BAGRAM, Afghanistan -- Mohammad Daud gently edges his pick into the
dirt, hunting for the thing that wants to kill him.
He kneels in the high grass, wearing a white hair net, a plastic
facemask and a protective vest.
As he works, orange tulips blaze in the distance. Birds swoop through
the spring air. The early morning sun sweeps across the wheat fields and
glistens off the snowy peaks that ring the Shomali Plains, an expanse of
exquisite beauty -- and one of the deadliest spots on earth.
Daud makes his living here, digging land mines out of the ground, one at
a time.
He pushes his pick, about the size of a fire poker, deeper into the dirt
and blocks out thoughts of his family. Not 10 feet away, three boys walk
their donkey along the road.
Daud's children cried when he left home two days ago to work in the
minefield. He told them he would return in three weeks, with money and
fresh bananas and tangerines, and that they would all celebrate.
He promised.
THE SHOMALI PLAINS offer a wide selection of land mines. There are
Iranian, Russian, Chinese and Italian devices, each engineered, in their
own way to kill.
There's the mine triggered by a tripwire, which launches a rocket three
feet into the air, where it explodes. There's the mine packed with
enough TNT to take out a tank. And the mine connected to an arsenal of
other explosives, designed to destroy everything in its path.
The combat has ended, but the land mines lurk in wells, in gardens and
under houses. They hide in irrigation ditches and along the highways.
The Soviets buried them, then the Mujahideen, then the Taliban, then the
Northern Alliance.
The Afghans call them soldiers without salaries. They keep killing even
though the wars are over.
The Shomali Plains have been a frontline for more than 20 years. Now,
thousands of refugees, displaced by the fighting, are returning to their
crumbled villages from Pakistan and camps in the Panjshir Valley in
northern Afghanistan.
Their route home is the "Old Road," which runs across the 40 miles of
plain connecting northern Afghanistan to Kabul, the capital.
The mines make the journey perilous.
Recently, a bus on its way to Kabul veered momentarily from the
pavement, hit a land mine and exploded in flames. The de-miners say 18
people were hurt.
And so Daud keeps digging.
He's one of about 2,000 men working in Afghanistan for Halo Trust, a
de-mining organization based in New York and Scotland. Most of Halo's
annual $6-million budget for that country comes from the U.S. and
British governments.
The de-miners risk the loss of limbs or life for a salary of about $6.50
per day. Yet, these are the most coveted jobs in Afghanistan. The
executives at Halo Trust say they believe the organization is the
country's largest private employer.
THE SHOMALI is one of eight regions in Afghanistan where Halo Trust is
de-mining. At each site, a de-miner works in a grid, scanning a
5-square-foot area at a time. First, he sweeps a hand-held metal
detector over the ground. Most mines are made of plastic, but they all
contain some metal, usually in the trigger.
If the detector sounds, the de-miner slips his pick, an "underground
eye" into the soil, holding it at a 30-degree angle. Tilting the pick
too far could put too much pressure on the mine, triggering an explosion.
Once a mine is found and uncovered, a detonation team hooks up a charge
and explodes the device remotely from a safe distance. A de-miner,
working by hand, covers about 30 square feet of ground a day. During the
process, the de-miners place color-coded stones along the roads: the
white side indicates a safe zone and the red warns of mines.
The de-miners, nearly all of them Afghans, are paid $130 a month, about
21/2 times a government salary. It is enough to feed a family of 10 or
12, according to Halo Trust.
They're on the job for 20 days. They live in tents and eat meals
together, which are provided by Halo Trust. They have eight days off.
Daud used to run the movie projector at a cinema in Kabul until the
theater, like most of the city, was destroyed during the civil war, from
12992 to 1996.For 12 years, he has worked on de-mining projects
everywhere from Kunduz in the north to a grain silo in Kabul.
When he applied for a job, the Halo Trust supervisors warned him that he
could lose a limb, an eye or his life. His wife, brother and mother
pleaded with him not to take the job.
