The mud-choked streets of Parun told their own story on Monday afternoon. Flash floods barrelled down from the steep slopes of eastern Afghanistan's Nuristan province, killing at least 20 people, injuring around 80 others and leaving more than 100 unaccounted for. Among those missing in the provincial capital was the mayor himself.
By the time the waters receded, entire neighbourhoods had been reduced to rubble. Homes, shops, roads, agricultural plots, public buildings and the municipality itself were either badly damaged or simply gone. The scale of destruction felt both sudden and somehow familiar in a region that has seen too many such visits from the sky.
Provincial disaster officials reached the worst-hit areas as quickly as the difficult terrain allowed. Taliban authorities mobilised search and rescue teams, conscious that the official death toll would almost certainly climb once the full picture emerged. Preliminary counts of casualties and property losses were promised once assessments could be completed.
What strikes an observer is the quiet resilience that surfaces in these moments. Men and women who have already endured years of hardship began the grim work of digging out what remained of their lives. Neighbours called out names into the silence that follows a flood, hoping for an answer. The dignity of ordinary Afghans confronting nature at its most unforgiving deserves more than distant pity.
Afghanistan sits among the countries most exposed to the sharper edges of a changing climate. Deforestation and steep topography turn heavy rains into lethal torrents with little warning. Yet the immediate priority remains practical: getting help to those who need it without turning their suffering into another arena for outside argument.
Effective assistance must respect the realities on the ground and the structures now responsible for response. Local leadership coordinates the rescue; outside actors would do better to support that effort than to lecture from afar. The families searching for loved ones under collapsed roofs are not symbols. They are fathers, mothers, children whose absence leaves holes that no press release can fill.