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Education. Work. Freedom. These three words were carved in large letters in English and Dari into the outside wall of a family compound in the Wakhan. The women living here had their education stopped short; their brothers continue studying. Determined, they have found ways to keep learning, and to keep teaching, but there’s an anger inside which is turning to sadness and despondency the longer that the Taliban keep girls out of high schools and universities. The world has looked away, leaving these women alone.

A small number of women are still working paid jobs in Afghanistan, but usually behind closed doors. In some cases, these are official jobs, like the woman at the border who physically examines female arrivals to ensure they don’t have anything illicit hidden about their person. More often, women are working in the private sector, for example running a restaurant catering to families in Kunduz. These women are a small minatory, however: many more need and want to be working, to support their families and have financial independence.

If you google the Wakhan Corridor, you’ll see striking portraits of Kyrgyz women and girls in their traditional, vibrant red attire. Road building to the Little Pamir has enabled the Taliban to reach the Kyrgyz communities around Bozai Gumbaz and Chaqmaqtin, and they’ve imported their extreme brand of Sunnism. Young Kyrgyz men have been sent to madrassas in Kunduz and returned radicalised; they now pressure their mothers and sisters to veil their faces or wear a burkha, even though it’s not compatible with the demands of herding livestock. Far fewer Kyrgyz women were visible outside than when I last visited them a decade ago, and most are no longer willing to have their photograph taken.

Foreign women in Afghanistan are treated as a third sex. It is not the only place in the world where this happens, but we acknowledge our privileged position. We were able to enter the women’s quarters of homes, to sit and talk with women in their kitchens and courtyards, and to play with the children. At the same time, we could travel across the country with men who were neither our husbands nor blood relatives. We could wear our own clothes, be visible in public spaces, and continue largely unhindered with our work. We were allowed into the Blue Mosque complex in Mazar-i Sharif. These rights are not afforded to our Afghan sisters.

On our final afternoon in Afghanistan, we visited the tomb of Rabia Balkhi. It is beside the Green Mosque in the ancient city of Balkh, in what is perhaps the only park in Afghanistan where women are still allowed to sit, wander, and enjoy themselves. Rabia is a national heroine because she was the first woman to write poetry in Persian. This was in the 10th century. She was highly educated, independent, and passionate in her love life as well as her creative output. Some say that Rabia is a proto-feminist; but however we define her, 1,000 years after her death, we are still reading her poetry and women in Afghanistan and beyond its borders still find inspiration and hope in her story.

With financial support from Maximum Exposure, we will be helping some women we met during the Oxus Expedition access educational opportunities online and in universities outside Afghanistan. This includes using our network to arrange admissions, visas, and scholarships. The details of this will remain confidential to protect the individuals involved and their families, but if you would like to help, please get in touch.

Valley D was northeast of our camp, only partially in view as the river bends almost 90 degrees, disappearing from view behind a peak. The stream weaves its way back and forth across the valley floor in a criss-cross of small waterways, and whatever the time of day, it looks silver and majestic. We rode comfortably for the first few hours, cautiously optimistic that today would be a day of revelation, even though we were unsure exactly what the source we were looking for might look like.

One clue that the source could well be in Valley D was a 2016 report from Christine Fischer and Kristina Kunze, identifying a snow field towards the end of the valley, close to the ridge that is the Afghan-Tajik border.  A decade on, though, that glacier or snowfield was gone. The dark mark of the stream bed through which it must have flowed was visible on the valley floor, but it was dry. Now, the water came from a more southerly direction. 

We spotted a small waterfall on the right hand side of the valley. It sprung from a reddish rock wall, not too high but blocking visibility of what was behind it. We rode closer to take a look. Kamila and Ahmad stayed with the horse in what in any circumstances would be an idyllic picnic spot. Salahuddin and I pressed on, noncommittal about how long we might be. 

