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Balkh Province, Afghanistan (CNN) \u2013 <\/span> On the outskirts of a dusty village in northern Afghanistan, a mass of Taliban fighters is gathered along the side of the dirt road. They are carrying AK-47s and rocket-propelled grenades and waving the militant group\u2019s flag. They stand in stoic silence, staring at us intently. There is no trace of emotion in their eyes.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
It\u2019s an eerie scene, not least because large Taliban gatherings are a prime target for airstrikes.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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The commander appears unfazed. He has been fighting since he was old enough to carry a gun.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cWe are ready for any sacrifice. We are not scared of being hit,\u201d he tells us. \u201cThis is our holy path, we continue our jihad.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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36 hours with the Taliban 12:26<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n
It\u2019s not often as a western journalist that you find yourself on the opposing side of America\u2019s war. Since the invasion of Afghanistan by US-led forces 17 years ago, the Taliban\u2019s world has been shrouded in secrecy and largely inaccessible to outsiders — until now.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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After months of negotiations, the Taliban\u2019s leadership granted extremely rare access and protection in an area under its control to Afghan filmmaker Najibullah Quraishi and a female CNN team.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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Our 36 hours with them provided an extraordinary window into a desolate world frozen in time. We found few indications that the militant group\u2019s insular and austere ideology has changed. At times, as foreign women, our presence was incredibly uncomfortable. But, as peace talks in Qatar with the US gather momentum, the Taliban believes that victory is within its grasp and, perhaps as a result, there are signs the group is showing greater pragmatism.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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Our journey begins in Mazar-e Sharif, the country\u2019s fourth-largest city. The Taliban was forced to withdraw from the city after a bitter battle in 2001. Now, they are just miles away. We are heading to Chimtal district, which the Taliban took over 18 months ago. The government still has a small base in the main town but the surrounding villages are all controlled by the Taliban.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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Between 60% and 70% of Afghanistan is now contested or under the control of the Taliban.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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<\/p>\n\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t <\/video>To reach their Taliban hosts, the team had to cross a small river by a hand-pulled ferry.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n
We cross a small river on a hand-pulled ferry. The US government has poured billions of dollars into building up Afghanistan\u2019s infrastructure, but little of that has trickled down to rural areas like this one.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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Our escorts are waiting on the other side. They greet Quraishi, the only male member of our team, warmly. As women, we are ignored, seemingly invisible under the full facial veil that is mandatory in public.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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The Taliban has invited us to its territory because it wants to show that it is able to govern effectively. Our first stop is a medical clinic in the village of Pashma Qala. A worn plaque at the door shows the building was originally a gift from the US in 2006.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t <\/source><\/source><\/source>Taliban fighters stand outside the Pashma Qala Medical Clinic in Balkh province, which has been run by the extremist group for over two years.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n
Moments after we arrive, a motorcycle hits a little girl in front of the clinic. There is a moment of pure horror as her shrieks fill the air. The Taliban fighter driving the motorcycle stops his bike and looks back. Slowly, he slings his gun over his shoulder and wanders toward the girl nonchalantly, then when he sees she isn\u2019t seriously hurt he simply turns around and rides off.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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The girl is carried into the clinic, her frantic mother following behind. The doctor, Haji Said Isaq, barely examines her before handing her mother some painkillers and moving on. After years of fighting in this area, he has seen much worse and he has dozens more patients to tend to.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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Isaq explains that while the Taliban runs the day-to-day operations at the clinic, the government pays the salaries and provides medicine. This sort of ad hoc cooperation between the government and the Taliban is becoming more and more common in hospitals and schools in contested areas.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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Under the Taliban in the late 1990s, women were not able to get medical care from a male doctor, work most jobs or even leave the house without a male guardian. So we are surprised to see several female employees at the clinic. 22-year-old midwife Fazila doesn\u2019t cover her face when she is talking to us, even though our camera operator is male.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t <\/source><\/source><\/source>Midwife Fazila, 24, at the Pashma Qala Medical Clinic in Balkh province.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n
On the wall of her office, a family planning poster lists different types of contraception, including condoms and the pill. It\u2019s the last thing we expected to see in Taliban territory, where any talk about sex is taboo.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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Fazila, who declined to give her last name, says the Taliban hasn\u2019t changed anything since it took over the clinic from the government 18 months ago. She says women can still be treated by male doctors.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cThe Taliban never interferes in our work as women,\u201d Fazila said. \u201cThey never block us from coming to the clinic. They don\u2019t interrupt us.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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As with all the places we are taken, it is difficult to know how much has been staged by the Taliban for our consumption. But analysts say that the group does appear to be taking a more accommodating approach to governance these days, co-opting institutions in territory they take over, rather than destroying or changing them.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t <\/source><\/source><\/source>A family planning information board at the Pashma Qala Medical Clinic lists contraception available, such as condoms and birth control pills.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n
