Benjamin van der Spek Photography
The Taliban
No. 16 The Taliban
I remember it was a very hot day. Much too hot to go out. But something was happening in town and I decided I should have a look. I put on my turban, got on my brother’s bicycle and rode towards the center of Quetta armed with my trusted analogue camera and a fresh roll of film. Today was ‘Taliban-day’. Green Pakistan flags and the black and white stripes of the Taliban flags adorned the streets. Many people in Quetta were proud of the local religious schools that lay at the foundation of the Taliban and of the support the Pakistani government provided for the movement. Clearly they saw no problem in the violent fascist ideology that lay at its foundation. Today the city celebrated the martyrdom of many Taliban fighters that died fighting in Afghanistan a year before and rallied the call for more men.
As I got closer to the center of town the crowd got denser. There was some sort of parade on the main street. Trucks, busses and pick-ups, filled with men waving the Taliban flag, chanting “Allahu akbar!” were all slowly driving in one direction. I got off my bike, maneuvered myself closer to the trucks and readied my lens. I just had to capture this. Looking through the viewer of my old camera, I was oblivious of what was happening behind me until I felt some pushing and shoving. Surprised, I noticed the men standing next to me were being pushed away by Taliban-police waiving large bamboo canes, making way for me. I felt a push at my bike, looked behind and saw a group of men, all wearing exactly the same kind of turban as I was, getting ready to join the Taliban mob. And I was in front!
Not sure how to get myself out of this pickle, I was pushed into the flow of trucks and men headed for the border. Not trying to be too conspicuous, I steered myself to the right, halted and tried to figure the fastest way out. As I was looking left and right, an aggressive looking figure with a thick beard jumped in front of me. “Are you Muslim?!” he demanded to know. This simple question got my mind racing, weighing my options. I hesitated.
“Erm… No?” The man was clearly taken aback. “You! You wait here!”: he ordered. The man turned his back and rushed into the crowd. I quickly decided this was no time to be a hero but high time to get away. Without looking back I jumped on the bike and raced in the first street on the right. A motorcycle overtook me. Two men, one holding a large Taliban flag slowed down, waived at me and smiled. I smiled, waived back and quickly took another right turn. No one followed.
Let's get out of here.
The Taliban
No. 16 The Taliban
I remember it was a very hot day. Much too hot to go out. But something was happening in town and I decided I should have a look. I put on my turban, got on my brother’s bicycle and rode towards the center of Quetta armed with my trusted analogue camera and a fresh roll of film. Today was ‘Taliban-day’. Green Pakistan flags and the black and white stripes of the Taliban flags adorned the streets. Many people in Quetta were proud of the local religious schools that lay at the foundation of the Taliban and of the support the Pakistani government provided for the movement. Clearly they saw no problem in the violent fascist ideology that lay at its foundation. Today the city celebrated the martyrdom of many Taliban fighters that died fighting in Afghanistan a year before and rallied the call for more men.
As I got closer to the center of town the crowd got denser. There was some sort of parade on the main street. Trucks, busses and pick-ups, filled with men waving the Taliban flag, chanting “Allahu akbar!” were all slowly driving in one direction. I got off my bike, maneuvered myself closer to the trucks and readied my lens. I just had to capture this. Looking through the viewer of my old camera, I was oblivious of what was happening behind me until I felt some pushing and shoving. Surprised, I noticed the men standing next to me were being pushed away by Taliban-police waiving large bamboo canes, making way for me. I felt a push at my bike, looked behind and saw a group of men, all wearing exactly the same kind of turban as I was, getting ready to join the Taliban mob. And I was in front!
Not sure how to get myself out of this pickle, I was pushed into the flow of trucks and men headed for the border. Not trying to be too conspicuous, I steered myself to the right, halted and tried to figure the fastest way out. As I was looking left and right, an aggressive looking figure with a thick beard jumped in front of me. “Are you Muslim?!” he demanded to know. This simple question got my mind racing, weighing my options. I hesitated.
“Erm… No?” The man was clearly taken aback. “You! You wait here!”: he ordered. The man turned his back and rushed into the crowd. I quickly decided this was no time to be a hero but high time to get away. Without looking back I jumped on the bike and raced in the first street on the right. A motorcycle overtook me. Two men, one holding a large Taliban flag slowed down, waived at me and smiled. I smiled, waived back and quickly took another right turn. No one followed.
Let's get out of here.