Afghans Driven from Pakistan Rebuilding Lives from 'Zero'

Afghan refugee Shazia (2R), mother to three children, holds an infant aboard an overloaded truck heading to Jalalabad. Wakil KOHSAR / AFP
Afghan refugee Shazia (2R), mother to three children, holds an infant aboard an overloaded truck heading to Jalalabad. Wakil KOHSAR / AFP
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Afghans Driven from Pakistan Rebuilding Lives from 'Zero'

Afghan refugee Shazia (2R), mother to three children, holds an infant aboard an overloaded truck heading to Jalalabad. Wakil KOHSAR / AFP
Afghan refugee Shazia (2R), mother to three children, holds an infant aboard an overloaded truck heading to Jalalabad. Wakil KOHSAR / AFP

Rocked gently on his mother's knees, a fly on his nose, a baby sleeps fitfully in a tent in a barren border camp as his family prepares to leave the waypoint to rebuild their lives in Afghanistan.
In the transit camp at Torkham, where returnees driven out of Pakistan sweat in burning heat during the day and shiver through the night, many of the blue tents at the foot of rocky mountains standing stark against a cloudless sky have already emptied, said AFP.
Trucks overloaded with several families, carrying cushions, brightly colored blankets and kitchen utensils, are readied to set off.
Border officials say at least 210,000 Afghans, including many who have lived decades, if not their whole lives, outside their country, have passed through the Torkham border point since Pakistan ordered those without documents to leave.
From the reception camp, they have dispersed to various Afghan provinces with a handout of around 15,000 Afghanis ($205) -- just enough to support a family for a month.
For many, nothing, and no one, awaits them.
"We have nowhere to go, we don't have a house, or land, I don't have any work," said Sher Aga, a former security guard in Pakistan.
He bundled his nine children and all the family's belongings into a truck to head north, to Kunduz province, where he was born.
But the 43-year-old has no memory of his homeland, having left Afghanistan when he was five.
"I don't have any family there anymore," he told AFP.
"My children ask me, 'What country are we going to?'"
'We fear starvation'
In a tent that she, her husband and their 10 children are sheltering in, 40-year-old Amina hides her face behind a red headscarf.
They are destined for Jalalabad, capital of Nangarhar province where Torkham is located, and where she has "many brothers".
"I asked my family to find us a house" to rent, she said, "but they say there are none".
"No one has called us or come to see us," she added.
In Pakistan, her sons worked selling vegetables or driving rickshaws to pull in enough money to sustain the family, but Amina fears for their prospects in Afghanistan, wracked by economic crisis and unemployment.
"If the boys don't work, we're not going to make it."
Another nearby tent is crammed with the 16 members of Gul Pari's family, who have been sleeping on cardboard boxes without blankets since arriving at the transit camp.
Her voice is drowned out by the honking of tanker trucks delivering much-needed water to the camp, with clusters of laughing, barefoot children clinging to the back.
The 46-year-old grandmother, her grandchild's rail-thin body cradled in her lap, said that in five days they will leave for Kunduz to start a new life in a country she hasn't seen in four decades.
Life was precarious for the family collecting scraps in Pakistan, but in Afghanistan, "We have nothing," she said.
"We fear starvation. But if we find work, it'll be OK. We will be happy in our homeland. In Pakistan, we were being harassed."
Most of those returning fled an Afghanistan ravaged for decades by deadly conflict, but the end to fighting since the Taliban's return to power in 2021 has encouraged some to come back.
'Starting from zero'
Amanullah and his family were stranded in a temporary camp in the neighboring province of Laghman, having nowhere else to go in Afghanistan.
Amid a dozen white Red Crescent tents sprouting from the lunar landscape, the 43-year-old, who lived 35 years in Pakistan, said life in the camp was hard on him, his wife and their six children.
"There are no toilets," the former construction worker said, and the women "are having a very difficult time" because they have to wait until nightfall to go out to relieve themselves in groups for safety.
There is barely any electricity either.
"All the tents are pitch black" as soon as night falls, he told AFP, holding up a small red flashlight.
"We have small children, so we have a lot of hardship," he said, adding that all his children were in school in Pakistan, but he fears for their future now.
"If we stay here for five days, a month, a year, it could be alright, but we need work, a house... we're starting from zero."
On the road to Jalalabad, Shazia and 20 other women and children piled into a small truck that leaned precariously as it veered around bends in the road, whipping the women's blue burqas around a teetering mound of bundles.
Of the Afghans returning from Pakistan, she is luckier than most: her husband went ahead of them to Jalalabad and found a four-room house to rent for four families.
"The rent is expensive," said the 22-year-old mother-of-three, her youngest child only two months old.
"But tonight we will be able to sleep."



