had been killed inAfghanistanin2008surpassedthenumberofU.S.militarycasualtiesinIraqforthesameyear—thefirsttimethatthedeathtollexactedbyAfghanistanexceededIraq’s.Itwasagrimmilestone,andasiftounderscoreitsimplications,aweekafter the school was finished, the elders received one of the infamous “nightletters”fromtheTaliban.Theone-pagenote,writteninUrdu,wasnailedtothedooroftheschoolunder

cover of darkness. It warned that if any girl over the age of fourteen waspermittedtoattendclass,theentirebuildingwouldbeburnedtothegroundandanyfamilythathadsentitsdaughterstoschoolwouldbetargetedforreprisal.The community was outraged by the threat, and after another jirga was

convened, the elders decided to continue moving forward as planned. A fewnightslater,asecondwarningwasdeliveredwhenthedoorofahousethatWakilhad rented as amakeshift classroomduring the construction phasewas set onfire.Again, theeldersconvened,and this time theydecided to fightback.Butinstead of reaching for their guns, they got creative. They appointed a localmullahnamedMaulviMatiullahtobetheheadmasterof theschool.Asoneofthe most respected religious leaders in the community, Matiullah had a firmunderstanding of theKoran and Islam.But hewas also a strong proponent ofsecular education, including for girls, that embraced math, science, andgeography,aswellasreadingandwritinginDari,Pashto,English,andArabic.Matiullah immediately set up a meeting with a group of the local Taliban

fightersandinformedthemthathisschoolwasofflimits,andthatiftheydaredtoharmasinglestudentorteacher,theywouldbecommittinganoffenseagainstIslam.Shortlyafter themeeting, themysteriousnight letterwasremovedfrom

thedoor.Tothisday,theschoolhasnotbeenattackedorthreatenedonce.Meanwhile,Wakilfoundhimselfsoinspiredbythesuccessofourventurein

Saw that he put his head together with Colonel Kolenda and the two menidentifiedasecondKunarproject.AbouttwentymilesawayfromSawwasavillagecalledSamarak,wherethe

communityhadbeenclamoring foreducation.Samarak isperchedhighon thesideofamountain,andfromitsvantagepoint,onecanseethenorthernreachesof the Hindu Kush that loom above our schools in the Wakhan and easternBadakshan.Thanks to its isolation,Samarakalsoservesasarefuelingstopforitinerant Talibanmilitants,who often extortmutton, bread, and other suppliesfrom the residents. With the support of the community, however, Wakilsupervisedtheconstructionofafive-classroomschool,andbytheendof2008,195childrenwerebusyattheirlessons.Through a quirk of local demographics that must surely have enraged the

insurgentsinthesurroundinghills,two-thirdsofthosestudentsweregirls.

As it turnedout,ourventure intoKunarat thebehestofColonelKolendahadseveral consequenceswe could not have foreseenwhenWakilmade that firstdrive into the mountains from Jalalabad. By the autumn of 2009, we hadconstructednineschoolsinKunar’sNaraydistrictandhadstartedanothergirls’schoolinBarg-eMatal,avillagelocatedinapartofneighboringNuristanwherethereissuchadenseconcentrationofTalibanoperativesthatalocalpolicechiefdescribestheplaceasbeingsurroundedby“aringofKalashnikovs.”Asremarkableasthosedevelopmentswere,however,whatsurprisedmeeven

more was an idea that was somehow hatched, during the course of theseventures,inthemindsofWakilandSarfraz—anideathattheydeignedtosharewithmeonehotsummereveninginthecourtyardofKabul’sPeaceGuestHousewhentheyaskedifIhadanyinterestinhearingabouttheir“grandplanforthefutureoftheCAI.”“Well,sure,”Isaid,“thatmightbesomethinggoodformetoknowabout.”“Okay,sohereisouridea,”saidSarfraz,unfurlingamapofAfghanistanand

spreadinghisfingersacrossthenortheasternpartofthecountry.“ThesearetheschoolswehavebuiltintheWakhan,yes?”Inodded.“And these,” saidWakil, pointing to an area directly to the south, “are the

schoolswehavecompletedinKunarandNuristan—which,asyoucanseefromthemap,isbasicallyconnectedtoBadakshan,no?”

Inoddedagain.“And here,” continued Sarfraz, sweeping his finger south and west toward

Kabul,“istheschoolthatWakilputtogetherinLalander.Doyouseehowtheseareasarealllinkedtogetherandformasortofarc?”“Well,Iguessso,”Isaid.“Andnowdoyouseewherethisarcispointed?”askedWakil,theexcitement

creepingintohisvoice.“Canyouseewherethemomentumisheading?”“Um...notreally.”“Righthere!”criedSarfraz,mashinghisindexfingerintoatowninthemiddle

of Uruzgan, a dusty and impoverished province just north of Kandahar, thebirthplaceoftheTaliban.ItookholdofSarfraz’sspectacles,peeredcloselyatthemap,andsawthathe

waspointingtoavillagecalledDehRawod.“OneofthehomesofMullahOmar?”Iasked,referringtothereclusive,one-

eyedsupremeleaderoftheTaliban.“Exactly!” exclaimed Wakil. “So what Sarfraz and I are thinking is that

maybefifteenortwentyyearsfromnow,justbeforethethreeofusarereadytoretire,wearegoingtobuildaschoolinthevillageofMullahOmar.”“Andnotjustanyschool,”addedSarfraz.“Oh,no!”continuedWakil.“Itwillbeagirls’highschool.”“—andifMullahOmarhappenstohaveadaughter,”interjectedSarfraz.“—thenwearegoingtakeandputherdirectlyintothatschool!”yelledWakil

intriumph.SonowIunderstoodwhattheyhadinmind:apicketlineofgirls’schools,a

kind of Great Chinese Wall of women’s literacy, stretching from one end ofAfghanistantotheother,thatwouldliterallysurroundtheTalibanandAlQaedawithoutpostsoffemaleeducation.AsIshookmyheadindisbelief,Sarfrazgrinned,seizedholdofthefrontof

hisshalwarkamiz, and yanked it up to reveal a T-shirtwhose front had beeninscribedinblackMagicMarkerwiththeDariwordsYaDehRawodyaHeech!Roughtranslation:“DehRawodorBust.”“Doyouguyshaveeventhefaintestideahowcrazythisis?”Iasked.With that, the man with the broken hand and the man from the Jalozai

Refugee Camp looked at each other, nodded, and then did something I willrememberforever.Theystartedtolaugh.Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!Thentheybothshutup,soberedintosilencebythesheerpreposterousnessof

the vision they had just laid out—and by the realization that chasing such a

dreamcouldeasilyoccupytherestofourlives.Inthatmoment,thethreeofuslackedeventhefaintestunderstandingofjust

howswiftlythefuturewashurtlingdownuponourheads.

CHAPTER14

BarnstormingThroughBadakshan

NowIshallgofarandfarintotheNorthplayingtheGreatGame.

—RUDYARDKIPLING,Kim

EndofthejeeptrailintheWakhan,Afghanistan

TheHabibBankwastuckedawayonthesecondfloorofafour-storybuildingindowntown Kabul’s Shahr-i-Nau district, a colorful neighborhood that boasted

several foreigner-friendly Internet cafés (one of which had recently reopenedafterhavingbeenblownupbyasuicidebomberinMay2005)andasmallparkwhere a photographer was staging an exhibit featuring grisly images of land-mineamputees.Standingnext to theentranceto theparkwasamanholdingalengthofchainattachedtotheneckofatrainedmonkey.AtfiveminutestonineonaSaturdaymorninginAugust2008,themonkey’seyesdarteduptowardthebank’sentranceasSarfrazandIburstthroughthefrontdoors.Inhisgoodhand,Sarfrazwasclutchingaplasticshoppingbagthathadjustbeenhandedtohimbythe woman who brings freshly baked bread to the bank’s employees eachmorning. The bag now contained twenty-three bricks of cash totaling onehundred thousanddollars,eachbrickboundwithabluerubberband.Thecashwascoatedinflour,andSarfrazandIwererunningasifthedevilhimselfwereafterus.Wedasheddownthestepsandacrossthesidewalkandhurledourselvesintoa

dentedtaxicab,whosedriverswiftlyshoulderedhiswayintothemorningtrafficwithout bothering to glance in the rearviewmirror.We sped past the KhyberRestaurant,past theclusterofyoungboyssellingphonecardsinthemiddleofthestreet,past the teashops, thebeautysalon, theIndianvideostore,and intotheWazirAkbarKhanChowk—wherethedriverunwiselyoptedforashortcutthatinvolvedenteringtheroundaboutinthewrongdirection.Oops.The taxiwas brought to a halt by amember ofKabul’s notoriously corrupt

policeforcewhosteppedinfrontofthevehicleandslammedbothfistsdownonthehood.Thenhedashedaroundtothedoor,reachedthroughtheopenwindow,andshookthedriverbyhislapelswhileunleashingablastofenragedDariintotheman’s face. From the backseat, Sarfraz calmly placed his hand around thescruffof thedriver’sneckandappliedaviselikesqueezewhilebarkingaone-wordcommand:Burro!“Moveit.”The driver briefly weighed his options, then rammed his foot to the

accelerator, leaving the cop kicking impotently against the side of the vehicleandenablingustoresumeourracetotheKabulInternationalAirport,whereourplanewasscheduledtobeginboardingat8:40A.M.“Gettinghauledofftothepolicestationwithahundredthousanddollars—no

thanks,”ImutteredasSarfrazextractedthemoneyfromtheplasticbagandwebeganstuffingthebricksofcashintothepocketsofourvests.“Hey,whattimeisit?”“Five minutes after nine,” grunted Sarfraz, glaring at the clock on his cell

phone.“ToobadwecannotringupMr.Siddiqi.”Toobad,indeed—Mr.Siddiqiwouldhavebeenabighelprightthen.Asmall,

elegantmanwhodressedingraywoolenpantswithRussian-stylebusinessshirtsandaslimgrayties,Mr.SiddiqihadbeenthebossoftheKabulairport’scontroltowerforoverthreedecades,andduringthistimeanyonewhohappenedtohavehis cell phonenumber—which is to say, anyonewhohad taken the trouble topay a visit to the control tower and have a cup of teawithMr. Siddiqi—onlyneeded togivehima ring if theywere running lateandhewouldmakeeveryefforttoholdtheirplane.ThefactthatMr.SiddiqiwasnowtakinganextendedvacationwascreatingallsortsofproblemsforpeoplelikemeandSarfraz,whoinsistondoingeverythingatthelastminute.“Youknow,we’re about tomiss this plane,” I said. “Maybewe should call

andfindout—”“—whatWakilisupto?”interjectedSarfraz,completingthethought.Hewas

already dialingWakil’s cell phone to demand an update on his whereabouts.Several seconds into our Pashtun colleague’s report, Sarfraz’s face darkenedwithanger.“Chai?Chai?!”Helistenedforanotherbeat,andthentheyellingstarted.“What are you doing sitting down sipping chai?! This is not the place for

ThreeCupsofTearightnow!Getoutsidetheairport—immediately!”The taxiwas now swerving between a clutch of donkey carts and a line of

batteredminivans that were clogging the road through a high-rent diplomaticdistrict where the Indian government was hoping to build a new embassy toreplaceitsoldfacility,whichhadbeendestroyedbyasuicidebomberonlysixweeksearlier.Meanwhile,theyellingcontinued.“Haveourticketsready!Haveaporterstandingbyforthebags!Tellsecurity

toletusthrough!”Webracedas the taxiwhipped inahalfcirclearound theAfghanAirForce

MiG fighter jetmounted to a concrete pedestal thatmarks the entrance to theairport, and seconds later thedriver screeched to ahalt before the front stairs,where Wakil found himself subjected to the double-barreled misery of beingexcoriatedsimultaneouslyonthephoneandinpersonbySarfraz.“Makesure thisguycountsourbags!Pay the taxidriver!Andwhenyou’re

donewiththat—”Sarfrazwasalreadydisappearingthroughtheentrance,sohisfinalinstructionwasflungoverhisshoulderlikeahandfulofloosechange“—startmakingaduaforus!”Isnappedaquicksalute toWakil,whohadcuppedhishands infrontofhis

chest and was offering a prayer to Allah to keep us safe in our travels, andshuffledoffbehindSarfraz,whohadbeenstoppedbyasecurityguard.“Whatisyourdestination?”demandedtheman.

“Dubai,”repliedSarfrazandkeptmoving.Weraceddownahallway,outadoor,andacrossanopen-aircourtyard,where

anothergroupofguardsstoppeduswiththesamequestion.“WearegoingtoHerat,”declaredSarfrazaswesweptpastthemandentereda

secondbuilding.“Wakil is comingalongnicely inhis training,no?” I askedaswe flungour

bagsontoaconveyorbeltfeedingintothefirstofseveralscanningmachines.“I am much angry with him right now,” replied Sarfraz before adding,

grudgingly,“butheisimproving,daybyday.”Behind the scanningmachine stood a pleasantmanwearing a short-sleeved

whiteshirtandtie.“Andwhereareyoutwogentlemenflyingtothismorning?”heinquired.“Kandahar!”saidSarfrazashepattedhisvestpocketsandstoleabackward

glance to confirm that we had not accidentally dropped a stray wad of cashworththecombinedannualsalariesoffiftyAfghanschoolteachers.Finally we reached the airline desk, where I handed our tickets over to a

youngwomanwearing a black head scarf.Glancing at the slips of paper, shesmiledapologetically.“IamsorrytoinformyouthattheflighttoFaizabadhasbeendelayedandwill

notdepartuntilthisafternoon.”

ShortlyafterSarfrazandWakilhadconceivedtheideaoflayingdownalineofgirls’schools throughtheheartofTalibancountry, theCAI’smost-remote-areaprojectdirectorhaddecidedtotakeWakilunderhiswingandputhimthroughanaggressivetrainingregimeninthefinerpointsofbeingSarfrazKhan.Unlikethepatientmentoringofthe“styleschool”thatIhadundergonewithSarfrazformany years, the boot-camp tutelage to which Wakil was subjected mostlyconsisted of Sarfraz waving his arms in the air and shouting at him over aseemingly endless litany of infractions that included, among other offenses,failingtokeephiscellphoneonatallhours; tippingstrangersoff tohis travelplans; neglecting to switch cars and driverswith sufficient frequency; and theworstcategoryofsin—sittingdown,sleeping,eatinglunch,oranyotherformofunproductiveactivitythatmetSarfraz’sdefinitionofloafing.Althoughthesemethodsappearedharsh,beneathalltheyellingandtheabuse

residedakeenawarenessofthedangerstowhichWakilwasexposinghimselfasthepointpersonforourworkinthePashtun-dominatedpartsofAfghanistan.Inhisheart,SarfrazknewthatWakilwastakinggreaterrisksthananyofus,andhewas terrified by the possibility that Wakil’s activities on behalf of girls’educationmighteventuallygethimkidnappedorkilled.AlthoughSarfrazwouldneverhave toldWakil thisdirectly,hisprotégéhad

been making marvelous progress. In addition to monitoring the school atLalanderandkeepinghisstringofprojectsmovingalonginKunarandNuristan,WakilhadkickedoffahostofotherCAIinitiatives.Bythefallof2008,hehadstartedup awomen’s computer-training center outsideKabul—whichwithin ayearboastedmorethanathousandstudents—andhadputtogetheralandmine-awareness program designed to be incorporated in all of our Afghanistanschools.Hismostastonishingachievementofall,however, took the formofasinglepieceofpaper.Thanks to the fact thatSarfrazandIhadbeenunable tomakeanyheadway

withthefederalbureaucratsofKabul,theCAIstilldidnothaveanAfghanistanNGO registration.Thishadnotpresented aproblemduring the earlyphaseofourinvolvementbecauseweenjoyedthefullsupportandpermissionofthelocalauthorities in the communities where we worked. But as our operationsexpanded,thecostsofnotbeingofficialwerebecomingmoreapparent.Withouta license, for example, we could not keep a post-office box or open a bankaccount anywhere in the country, which made it extremely difficult to movemoney fromone place to another. (For several years, SulemanMinhas had todrive from Islamabad to Peshawar and hand over a bag containing anywherebetweentwentythousandandfiftythousanddollarsincashtoWakilorSarfraz,whowouldthendriveitthroughtheKhyberPasstoKabul.)Withouttheproperregistration,wewerealsoprohibited—exceptduringemergencies—fromflyingbetween Kabul and Faizabad with the Red Cross, the United Nations, orPACTEC (a volunteer outfit that specializes in flying humanitarian workersaroundAfghanistan).AstheintensityoftheTalibaninsurgencyincreasedfrom2004to2008,thedrivefromthecapitaltoBadakshanwasbecomingriskierwitheverypassingmonth.In short, itwas time for us toget our paperwork inorder, and that summer

WakilhadresolvedtosucceedwhereSarfrazandIhadfailed.With the help our friend of Doug Chabot,Wakil put together a sixty-page

NGO application in English, and Dari and flung himself into the mission ofpushing this document through the required channels at the Ministry ofEconomy,theMinistryofInterior,theMinistryofEducation,andtheMinistryofForeignAffairs.Duringthecourseofalmostseventymeetings,hewassubjected

toahostofpettyhumiliationsandabsurdities.Theseveraldozenofficialswhoreviewed his packet discernedmany problems that included failing to submitseparate applications for permission to build new schools and to rebuilddamagedschools;failingtosigneachformwithasignaturethatexactlymatchedthe signature onhis passport; failing to include theword “Afghanistan” at thebottomofhislocaladdressinKabul;failingtoclearlystateintheCAI’sbylawsthat our Afghan employees do not have to report for work on governmentholidays;failingtoobtainaproperletterofauthorizationfromabankattestingthathehadpaidtheone-thousand-dollarNGOregistrationfee;failing,oncetheproper letterofauthorizationhadbeenobtainedfromthebank, tocompleteanadditionalformspecifyingthatday’sinternationalexchangerate;andsoon.These requests were not impossible, but the solution to each problem cost

Wakil several hours or days. As he threaded his way from the office of onebureaucrat to the next, he often found himself dashing across town to get asignaturefromsomeoneinadifferentministryorpoppingintothestreettohavephotocopies made by one of the men who had a photocopy machine on thesidewalk,thenrunningbacktodiscoverthattheofficethathadsenthimontheerrandwasnowclosed.Theentireordealtookalmostamonth,andhekepthiscool throughout thewhole process, until the final day,when hewas informedthatthelicensecouldnotbehandedoveruntilithadreceivedonefinalseal—thestamp forwhich had been locked in a cabinet, and themanwith the key hadalreadygonehome.“Comebacktomorrowandyouwillhaveyourlicense,”hewastold.WakilwasduetoleaveforKunartheverynextday.Returningtotheministry

wasnotanoption—butstandingandscreamingatthetopofhislungswas.“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” he bellowed. “ARE YOU ASKING FOR A

BRIBE IN EXCHANGE FOR DOING YOUR JOB? IS IT MONEY THATYOUWANT?FINE—HERE,IWILLGIVEYOUYOURMONEY!”Peoplebeganemergingfromtheirofficestoseewhatwasgoingon.“I HAVE BEEN HERE ONE MONTH!” he continued. “WE ARE

BUILDING SCHOOLS FOR MY COUNTRY AND YOURS! WHAT ISWRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?! I AM NOT LEAVING WITHOUT THISPAPER!”Eventually, someone produced a key to the filing cabinet and the piece of

paperwashandedover.WhenWakilreachedthesidewalk,hetookapictureofthelicensewithhiscellphoneandsentitofftoSarfrazandme.Wewereextremelyimpressed.

Wakil’s bureaucratic victory had moved our operation to a new level. Thehundred thousanddollarsnowriding in thepocketsofSarfraz’svestandminehad beenwithdrawn fromour brand-newCentralAsia Institute account at theHabibBank,andourseatson theFaizabadplanehadbeenpurchasedafter theagent confirmed that our names were on the list of authorized NGOrepresentatives.Afterseveralhoursinsidetheair-conditionedshippingcontainerthatservedas

PACTEC’s departure lounge, we shuffled up a narrow set of folding steps,duckedthroughthedoorofatwelve-seattwin-turbopropBeechcraft,andslowlytaxiedpastalineofaircraftthatofferedavisualindexofAfghanistan’scurrenteconomic and political crisis. Squatting on the tarmacwas anAirbusA310, agift from thegovernmentof India intended tohelp rebuildAriana’sdecimatedfleetofplanes,whichwasslowlybeingdismantledforitssparepartsbecausetheAfghangovernmentlackedfundsfortheplane’smaintenancecosts.BeyondtheAirbuswas a collection of white and blue helicopters and fixed-wing aircraftusedbytheUNandtheroughlytwodozeninternationalaidagenciesthatwerescrambling to provide the basic services—health care, road construction,communications, and education—that now lay beyond the capacity ofAfghanistan’s beleaguered federalministries.About two years earlier, theUNSecurityCouncilhadwarnedthatduetoacombinationofviolence,illegaldrugproduction,poverty,anddysfunctionalgovernment,Afghanistanwas indangerofbecomingafailedstate.AstheBeechcrafttookoffandroarednorthtowardBadakshan,Ireviewedour

agendaforthistripinmymind.Ithadbeeneightmonthssincemylastvisit,andduringthat timeSarfrazhadcompletednineschools in theWakhan,with threemoreprojectsintheworks.Thisvisitwouldofferamixofinspectiontours,bill-payingsessions,andmeetingstodiscussnewprojects.Theitinerarycalledforusto land inFaizabadandhead into theWakhanuntilwe reached theendof theroad at Sarhad. From there, Sarfraz would continue proceeding east onhorseback until he got to Bozai Gumbaz, where a crew of masons from theCharpursonValley had begun smashing boulders into the smaller stones fromwhich the foundation of the Kirghiz school would eventually be built.Meanwhile, Iwas supposed to turn around,makemywayback toKabul, andcatchaflighttoBritain,whereIwasscheduledtogiveatalktoapackedhouseat London’s Asia House and later make an appearance at the EdinburghInternationalBookFestivalwithmychildren.Thatwastheofficialplan.Thesecretplan,however,wasformetoaccompany

SarfrazallthewaytoBozaiGumbazandstillmakeittoLondonandEdinburgh.Aten-daysortiefromKabultothefarendoftheWakhanandbackwasalmost

impossible,but Iwasdetermined to set foot in thePamir.More thananythingelse,Ineededtosee,withmyowneyes,thehomeoftheKirghizpeoplewhohadfirstdrawnusintoAfghanistan.One hour later, the Beechcraft skimmed over the brown hills surrounding

Faizabad,slammedontoasteel runwayconstructedby theSovietmilitary,androlledtowardacrumblingone-storybuilding.Aswecoastedtoastop,Iglancedout thewindow and noted that the plane had been surrounded by three greenFordRangerpickuptruckscontainingadozenmenarmedwithKalashnikovs.

