Life of Bribes

…My own problems took root back in Afghanistan where I had bought some black market rupees.

The exchange rate in Afghanistan was a good deal better than it would be in India, so I had changed quite a bit of currency in Kabul. We were also informed it would be simplicity itself taking the money across the borders. Perhaps the men behind the deal at the Afghani end informed the border post in India and they would pick up their share of the profit. Thus the Government officials at the frontier were having a field day, confiscating drugs and money. The official- in- charge, proclaiming himself to be a reasonable man, gave us the benefit of a lengthy, speech, explaining that if we owned up and surrendered whatever we were smuggling, nothing would happen to us, no reprimands would occur. We were all a little wary of this statement, albeit the truth, however he repeated his request, and eventually the lack of response convinced him that he would have to have both the vehicles and the passengers searched.

The buses were literally goldmines as many of the other travellers had similar ideas as my own and had brought Indian currency with them, these were confiscated. Thank goodness….

Pakistan/India Border

….On Friday 21st December we came upon the frontier separating Pakistan and India, but once again our path was paved with obstacles. It seems to be a fact in life, that whenever one wants or needs something badly, one has to struggle in order to achieve it. The more one wants or needs this desire the harder the struggle will be.

The British Raj have a lot to answer for in India and the one legacy they have left in their wake, to pay the Indians back for their struggle for independence, is a solid system of bureaucracy. This bureaucracy now has a historical tradition behind it, thus the early foundations are firmly embedded in cement. Upon this rock I will build a bureaucracy, sayeth the Raj.

Paperwork permeates throughout India, particularly within the railway network. The only blessing I can add, is that Indian paper is very cheap and nasty, thus most of this paper has a short lifespan. Official rules and regulations are the norm and clerical staff are, in reality, the most superior class in the Indian caste hierarchy. Consequently, the Pakistan-Indian customs post was, on the surface a net of airtight security. An additional nightmare resulted from the fact, that there would be no acceptance of bribery and we found this difficult to fathom, as we were now well-educated in the gentle art of backsheesh. The official in charge of the Indian side of the border was a Sikh and obviously above reproach.

This presented many problems for us as most of us were carrying some form of contraband. We were now in a different world and over the past few days we had gone from extreme cold to moderate heat and here at the border we were enveloped in the subcontinent’s lush vegetation. Unfortunately our mantra for the day would be the Beatles
‘Everybody’s got something to hide except me and my monkey.’ …

At The Gun Shops

…Many of the little local shops had decided to stretch their opening hours in order to secure our custom, no doubt they had been notified of our presence by the border guards, who would get their share of the profits. They probably added that we were easy meat. One of the shops astonished me by procuring both instruments of peace and war, with equal enthusiasm.

This proprietor offered for sale drugs such as hashish or opium as well as firearms. Both these products seemed to be Pakistan’s biggest exports to the west. One was aware of whole factories manufacturing firearms and I have since learned that many of these weapons would be exported all over the world wherever there was a market for them, no matter what the buyer’s politics were.
It was a pity that we raced through Pakistan on our way to India, as our limited experiences of that country were very positive and the inhabitants were open and friendly. Peshawar was only a quick shopping stop for me, where I paid an outrageous price for a Mars Bar in a western-style supermarket, ( 50 P.) Peshawar was remarkably modern. Lahore was just a blur as we flashed past, without even stopping as the drivers were in a great hurry and going at full pelt, doing without sleep and driving all through the night.

I’m not sure whether the drivers had some kind of bad experience of Pakistan in the past and this was why they flew through that country, but I would rather believe that they had some type of timetable to reach India by whenever. Obviously by this time if the latter were true, then they were way behind schedule….

Pakistan

..The next day we managed to get over the Pakistani border, out what an exciting day that was.

I sensed that events were beginning to go wrong as we were driving downhill via the Khyber Pass, a rumour began to circulate about the apparent failure of the brakes. Whether this tale was the truth or not, I never did discover, but one thing was certain, we drove at an extreme pace through the pass. Perhaps this was just as well, for hidden deep within the pass, there were numerous marksmen taking pot shots at the vehicles and even at our fantastic speed, some of these shots were successful.