On Lebanon Border, Israel and Hezbollah’s Deadly Game of Patience

Smoke is seen as an unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV) is intercepted following its launch from Lebanon, amid cross-border hostilities between Hezbollah and Israeli forces, at Kibbutz Eilon in northern Israel, July 23, 2024. (Reuters)
Smoke is seen as an unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV) is intercepted following its launch from Lebanon, amid cross-border hostilities between Hezbollah and Israeli forces, at Kibbutz Eilon in northern Israel, July 23, 2024. (Reuters)
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On Lebanon Border, Israel and Hezbollah’s Deadly Game of Patience

Smoke is seen as an unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV) is intercepted following its launch from Lebanon, amid cross-border hostilities between Hezbollah and Israeli forces, at Kibbutz Eilon in northern Israel, July 23, 2024. (Reuters)
Smoke is seen as an unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV) is intercepted following its launch from Lebanon, amid cross-border hostilities between Hezbollah and Israeli forces, at Kibbutz Eilon in northern Israel, July 23, 2024. (Reuters)

In deserted villages and communities near the southern Lebanon border, Israeli troops and Hezbollah fighters have watched each other for months, shifting and adapting in a battle for the upper hand while they wait to see if a full scale war will come.

Ever since the start of the Gaza war last October, the two sides have exchanged daily barrages of rockets, artillery, missile fire and air strikes in a standoff that has just stopped short of full-scale war.

Tens of thousands have been evacuated from both sides of the border, and hopes that children may be able to return for the start of the new school year in September appear to have been dashed following an announcement by Israeli Education Minister Yoav Kisch on Tuesday that conditions would not allow it.

"The war is almost the same for the past nine months," Lieutenant Colonel Dotan, an Israeli officer, who could only be identified by his first name. "We have good days of hitting Hezbollah and bad days where they hit us. It's almost the same, all year, all the nine months."

As the summer approaches its peak, the smoke trails of drones and rockets in the sky have become a daily sight, with missiles regularly setting off brush fires in the thickly wooded hills along the border.

Israeli strikes have killed nearly 350 Hezbollah fighters in Lebanon and more than 100 civilians, including medics, children and journalists, while 10 Israeli civilians, a foreign agricultural worker and 20 Israeli soldiers have been killed.

Even so, as the cross border firing has continued, Israeli forces have been training for a possible offensive in Lebanon which would dramatically increase the risk of a wider regional war, potentially involving Iran and the United States.

That risk was underlined at the weekend when the Yemen-based Houthis, a militia which like Hezbollah is backed by Iran, sent a drone to Tel Aviv where it caused a blast that killed a man and prompted Israel to launch a retaliatory raid the next day.

Standing in his home kibbutz of Eilon, where only about 150 farmers and security guards remain from a normal population of 1,100, Lt. Colonet Dotan said the two sides have been testing each other for months, in a constantly evolving tactical battle.

"This war taught us patience," said Dotan. "In the Middle East, you need patience."

He said Israeli troops had seen an increasing use of Iranian drones, of a type frequently seen in Ukraine, as well as Russian-made Kornet anti tank missiles which were increasingly targeting houses as Israeli tank forces adapted their own tactics in response.

"Hezbollah is a fast-learning organization and they understood that UAVs (unmanned aerial vehicles) are the next big thing and so they went and bought and got trained in UAVs," he said.

Israel had responded by adapting its Iron Dome air defense system and focusing its own operations on weakening Hezbollah's organizational structure by attacking its experienced commanders, such as Ali Jaafar Maatuk, a field commander in the elite Radwan forces unit who was killed last week.

"So that's another weak point we found. We target them and we look for them on a daily basis," he said.

Even so, as the months have passed, the wait has not been easy for Israeli troops brought up in a doctrine of maneuver and rapid offensive operations.

"When you're on defense, you can't defeat the enemy. We understand that, we have no expectations," he said, "So we have to wait. It's a patience game."