The leader of the gunmen, amanwith dense black eyebrows and a preciselyrazoredbeardthatwasjuststartingtogogray,wasnoneotherthanWohidKhan—the head of Badakshan’s Border Security Force (BSF) and the manresponsibleforhostingthemidnightsupperontheeveoftheBaharakriotsbackinthefallof2005whereIhadfirstmetAbdulRashidKhananddrawnupthecontract for the Kirghiz school at Bozai Gumbaz. Now forty-two years old,WohidKhanhadbegunfightingtheSovietsattheyoungageofthirteen,andlikemanyformermujahadeenwhoseschoolinghadbeencutshortbywar,hereverededucationandsawitasthekeytorepairingthedamageofnearlythreedecadesof fighting. Hewas passionate about female literacy and building schools forgirls—andalongwithhisfellowmujahadeencommandhanSadharKhan,hehadbecomeoneofourmostimportantalliesintheWakhan.Uponreceivingwordofourarrival,WohidKhanhadracedfromBaharakto

Faizabad in order to provide Sarfraz and me with the honor of a high-speedescort, a gesture of his friendship. He had also notified the local educationauthorities,whowereeagertoseeusagain.Hisgreenpickups—whichboastedextendedcabs,nine-foot antennae, andanassortmentofweaponry includingashoulder-heldrocketlauncheranda.50-calibermachinegunboltedtothebedoftheleadtruck—representedaratherdramaticchangefromthebatteredminivansanddecrepitjeepstowhichSarfrazandIhadbecomeaccustomed.We roaredout ofFaizabad, dragging a cloudof dust behindus.Thebedof

eachtruckheldthreearmedsoldiers,theirfaceswrappedwithscarvestoprotectthem from the dirt and grit, the barrels of their Kalashnikovs wedged tightlybetween their knees.Thedriverof each truckwasunder standingorders fromWohid Khan to push his rig as fast as the horrendous, unpaved roads wouldallow—forty-fivetofiftymilesperhour.SpeedwasessentialbecauseWohidandhis 320 men were responsible for patrolling 840 miles of territory where theWakhan abuts the edges of Pakistan, Tajikistan, and China—and as the only

authorityinthisarea,theyoftenfoundthemselvessaddledwithresponsibilitiesthatextendedfarbeyondthenormaldutiesofborderagents.Thesecouldincludedelivering emergency food to starving communities in winter, taking sickvillagers to thehospital, fixingbroken trucks, retrieving lost camels, resolvinglocaldisputes,andahostofotherproblems.Twoweeksearlier,forexample,theBSF had been called to respond to a tragedy that represented the first majorsetbackforourKirghizschoolproject.Earlier that spring, after some extensive canvassing, Sarfraz and the local

maarif(educationdirector)hadmanagedtolocatetwoTurkic-speakingteachersin Faizabad who were capable of providing instruction to the children of theKirghiz.Theyhiredbothteachers,thenarrangedtransportationforthemenandtheir families fromFaizabad toBozaiGumbaz,wherewewereplanning tosetupatemporarytentschooluntilthepermanentstructurewascompleted.Abouthalfway into theWakhan, near thevillageofBabuTengi, thepickup thatwascarryingthetwoteachers,theirwives,andtheirfourchildrenattemptedtoshootthrough a section of runoff late in the afternoon, when glacier melt is at itshighest.ThetruckbecamestuckinthemiddleoftheswiftlyrisingOxusRiver,forcing everyone to clamber onto the roof as the water swirled around thevehicle. By the evening, they were prone on top of the cab, clinging to thedoorframesandscreamingforhelp.Asdarknessfell, thedriverandoneof thefamiliesweresweptawayanddrowned.Theother familyspent the restof thenightbalancedontheroofofthetruckwiththeirlegsinthewaterasthevehiclerockedbackandforth.WhenwordoftheincidentreachedtheBSF,WohidKhanandhismenrushedtothesiteoftheaccidentandmanagedtopulltheremainingsurvivorstosafety.One ofWohid’s primary duties was keeping open theWakhan’s sole road,

whichservesasacrucialarterynotonlyforhisownteambutalsofortheflowofflour,salt,cookingoil,andotherstaplesthatarehauledintothemostremotecommunitiesoftheCorridorallsummerlongtoenabletheseisolatedsettlementsto survive the six-monthwinterwhen the roads are sealedwith snow.Khan’srefusaltotolerateunnecessaryimpedimentsbecameevidentoneafternoonwhen,uponencounteringa truckstoppedin themiddleof theroad thatwasblockingseveral vehicles behind it, the commander got out andwalked up to themanworkingonabrokenwheel.“Driverormechanic?”heasked.“Driver,”themanreplied.Aftersmashinghisfistdirectlyintotheman’sface,Wohiddeliveredareverse

swing kick to the driver’s solar plexus, knocking him to the ground. Leaningovertheman,hetoldhimtofinishfixinghisaxleandnevertocomebacktothe

Wakhan.ThenhegotbackintheRangerandwelurchedforwardandresumedourjourney.

Wespent thenext twodaysbashing thougharroyos, splashingacross streams,and blasting through small villages, twisting andwrenching and pounding thetrucks aswe penetrated further into themost obscure and forgotten corner ofAfghanistan.AfterreachingBaharakandstoppingtopayourrespectstoSadharKhan under his walnut tree, we continued heading east. The road threadedthrough a series of rocky gorges until it reached Zebak, a flat, emerald greenvalleywithadarklybraideddeltathatboreavagueresemblancetothetundraofnorthernScandinavia.Fromthere,theroadheadednorthwestintoabarrenareaof reddish gray rock littered with the wreckage of disintegrated Soviet T-62tanks.SeveralmilesbeyondlaythetownofIshkoshem,whichwereachedearlyintheeveningofoursecondday.Justbeforethemainbazaar,weswervedontoasideroadleadingtoagravel

hilltop and arrived at the crown jewel of ourWakhan program: an unfinishedfoundationaboutthesizeofafootballfieldfilledwithdirt,stones,andcement—thefuturehomeof theIshkoshemGirls’HighSchool.Thecompletedstructurewouldbe twostories tallandwouldhost1,400femalestudents.Costingabouteightythousanddollars tobuild, itwasthelargestschoolintheregionandthemostexpensiveproject theCAIhadundertaken todate. It alsoboastedoneofthemostmagnificent settings for a school anywhere.To the north loomed thePamirs,aseriesofrounded,brown,lunar-lookingmountainscoveredwithscree.TothesouththrustthesharperridgesoftheHinduKush,armorediniceeveninlateAugust.BetweenthemseethedtheOxus,turbulentandchurningandladenwithamilkygraycargoofglacialsediment.IfBaharakwasthegatewaytotheWakhan,thenthiswasthefrontdoor.FromIshkoshem,weworkedourwayintotheWakhanproper,movingfrom

villagetovillage.SincePresidentHamidKarzaihadissuedadecreeextendingthe summer harvest-season holiday by an additional week, classes weren’t insession.Butateverystopwherewehadaprojectgoingtherewasameetingwithharried foremen complaining of construction delays stemming from the latedeliveriesofbuildingsupplies,laborersfallingill,poorweather,harassmentbyout-of-towngovernmentofficialsandotherNGOs,andahostofotherproblems.

Sarfraz had no sympathy for any of these excuses and pushed his supervisorsmercilesslytostayonschedule.Ateachstop,healsopulledoutanotherbrickofcash and doled out the funds necessary to meet the payroll and keep theconsignmentsofcement,rebar,lumber,andothermaterialsflowingin.Aswemoved down the road, wewere constantly besieged by requests for

new projects. Although we have a formal submission process that includescheckinginwiththelocalmullah,tanzeem(communitycommittee),shura,anddistrict government officials, many communities prefer to hand their requestsdirectlytouswhenwevisittheregion.InPiggush,whereourfour-roomschoolwas not even finished, the principal had realized that she needed another tworooms inorder toaccommodate thenumberof femalestudentswhowanted toattendclasses.Couldweincreasetheconstructionbudgettomeetthisneed?InKhundud,theeldershadconvenedajirgaanddecidedthatthewomen’scenterandthegirls’schoolneededafive-footboundarywalltopreventthewomenandthefemalestudentsfrombeingstaredatbymenintheneighborhood.Wasthereanyadditionalmoneytopayforthewall?Therewere plenty of other requests, too, needs that had nothing to dowith

schools. In the tinyvillageofWargeant, a two-year-oldboyhaddevelopedaninfection that had caused his testicles to swell to the size of tennis balls. Thechildhadbeenscreaminginpainforseveraldays,andthenearestdoctor,backinIshkoshem,wasathree-daywalkaway.Couldwedispatchapickuptrucktogethim to ahospital?At the same time, twochildren inWargeant had contractedpolio over thewinter, even though the regionhadbeendeclaredpolio free byUNICEFayearearlier.Wasthereanythingtobedone,anywaywecouldhelp?One of themost painful aspects of these encounterswas that Sarfraz and I

oftenfoundourselvesinthepositionofbeingforcedtoturndownpleaafterplea—sometimestwentyorthirtytimesinthecourseofasingleafternoon—becausewe simply did not have the resources or the time to address them. Early oneevening,Iwaspreparingtodeliveryetanotherrejection,thistimetoagroupofwomen who were submitting a formal request in writing that we considerfunding the construction of a ladies’ vocational center. Standing before thewomen,IturnedtoSarfraz.“YourbudgetfortheWakhanisfinishedforthisyear,no?”Iasked.Weboth

knew this to be true, but the prescripted exchange would help lay thegroundworkforgentlyanddiplomaticallyturningdownthewomen’sappeal.“Finished,”Sarfrazconfirmedwhilepullingouthisphone,whichhadstarted

ringing.Heglancedatthenumberandimmediatelyhandeditover.ItwasTara,callingfromBozemantokeeptabsonme.“Hi,sweetie!”Isaid.

“Thekidsareoff toschool, I’mheaded towork,andI justwanted tocheckin,”shesaid.“Whatareyouupto?”“Well, right nowwe’re in Ishkoshem, and I’m surrounded by about twenty

womenwhowantavocationalcenter, and they’vegot this really feisty leader,butI’mafraidwe’regoingtohavetosaynotothembecause—”Sarfraz stared at me quizzically as my wife interrupted and I listened

obediently.“All right, I promise,” I repliedwhen shewas finished. “Yes, sweetie.Bye,

now.”Mynextwordsweredirectedtothewomenstandinginfrontofus.“Americanwife-bosshasannouncedthatwemustsomehowfindthefundsfor

yourvocationalcenter,”Ireported.“Tonightsheisattendingherwomen’sbookclub,andifIrefusethisproject,allthewomeninmyvillagewillbeveryangrywithme—sowewill request extramoney from our board of directors. In themeantime,wife-bosssaysthatyoumaywishtoconsiderusingyourvocationalcentertostartabookclubofyourown.”Thewomen’sexpressionsofdelightathearingthisnewswerecutshortbyyet

another call coming in on the sat phone. This time it was Suleman Minhas,ringingfromRawalpinditoreportan“emergency.”Fiveminutes earlier, upon answering an incoming call from a number he’d

neverseenbefore,SulemanhadbeenaskedtoholdthelineforGeneralPervezMusharraf’ssecretary.Stunned,hehadpulledhiscarover,gottenout,andstoodby the side of the road with his right hand offering a rigid salute as it wasexplainedthatMr.GregMortensonwasrequestedtomakehimselfavailableonSundayafternoonforacupofteawiththepresidentofPakistan.Thiswasn’tthekindofinvitationthatcouldbeignored,evenfromthemiddle

oftheWakhan.Amonthearlier,thegovernmentofPakistanhadannouncedthatinrecognitionoftheCentralAsiaInstitute’sworkduringthepastfifteenyears,Ihadbeen selected to receive theSitara-i-Pakistan,oneof the country’shighestcivilian awards. In addition to being an honor that is rarely bestowed onforeigners, the award would confer special diplomatic and security privilegesthatwouldenableustomovearoundthecountryfarmoreefficientlythanbeforewhile simultaneously enhancing the Central Asia Institute’s status andreputation.Inshort,itwouldmakeourliveseasierandourworkmoreeffective—andsincethenominationhadsurelypassedacrossthepresident’sdeskforhisendorsement at some point during the selection process, turning down asummonstoteawouldhavebeenbothillconsideredandrude.On theotherhand,honoring this invitationwould involve somechallenging

logistics.IglancedatthedateonmywatchtoconfirmthatitwasnowThursday

evening,andrealizedIhadlessthanseventy-twohourstogetfromtheCorridorbacktoIslamabad.

Earlythenextmorning,havingspentmostofthenightdebatingthemeritsofournextmove,Sarfrazand I carefullydividedup thecontentsofour jumbo-sizedbottleofibuprofentablets,saidgood-bye,andheadedoffinoppositedirections.Cladinhisgrayshalwarkamiz,olive-coloredvest,andpeacockbluefedora,hewouldcontinuepushingeastinoneoftheBSFpickuptruckstoSarhad,wherehewouldsecurehorses, transfer therestof thecash—roughlytwelvethousanddollars—tohissaddlebags,andmakehiswayouttoBozaiGumbaz.Meanwhile,I piled into a second truck withWohid Khan and started the race out of theWakhantoFaizabad,thenonthroughKabultoIslamabad.Over the next two days, asWohidKhan and I barnstormed down the same

road we had just come up, I worked the phone to set up a special series ofcharters.InFaizabad,Ialmostmissedmyflightbutmanagedtojumpaboardattheverylastsecond.AsIswitchedplanesinKabul,Wakilsomehowmanagedtoperform amiraculous (and illegal) transfer of the luggage I had leftwith himthroughthefrontdooroftheairport.Thatflighttooklessthananhour,butaswewere preparing tomake our approach to Islamabad, the pilot turned to let usknow that an approaching storm system might force us to return to Kabul.Thankfully, our good friend Colonel Ilyas Mirza of Askari Aviation inRawalpindi pulled some strings and arranged for a VIP clearance, giving uspermission to land. We touched down just a few hours after the Al JazeeratelevisionnetworkreportedthatPakistan’sparliamenthadinitiatedimpeachmentproceedings,pitchingMusharrafintooneoftheworstpoliticalcrisesofhislife.Althoughthisnewscameasabitofashock,theeventsthatprecipitatedithad

beenbrewingforsometime.Inthespringof thepreviousyear,Musharrafhadattempted to oust Iftikhar Muhammad Chaudhry, the chief justice of thecountry’s supreme court, on corruption charges—a strong-arm tactic that hadtriggeredasurgeofangeratapresidentwho,intheeyesofmanyPakistanis,hadalreadydoneviolencetotheconstitutionbyseizingpowerinamilitarycoupin1999.Attorneysand judgeshad taken to thestreets inmajorcities,andduringthe summer a number of protesters had been killed during demonstrations inKarachi while strikes had paralyzed much of the country. Despite thisopposition,Musharrafhad succeeded inwinninga second termaspresident—butPakistan’ssupremecourthadrefusedtoconfirmtheelectionresultsuntil itruledontheconstitutionalityofMusharraf’sdecisiontorunforpresidentwhile

alsoservingaschiefofstaffofthePakistaniarmy.Inretaliation,Musharrafhadimposedmartiallawbydeclaringastateofemergency,neutralizingthesupremecourtchallengebutturningpopularopinionevenfurtheragainsthim.Theimpeachmentdemandfloweddirectlyfromtheseevents.AndalthoughI

knew nothing of it at the time, by the followingmorningwhen a small blackToyotaCamrythathadbeendispatchedfromthepresident’soffice tofetchmepulleduptomyhotelinIslamabad,Musharraf’sdaysinpowerweredrawingtoaclose.Iwedged into thebackof thecarwith threemembersof theDirtyDozen—

Suleman, Apo Razak, and Mohammed Nazir, who manages several of ourprojects in Baltistan. It was a twenty-minute drive to the military section ofRawalpindi where the president lives.We crossed over the bridge where twoattemptshadbeenmadeonMusharraf’slife.WepassedthesetofgallowswherePrimeMinister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto was executed in 1979, twenty-eight yearsbeforehisdaughter,formerprimeministerBenazirBhutto,wasassassinatedbyasuicidebomber inDecember2007 inanearbypark.Thenwe tookahard turnandwentdownadiscreet,narrowroadwithovergrownbrushontheside,wherewestoppedatthefirstoffourcheckpoints.Afewminuteslaterthecardepositedus in front of a beautiful old mogul-style residence and Bilal Musharraf, thepresident’sson—wholivesintheUnitedStatesandworksasanactuary—cameouttogreetus.Wewereusheredintoasimplebutquiteelegantwaitingroomadornedwitha

red carpet and couches upholstered in spotlesswhite linen.Bilal presented uswith a tray ladenwith almonds,walnuts, candy, andyogurt-covered raisins.Abutlercameinandaskedifwewantedtea—greenteawithcardamomandmint.Andthen,allofasudden,thepresidentwalkedinandsatdownnexttome.“Thankyoufortakingthetimetocomeandseeus,”hesaid.“We’veprepared

abrunchforyou,inthehopethatyouwillstayforawhile.Inshallah,wemayevenhavetimeforthreecupsofteatoday.”MusharrafaskedafewquestionsabouthowourschoolswerefaringinAzad

Kashmir andBaltistan, butwhat he seemedmost interested inweremy threePakistani colleagues, and Iwasmore than happy to sit back and permit thesemen to talk. Apo spoke about working for some of the big Karakorammountaineering expeditions from 1953 to 1999 and serving tea to numerousdignitaries andmilitary commanders on theSiachenGlacier.Suleman told thelongversionofthestoryofhowheandIhadfirstmetattheIslamabadairport.Nazir, who is shy, was induced to share his assessment of how the Pakistanmilitaryhadfrequentlyhelpedusout,andhowourartillery-resistantschoolsinGultoriwereholdingup.

Eventually, we moved into a dining room, where we were joined byMusharraf’s wife, Sehba, and sat down before an elaborate buffet featuringchicken, mutton, dal, salads, desserts, halvah, and a host of other traditionaldishes.The original plan had called for us tomeetwithMusharraf for about thirty

minutes,butattheurgingofthepresidentandhiswife,weendedupbeingthereforfourhours—adevelopmentthatprovokedastonishmentandwonderfrommycoworkersaswerodebacktothehotellatethatafternoon.“Most high-level delegations, they only get very short meetings with

Musharraf,”saidNazir.“ThepresidentofChina—maybethirtyminutes?”speculatedSuleman.“GeorgeBush,maximumfifteenminutes!”declaredApo.“No onewill ever believe that humble villagers like uswere there for four

hours,”marveledNazir.“Ourfamilieswillneverbelieveit.Theywillall thinkusmad.”“Wehavephotoforproof,”Aponoted,“andAllahalsoknowsallthings.”

AsIlistenedtomycolleagues’excitedchatter,Ifoundmyselfwrestlingwithasense of confusion and ambivalence over what had just taken place. On apersonal level, of course, thepresident couldnothavebeenmoregracious—itwasanhonorandapleasuretohavemadehisacquaintanceandspenttimeinhiscompany. Iwasnot entirelyconvinced,however, that the lengths towhichwehad justgoneand theprice that Ihad justpaid inorder toattend thismeetingrepresentedtherightdecision.In order to answer a summons from a head of state, I had abandoned my

commitments to the powerless and impoverished people of the Wakhan andflungmyselfintoafive-hundred-milesprintacrossthePamirs,theHinduKush,and the Karakoram. In the meantime, Sarfraz, Wakil, and most of the othermembersof thestaffhadcontinued,as theydideachandeveryday,grapplingwiththeunglamorousbutessentialbusinessofraisingupschoolsandpromotingliteracyinplacesthataretoosmall,tooremote,andtoounimportanttomerittheattentionofthemenandwomenwhoshapetheaffairsoftheworld.Thecontrastbetweenmyactivitiesand thoseofmostofmystaffseemed to

underscore an even larger problem: the extent towhich I have been forced topull away from the aspects of my work that I find personally and spirituallyfulfillinginordertoattendtowhatisgenerallyreferredtoas“thebigpicture.”WhatwouldHajiAlihavethoughtofthis?Whatmightmyfatherhavesaidifhe

were still alive?Andwhat aboutAbdulRashidKhanand theotherKirghiz towhom I had made my promise—was this something that they would haveunderstoodandrespected?It could be argued, of course, that these developments stemmed from our

burgeoningsuccessasanNGO.Yet Iwasunable toshake thenaggingfeelingthat the values and the priorities that had drawnme into this enterprise in thefirstplacewereundergoingatroublingrealignment.CertainlyitwastruethatIhadbeenprivileged to spendanenjoyable andhighly stimulatingafternoon inthe company of the president of Pakistan. But nine years after having firsttraveledthroughtheKhyberPassfromPeshawartoKabul,Istillhadyettomeetmostofthemembersofthecommunityonwhosebehalfwehadembarkeduponour“Afghanadventure.”Asiftounderscorethepossibilitythatsomethingaboutthissituationwasnot

quiteright,afewdayslater,onAugust18,PervezMusharrafofficiallyresignedfromoffice.WhateversignificanceourmeetingmighthaveheldfortheCentralAsiaInstitute’sfutureinPakistanwaslargelynegated.Andinexchangeforthis,Ihadsquanderedmybestchance,todate,ofreachingBozaiGumbaz.NowatenthwinterwouldhavetopassbeforeIcouldevenconsidermaking

anotherefforttoreachtheKirghizoftheHighPamir.

CHAPTER15

AMeetingofTwoWarriors

TheMuslimcommunityisasubtleworldwedon’tfully—anddon’talways—attempttounderstand.Onlythroughasharedappreciationof thepeople’s culture,needs,andhopesforthefuturecanwehopeourselvestosupplanttheextremistnarrative.Wecannotcaptureheartsandminds.Wemustengagethem;wemustlistentothem,oneheartandonemindatatime.

—ADMIRALMIKEMULLEN,CHAIRMANOFTHEJOINTCHIEFSOFSTAFF

AdmiralMikeMullenhandsoutbookstoCAIstudentsinAfghnistan

In the summer of 2009, the U.S. Marines launched Operation Khanjar, anoffensivethatinvolvedsendingfourthousandAmericantroopsand650Afghansoldiers into theHelmandValley, aTaliban strongholdwhere over half of theopium in Afghanistan is grown. The largest U.S. military offensive since the2004battleofFallujah,KhanjarwaspartofPresidentBarackObama’sdecisiontosendanadditionaltwenty-twothousandU.S.soldierstoAfghanistan—asurgethatwasprompted,inpart,bythefactthattheTalibaninsurgencywasgrowing

increasingly sophisticated and bloody. And by the end of the summer, theTaliban had exacted a stiff price. In lateAugust, the death toll for all foreignforcesinAfghanistanroseto295,making2009thedeadliestyearsincethewarbegan in 2001.That samemonth, theAmerican death toll for the year passed155—thepreviousrecordforthehighestannualcasualties,whichhadbeensetin2008—andthencontinuedclimbing.The Taliban’s war on women’s education kept escalating, too. By early

summer at least 478 Afghan schools—the overwhelming majority of themcatering to female students—had been destroyed, attacked, or intimidated intoclosing their doors, according to Dexter Filkins of the New York Times. Inadditiontotheescalatingnumberofincidents,themethodsbeingusedtostriketerror intogirls seemed to exhibit a new level of perversion andpsychosis. InMay, sixty-one teachers and pupils in Parwan Province were stricken when acloudoftoxicgaswasreleasedinthecourtyardoftheirschool—thethirdassaultof this kind since the beginning of the year. And on a morning the previousNovember, sixmenonmotorcycleshadused squirt guns to shootbattery acidintothefacesandeyesofelevengirlsandfourteachersastheywerewalkingtotheMirwaisMenaSchoolinKandahar,theheartlandoftheTaliban.Unfortunately,twoofourschoolswereaffectedbythiscampaignofviolence.