By the time we reached the border post, the appearance of the buses resembled that of two ancient, beaten, colanders. Further problems were to arise at the Pakistan side of the border. The border officials became elated when they realised there were many faults or possible misdemeanors among our entry papers and of course this meant considerable supplementary income in the form of bribes.

We had now grown accustomed to these practices. Personally I had to undergo quite a strain, as a so-called doctor, in what might have been at one time, white coat, motioned to me and then to one of the drivers, that I had had only one of the two required cholera jabs, therefore I could not possibly enter Pakistan. Heated arguments began, but we were helplessly at his mercy.

Eventually we struck up a reasonable bargain, then we followed him into his private tent way out back, where he pocketed the money and stamped our papers. The details took a little longer than they should have, as the officials delaying tactics meant he could expect more cash. These events took place in the pitch dark, which was possibly planned by the officials well in advance. After these proceedings were completed, we made our way into a small town just over the boundary and once more our eyes were to open wide in disbelief…

Leaving an Ancient Land

…
On Monday night however, I visited some of the local tourist attractions, viz.,Siggis and Sammis. These restaurants had excellent, nutritious food and I remember sampling Weiner Schnitzel at Siggis, accompanied and washed down by numerous, glasses of terrific, sweet, mint tea.

Entertainment at Siggis was provided by some exciting, local musicians, who despite the presence of their Rolex timepieces, played well into the night. As I wandered back from these late-night eating places, I bought some ‘brownies’ for supper. These were pseudo- American, chocolate cakes and they tasted delicious, especially by now as my taste buds were popping.

It was during these late-night walks alone, that I encountered the loosely-termed, Afghan policemen, wrapped in well-worn and torn, greatcoats. l noticed that they were whistling to each other, eventually my curiosity got the better of me and I found out, that this was the normal procedure to ensure that each guard was either still alive or still awake. In their arms, these policemen carried huge, blunderbus rifles, with delightfully-carved wooden stocks, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. I never saw anyone fire or even attempt to fire one of these guns, which is perhaps just as well, as they really belonged in a museum.

Soon I was to gain respect for these Afghan supercops. On my last day in Kabul I was to come face to face with some of the higher and more efficient echelons of the Afghan police force. It is a day I will never forget. I had decided to spend a quiet, lazy day, hanging around the hotel restaurant.

Some of us set up a card school and I was joined by three members of the bus party, who hailed from the romantically-named, centre of the universe; Clacton. lt was an intense game and I recall that I was winning, when suddenly the door was pushed open in an amateur Starsky and Hutch routine and we were all held at gunpoint by Afghanis in western clothes claiming to be detectives. l thought it was a joke and they were merely acting out some scene from a Hollywood, forties detective movie. However their sincerity and the fact that these were real guns with real bullets, soon-dismissed any apparent doubts we had about the reality of it all.

Our response was tragic. All we could do in our state of nervous anxiety and blind panic was to stutter out an explanation apologising for our ignorance of Islamic law and codes of practice and the customs of our friendly, tolerant host country we were crawling so low we were scrapping the floor. Evidently someone in the hotel, probably the manager, had sensed the possibility of a large payoff and telephoned the police.

Our group-mind was thinking along the lines of stiff jail sentences in some dark dungeon or even of firing squads. Fortunately, we behaved very humbly (easy under the circumstances and continued to apologise profusely. I did not have the temerity to suggest that we should bribe these detectives, (besides they all seemed too efficient and appeared dedicated beyond reproach), but I did mention the fact that a small forfeit would be in order, to repay these kind policemen for their time and trouble and for showing us the error of our ways. We admitted that we were naughty, irreligious and sacrilegious and vowed never to do anything as criminal as play cards again in public. This did the trick and they reluctantly accepted some cash and left, and on the way out they warned us of the certain penalty that would await us, if we were caught gambling again. Actually they need not have bothered warning us, as we were so utterly terrified. This seemed a fitting climax to our stay in Afghanistan so we moved on…

Pilgims

 

…….My admiration for these people was to increase during my short stay in Afghanistan, and one could easily see why so many overland travellers, never complete their voyage to India and remained in Afghanistan. The hotels catered for foreign travellers and pumped out western music all day and served delicious, western food, so it was tempting to laze about all day.

