Today, the entire 50-mile valley, once a fertile land of deep green shade, is an arid wilderness of dust, charred stumps of tree trunk and deep craters. The only signs of green are the flags blowing in the breeze that mark the graves of people who have died violent deaths. Long before the Taliban came, Shalima was fabled throughout Afghanistan for its lushness and the sweetness of the grapes and fruit it produced.
Haji A.J., who made the pilgrimage to Mecca as a young man, was once the most prosperous farmer of Logari. He and his three brothers each owned sizeable vineyards, and with his share he made 680 sacks of the sugary white raisins for which Shalima is famous, for sale in Kabul and beyond. His house was a series of single-storey buildings, connected one to the other, under the shade of the mulberry trees; in the courtyard was a well, providing ample water for the household and irrigation for his fields. Almost as far as the eye could see lay his wheat fields and his orchards of apricot, black cherries and walnuts.
In 1991, Haji A.J. fled to Pakistan with his wife and five children, a three-day journey in the snow over the mountains, and sat out the mujahideen and Taliban years in a rented house in Peshawar. In June, he brought his wife and children, now married and with children of their own, home to Logari. They were part of the immense flow of returning refugees, which has seen over one and a half million people come home from Pakistan and Iran in a little over six months.
The family is camping in a tent in what was once their courtyard, given to them by the local warlord. Haji A.J.’s family numbered twenty people when they were forced to flee; 36 have come back. How many people decide to make the journey home from exile, how many of the estimated four million scattered around the world by 23 years of civil war feel safe enough now to risk leaving the camps and villages over the borders for their villages and towns in Afghanistan, no one can yet say.
‘In the late 1980s, 40 families lived in Logari. And we lived well. Between my family and those of my brothers we owned 12,000 vines, and grew 11 different kinds of grape. The best ones were white grapes and we dried those very slowly, inside the houses. They fetched about $19 a sack. The whole process took about a month. In the early 1990s, we had just taken out trade licences and were hoping to export to China. We also had eight milking cows, a tractor, large stocks of wheat and two small shops, one in Kabul and one in Kandahar.’
‘The village was totally ruined.’ Haji A.J. pointed to the remains of walls all around, and to the tree trunks. ‘I looked and I cried. The few trees that remained had had their branches torn off by nomads, who used them to feed their animals. The Taliban had allowed only nomads in this area. UNHCR had given each returning family $100, three sacks of wheat, and three plastic sheets.’
‘A local commander saw us arrive and came to ask whether we had any shelter. When I told him we hadn’t, he gave us a tent. We had no water, and there were mines and unexploded shells down the wells and in the canals, but a foreign organisation came to the valley and helped us clear one well so that we now have water to drink. They have told us that they will give us rafters for the roofs, and window frames and windows, provided we rebuild the houses.’ Both men and women in Logari are now working to build houses before the snows come in October.
‘We are very happy to be home. We have no fear of anyone, and we are people in our own land. We are planting fruit trees again, and the day will come when we will tell passers-by, as we used to, to help themselves to whatever they want, because the fruit is so plentiful and grows so well here. The water that we drink is nice and always cool here, even in the great heat of summer. In Kabul or Peshawar, unless you own a fridge, the water is warm.’
