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Journey to Afghanistan - Chapter 5, page 13

A Day of Rest in Afghanistan - by Ken Magee

We in America had heard about the uprising and tragedy that enveloped an old fortress being used as a prison some fifteen or twenty kilometers west of Mazar-i-Sharif. Not only had many hundreds of Taliban and Northern Alliance soldiers died but it was here that both the first American was killed during the war in Afghanistan and a wounded John Walker Lindh was found as the fighting reached its bloody conclusion.

Friday was our "day off." In the Muslim culture of Afghanistan it was a day of rest and not appropriate to attempt to work, although some of the shops were open in Mazar. Michael suggested we visit that old fortress, Qualamjare. Mukhabat, a young lady from Uzbekistan, who was not also working for NWMT, had been there as a reporter for the Los Angeles Times during the terrible fight. She would accompany us.

We traveled west of Mazar City past small villages and irrigated farmland with now mostly small barren fields. Abruptly the walls of Qualamjare loomed to the south. I was amazed by the enormity of this old fortress. Its ramparts were at least twenty meters high, built of thick adobe blocks with a steep earthen base supporting the lower half. These walls stretched irregularly for four-hundred meters or so on each of its four sides. Machine gun and artillery emplacements were located uppermost at intervals of perhaps a hundred meters. As we took a slightly winding roadway towards the ancient fortress bullet pockmarks from the fierce fighting became evident in its walls. Near the northeast corner a huge gap appeared in the upper half of the bulwark.

Our road circled the east side of the fortress, then joined another road from the south as it turned toward the huge main gate at the southeast corner. It was well guarded with about eight soldiers bearing rifles, machine guns and rocket launchers. An armored vehicle waited nearby. The soldiers' faces were rim. I was thankful for Michael and Mukhabat who were on good terms with the generals of the Northern Alliance. Michael conversed with the soldiers a bit, a call was made on a handheld radio into the inner sanctum, the gate was opened, and we were briskly waved through.

Huge residuals of the recent carnage were all about us as our van made its way along the road leading toward the fort's headquarters. Trees shredded and broken, fragmented remnants of walls and buildings, demolished vehicles, and the inside of the fortress wall was scarred by thousands of bullets. By contrast the headquarters building had already been mostly rebuilt. Its walls had been repaired and freshly painted. A small porch had an obviously new iron railing.

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