In the summer of 2008, our school in Lalander had been attacked by a smallgroupofTalibanwhosprayedbullets into the teacher’soffice in themiddleofthenight.(Thelocalpolicecommanderwassoenragedbythisincidentthathelaterestablishedanoutpostonaridgeoverlookingtheschoolandsetuparound-the-clockguard.)Then,thefollowingJuly,whentwoU.S.soldierswerekilledina Taliban attack that took place just below the village of Saw, theAmericansgavechaseandaccidentallykilledninevillagers,aswellaswoundingMaulaviMatiullah, the headmaster. Thanks to the relationship of trust which ColonelKolenda had established with the village elders before rotating out of FOBNaray, however, an understanding of the incidentwas later reached at a jirgabetweenthemilitaryandthevillage.Tomyfrustration,Iwasforcedtomonitormostofthesedevelopmentsfrom

afar,mainly by phone duringmy5:30A.M. calls to Sarfraz, Suleman,Wakil,andtherestoftheDirtyDozen.UponmyreturnhomeaftermeetingwithPervezMusharraf,theinvitationsforspeakingengagementshadcontinuedpouringintoourBozemanofficeasfastaswecouldabsorbthem.BetweenSeptember2008andJulyofthefollowingyear,Igave161presentationsin118cities.Inadditionto appearances at colleges, elementary schools, libraries, bookstores, andmilitarygatherings,thereweretwotripstotheUnitedNations,216newspaper,magazine, and radio interviews, and a hodgepodge of events ranging from a

fund-raising“tea”attheFireflyRestaurantinTraverseCity,Michigan,toatalkat the annual convention of the Dermatological Nurses Association in SanFrancisco.The appetite of ordinary Americans for learning about promoting female

literacyinsouthwestAsiawasbeyondanythingwehadeveranticipated,andthescramble to meet these demands became so hectic that during those elevenmonths I was able to spend only twenty-seven days in Pakistan and nevermanagedtomakeitover toAfghanistanatall. It feltas ifIsawTara,Khyber,and Amira even less. In December,Outside magazine published a profile inwhich I was described—with blunt accuracy—as having the weary look of abearindesperateneedofhibernation.The travel was relentless and exhausting, but there were also some deeply

rewardingelements,especiallywhenitcametoourdeepeningrelationshipwiththeU.S.military.Perhapsthemostgratifyingmomentinthisprocesstookplacetwo days before Thanksgiving when I flew into Washington, D.C., rode themetro to the Pentagon, and padded up to the visitors’ entrance, where therecentlypromotedColonelKolendawaswaitingtogreetme.Tenmonthsearlier,hehad returned fromKunarProvince in order to serve as a special adviser tohelpthemilitarymakeasmoothtransitiontoworkingwithmembersofthenewObamaadministration.AlthoughheandIhadexchangedhundredsofe-mailsandphonecalls,itwas

thefirsttimewehadevermet,andthepleasurewasgenuineandmutual.Afterabear hug and a handshake, he ushered me upstairs, through several layers ofsecurity, and, at exactly 8:59, into the office of the highest-ranking militaryofficerintheU.S.armedforces.AdmiralMikeMullen,thechairmanoftheJointChiefsofStaff,waswearing

anavyblue jacketwith fourstarson theshouldersandwasaccompaniedbyadozen senior officers. After thanking me for coming, he declared, “We gottamakesurewehavethreecupsofteabeforeyouleavemyoffice,”andgraciouslyadded, “Mywife, Deborah, just loves your book.” Then, in keeping with thestyleofamanwhohadspent theearlypartofhiscareercommandingguided-missiledestroyers andcruisers,hedropped thechitchat andgot straight to thepoint.“Greg, I get a lot of bad news fromAfghanistan,” he said. “Tellme about

somethinggoodthat’sgoingonoverthere.”SoIdid.ItoldhimaboutSarfraz’sschoolsintheWakhanandWakil’sschools

in Kunar and about the passionate support we receive from mujahadeencommanders likeSadharKhanandWohidKhan. I toldhim that I thought thatbuildingrelationshipswasjustasimportantasbuildingprojects,andthatinmy

view,AmericanshavefarmoretolearnfromthepeopleofAfghanistanthanwecouldeverhope to teach them.Most important,perhaps, I toldhim thatat theheightoftheTaliban’spower,in2000,lessthaneighthundredthousandchildrenwere enrolled in school in Afghanistan—all of them boys. Today, however,student enrollment across the countrywas approaching 8million children, 2.4millionofwhomaregirls.“Thoseareamazingnumbers,”repliedAdmiralMullen.“Yes,” I said. “They are a testament not only to the Afghans’ hunger for

literacy, but also to their willingness to pour scarce resources into this effort,evenduring a timeofwar. I have seen children studying in classrooms set upinside animal sheds, windowless basements, garages, and even an abandonedpublic toilet. We ourselves have run schools out of refugee tents, shippingcontainers,andtheshellsofbombed-outSovietarmoredpersonnelcarriers.Thethirstforeducationoverthereislimitless.TheAfghanswanttheirchildrentogotoschoolbecauseliteracyrepresentswhatneitherwenoranyoneelsehassofarmanaged to offer them: hope, progress, and the possibility of controlling theirowndestiny.”Wewere supposed tomeet for thirtyminutes, butwe ended up talking for

morethananhour—aboutreadingbedtimestoriestochildren,aboutourfamiliesandlongabsencesfromhome,aboutPashtuntribalnuances,aboutbetter ideasfor collaboration on theAf-Pakborder, and about the need formore bilingualeducation in American schools. At the end of our conversation, the admiralexpressedthedesire, ifhisschedulepermitted,todropbyandseesomeofourschoolsduringoneofhisupcomingtripstotheregion.“Admiral,” I said, “we have dozens of schools that need to be inaugurated,

andwe’dlovetohaveyoucomeoverandopenoneofthem.”“I promise I’m going to come and do that,” he replied. “I’ll see you in

Afghanistan.”

On July 12, 2009, I flew into Kabul on a night flight from Frankfurt thatskimmedacrossIranandpassedovertheAfghanbordershortlyafter4:30inthemorning, justas the topsofdistantmountainrangeswerebeinglitpinkbytherisingsun.AstheBoeing767beganitsdescent,Igazedouttowardtheseven-thousand-meter peaks of Afghanistan’s Hindu Kush. Beyond their snow-shrouded summits rose the eight-thousand-meter giants of Pakistan’sKarakoram.Farofftotheright,obscuredbyshadowanddistance,stretchedthegentler,greenercontoursofAzadKashmir’sPirPanjal.Andinvisibleontheleft

sideoftheplane,thepeaksofthePamirKnotbroodedovertheWakhan.Downinside the valleys that forked like a network of veins between those serratedridgelines and ice blue crags lay dozens of villages whose elders were nowclamoringforschoolsfortheirgirls.Themomentwe landed, thewelcomewagon rolled up and Iwas reminded

thatthedayswhenIcouldblendanonymouslyintotheslipstreamofKabulwerenowgone.Thegreetingsstartedat thedoorof theplane,whenI foundmyselfconfrontedbyMohammedMehrdad,aTajikfromthePanjshirValleydressedinaneatlypressedgray jumpsuitwith largepocketsandawoolenpakol, the flatcap worn by the mujahadeen. Mohammed’s job involves pushing the mobilestaircaseup to the sideof theplane, andhis eagerness topresent a salute andexchange an embrace meant that we held up the line of passengers that wasattemptingtodisembarkbehindme.InsidetheterminalIreceivedanotherenthusiastichellofromJawaid,aportly

Pathanwhospendshisdaysittinginabrownmetalfoldingchairnexttothecarparkinggateandwhoseexactjobdescriptionhasalwaysbeenabitofamysterytome.AfewyardsfurtheronstoodIsmaelKhan,abaggagehandleroriginallyfromZebak,thevillageseveralhoursfromBaharakonthewaytothemouthoftheWakhan. Ismael,who isWakhi, is at least two decades older thanme butinsists on takingmy carry-on and pronounces himself gravely insulted if I somuchasreachintomypocketforpayment.A similar reception awaited further into the terminal with Daoud, a Pathan

fromJalalabadwhohadspentmostoftheSovietoccupationpeddlingtrinketsonthestreetsofPeshawarasarefugee.Backin2002,whenIhadfirststartedflyingintoKabul,DaoudhadbeenoperatingasmallpushcartfromwhichhehawkedcigarettesandCoke.Recentlybusinesshadimprovedtothepointwherehehadbeenabletoupgradetoanair-conditionedstorestockedwithSwisschocolates,caviar from the Caspian Sea, and succulent dates from Saudi Arabia. Daoudspentmostofhistimeyakkingincessantlyonhiscellphone,butthemomenthespottedmehewouldhangupanddashfrombehindthecounterwithasmallgift—usually a soft drink or a candy bar—while shouting As-Salaam Alaaikum.Thenwewouldenactthefollowinglittleritual.FirstIwouldtrytopayforwhateverhehadgivenme.Thenhewouldprotest

andrefuse. Iwouldkeeppressingandhewouldpersist inhis refusalsand thiswould continue until the point where Daoud finally felt that Afghanistan’selaboratehospitalityprotocolshadbeensatisfiedandwasconvinced that Ihadbeenmadetofeelwelcome.And so it went as I shuffled through customs, baggage, immigration, and

severalsecuritycheckpointsuntilIhadpassedthroughthefrontentrance,where

IspottedWakilandSarfrazstandingnexttothefigureofWohidKhan,tallanddignified in his carefully pressedBorder Security Force uniform and polishedblackcombatboots.Therequisiteexchangesinwhicheachofusinquiredafterthe health andwelfare of the others’wives, children, and parents took severalminutes.After my long series of international flights, Wohid Khan would have

preferred to escortme back to our hotel for a nap and a bath, butWakil andSarfraz had no intention of letting me relax. Much had happened during myeleven-monthabsence,andtherewasnotaminutetobelost.Theybundledmeintoahiredcarandwesetoffonourfirstorderofbusiness,whichinvolvedanimmediatereviewofWakil’snewestproject.Duringthepasttwelvemonths,Wakilhadtakenonaseriesofresponsibilities

whose demands and complexities rivaled even Sarfraz’s workload. He hadoverseen theconstructionofnineschools inKunar’sNaraydistrictandstartedanothergirls’schoolinBarg-eMatal,atinyvillageineasternNuristanthathadbeenoverwhelmedbyTalibaninsurgentsinJulyandthenretakenbyAmericanandAfghansoldiers.Aswordoftheseprojectsspread,Wakilhadfoundhimselfapproachedbyaseriesofdelegationsfrommoredistantregionsofthecountry,includingTalibanstrongholdssuchastheToraBoraarea,thecityofKandahar,andUruzganProvince.Ineachinstance,agroupofeldershadtraveledtoKabul—a journey that in some cases involved an arduous two-day trip on publictransport—to petition for a girls’ school in their community. As a directoutgrowth of these overtures,Wakil was now planning, withmy approval, toembarkonbuildingnearlyadozennewschoolsin2010,including,remarkablyenough,oneinMullahOmar’svillageofDehRawod.The vision thatWakil and Sarfraz had thought would take twenty years to

achievewasunfoldingbeforetheireyes.Thisexploding interest in femaleeducationwasnot restricted just to school

building, however. The previous year, I had encouragedWakil to think aboutlaunching one or two women’s vocational centers in Kabul—places wherewomencouldgather,astheydointhevillageswherewehavebuiltsuchcenters,tolearnskillssuchasweaving,embroidery,andotherdomesticcrafts.Wakilhaddecided toputhisownspinon this idea,however,by turning theunitshewasstartingupintoneighborhoodliteracycenters—classroomswhereolderwomenwhohad been deprived of the chance to go to school could learn to read andwriteDari, Pashto,Arabic, andEnglish.Classeswould takeplace in a privatehomeandwouldrunfromfourtosixdaysaweek,eachclasslastingtwoorthreehours.Thelessonswouldbetaughtbyteachersmoonlightingforextracash.InthesimplebusinessmodelthatWakilhaddesigned,thestart-upcostswere

minimal—themain expensewas the instruction,whichwas provided by part-timeschoolteacherswhowouldearnaboutsixtydollarsamonth.Each literarycenterwoulddraw its students fromthesurroundingneighborhood,so that thewomenwouldnothavefartowalk—andsothattheirhusbandswerelesslikelytoobject to theirwives leavingthehouseforsuchbriefperiods.Itwasagoodplan—butWakilhadfailedtoanticipatethereactionitwouldprovoke.The firstwomen to attend these classes started telling their friends,who in

turn told their friends, and before long applicants were signing up in suchnumbersthateachcenterhadreachedmaximumcapacity.Initiallythesewomencame to learn to readandwrite,butas theyacquired theseskills, thescopeoftheir ambitions began to expand radically. Some of them started book clubs.Others began to exchange information about dental hygiene and reproductivehealth. From there, the curriculum spilled into nutrition, diet, and diseaseprevention. Before long, therewereminiature seminars on typing, learning toreadcalendars,countingmoney,and themostpopularsubjectofall, forwhichthedemandwas simplyoff the charts:workshopson the rudimentsofusingamobilephone.Wakil quickly realized that this enthusiasmwas the by-product of taking a

groupofwomenwhohadbeen forced to lead restrictedandsequestered lives,puttingthemintothesameroom,andsimplygivingthemthelicensetodream.But the chemistry was so combustible that he could barely keep up with theensuingdemands.Theideaofwomenteachingotherwomenwassoelectrifyingthat each class rapidly burgeoned from forty to one hundred students, forcingWakiltosetuptwo,three,andsometimesfourteachingshiftstohandletheextraload.Normallythiswouldhavecreatedbudgetproblems,butunderthesystemhe had devised there were virtually no operating expenses except for theteachers’ salaries and the supplies—the latter cost beingoffset by the nominaltuitionfeesthateachcentercharged.Withinafewweeks,Wakilstartedbeefinguphisteachingstaff,andsoonafterthatthenumberofcentersbegantoexpand.Iknewthegeneraloutlinesofthesedevelopmentsfrommyregulartelephone

briefingswithWakil,aswellasfromthereportsthathee-mailedtomeonceortwiceaweek,butIlackedanaccuratesenseoftheactualnumbers.“Sohowmanyofthesecentershaveyougotgoingatthemoment?”Iaskedas

thecarwhiskedustowardthesuburbssouthofKabul.“Rightnowwehaveseventeencentersoperatingindifferentpartsofthecity.”“Well,sevendoesn’tsoundtoobad.”“Notseven,Greg—seventeen.”“Areyoukidding?”“No joke,” he said. “We’ve got eighteen teachers and 880 students, but the

demandismuchgreaterthanthat.That’swhyyouneedtoseethisforyourself.”

When Wakil first went looking for places in which to set up shop, he hadconcentratedonKabul’soutlyingareas, theroughersuburbandistricts thathadbeen flooded with so many farmers and laborers fleeing the war-ravagedcountryside that the capital city’s population had tripled since 2001. Theseneighborhoods laywell beyond the newly paved roads and the glass-and-steeloffice buildings of downtown, and they bore a closer resemblance to thecontoursof ruralAfghanistan:narrowdirtalleyways linedwithopen irrigationditches where the low-slung houses were surrounded by high mud walls andguardedbybarkingdogs.OurfirststopwasthehomeofNajeebaMira,wholivedonthesouthsideof

the city. Najeeba, whowas in her forties and had five children, came from afamilyofilliteratefarmersinLogar,aprovincesoutheastofKabulthathadseenfiercefightingbetweentheTalibanandtheNorthernAlliance.Shehadlearnedto read and write in a refugee camp in Pakistan, and her specialty wasmathematics.Forthepasttwodecades,Najeebahadservedastheheadmistressofagirls’highschoolinKabulthatiscurrentlyburstingattheseamswith4,500students.WithWakil’sblessings,shehadagreedtoestablishaliteracycenterinherhomeandteachforfourhoursaday.Forthisservice,Wakilwaspayingherasalaryoffifteendollarsperweek.We drove through a maze of alleys without sidewalks or street signs and

arrived at a mud-walled compound where we were greeted by Najeeba’shusband,MiraJan,aretiredveteran,whometusatthedoorandusheredusinfor tea.When the rituals of hospitality had been observed,Mira Jan asked ifwe’dliketoseetheliteracycenterandthenguidedusaroundtothebackofthecompoundand intoa tinyeight-by-twelve-foot adobe storage roomwithadirtfloorandonelargewindow.Therewerefortywomeninside,packedtightlyintorowsoffiveorsix,allsittingcross-leggedonthefloorandfacingawhiteboard.Mostofthesewomenwereintheirthirtiesorforties.Manyhadyoungchildren—the nursing mothers kept their babies with them, while the older childrenclustered in theback.Najeeba,adiminutivewomanwhoseplaingrayshalwarkamiz was accented by a black cape that remindedme of a nun’s habit, wasstandinginthefront.Afewof theyoungerwomenwerewearing thewhitedupatta that indicated

theywerestudents—whichmeanttheywereheretosupplementtheirstudiesatschool.Butthebulkofparticipantsworethedrabandraggedshalwarkamizof

the urban working poor. Most of their husbands performed manual labor,workingtwelveorfourteenhoursadayatjobsthatincludedbricklaying,roadconstruction,garbagecollection,andautorepair.Theypermittedtheirwivestoattend this class in the hope that learning to read and write might eventuallyenablethemtoearnadditionalincomeforthefamily.Eachnightafterpreparingdinner and attending to their domestic duties,many of thesewomen did theirhomeworktogetherwiththeirdaughters.Whenwefirstwalkedin,everyoneshottotheirfeetandstoodsilently.Then

Wakilsaid,“Sitdown,”andintroducedme,saying,“ThisisDoctorGreg,heisfromtheUnitedStatesandwantstohelpwiththeliteracycenter.HehasawifenamedTaraandtwochildren.ThemoneyheraisescomesfromordinarypeopleinAmericajustlikeyou.”Judgingfromthewritingontheboard,wehadwalkedintoaDariclass,but

theroomboreevidenceofthewomen’sdeterminationtoexpandtheireducationbeyondvocabularyandgrammar.Therewerenutritionchartson thebackwallstressing the importance of eating vegetables and fruits (which most of themcouldnotafford).Thereweretoothbrushesandbarsofsoapusedtoaccompanyhygienelessons.Glancingatseveralnotebooks,Iwasstruckbythetinysizeofthehandwriting.Eachparticipantwaswritingas tightlyaspossible inorder tosavespaceandmakethenotebookslastaslongaspossible.Ibegan interrogatingNajeeba, askinghow longeachclass lasted,howbusy

her schedulewas,what subjects her studentswere studying, and how she feltabout their progress. She offered precise, rapid-fire responses in the samebusinessliketonethatsheundoubtedlyusedwithherstudents.ThenIturnedtotheclass.“Thisissoamazing—whatyou’vemanagedtodoallbyyourselves,”Isaid.

“Eachofyouisachievingsomethingincredible.”ThenIaskediftheteacherorthestudentshadanyconcerns.As a matter of fact, they did. Since classes like these were conducted in

privatehomes,Najeebaexplained,sheandtheotherteacherswereworriedaboutinsufficientdrinkingwater, sporadic electricity, and inadequate latrines.As forthe students, however, theywerewilling to put upwith those inconveniences,buttheywereeagertostartusingcomputersandcellphones.“Andwhydoyouneedcellphonessobadly?”Iasked.“Becauseweall talk tooneanotherandexchangeinformationabouthowto

improve what we’re doing,” explained Najeeba. “Plus there are many otherimportantthingstodiscuss.”“Suchas?”“Well,theupcomingelection,forexample.Rightnowwe’realltalkingtoone

anotherabouthowwe’regoingtovote.”Herewassomethingratherextraordinary.Insixteenyearsofbuildingschools

andpromotinggirls’education,Ihadneverseenwomensoonfire.ButNajeebawasn’t finished. She went on to explain that each of her students had familymembersandfriendsfromotherprovinces,andwhentheserelativesheardaboutwhatwasgoingoninKabul,theyhadbegunclamoringforinformationonhowtoestablishliteracycentersintheirowntownsandvillages.ListeningtoNajeebadescribethespeedwithwhichtheideaofaplacelikethiswasleapfroggingfromone location to another, Iwas struck by the notion that theremightwell be asecond Afghan insurgency bubbling away beneath the Taliban’s uprising—aquietandhiddenrevolutionoffemalelearningandliberation.“Perhapsyouandyourcolleaguesshouldconsidersettingupsomekindofco-

oporNGO,” I said toNajeeba,“anumbrellaorganization thatwouldassist intheestablishmentofliteracycenterslikethisnotjustaroundKabul,butalsoinother parts of the country. Do you think you could get something like thatgoing?”“Oh,absolutely,”shereplied.“Itwouldbecomebigveryquickly.”And so the ideawas born. Threeweeks later,Wakil would sendword that

Najeeba and several other teachers had formed an executive committee andagreed on a name for themselves. By October, the Afghan Women’s Co-op,headquarteredinKabul,wouldalreadyhavechaptersinfiveprovinces.“I knew this idea of yours was popular,” I remarked to Wakil later that

afternoon, afterwe had toured severalmore facilities, “but you didn’t tellmehowmanytherewereorhowquicklythisconceptwasgrowing.”“It’s abit hard tokeep count—inanother fourmonths,we’ll probablyhave

three dozen,” he said. “When women take charge, things start to get out ofcontrolreallyfast.”

As impressive as all of thiswas,Wakil’s responsibilities did not endwith theconstructionofhisnewschoolsinKunarandNuristan,hisplanstoexpandintoUruzgan,andtherapidlyburgeoningliteracycenters.Thenextmorningat3:00A.M.,heandIsetofftogetherwithSarfrazandWohidKhantohavealookatthefinalprojectinhisportfolio.Ourdestination,someninetymilesnortheastofKabul,wasthemostlegendaryvalleyinallofAfghanistan.Home tomore than threehundred thousandpeopleand thecountry’s largest

concentrationofethnicTajiks,thePanjshirValleywasthebirthplaceandfortressof Shah Ahmed Massoud, the courageous and charismatic mujahadeencommander who successfully repulsed no fewer than nine full-scale Soviet

offensives against the valley during the 1980s, earning him the sobriquet “theLionofthePanjshir.”ThreeyearsaftertheSovietswithdrew,Massoud’sforceshadcapturedKabulandhebrieflyemergedasoneofthemorepromisingleadersamong the rival mujahadeen factions that divided the country. By 1993,however,widespreadlootinganduncheckedviolenceon thepartofMassoud’ssoldiers had severely damaged his stature as a national hero—whilesimultaneously helping to pave the way for the Taliban. He was eventuallyassassinatedbyapairofAlQaedasuicidebombers,lessthanseventy-twohourspriorto9/11,andtothisdaythevalleythathedefendedsostaunchlyremainsapotent symbol of pride for many Afghans. For the staff of the Central AsiaInstitute,however,thePanjshirheldadifferentsignificance.Following the ouster of the Taliban, the Panjshir had benefitted from

significantinvestmentonthepartofanumberofinternationalNGOsaswellasthe U.S. military, which together had done an impressive job building roads,healthclinics,hydroelectricplants,andanumberofboys’schools.Althoughthevalleywasnowoneof the safest andmostprogressiveparts of the country, itwas sorely lacking in terms of opportunities for girls’ education. Moreover,becausethePanjshirbordersBadakshantothenorthandKunarandNuristantotheeast, thevalley representedagap in the lineofoutpostsof female literacythatSarfrazandWakilhopedtocreatethroughthecenterofTalibancountry.Iftherewaseventuallytobeacontinuousribbonofgirls’schoolsstretchingallthewayfromtheWakhantoDehRawod,weneededtoplantafewseedsinsidethePanjshir.Inthesummerof2008,Wakilhadsomehowfoundthetimetoventureintothe

valley,establishrelationshipswithlocalelders,andlaunchconstructiononapairofgirls’schoolsinthevillagesofDarghilandPushgur.TheDarghilschoolhadopenedin2008,whilethePushgurproject—aneight-roomstructurethatwouldaccommodate over two hundred girls—was scheduled to receive its officialinaugurationat11:30onthemorningofJuly15withaveryspecialguest.TheroadfromKabulledpastBagramAirbaseandacrossthebrownexpanse

oftheShomaliPlaintoapointwherethePanjshirRiverburstthroughthemouthofanarrowgorge.Forthenexttenmiles,theroadskirtedbetweentheriverandthecliffuntil thevalleyabruptlyopenedup intoan idyllic tableauofbeautifulwoodlandsandirrigatedfarms,allprotectedbysoaring,2,000-footwallsofgray,crumblingrock.We arrived in Pushgur at around 9:30. In the courtyard more than four

hundred people had clustered, including several dozen bearded elders, adelegationofprovincialofficials,mostof the twohundredgirlswhowouldbeattendingtheschool,aplatoonofWohidKhan’sBorderSecurityForce troops,

andabout thirtyheavilyarmedU.S.soldiers.Nearbywereseveral tables ladenwithfood,softdrinks,andbottledwater,allofitcloselyguardedbyourfriendFaisal Mohammed, the father who had lost his youngest son to a land mineoutsideourschoolinLalander—andwhohadrecentlybeenworkinginformallyasWakil’sassistant.Lessthananhourafterwearrived,twoUH-60BlackHawksandoneCH-47

