In Afghanistan no tragedy ever arrives alone: after the war, the floods

KabulI have never traveled outside of Afghanistan. Therefore, I don't know what it's like to live elsewhere, nor what happens in other countries considered developed when there's a big storm or an earthquake. I suppose people there can receive help or perhaps are alerted when something like this happens. In Afghanistan, on the other hand, you can expect absolutely nothing. Sometimes I think my country is the end of the world, a place where death returns in one way or another every season of the year, whether from war, cold, floods, earthquakes... Each disaster is worse than the last and reminds us of our vulnerability. And the worst of all is that often no tragedy ever comes alone.

In Kabul, we had survived a particularly harsh winter, with temperatures down to twenty degrees below zero, and we expected life to be a little easier with the arrival of spring. But it hasn't been like that: this year spring has brought us not renewal, but devastation.

The rain has fallen almost non-stop in Kabul and twenty other provinces of Afghanistan for the last two weeks: intense, relentless, accompanied by strong winds and even tremors.

At first, at my home, only the sound of the rain hitting the roof could be heard. Then, however, the ceiling began to drip. Slowly at first, seeping through the cracks and forming a puddle. Drop by drop, the rooms began to fill with water. We placed containers, spread cloths on the floor, and tried to cover the leaks, but it was useless. The harder it rained, the more water came in.

But what really scared me was seeing the streets of Kabul: they turned into a kind of rivers. The sewers overflowed, and the water, carrying garbage and mud, filled the streets and houses. Even the entrance courtyard to our building was flooded. But it wasn't simple rainwater, there were also plastics, mud, dirt... It stank. My family and I rolled up our sleeves to remove the water from the house, bucket by bucket, and to clean with the aim of saving whatever was possible. We were there for hours, but the water seemed to never end. We ended up exhausted.

The ground shook

We hadn't recovered our breath when the ground began to shake. The earthquake was so strong that everyone ran screaming out of the building to try and save themselves. I also ran out into the street. My heart was beating fast, my hands were trembling, and the rain kept falling and I ended up soaked to the bone. The entrance courtyard flooded again and I, standing in the middle of it, wondered why so many disasters always have to strike Afghanistan.  

When the ground stopped shaking, we returned home. Everything was dark, there was no electricity, and the house was silent. Nothing could be heard except the water dripping from the ceiling. I had trouble sleeping, afraid that the ground might shake again.

Twelve people died in the earthquake, including a nine-member family who had recently fled the war in Iran. Only the youngest son survived. As for the floods, the Taliban have reported that in the last two weeks across the country, 148 people have died, 216 more have been injured, and there are eight missing. In addition, more than six thousand homes have been affected, both in the north and south, east and west of Afghanistan.

My home is not the same either. I live in one of the old Soviet apartment blocks built in the capital almost seven decades ago. It's a two-story building that used to be particularly sturdy, but now the roof is full of leaks and the walls, of dampness. The water is slowly eating away at the house.  

Similarly, Kabul also seems like another city. The streets remain flooded with water and crossing from one side to the other is almost impossible, to the point where people pay to be carried in a kind of wooden carts pushed by men. I, as a woman, however, don't even have that option, because if I crossed a street on a cart, it would be considered "shameful." Taxis are also not a feasible alternative, because fares have skyrocketed. Furthermore, the Taliban stop all women who go out on the street, because they consider that in the current situation they should stay at home.  

This is not just a natural disaster. It's the result of years of neglect: Kabul is a city that, after the fall of the first Taliban regime in 2001, was rebuilt without any planning. Nor have the sewage systems been adapted to the progressive increase in population: more than five million people already live in the capital. Both the previous government and the current Taliban government have always turned a blind eye, pretending to improve the city. But when you are in the heart of the disaster, with water up to your ankles, you realize that no one has really done anything. We are alone in the face of the storm.