Life under the Taliban’s charm offensive

The Taliban Cultural Commission sounds a contradiction in terms but for all foreign journalists it’s the first stop in the new Afghanistan. There, in a dusty office on the first floor of the old Ministry of Information, I was handed a letter which allowed me to go anywhere in the country, except Kabul airport or military installations. In a neighbouring office I met Anamullah Samangani, a Taliban commander from the northern province of Samangan. He’s an Uzbek, resplendent in crisp white shalwar kameez, black waistcoat and black and white silk turban. He told me he has read one of my books. ‘Do you feel safe in Kabul, have you had any difficulties?’ he asked. He assured me that the new Taliban just want to be friends. ‘We have learnt from experience and now we want to connect to the world and interact with them in a good way, especially western countries.’ It’s hard for me to get my head around. Not long ago they would have viewed foreign journalists as potential targets for kidnapping. Several fighters I chatted to on the street exclaimed, ‘Why are you back?’ when they found out I’m British, but then they asked for selfies with me and sent me WhatsApps with flower emojis. It’s all part of a Taliban charm offensive, which started a couple of months back when they created a WhatsApp group for foreign journalists. The billboard at Kabul airport, which once bore the president’s picture, now proclaims: ‘The Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan seeks peaceful and positive relations with the World.’ But the I ♥ Kabul sculpture on the grass in front has tellingly lost its heart.

Hard as it is to see Kabul like this, I was relieved finally to be here. I was deep in the Amazon, on assignment in a remote village, when Kabul fell.