Banafsha Cottage

The little girl of mixed-race, adopted by a loving family in the north of England, took her first steps in horticulture under the guidance of her maternal grandfather’s tutelage way before taking it up as one of two serious careers: The second was, naturally, journalism/writing. From the north of England she moved to the Highlands of Scotland where, for a few years, it seemed – to outsiders looking in – that her dream, considered unrealistic by those who knew of it, had happened, yet, despite the cottage, the garden, the orchard, the dogs, goats, sheep, cow, chickens et al, something deep inside kept telling her that this was the wrong dream. This one, no matter how enticingly similar, was not hers.

A 1983 journalistic ‘expedition’ to Afghanistan – then occupied by the Soviet Union – saw the little girl, previously named ‘Pamela’, re-christened ‘Banafsha-Khomar’ by the Mujahideen, the wild Freedom Fighters, she went to war with and who, after she had proven her mettle, became her ‘Brothers in Arms’: The surviving ones still are and always will be.

This first crossing of borders and cultural boundaries, the first of many, changed her life forever. For her, there could be no going back to the somewhat bucolic existence in the Scottish Highlands. She had, in Afghanistan, finally come ‘home’ and knew it. Afghanistan: Her dream was here.

Dreams though are not at all straight forward and certainly not when war zones are involved, and she quickly learnt that to expect the unexpected was the only way to survive and to continue working towards the dream which, she knew, would happen. Thus it was, through a quite astonishing series of twists and turns, Pamela who became Banafsha, a Christian who became a Muslim, went to work for a newspaper in the Sultanate of Oman where, she figured, enough money could be earned to buy her dream in Afghanistan: This is not what happened.

As one war replaced another in Afghanistan, she met and married a Pakistani gentleman, a hereditary Prince, in Oman and in doing so became Princess B. K. Zahrah Nasir whom the Prince completely forbade to return to her beloved Afghanistan. The dream stayed, it was far too entrenched to be erased just like that but, out of necessity, the dreams location changed. Moving from the Sultanate of Man back to Scotland was never, for her, going to work: It lasted nine months.

‘I’m going to live in Pakistan’ she told the prince over breakfast before heading off to work at a local weekly newspaper. ‘You can come if you like’.

They moved, on a shoe-string budget by now, to Pakistan where work, for both of them, was an absolute must and this meant, for a start, it had to be Karachi – a city she came to love to hate and vice versa.

Thundering to and from the Dawn Newspaper Group offices in a beat up Volkswagen Beetle became routine. The dream relegated to ‘I will buy a little place in North Pakistan, as close to the Afghan border as possible, as soon as I have saved up enough money’.

A full 7 years of freelancing for the Dawn Group, and for anyone else who would pay her and the once-upon-a-time little girl with a big dream headed north, completely alone as the Prince had to work, to finally make it happen.

Okay. So the Murree Hills are not exactly Khyber Pakhtunkhwa…or Gilgit….or Swat….but a measure of financial reality had to be injected into the equation, plus, if one ventures back in history a few hundred years, the area was once a part of Afghanistan: It would do!

After ten days of being driven to despair by voracious, and vociferous, property dealers without the slightest hint of ‘vision’, a cab driver and yes, these are all property dealers too when it suits them, mentioned an off-road place, with fruit trees and a view and which was within the very limited price bracket: Even before setting eyes on it….Banafsha instinctively knew that it was ‘right’.

At that time, back in 1996, the only access was on foot from behind the then newly built P.C. Bhurban Hotel and, as we walked down what was a rough footpath, I was completely overwhelmed by a warm feeling of going home after a long absence. Needless to say, after six months of arguing the price, I bought it!

‘It was an old house, just two rooms and a verandah, with an over grown, completely neglected orchard and stunningly beautiful, panoramic views over the Pir Panjal Mountains in Azad Kashmir and on into India. On a clear day you can see ‘Dhur Kaima’ – the ‘Far Pavilions’ of M.M. Kay’s book which towers over Srinagar 60 miles away as the crow flies in Indian held Kashmir.’

I named it ‘La-La Land’ after a chorus line in Uriah Heap’s song ‘July Morning’ and spent the next 19 years transforming it into a permaculture home of happiness, hippinese, Sufism and Peace and I loved it. It was, especially the first few years, tremendously difficult, some of the challenges daunting but I love it as only a mother can. Yes….in a manner of speaking….I gave birth to La-La Land…or Banafsha Cottage as it is now so touchingly known.

It was from here that, in 2004, Banafsha was finally allowed to go back to Afghanistan where she reconnected with her ‘Brothers in Arms’ and a whole new chapter began.

The dream of Afghanistan had never evaporated, in simply lay sleeping, awaiting the right time and stage. After the Prince died in 2009, I became reclusive for a while, staying largely in La-La Land, trying to think a way forward: Of a way to survive.

In early 2011, plans began to hatch and, by summer, with the help of an Indian friend with wide experience in the fields of Alternative Energy and Poverty Alleviation, I had drawn up a master plan for the complete rehabilitation of Jegdalek Valley – the place where my ‘Brothers in Arms’ came from and where, underneath ‘The Gun Tree’, I became a Muslim: It was time to honor my ‘debt’ to Afghanistan. The Jegdalek Peace Project was launched.

Three years down the line, many trips to and from Afghanistan, to Jegdalek in the heart of Taliban territory, to Kabul and Kunduz for meetings and on the endless search for illusive funding, I got into one too many, face to face, arguments with Taliban, in Jirga – yes a woman not only attending Jirga but heading one – completely lost my temper and made leathal enemies for life: This last argument was to be paid for – as I learnt the hard way – with my life.

Early in 2014, I was forced, after serious warnings received from the Afghan Government, to flee La-La Land – and Pakistan too – with a Taliban hit squad on my tail. It is all too painful, traumatically so, to talk about as yet. The dream – dreams actually as I had been given a home in Jegdalek, Afghanistan – came crashing down and I am still riding out the storm. I know….I really do know….just how very lucky I am to be alive.

I now sit, in a far away country, on another mountainside building a new dream from the ashes of all that has gone: This is a very different dream though as my heart was left divided between all so special, tranquil La-La Land and the far mountains of Afghanistan.

It was, and is, a major relief that Uzma and Fawad took on my dream in La-La Land which, an incredibly moving honor for me, they renamed ‘Banafsha Cottage’: I know that they love and respect it as I myself will always do.

That they have opened its doors to guests is wonderful too as this presents an opportunity for those in search of solace, solitude, wilderness and wonder, to find themselves, to renew their souls and discover their own dreams in the place which was, for so long, my beloved home.

‘Welcome Home’ – I greet you all. ‘I pray that you will thrive and grow in the place of peace I built’.