Rural outreach to Afghans snags on technology and fear

Afghanistan (Reuters) – Mortally wounded after setting off an improvised bomb, the boy might have survived. But rather than use the hotline provided them by Canadian troops, fellow villagers carried him out for treatment.

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By the time they reached the Canadian outpost, using a wheelbarrow as a gurney, the 5-year-old was dead. A couple of days later, the soldiers were back in the Afghan hamlet of mud-brick huts to try to persuade its residents to be more forthcoming.

“While there is a system in place, it has deficiencies,” said Major Austin Douglas, the company commander.

He was referring mainly to a telephone line set up to allow local Afghans to summon help or provide tip-offs about Taliban insurgents, with six translators on hand to pass on the calls.

The initiative has been stymied by logistics, and fear.

Cellphones are relatively rare in Afghanistan, especially in rural areas like Kandahar province, where the Taliban insurgency against U.S.-led foreign troops is at its most potent.

The Taliban regard cellphone users as potential spies, and Afghan service-providers have been known to turn off antennas at night — when insurgents prefer to operate — out of concern their own facilities could come under attack.

“They will just kill us if we speak to Western forces,” said Abdul Wahab, a 25-year-old farmer.

Another man recalled an ugly encounter with the insurgents.

“They took me once for a long time and beat me and said if I talk with the Canadians they will behead me,” he said with a throat-cutting gesture.

CLOCK TICKS

Apparently eclipsed amid all this alarm was the outrage over the boy’s death, which the Canadians, passing out children’s stickers and soft drinks, blamed on the “bad” Taliban.

Kandahar is the focus of a military and reconstruction push that the Afghan government and NATO forces hope will break the grip of the Taliban by providing services, jobs and stability.

If the campaign doesn’t work, Afghanistan may be unstable for years to come. Worst case, the Taliban, having been toppled in 2001, might return to power — exacting vengeance against Afghans who had worked with the foreigners.

“We need the cooperation of the people. Many are stuck in the middle. They need to be able to control their lives. We will not be here forever,” said Winslow Taylor, a Canadian master-corporal who has learned some of the local language to build trust with Afghans.

The Canadian military contingent, which has suffered some of the biggest casualties in the war, is slated to leave next year.

Afghan villagers are already keeping account.

“Where is the paved road you said you would build?” one man challenged the Canadians.

In another area visited by the patrol the next day, locals listened as the Canadians chronicled the reasons for the Afghan invasion: to hunt down al Qaeda after it attacked the United States, and to do away with the militants’ Taliban sponsors.

Then one farmer recalled how the Taliban once appeared wearing Canadian military uniforms, and slaughtered seven people.

Rural outreach to Afghans snags on technology, fear

KANDAHAR PROVINCE, Afghanistan, June 15 (Reuters) – Mortally wounded after setting off an improvised bomb, the boy might have survived. But rather than use the hotline provided them by Canadian troops, fellow villagers carried him out for treatment.

By the time they reached the Canadian outpost, using a wheelbarrow as a gurney, the 5-year-old was dead. A couple of days later, the soldiers were back in the Afghan hamlet of mud-brick huts to try to persuade its residents to be more forthcoming.

“While there is a system in place, it has deficiencies,” said Major Austin Douglas, the company commander.

He was referring mainly to a telephone line set up to allow local Afghans to summon help or provide tip-offs about Taliban insurgents, with six translators on hand to pass on the calls.

The initiative has been stymied by logistics, and fear. >^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

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Cellphones are relatively rare in Afghanistan, especially in rural areas like Kandahar province, where the Taliban insurgency against U.S.-led foreign troops is at its most potent.

The Taliban regard cellphone users as potential spies, and Afghan service-providers have been known to turn off antennas at night — when insurgents prefer to operate — out of concern their own facilities could come under attack. “They will just kill us if we speak to Western forces,” said Abdul Wahab, a 25-year-old farmer.

Another man recalled an ugly encounter with the insurgents.

“They took me once for a long time and beat me and said if I talk with the Canadians they will behead me,” he said with a throat-cutting gesture.

CLOCK TICKS

Apparently eclipsed amid all this alarm was the outrage over the boy’s death, which the Canadians, passing out children’s stickers and soft drinks, blamed on the “bad” Taliban.

Kandahar is the focus of a military and reconstruction push that the Afghan government and NATO forces hope will break the grip of the Taliban by providing services, jobs and stability.

If the campaign doesn’t work, Afghanistan may be unstable for years to come. Worst case, the Taliban, having been toppled in 2001, might return to power — exacting vengeance against Afghans who had worked with the foreigners. “We need the cooperation of the people. Many are stuck in the middle. They need to be able to control their lives. We will not be here forever,” said Winslow Taylor, a Canadian master-corporal who has learned some of the local language to build trust with Afghans.

