February 24, 2005

Today, the Afghan camps have almost become exclusive neighbourhoods. In the oldest camp at Sohrab Goth, which was established in the 1980s, resident Abdullah Mohammed, who is from Takhar, says that no citizens except Afghans are allowed to enter it without the permission of the tribal chief, writes Arman Sabir

Shafiqullah is saving up for his wedding. He’s only 14, but he needs the head-start because the Rs500 a day he earns by making clay flower pots goes into feeding his family.

He needs to save a minimum of Rs50,000 if he wants to marry, because in his culture the man has to pay ‘dowry’ to the girl’s family. This may sound like an unusual custom in Karachi, but in the neighbourhood where Shafiq lives — an Afghan refugee camp — it is the tradition.

The word camp belies the length and breadth of these settlements, which have almost become little Afghanistans in their own right. They are places where men like Shafiq, born in Karachi but Afghans by ancestry, have created a separate world for themselves.

Shafiq is just one of the estimated 0.44 million Afghan refugees and their families who live in Pakistan at present. In Karachi their camps are located near Al-Asif Square, Sohrab Goth and in Surjani Town off the newly-built Northern Bypass. Each of them has approximately 3,000 houses. There are smaller camps such as Koochi near Toll Plaza on the Super Highway, and Faquira Goth near Safoora Goth in Sachal.

A cocktail of issues including the war on terror, security problems, unemployment, sectarian and ethnic unrest brought the focus on aliens and refugees in the city. In 2003, the United Nations Human Rights Commission (UNHRC) started a repatriation programme for Afghan refugees living in these camps.

The camps were formed over time to handle the influx of Afghans fleeing their country due to the Russian invasion. After the Taliban regime fell in 2002 and a US-backed government came to power, the Pakistan government established the Afghan Refugees Repatriation Cell in the ministry of SAFRON & KANA.

There were an estimated 0.51 million refugees at that time and so far 72,000 have been sent home. Around 35,000 refugees were repatriated in 2003, while 36,000 left Pakistan in 2004. Most of the refugees living in Karachi hail from the Afghan regions of Kunduz, Kabul, Baghlan, Takhar and Sar-i-Pul.

But the story of the Afghan refugees did not end with repatriation. About six months ago Shafiq and his family packed up their lives in Karachi and went back to Afghanistan. “For two months we stayed in a village in the northern part of Baghlan,” Shafiq says. “But when we didn’t find jobs and our savings were nearly spent, we made up our mind to go back to Karachi. I don’t intend to return to Afghanistan now because we are happy in this city.”

There are many others in Karachi who have a similar story to tell. They went back to their homeland, many under the repatriation programme and others voluntarily. But the uncertain economic climate there and a shaky law and order situation made them wonder if it was worth weathering the tough times all over again. “I don’t want to go home,” says Sharafuddin, a madresa teacher in the city. “If I am forcibly sent back by the UNHRC, I’ll find a way to escape.”

The idea of repatriation is especially unappealing to the second generation Afghans whose parents fled Afghanistan. “I have never seen my homeland,” says 24-year-old Mohammed Yusuf, who grew up in a camp here and is now earning a living as a madressa teacher. “I did not take any interest in the recent elections in Afghanistan and I didn’t care who became the president.” Now all he wants is the citizenship of Pakistan.

Some older Afghan refugees have managed to acquire Pakistani citizenship. Haji Habibullah, who came to Pakistan before the invasion is one such person. He used to live in Koochi but has since moved to Surjani Town. Habibullah says that almost half of the population living in the Surjani Town camp left for Afghanistan with the help of the UNHRC. However, many of them returned to the city after just a few months.

The Afghans who braved a brief stay in their homeland but decided to come back are likely to pursue some sort of legal status for living in Pakistan. But this is a problem. The National Aliens Registration Authority (NARA), which was set up to register illegal immigrants, does not register people who migrated from Afghanistan.

They all have refugee status. “Afghan refugees cannot be treated as foreigners and thus the Foreigners Act of 1946 does not apply to them,” says a NARA official. But people like Mohammed Yusuf are not “refugees” or “foreigners”. Their parents and grandparents were refugees, but they were born here. What is their status now and will they be eligible for Pakistani citizenship?

