By Martin Jelsma and Tom Kramer

The declining security situation in Afghanistan is costing international agencies billions of dollars a year. But for some people, security has become big business.

We are on a 12-day mission in Afghanistan to assess opium market trends. The country is responsible for over 90% of world opium production. We are meeting with representatives of the government and development agencies to assess the impact of drug policies by the Afghan government and the international community.

Driving through the Afghan capital Kabul on our way to various appointments is a frustrating experience. There are horrific traffic jams getting worse every year, which some might call a sign of progress.

"This is not because of the traffic, but because of the Afghan drivers," says our driver Harun.

Soon we realise this is not the whole story. The city is full of roadblocks and checkpoints, manned by the Afghan police, international security forces, or private security companies. This is causing massive obstacles in an already congested area. It also gives us a feeling of a city under siege. Is this winning the hearts and minds of the people, we wonder? It certainly isn't winning ours.

The main targets for suicide attacks are government agencies - especially the Afghan police - international troops, but increasingly also the UN and international development agencies. As a result, most offices have concrete walls around their compounds, with gates manned by local guards working for international security companies. It is hard to find a street in Kabul without one. It is a depressing view.

These security threats have made access to the target population in the provinces much more difficult for UN agencies and international NGOs. It has also made their operations very costly. "Of every ten dollars we spend in the country, only one dollar is spent on the ground in the field on projects, because of the security situation," says a UN official we meet in a restaurant that has been approved by UN security regulations. "This has only grown worse since the attack last month on a UN compound in Kabul."

But the security threat has also created many local employment opportunities. Driving through Kabul, those standing guard at checkpoints and gates are all young Afghan men trying to eke out a living. Their salaries are low, especially compared to the risks they are taking working for the Afghan police or for many international security companies present here. But they are the ones to take the first blow.

Others have also profited from the declining security. Our driver Harun works for a local taxi company providing a relatively reliable, low-profile taxi service - but without armoured protection, catering to westerners like us who are not under strict security regulations. "One thing that would be a great export product for our country is concrete for roadblocks," jokes Harun. "Afghan companies are experts in making this."

An Afghan aid worker who we meet and who visits the south frequently, adds an extra dimension to the security business. He explains that some local leaders in southern Afghanistan, where most of the violence is taking place, are also cashing in on the need for protection. The international community is spending huge sums of money on local companies and powerful local strongmen to provide protection for road transports, compounds housing international staff and the like.

"If you want to pass these roads with your convoy, you need to pay protection money to these local leaders," says Mohammad, who has travelled to southern provinces for an international NGO. These local commanders, many of whom he says are more like criminal groups, are getting rich from these contracts. "These guys are selling security as well as insecurity."

On the way home we get stuck in another traffic jam. Then our biggest security fear almost becomes reality. Harun suddenly manoeuvres the car to the wrong side of the road, almost kills a pedestrian, just manages to avoid a car coming right towards us, and then triumphantly moves our car back into the right lane past the congested area just before we almost crash into a big truck that is coming at great speed towards us. Back on the right side of the road we just avoid collusion with another car, which was actually following the traffic rules. "Khar" (donkey), shouts Harun. Then he smiles to us. "I hate Afghan drivers."

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