In the waiting area of the clinic, a woman cradling a disabled boy in her arms describes the bleakness of life here. \u201cThere are no jobs here. Our youngsters left, some were killed, some didn\u2019t return,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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When we ask whether life under the Taliban has changed from how it was in the late 90\u2019s, an older woman standing nearby shakes her head emphatically. \u201cNo,\u201d she answers. \u201cWe are trapped in the middle and we can\u2019t do anything.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t <\/source><\/source><\/source>Women await medical care in a Taliban-run clinic.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n
It\u2019s getting late as we leave the clinic and we need to get to our accommodations. The Taliban shuts off all cell phone service at night and airstrikes are most common after dark.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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Our host for the evening is an Islamic teacher. He wears a white shalwar kameez, a traditional long tunic over baggy pants, and is one of the few men we meet who is friendly and smiles at us.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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In keeping with the Taliban\u2019s strict rules on gender segregation, we are to sleep in the women\u2019s part of the house. But our host does come and sit with us for a while. Speaking in classical Arabic — our only common language — he admits that he\u2019s never seen an outside journalist, and never imagined he would.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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The women and children in his family are equally intrigued. After the host leaves, they pepper us with questions in Dari that we can\u2019t understand. We share our candy bars with them as the mothers giggle at us. Later, we learn that they have never seen foreigners before.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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The next day we set off early to visit the local madrasa, a religious school.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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Madrasas have a reputation for teaching a harsh, fundamentalist Islam. Under Taliban rule in the late 1990s, girls were excluded from education.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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But here we see dozens of children — boys and girls — poring over their Qurans, reciting verses as they rock back and forth.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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<\/p>\n\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t <\/video>Young boys read the Quran in a Taliban-run madrasa, or Islamic school, in Balkh Province.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n
Most of the girls are between 8 and 10, and several tell us they can read. With pen and paper, they proudly demonstrate writing their own names. One of the girls says she wants to be a doctor when she grows up. Another says her favorite subject is math.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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Their teacher is Yar Mohammed, who splits his time between the frontlines and the classroom. His AK-47 never leaves his side, even as he sits with the children going over verses from the Quran.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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He tells us that that the Taliban now encourages the education of girls. He adds: \u201cThe Emirate has instructed education departments to allow education [for girls] of religious studies, modern studies, science and math.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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It doesn\u2019t take long for this carefully crafted illusion of gender equality to be shattered. Mohammed adds that once the girls hit puberty, they can no longer be educated in the same school as boys, because there might be contact between the sexes.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t <\/source><\/source><\/source>Girls study at the local madrasa.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n
That means there need to be separate schools for the girls. So far, those don\u2019t exist. It\u2019s the same excuse that the Taliban used two decades ago to deprive millions of girls of education.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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Most of these girls will leave school by the time they are 14. But the sad reality is that female education is simply not a priority in poor, rural areas. And that goes for government-controlled areas as well.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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In an effort to show they can provide basic services, the Taliban has started appointing \u201cshadow\u201d governors who compete with the Afghan government for influence and support.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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In Chimtal district, Mawlavi Khaksar is one such governor. With his heavy black cloak and startling green eyes staring out from beneath a black turban, he cuts an intimidating figure.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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Khaksar sits across from us, flanked by four bodyguards, his AK-47 resting on his lap. One of the guards is hunched over a two-way radio, listening for security updates.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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We have been instructed not to ask questions about the peace talks with the US. Any time the conversation veers into the overtly political, Khaksar tells us to consult the Taliban\u2019s political spokesperson for comment.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\n \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t <\/source><\/source><\/source>Mawlawi Khaksar, Taliban shadow governor of Balkh province.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n
Still, Khaksar does reveal some of the apparent contradictions in the Taliban\u2019s evolving image. While he has a smartphone and uses Facebook to get his news, he is also adamant that men and women found guilty of adultery should still be stoned to death.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cWe implement the sharia, we follow sharia instruction, and the sharia allows stoning to death,\u201d Khaksar says.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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When asked about US concerns that the Taliban will once again provide safe haven to terrorists if it retakes the country, he replies: \u201cOnce we are ruling Afghanistan no foreigners will be allowed in the country … whether it\u2019s the Americans or ISIS.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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The previous Taliban governor was captured by Afghan government forces in a raid in January. To avoid meeting the same fate, Khaksar doesn\u2019t have a fixed office, instead moving from place to place.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n