During the evening, we would gather together in one room, buy some firewood and party all night. In the mornings one would think that it was Xmas, as the first sounds one would hear, would be the loud ringing of bells outside. This turned out to be the sound of horses and carts, that were covered in bells of every description.
The only vehicles we saw with engines, were brightly-coloured, wooden trucks. The designs on these vehicles were an art-form in themselves. This was folk-art at its finest.

It was difficult to leave Herat, as everyone was having such a good time, but the promise of even greater delights, drove us on to our next stop. The journey from Herat to Kandahar, even with an early start, took us a whole day and, as hotels were now very cheap.

I booked into the, aptly named, Mayfair Hotel, for 20 Afghanis per night. l ventured out for a late evening meal in a rather expensive, but good, restaurant and had boiled eggs and soup, before returning to my hotel for a sound sleep.. Next morning I awoke to find out that the other bus had arrived at 5.00.a.m. after driving through the night. Further inconvenience was due to some mad Afghanis shooting the back window out of the second bus. After the second driver had a four-hour nap, we left for Kabul. We were also to suffer considerable hardship as one of our front skylights had been shot to pieces. This meant we had a freezing 90 m.p.h. gale blowing through the bus en route for Kabul. We were also surprised to witness the startling evidence of a possible industrial revolution occurring in Afghanistan. ln Kandahar, we had been shown all the possible uses old rubber tyres could have e.g. black rubber shoes, water carriers, ,etc.,. Could Afghanistan be the future ecological capital of the world?

We arrived safe from any other sniper attacks in Kabul at 7.30 p.m. on Friday 14th. December. Hotels were luxurious, plentiful and above all, cheap.

When I awoke, completely refreshed On Saturday morning, we had been away from home a whole month, and we celebrated this momentous occasion by having a hearty, breakfast that included; two fried eggs, toast, tea, jam and real butter. Equipped with all these extra calories, l was able to meander through cold, snowbound, Kabul streets.

Feeling flush, I went on a mad spending spree. I purchased a fur hat (essential for this unrelenting chill) and swapped an old duffle-coat for a coveted, authentic Afghan coat. I may have made a crucial mistake in Kabul, as I recall buying kebabs in a street stall, perhaps this was where I picked up hepatitis germs. I would suffer for this error much later & I must admit that I was feeling unwell later that evening and I retired to bed early, falling asleep around 7.00.p.m.

The next day I still felt strange, but I went out for a walk around town. lndeed there were lots to see and do in Kabul and I often deliberately lost myself among back alleys, only to come upon some friendly tea-house, where I would be made welcome..

Afghani History

……….The inhabitants of this sparse country have long, bitter memories and they are still at war with the now-defunct,. British Empire. Who is going to tell these fierce Pathan tribesmen, that the British Empire no longer exists & one couldn’t help thinking that once they had sent the Russians home they would return to fighting their old enemy.
Future events would bring a totally new agenda to the table.
The Russians cannot win, they lack a fighting spirit, but the Muslims firmly believe in their Jihad and will gladly die fighting as Allah has guaranteed instant transport to paradise for any Muslim who dies in battle fighting the infidel.

By now I was well-aware of the Afghani hospitality. I had met some tribes on their way to Mecca, when our bus broke down in Iran, while we were waiting for spare parts from Meshed and I was seeking refuge in a tea-house, l experienced real Afghan hospitality, straight from the heart, no strings attached.