The Canadian military contingent, which has suffered some of the biggest casualties in the war, is slated to leave next year.

Afghan villagers are already keeping account.

“Where is the paved road you said you would build?” one man challenged the Canadians.

In another area visited by the patrol the next day, locals listened as the Canadians chronicled the reasons for the Afghan invasion: to hunt down al Qaeda after it attacked the United States, and to do away with the militants’ Taliban sponsors. Then one farmer recalled how the Taliban once appeared wearing Canadian military uniforms, and slaughtered seven people.

(Editing by Dan Williams)

(david.fox@thomsonreuters.com; Kabul newsroom: +93 799 335 285))

(If you have a query or comment about this story, send an e-mail to news.feedback.asia@thomsonreuters.com)

Mandla Mandela: a chip off the old block?

Mvezo, South Africa – When Mandla Mandela arrived in the home village of his grandfather Nelson 18 months ago to take up the position of “nkosi” (traditional leader), the locals just laughed – and wagered he’d be gone by the next day.

Instead he’s now a candidate for the country’s national parliament, following in his famous grandfather’s illustrious footsteps.

Draped in a lion skin, Mandla – a 35-year-old politics graduate – had been solemnly installed as chief of the Tembu clan at Mvezo, Mandela’s homestead in the Eastern Cape, six months beforehand.

But the people of Mvezo, an impoverished community of brightly- painted mud huts strewn across a cluster of bare hills, assumed he would run the show from afar.

“They laughed. They thought it was hilarious! They wondered how can Madiba’s ( Mandela’s clan name) grandson come and stay in such a remote village,” Mandla, who bears a striking resemblance to the iconic politician, with his towering physique, same slightly thick voice and easy banter, recalls.

But in coming to Mvezo, Mandla realized a dream of Mandela’s – to reclaim for the family the Tembu chieftaincy, which he renounced as a young man to devote himself to the anti-apartheid struggle.

And for Mandla, becoming nkosi also entailed painful sacrifices.

As a businessman in Johannesburg he ran two successful companies and drove a BMW. These days he sleeps in a single-roomed hut, drives a van and spends days sitting cross-legged on the stone floor of a tribal court, listening to villagers’ grievances.

But Mandla Mandela’s ambitions extend far beyond these hills, where Nelson used to herd cattle as a boy. His sights are set on parliament, where the African National Congress, of which his grandfather is still the figurehead, is only too happy to have a young Mandela in its ranks.

Next week, South Africans will vote in the fourth national and provincial elections since Mandela became the country’s first democratically-elected president in 1994.

In a corner of the court at Mvezo a stack of yellow, green and black posters urge “Vote ANC.”

Mandla is on the ANC’s list of candidates for parliament. His candidacy arose after he took his grandfather out to campaign for the current, controversial ANC leader, Jacob Zuma at a rally.

Mandla insists his selection was purely on the strength of his performance in Mvezo, where he is well-liked and hopes to remain chief, even if he becomes a lawmaker.

One of the key issues he has had to grapple with is HIV/AIDS, a pandemic that has ravaged rural communities like Mvezo, which have little or no access to healthcare.

“The Mandelas are not a family that have been left untouched by the epidemic,” Mandla notes. His own father, Nelson’s son Makgatho, died of AIDS in 2005, and he has several cousins living with HIV.

Mandla has persuaded mobile HIV testing units up the road to Mvezo, so that people can check their status and begin treatment if necessary.

On other issues, change has been slower. The expected date for electricity in the area is only 2011 and poverty is so acute one young villager said she had deliberately infected herself with HIV so she could collect a small stipend for the sick.

Some South Africans now blame the slow pace of post-apartheid transformation on corruption in the ANC and accuse it of betraying Mandela’s legacy. Zuma himself has been dogged by suspicion of corruption in an arms deal.

But Mandla holds the previous administration of Thabo Mbeki chiefly responsible for the sense of alienation between the government and the electorate.

“We found ourselves in an era where leadership had become detached from its own members.” he says. “This era (of Zuma’s ANC leadership) is bringing us back to the masses,” he says, claiming Nelson Mandela is one of Zuma’s fans.

If there is cause for concern, he says, it’s over the country’s deteriorating human rights record.

The government of caretaker-president Kgalema Motlanthe, who has been keeping the seat warm for Zuma since Mbeki was ousted last year, attracted widespread condemnation last month for denying the Dalai Lama a visa, following diplomatic pressure from China.

“His rejection of a visa for me broke the very essence of who we are as a country,” according to Mandla. “Although we are a poverty- stricken nation that is seeking for investment, we need not compromise our identity. We need not sell out who we are.” (dpa)