Chinookflewinfromthesouthwest,circledthearea,andthenlanded,creatingan explosion of dust that covered everything.The firstman to step out of thelead Black Hawk, clad in desert-camouflage fatigues, was Admiral MikeMullen.“HeyGreg,”heshoutedovertheroaroftheengines.“Ihopeyoudon’tmind

thatIbroughtsomemediawithme.”Ashe spoke, theChinookdisgorgedadozen journalists, including reporters

fromReuters,theWallStreetJournal,theWashingtonPost,NPR,theBBC,andABC-TV,aswellasThomasFriedman,thePulitzer-Prizewinningeditorial-pagecolumnistfortheNewYorkTimes.After everyone hadmoved under a large tent and taken their seats, several

girlsdressedintheirnewschooluniformspresentedtheadmiralwithagarlandof flowers. Another group of girls recited a prayer while holding U.S. andAfghanflags.Thenthespeechesbegan,withextensiveremarksbeingofferedbythegovernor,thedistrictofficer,theprovincialeducationdirector,andanumberofotherdignitaries.Finally,afterthirtyminutes,AdmiralMullensteppedtothepodium.Totranslate theadmiral’sspeechfromEnglish intoDari,Wakilhadselected

one of our brightest students, a twelfth-grader named Lima whose father, aretiredpetroleumengineer,wassopoorthathenowfedLimaandherfourteenbrothers and sisters by selling firewood in Kabul. Lima was fluent in fivelanguages(Dari,Pashto,Urdu,Arabic,andEnglish)andtaughtparttimeinoneofWakil’s literacy centers. For four years running, she held the top positionamongthe3,100girlsinherhighschool.With Lima translating, the admiral announced that he was bringing good

wishes from theAmericanpeople,and thenspokewitheloquenceandpassionabout the vital importance that education held for the future of Afghanistan.“Thisschoolisherebecauseofyou,thelocalpeople,andyourcommitmentanddedication to start education in your community,” he said. “This is a proudmoment inwhichweallcelebrateyourefforts tobuildabetter futureforyourcountry.”Itwouldbedifficulttooverstatethesymbolicimpactofwitnessinganeight-

room school for girls inaugurated by the admiral who served as the principal

military adviser to the president of the United States. ForWakil and Sarfraz,therecouldhavebeennomorepowerfulvindicationoftheworktowhichtheyhaddedicatedtheirlives.Forme,however,perhapsthemostmovingpartofthatdaycamewhenWohidKhanwasaskedtostandupandofferafewremarks.Duringthepastseveralyears, thisveteranmujahadeenhaddemonstratedhis

passionate dedication to the cause of promoting education in his homeland inmorewaysthanIcouldcount,fromhelpingtotransportbuildingmaterialstoourconstructionsitesintheWakhantorescuingoneofourteachersandhisfamilyfromthemiddleofariver.ButWohidKhanisamanoffewwords,anduntilthatmorning in Pushgur, I had never really heard him articulate his feelings inpublic.“Inourcountry,ourpeoplehavesufferedthroughthreedecadesofwar,andas

you know many of our fellow mujahadeen have died in these hills andmountains,”hebegan,speakinginDari.“Wehavefoughthardandwehavepaiddearly.”Helookeduptowardthesurroundingpeaksandridges.“Awisemanfrommyhomeoncetoldmethatthesemountainshaveseenfar

toomuch suffering and killing, and that each rock and every boulder you seerepresents amujahadeenwhodied fighting either theRussians or theTaliban.Thenthemanwentontosaythatnowthatthefightingisfinished,itistimetobuild a new era of peace—and the first step in that process is to take up thestonesandstartturningthemintoschools.”Hepausedforamoment.“Havingfoughtforsolongundertheshadowofwar,Ibelievethatthefinest

service that a mujahadeen can now perform is to build schools and promoteliteracy.Theopportunitytoparticipateinthiseffortisoneofthegreatesthonorsofmylifetime.”Before stepping from the podium and returning to his seat, the Afghan

commander then turned gravely to theAmerican admiral and—onewarrior toanother, one champion of girls’ literacy to another—snapped off a crisp,razorlikesalute.

Whenthespeecheswereover,AdmiralMullenmetprivatelyforaboutanhourwiththeexcitedstudentsinsidetheschool.Uponemerging,helingeredforafewminutestoshakehandsandexchangegoodwishes,beforeheandhisentouragepiledbackintothehelicoptersanddeparted.Then,asthevillageofPushgursatdowntoafeastthatwouldundoubtedlytakeitsplaceintheloreofthePanjshir

Valley,Wakil,Sarfraz,Wohid,andIstartedthedrivebacktoKabul.We took our time, pausing to pay our respects at the tomb of ShahAhmed

MassoudandmakingthreeseparatestopssothatWohid,wholovesfreshfruit,could purchase some apples, cherries, andmulberries. Later that afternoon, aswe rolled southward along the Shomali Plain, our fingers stained with berryjuice,SarfrazlavishedWakilwithcompliments.“YouaremakingevenmoreschoolsherethanwearemakingintheWakhan,”

heexclaimed.“Youhaveachievedmuchsuccess!”“Ithasnothingtodowithme,”protestedourPashtuncolleague.“This isall

thewillofAllah.”Whenwefinallyreachedthecapital,Wakilexcusedhimselfandracedoffto

receiveyetanotherdelegationofeldersfromadistantprovincewhowantedtotalkaboutthepossibilityofstartingupagirls’school.Meanwhile,SarfrazandIturnedourattentiontoourmostpressingpieceofunfinishedbusiness—gettingtoBozaiGumbaz.

CHAPTER16

ThePointofReturn

AndcomingdownfromthePamirwherethelostCamelscallthroughtheclouds.—ANDRÉMALRAUX,LesNoyersdel’Altenburg

KirghizeldersmeetingatBozaiGumbaztoplannewschool,EastWakhan,Afghanistan

Backintheautumnof2008,asIwasrushingwestoutofthecentralWakhaninorder to fly to Islamabad and attend my tea-drinking session with PresidentMusharraf, Sarfraz had slowly made his way east on horseback to BozaiGumbaz.Oncethere,hehaddiscoveredthathiscrewofquarrymenwasmakingexcellentprogresson the taskofdynamiting largeboulders intosmallerpiecesthat could be shaped with chisels and hammers into the stones that wouldeventually form the walls of the Kirghiz school. But as he stared at the

impressivemoundofmelon-sizedrocksthathismasonshadcreatedontheflatgreenmeadownexttotheglassylakewheretheKirghizwerehopingtolocatetheir school, he found himself grappling for the first time with the practicalobstacleswewouldneedtosurmountinordertomakethatvisionareality.Logistical challenges, of course, are nothing new to us, and over the years,

we’ve been forced to overcome some ludicrously daunting problems. Forexample, the bridge thatwe had to build over theBralduRiver,whichwouldenableustocarryinthesuppliestoconstructourfirstschoolinKorphein1996,required two dozenmen to haul five 284-foot steel cableswound onwoodenspools on their shoulders for a distance of eighteen miles. Similarly, one ofSarfraz’s earthquake schools in Azad Kashmir required him to assemble ahumanchainofmorethantwohundredmeninordertopasscementandothermaterialsbyhandaroundplaceswhere landslideshaddestroyed theroads.Yetevenbythestandardsofourmostdifficultprojects,theKirghizschoolwasinaclassallbyitself.BozaiGumbazhadmorethanenoughnativestoneforthepurposeofbuilding

thefoundationandwalls,buttherewerenocommerciallyavailablesuppliesofcement, rebar,glass,nails, corrugated roofing,paint, or anyof theother itemsthat Sarfraz’s construction crew would need to complete the job. All of thatmaterialwouldhavetocomefromtheoutside,plusthelumber,too.(TherearefewtreesinthePamirs.)In theory, of course, these materials could easily have been purchased in

Faizabad or Baharak and—despite the usual setbacks stemming from muddyroads, landslides, flash flooding, and mechanical breakdown—we could havearranged to have everything hauled into Sarhad by tractor or truck. But howwouldwehaveproceededfromthere?FromtheplacewheretheWakhanroadendsinSarhad,thejourneytoBozai

Gumbaz involves a three-day trek along a narrow trail that clings to the cliffsandwhosesurfaceiscoveredintreacherouslyshiftingtalus.Alongitsforty-milelength, this trail ascends and descends a total of 20,000 feet, nearly twice thevertical relief betweenEverest base camp and its summit.What’smore, theseupsanddownsall takeplaceataltitudesofbetweententhousandandfourteenthousandfeet,wheretheoxygenlevelsmakeitimpossibleforconventionalpackanimalssuchasdonkeysandmulestocarrysubstantialloads.Finally,therearethreemajorrivercrossings.TohaulallthesuppliesinfromSarhatwouldhaverequiredapacktrainofat

least ahundredyaksorBactriancamels, farmore than thenumberof animalsthatwereavailable forhire.For similar reasons,avery largeyak train leadingoutoftheCharpursonValleyovertheIrshadPasswasequallyunworkable.On

theotherhand,perhaps,maybeasupplyconvoycouldhavebeenassembledinwesternChinaandpunchedintotheeasternendoftheWakhan,wheretheterrainwas not nearly as rough. But the Chinese-Afghan border had been sealed formorethansixtyyears—andthankstothecurrentpoliticalunrestamongXinjiangProvince’srestiveMuslimpopulation,thelikelihoodofChineseborderofficialsgrantingaspeciallaissez-passerwaslessthanzero.AsSarfraz stoodbeside themoundof freshly chiseled stones scratchinghis

head, he found himself pondering a question that seemed to encapsulate theabsurdity of ourwork:How do you build a school on theRoof of theWorldwhen transporting the construction materials from any direction is virtuallyimpossible?Even by the standards of his own audacity and innovation, the plan that he

cameupwithwasmagnificentlynuts.

In July, Sarfraz had submitted a budget request for the purchase of a usedKamaz,atypeofheavy-dutytruckthatismanufacturedinTartarstanandhasawell-deservedreputationfortoughnessandreliability(thetruckshaverackedupa record eight victories in the Dakar Rally and are the preferred means oftransportfortheRussianarmy).AKamazwasoneofthefewmotorizedvehiclescapable of hauling massive loads along the axle-snapping roadbed of theWakhanwithoutbreakingdowneveryfewmiles,andSarfrazhadcalculatedthatwiththemoneywewouldsavebynolongerpayingexorbitantfeestohaveourbuildingsuppliesbrought into thewesternWakhan, the truckwould recoup itscostintwoyears.TheCAIboardofdirectorshadapprovedtheexpenditure,andour battered grayKamaz—whichhadbeen freighting constructionmaterial allsummerlong—nowemergedasthekeytoSarfraz’sstrategyforBozaiGumbaz.Sometimeduringthenextseveraldays,thetruckwasscheduledtoleavethe

townofIshkoshem,lumberovera300-footbridgeintoTajikistan,andmakeitswaynorthonthePamirHighwaypasttheancientrubyminesofKuh-i-LaltotheTajikcityofKhorog.There,Sarfrazhadarranged for thevehicle tobe loadedwith forty bags of cement and other building materials before proceedinganotherlongdayacrosstheachingmonotonyofthePamirplateautoMurghab,atownwhosenamemeans“riverofbirds”inPersian.Meanwhile,Sarfrazhadalsoorderedaconsignmentof190poplartreestobe

cutfromthePamirforests.Theselogswouldbesawedintolumber,andloadedonto the Kamaz when it reached Murgab, at which point the truck—nowgroaningwithitsmassiveload—wouldcontinuesouthforanothereightymiles

alongthevalleyoftheAksuRiver,skirtingtheno-man’s-landalongtheborderofwesternChinaandtheloominghulkof24,757-footMuztaghata, thehighestpeakinthePamirs.EventuallytheKamazwouldreachapointjustabovetheeasternmostendof

theWakhan.ThereitwouldcrossbackintoAfghanistanandgrind,initslowestgear,alongtheremnantsofadirttrackthatwasoriginallybladedbytanksfromthe Soviet military and had barely been used since the end of the Sovietoccupation.Atthepointwherethetrackended,thesupplieswouldbetakenoff,loadedonto thebacksof a herdofwaitingyaks and carried the final distanceintoBozaiGumbaz,ajourneyoftwodays.Totalround-tripdistance:justunderninehundredmiles.Timetodestination:unknown.Needless tosay,wehadneverdoneanythinglike thisbefore,andsettingup

thenecessaryarrangementstoenablethisunorthodoxshipmenttomoveacrossthe heavily restricted Afghanistan-Tajikistan border would have beencategoricallyimpossiblewithouttheassistanceofthemanwhohademergedasourmostformidableallyintheWakhan.SeveralweeksbeforestandingupinfrontofAdmiralMulleninPushgurand

delivering his “stones into schools” speech,Wohid Khan had approached hiscounterparts in the Tajik Border Security Force about the possibility of beinggrantedaone-timepermit for this specialdeliveryexpedition.Despite the factthatWohidcommandsdeeprespectonbothsidesoftheborder,theTajikswereinitially reluctant to accede to such an unusual request. (Because southernTajikistanisplaguedbysmugglerswhotrafficheavilyinheroin,guns,andevenchild slaves, its borders are exceptionally sensitive and are placed underextremelytightcontrols.)TheTajiks’attitudechanged,however,whentheywerepresentedwithawarrantythatcouldnotbeturneddownwithoutgivingpersonaloffense:Asaguaranteethattheconditionsofthepermitwouldnotbeviolated,Wohid Khan himself would personally accompany the truck on its entirejourney. Doing so would require the Afghan commander to set aside hisprofessional duties for longer than he could really afford. But in the eyes ofKhan,therecouldbenoworthiermissionforamujahadeen.Atthemoment,therewerestillafewlingeringdetailsyettobeworkedout.

(The school’s windows and doors, which were now being assembled inIshkoshem, would not be finished before the Kamaz departed for Tajikistan.)Nevertheless, Sarfraz’s strategy was clear: Having concluded that access toBozaiGumbazfromanysingledirectionwasimpossible,hehaddecidedthatthefirst school tograce theworld’s rooftopwouldbeassembledbyusingall fourpoints of the compass simultaneously. TheCharpursonmasons and carpenters

would trompover the IrshadPass from thesouth.Thebulkof thecementandlumberwouldmakeitswayinadaringnorthernloopthroughTajikistanandthenbethrustintothefareasternendoftheCorridor.Andthecashtopayforthefinalphase of construction, $20,000,would enter theWakhan from thewest in thepocketsofmyvestandSarfraz’s.AsSarfrazandIcompletedourdrivebacktoKabulfromthePanjshirValley

followingAdmiralMullen’sinaugurationofthePushghurSchool,wecalculatedthat if we left for Badakshan immediately, we might be able to reach BozaiGumbazjustbeforeWohidKhan’syaktrainarrived,givingustimetoconductaceremonialjirgawithAbdulRashidKhanandtherestoftheKirghizcommunity.Construction could begin the following day, andwith a bit of luck, thewallswouldbeupandtheroofwouldbenaileddownbeforethefirstbigsnowstormlockedthePamirsdownforanotherwinter.Therewas,however,oneproblem.“TherearenoflightsscheduledfromKabultoFaizabadbetweennowandthe

endoftheweek,”explainedSarfrazaswearrivedbackinKabul.“Sowhatareouroptions?”Iasked.“The roads north are very dangerous,” he said. “We must pass through

Khundud,andTalibanareattacking.ButifyouwanttoreachBozaiGumbazontime,wewillneedtodrivealltheway.”“Thenlet’sdoit,”Ireplied.“Itwillbejustlikeoldtimes.”

WelaunchedourblitzthefollowingmorninginarentedToyotawithadriverweknewandtrustednamedAhmed.ThiswasthefirsttimeIhadtraveledbyroadtoBadakshan in threeyears,and Iwasastonishedby thechanges.Back in2003,whenIhadmademyfirstdrivenorth,theentirelandscapehadbeendevastatedandscorchedbywar.Thebuildingsalongthehighwayhadbeenalmost totallydestroyed,andthereweresomanylandminesburiedatthesideoftheroadthatitwasdangerouseventopullover.Now,however,thecountrysidewascomingback to life.The fieldsweredottedwithvillagers tending to theirgrapevines,orchards, wheat, and barley. It was almost possible to imagine, momentarily,whatpeacemightlooklikeinAfghanistan.Thesurfaceofthehighwayhadbeenpaved,andwemadegoodtime.Weshot

throughtheSalangTunnelat10:00P.M.andthreehourslaterstoppedforteaatPul-eKhumri,theoriginalhomeofAbdul,theorphanboywhohadrepairedourradiatoronmyfirsttripnorth.Weaskediftherehadbeenanynewsofhim,butnobodyknewanything,sowepushedon.TheAugustnightwasclear,andtheheavenswerelitteredwithasprayofstars

whoseclarityandbrillianceIhaveseenmatchedonlybytheskiesofMontana.As the hours rolled past and the night deepened, I stared out thewindow andgavemyselfovertoafloatingsenseofdéjàvuthatcarriedmebacktocountlesssimilardrivesuptheKarakoramHighwayalongtheIndusRivergorgesandintoBaltistanduringtheearlyyearsofourwork.Thenamesofthemountainsandthelanguagesspokeninthevillagesthatwereflittingpastusinthedarknowweredifferent. But everything else—the dull taste of the dust filtering through theopenwindow,themetallicpinkglowofthelightsabovetheall-nighttruckstopsbesidethehighway,therhythmoftheroad,andthevastnessofthelandscape—allofthesethingsdrovehomethenotionthatmyyearsinPakistanandmytimein Afghanistan were part of a continuous whole, a journey that was stillunfoldingandwhosefinalaimremainedsomethingofamystery.Aswedroppedoffthebacksideofmidnightandenteredtheearlyhoursofthe

morning, however, I foundmyself colliding against the limitation ofmy ownstamina.Theendlesslitanyofplaneflightsandfund-raisingappearancesacrosstheUnitedStates,followedbythewhirlwindtourofWakil’sliteracycentersandthe frenzied preparations for the inauguration of the Pushgur school, nowseemed to be catching upwithme. Sarfraz, I knew, had beenworking just ashard,ifnotharder.Andyet,despitethefactthathewasafewyearsolderthanme,heseemedtodrawfromawellofenergythatwasdeeperthanmyown.Somewherenorthof the townofBaghlan, the tollof thepast severalweeks

finallywashed overme in awave ofweariness so oppressive that it felt as ifsomeonewere smotheringmewith awet blanket.Like a long-distance runnerwhohasslippedoffthetopofhisgame,IrealizedthatInolongerhadtheabilityto keep up with Sarfraz. In terms of determination, stubbornness, and thepigheadedrefusaltogiveup,thetwoofuswerestillremarkablywellmatched.Butwhenitcametosheerresiliency,myfriendandcolleaguehadpassedmebyanddisappearedintothedistance.“Maybe we should rest for a little bit,” I suggested as we approached the

lightsofanotherfuelstation.“Whydon’twepullover?”“Nostopping,”orderedSarfraz.“TherehavebeenmanyTaliban in thisarea

recently.WecannotrestuntilwearepastKhundud.”Wekeptdriving,passingthroughKhundudaround1:30A.M.,anditwasnot

untilwereachedthesafetyofTalikan,whichlaybeyondthefurthestadvancesoftheinsurgency,thatSarfrazfinallyallowedourdrivertopullintoaroadsideteastandandeachofuscollapsedonacharpoy,ashort-leggedbedwhoseplatformiswoventogetherwithcoarserope.Sarfraz’sinstincts,itturnedout,wereasaccurateasever.Onemonthafterwe

passed through Khundud, Taliban insurgents hijacked a pair of tanker trucks,

provokinganair strike fromNATOfighter jets.The resultingexplosionkilledmorethaneightypeople,includingdozensofcivilians.Twenty-fourhoursafterthat Stephen Farrell, a journalist working for the New York Times who wasreporting on the aftermath of the air strikes,was kidnapped, togetherwith hisAfghan interpreter. Four days later, a rescue mission by British commandosresultedinthedeathsofaBritishsoldierandtheAfghaninterpreter,whosenamewasMohammadSultanMunadi.Aweekprior tohisdeath,Munadi, a thirty-four-year-old fatherof two,had

writtenthefollowingblogpostingfortheNewYorkTimes:

Being a journalist is not enough; it will not solve the problems ofAfghanistan. Iwant towork for theeducationof thecountry,because themajority of people are illiterate. That is the main problem facing manyAfghans.

Sarfraz and I awoke at just after 5:00A.M., nudged the driver to his feet andgently prodded him into the rear seat, then pulled back onto the road. WithSarfrazbehindthewheelandthesunjustbeginningtocomeup,wecrossedintoBadakshan. The fertile valleys, rugged hills, and broken gorges carried awelcomingsenseoffamiliarity,andthefeelingofmovingthroughalandscapetowhich we belongedwas reinforced as we began passing some of our CentralAsia Institute schools. First cameFakhar School, followed by FaizabadGirls’School, and beyond that, Sadhar Khan’s school in Baharak—where the roadsouthledtotheShodhaGirls’SchoolandtheJherumGirls’PrimarySchool.Wekept pressing east, skirting above the Eskan Girls’ Primary School, the KohMunjon School, the Wardugh Girls’ Middle School, and the Ziabakh Girls’ElementaryandMiddleSchool.Onanormaltripwewouldhavestoppedateachoftheseplacesforteaanda

quickvisit,butnotthistime.AsweenteredtheWakhanproper,Sarfrazkepthisfoottotheaccelerator,andelevenmoreschoolsflewpast.Togetherthesetwentyprojectsprovidedvisualaffirmationofthefactthatdespitetheendlesssetbacksand delays,we hadmanaged to accomplish somethingworthwhile during ourtimeinnorthernAfghanistan.AndperhapsIwouldhavegivenmyselfovertoawaveofprideandself-congratulation,hadInotbeenovertakenbysomethingfarmorepowerful.Duringmyyearlongabsence, Ihad forgotten that theWakhan,despiteitsharshnessandausterity,isaplaceofunspeakableloveliness.Compelling evidence of this fact was on display everywhere. The previous

winterhadbeentheworsttheWakhanhadseenintwelveyears,bringingwithitanendlesssuccessionofstormsthathadburiedtheHighPamirbeneathasecondmountain rangeof snowandkept temperatures below freezingwell into June.

