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It was the fear of ending up in places such as Pul-e Charkhi that prompted this author's family to choose exile and leave Afghanistan in 1980. Some, this author included, would like to see this disturbing complex transformed into a memorial to honor the tens of thousands of people who perished there amid unspeakable horror. Moreover, Pul-e Charkhi should arguably be a place where the names of some of the more notorious torturers and killers -- some of whom talk proudly of their past deeds -- are listed so that the Afghan people, while forgiving them for sake of a bloodless future, should never forget who destroyed their generation and their country.

Beyond the shocking site of Pul-e Charkhi, Kabul from the air is no longer visible. More than two decades later, a huge cloud of dust marks Afghanistan's capital from the aircraft. The dust is so thick that the mountains surrounding Kabul are barely visible.

Upon arrival, beyond the dust and exhaust of vehicles, the sheer size of Kabul's population, as compared to that of a quarter of a century ago, is astonishing. In 1980, the total population of Kabul could not have exceeded 250,000 people. Today, depending on whom you ask, the population of the city ranges from 2.5 million to a whopping 8 million. The actual number is likely to be closer to 3 million. As in most statistical aspects of Afghanistan, including the number of voters registered ahead of the country's upcoming presidential elections, Kabul's population is so much guesswork.

While Kabul's population and the number of vehicles in the city have risen astronomically, its infrastructure appears not to have improved -- in fact, it has been systematically destroyed, making the city one of the least sanitary national capitals on earth. Kabul has no sewer system to speak of, and much of the airborne dust inhaled by inhabitants arises from open pools of human and other waste.

The streets of the city, most of them unsuited for anything but off-road vehicles, have neither stop signs nor traffic lights. To make matters worse, more than half of the vehicles clogging the streets of Kabul have been imported from Pakistan and as such are right-hand driven. There are few traffic regulations in the city, and cars, armored personnel carriers, donkeys, and hand-pushed carts share the roads. Some of the right-hand drive cars actually drive against the flow of traffic. Pedestrians risk everything when crossing main roads in the city.

Two Kabuls

Beyond the dusty and congested Kabul, there is another city. This is the place where the city's new elite, along with Afghanistan's protectors and providers, live. One sees these people in the streets only when they venture out to buy a souvenir or leave their compounds for their SUVs -- often with armed guards close by with fingers on triggers. On occasion, the protectors show their colors while looking through the sites of their heavy machine guns mounted on their vehicles.

The houses in which some Kabul residents dwell are a stark contrast with what the vast majority of the Kabulis experience. These compounds are surrounded by high walls, often made higher with the addition of fences, topped with barbed wire. Depending on the importance of the occupant, the walls of such compounds have one, two, or three layers of sand-filled barrels and/or concrete barriers. Guard houses on the street level, or sometimes, on top of walls, also adorn the residential compounds of the city's new elite and its protectors and providers.

The talk on the streets of Kabul -- and even by one daring cabinet minister who wished to remain anonymous -- is that the protectors are there merely to protect the elite and the providers, who in turn waste money earmarked for Afghanistan for their own lavish living standards.

Inside the walled houses, a Kabul thrives about which the ordinary citizen of Kabul cannot even dream. The new elite and many foreigners are proud to point out that -- by employing armies of servants, gardeners, and other orderlies -- they are contributing to the economic well-being of many families. Perhaps. But in the absence of any long-term plans to improve the social structure of Afghanistan in a fundamental sense, those servants will remain at the mercy of their providers with virtually no hope of upward social mobility through legitimate and legal means.

To be fair, of course not all of the elite, providers, and protectors behave similarly. But more fundamentally, there are two distinct Kabuls that do not interact on a daily basis.

Glimpse Of Hope

In central Kabul, it seems that everyone wants something from someone: Beggars want a few afghanis from passing cars or those who dare to walk the streets. But want does not stop with those on the streets. At various social levels, people expect a handout, a call to some foreign provider, a favor from a minister, or -- the most desired favor -- a means to leave the country for the West.

However, a fresh air of confidence and self-reliance in Kabul can be clearly observed in a place where the new elite, the protectors, and the providers seldom venture. In the old, narrow, maze-like streets of Mandawi Bazaar, small-time traders and shoppers mingle in shops or kebab houses or around a stand selling fresh sour-cherry juice. In Mandawi, unlike in central Kabul, people do not appear to be seeking handouts; nor do they appear willing to sell themselves to the highest bidder. In one narrow street of Mandawi, one can see an ethnic Hazarah sitting next to a Tajik or a Pashtun with little attention to the other's ethnicity or tribal affiliations.

Perhaps the still-distant dream of a self-reliant, ethnically diverse, and forward-looking Afghanistan of the future can be observed in the oldest parts of Kabul. With this hope, the next quarter of a century in Kabul's history might be much brighter than the last. But in order for that to be the case, both Afghans and their supporters need to move beyond short-term window dressings and the filling of statistics sheets that mean little to the ordinary Afghan citizen and begin a joint effort to lay the foundations of the country's future.