In spite of the initial rock climb, the terrain in D was more accessible than in A. For a start, it was less steep and claustrophobic, and whenever we surmounted a ridge or rock wall, we could see the next section of river, so didn’t venture so far off course. The rocks underfoot were more stable, too.

As with the glaciers in Valley A, there was a small pool at the foot of this glacier, but in this case it was fed by a roaring glacial stream lined with bubble-shaped icicles. More confident now hiking on ice, and with many more hours of daylight ahead, Salahuddin and I crunched our way up the glacier, following the path of the stream but keeping far enough back to avoid slipping into its metre-deep flume. 

Where is the source of the Oxus? We now had the coordinates and altitude data to compare Chelab Source D against other previously recorded sites in Chelab Valley A and other parts of the Wakhan. This new location, in the middle of what we’ve now called the Ibbotson-Esmaeli Glacier, at the point where sufficient ice is melting to become a stream with a constant flow, the altitude was 5,008m above sea level, higher than the sources in Valley A but lower than sites elsewhere. Measured by the path of the river, though, this location was further from the A/D confluence, and hence also further from the sea than other potential sources, qualifying it to be the source of both the Chelab and the Oxus, when defined by distance. Confident, elated, and very, very sunburnt, we took photographs and made our way down.

Full information about the discovery of this source, including supporting data and analysis, will be published soon in the peer-reviewed journal Asian Affairs.

The most commonly used definitions of a river’s source are the stream which begins furthest from the sea; and the stream which begins at highest altitude. A third definition refers to the volume of water that the stream contributes to the river system, and so in the Chelab we wanted to examine the four sub-streams (A-D) which come together, and to establish which of those was the principle.

There are plenty of ways to calculate the volume of water in a stream, but we needed something which was simple to use, affordable, reliable, and wouldn’t cause consternation amongst customs officials or anyone else searching our baggage. In summer 2024 we’d trialled the trans velocity head rod (TVHR) in the UK and found it worked well in test conditions. But a quiet chalk stream running through Wilton is not the same thing as a glacial mountain stream. How would it fare? We’re delighted to say, it worked well.

Glacial streams vary significantly in volume over the course of a day, as the warmth of the sun melts the ice, increasing the water flow. For this reason, we needed to undertake the stream gauging at approximately the same time for each river, conducting the work over several days to allow for the time required to walk or ride between the measuring sites. Working earlier in the day, when the water volume was lower, would also be safer, so we took all the measurements between 09.00 and 10.30.

To start the process, we stretched a tape measure across each stream, from the left bank to the right. Sophie was in the water, wearing waders; and Mahmud Omar gamely kept the other end of the measuring tape in place. This gave us this width of the stream and meant we could easily see where each vertical measurement point — 20 cm apart — would be.

The TVHR is essentially a metre-long ruler made of perspex. You place it in the water vertically, side on to the flow, and raise the end of the clear gauge to the water’s surface to read the depth in centimetres. Then, you rotate the rod 90 degrees so the force of the water pushes against its flat side: there is a clear difference now between the water level on the upstream and downstream side of the rod. You slide the red gauge up to match the upstream water level, and then read off the velocity head in millimetres. Our guide, Salahuddin Esmaeli, recorded the data in a table, and we repeated the process again and again across each stream’s width, collecting all the information required to calculate the cross-section of the stream and the volume of water flowing through it.

TVHR’s inventors, INRAE, provide a spreadsheet for the calculations. Without electricity in the Chelab Valley and not wanting to risk a laptop in the harsh environment, we inputted the data later. These are the results for the four streams

A = 0.535 cumecs (535 litres/sec)

B = 0.136 cumecs (136 litres/sec)

C = 0.114 cumecs (114 litres/sec)

D = 0.490 cumecs (490 litres/sec)

Individually, A is the largest of the four streams which together comprise the Chelab. However, the other three streams have already merged upstream, so the confluence is not of A and D, but of A and the by now larger B-D stream, as the latter already holds the total volume of three streams’ flow within its course. As the mainstem of a river is the larger (by volume) of the two tributaries joining at a confluence, the mainstem of the Chelab is as follows:

A / B-D confluence: mainstem = B-D

B / C-D confluence: mainstem = C-D

C / D confluence: mainstem = D.