Theconditionshadbeendevastatingforlivestock,andmanyofthesurroundingvillageshadlostasignificantportionoftheiranimals.Whenthemelt-outfinallyarrived, the hardships had continued with a larger-than-normal wave ofavalanches,landslides,andflashfloods.Now,however,theCorridorwasfinallyreapingtheflipsideoftheequation.Thankstoallthemoisturefromtheshrinkingsnowpackandtheglacialmelt,

thevibrantemeraldgreencolorsoflatespringwerestillrefusingtosurrendertothe brown and ocher tones ofmidsummer. In village after village, every fieldwas bursting with a bumper crop of wheat, potatoes, or millet. Above thisshimmering green patchwork soared the double-walled architecture of theWakhan’s unique geologic signature: to the south, the bulwark of the HinduKush, blocking off Pakistan; and to the north, across the Amu Darya, therampartsofthePamirsdefiningtheedgeofTajikistan.Whentakeninbytheeyein a single, sweeping glance, this dramatic ensemble—the jagged peaks, thefoamingriver,theorange-andpurple-huedrocks,thesplashesofcolorfromthewildrosesandbuttercups,allspreadbeneaththemeasureless immensityof thesky—offeredavisionofunmatchedbeautyandgrandeur.OntheseconddayfromKabul,wereachedourtwenty-firstandfinalschool,

theSarhadSchool,wheretheroadendedandthecentralreachesoftheCorridorbegangivingwaytothecolderandmoreseverelinesoftheHighPamir.Here,eveninmidsummer,winterwasnevermorethanhalfastepaway.ThestretchesofflatlandthatwerewedgedbetweenthemountainsandtheriveraroundSarhadwere carpeted in a thick, tightlyknotted tundragrass that resembledwhatonemightseeinthesubpolarlatitudesofnorthernCanada.Aside from its visual splendor,whatmakes Sarhad so striking is thatmore

than any other place in the Wakhan, or even Afghanistan, it suggests thepossibilitythatyouhavearrivedinalandwheretimeitselfhasfrozen.Beyondthe cluster of low-slung, mud-and-stone houses that make up the village,wildhairedchildrenpresideoverherdsofshaggy-coatedyaksandshovel-footedBactriancamelsthatlookasiftheyarestillpartofthePleistocene.Inthenearbyfields,whichhavebeenfencedoffwiththebleachedbonesandthecurledhornsofibexandMarcoPolosheep,menturntheearthwithplowswhosedesignhasnotchangedintwothousandyears.Bythe timewearrived,wehadbeendrivingalmostnonstopforaboutforty

hours.Wepulledupinfrontof theresidenceofTashiBoi, thelocalchiefwhowas in charge of civil affairs in this part of theCorridor andwho had been afierce advocate for literacy and girls’ education since he completed a drug-treatment program a decade ago and successfully overcame his addiction toopium,thescourgeofsomanyfamiliesintheCorridor.TashiBoi’shome,which

hesharedwithhiswife,children,and fifteenmembersofhisextended family,was a traditional Wakhi “hearth house.” A hexagonal structure, its interiorfeaturedanearthenfloorinwhichasunkenareainthecenter,whichcontainedthehearth,wassurroundedbyaraisedplatformcoveredwiththickblanketsandrugsuponwhichmembersof thehouseholdspentmostof their time.Theroofwas supported by rough-hewnwooden beams, and a touch ofmodernity wasprovidedbytheadditionofasupportpostfashionedfromalongsteelgirderthathadonceservedasthetreadcoverofaSovietT-62tank.SarhadwasthedeepestIhadeverpenetratedintotheinterioroftheWakhan,

andbeforesteppinginsidethehousetoshareamealofnoodlesoup,Ipausedtocastaglanceatwhatlaybeyondtheendoftheroad.Aboutfifteenmilestothesouthrosetheescarpmentsof theHinduKush.Adayandahalf’swalkinthatdirectionwouldtakeonetothenorthernentranceoftheIrshadPass.Meanwhile,forty-twomilestotheeastlaytheoldKirghizburialgroundsofBozaiGumbaz.If Sarfraz and I started first thing in themorning,within three dayswe couldmakeourrendezvouswithWohidKhanandAbdulRashidKhan.Iheadedindoorswiththehopethatinlessthanseventy-twohours,wewould

finally finishoffapieceofbusiness thathadbeen languishing foradecade. Itwasatthispoint,however,thatfateapparentlyfelttheneedtodemonstratetheirritatingtruththatinthisplace,nothingeverhappensthewayit’ssupposedto.

OneofthebenefitsofhavingbeenraisedinruralAfricawasthatitimbuedmewith an unusually strong constitution. During my sixteen years of work inPakistanandAfghanistan, Ihadonlybeen severely sick twice.When I awokethefollowingmorning,however,myentirebodywaswrackedbychillsandmylimbsandchesthadbeenovertakenbya fatiguesodenseandsoheavy that itseemedtohavepenetratedallthewaytothebone.Anhourlater,myheadwasspinningwildlyandIwaslockedinthegripofaremorselessfever.Thedizzinessandthepoundingheadachemademethinkitmightbemalaria,

towhichIhadsuccumbedtwiceasaboyinTanzania.TherewerenomosquitoesthishighintheWakhan,however.Whateveritwasthathadaholdofme,therewasnoresistingitsonslaught,andasTashiBoiandSarfrazpumpedmefullofgreenteaandpiledfourorfiveblanketsonme,Islippedintoadeepdelirium.Inside the cauldron of my fever, I lost all sense of time, fumbling to the

surfaceonlyperiodicallytoregisterwhatwashappeningaroundme.Onseveraloccasions,Iexperiencedtheblurredsensethatsomeoneseemedtobepilingyetanother blanket on top of me or performing a kind of pressure massage that

involved pressing down onmy legs and headwith two or three fingers, thenlettinggo.Inotherinstances,IcouldhearthemumbledwhispersofSarfrazandthe members of Tashi Boi’s household as they discussed my condition andspeculatedonwhattodo.Onceortwice,Iawokeinthemiddleofthenighttorealizethatacircleofelderswassittingquietlybesidemeandkeepingvigil.TheresidentsofSarhadweredotingandtheywereworried,andtheyneveronceleftmealone.Drifting throughmy illness, Ihad thesense thatpeoplewere takingturnssittingbesidemeandholdingmyhandforhours.Asthedaysandthenightsmelded,mysenseofthepresentslippedawayand

wasovertakenbyscenesfrommypast. I flashedback tomychildhoodbattleswith malaria, when I had lost six months of school. I also traveled back toKorphe, where the care that I had received duringmy first stay inHaji Ali’svillage seemed tomergewithwhat the people of Sarhadwere now doing.Atnight, over the roar of Tashi Boi’s generator, I could hear the yaks clusteredoutside the house, grunting and mooing in the moonlight—sounds thatconvincedmethatIhadbeentransportedbacktoMontanaandwasstandingontheGreatPlainssurroundedbyaherdofbuffalo.Atonepoint,anelderlywomanawakenedmefrommystupor toask if Iwanted tosmokesomeopium,whichshesaidwouldtakeawaythepain.“Nothanks,”Isaid,“I’vealreadygotsomemedicine.”AsIdescendedbackintosleep,IcouldhearSarfrazrhythmicallyshakingour

jumbo-sizedjarofibuprofenlikeamaraca.Rattle-rattle-rattle.Rattle-rattle-rattle.On themorning of the third day, I awokewith a vast ache overmywhole

body, but the thoughts in mymind were now running with a coolness and aclaritythatmirroredthestreamsflowingthroughthefieldsoutside.Thefeverhadbroken.I sat up, took some tea and some bread, and tried to calculate how long it

wouldtakeustoreachBozaiGumbaz.WhenherealizedwhatIwasdoing,Sarfraz,whowassittingontheotherside

oftheroom,shookhisheadwordlessly.“It’sonlythreedays’walkfromhere,”Isaid,sensinghisskepticism.“Youaretooweaktowalk,andyoucannotkeepgoing,”hereplied.“Weneed

togetyououtofhere.”“That’snottrue.HowaboutifIrideayak?”“Greg, you cannot play gameswith being sick in theWakhan—there is no

medicinehere,therearenodoctors,thereisnowaytoleavequicklyifyougetworse.ThreeyearsagoIwasinthesamepositionyouareinnow,andIpushed

thingstoohardandalmostdied.Iamnotgoingtoletthathappentoyou.Tarawouldneverforgiveme.”“ButSarfraz,wecanstillmakeit!”AndthenhesaidsomethingthatIhadneverheardduringallmyyearsinAsia.“Iwillnottakeyouanyfurther,Greg,”heremarkedquietly,butinatonethat

madeitclearthattherewouldbenonegotiation.“Irefusetoallowit.WearereturningtoKabul.”

Later,asSarfrazandIdroveoutofthecorridordowntheverysameroadthatwehadjustcomeup,IwasstruckbytheunwelcomethoughtthatafterhavingfailednotoncebuttwicetoreachtheHighPamir,BozaiGumbazwasbeginningtofeelaselusiveandasunreachabletomeasthesummitofK2.ItalsoseemedtomethatthisretreatfromtheWakhanboreadisturbingresemblancetomyconfusedwithdrawalfromK2basecampdowntheBaltoroGlacierduringtheautumnof1993 when I had wandered off the path, spent the night in the open, andeventuallywoundupstumblingintoKorphe.Inseveralrespects,italmostseemedasifthatdebacleandthiswereoneand

thesame.Bothexperienceshad imbuedmewithasenseofabject failureafterhavingfallenshortofanimportantandmeaningfulgoal.Worse,bothforcedmeto confront the realization that I had let down people towhom I hadmade apromise.InthecaseofK2,thepledgeIhadbrokenhadbeenmadetomysisterChrista, in whose memory I had promised to place on the summit an ambernecklacethatshehadonceworn.InthecaseofBozaiGumbaz,Ihadfailedtokeep my word to the Kirghiz. Although we had managed to construct animpressive lineof twenty-oneschools stretching fromFaizabad toSarhad,onefor nearly every village in theWakhan, the single community we had yet toreachwastheoneonwhosebehalfwehadventuredintoAfghanistaninthefirstplace.Nowitlookedasifthepassingofyetanotherwinter(theeleventh!)wasabouttomarkourcontinuedinabilitytofollowthroughontheoriginalvow—thevowthathadmatteredthemost,becauseofallthepeopleattheendoftheroadwhomweweretryingtoserve,nonehadneededourhelpmorethantheKirghiz.Asitturnedout,however,therewerealsosomekeydifferencesbetweenmy

original failure on K2 and what was happening now. Unlike the defeatedmountaineerwhohad takenawrong turnon theBaltoroGlacier sixteenyearsearlierandsubmittedhimself to thekindnessofavillagefilledwithpeoplehehadnevermet,IwasnotamongstrangersandIwasnolongerlost.AndalthoughI knew nothing of it as Sarfraz and I silently completed our drive out of the

Wakhan,despiteallthechallengesinvolvedinthisnearlyimpossiblemissiontoraiseupaschoolontheRooftopoftheWorldtheKirghizwereabouttobegivenexactlywhattheyneededmost.

CHAPTER17

TheLastBestSchool

TheworldhasturnedawayfromAfghanistan.—AHMEDRASHID,Taliban(2001)

YaksheadtoeasternWakhan,Afghanistan

ThefirststormoftheseasonstrucktheeasternWakhanonSeptember5,andtheeight inchesof snow that fell to theground foundSarfrazback inBadakshan,having completed yet another epic sprint through northern Afghanistan. AfterbiddingmefarewellinKabul,hehadflownbacktoFaizabadtoconfirmthattheKamaz andWohid Khanwere on their way through Tajikistan. There he hadcommissionedasecondtrucktohaulanadditionalfortybagsofcement,plustheframesfortheKirghizschool’sdoorsandwindows,throughBaharaktoSarhad.As Kamaz number two started its journey east, Sarfraz then raced ahead toSarhad to see if he could round up a dozen yaks—a considerable challenge

becausethebulkoftheseanimalswerestillgrazingthesummerpastureshighinthemountains andweren’t due to be driven down to the lower elevations foranotherthreeweeks.While Sarfraz concentrated on wrangling his yaks, Wohid Khan was

completinghisarcthroughTajikistanacrossthetopoftheWakhan,andaddingitems onto the load in the back of the truck with each stop. In Faizabad hepurchased an assortment of tools, including trowels, hammers, plumb lines,twine, balingwire, andmason squares. In Ishkoshemhepickedup twodozenshovelsandseveralboxesofdynamite,pluseightwheelbarrows.AftercrossingthebridgeintoTajikistan,heworkedhiswaynorthtoKhurogandtookonthirty-eight bags of cheap Russian cement, whichwould be used in the foundation,along with several bags of calcium. The following day he reached Murgab,whereheconfirmedthatthe190four-inch-diameterpoplartrees,whichhadbeenorderedtwoweeksearlier,werenowbeingstrippedoftheirbarkandsawnintofifteen-foot-longpolesforframingtheschoolroof.Thenheandhisdriverturnedsouth for the Afghan border, where they crossed a barbed-wire fencedemarcatingthenorthernedgeoftheWakhanandfollowedtheoldSoviettanktrackstowardthegrazinglandsoftheKirghiz.Together with their horses, sheep, camels, and yaks, the Kirghiz migrate

acrossanareaoftwothousandsquaremiles.Therearenearlytwothousandofthem,andtheyprefertomoveinsmallbandstoavoidtaxingthegrasslandsoftheHighPamir.Atvarioustimesoftheyear,however, theycongregatearoundthree primary encampments that are arranged in a triangle and separated fromone another by a distance of roughly thirty-five miles. The first of thesecantonments,afewmilessouthoftheTajikborder,liesontheeasternshoreofChakmak Lake, a shallow body of Windex-blue water that received its firstrecorded mention in the writings of the Buddhist pilgrim Hsuan Tsang, whopassed through theWakhanonhisway toChina inA.D.644. (“TheValleyofPamir,”wroteHsuan, “is situated between two snowymountains. The cold isglacialandthewindisfurious.Snowfallseveninspringandsummer,dayandnightthewindrages.Grainandfruitcannotgrowthere,andtreesarefewandfarbetween.Inthemiddleofthevalleyisalargelake,situatedinthecentreoftheworldonaplateauofprodigiousheight.”)Wohid Khan swiftly discovered that the tank track was in terrible shape,

having received almost no traffic during the previous twenty years. It tookanother full day for theKamaz to reach the encampment at the center of theworld,whichtheKirghizcallKaraJilga,andwhichoffersalmostnothingintheway of amenities. The infrastructure here consists of three crumbling cinder-blockbuildings,sometwentyyurts,andacorralthesizeofafootballfieldthatis

surroundedbyalowearthenwalldesignedtoshelterthenomads’animalsduringbadweatherandprotectthemfromwolves.Butwhatistrulyremarkableaboutthis place—and the reason why the Kirghiz flock to it in such numbers eachsummer—is the fecundity of the surrounding pastures: an immense carpet ofthick-bladedgrasssonutritiousthateventheleanestanimalsgrowfatafter tendaysoffeedinguponit.InKaraJilga,thetanktracksended,andtheKamazcompletedthenextfifteen

milesbybushwhackingacross the roadlessmeadowsandbludgeoning throughtheboulder-strewndeltasuntilitcouldgonofurther.Atthispoint,theloadwasdroppedtothegroundandthetruckstartedthelongloopbacktoIshkoshem.Asfor the tools and the cement that had just been deposited, another yak trainwould need to be put together before thesematerials could complete the finalfifteen-milelegtoBozaiGumbaz.Inthemeantime,SarfrazhadmanagedtoassemblehistwelveyaksinSarhad.

After loading themwith thewindow and door frames and the bags of cementthat had just arrived onKamaz number two, he started the arduous three-dayhaulintoBozaiGumbazfromthewest.Atthesametime,yetanothercolumnofyaks—aminitrainofonlysixanimalsthathadalsobeenorganizedbySarfraz—was ferrying a load of twenty-two-gauge roofing panels over the Irshad PassfromPakistan.While all thiswas taking place, Iwas back in theUnited States juggling a

spateofuniversityspeakingengagements.Atoddmomentsduringthesetwenty-hour days, I would duck into the hallway outside a student seminar or pausebeforegoingthroughairportsecuritytophoneSarfrazforaprogressupdate.OnSeptember 10, he reported that his twelve-yak supply train had reachedBozaiGumbazandhewasnowroundingupanadditionalhalfdozenyaksinordertoretrieve the load thatWohidKhan had dumped betweenKara Jilga andBozaiGumbaz.Heanticipatedreturningtotheschoolsiteatroughlythesametimethatthe roofing panels arrived over the Irshad Pass. Once all of thismaterial hadbeendelivered,theconstructioncrewcouldgettoworkinearnest.Everything seemed to be coming together beautifully, so when my phone

beepedonthenightofSeptember15withSarfraz’snumber,Iwasexpectingtoreceivetriumphantnewsthattheprojectwasbackonscheduleandracingtowardcompletion.Instead,heannouncedthathewascallingfromKaraJilga,wherehewas sitting at the bedside of a critically ill and possibly dying Abdul RashidKhan.

Even by the extreme standards ofAfghanistan, a country that has endured farmore than its fairshareofmiseryandmisfortune, it isnoteasy to findastorymore star-crossed than that of Abdul Rashid Khan. Born in the fall of 1937inside a yurt that his mother and aunts had pitched near Chakmak Lake, theKirghiz leaderhadbeenawitness tooneof thedarkestperiodsofhispeople’shistory,aneraofvirtuallyuninterruptedsocialdisruptionandeconomicdecline.In1978,thefortunesoftheKirghizhaddisintegratedwhentheywereforced

to flee their homeland prior to the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan and seekrefugeinPakistan,wheretheyfoundtheclimateandthelivingconditionstobeintolerable.Atthispoint,asrecountedinchapter1,thecommunityhadsplitintotwogroups.The larger factionhaddecided toacceptanoffer forasylumfromtheTurkishgovernment,andin1982theyembarkedonanodysseyknownastheLastExodus to easternAnatolia,where they remain to this day.Meanwhile, asmallergroupofincurablyhomesickKirghizhadoptedtofollowAbdulRashidKhan back to the High Pamir and resume the migratory lifestyle of theirancestors—adecision thatexposed themdirectly to thechaos thathadbynowovertakenAfghanistan.During the final years of the Soviet occupation, Abdul Rashid Khan had

playedadelicategame that involvedcooperatingwith theSoviet army (whichgarrisoned approximately a thousand troops in theHigh Pamir)while secretlychanneling provisions and logistical support to the Afghan mujahadeen. Byblendingdiplomacywithdeception,hewasabletoavoidprovokingtheviciousreprisals forwhich theSovietswere sohated,while simultaneouslybenefitingfromRussiantradeanddevelopmentassistance.ButwhentheoccupationfinallyconcludedandAfghanistan’srivalmujahadeenfactionsplungedthecountryintocivil war, the tiny band of nomads found themselves cut off and, in effect,abandonedbytheirowngovernment.As theTaliban clawed theirway topowerduring themid1990s and seized

controlofmorethan90percentofthecountry,virtuallyallcommunicationandcontactwiththeworldbeyondBadakshanceased.Witheachpassingseason,theKirghizseemedtoslipseveralnotchesdeeperintopovertyandsqualor—aslidethat acceleratedwhenpredatorymujahadeencommanders fromBaharakbeganfloodingtheWakhanwithopiumasameansoffinancingtheirwaragainst theTaliban. By thewinter of 2001,when theU.S.military retaliation against theattacks of 9/11 finally drove the Taliban into exile, theWakhanKirghizwerebuckling under the ravages of pervasive drug addiction, chronic malnutrition,inadequatehealthcare,andeconomicruin.Atthispoint,AbdulRashidKhanfeltthathisonlyoptionwastogobegging.When I first met the Kirghiz leader during the Baharak riots in the fall of

2005, he was returning from the second of three grueling and prohibitivelyexpensive trips from theWakhan toKabul to beseechmembers of theKarzaigovernment for schools, medical care, police protection, veterinary services,road construction, a post office—anything to demonstrate that the Kirghizactually belonged to Afghanistan. On each occasion, elaborate promises weremade and later broken—with a single exception. In the summer of 2007, abattered gray van that had been dispatched through Tajikistan along the sameroute now being traveled by our Kamaz truck had lumbered over the border,followed the tank track across the tundra, and sputtered to a stop in BozaiGumbaz,atwhichpoint thedrivergotoutandwalkedhome.Thevan—whichcarried no medical supplies, no nurse or doctor, and no extra fuel—wasapparently the federal government’s idea of a comprehensive health-careprogramfortheeasternPamirs.Tothisday,theonlyapparentpurposeservedbythisrusting,abandonedvehiclewastooffervisualevidenceofjusthowlittletheKirghizmatteredtoanyone.By the summer of 2008,when I had cut shortmy trip toBozaiGumbaz in

order to have tea with the president of Pakistan, the Kirghiz were growingdesperate. By now, the only thing that enabled them to survive the relentlessPamirwinterswas theassistanceof their soleoutsideally—WohidKhan,whoused his Border Security pickups to deliver sacks of flour, rice, salt, tea, andclothing each fall before the snows arrived. Even with this aid, however, thenomads were playing touch-and-go with starvation and were dangerouslyvulnerableto illness.Thetippingpointhadfinallyarrivedduringthemarathonwinterof2008-9,whentheKirghizbegantodieinunprecedentednumbers.Bythe time spring arrived, twenty-two people had perished, fourteen of themwomenwhopassedawayinthemidstofeitherpregnancyorchildbirth.Amonga population of less than nine hundred adults, losses like these wereunsustainable. In addition to saddling the eastern Wakhan with probably thesingleworstmaternalandinfantmortalityratesanywhereonearth,thesedeathsupset the ratio between males and females—an imbalance that, thanks to thenumber of unborn children who had also been lost, would take more than adecadetoredress.Twomonths later, as the communitywas still reeling from these events, an

Afghan military helicopter had clattered above the alpine grasslands, toucheddown inBozaiGumbaz, anddepositedapoliticiannamedAbdullahAbdullah,who spent several hours shakinghands and asking for everyone’s votes in theupcoming presidential election. Yet despite the effort that had been made tosolicit theKirghiz’sparticipation,whenelectionday finally arrivedonAugust20,2009,not a singleballotboxarrived in thePamirs.Regardlessofwhether

thisfailurestemmedfromcorruption,bureaucraticincompetence,orthefactthatthefederalelectionofficialshadsimplyforgottenabouttheKirghiz,thismarkedthesecondconsecutiveelectioninwhichAbdulRashidKhanandhispeoplehadbeendeprivedoftheirrighttovote.(IntheOctober2004presidentialelection,aballotboxdidactuallymakeit to thePamirs—butontheflightbacktoKabul,thehelicopterthatwastransportingtheboxcrashedinthemountainsandalloftheballotswerelost.)Among a host of other concerns, the ballot-box debacle of 2009 seemed to

suggestthehumiliatingpossibilitythattheAfghangovernment’sapathytowardtheKirghizmighthaveburgeonedtothepointwherenoteventheirvotesweredeemed to have value. Which, in turn, provoked some bleak and troublingquestionsfromtheelders towhomAbdulRashidKhanturnedwhenhewasinneedof counsel.Was there any reason, these eldersdemanded,why the entirecommunityshouldnotpullupstakesthefollowingspring,gathertogethertheiryurts and their animals, and embark on aFinalExodus? If the government ofAfghanistanneitherwantednorcaredaboutthemanylonger,wasitpossiblethatsomewhere in China, Tajikistan, or Kirghizstan they might be able to findsomeonewhodid?Andatthispoint,didtheyreallyhaveanythinglefttolose?

DuringthesecondweekofSeptember,thehardshipsandthedisappointmentsofthepreviousyearscaughtupwiththeagingKirghizcommandhan,andhishealthtookasevereturnfortheworse.WhenwordthatAbdulRashidKhanhadtakento his bed reached Bozai Gumbaz, Sarfraz mounted Kazil, his shaggy whitehorse,andsetoffonamidnight race toKaraJilga.Despite the fact thatKazilhadbeengivenalmostnorestinmorethanaweek,hecompletedthethirty-miletripbydawn.Whenhorseandriderstumbled intoKaraJilga,Sarfrazfoundseveraldozen

distressedKirghizgatheredinsideandoutsideAbdulRashidKhan’syurt.Lyingbeneathfiveorsixblankets, thestrickenleaderexhibitedtheclassicsymptomsofcongestiveheartfailure:Hisskinwasclammy,hispulsewasracing,andhisbreathing was labored. None of this prevented Abdul Rashid Khan fromregisteringhisintensedispleasureatseeingSarfraz.“Why did you come here when you are supposed to be working on our

school?”hecroaked.“Iheardthatyouwereill,”repliedSarfraz,“andIneededtofindouthowyou

weredoing.”“Yourdutydoesnotinvolvefussingoverme!IfyouarenotinBozaiGumbaz,

howisourschoolgoingtogetfinishedbeforewinter?!”

