• Adventure

Upside Down in Afghanistan

Milak border — entering Afghanistan, straight into one of the most dangerous regions: Nimroz. Here, the main occupation is smuggling — from petrol to even human trafficking. Nimroz has it all.

The first gunshots.
The first emergency.
The first helicopter landing.
And for the first time in my life, I saw fugitives escaping the border, running in all directions. The Taliban were beating everyone in their path. Blood, broken heads, children hiding behind me as I stood frozen behind a metal pole — watching what, for the people here, seemed like just another normal day in Nimroz Province.

When all of this began, Dragos was inside doing paperwork. Our phones had been taken for a security check; some content was deleted. He wasn’t allowed to come outside, even when he heard the gunshots.
I had one job: take care of the motorcycles.
But that quickly dropped to second priority — after keeping myself safe.

I remember a woman hiding next to a pile of carpets that seemed like an improvised shelter. She was covered completely; I could only see her eyes and one hand, gesturing, urging me to join her for safety. I was too scared to move — and too stubborn to leave the bikes behind (as if that even mattered at that point…). So I stayed still, protecting the children behind me, waiting for Dragos to come out.
The longest 30 minutes of my life.
And that was just the beginning…

This time, my upside down story flips every perspective in every possible way, trying to make sense of it all.
This is my experience traveling through the toughest country for women in the world.

Here, everything shifts your perception.
Here, normality takes a completely different form.

No matter how many handstands I do — no matter how much I try to view the world from a different angle — adapting remains deeply difficult. Afghanistan is a harsh country for everyone, but especially for women. The new government — the Taliban — have imposed the strictest interpretation of Muslim law, and people still haven’t healed from the atrocities of the past.

Everyone I met said the same thing:
“It’s still bad… but at least there’s no more killing.” And while yes, that’s a positive step, what about everything else that continues to go wrong?

What happens to those who’ve been deeply impacted by war over time?
Can you really give people hope with “at least there’s no more killing”?

Maybe it’s beyond my understanding.
Because it seems the people of Afghanistan never give up.
They adapt, they change, they struggle — and they fight every day toward a better tomorrow.

The faces I saw in Afghanistan fell into two categories:
— Kind, humble people with clear eyes, carrying hope.
— And others, left with only scars. Their eyes lost, blurred, hollow. These are the ones to fear most — not because they are evil, but because you can’t know what they’re thinking. If they start believing you’re a spy, no one knows what they might do to stop you.

One of the most important subjects for me is “women in Afghanistan.”
And because there’s so much to say, I’ve recorded a special video for our RideOurStory YouTube channel focused entirely on this topic.

Did you know that education for women is forbidden in Afghanistan?
This changed only when the Taliban returned to power.
Today, girls can go to school only until the 6th grade. What are they supposed to do afterwards?

The answer, sadly, is often child labour — and it starts early.
Boys work from the moment they can walk: smuggling goods, selling gas in plastic bottles, running market stalls, even driving cars. And that’s if they’re lucky. Many simply collect garbage off the streets.

But even this grim reality applies only to boys.
Because women aren’t allowed to work at all.

So while young boys might skip school to earn a living, young girls stay home, helping their mothers with housework.
Did I mention that there are no toys for children in Afghanistan?
Except for a few plastic assault rifles for boys and maybe a board game or two about war strategies.

With the new Taliban government, the country has sunk into a deep depression.
Think about it: people with no education, brainwashed by extreme ideologies, who used to hide in the mountains — now in charge of an entire country. Their doctrine is worth killing for. Their power comes from guns. Not too long ago, they were terrorists.
Now, they are the government.
If that’s not the most upside down reality, I don’t know what is.

Before all this, life in Afghanistan — especially for women — was different.
Women were educated. They contributed to society.
They wore colorful clothes. They socialized.
Couples had picnics.
Art, music, and dance were part of life.
Now, all art has turned into war.
Music, dance, laughter — forbidden.
And women have become prisoners of their own country.

Men don’t have it easy either.
They carry the burden of supporting their entire families, in a country with no official jobs, no rules, no taxes — nothing but chaos. People survive however they can.

There are also many robbers and violent incidents — people killed trying to protect their loved ones.

One of the first lessons I learned about people with guns came from a local who warned me of the most important rule in Afghanistan:

At first, my instinct said the opposite: avoid stopping, escape if you can’t tell.
The man’s face turned pale.
He repeated, dead serious:

The atmosphere is heavy. Every house surrounded by walls and barbed wire, looking more like a military base than a home.
You can feel the fear in the air.

Outside Nimroz, on the way to Kabul, things began to improve slightly.
But there are still places where foreigners rarely go — small, isolated communities of uneducated people doing their best to survive.

Caught in a sandstorm, Dragos and I had to find shelter — and ended up in the middle of such a place.
A crowd gathered around us. Faces pushed closer and closer. No one moved.
The road was blocked.
Then — the Taliban stepped in.
They were now… our protection.
They used force, shouting, threatening the crowd with guns.
And only with reinforcements did they manage to get us out.

Another moment when everything flipped.
Until then, I’d feared the Taliban and tried to avoid them.
Now, I feared being without them.
They had become my only safety.

My mind still can’t fully process that.
No handstand could flip that moment enough to make sense.
How does fear alone reshape our definitions of right and wrong?
Can the terrorists really become the protectors? The government?

And if so, why is everyone still living in terror?

I don’t have an answer.
But I want to leave you with one more story.

On our way up into the mountains, we were stopped by a third type of armed group — one no one had warned us about.

These men used to be ordinary citizens with normal jobs.
But after the Taliban took power, they went underground.
They now hide in the mountains, carry the old Afghan flag (pre-Taliban), and fight against the regime.

So far, I know this:
There is no absolute good or evil.
No black and white.
Everything just is.