THEY'RE JUST SHY WITH WOMEN

That's the real problem with the Taliban,

Caroline Lees explains. But their leaders are

off chasing Western mini-skirts

Kabul HELLO? Salaam? It made no difference. The Taliban soldier would not turn around. I would have to stand in the mid- dle of the street, talking to the back of his white turban.

It felt strange speaking to a man's back, staring at the battered AK-47 slung over his shoulder. The soldier seemed torn. He had probably never spoken to a foreign woman before and was curious. But he was also a member of the Taliban Islamic fun- damentalist army, which has ordered all Afghan women to wear burkas — head-to- toe veils — and he did not want to be seen in public speaking to a foreign woman, even one wearing a demure head-scarf. In the end his curiosity won. As I walked away after receiving my directions, he shouted goodbye and waved. Then he sat down with his friends to discuss the encounter, giggling. When the Taliban took the city at the end of September, they were branded Islamic woman-haters by the Western press after they banned women from work- ing and girls from going to school. As a foreign woman working in Kabul I expect- ed to be abused, possibly even attacked by fanatics. Instead, I encountered painfully shy young men who would run away rather than speak to a woman. Many of these men come from small vil- lages in the Pathan tribal areas of northern Pakistan and southern Afghanistan. Few can read or write, most have never seen a telephone or television, and they had no idea about the modern political minefield of human rights they had entered when they marched into Kabul.

They say that the West does not under- stand their traditions — they are not trying to mistreat women but to help them become better Muslims. I was invited to lunch by a Taliban commander at his house in the most bomb-damaged part of Kabul. He would not sit with me, so I sat on the bare concrete floor alone, eating bread and mutton with my fingers.

A crowd of soldiers gathered in the door- way to stare. Each time I looked in their direction they scuttled away, embarrassed to be caught. It became a game. I enjoyed watching these heavily armed soldiers, who had spent the night being fired at in the front line, run away at a simple glance.

Such timidity is not only directed at for- eign women. My taxi-driver had given a lift to a young Taliban fighter the day before. He had asked where he could go to buy clothes in an exclusively male setting. He had been to the bazaar, but had seen a woman there and had to leave because he felt so ashamed. Even the commander, who was educated and confident, refused to look me in the eye when he spoke; instead he studied his sandals intently.

He was perplexed. He had heard a story about an Afghan woman who had behaved strangely. The woman had been spotted on the street wearing a veil rather than a burka, and she had broken the Taliban's most sacred decree — her eyes were show- ing. The soldiers who caught her shouted at her to go home and not to come out again without her burka. Instead of agreeing meekly, as they had expected, she had torn off her veil and shouted that she would take all her clothes off if they threatened her again. The soldiers were so terrified, they turned and ran away.

`Why did she do that? We were only try- ing to protect her,' said the commander. He had no experience of women who argued. He listened politely while I tried to say that she might not have liked being ordered around by the soldiers, but I knew he would never understand.

He tried to explain the Taliban's new laws. Women had been ordered to wear burkas to stop them being molested by men. They had been banned from working so that they did not get overtired. He had seen pictures of working women in the West, he said, and had been struck by how exhausted they looked. Their husbands should be ashamed to treat them like that. Girls' schools would reopen after the cur- riculum had been altered to include more religious training, The aim of these decrees is to create the Taliban's ideal woman. She is hidden from view. She knows everything about the Koran; she may have studied at an all-girls religious school. She works, but only with other women — as a doctor, nurse or teacher.

He looked disapprovingly in my direc- tion and I pulled my scarf tighter. It was obvious that I did not live up to required standards.

I had tried to dress correctly, but it was difficult to get used to a country where to show the slightest hint of fringe is consid- ered almost pornographic. When I arrived in Kabul I bought a long, purple Afghan dress and matching veil. It had gold embroidery around the neck and arms and I thought I looked native.

The commander obviously thought it was too frivolous. He told me to cover my face more — if I would not cover my eyes, at least to hide my mouth and hair. He did not object to foreign women as long as they wore veils, but he hoped they would voluntarily become Muslims and enter purdah.

As I left, he asked which male relative had brought me to Afghanistan. Not dar- ing to translate my answer — that I had come alone — my translator told him that I had come with my brother. He would not have understood the truth,' he said.

It may be hard to believe that anyone could be so touchingly innocent about modern women, but the Taliban have led particularly sheltered lives. The movement was formed in madrassahs — Pakistani religious schools. Most Taliban studied at these harsh establishments, where they were taught the Koran and little else.

After school they were sent to training camps to learn how to fight. For most of them their only experience of women was on rare visits to their villages where their mothers and sisters lived in purdah.

One of the few leaders to have travelled abroad is Mullah Mohammed Ghaus Akhund, the acting minister of foreign affairs, but it does not seem to have broad- ened his mind. He likes to tell how he once stayed in a European hotel where he had seen exhausted women working. 'We do not want Afghan women to look so tired,' he said.

What's more, he added, he had seen how Western women dress; they did not have enough to wear. As rulers, the Tal- iban promised to ensure that all Afghan women had enough clothes to cover them- selves decently.

The Taliban often repeat a traditional Islamic excuse for why their women must be kept away from other men: 'If you have a precious possession you keep it in a locked box; you don't show it to everyone.'

Educated Afghans are scathing about their new rulers and privately refer to them as 'the donkeys', but one senior civil servant who works closely with the new government said he felt sorry for them. 'It has been hard for women, but it is hard for the Taliban too,' he said. He described how he had seen senior govern- ment members, heads in hands, agonising over their bad public image. 'They do not understand why there is such a fuss about women's rights. They have a soft heart. If a woman starts arguing with them they turn their backs and run away. It is a tradition with many of their tribes to obey the moth- er and the sister, not the father. In their culture women are the most respected.'

But even if it has all been a terrible cul- tural misunderstanding, it is too late for the Taliban to back down. If they allowed women back to work and girls back to school, Taliban foot-soldiers would accuse their leaders of selling Islam to the West and go back to their fields. But the army's unifying idealism is already deteriorating. While the soldiers are on the front lines fighting for Allah, their political leaders have been busy taking advantage of Nth- century government perks. Some have been applying for diplomatic passports. 'They all want to go abroad,' said one Western diplomat. 'They are bored with women in burkas, they want to see women in mini- skirts.'

So, while their Taliban rulers are abroad looking at legs, Kabul's women are unlikely to be allowed to leave their homes. The Tal- iban may genuinely respect women, but they will have to work on their presentation.