Asheabsorbedthisdressing-down,Sarfrazrealizedthatthetasktowhichwehadcommittedoverselveshadsuddenlyexpandedtoembraceanewdimensionofurgencyand import.Followingas itdidon theheelsof thepreviousyear’stragediesandbetrayals,theprojectatBozaiGumbazhadnowbecomemorethanjustaschoolhouse.Inadditiontonurturingasenseofhopeforthefutureofthiscommunity,itwouldofferperhapstheonlycompellingreason,inthespringof2010, for theKirghiz to refrain from abandoning their home and surrenderingthemselvestoapermanentdiaspora.Tofulfillthatrole,however,theschoolfirsthadtobefinished—andtimewasrunningout.The following morning, as Kazil was being watered and saddled, Sarfraz

calledmeonhissatphoneandlaidoutwhatwasatstake.“Thesituationhereisveryurgent,”hesaid.“Canyouhelp?”Myfirstimpulse

wastodropwhatIwasdoingandflytoAfghanistanimmediately,butIquicklyrealized thatmypresence therewouldhavesolvednothing. Instead, Iplacedacall toWohidKhan,whobegan reachingout to his friendswithin theAfghanandTajikmilitariestofindoutiftheremightbeawaytoextractAbdulRashidKhan and take him to a hospital. No luck. Then I put the same question toColonel Ilyas Mirza at Askari Aviation in Islamabad. His response: Withoutformalpermission, theclosestpoint towhichahelicopter fromPakistancouldfly was a six-day journey by yak from Kara Jilga. Finally, I tried KeyoumMohammed, a friend from Kashgar in Xinjiang Province, who organizedclimbing expeditions on the north side ofK2 andwho had excellent contactswithintheChinesemilitary.Keyoumtoocameupempty.Outofoptions,IdidtheonethingIhadbeenhopingtoavoid:Iopenedupmy

laptop and composed an e-mail that formally—and quite shamelessly—attemptedtoleveragemybuddingrelationshipsattheveryhighestlevelsoftheAmericanmilitary.Mye-mailwas addressed to twoofficers:MajorGeneralCurtisScaparrotti,

theU.S.commanderinchargeofeasternAfghanistan;andAdmiralEricOlson,headofU.S.SpecialOperationsCommandbasedatMacDillAirForceBaseinFlorida. Both men had a personal connection with the Central Asia Institute:ScaparrottihadaccompaniedAdmiralMikeMullentothePanjshirValleyinJulyfortheinaugurationofourgirls’schoolinPushgur,andOlsonhadmadeThreeCups of Tea mandatory reading for every Special Forces soldier deploying toAfghanistan.AfterexplainingthatIhadmadeapromisetomyselfthatIwouldneverburden theU.S.militarybyaskingforhelp, I laidout thereasonswhyIwasnowbreakingthatpromiseandprovidedafewdetailsaboutAbdulRashidKhan’slocationandcondition.ThenIgottotheheartofthematter.“We also are nearly finished building the first schoolhouse for theKirghiz,

anditwouldmeantheworldtoAbdulRashidKhantobeabletolivetoseeitopenedbywinter,” Iwrote inmye-mail. “I’msure this is an impossible task,insane request, and not possible, but I’ll ask anyhow: We would be forevergrateful if there was a way to get a helicopter to the following location tomedivacAbdulRashidKhantogethimtoahospitalinKabulorBagram.Pleaseexcusetheforwardnessofthisrequest,butwe’vetriedallothercommercialandAfghangovernmentoptionsandcomeupempty-handed.”Atroughlythesametime,IcontinuedpushingaseparaterequesttotheU.S.

MilitaryatBagramAirbase toconsiderdispatchingaChinook into theeasternWakhaninordertogatheruptheremainingloadsofbuildingsuppliesanddropthemdirectlyintoBozaiGumbazsothatconstructioncouldbeginimmediately.My hope was that the Chinook might serve as a kind of airborne insurancepolicy: If the initial medivac appeal failed to bear fruit, perhaps the ChinookcouldscoopupAbdulRashidKhanbeforereturningtoBagram,therebykillingtwobirdswithonestone.BothOlsonandScaparrotti respondedswiftlywithgenerousassurances that

theywouldanalyzetheiroptionsanddoeverythingtheycould.Latethatnight,Olsonsentane-mailtoGeneralDavidPetraeus,headofU.S.CentralCommand,to inquire about thepossibilityofgettingamedivac intoKara Jilga forAbdulRashid Khan. The following afternoon, Petraeus forwarded Olson’s e-mail toGeneralStanleyMcChrystal,theISAF(InternationalSecurityAssistanceForce)and U.S Forces Afghanistan commander in Kabul. “Stan,” he wrote, “soundslike a chance to solidify a key relationship, but know it’s a very long way.Doable?Thx—Dave.”Several hour later, McChrystal forwarded the e-mail to one of his key

subordinates. “I put great stock inwhatGregMortenson says,” he urged, “solet’slookhardatthepossibility.”With thewheels of theworld’smost sophisticatedmilitarymachine now in

motion,IphonedSarfraz.“GetwordtoAbdulRashidKhanandtellhimthathelpisontheway.”

IfthefinalchapterofthissagahadbeenwritteninHollywood,itwouldbeeasyenoughtopredictwhatwouldhavehappenednext.Thefollowingmorning,thedoublerotorsofatwelve-tonChinook—thesamemachinethathadperformedsomanymagnificentmissions inAzadKashmir following the2005earthquake—wouldhavespookedthelivingdaylightsoutofeverygoat,sheep,horse,camel,andyakinKaraJilga.Havingalreadydepositedtherestofthebuildingmaterials

atBozaiGumbaz,theChinookwouldhavescoopedupAbdulRashidKhanandmadeabeelinefor thehospital inBagram.Thedramatic imageof thechopperrecedingover theridgelinesof theHinduKushwouldhaveofferedapowerfulsymboloftheuniquepartnershipthathademergedinthemostremotecornerofthe Wakhan between ordinary Muslims, the American military, and a tinyorganizationdedicatedtothemissionofpromotingfemaleliteracy.Alas,however,thiswasnotHollywoodbutAfghanistan:aplacewherelifeis

oftenmessy,confusing,andunfair—andwhereeventsalmostneverconformtothescriptthathasbeenlaidout.Sohere’swhathappenedinstead.A flurry of e-mails flew back and forth among the generals and their

subordinates asmembers of the regional command center in charge of easternAfghanistanmappedouttheoptions.Then,onThursday,September17,GeneralMcChrystalreceivedamessagefromanaviationadviseronhisassessmentteamexplainingthatthingswerenotlookinggood.TheGPScoordinatespinpointingAbdul Rashid Khan’s precise location (which had been transmitted throughSarfraz’s sat phone) indicated that the extraction point for a potential rescuemissionlaynomorethan“a9-ironshotfromChina”—closeenoughtoahighlysensitive international border to raise concerns about creating a diplomaticincident.Equallyproblematic,theabsenceofanynearbyfueldepotsplacedKaraJilga at the extreme edge of the helicopters’ reach, which would increase thelevel of risk significantly. And finally, after reviewing Abdul Rashid Khan’ssymptoms,severalmilitarysurgeonsfeltthat,inlightofhisage,therewaslittlethatcouldbedoneforhimmedically.Aday later, I receivedane-mail fromMajorGeneralScaparrotti explaining

that the mission had been deemed too difficult and risky to justify, and thuswould not go forward. “I’m sorry that we could not be of more assistance,”wrote the general. “The flight from Bagram would have been multi-day andhigh-riskgivenaltitudeandlackofbasingandfuelenroute.MyprayersarewithCommandhanAbdulRashidKhan.”ThiswasnottheoutcomeIhadhopedfor,butasIreadthegeneral’smessage

I also understood that it was the correct decision. Although the assessmentteam’s calculus may have sounded somewhat cold, it underscored the mostimportantquestiontoask:WoulditberighttoplacethelivesoftwoAmericanhelicoptercrewsonthelinewhileriskinganinternationalincidentonbehalfofapatientwhowasprobablybeyondhelp?Inmyheart,Iknewthattheanswerwasno—adecision,it turnedout, thatwasemphaticallyendorsedbyAbdulRashidhimself. “Pleaseknow thatCommandhanKhanalsoknows that all ofyoudidyour best in consideration of him, and he wishes to extend his profoundgratitude,”Iwrotebacktothegeneral.

As I sentoff this final e-mail, Ihoped thatmysincereexpressionof thanksconcealedmyequally sinceredisappointmentover adecision thatneverthelessseemedtohighlightthewretchedfactthatinAfghanistan,nothingeverseemstoworkoutthewayit’ssupposedto.WhatIdidnotfullyunderstandatthetime,however,wasthateverynowand

then in Afghanistan, the strands of messiness and confusion and unfairnessmanagetobraidthemselvestogetherand,inthemostimprobableandmiraculousway, offer up a radiant affirmation of possibility and hope that transcendsanythingthatHollywood,onitsbestday,couldeverhopetoimagine.Which,inanutshell,isexactlythewaythisstoryends.

Epilogue

Thebirdsaregentledinmyth.Intimesofhardshiptheyleavetheshrineforhavensoftheirown,andtheirreturnisapledgeofpeace.Shouldagreypigeonjointhem,itturnswhitewithinfortydays.Andeveryseventhbirdisaspirit.

—COLINTHUBRON,ShadowoftheSilkRoad

KirghizchildrenatBozaiGumbaz,Wakhan

AfterthesnowfromthestormonSeptember5melted,theweatherstabilizedandtheentirePamirhungsuspendedinagoldenautumnalinterregnumwhilewintermade its final preparations. The sunny days and the cool nights created idealbuilding conditions while lacing the air with a fierce sense of urgency. Eachmorning when the Kirghiz awoke, they gazed out at the surrounding wall oftwenty-thousand-foot peaks and observed that the snow line had crept fartherdowntowardthevalleyfloor.Bythemiddleofthemonth,thelineofwhitewasatsixteenthousandfeet;adayslater,itdescendedtofourteenthousand.Whenitreachedthevalleyfloor,thegamewouldbeover.On the nineteenth, I called Sarfraz to let him know that therewould be no

helicopters, and found him wrestling with yet another snafu. By now he hadcompleted the job of ferrying all thematerial fromWohidKhan’s first supplydump toBozaiGumbaz, but a second load had been deposited at yet anotherlocation—anencampmentcalledGozkhon,whichtheKirghizusemainlyinthefall,on thewestern sideofChakmakLakeabout fivemiles southof theTajikborder.Itwasathree-dayjourneyfromGozkhontoBozaiGumbaz,andwiththelimitednumberofyaksavailabletoSarfraz,itcouldtakeamonthtotransfertheentireload,whichincludedthefinalbagsofcementandthe190woodenpolesforframingtheroof.Atthatrate,theschoolwouldneverbefinishedintime.Meanwhile,AbdulRashidKhanwasmiredintroublesofhisown.Aswordof

his illness spread,menandwomenallacross thePamirhaddroppedwhatevertheyweredoingandbegunwalkingorridingtowardKaraJilgainordertopaytheirrespectsandoffertheirsupport.Theimpulsebehindthisconvergencewastouchingandappreciated,but itmeant thatmanpowerwasbeingdrained fromBozaiGumbazpreciselywhen theneed for itwasgreatest—aconundrum thatAbdulRashidfoundintolerable.“Thisisnotimetositaroundwatchinganoldman die,” he railed at his well-wishers, making no effort to contain hisfrustration.“Itisworthlessforyoutobeherewhenyoucouldbehelpingtobuildourfuture!”Theonlypeacetheailingleaderhadwasatnight,whenhisfamilywouldlift

himupandcarryhimoutsidetheyurtsothathecouldliebeneaththeskyandgazeupatthestarsthathadonceguidedhisancestorsdownfromthesteppesofMongolia.Andperhapsitwasthere,inthewritingoftheconstellations,thathefoundtheanswerhewaslookingfor.Thenextmorning,AbdulRashid summoned everyone together and laid out

thesituation.DespitethebestintentionsoftheAmericanmilitary,heannounced,there would be no helicopters to take him to a hospital or to shuttle theremaining building supplies to the construction site. As far as his health wasconcerned,hewascontenttoaccepthisfateandgivehimselfovertothewillofAllah.Buttheschoolwasanothermatter.“We live at the edge of theworld, and since nohelp is going to arrive,we

have no choice but to do this ourselves,” he declared. “This school is ourpriority.At thispoint,wehavealmostno resources left.But starting from thismoment,everythingthatwehavewillbefocusedononegoal.Inshallah,wearegoingtofinishwhatwehavestarted.”Withthat,heissuedanedictorderingeveryavailableyakintheHighPamir

sentimmediatelytoGozkhon.Thefastesthorseswereroundedupandsaddled,and riders streamed out across the grasslands in all directions. In less thantwenty-four hours, long lines of shaggy black beasts were shuffling from the

surroundingmountainstowardthewesternshoreofChakmakLake.When Sarfraz called on his sat phone to tellme about theKirghiz leader’s

proclamation,Ithoughtitwasasmartstrategythatmighthelptonudgetheoddsbackinfavorofpolishingoff theschool in time.Butwhat impressedmeevenmoreweretheselflessnessandtheresolutionthatlaybehindthismove.Havingalreadysquanderedhispersonalfortuneandhishealthinafruitlesscampaigntoimprovethewelfareofhispeople,AbdulRashidKhanwasnowdeterminedtospend the last chunk of capital he had left—themoral force of a dyingman’sfinalwish—asameansofrallyingthemembersofhiscommunityaroundagoallargerthanthemselves.Itwasanexemplarydemonstrationofleadership,aswellacompellingobjectlessoninthenobility,tenacity,andgracethatistobefoundamongthepeopleattheendoftheroad.Andityieldedsomeimpressiveresults.BySeptember21,forty-threeyakshadarrivedinGozkhon,wheretheywere

loadedwithcementand lumber,anddriven in thedirectionofBozaiGumbaz.NooneinthePamirhadeverseenanythingquitelikethis.Itwasthelongestyaktraininlivingmemory,andmorewereontheirway.Meanwhile,more than sixtyKirghizmen had rushed toBozaiGumbaz and

flungthemselvesintothetaskofassistingtheeightmasonsfromtheCharpursonValleywhoweredirectingoperations.Theyworkedfourteenhoursadayhaulingwater, mixing cement, and roughing out the roof frame, pausing only at atmidday for lunch thatwas laidoutby thewomen in theopen. Judgingby thedescriptionsIreceivedfromSarfraz,thescenelookedlikeanAmishbarn-raisingatthecrossroadsofAsia.Atthecenterofitallwasthemanwiththebrokenhand.BytracingtheGPS

waypoints registered by Sarfraz’s sat phone, it was clear to me that he waseverywhereatonce:needlingtheyakherderssouthofChakmakLaketomovetheir animals faster; galloping off to the school to harass the masons; thendashingbacktoGozkhontosupervisetheformationofasecondyaktrain,andthen a thirdone after that. It took little effort forme to imaginehimglancingtowardthemountainsinthedistance,registeringthefactthatthesnowlinehaddescended another hundred yards, and mercilessly thrashing poor, exhaustedKazilintoyetanothergallopwiththetrekkingpoleheusedforahorsewhip.Thenoneeveningatabout7:30P.M., thephoneranginBozeman.Tarawas

outside sitting on the front porchwith our dog Tashi on her lap,Khyberwaspracticing the piano in the living room, and Amira was doing her mathhomeworkonthekitchentable.“So?”Iasked.“Noproblem,sir—theschoolisfinished.”IglancedatthecalendaronmydeskthatsitsnexttothephotographofAbdul,

the orphan mechanic who had repaired our radiator hose on the way toBadakshanduringoneofourfirsttripsintonorthernAfganistan.ItwasMonday,September28.Nearly a decade after the original promise had beenmade toAbdulRashid

Khan’shorsemen,thecovenanthadfinallybeenfulfilled.

I am told that in the heart of a vast, bowl-shaped valley deep inside theHighPamir where the sheep and the goats spend their summers grazing by thehundreds as far as the eye can see, there is a cold blue stream thatmeandersthroughemeraldmeadowsuntilitspillsintoasmalllakethatcarriesthecolorofthesky,andthatthesurfaceofthislakeandthesurroundinggrasslandsshiverinunisonbeneaththemovementofawindthatneverstopsblowing.Abouttwohundredyardsfromtheedgeofthatlake,Iamtoldthattheground

risesgently and thaton the south-facing slopeof this incline,positionedat ananglethatenablesittoabsorbasmuchsunshineaspossible,therestandsafour-roomschoolhousewithanearthen floorandwalls thataremadeof stone.Thewindowsanddoorframehavebeenneatlypaintedinred,andifyoustandinthatdoorway and stare into the distance, apparently you can see the tops ofPakistan’sHinduKushtothesouthandChina’sTienShanrangetotheeast,andifyouwalkaroundtothebackoftheschool,theslopesofTajikistan’sBigPamirrangewilldominatethehorizonlinetothenorth.AsIwritetheselinesatthebeginningofOctober,Iamtoldthatwewillhave

nofurthernewsofAbdulRashidKhan’scondition—whetherhelivedorwhetherhedied—untilnextspring,whenthepassesthroughtheHinduKushreopenandwhen Sarfraz,whomust now saddle upKazil and return over the Irshad to afamilyintheCharpursonthathasnotseenhiminninemonths,canonceagainride north to the Pamir. In the meantime—during the six months when thegrasslands lieburiedbeneath thesnowandallconnectionbetween theKirghizandtheoutsideworldhasbeensevered—Iamtoldthattherewillberoughly200childrenwhowillstudyattheschool;andthattheskillstheywilllearnandtheideastowhichtheywillbeexposedmayusherinchanges—somegood,othersbad—whichnoonecanforesee.I’m told that Abdul Rashid Khan’s people have accepted this uncertainty

becausetheyunderstandthat themindofachild is like thesurfaceof the lakebesidetheschool—andbecausetheyknowthattryingtocontaintheflamesthatarelitbyliteracycanbeasfutileasdroppingastoneontothesurfaceofthatlakeandattemptingtoholdbacktherippleswithone’shands.

I’mtoldallofthesethings,mostlybySarfraz,becauseIhaveneverbeenabletocompletethejourneytoBozaiGumbazandseethisspotwithmyowneyes—althoughapartofmeishopefulthatthismaybepossiblesomeday.Itwouldbeenormouslygratifyingforme to finallystand in thecenterof theworld,at thecruxoftheoldSilkRoad,andseehowtheflowerthatwasplantedinthefurthestcorner of our Afghan garden is faring. Among the range of emotionalpossibilities, I imagine that I might findmyself bathed in a deeply satisfyingsenseofvindicationandprideoverwhathasbeenachieved.Andthatisalsowhyanother part of me suspects that it might actually be best if I never wind upgettingtovisittheplaceatall.Likeitornot,yousee,myreasonsforwantingtogetafirst-handglimpseof

thatgemofaschoolintheHighPamirareprobablynotcompatiblewiththerolethatIplayedinitscompletion.Becausewhenitreallycomesdowntoit,asidefromtheservicethatIperformedasakindofone-manyaktrainthatfaithfullytransported the donations of ordinary Americans to the far side of the world,whatwas accomplished at Bozai Gumbaz had nothingwhatsoever to dowithme.Afactthatforatime,Imustnowadmit,wasnoteasyformetoaccept.When I first received the news that a helicoptermission to evacuateAbdul

RashidKhanandferrytheremainingbuildingsuppliestoBozaiGumbazwouldnotbegoingforward,Iwassoterriblydismayedatthewaythingshadworkedout.Afterall,IhadtriedsohardtoreachtheKirghiznotoncebuttwice,andonboth occasions had failed. Now the military had done the same. And it wasundoubtedlymydisappointmentovertheseeventsthatblindedmetotheratherinconvenienttruththatasimportantasitmayhavebeenforustotry,itwasevenmoreimportantforustofail.OnlyafewdayslaterdidIbegintocomprehendthatwhattheKirghizneeded

was something infinitely more precious and indispensible than whateverassistancemight havebeen renderedbyme, theAmericanmilitary, or anyoneelsewhowasnotpartoftheircommunity.Inplaceofourhelp,whattheyneededmost was the sense of empowerment that comes from knowing that they haddoneitontheirown.AndbyGod’sgrace,theyhadachievedthatinspades.

Of the 131 central Asia Institute schools that are now scattered throughoutPakistan andAfghanistan, not a single one of them ismore remote or standsuponhighergroundthanthelittlefour-roomstructurethattheWakhanKirghiz,inpartnershipwithSarfrazKhan,erectedonthegrassyslopenexttotheshallowlakein thecenterof theBam-I-Dunyaat12,480feet.Andasidefromourveryfirst project inKorphe, no school is closer tomy heart than the one inBozai

Gumbaz, because none was carved so directly and so indisputably from thebedrockofhumandignityandself-worth.Bysucceedingatanendeavorinwhichagovernment,anarmy,andanNGO

hadfailed,abandofimpoverishednomadswereabletoconstruct,ontheloftiestandmostdistantcorneroftheirrepublic,somethingevengreaterthanaschool.They had raised a beacon of hope that called out not only to the Kirghizthemselves, but also to every village and town inAfghanistanwhere childrenyearnforeducation,andwherefathersandmothersdreamofbuildingaschoolwhose doors will open not only to their sons but also to their daughters.Including—andperhapsespecially—thoseplaces thataresurroundedbya ringofmenwith Kalashnikovs who help to sustain the grotesque lie that flingingbatteryacidintothefaceofagirlwholongstostudyarithmeticissomehowinkeepingwiththeteachingsoftheKoran.ThankstowhattheKirghizmanagedtopulloff,nocitizenofAfghanistancan

now look toward theHigh Pamirwithout pondering the legend of the raggedcompanyofhorsemenwhorodeoverachainofmountainsinsearchofsomeonewhocouldbuildthemaschool—andwhowindedupfulfillingthepromisethattheyhadbeengivenbyfinishingthatschoolwiththeirownhands.Todaythatlegendisinscribedonthestonesthatwereusedtobuildthewalls

of the school, and as thewater falls out of the sky and over those stones, thewordsofthelegendarecarrieddownfromthemountainsandintothefieldsandgardensandorchardsofAfghanistan.Andasthewaterandthewordsrushpast,whocanfailtoturntohisneighborandwhisper,withhumilityandawe—ifthisiswhattheweakest,theleastvalued,themostneglectedamongusarecapableofachieving,trulyisthereanythingwecannotdo?Despiteeverythingthathasbefallenus,dowenotcontinuetoholdthedestiny

of this shattered and magnificent nation, together with the future of all ourchildren—girlsandboysalike—inthepalmofourhands?And knowing all of this, is it not time to reclaim the things that have been

takenfromus?Theanswertothosequestionsrevealsthepowerthatalegendcanwield—and

nooneishauntedbythistruthmoreprofoundlyorwithgreateranguish,perhaps,thanthosetowhomtheprivilegesofeducationandliteracyhavebeendenied.IfIcouldsomehowhavefoundawaytosharethestoryofthetinyfour-room

schoolhouse thatwasnailed togetherupon theRoofof theWorldwithmyoldmentorandfriend,HajiAli—amanwhoneverlearnedtoreadorwrite,andwhonowliesinhisgraveundertheapricottreesnexttothebarleyfieldsofKorphe—Ibelievehewouldhavenoddedwithapproval.Hewasamanwhounderstoodthevirtueofsmallthings.