On stepping through the door of the tea-house, and out of a heavy snow storm, l saw the fiercest-looking people I have ever met. They had a bizarre appearance, shaved heads with unnaturally red-coloured, beards, dripping onto their chests. They were crowded around the wood stove, and, as I drew nearer to the only source of heat in the room, they all seemed to back away and give me the prime position at the direct heat. I soon learned the rules of this world and when the next pilgrim came through the door out of the cold, I also moved away from, the stove to let him gain access to the heat. this brought a warm response from the Afghanis (not noted for their warmth), who threw their toothless, knowing smiles in my direction. Their hardened exterior, masked a reality of openness and acceptability. These people only possessed at most: a rifle, coat, blanket, wife, horse, and some sheep, but they always seemed to be happy and this was their main attraction for me. Values had to undergo a radical change when entering Afghanistan, after all a horse or sheep was evidently of more value than a woman or a wife. Naturally their lifestyle had sharpened them a great deal, and what these tribes knew about survival tactics would fill many volumes. Further evidence of this ability to survive under harsh conditions would be seem later, when the mujahadeen would live off the land while waging war on one of the super powers. One could almost say that Afghanistan was the Russians’ Vietnam…….

Afghanistan

……Travellers must find the journey through Afghanistan very confusing and they should be warned at the border that they may be stepping back in time at least four or five centuries. Twentieth century Afghanistan was equivalent to Europe in the thirteenth century.
These border guards should have been a warning of what was ahead, but as I said, it all seemed so unreal, like a really funny Joke and we were all waiting for the punchline. We drove on through barren moonscapes until our first stop in this mysterious land. We came upon Herat at 9.00. p.m. while most of us stayed at the /?hotel for 20 afghanis per night.

From maps, I realised that Afghanistan contained only four towns, i.e., Herat, Kandahar, Kabul and Mazar-i-Sharif. We were to travel via the first of these of these towns, avoiding the latter as if was inaccessible in the winter months. It is worth noting that there is only one major road in Afghanistan and it stretches from Herat via Kandahar to Kabul..
The Americans built one side of the road and the Russians built the other side, both attempting to win the hearts and minds of the people. I would suggest that the USSR was responsible for the left side, and the USA for the right side. Of course the wise old Afghanis would court both sides and be allies of neither. From recent events, one could see the deep-felt, independence of the Afghanis and I dare say they would not be silly enough to be duped by the games played by the super powers. …….

Keeping Warm

….. I slept in my sleeping bag with all my clothes on to try and keep warm. I stayed in this position during the early morning as we were waiting on a spare part for the bus, that had to come from Meshed. During the afternoon I braved the severe cold and ventured outside and sat in a tea house as the snow fell in sheets. It was extremely cold and the bus windows were coated in ice. However the spare part did not arrive until late at night, so I spent another frozen night on the bus. This time the temperature dropped so low, I could not sleep at all. By mid-day the bus was fixed and we drove on to reach the next border by 2.30.
The Iran-Afghan border was nothing less than a joke. On the Iranian side events appeared to be slightly organised, but the Afghan border officials were extra-ordinary. These guards or so-called officials were shabbily dressed in torn, greatcoats, dating from at least the last century. they ransacked baggage at will and took what they wanted for themselves, e.g. cameras, radios, watches, food, etc.,.no one was in a position to argue as they carried rifles and revolvers, that they would use without hesitation. Both drivers, who had been this way before and had seen all this earlier, carried some merchandise to alleviate such situations. They bribed guards with whisky and coffee smuggled through previous borders. It was surprising what could be achieved in return for a pack of American cigarettes. As long as one could provide the bribes (‘baksheesh’) one could easily slip a jumbo jet through some of these customs posts. Some foolish passengers had brought luxury goods along with them but they were soon relieved of these useless items………..

Tehran Laramie

……Life in Tehran was more or less enjoyable and trips to the bazaar, were punctuated by well-dressed businessmen offering to take me into the lucrative, import-export business and all I would have to do was to move priceless carpets back and forth across borders.
In effect all that he really wanted from me was to use my name and a forwarding address and I would not have to do that much and besides the rewards were substantial, however there were slight risks and one minor risk was possibly a lifetime in a suicidal Iranian jail, but if I was lucky and paid for a good lawyer, I might get the sentence reduced to a quick death.
Thanks, but no thanks. On Friday 7th December we left Tehran…………