From thousands of feet above, Kandahar seems like a massive arid land surrounded by mammoth mountains. As the pilot shifts down the landing gear and the plane starts to rapidly descend down Kandahar International Airport, it is not hard to reminisce flying into Kathmandu valley. In fact, one would be almost certain for a few minutes as constant murmurs in Nepali fill the back seats – Nepalis young and old, embarking on a journey to improve their lives, an unknown life that awaits a few thousand feet beneath them. And the danger that probably knew no bounds.[break]
Kandahar Airfield, the NATO base in southern Afghanistan, which includes a massive 3,000-meter runway, is home to several dozens of Nepalis, who have come here to work, make money and send it back to their families. To many Nepalis, coming to Afghanistan means coming to a foreign country like everywhere else in Arab countries or Malaysia, where they think money is abundant and lives change in the blink of an eye.
Tika Bhatta is one of those many dreamers who said he sold his land (not much) in Nepal, packed his bags and came to Kandahar five months ago. Along with dozen other young Nepalis, Bhatta works for a dining facility operated by Supreme Foodservice, a subsidiary of Supreme Solutions based in Switzerland that provides services ranging from logistics, fuel and aviation.
Unlike most other Nepalis in the Kandahar base, Bhatta is a proactive man, slightly talkative, probably in his late 30s, speaks good English and has earned respect from his Indian counterparts at work.
“I don’t understand why such an able man is working in a cafeteria,” said one of the chefs at the dining facility in Kandahar. “He should be working in America or England, not in Afghanistan.”
Bhatta is a prime example of how most Nepalis, if not all, get nudged by shock the moment they land off the plane in the airfield – every minute a fighter plane takes off the runway; every week the Taliban shoot a rocket bomb into the base; and every second the fear of being in a warzone haunts them even more.
“Once you get here, you realize that this is no Dubai or Doha,” said Bhatta, as he sat on a table with two cans of Fanta and a plate full of Danish pastries filled with custard. “You walk knowing that you might not be breathing the next minute and you go to bed knowing that you might not see the sunrise the next morning.”
Such dangers of working as laborers in one of the most dangerous places in the world come with its price. Two weeks ago, four Nepali workers - Janak Pokharel; Bishnu Malla; Nama Raj Khadka; and Sunil Lamichhane - died in Kandahar after a Russian MI-8 helicopter ferrying military contractors and workers crashed a few seconds after takeoff. All four Nepalis worked for Supreme Fuel Co., which is owned by the same group that operates the dining facilities that Bhatta works for in Kandahar.
Such stories of accidents and deaths are neither news nor surprises in Afghanistan; as clichéd as they might sound like they have become a way of life. For the families of these Nepali workers, who have nothing to do with a war waging between the military superpowers of the world and die-hard terrorists, Afghanistan is a dream that ceased to continue long before it even started to show any promise.
What makes things worse for Nepalis in Afghanistan, however, is not the possibility of dying from shrapnel or falling from the helicopter; it is the working conditions and the treatment they get, says Bhatta. Two other Nepali workers in the one of the several dining facilities, who wished to remain anonymous for the fear of losing their employment, and Bhatta complained that their experience working in Afghanistan has been a bitter one.
There are over a dozen Nepali and Indian workers at this specific dining facility run by Supreme Foodservice inside Kandahar airfield. Almost every Nepali worker this reporter spoke with is paid a flat salary of $385 per month, around 29,000 in Nepali rupees. Although they admit that they could not make that kind of money working in their villages, they say it was the betrayal that hurts them the most.
“We were told that we’d get $500 plus bonus before we left in Nepal,” said a young college graduate from Chitwan, who asked his name to be withheld stating that he cannot afford to lose his job in Kandahar. “But once we paid the money to the employment agency and arrived here, were shocked to know that we make only $385.”
The anger of the workers here has less to do with the manpower company in Nepal though. Bhatta and his fellow workers are more upset with Supreme Food Services, which they say, despite being part of a multibillion dollar company, does not care about their workers.
The workers live inside massive shipping containers that come with a door and small windows – not too uncommon inside the Kandahar base; even contractors who make six-figure salaries live inside such shipping containers – and have television and air condition installed, all courtesy of Supreme Foods Services. But Bhatta complains that the company puts up to four or five people inside one container, while he claims it is only good for two.
“They would not treat us like sheep if they really cared about their workers,” he added.
He said that he had come through Man Bhawan (Lalitpur) based Golden Horse Travels and Solution who gets the paperwork done and sent them to their contact person in Dubai. The workers are sent to Kandahar from Dubai.
While Bhatta and others like the young man from Chitwan admit that nobody forced them to come to Afghanistan and that they were aware of the ongoing war, they claim that the magnitude of the dangers were greater than anything they had assumed. And if they received $500 per month, like they were promised, they say they would have nothing to complain about.
“They make us work in a war zone for God’s sake,” added Bhatta. “At least once a week, we run to the bomb shelters because of rocket attacks. And they pay us less than thirteen dollars a day.”
But the most striking of things is that there is a chorus of Bhattas in Supreme Foods’ dining facilities. This reporter met several workers who either wanted to return to Nepal or had already quit and were in the process of returning home. As one of the workers put it bluntly, “For 26,000 rupees, I don’t even think our dead bodies can be flown back to Kathmandu.” And back home, the dead bodies do cost more than that, with more than diplomatic hurdles on the way.
To add to this list of complaints, the Nepali workers mentioned that many of them are not allowed to go home on a vacation now– partly because the visa with which they entered the country for the first time, was considered invalid the second time they were attempting to enter the country.
The workers explained that the company would hire a third person or group in Afghanistan to issue visas for them and many times, they ended up with fake visas on their passports. And the irony of all this, there is no Nepali embassy in Afghanistan to listen to their plea. The nearest embassy is in Dubai, but taking a trip up there meant risking re-entering the country for which they have spent hundreds and thousands of Nepali rupees.
Disgruntled with their employer and taunted by luck, the Nepali workers, including Bhatta, saved their last piece of anger for the United States and its allies, who have been fighting against Al Qaeda and the Taliban since 2001.
“It’s a shame that these soldiers are here to fight the terrorists and give the Afghans their rights, their freedoms and their dreams,” said Bhatta. “What they don’t know is that the very hands that feed them and wash their dishes are also repressed and nowhere close to their dreams.”
Bhatta’s frustration, although levelheaded, is old. Dozens of Nepalis come to the Middle East for one thing – money – but are disappointed with what awaits them at the other end of the table. Last month in July, a young man from Khotang wept as he forced himself to get on the flight back to Dubai – and then to Kathmandu – after merely working for four weeks inside the Kandahar base. “Don’t come here. It’s empty,” were the only words he chose to share when asked if he had any message for other aspirants who wanted to work in Afghanistan.
The Nepalis have a big appetite for dreams, but like every other place they end up going for labor work, they are sent back kaput. Their Fanta and pastry diet will almost certainly pay off: they can save enough to buy a motorcycle. But life comes back at them fast as soon as those wheels touch the tarmac at the Kathmandu airport. Right this moment, there are hundreds of young men from places as far as Khotang, Gulmi and Morang waiting to board on the Gulf flights. If stories like Bhatta’s are any examples, more young Nepalis will come back disappointed, possibly lamenting at their own decisions to gamble with their fate.
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