Acknowledgments

Today, there are over 120 million school-aged children on this planet whoremain illiterate and are deprived of education due to gender discrimination,poverty,exploitation,religiousextremism,andcorruptgovernments.It ismyhopeandprayer thatover thenextdecadewewilldoeverything in

our power to achieve universal literacy and provide education for all thesechildren, two-thirdsofwhomaregirls.NothingwouldmakememorepleasedthanifStonesintoSchoolsbecameacatalysttoreachthisgoal.It would take another book of the same length as this one to properly

acknowledge the thousands of good people who were a vital part of thisphenomenal journey over the last sixteen years. I regret that I cannotacknowledgeeachoneofyouinthislimitedspace.Two dedicated writers put in literally thousands of hours to help me bring

Stones into Schools into the world. Thank you, Mike Bryan, for yourperseveranceinworkingnearlyeverydayforanentireyeartoresearchandlaythegroundwork for thisbook.And thankyou,KevinFedarko, forhelpingmefindthemostcompellingwaytoconstructthisnarrative,andforyourmarathoneffortsoveronehundredconsecutivesixteen-hourdaystobringthisbooktothefinish line in time for aDecember 2009 publication.What ismost impressiveaboutbothofyou isyourabsolute lackofegoandyourhumilityandgraceasyoupassionately steered this story intoprint.Withoutyourdoggedefforts andbrilliantskills,StonesintoSchoolsneverwouldhavehappened.Itoastyouwitha cup of the rancid yak-butter salt tea that we shared in the Wakhan andBaltistan.Baf!TotheeightincrediblewomenwhomakeupthebackboneofourU.S.Central

AsiaInstitutehometeam—JenniferSipes(operationsdirector),LauraAnderson,Michelle Laxson, Lynsie Gettel, Lindsay Glick, Christine Leitinger, SadiaAshraf, and Genevieve Chabot—there are no adequate words to express mygratitudeforyourquiet,patientsupportinrunningagrassrootsorganizationthathasgrownexponentiallyoverthelastthreeyears.ThanksmustalsobegiventoKarin Ronnow, Joel Kaleva, Stefani Freese, CPA, Doug Chabot, TeruKuwayama,GretchenBreuner,ShannonGannon,BillyDurney,TauheedAshraf,andthemanyotherswhokeepCAIafloatwhenweneedtoreachoutbeyondourcapacity.Thankyouto theauthorswhohavebeenabighelpandinspirationover the

years.These includeKhaledHosseini (andhiswifeRoya), authorofTheKite

RunnerandAThousandSplendidSuns,whowrotetheforewordtothisbookandisafellowhumanitarianhelpingrefugeeswithhisKhaledHosseiniFoundation(www.khaledhosseinifoundation.org);JaneGood-all,authorofReasonforHope,who is a dear friend and has and inspiredmillions of kids with herRoots&Shoots program (www.rootsandshoots.org); Thomas Friedman, the author andNewYorkTimescolumnistwhohastakenastronginterestinourwork;NicholasKristofandSherylWuDunn,authorsoftherecentlypublishedbookHalftheSky,who share a belief that the empowerment of women can change the world;FareedZakaria,authorofThePost-AmericanWorld,whobelievesthateducationis themostpowerfulweapon forpeace;AhmedRashid, authorofTaliban andDescentintoChaos,forsharinghisencyclopedicknowledgefrommadrassastomujahadeen; Rory Stewart, author of The Places in Between, who helps theAfghan people with his Turquoise Mountain charity(www.turquoisemountain.org); Doug Stanton, author ofHorse Soldiers; NazifShahrani,authorofTheKirghizandWakhiofAfghanistan;andKathyGannon,authorofIIsforInfidel.ThankyoutothehundredsofpublicandprivateschoolsanduniversitiesthatI

have had the privilege of visiting over the last decade, many of which haveadopted Three Cups of Tea as a first-year experience, honors program, orcommonread.Someofthemostrewardingexperiencesofmylifehavebeentheenlightening exchanges I’ve hadwith the students from these institutions andtheirteachers.Youaremyrealheroes!Tothedozensofyoungadultsandchildrenwhohavegoneoutontheirown

and started incredible nonprofits, you are an inspiration. These includeGarretand Kyle Weiss (www.fundafield.com), Ashley Shuyler (www.africaid.org),Zach Bonner (www.littleredwagonfoundation.com), Anna Dodson(www.peruvianhearts.org), Cambridge (Mass.) elementary-school students(www.cambcamb.org), and Farmington (Mich.) and Danbury (Conn.) students(www.schoolinsudan.org).Thankyoualsotothededicatedsoldierswhoserveourcountry,oftenatgreat

riskandforextendedperiodsoftimeawayfromtheirfamilies.Overthelasttwoyears, it’s been apriviledge tovisit and speak at dozensofmilitarybases andinstitutionsandallthemilitaryacademies.ThankyoutoAdmiralMikeMullen,chairmanoftheJointChiefsofStaff,whotooktimeouttoinaugurateoneofourgirls’ schools in Afghanistan—and to his wife, Deborah, who first put ThreeCupsofTeainhishands.A salute also to the following military commanders and their wives, for

sharingacup(andmore)oftea,andforinspiringme:GeneralDavidPetraeus,CENTCOM commander; Admiral Eric Olson, SOCOM commander; General

Stanley McChrystal, ISAF/ U.S. commander in Afghanistan; Naval ViceAdmiral ThomasKilcline, Naval Aviation commander;MajorGeneralMastinRobe-son,MARSOCcommander;General JamesConway,U.S.MarineCorpscommandant; Colonel Stephen Davis, MARSOC deputy commander; MajorJasonNicholson,ForeignAreaOfficer—Africa;CaptainRichardButler,chiefofstaff, Naval Air Forces; Major General John Macdonald and Major GeneralCurtisScaparrotti,bothcommandersinAfghanistan;andalltheofficers,NCOs,andenlistedmenandwomenwhoserveundertheirleadership.I alsowant to especially thankCaptain JohnKirby at the Pentagon for his

encouragementandlastbutnotleast,ColonelChristopherKolenda,whohadtheforesighttoforgeaheadandfirstreachouttotheeldersofAfghanistan.Insixteenyears,we’veneverusedadollaroffederalgovernmentorUSAID

funds tobuildaschoolorbuyapen.ButIdooweadeepdebtofgratitude toRepresentativeMaryBono (R-Calif.)who taughtme how to advocate for thecause of girls’ education in Pakistan and Afghanistan. Thanks also toRepresentativeEarlPomeroy(D-N.D.),RepresentativeJeanSchmidt(R-Ohio),Representative Denny Rehberg (R-Mont.), Senator Max Baucus (D-Mont.),Senator Olympia Snowe (R-Maine), Senator Mark Udall (D-Colo.), SenatorRichard Lugar (R-Ind.) Senator BenCardin (D-Md.), Senator JohnKerry (D-Mass.)andhiswifeTheresaHeinz,andalsoPresidentBillClinton,FirstLadyLauraBush,BarbaraandGeorgeBushSr.,SecretaryofStateColinPowell,andJusticeSandraDayO’Connor.Imustthanksevenindividualswhotouchedmylifeandwhosharemyalma

mater, the University of South Dakota: Tom and Meredith Brokaw and theirincredible family,Lars andArlowOverskei,DonandCarolBirkeland, andAlNeuharth,founderofUSAToday.Asahumanitarian,Ialsothankthededicatedaidworkerswhofightilliteracy,

disease,poverty,wars,environmentaldegradation,human-rightsviolations,andmore,oftenagainststaggeringodds.Thank you to Westside Elementary School in River Falls, Wisconsin, for

starting our children’s “Pennies for Peace” (P4P) program in 1994, and to theover4,500schoolswhonowparticipateinP4Paroundtheworld—youareourrealhopeforglobalpeace.Thanks to all the incredible support from the book clubs, women’s groups,

places of workship, civic organizations, veterans’ associations, the AAUW(Association of American University Women), bookstores, libraries, andeveryoneelsewhohelpedbothinmakingThreeCupsofTeasuchasuccessandinspreadingthemessageabouttheimportanceofgirls’education.For their realistic, rock-solid support, I also thank: GeorgeMcCown, Talat

Jabbar, Julia Bergman, John and Ginny Meisenbach, Joy Durghello, RobertIrwin, Nancy Block, Anne Beyersdorfer, Ben Rice, Charley Shimansky, BillGalloway,Dr.LouisReichardt,JimWickwire,SteveSwenson,Dr.AndrewandLisaMarcus,David andEunice Simonson,Ms.Mary Peglar (an octogenarianandmyfirstteacherinAfrica,whoisnowintheUKandstillwritessea-shippedletters to me), Jeni and Conrad Anker, Jennifer Wilson, Vince and LouiseLarsen,Lila,BrentandKimBishop,JonKrakauer,JohnandAnneRigby,TonyO’Brien,Mark(andSueIberra)Jenkins,KeithHamburg,RickyGolmulka,JeffMcMillian, Andrew Lawson, Susan Roth, Nick and Linken Berryman, SalmaHasanAli,SameeraandZahidBaig,SaraThomson,JohnGuza,TomandJudyVaughan, Sara and SohaibAbbasi,Angelina Jolie, PamHeibert,MD, the lateRayRoberts (theoriginalacquiringeditorofThreeCupsofTea), JeanHoerni,Patsy Collins, Deidre Eitel, Jim andMargaret Beyersdorfer, Paula Lloyd, andJoseForquet.Thankyou tomyIslamicmentorSaeedAbbasRisvi sahib,who is themost

humbleman I’ve knownandhas patiently taughtme about the true virtues ofIslam,thatitisafaithoftolerance,justice,andpeace.MayAllah’sblessingsbewithyouandyourfamilyalways.InAfghanistanandPakistanmyspecialthanksgotoHajiYoussef,HajiFida

Mohammed Nashad, Brigadier General Bashir Baz, Colonel Ilyas Mirza,Captain Wassim Ifthakhar Janjua, Faruq Wardak Sadhar Khan, Wohid Khan,GhulamNoristani, Abdul Rashid Khan,Wali Boz Ahmadi, Jan Agha,MasterHussein,ShahIsmaelKhan,TashiBoi,HajiIbrahim,HajiMohammedAli,HajiAbdul Aziz, Maulavi Rashdi, Twaha, Parveen, Aziza, Lima, Jahan, Tahera,Rubina,NajeebaMera,BibiRaihana,andUzraFaizad.Twoof thoseIwishtothankwho first helpedme along theway are no longerwith us:HajiAli andBrigadierGeneral Cahudhry ZakaullahBhangoo, an angel ofmercywhowastragicallykilledinaplanecrashinTurkeyin2007.Aparticulardebtofgratitudemustgo toPenguinGroup (USA) Inc.,which

has been instrumental in helping me to bring our cause to the attention tomillionsofreadersthroughthepublicationofThreeCupsofTeaandnowStonesinto Schools. Your offices are a second home, and your tribal chieftains,including Marjorie Scardino, chief executive of Pearson, John Makinson, thechairman and chief executive of the Penguin Group, David Shanks, CEO ofPenguin Group (USA) Inc., Susan Petersen Kennedy, president of PenguinGroup (USA) Inc., Clare Ferraro, president of Viking, and Kathryn Court,presidentofPenguinTradePaperbacks,aremostimpressiveleaders.Itgoeswithoutsayingthatthisbookwouldnothavebeenpossiblewithoutthe

guidanceofmyeditor,mentor, and fellowmountain climber,PaulSlovak, the

publisherofViking.Itwasinhisofficethatmyveryfirstvisit tothecompanytook place in 2003,when I came in to pitch the idea of a book Iwas callingThreeCupsofTea.Sincethattime,Paulhasbeenwithmeeverystepoftheway,andevenwhenIwouldgoofftheradarscreenfordaysatatime,heneverlostfaith in me. His support, wisdom, editorial expertise, and steadfastness havebeeninvaluable.Severalmonthsago,whenPenguinwashelpingmetoorganizeapartyinNew

Yorktocelebrate thesuccessof theadultandyoungreader’seditionsofThreeCupsofTeaandthechildren’spicturebookListentotheWind,Iwasastonishedto learn that Penguin had calculated that over 440 people at the companyhadplayed some role in the publication ofmy books! I thank all of you for yourdedicationanddevotion,andinparticularthefollowingpeople,whoweremostclosely involved in the production and publication of this new book: NancySheppard, Carolyn Coleburn, Louise Braverman, Noirin Lucas, Elke Sigal,Courtney Allison, David Martin, Holly Watson, Kate Lloyd, Dennis Swaim,KarenMayer,PaulBuckley,JasmineLee,JenniferWang,HalFessenden,SabilaKhan, and,working outside of the company, copy editorHilaryRoberts, fact-checker JaneCavolinaandBrynnBreuner,whocoordinated themaps,photos,andbackmatter.TheotherkeymembersofthePenguinteamthatImustthankinclude Eileen Kreit, Alan Walker, Jackie Fischetti, Tiffany Tomlin, JennaMeulemans,CaitlinPratt,ShantaNewlin,AlisahNiehaus,andMarilynHillsatthe front desk,who sneaksme into theofficewithout authorization.A specialshout-outmust also go to Penguin’s incredible hardcover and paperback salesforces,whosepassionateadvocacyformybookswiththebooksellershasmadeallthedifferenceintheworld.Andlastbutnotleast,thankyoutoLeoniAtossa,the remarkable leadactress in theKiteRunner film,who is thenarratorof theaudioversionsofStonesintoSchoolsandtheThreeCupsofTeayoungreader’sedition.Thankyouall!WhenIwasachildinTanzania,myparents,DempseyandJereneMortenson,

read bedtime stories to my sisters Sonja, Kari, and Christa, and me everyevening by lantern and later by electric light. Those stories filled us withcuriosity about the world and other cultures. They inspired the humanitarianadventure that has shaped my life. My mother’s lifelong commitment toeducation continues to inspire me. And although cancer took the life of myyoungfatherin1980,hisinfinitespiritlivesoninallthatIdo.Dad,youaremybaba, kaka na rafiki (father, brother, and friend). Thanks also to myextraordinary sisters Sonja and Kari, their husbands Dean Raven and DanThiesen, and their beautiful families—your love and devotion is a hugeinspiration.

Thanks tomyamazingkids,AmiraandKhyber,whomI lovesomuch; I’msorrythatImissedoutonnearlyhalfofyourchildhoods.Thatrealityisthemostpainful part ofmywork and I deeply regret not seeing you first learn how towalk, tieyour shoes, or ride abicycle.Youhavebothgivenmeunconditionallove,andnotadaygoesbythatIdonotappreciatehowwonderfulyouareandjusthowhardthishasbeen.NowthatIamhomemore,Iameagertocelebrateourprecioustimetogether.Tara,mywife—dear friend, companion, confidante,motherof our children,

andtheloveofmylifewhomImarriedsixdaysaftermeetingyouin1995—Ioweyouimmeasurablegratitude.Duringmyfrequentabsencesoverthefourteenyears of our marriage, your support and love has made it possible for me tofollowmyheart.Thankyouforthesacrificesyouhavemadeandforbeingportofthismagnificentjourney.GregMortensonOctober1,2009

Glossary

AK-47orKalashnikov:ARussiansemiautomaticassault rifleAlhamdulillah:Arabicfor“PraisebetoGod”;oftenusedasablessingtogivethanksaftermealsAllah:TheArabicwordforGodAllahAkbhar:InArabic,“Godisgreat.”Thisexclamation can be used in prayer, to praise God, or to express approval,excitement,orhappiness.AlQaeda:Anorganizationthatconductsactsofterror,war,anddestructionoftargets allover theworld inorder to establishaglobal IslamiccaliphateAmuDarya: A river in northeastern Afghanistan and southern Tajikistan arak:Fermentedmare’smilk,used incentralAsiaAs-SalaamAlaaikum: InArabic,“Peace be with you,” the standard Islamic greeting Baba Gundi Ziarat: Ashrine at the end of the Charpurson Valley in extreme northern PakistanBadakshan:Aprovince innortheasternAfghanistan that includes theWakhanCorridorbaf:“Excellent” in theWakhi languageBagramAirbase:Amainairbaseof theU.S.military inAfghanistan, and also aSoviet base from1979 to1989Baharak:A town inBadakshanProvince (innortheasternAfghanistan)withapopulationofeighteenthousand;siteofthefirstCAIschoolbuiltinAfghanistanBalakot: A city in northern Pakistan that was devastated during the October2005earthquakeBalti:Atribalgroup,mostlyShia,thatlivesintheKarakoramrange in northeastern Pakistan Baltistan: A region in northeastern PakistanBam-I-Dunya:AWakhiwordmeaning“RoofoftheWorld,”referringtocentralAsia’sPamirmountainrangeBamiyan:Acity innorthernAfghanistanBarg-eMatal:AtowninNuristanProvince(ineasternAfghanistan)frequentlyattackedbyTalibanbida:AnArabictermmeaning“corruptingmodernization”Bozai Gumbaz: A settlement in the eastern Wakhan inhabited by nomadicKirghizpeopleBSF:Afghanistan’sBorderSecurityForceburka:AlooserobewornbysomewomeninAfghanistanandPakistanthatcoverstheentirebody;alsospelled“burqa”bushkashi:AtraditionalcentralAsiangameplayedonhorsebackCENTCOM:U.S. military Central Command Central Asia Institute (CAI): GregMortenson’s nonprofit organization, founded in 1996 with the mission ofpromoting education for girls in Pakistan andAfghanistan (seewww.ikat.org)chapatti: Flat, unleavened bread similar to a pita or a tortillaCharAsiab: AvalleysouthofKabulwheretheCAIhasaschoolCharpursonValley:AvalleyinnorthernPakistanwhosenamemeans“placeofnothing”inWakhiChokidar:

Asecurity guard inPakistan orAfghanistanCOIN: The acronym formilitarycounterinsurgencyoperationscommandhan:AnAfghantermforalocalmilitiacommanderDari: A form of the Farsi language; spoken in AfghanistanDehRawod: A town in Uruzgan Province, Afghanistan dua: An Islamic prayeraccompanied by a gesture of bringing the palms together and pointing themupwarddupatta:AheadscarfwornbygirlsFaizabad:ThecapitalofBadakshanProvince,AfghanistanFarsi:ThePersianlanguageofIranfauji:AtermforthemilitaryinPakistanFOB:U.S.militaryforwardoperatingbaseFWO:FrontierWorks Organization, Pakistan’s military civil engineering division Gilgit: Atown in Hunza Valley in northern PakistanGundi Piran Higher SecondarySchoolforGirls:AschoolinAzadKashmir,Pakistan,destroyedbytheOctober2005 earthquakeHelmandProvince:ASouthernAfghanistan provincewherefourthousandU.S.MarinesweredeployedinJuly2009Himalayas: The mountain range in southern Asia that borders Burma, India,China,Nepal,Tibet, andPakistanHinduKush:Amountain range inwesternPakistan and eastern Afghanistan Id (also spelled Eid): One of the biggestIslamicholidays,whichmarks the endofRamadan, themonthwhenMuslimsfast imam: An Islamic spiritual leader who has had significant trainingInshallah:InArabic,“Godwilling”;oftenusedtomeanthatthespeakerhopessomethingwilloccurorthatheorshewillbeabletoaccomplishsomething,andGod’s help and blessing will be needed Irshad Pass: A 16,335-foot passbetweennorthernPakistanandtheWakhanCorridorinAfghanistanIshkoshem:A town in Badakshan Province, Afghanistan Islam: The Arabic word for“peace” and the world’s second-largest religion, based on the teaching of theProphet Mohammed Islamabad: The capital of Pakistan Ismaili: A liberaloffshoot of Shia Islam whose spiritual leader is Prince Karim Aga KhanJalalabad:AcityinNangarharProvince,AfghanistanJalozaiRefugeeCamp:AnAfghanrefugeecampinwesternPakistan jihad:AnArabicwordmeaning“internalstruggle,”whichtakesplacesintwoforms:thegreaterjihad,whichisthe internal struggle forenlightenmentand improvementofone’s self, and thelesserjihad,whichisthefightagainstanenemyofIslamjirga:Avillagecouncilor meeting jumat khana: An Ismaili place of worshipKabul: Afghanistan’scapital and largest city Kali-Panj: A town in central Wakhan, AfghanistanKandahar:A city in southernAfghanistanKarakoram:Amountain range innorthern Pakistan containing the world’s greatest consolidation of high peaksKarakoram Highway (KKH): The arterial link road between China andnorthernPakistan,completedin1978Kashmir: The mountainous region on the border of India and PakistanKhundud: A town in the Wakhan Corridor, Afghanistan Khyber Pass: A

mountain pass between Pakistan and Afghanistan Kirghiz: Sunni nomadicpastoralists who inhabit the eastern end of theWakhan Corridor, AfghanistanKorphe: A village in northern Pakistan and the site of the CAI’s first schoolKunar: A province in easternAfghanistan kwalai: Awhite skullcap used forprayer byMuslimsLalander:A village south ofKabulwhere theCAI’s firstschool inAfghanistanwasbuiltLOC:Theacronymfor“LineofControl,” thedisputed border between India and Pakistan Logar: A province southeast ofKabul, Afghanistan lunghai: A type of wrap-around turban worn by Pashtuntribalpeoplemadrassa:AnArabicwordmeaning“educationalinstitution”maktab:DariandPashtowordmeaning“school”usedinAfghanistanMardhanShar:The capital ofWardakProvince,AfghanistanMazar-i-Sharif:Acity innorthern AfghanistanMi-17 and Mi-24: Soviet military helicopters used inAfghanistanmuezzin: A chanter in a mosque who intones the call to prayermuhajir:Thetermfor“refugee”inPakistanandAfghanistanmujahadeen:AnArabicwordmeaning “struggler” and the name given to theAfghan freedomfightersmullah:AcommunityIslamicleaderMuslim:ApersonwhopracticesIslamMuzaffarabad:ThecapitalofAzadKashmir,Pakistannaan:A typeofthick bread commonly eaten in Afghanistan nanwatey: The Pashtun codeaffording the right of refuge and protection to all guestsNaray: A district innorthern Kunar Province, Afghanistan Neelum Valley: The epicenter of the2005earthquake inAzadKashmir,Pakistannemekchoi:TheWakhiword forsaltteamixedwithgoat’smilkandyakbutterNGO:Theinternationaltermfor“nongovernmentalorganization”night letter: A threatening letter delivered under cover of darkness by theTalibanNorthwestFrontierProvince:A tribal area in northwesternPakistan;one of Pakistan’s five provincial areas Nuristan: A province in easternAfghanistannurmadhar:AnUrdutermmeaning“villagechief”OperationEnduringFreedom: The officialU.S.military designation for thewarinAfghanistanstartedin2001opiumbride:Adaughtersoldintoslaverytopayforanopiumhabitpakhol:ADariandPashtuntermforthewoolenhatoftenwornbymujahadeenPamirs:AmountainrangeinAfghanistan,Tajikistan,andChinaknownastheRoofoftheWorldPanjshir: A province and valley in northern AfghanistanPashto: Thelanguage spoken by Pashtun tribal peoples, who live along the Pakistan-AfghanistanborderPeshawar:A city inPakistannear theAfghanistanborderpir:AWakhi/Tajiktermmeaning“elder”Pul-e-Khumri: A town in northernAfghanistanpurdah: AnUrdu andHinditermmeaning“curtain,”whichreferstotheculturaltraditionofwomencoveringthemselvesinpublicQayamat:AnUrdutermmeaning“apocalypse”

rupee:TheunitofmoneyusedinPakistan,India,andothercountriesSalang:AstrategicpassandtunnelnorthofKabulSarhad:AvillageattheendoftheonlyroadthroughtheWakhanCorridorshaheed:AnArabicwordmeaning“martyr”shalwar kamiz: Loose, pajama-like pants and top worn in Pakistan andAfghanistanShia: The second-largestMuslim denominationworldwide, at 17percentshura:AwordusedinAfghanistanmeaning“anelder”SOCOM:TheacronymfortheU.S.SpecialOperationsCommandSunni:ThemainsectofIslam,representing82percentofMuslimsworldwideSwatValley:AnareainnorthernPakistanruledbytheTalibanfortwoyearsuntil2009Tajikistan:AmountainouscountrynorthofAfghanistantanzeem:AwordusedinAfghanistanandPakistanmeaning“villagecommittee”Uighur: An Islamic people who live in far western Chinaulema: An Arabicterm for Islamic religious leaders Urdu: The national language of PakistanUruzgan:AprovinceinsouthwesternAfghanistanUSAID:TheacronymfortheUnited States Agency for International DevelopmentWaalaikum-Salaam: AnArabicphrasemeaning“Maypeacebewithyoualso”Wakhan Corridor: A 120-mile-long corridor in northeastern AfghanistanWakhi: A Persian tribal people who live in the centralWakhan and northernPakistanWaziristan: A region of western Pakistan located in the NorthwestFrontierProvinceXinjiang:AprovinceinfarwesternChinawithasignificantproportion of Uighur ethnic Muslims Yardar: A hamlet near the town ofBaharak in Badakshan Province, Afghanistan zalzala: The Urdu term for“earthquake”

Baharakschoolgirls,BadakshanProvince,Afghanistan

InvestinginGirls’EducationYieldsHugeReturns

IncomeGrowthGirls’ education leads to increased income for the girls themselves and fornationsasawhole. Increasing theshareofwomenwithasecondaryeducationby 1 percent boosts annual per-capita income growth by 0.3 percent. That’ssignificant,sinceper-capitaincomegainsindevelopingcountriesseldomexceed3percentayear.1Educatinggirlsalsoboosts farmingproductivity.Educated farmersaremore

efficient and their farms are more productive, which leads to increased cropyieldsanddeclinesinmalnutrition.2

MaternalandChildren’sHealthEducatedwomenhavesmaller,healthier,andbetter-educatedfamilies.Thebettereducatedthewomeninasociety,thelowerthefertilityrate.A2000

studyinBrazilfoundthat literatewomenhadanaverageof2.5childrenwhileilliteratewomenhadanaverageofsixchildren.3The better educated the women, the lower the infant mortality rate. “The

mother’s education is often the single most important influence on children’ssurvival....Educatedmotherslearnhowtokeeptheirchildrenhealthyandhowtousehealth services, improvenutrition and sanitation, and take advantageoftheirownincreasedearningcapability.Girlswhostayinschoolalsomarrylater,whentheyarebetterabletobearandcareforchildren.”5Byincreasinghealth-careknowledgeandreducingthenumberofpregnancies,

femaleeducationsignificantlyreducestheriskofmaternalmortality.4Educatedwomenaremorelikelytoinsistoneducationfortheirownchildren,

especiallytheirdaughters.Theirchildrenstudyasmuchastwohoursmoreeachdaythanchildrenofilliteratemothersandstayinschoollonger.5

Women’sEmpowermentEducatedgirlsandwomenaremorelikelytostandupforthemselvesandresistviolence: “In poor areas where women are isolated within their communities,have little education and cannot earn much, girls are often regarded as aneconomic burden andwomen and girls sometimes suffer deliberate neglect oroutrightharm.”5Educatedwomenchannelmoreoftheirresourcestothehealthandeducation

oftheirchildrenthanmendo.5Educated women are more likely to participate in political discussions,

meetings,anddecisionmaking.5Studies show that education promotes more representative, effective

government. Aswomen are educated and approach parity withmen, researchshows that “governments and other institutions function better and with lesscorruption.”5Girlswhobecomeliteratetendtoteachtheirmothershowtoreadandwrite,

muchmorethandomales.6Whenvegetablesormeatwrappedinnewspapersarebroughthomefromthe

bazaar,womenoften ask their literate daughters to read thenews to themandcanunderstandmoreaboutthedynamicworldaroundthem.6

KeyIngredientsinSuccessfullyBuildingGirls’Schools

TheCouncil on ForeignRelations’WhatWorks inGirls’ Education: EvidenceandPolicies fromtheDevelopingWorld spellsoutseveralcriticalelements forsuccessfulgirls’schools,manyofwhichCentralAsiaInstitutehasincorporated:7

Build schools close to girls’ homes. School-age children are 10 percent to 20percent more likely to attend school if they live in a village with a primaryschool.Proximityalsoincreasesparentalinvolvement.

