������Ƶ

ISLAMABAD/KARACHI: In a bustling corner of Islamabad’s F-10 Markaz, the scent of sizzling oil and green chili chutney once signaled the presence of Afghan street food.

Today, the aroma is gone and so are the stalls that created it — the hum of grills and laughter and life.

“There used to be a few [Afghan fries stalls] around my neighborhood and then one morning, they just upped and left,” said Hamza Nofil, 28, who used to daily have the crinkle-cut, ridged, and golden chips, always served with the signature green chutney.

“So, you know, it breaks my heart.”

The heartbreak is shared by many in Pakistan’s urban centers where those fries, and the people who served them, were part of a larger story — of exile, adaptation and community — that is now vanishing as a result of a sweeping deportation drive targeting Afghan nationals.

Since November 2023, Pakistan has expelled nearly one million Afghans as part of a crackdown on undocumented foreigners. The government has also not renewed Proof of Registration (PoR) cards for 1.4 million Afghan refugees, allowing their legal stay to lapse in June 2024.

While the policy has drawn criticism from rights groups and international powers, it is the quieter losses, of flavor, memory, and a sense of belonging, that now echo through city markets and street corners.

Among the casualties are the street food stalls, modest, smoky kitchens on wheels, where generations of Afghan refugees introduced Pakistanis to flavors from across the border: the fries dunked in secret chutney, paratha-wrapped burgers and mounds of Kabuli Pulao rice heaped with raisins, nuts and slow-cooked beef.

Shahid Ali, 22, a Pakistani vendor in F-10, said he remembered when there were six or seven Afghan fries stalls in the area, as well as those selling Afghan burgers wraps packed with shredded chicken or kebab, slathered with sauces and served in paratha.

“You won’t see any Afghans around here because the government sent them back to Afghanistan,” Ali said.

As Afghan families depart, Pakistani vendors have tried to mimic the recipes but something vital has been lost.

“We are missing them [Afghan food stalls],” said Iqra, 29, a banker who only gave her first name. “I will definitely miss them, especially their green chutney. I loved that.”

“A WORLD IS GOING”

In Karachi’s Al-Asif Square, nicknamed “Small Kabul” for its long-settled Afghan community, the losses are not just culinary. They are existential.

“The craftsmen are going, the shopkeepers are leaving,” said Sayed Abdul Wali, a 27-year-old shopkeeper. “A world is going to Afghanistan.”

Abdul Kabir, a Pakistani who sells traditional Afghan naan flatbreads, said demand had plummeted.

“Where once three sacks of flour would be used, now we only use one,” he said. “Even the morning batch is still lying here.”

Anthropologist Saeed Husain warned of cultural erasure, saying more than flavor was being lost. He described Afghan food culture as a form of lived knowledge, passed down from generation to generation, evolving with each retelling.

“All these traditions will be lost,” Husain said. “And then we’ll just have copies, really cheap copies… all of that will be lost too now.”

Afghans began arriving in Pakistan in large numbers after the Soviet invasion of 1979, with successive waves fleeing war, drought, and political instability. In urban Pakistan, cities like Karachi and Islamabad, they became traders, laborers, mechanics, and cooks, helping build the very urban fabric from which they are now being erased.

“Pakistan is a country founded in 1947 and made by refugees,” said Dr. Sanaa Alimia, author of Refugee Cities: How Afghans Changed Urban Pakistan.

The professor said Afghans were deeply woven into the economic and cultural fabric of urban centers and played a foundational role in shaping the cities of Pakistan, building homes, laying roads, running businesses — and serving food.

“There are many examples, from agricultural production and farming techniques, to mechanics, to doctors… artists, tandoor wallas, and so much more,” Dr. Alimai said.

But she cautioned against reducing the worth of Afghans to their economic value.

“Human and political rights are about protecting and valuing people irrespective of if they contribute to the economy or not.”

Back in Karachi, Mohsin, a local customer, feared not just the loss of food but of taste, tradition, and togetherness.

“If our Afghan brothers leave,” he said, “then perhaps the taste and flavor will leave too.”