This morning we visited Sham Paris, which sounds attractive, but in reality it’s just this side of hell itself.  (Sorry, but today’s update isn’t real pretty.)

 

Sham Paris is the common reference name of the IDP camp located near the Sham-e Paris Hotel in northwestern Kabul.  I say the “reference” name, because the IDP camp itself actually has no official name.  I guess if the powers-that-be gave it an actual name, then they’d also have to admit the place and those people actually exist and maybe DO something about the conditions there.

 

We got clearance this morning to visit there for enough time to distribute bags of dried beans and four liters of cooking oil (provided by a Polish church group) and some clothing (donated by US and ISAF troops and their families) to each of the 78 families who have been living there for the past 4-5 years.  They exist on 5 meter by 5 meter plots of land covered by a “tent” made from scraps of tarps, rugs, and plastic cobbled together to provide a bit of privacy and shelter from the sun, rain, wind, and ever-present dust.  There is no power, no water, and no sanitation.  When it rains, the sewage runs across the compound under many of the tents and people have to lay rocks in the middle of the streams and puddles so they can sleep above it.

 

As we began handing out the food an elderly man walking with a cane came through the receiving line.  He was eerily thin and frail, had a bushy white beard, and appeared to be about 90 years old although he was probably in his 60’s.

 

He couldn’t walk very well so I offered to carry his beans, oil, and clothing for him… he reluctantly accepted as no one was with him so he had no options.  After taking about 100 steps we were approached by a group of three young Afghan men and I admit being a little scared.  When they got about 10 feet away the leader said, in plain English, “You’re a good man!”  smiled, and put his hand over his heart – a traditional Afghan sign of endearment.

 

As we walked further his breathing was labored and he wheezed with every breath.  He spoke continually in Dari and to no one in particular, often elevating the palm of his non-cane hand as if he were giving thanks to someone above.  Before long his prayers turned to sobs and he continued to weep until we reached his “home.”  After setting down his precious cargo I couldn’t believe my ears when he said “Chai?” and motioned to the teapot in the middle of the floor.  I wanted desperately to accept his offer, but decided to politely refuse.  As an Afghan, I knew he would offer me his last cup of tea even if it meant he would have nothing to drink for days and I didn’t want to take that chance.

 

I thanked him and bid him peace in Dari, left his tent, and headed back to the distribution point by the road, taking in all the sights, sounds, and smells along the way.  Although there was a fair amount of trash everywhere, the camp also had an odd sense of organization to it and most plots were neatly kept.  I could hear conversations in virtually all the tents and the occasional baby crying.  The smells were numerous and changed with nearly every step.  But one smell I never noticed was food.

 

When I got back to the head of the line and joined the others I learned that Gil had an experience carrying supplies that was virtually identical to mine.  But after that none of the residents allowed us to carry their supplies much more than about 20-30 feet. Perhaps from embarrassment or fear, but more likely simply because as Afghans they believe their guests should not have to lift a finger and – even in Sham Paris – they were determined to be good hosts.

 

The families in Sham Paris live as seven tribes, each represented by an elder.  They have returned to Afghanistan – their homeland – after decades of exile in Pakistan, Iran, or elsewhere.  They are not forced to live in Sham Paris… they are free to leave whenever they want.  But they have nowhere else to go as their homes and villages have either been destroyed or are still under Taliban control and unsafe.

 

Their greatest hope is to someday be relocated to another IDP camp elsewhere… maybe someplace like Barek Aub.  Most of the 600 families that currently live in Barek Aub lived in Kabul only three years ago under similar circumstances.  But they had an outside organization championing their cause and they eventually became “somebody” and got relocated.  The residents of Sham Paris have no such outside advocate.

 

Despite the deplorable living conditions, the distribution was very orderly and went without a hitch.  We loaded the vans and returned to the guest house where we held an impromptu debriefing session to help everyone process the overwhelming experience they’d all just been a part of.  And to pray for the residents of Sham Paris and those in  the other 36 IDP camps across Afghanistan that our host organization works in.

 

After lunch the team took a short break to rest, journal, or write home before heading to a well known local carpet store so the team could purchase a few souvenirs.  Then it was time to head back to the guest house for dinner and we capped off the day with some  fellowship, discussion, journaling, and personal devotional time before hitting the sack.

 

It quickly became evident during our impromptu debriefing session that the visit to Sham Paris was the most intense and emotionally challenging event of the week so far.  Every team member was touched deeply by what we witnessed – the abject poverty and the despicable living conditions.

 

At the same time we also agreed that it actually gives us more hope for Barek Aub because the current residents of Barek Aub were trapped without hope in an IDP camp in Kabul very much like Sham Paris just three years ago and now they are well on their way to having their own thriving, healthy community.

 

Please join us in praying for the people in the Sham Paris IDP camp.  Right now as I’m writing this and also as you’re reading it, there are 500 people sitting, sleeping, and living in dirt, hunger, and despair.

 

Sorry… I warned you this one wasn’t going to be pretty.

 

--Bob