We first contacted Jack Wolfskin’s marketing team when the idea for the Oxus Expedition was in its infancy. Little did they (or we) know that it would take four and a half years — not the anticipated six months — to complete the expedition and have results, photos, and videos to show for it. Their generosity and patience are very much appreciated. 

Proper expedition clothing and equipment is expensive. If you cut corners on price and quality, you risk being dangerously ill equipped, so having a sponsor who both advises what you might need and provides it is invaluable. 

In the Wakhan Corridor, the greatest challenge from a clothing and equipment perspective is the range of temperatures: in August, we had scorching hot days and sub-zero nights, where ice formed on the fly sheets of the tents. Being able to add on and remove multiple layers is essential, as is having equipment with good thermal properties and which will also keep out the wind. 

Sophie’s favourite item: The item I wore most is my Pacific Green JWP t-shirt with 3/4 length sleeves. It’s an ideal base layer earlier in the morning, with a fleece and jacket on top; but once the days warmed up, I could strip everything else off and still have enough protection (at least on my body and arms!) from the intense sun. The cut, neckline, and sleeve length was also modest enough that I didn’t worry about disapproving looks. The fabric is light, doesn’t crease, and doesn’t really to show the dirt or sweat, so this short was my go-to, day in, day out. 

Kamila’s favourite item: Our tent! It was my first time camping and I was afraid of how uncomfortable and unsafe it will be, but on the contrary! Incredibly warm, safe, nearly sound proof and cozy. The views from our tent were incredible, I loved waking up early in the morning to the sun or at night to see the stars, yet the tent would keep its warmth. 

Five years on, COVID is little more than a memory but the Ishkashim border hasn’t reopened, a sign of the uneasy diplomatic relationship between the two countries. You can cross further west at Sher Khan Bandar, but for us it was more convenient to go straight from Uzbekistan to Afghanistan, saving the need for yet another Tajik visa.  

Road travel within Afghanistan is much easier and safer than it was under the previous Afghan government. The Taliban proudly advertise the improved security situation, even though one major reason for it is that they themselves are no longer planting roadside bombs or kidnapping foreigners for ransom. We could therefore drive — without a convoy or armed escort — from the Hairatan border crossing to Mazar-i Sharif, then via Kunduz to Faizabad and Ishkashim. That part of the journey, on reasonable roads, would take two days.

Once in the Wakhan Corridor, we continued east, still by car but at a much slower pace. The roads in the valley, though extended and improved in recent years, are still little more than dirt tracks, with frequent river crossings and other obstacles. As the altitude increases significantly, it is also necessary to acclimatise, so we stopped a night in the guesthouses in Qala-e Panja and in Sarhad-e Broghil. The new road from Sarhad to Bozai Gumbaz is hair raising, and although I had full trust in our driver, Abdurahmon, I could not say the same for the car, which rattled, squeaked, and generally complained, especially on precarious downhill stretches when the brakes were applied. 

In the Little Pamir, overlooking Lake Chaqmaqtin, I finally felt that the Oxus Expedition might actually conclude this year. The late, turquoise and idyllic, with peaks and glaciers either side, has often been described as the source of the Oxus, though that was one thing we were out to disprove. 

There is now a road along the northern shore of Chaqmaqtin to Tajikistan, and another through the Wakhjir Valley to China, though the latter hasn’t yet opened the border crossing. Where we were going — the Chelab Valley — there was still no road, so we left the 4×4 in the Kyrgyz winter settlement at the valley’s mouth and transferred our baggage to two horses and a donkey. Mahmud Omar and Ahmad, two young Kyrgyz men, joined us for the next four days to care for them. Bags packed, we set off on foot to establish a base camp half way along the valley, around four hours’ walk from the vehicle.