Monika Bulaj: The hidden light of Afghanistan

My travels to Afghanistan

began many, many years ago

on the eastern border of my country,

my homeland, Poland.

I was walking through the forests

of my grandmother's tales.

A land where every field hides a grave,

where millions of people

have been deported or killed

in the 20th century.

Behind the destruction,

I found a soul of places.

I met humble people.

I heard their prayer

and ate their bread.

Then I have been walking East for 20 years --

from Eastern Europe to Central Asia --

through the Caucasus Mountains,

Middle East,

North Africa,

Russia.

And I ever met more humble people.

And I shared their bread and their prayer.

This is why I went to Afghanistan.

One day, I crossed the bridge

over the Oxus River.

I was alone on foot.

And the Afghan soldier was so surprised to see me

that he forgot to stamp my passport.

But he gave me a cup of tea.

And I understood

that his surprise was my protection.

So I have been walking and traveling,

by horses, by yak, by truck, by hitchhiking,

from Iran's border

to the bottom, to the edge of the Wakhan Corridor.

And in this way

I could find noor, the hidden light of Afghanistan.

My only weapon

was my notebook and my Leica.

I heard prayers of the Sufi --

humble Muslims,

hated by the Taliban.

Hidden river,

interconnected with the mysticism

from Gibraltar to India.

The mosque where the respectful foreigner

is showered with blessings

and with tears,

and welcomed as a gift.

What do we know

about the country and the people

that we pretend to protect,

about the villages

where the only one medicine

to kill the pain and to stop the hunger

is opium?

These are opium-addicted people

on the roofs of Kabul

10 years after the beginning of our war.

These are the nomad girls

who became prostitutes for Afghan businessmen.

What do we know about the women

10 years after the war?

Clothed in this nylon bag,

made in China,

with the name of burqa.

I saw one day,

the largest school in Afghanistan,

a girls' school.

13,000 girls

studying here

in the rooms underground,

full of scorpions.

And their love [for studying]

was so big that I cried.

What do we know

about the death threats by the Taliban

nailed on the doors

of the people who dare to send their daughters to school as in Balkh?

The region is not secure, but full of the Taliban,

and they did it.

My aim is to give a voice

to the silent people,

to show the hidden lights

behind the curtain of the great game,

the small worlds ignored by the media

and the prophets of a global conflict.

Thanks.

(Applause)