Afghanistan: The Taliban sniper now working behind a desk

When the Taliban took power in Afghanistan last August, the lives of many residents were transformed. Over the past year, tens of thousands of Afghans have been evacuated out of the country, most girls' secondary schools have been ordered to close and poverty is rising. But for the first time in more than four decades the country is also no longer engulfed in violence, while previously rampant corruption has been significantly reduced. BBC correspondent Secunder Kermani was in Afghanistan during the takeover, and has been back to catch up with those he met last year.

As the Taliban advanced across Afghanistan last summer, capturing territory from the Afghan government as foreign forces prepared to withdraw, we met Ainudeen, a hardened Taliban fighter, in the northern district of Balkh.

He had a cold, steely look in his eyes as we spoke. "We are doing our best not to harm civilians, but it's fighting and people will die," he said, when I asked him how he could justify the violence. "We won't accept anything other an Islamic system here in Afghanistan."

Our conversation was short, the war was still raging and there was a constant threat of Afghan government airstrikes.

A few months later, with the Taliban government freshly established, sitting over a meal of fried fish by the Amu Darya river dividing Afghanistan and Uzbekistan, Ainudeen told me he had been a Taliban sniper. He had killed dozens of members of the Afghan security forces, he estimated, and had been injured on 10 different occasions.

After the Taliban takeover, however, he was appointed Director of Land and Urban Development in Balkh province. When I met him in the early days of the new regime, I asked him whether he missed the "jihad" he had fought in for so long. "Yes," he replied bluntly.

Now, a year later, sitting behind a wooden desk with the large white and black flag of the Islamic Emirate beside it, he still seems to be adjusting to his new life. But he says he recognises the importance of his role. "We were fighting against our enemies with our guns, thanks to God we defeated them, and now we are trying to serve our people with our pens." Ainudeen says he was happy while fighting, but also happy now.

In private, some other Taliban members who used to be on the frontlines admit they're rather bored by their new office-based roles.

Most of the staff Ainudeen oversees were first employed during the previous government. Elsewhere in the city however, we hear some complaints of residents having their jobs taken by former Taliban fighters.

I ask Ainudeen whether he's qualified for the position.

"We received both a military education and a modern one," he says, "Even though we are from a military background and are now working in this field, you can compare the results with the previous government, and see who gave better results."

But, he adds, compared to the hardships of guerrilla warfare, "governance is harder than fighting… war was easy, because there was less responsibility."

It's a challenge throughout the Taliban movement, as the group transitions from insurgents to rulers.

While devastating bombings in Afghanistan's major cities were often what attracted media attention, much of the gruelling conflict was fought along fluid, rural frontlines.

Ordinary people were caught between the Taliban and the Afghan Army, supported by international forces. Some made little distinction between the two sides - their overwhelming desire was simply to have a more peaceful existence.

We visited the village of Padkhwab in Logar Province, south east of Kabul, shortly after the Taliban takeover. Residents were eager to show us the signs of a war that until a few weeks ago had overshadowed their lives.

"The situation used to be very bad," said Samiullah, a tile-maker. "We couldn't do anything, even go to the shops or bazaar. Now thank God, we can go everywhere."

In villages like Padkhwab the Taliban's values align more closely with those of the local population than in urban areas. Even during the previous government, women generally covered their faces when in public, and rarely ventured into the local market.

When we returned last week, some of the bullet holes scarring the buildings in the centre of the bazaar had been filled in, and residents still expressed gratitude for the improvements to security.

"Before lots of people, especially farmers, got wounded and killed, lots of shopkeepers were shot," said Gul Mohammad, a tailor.

But Afghanistan's economy has been collapsing since the US withdrawal, as foreign grants which accounted for around 75% of public spending were slashed and international banks largely stopped processing transfers, fearing they would be breaching rules on sanctions.

The Taliban blame America for freezing Afghanistan's central bank reserves. Western diplomats have frequently suggested the Taliban's repressive policies towards women mean any help intended for the Afghan people has to bypass their government.

As a result of the crisis, previously middle-class families in urban areas have seen their incomes drop dramatically, as public sector workers were not paid for months and then had their salaries cut. Those who were already living hand-to-mouth existences have found the struggle to feed their families even more challenging.

In Padkhwab, sharp rises to the cost of everyday products and the lack of work are common complaints. "The economy has been destroyed, there's no work and no jobs," said Samiullah. "Everyone is just relying on relatives who are abroad."

"People can't afford flour, let alone meat or fruit," added Gul Mohammad.

Still, Samiullah said, "it's true there was more money back then, but we faced a lot of oppression," referring to the presence of Afghan government troops in the village who he accuses of harassing people.

Open criticism of the Taliban is becoming increasingly rare in the country, but for some, their victory has helped improve their lives. Many others, however, feel the country they helped build is disappearing in front of their eyes, and they're deeply concerned about what it's being replaced with.

When Taliban fighters began entering Kabul last year, many residents were terrified. The group had for years carried out suicide bombings and targeted assassinations in the city. But Roeena - a young woman who makes light-hearted YouTube videos - decided to go out and speak to them.

"Men and women's rights are equal," she told the BBC with an air of defiance last August. But she was unclear whether she would be able to continue working or not. A year on, that sense of uneasy limbo still continues - not just for Roeena, but across the country.

There has been dismay internationally, amongst the vast majority of Afghans - and even within the ranks of the Taliban - at the leadership's decision to order girls' secondary schools to remain closed in most of the country.

Unlike during the last Taliban's government, established in the 1990s, younger girls have been allowed to attend classes, and universities have been given new gender segregated schedules - allowing the current batch of female students to continue their studies. But influential and hard-line figures within the Taliban leadership appear reluctant to allow teenage girls back to school, and it seems much of the fragile progress of women's rights made over the past 20 years is unravelling.

Similarly, women working in most public sector jobs - other than in education or the health sector - have been told not to return to their offices. Yet, the comparatively smaller number of women working in private businesses have been able to continue in their jobs.

Roeena is still making videos, pushing boundaries, leaving her face uncovered, but wrapping her headscarf more tightly around her face.

When she's travelling around Kabul, she dresses more conservatively than she did before, in a black flowing abaya and a surgical face mask. The Taliban have decreed that women must cover their faces in public. But enforcement for now seems lax, and it's still very common in bigger cities to see women only covering their hair.

Speaking about what life is like now, addressing the Taliban, Roeena chooses her words carefully. "Women and girls do observe the hijab, they should be given all the freedoms guaranteed by Islam. Their rights should not be taken away, they should be allowed to work and study."