Insist on community involvement. Community schools tend to meet culturenorms and use local language. Community-based and community-supportedschoolsgenerallyhavehigherenrollmentandqualityandlowerdropoutrates.

Build “girl-friendly” schools. Girls’ schools must have private latrines andboundarywalls.Insomecases,it’smostappropriatetobuildseparateschoolsforgirls.Provide female teachers. Recruit locally. Even very young women can teachprogrammedcurriculaeffectivelyiftheyaretrainedandsupported.

Focusonqualityeducation.Ensurethataschoolhasenoughteachers,ongoingteachertraining,heavyemphasisonmathandscience,andadequatebooksandsupplies.

TakeAction

1.Visitwww.stonesintoschools.com formore info, book reviews, events,andideas.Ifyoupurchasebooksonline,clicktoAmazonorIngramandupto7percentofallyourbookorotherpurchaseswillgototheCentralAsiaInstitute(www.ikat.org)andbegiventoagirls’educationscholarshipfundinPakistanandAfghanistan.2.SuggestStonesintoSchools toafriend;colleague;bookclub;women’sgroup;church;civicgroup;synagogue;mosque;universityorhighschoolclass; military friends or families; or a group interested in education,literacy, adventure, cross-cultural issues, Islam, or Pakistan andAfghanistan.3.CheckifStonesintoSchoolsisinyourlocallibrary.Ifnot,eitherdonateacopyor suggest to the library that theyaddStones intoSchools to theircollection.Askyourfriendsorfamilyinotherstatestodothisalso.4.Encourageyourlocalindependentorchainbookstoretocarrythisbookiftheydonothaveit.5.Write a Stones into Schools book review for Amazon.com, Barnes &Noble,Borders,orablog.Yourcandidcommentswillhelpbringawarenesstothis(orany)bookandthecausestheyeducatethepublicabout.6.Askthebookeditorofyourlocalnewspaperorradiostationtoconsiderlettingyoureviewthebook.7. Pennies for Peace, www.penniesforpeace.org, is designed forschoolchildren.Get your local school involved tomake a difference, onepennyandonepencilatatime.Since1994,morethantwohundredmillionpennieshavebeenraisedthroughPenniesforPeace.8. If you want to support our efforts to promote education and literacy,especially for girls, you can make a tax-deductible contribution to ournonprofitorganization,CentralAsiaInstitute,POBox7209,Bozeman,MT59771,phone406-585-7841,www.ikat.org.Itcostsus$1.00permonthforonechild’seducationinPakistanorAfghanistan,apennytobuyapencil,andateacher’ssalaryaverages$1.50perday.9. Please direct media or Stones into Schools inquires to info@stonesintoschools.comorcall406-585-7841.

Formoreinformationcontact:CentralAsiaInstitute

POBox7209Bozeman,MT59771406-585-7841www.ikat.orginfo@ikat.org

Index

Pagenumbersinitalicsrefertomapsandillustrations.

Aanam(fourth-gradestudent)ABC-TVAbdul(orphan)Abdullah,AbdullahAfghanAidAfghanAirForceAfghanistaneducationinelectionsinethnicdiversityinkidnappinginlandminesinmujahadeenrivalriesinopiumtradeinpovertyinSovietoccupationofTalibaninsurgencyinTalibanregimeinU.S.aidtoU.S.militaryaidtowomen’seducationinwomen’sstatusinseealsospecificvillagesandregionsAfghanistan,U.S.warinciviliancasualtiesin

AfghanNationalArmyAfghanWomen’sCo-opAfghanWomen’sCouncil,U.S.AfricaAgaKhanDevelopmentNetworkAgaKhanFoundationAhmad,SherAhmed(driver)Ahwan,AkbarAIG

AirborneRangersAirForce,U.S.AirForceAcademy,U.S.Aisha(student)AksuRiverAl-AbbasHotelandRestaurantAlAbidPrimarySchoolAlexandertheGreatAli,HajiAli,JahanAli,NiazAli,TwahaAlima(earthquakevictim)AlJazeeraAl-KhidmatFoundationAllahAlQaedaAlRashidTrustAmritsarAmuDaryaRiverAnatoliaAnii (fourth-grade student) Annapolis, U.S. Naval Academy at anti-Westernriots,inBadakshanArianaArmstrong,NeilArmy,U.S.ArmyReserve,U.S.AsiaHouse(London)AskariAviationAssociatedPressAtlanticCouncilAungSanSuuKyiAzadJammuAzadKashmir(FreeKashmir)Aziz,Amir

Baba,HajiBabaGundiZiaratBabur,EmperorBabuTengiBadakshananti-Westernriotsin

BorderSecurityForceofschoolprojectsin

BaghlanBagramBagramAirbaseBaharahBaharakschoolprojectin,seeBadakshan,schoolprojectsinBahrain

Baig,BibiNissaBaig,FaisalBaig,NarzeekBaig,NasreenBaig,SaidullahBalakotBaltistanBam-I-DunyaBangladeshBarg-eMatalBatangiBaujurBBCBegum,SaheraBehdiBernanke,BenBhediBhutanBhutto,BenazirBhutto,ZulfikarAliBigPamirbinLaden,OsamaBishkekBlueHeronCoffeehouseBoedecker,GeorgeBoi,TashiBombay,terroristattacksonBorderSecurityForce,BadakshanBosniaBozaiGumbazBozeman,Mont.BralduRiverBralduValleyBrazil

BurmaBush,BarbaraBush,GeorgeW.Bush,LauraBushadministration

CACCAI,seeCentralAsiaInstituteCallahan,TedCampbell,SusanCampLejeuneCampPendletonCARECENTCOM (U.S. Central Command) Center for Homeland Security CentralAsiaInstitute(CAI)ascounterbalancetofundamentalistmadrassasearthquake-proofschoolsbuiltbyfieldstaffoffund-raisingbygirls’hostelsofKashmir earthquake relief and “last place first,” philosophy of NGO

registrationprocessforplaygroundprojectsofscholarshipsandvocationalprogramsofschoolsofassecularorganizationtravelarrangementsofU.S.militaryandwomen’s educationaskeymissionof see also specific schools and projects

Central Command, U.S. (CENTCOM) Central Intelligence Agency (CIA)Chabot,DougChabot,GenevieveChakmakLakeCharAsiabValleyCharles,PrinceofWalesCharpursonValleyChaudhry,IftikharMuhammadChaudry,ShaukatAliChechnyaChinaChineseBuddhistsChitralChundaCIA(CentralIntelligenceAgency)Clinton,Bill

ClintonadministrationColombiaColorado,UniversityofCombinedMilitaryHospital(Rawalpindi)Congress,U.S.seealsoHouseofRepresentatives,U.S.

Cornwall,DuchessofCouncil on Foreign Relations counterinsurgency, education as key toCounterinsurgencyFieldManual(U.S.ArmyMarineCorps)Crowley,Aleister

DakarRallyDaoud(airportvendor)DarghilDefenseDepartment,U.S.deGoes,BenedictDehRawodschoolprojectDelhiDeltaForceDepartmentforInternationalDevelopment,BritishDepartmentofthePromotionofVirtueandthePreventionofVice,TalibanDermatologicalNursesAssociationDescentIntoChaos(Rashid)DrasDurango,Colo.

earthquake-proofschoolsEastAfricaEastTimorEastWestFoundationEconomy, Ministry of, Afghanistan Edinburgh International Book Festivaleducation:inAfghanistanfundamentalistmadrassasandinPakistanof women, see women, education of Education Ministry, Afghanistan

EducationMinistry,PakistanEgyptEnduringFreedom,OperationEskanGirls’PrimarySchoolEurasiaEuropeFaizabadFaizabadGirls’SchoolFakharSchool

Fallujah,battleofFarrell,StephenFarzana(eighth-gradestudent)FatimaMemorialHospitalFederalReserve,U.S.Filkins,DexterFireflyRestaurantFirstMarineExpeditionaryForceFOCUSForeignAffairsMinistry,AfghanistanForeign&CommonwealthOffice,BritishFortSamHoustonForwardOperatingBase(FOB)NarayFranceFreeKashmir(AzadKashmir)Friedman,ThomasFrontier Works Organization (FWO) fundamentalism, see IslamicfundamentalistsGenghisKhanGeologicalSurvey,U.S.GermanyGhani,AshrafGilgitGondwanaGovernmentBoys’DegreeHighSchoolGovernmentDegreeCollegeGozkhonGrandTrunkHighwayGreatBritainDepartmentforInternationalDevelopmentofGuantánamoBay

GuardianGuatemalaGulmitFederalGovernmentGirls’HighSchoolGulnaz,BibiGultoriGundiPiranSecondarySchoolforGirlsGunnink,Brett

Habib,MalimAbdulHabibBankHamburg,KeithHarvardTravellersClubHassan,MohammadHassan,SiddreHelmandProvinceHelmandValleyHemingway,ErnestHeratHerold,Marc

HighPamirHimalayasHinduKushHoerni,JeanHosseini,KhaledHouse of Representatives, U.S.: Armed Services Committee of FinancialServicesCommitteeofHsuanTsangHunzaValleyHusheHusmani,KhalidHussain,AzizaHussein,MohammedHussein,Nur

IndiaKashmirconflictand

IndusRiverinfantmortalityInnerTartaryInteriorMinistry,KabulIranIraqIraqWarciviliancasualtiesin

IrshadPassIshkoshemIshkoshemGirls’HighSchoolIslamIslamabadIslamicfundamentalistsin Kashmir earthquake relief efforts see also religious extremism; specific

organizationsIsmailisItaly

JalalabadJalozaiRefugeeCampJamaat-e-IslamiJamat-ud-Dawa

JammuJammuKashmirLiberationFront(JKLF)JapanJawaid(Pathanman)JhelumRiverJherumGirls’PrimarySchoolKabulAbdulRashidKhan’stripstoTaliban’soppressionofwomeninU.S.bombing

damageinwomen’scentersin

KabulInternationalAirportKafiristanKaghanValleyKamdeshKamsarrefugeecampKandaharKarachiKaraJilgaKarakoramKarakoramHighwayKargilKarimi,AbdulGhaniKarimi,MateenKarimi,WakilDehRawodschoolprojectandKunar-NuristanschoolprojectsandLalander

school project and Pushgur school project and women’s literacy centers andKarimifamilyKarzai,HamidKashgarKashmirCAI scholarship programs in earthquake-proof schools in India-Pakistan

conflictinseealsoAzadKashmirKashmir,2005earthquakeinCAIandcasualtiesanddamagefromdrinkingwaterdistributionaftergirlsasvictims

ofIslamicfundamentalistsinreliefeffortforreliefeffortsforShaukatAliand

Kerry,JohnKhan,AbdulRashidillnessofKabultripsof

Khan,AgaKhan,BibiNuma

Khan,IsmaelKhan,KhoshnoodAliKhan,KublaiKhan,RoshanKhan,Sadharin wars against Soviets and Taliban Khan, Sardar Sikandar Hayat Khan,

SarfrazbackgroundofDehRawodschoolprojectandgallbladder infectionofKashmirearthquake

reliefandkidnapping-preventionstrategiesofKirghizschoolprojectandKunar-NuristanschoolprojectsandWakhanschoolprojectsandKhan,ShahIsmailKhan,ShakilaKhan,WarisKhan,WohidKirghizschoolprojectandKhanjar,Operation

Khattoon,JamilaKhomeini,AyatollahRuhollahKhorogKhundudKhunjarabPassKhurogKhyberPassKhyberRestaurantkidnappingKilimanjaro Christian Medical Centre (KCMC) Kim (Kipling) King, MartinLuther,Jr.Kipling,RudyardKirghizpeopleLastExodusofmaternalmortalityamongpovertyandisolationofSovietoccupationand

KirghizschoolprojectascommunityeffortcontractsignedforemissariesforlogisticalobstaclesinSarfrazKhanandWohidKhanand

Kirghizstan

Kittredge,WilliamKohalaBridgeKohMunjonSchoolKolenda,ChristopherKoranKorengalValleyKorpheCAIschoolin

Kosovo

K2

Kuh-i-Lal

Kunar-NuristanschoolprojectsKunarProvincepowerstructurein

KunarRiverKunarValleyKurat(earthquakevictim)Kuwait

LadakhLafayette,Calif.LahoreLalanderschoolprojectin

Lamb,ChristinaLandiKotallandminesLangharLashkar-e-TaibaLeadership:TheWarrior’sArt(Kolenda)LehLehmanBrothersLeitinger,ChristianeLejeune,CampLiberiaLifeline,OperationLima(twelfth-gradestudent)LineofControl(LOC)

LittlePamirLittlePrince,The(Saint-Exupéry)LogarProvinceLondon

McCaffrey,BarryR.McChrystal,StanleyMcCown,KarenMcMillan,JeffmadrassasMalraux,AndréMaoZedongMarcoPoloClubMargallaTowersMarineCorps,U.S.MemorialAssociationof

MarineExpeditionaryForceMassoud,AhmedShahmaternalmortalityMatiullah,MaulviMazar-i-SharifMeccaMehmood,SultanMehrdad,Mohammedmilitary,U.S.CAIandcounterinsurgencyeffortsofMilitaryAcademy(WestPoint),U.S.

Minhas,SulemanMinistryofEconomy,AfghanistanMinistryofEducation,AfghanistanMinistryof Education, Pakistan Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Afghanistan Ministry ofInterior,AfghanistanMira,NajeebaMiraftabMirwaisMenaSchoolMirza,IlyasMohammad,FaisalHaqMohammad,HajiMohammed,ApoRazak“Chacha”Mohammed,FaisalMohammed,GulMohammed,Gulmarjin

Mohammed,KeyoumMohammed,MullahMohammed,SaidaMohammed,ZiaUllahMontanaStateUniversityMoroccoMorse,MatthewMortenson,AmiraMortenson,ChristaMortenson,DempseyMortenson,KhyberMortenson,SonjaandKariMortenson,TaraMotiMahalfortMughal,GhosiaMughal,SabirMuhamad,HajiMuhammad,theProphetMuhammad,SahilmujahadeenrivalriesamongSovietwarwithTalibanwarwith

Mullen,MikeMunadi,MohammadSultanMurgabMurreeMusharraf,BilalMusharraf,PervezMusharraf,SehbaMuzaffarabadMuzaffarabadUniversityMuztaghataMyatt,Mike

Nabil(earthquakevictim)Najibullah,MohammadNajmuddinKhanWosiqmosqueNangarharProvinceNarayNationalMuseum,AfghanistanNationalPublicRadio(NPR)NATO

NavalAcademy,U.S.NavalAirForcesCommandNavySEALSNazir,MohammedNeelumRiverNeelumValleyNewby,EricNewHampshire,UniversityofNewsweekNewYork,N.Y.NewYorkTimesNicholson,JasonB.NorthAmericanAerospaceDefenseCommand(NORAD)NorthernAllianceNorthwestFrontierProvinceNousadaNouseriNoyersdel’Altenburg,Les(Malraux)NuristanProvinceschoolprojectsin

Obama,BarackObamaadministrationOlson,EricOmar,Mullah

173rdAirborneDivisiontCalvaryof

OperationEnduringFreedom

OperationKhanjarOperationLifeline“OperationSchoolDesk”opiumtradeOttomanEmpireOuterTartaryOutsideOxfamOxusRiver

PACTECPakistaneducationinKashmirconflictand

povertyin2005earthquakein,seeKashmir,2005earthquakeinunemploymentinwomen’seducationinwomen’sstatusinseealsospecificvillagesandregionsPakistan-OccupiedKashmir(POK),see

AzadKashmirPakratPamirHighwayPamirKnotPamirranges,seeHighPamirPanjRiverPanjshirRiverPanjshirValleyParadeParliament,AfghanistanParveen,KosarParvi,HajiGhulamParwanProvincePatikaPeaceGuestHousePendleton,CampPenniesforPeacePentagon/11 terrorist attack on see also September 11, 2001 terrorist attacksPersiaPersianEmpirePeshawarPetraeus,DavidPhysiciansforHumanRightsPiggushPikuiPirPanjalplaygroundprojectsPolo,MarcoPoonchpoverty:inAfghanistanCAIschoolsandofKirghizinPakistan

Powell,ColinPtolemyPublicWorksDepartment,RawalpindiPul-e-KhomriPunjab

PunjabRegimentPushgurPushgurschoolproject

Qala-ePanjQatarQuettaQul,HajiRahman

RadioPakistanRahman,AbdullahRahman,Abdur,emirofAfghanistanRamadanRashid,AhmedRawalpindiRaza,MohammedRecca,SteveRedCrescentSocietyRedCrossInternationalCommitteeofreligiousextremismseealsoIslamicfundamentalists;specificorganizationsReuters

RochesterPublicLibraryRONCORosia(earthquakevictim)RoyalNavyRumsfeld,DonaldRussiaseealsoSovietUnionRwanda

SaadiofShirazSaba(earthquakevictim)Sabina(student)Saint-Exupéry,AntoinedeSalangTunnelSamarakSamarkhandSamHouston,FortSar-eSangSarhad

SarhadSchoolSaudiArabiaSavetheChildrenSawScaparrotti,CurtisSchultz,PaulT.Schweitzer,AlbertSEALS,NavySecondAfghanWar(1879-90)Sen,AmartyaSeptember 11, 2001 terrorist attacksSewingCircles of theHeart, The (Lamb)Shabir,SaidaShadowoftheSilkRoad(Thubron)Shah,QurbanAliShaikMathiBabaGirlsHighSchoolSharif,NawazShar-i-Naudistrict,KabulShiasShodhaGirls’SchoolShomaliPlainShortWalkintheHinduKush,A(Newby)SiachenGlacierSiddiqi,Mr.Sidra(earthquakevictim)SilkRoadSimdara,schoolsinSingh,HariSipes,JenniferSitara-i-PakistanSkarduSlovak,PaulSmith,AnnickSOCOM(U.S.SpecialOperationsCommand)SomaliaSovietUnionAfghanistanoccupationbymujahadeenwarwithseealsoRussiaSpecialForces,U.S.

SpecialOperationsCommand,U.S.(SOCOM)SpinBoldakSrinagarStarsandStripesStateDepartment,U.S.SuchowSunAlsoRises,The(Hemingway)SunnisSura(student)SwatValleySwedishCommitteeforAfghanistanTajikistanTajiks

Talibandraconianregimeofmujahadeenwarwithoppressionofwomenbypost-invasion insurgency of U.S./Northern Alliance war on women’s

educationandTaliban(Rashid)TamerlaneTanzaniaTarik(student)TartarstanTaskForceSaberterroristattacks:onBombayof9/11

TethysSeaThirdAfghanWar (1898 and 1919)ThreeCups of Tea (Mortenson) Thubron,ColinTibetTienShanrangeTimeToraBoraTorkhamTurkistanTutankhamen,KingofEgyptUgandaUighurMuslimsunemploymentUNHCRrefugeecampsUNICEFUnitedNationsSecurityCouncilofWorldFoodProgramof

UnitedStates:inAfghanistanWar,seeAfghanistan,U.S.warinforeignaidbymilitaryaidtoAfghanistansuppliedbyUrumqi

UruzganUruzganProvinceUSAIDU.S.GeologicalSurveyUzbekistan

ValeofKashmir

WakhanCorridorcensusofschool-agechildreninisolationofopiumaddictioninpowerstructurein

Wakhan Corridor school projects governmental obstruction and Sarfraz KhanandseealsoKirghizschoolprojectWakhipeople

WallStreetJournalWanatWardakprovinceWardughGirls’MiddleSchoolWargeantWashington.C.Washington English Language Center Washington Post Wazir Akbar KhanChowkWells,H.G.WestChesterUniversityWestPoint,U.S.MilitaryAcademyatWhatWorksinGirls’Education:Evidenceand Policies from the Developing World (Council on Foreign Relations)Wisconsin,Universityofwomen:healthcareandmaternalmortalityamongstatusofTaliban’soppressionof

women,educationofinAfghanistanascentraltoCAImissionasglobalissuehealthissuesandincomeandinfantmortalityandmaternalmortalityandinPakistanpopulationgrowthandTalibanandwomen’sempowermentand

WorldBankWorldTradeCenter/11terroristattackonseealsoSeptember11,2001terrorist

attacksXinjiangProvince

Yanjing(Chineseengineer)YardarYemenYoussef,Haji

ZabulProvinceZawahiri,Aymanal—ZebakZiabakhGirls’ElementaryandMiddleSchoolZuudkhan

1TheWorldBank2

TheCouncil on ForeignRelations’WhatWorks inGirls’ Education: EvidenceandPoliciesfromtheDevelopingWorld3

UNESCO

4TheWorldBank5

TheCouncil on ForeignRelations’WhatWorks inGirls’ Education: EvidenceandPoliciesfromtheDevelopingWorld6

GregMortenson7

TheCouncil on ForeignRelations’WhatWorks inGirls’ Education: EvidenceandPoliciesfromtheDevelopingWorld