In 2001, I spent part of a hard winter in a remote village near Bamiyan in the Afghan central highlands. The Taliban government had just fallen. The village was ringed with landmines. Neighbouring village had been razed to the ground by retreating militia, the roof-beams were charred, the buildings empty, and the survivors had fled to refugee camps in Iran. There was no electricity, no schooling for girls and little for boys. The nearest clinic was three days’ walk away and there were no medicines when you reached it. People made what little cash they had from archaeological looting and child labour.
When I returned to the valley, at the end of last year, it was difficult to recognise the place. For a start, I could drive there, rather than walk, on new roads that had been run up the valley. The mines had been cleared. The villages were three times larger.
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