What Happens When A Capital Runs Dry? Kabul May Soon Show The World | World News

Kabul: Every morning before the first prayer call, Kabul (the capital of Afghanistan) begins its slow and painful crawl through another waterless day. Feet crunch down dry dust paths as women clutch buckets and young boys, barely past ten, drag jerry cans that scrape against the rock. There are no puddles left. No trickles. Only memories.

Raheela, 42, does not remember the last time she turned on a tap. Her four children do not know what that is. When the tanker horns echo through the alleys of her neighborhood, she grabs her cracked blue bucket and runs. That moment is her lifeline. Because in this corner of Afghanistan’s capital, water arrives with no schedule. And it disappears even faster.

“We live on hope and buckets. Every day I wonder how long can this go on?” she tells CNN, with her face tired and hands tight around her plastic container.

Kabul is now closer than ever to becoming the first capital in modern memory to run entirely dry. Not a metaphor. Not a warning. A near-certainty.

A recent report from Mercy Corps delivers the brutal verdict – groundwater levels across Kabul are falling so fast they might not recover. Half the boreholes in the city are already dead. Once moist and rich beneath the Hindu Kush meltwaters, the earth is cracked deep and dry.

Three decades ago, Kabul was home to less than 2 million people. After 2001, the numbers exploded as people fled war zones hoping for safety in the capital. The promise of peace brought growth. Growth brought concrete. Concrete brought thirst.

The city sucks 44 million cubic metres more water each year than nature can replace. That thirst has consequences. A full 80% of groundwater is now contaminated – filthy with fecal bacteria from pit latrines and chemical runoff.

People like Ahmad Yasin, 28, know this well. He lives in a compound with 10 relatives, including small children and aging parents. For months, he and his brother stood in mosque lines with buckets. Every morning, every evening. Just water, nothing else. Until finally they gave up.

They scraped together 40,000 Afghanis, six months of savings, to dig a backyard well. They drilled down 120 metres before they hit water. But it is not water they can drink.

“There is no filter. We spent everything on digging. So we boil it, every time. We do not have a choice,” he says, while talking to the news channel.

The story is the same in Taimani, in Khair Khana, in Shahr-e-Naw. Pick a district. Ask anyone.

Sayed Hamed, 36, has stopped eating out. Not because he cannot afford a meal, but because every meal comes with a side of diarrhea. His three children now brush with bottled water if they can get it.

“Even that is not enough. We get sick just from brushing our teeth,” he says.

He works for the government. But now, most mornings, he joins a queue. He waits, with buckets in hand. His 13-year-old skips school to fetch water. So does his 9-year-old. They climb steep roads in the heat, sweating and silent.

“There is no time to study. There is no strength either,” he says.

What snow once gave Kabul is now lost.

Najibullah Sadid, a water management expert, has studied the trends for years. “The rain is coming heavier. But the snow is disappearing. Snow is what used to feed our groundwater. Rain just rushes through and floods us,” he explains to CNN.

Floods now sweep through poorly built drains while aquifers sit empty. Mercy Corps warns that Kabul could run out of drinkable water by 2030. Some say it might happen even earlier.

Without deep pockets, families rely on tankers. The lucky ones pay. The rest walk.

Rustam Khan Taraki devotes a third of his income just to stay hydrated. He does not have extra for medicine or meat.

The poorest do what is left – wait in lines or accept donated water, one bucket at a time.

Women bear the brunt of it. Under Taliban rule, stepping out of the house without a male guardian is a punishable act. For women trying to collect water, it is a risk every single time.

“There are stares and there is harassment and fear. But if we do not go out, there will be no water at home. So we take the risk,” says a 22-year-old resident who asked not to be named.

Children give up learning. Mothers give up safety. Fathers give up meals.

And the government? The ruling Taliban has not fixed the pipes, dug reservoirs or launched a strategy.

Since the U.S. withdrawal in 2021, the state has collapsed inward. President Donald Trump’s decision earlier this year to freeze all foreign aid hit Kabul’s most urgent lifelines, which are water and sanitation support from the United States Agency for International Development (USAID).

Von Zahn from Mercy Corps does not mince words. “We need $264 million just to keep things stable. Only $8 million has arrived. We are out of time. And out of money,” he says.

What is left are whispers, dust and dry promises.

Raheela still remembers the day she chose this neighbourhood. The rent was manageable. The mosque well was flowing.

Now there is nothing. No plans. No pipeline. Just her family and a row of empty buckets.

“We will be forced to leave. But where do we go, when water runs out everywhere?” she asks.