Afghan nomads cloaked Al Qaeda

Beneath the craggy mountains that give way to parched, arid plains, there are few homes or farms. Instead, there are the occasional tents of the Kuchi, brightly dressed and bejeweled nomads who make up more than 10 percent of Afghanistan's population, surviving on little more than their sheep and their ancient tribal code.

Of the three pillars of that code – which distinguishes them from the settled and urbanized Pashtun, whose forefathers gave up this itinerant existence – the most important principle is to give shelter to those in flight.

"Even if it costs us our lives, we must protect anyone who needs our help," says Bismillah Shinware, one of the leaders of a Kuchi clan who pitched camp on this sun-cracked piece of earth a few days ago and will stay only a few nights more.

"If somebody seeks refuge from us, we will give support or refuge to them, which is not something that people in the city will do," she adds.

It's a principle, unfortunately, which benefits Al Qaeda and Taliban fugitives, say US-allied Afghan military officials fighting on the frontlines of the war in Afghanistan. The entrenched Kuchi belief in the duty to provide safe haven to a person on the run, coupled with near-universal illiteracy and a lack of communication with the outside world, is turning the usually neutral nomads into unwitting guardians and accomplices of Al Qaeda and Taliban fighters in hiding, military officials in eastern Afghanistan say.

"The nomads supply them food and shelter, and the Al Qaeda give them money," says Sardar Khan, the deputy commander of the 600-strong Afghan "campaign force" in Khost, an area that local Afghan officials say is rife with Al Qaeda and Taliban fugitives.

"It's simply business. They are using the Kuchis as a buffer. Some of the nomads out there are helping them," he says.

"The Kuchis tell passersby not to go into their areas, saying that it is off-limits to outsiders because it is where their women and children are living," adds Mr. Khan, whose forces come under the aegis of Badsha Khan, the region's mightiest military leader.

Economic incentives do have sway, say the Kuchis, who usually must barter sheep and lamb's meat for rice and a few other staples to feed their families.

Far more important than money, however, is the pride they take in the ancient traditions that the Kuchis say the educated, city-dwelling Pashtun have lost. They are also motivated by the desire to be good Muslims, Mr. Shinware says, a department in which they figure the Arab visitors to their land – especially Saudis – know best.

It is also clear that although this clan of Kuchis say they haven't had any recent requests for help from apparent Al Qaeda militants, they have crossed paths with them regularly in the past – and they knew that they were led by a "holy man" named Osama bin Laden.

Last winter, for example, Shinware waited around in the city of Jalalabad, in eastern Afghanistan, for four days, in the hopes of basking in Osama bin Laden's glow. Shinware had heard from the Taliban's mullahs that Mr. bin Laden was almost supernatural.

"Our mullahs told us that he is a great man – and talked about him as though he could do miracles – and we had seen his picture and saw that he had a very nice beard," says Shinware, settling down on a rough wool blanket to talk as all the clan's children cram for viewing space at a tent's front entrance. "The mullahs said that he was so great that anyone who tried to hurt him would be hurt by God."

It was with that in mind that Shinware thought it would be worth seeing bin Laden.

Throughout the year, depending on the season, the nomads and their flocks migrate back and forth between rural areas of Afghanistan and Pakistan, which share an enormous, porous border. Come Fridays, however, if they happen to be close enough to a village or city, the Kuchi men go into a local mosque to listen to the mullah's sermon so they can bring Islamic ideas back to their women and children. Shinware had heard that bin Laden was in town and thought he could help his tribe's lot.

"Our camp was near his base, so I told our tribesman not to move until we see this man," recalls Shinware, talking above the bleats of sheep in an adjacent tent. We thought God would be happy with us if we saw Osama bin Laden."

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