My experience in Peace Corps, Afghanistan inspired my novel, “The Kabul Conscript,” set mostly in Kabul the summer 1973, during the coup ‘d etat by General Daoud.
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In the summer of 1973, after graduating from college, I joined the Peace Corps. I was a trainee based in Kabul during the summer of that year when a coup ‘d etat took place. The country had been slowly improving its infrastructure, health care, education, and women’s rights — at least in the more urban areas. The Hotel Intercontinental had been recently constructed, and Pan American Airlines had helped establish Ariana Airlines, which offered jet service into Kabul.
Since at least the 1920’s slow but steady modernization had been the rule, but too slow for General Daoud, who had been prime minister from 1953 to 1963 under his cousin, King Zahir Shah. He had sworn to overthrow the existing regime if conditions in the country did not improve to his liking. Daoud had the loyalty of the most powerful men in the military. On his sixty-fourth birthday, the night of July 17/18, 1973, while the king was out of the country, he took over the government in an overnight coup.
We awoke the morning of July 18 to the sound of low-flying jets. There were tanks and soldiers in the streets, but I was too rattled to take any photos of those events!
My apartment was located above a small bazaar on the outskirts of town. We had running water (cold only), and electricity most of the time. This is the view from our front balcony.
The view looking down the same street in the opposite direction shows the naan (flatbread) bakery, or “tandoor” oven in the foreground. Every neighborhood had one of these. The naan was delicious fresh, and cost us seven cents a loaf, which was about double what the Afghans paid.
The backyard of this house is fairly typical of homes of the more well-off in this neighborhood. Note the well, the small vegetable garden, and the charpoy (bed) on the raised stone deck for sleeping outdoors in the summer months.
A view of our neighborhood and the outskirts of Kabul from the hill behind our apartment.
The Pul-e Khishti or “Blue Mosque” in distance. Russian Compound in foreground.
Me on the roof of my Kabul apartment, in the summer of 1973.
Older part of Kabul near my apartment.
Flying into Kabul on Ariana Airlines. (We called it “Scary-ana”—a fright a minute!)
There was a rare rain one evening, which produced a rainbow. Unfortunately photo has faded over time.
Our cook, Samot, and Dennis, one of my two roommates, also PCVs. We are getting ready to eat dinner, served Afgan style on the floor.
Most PCV trainees in my cycle were learning Farsi, and several of us, including myself were learning Pushtu or Pashtu as well. For some reason that I can’t recall, perhaps to reduce the distractions of living in Kabul, our teachers decided a trip to Jalalabad was in order. As it turned out it was so hot and humid we got very little studying done, and spent a great deal of time just trying stay cool. Still, we did manage to visit a fascinating ancient Buddhist site in nearby Hadda.
I can’t remember who everyone is in this photo, but Shamsher, our Pushtu and cultural teacher is on the far left.
Shamshere, Sandy, and ? trying to beat the heat, standing under stream of water from roof storage tank. There was no air conditioning!
While in Jalalabad we took a side trip a few miles south of Jalalabad to the village of Hadda, an ancient center of Buddhism. The following photos show the state of one of the stupas during the summer of 1973. All of the statues and carvings had been damaged by Islamic extremists attempting to erase the presence of Buddhism in Afghanistan’s history. Unfortunately that process is still going on. According to Wikipedia, much the remaining ruins in Hadda were destroyed in the 1980s.
The village of Hadda.
Jalalabad scene.
The following images show the state of the things at the stupa during the summer of 1973. Most of the figures had been vandalized, only the bases are left on many.
Captain Mike's Log 
Mike, my father was an AD of the PC in 1965-67. As a 9-year-old I went to Kabul with my dad and older brother. Your pictures make me remember a few things. All are good memories.
The year I was there, I recall a military parade to commemorate the first anniversary of the coup d’etat. It probably would have been in July. When you are 9, a military parade with tanks is a very cool thing; as a 79-year old wanna be dictator, probably not so much.
I recall walking those streets in your photos and getting kebabs from the tea shops. Thank you for massaging the memories of an increasingly older guy.
Colin O’Bannon
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Hi Colin! Thanks for your comments. The 1960s and 1970s were better times for the people of Afghanistan, especially in the cities. Unfortunately the USA backed the wrong horse by giving the religious radicals weapons. I do believe the country would be better off now had the socialists or even the USSR prevailed. The Russians had a college for women — now they aren’t even allowed to attend school. Women especially were much better off when I was there in 1973.
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Best revolution ever . Started after dinner and over by morning. Took the U. S. by surprise – friendly to U.S. or not ? Embassy sent note to all U.S. to stay in home. We had all seven children there ranging in age from 3-19 .Followed that direction for one day. 🔥💥⚡️😱. Then took everybody horseback riding.
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Hi Anne. Wow—what an experience — taking 7 children there! I remember thinking the Eisenhowers were pretty adventurous to take their teen-aged daughter there. I also remember the jets flying low over the city, the tanks, and the unusual silence in the bazaar below our apartment the morning of the coup. The coup took place on General Daoud’s birthday. Yes it was a good revolution until it wasn’t. Only 5 years later Daoud and much of his family were murdered. After that things started getting worse for the people of Afghanistan. My novel, “The Kabul Conscript,” though fictional is set that summer of 1973 in Kabul, and inspired by my time there. I spent a year researching it, including contacting some old PCVs who were there that same memorable summer. I think you would enjoy it!
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Mike,
Was there 1972 until I graduated from AISK 1974. My dad was the mechanic on the US Attaché Convair which was out for heavy maintenance in Athens, so I was home alone during the Coup. I had a job at the USAID Staff House where’s I lived literally behind the US embassy compound. The night of the coup (must’ve been about 0100. I was awaken by 2 loud explosion then what sounded like a string of fire crackers going off… At first I thought the embassy may have been rocketed (We had some kids earlier from Beirut staying within our community because of the embassy there being rocketed). From my vantage point from the second story of our house, I looed over the wall as well as the athletic field to my left and all was quite, I figured it must’ve been a party and went back to sleep. Next day I drove my Honda CD90 motorcycle across town thru numerous roadblocks and when I got to city center there were tanks and a large cheering mob that I idled through. O top of tanks troops were firing bursts out of their AK 47’s in the air… that was a bit unnerving, but it was in celebration and I putted on through that. I finally arrive at the staff house and the adult Afghan employs warned me of the coup… they couldn’t believe I had made that journey…. No I’m watching and admiring the You Tube “Itchy Boots” ride through Afghanistan and admire her skill and utter gumption and courage for making that trip by herself even!!
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Thanks so much for your comments. It was an exciting time, indeed — especially for a freshly graduated farm boy from Oregon! The morning after the coup a group of us PVCs walked downtown. There was a tank in the middle of the street, and soldiers standing around. As you noted, it was a joyful celebration. One of the girls in our group bought some flowers from a little girl, walked up to one of the soldiers, gave him a flirtatious smile and stuck the flowers in the barrel of his old rifle. (It wasn’t one of the AK 47s or knock-offs many of the soldiers carried.) We were all freaked out, but the soldier just laughed and hammed it up a bit. Although it’s a work of fiction, I could not resist putting this incident in my novel, “The Kabul Conscript!”
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