While answering to the question of the legal aspects of their status one has to keep in mind the factor that these Afghans in Pakistan do not want to be repatriated to a country they never knew or where they do not think they would be able to live a decent life.

The children of Afghan refugees question why they should leave at all. They have a home away from home in the camps. The living conditions may not be the best; families live in randomly constructed huts and hovels made from bamboo and bricks laced with mud. The streets are so narrow that only a donkey-cart can pass through, and there are frequent power breakdowns. But the camps are their home nonetheless.

When the repatriation programme gained steam many Afghans who returned to their country, sold their shanty houses to locals at rates ranging from Rs20,000 to Rs30,000. But according to police officials, they never owned the land in the first place. The government had given the Afghan refugees land when they had arrived, but it never belonged to them. This complicates the legalities of ownership for Pakistanis who have bought land from the Afghans.

But the word ‘camp’ does not quite convey what these localities really are; they have metamorphosed from grounds with makeshift tents, but have yet to become full-scale developed residential neighbourhoods with proper infrastructure. “We do not have a proper government clinic or hospital,” says Shabbir Mohammed, a carpet weaver. “We have to go to private clinics, which are very expensive.”

Today, the Afghan camps have almost become exclusive neighbourhoods. In the oldest camp at Sohrab Goth, which was established in the 1980s, resident Abdullah Moham-med who is from Takhar, says that no citizens except Afghans are allowed to enter it without the permission of the tribal chief.

This has posed a challenge to the authorities since many camps are suspected to be home to criminals, the camp behind Al-Asif Square being the most notorious. A police official claimed that even the police had to seek permission of the tribal chief before embarking on a patrol.

In other camps it is better than it was three years ago; today at least a heavily guarded police mobile can enter some of them and take a round. Earlier police entry was always resisted. “We have controlled the law and order situation in other camps and police can patrol there but any other civilian should not enter without informing the police,” says the official.

While the police did not offer any data, one official claimed that Afghans were becoming more and more involved in crime. “You can hire a professional killer from an Afghan refugee camp for as little as Rs2,000,” says another police official. He claimed that crime had affected the reputation of the neighbourhood around Sohrab Goth and the value of surrounding residential complexes came down as the population of Afghans increased.

In 1990, the government initiated an operation in the camp with the intent to scatter the population and break up the crime circles. “We surrounded the camp from all four sides and entered,” said a police official. “We faced strong resistance but managed to confiscate hundreds of kalashnikovs, TT pistols and other arms and ammunition, in addition to several types of narcotics.” A resident recalled that it was the worst operation he had ever seen. “I have never heard such intense firing in my life.”

The government subsequently decided to relocate Afghan refugees to Surjani Town, Safoora Goth and Toll Plaza and set up check-posts in many areas. But, today, the majority of them continue to live in the camp near Al-Asif Square and 14 years after the crackdown, the police claim that you can still hire an assassin for a pittance. “We are still cagey about patrolling the area,” said a police official.

But just as not all Afghans are refugees not all of them are criminals. Many of them make a living in the construction industry and the Afghan carpet is famous all over the world. The carpet industry flourishes in these camps. Mohammed Akbar, who hails from Takhar province, takes three months to weave a 20 by 20 feet carpet for which he is paid a mere Rs150 per day.

The camp is where this trade is being passed on to the next generation. “I grew up here and became skilled at carpet making,” Akbar says. “Now I’m married and my younger brothers are learning how to weave.” He was not sure that he wanted to uproot his life here and go back to Afghanistan. “First we will go there and take stock of the situation and then we will decide whether to stay there or return to Karachi,” he says.

Others made up their minds when they came to Pakistan in the first place. “It has been a long time now,” says Abdullah, who works in a factory. “My children are the third generation living here and we need Pakistani nationality. We are citizens by birth and our children have grown up on this soil. Why are people talking about our departure to Afghanistan, where law and order is not good and jobs are not available?”

This is a question that will have to be answered at some point in time. But for now, the Afghans have managed to make for themselves a home away from home.