"Yes, it's dangerous," he says. "But what else can we do. I can't find
food from the sky."
WHEN DAUD became a de-miner, he agreed to follow three basic principles:
concentration, discipline and trust in Allah.
Every morning, the de-miners wake up in the camp and gather in a
makeshift mosque, set on a patch of dirt against a metal container the
size of a trailer. It is surrounded by white stones -- to mark the
boundary of the holy space.
Together they read passages from the Koran, which they believe will do
more to protect them from a blast than a safety vest or a thick visor.
When the mullah finishes leading the prayers, he joins the men in the
field, digging out mines.
The men work in 30-minute intervals, with 10-minute breaks. Anyone
feeling tired or troubled by personal problems knows to take the day
off. Most accidents occur when the de-miner becomes distracted.
"The first mistake," says Mohammad Zahir, who supervises Daud and his
coworkers at Bagram Junction work site, "is the de-miner's last mistake."
A seven-year de-mining veteran and former soldier, Zahir says even the
most clear-headed de-miner can get into a jam. Destroying one mine can
set off the "evil trap" -- an entire arsenal of explosive devices.
In one house, the de-miners found 33 antipersonnel mines, 19 antitank
mines and nine airplane bombs -- all connected.
Halo Trust depends on local commanders and villagers to help the men
locate mines, but there are always surprises.
Despite the dangers, Halo Trust officials say the number of casualties
are relatively low. Since the group began working in Afghanistan in
1988, seven de-miners have been killed in land mine accidents.
In December, an American soldier lost a foot while de-mining around the
Bagram Air Base. And the Halo Trust workers hear stories every week
about villagers being injured by mines in the Shomali. The numbers are
starting to decrease, however, as the de-miners make steady progress.
There is a doctor on call at each site, but many serious injuries are
treated at the hospital in Kabul, about an hour away by car.
YEARS OF war have stripped Afghanistan of its heroes, but the de-miners
are treated with a respect bordering on reverence.
That respect can be seen in the ability of Halo Trust to stop traffic on
the Old Road. It's a simple act of compliance, but one often not
afforded even gun-toting soldiers in Kabul, where drivers barge through
checkpoints and roll through intersections.
Respect also appears in the faces of the villagers lining up outside the
Halo Trust supervisors' tent every morning, hoping their house or
vineyard will be next for de-mining. Farmers complain about mines in
their vineyards. Fathers worry about their children playing in the
gardens.
"If you are a de-miner, you are like a New York City firefighter," says
Paul Heslop, a vice president at Halo Trust.
The land mines are tokens of Afghanistan's past and maybe a harbinger of
its future. The plodding process of removing them -- an estimated
600,000 -- indicates how long it could take for the country to fully
recover from its wars.
De-mining has to be the first step in rebuilding Afghanistan, Heslop
says. According to Halo, Afghanistan is probably the most mined country
in the world.
"What's the point of building a school or hospital, if those walking to
them blow their legs off?" he asks.
The Bagram team doesn't know exactly how many miles it will cover in its
assignment. They plan to work from one mountain range in the west to
another in the east, sweeping through every village, dirt path and
garden.
It could take years.
DAUD FINISHES work in one grid and moves onto the next. He hopes to
cover a lot of ground today.
Two Chinook helicopters whirl overhead, headed to the nearby Bagram Air
Base, where American and British forces are staging new assaults on al
Qaida. An Afghan soldier chases the three boys and the donkey away from
the side of the road.
Daud believes the de-mining will allow Afghans to live in peace and
freedom. He thinks that his work is worth the risk for his country,
trapped for 20 years in constant war.
"If you put a bird inside a box he goes crazy," Daud says. "What do you
think happens to a man?"
After a break in the shade, Daud stamps out his cigarette and returns to
the dirt. The ground rumbles as a coworker detonates a mine nearby.
Daud will hunt here for the next 17 days. Then he will go home to his
children.
He promised.
