Often in our job as photographers we are totally dependent on drivers. Back in 2004, I was on assignment in Kabul, Afghanistan for the first time and came to appreciate just how important a good driver can be, especially in a place like that where your life can depend on it.

The driver in question was Omar Sobhani, one of the Reuters drivers in our Afghanistan operation.

When I first met him, this good, solid, bearded man with lively eyes, was fluent in Russian, Urdu, Hindi, Pashtun but no English whatsoever; as I had no idea of Russian, Urdu, Hindi and Pastun our conversations were limited and hilarious to anyone else listening, but somehow despite this,  right from the very first moment, we understood each other.

On my first trip to Afghanistan when we stopped the car to take pictures Omar was always calm but alert in an almost imperceptible way. The stops would be very short, with minimum interaction with the locals and none of the usual hanging around or loitering photographers like to do in order to get pictures. In Afghanistan this is just not sensible. The opportunity for misunderstanding in such circumstances is considerable. They may never have seen a camera and will be curious, but they may mistrust it and you and be wondering what you and it are doing in their ‘hood’, whatever the motives crowds gather quickly so at the slightest sign of unwanted attention With one flash of Omar’s quick, electric eyes we would be out of there - quickly. All it took was a look.

We had long conversations in our imaginary language and I admired his skills as a driver; how he drove securely to suicide bombing sites without drama, got us past security barriers, dealt with foreign and Afghan forces, always very edgy particularly immediately after an attack; took unimaginable shortcuts and managed to coax all the power out of the vehicle when it was needed; drove through the Hindu Kush mountain range on the worst roads I had seen anywhere in the world, and all in a very calm and professional manner, without a hitch.

Omar was very used to driving text, pictures and TV journalists in his country and was always curious about what we did. Back at the office when his part was done, Omar would usually peer over our shoulders and watch when we were doing as we edited and transmitted our material.

One day in 2005 during the holy month of Ramadan we were driving in the hills surrounding Kabul and as we came round a corner, I noticed a slight decrease in the acceleration of the vehicle and saw him Omar look ahead, then at me, and then at my camera with a 70/200 mounted on it. There, in front of us was a nice picture of a man praying on the roof of a house on the side of a hill. Omar had not only spotted it but also knew which lens to use to shoot it. I looked at him and asked “good pickchaar ?” he said yes, “good pickchaar” so I told him, “you take the pickchaar”. He looked at me in confusion. I passed him the camera with its 70-200mm lens and he made the picture through his open window.

Later on we sat together in the office and sent his first picture to the Reuters wire. He was happy and proud, and so was I.

Omar had the quick eyes, the attitude and approach a photographer needs. While he lacked English and a knowledge  of cameras and computer technology, he had the fundamental attributes and everything else could be learned. And so it has proved. Thanks in no small part to the guidance and tutelage of Reuters senior photographer in Afghanistan, Ahmad Masood, my friend Omar is now a Reuters photographer and a very good one indeed. He speaks a lot more English than just “pickchaar” these days, confidently uses computers and satellite communications and has done amazing top class work in one of the most difficult operating environments any photographer could work in - and he hasn’t forgotten how to drive !!

In those first few seconds of waking in the morning, when my sleep has been disturbed, my first thoughts are to deny the cause of the sound.

“Maybe the door slammed; maybe a cat jumped over a bucket; maybe a vehicle tyre burst.” So many maybes… but the reality is usually the same. It is a bomb!

“Get up now,” I will say to myself, “If you are not there before the police then you are in trouble.” I always call another photographer, or the Reuters Television producer, to double check, and I hate to hear the reply, “It is a bomb, I heard it too.” But it is the response I have come to expect.

My camera equipment, which lives with me as a constant companion, will be over my shoulder as I call our driver, who lives nearby, and is usually already on the road. Now, all I have to worry about is getting to the scene as quickly as possible. We have to fight our way through heavy traffic, aggressive security forces and angry members of the public.

More than four million people live in the Afghan capital, Kabul, and the traffic is my worst frustration. The roads in Afghanistan are often narrow and rutted, with no traffic signals, crazy drivers and a total absence of rules.

Above: Military personnel secure a suicide blast site in Kabul

Above: The scene of a suicide car bomb explosion in Kabul

Above: A military helicopter flies over a blast site in the south of Kabul

On my way to a scene I always try to tip off my TV and text colleagues if I haven’t spoken to them already, and they do the same for me. If I am lucky I will reach the scene before the security forces, which are usually composed of Afghan policemen, Afghan soldiers, members of the Afghan intelligence service, NATO forces and U.S. troops. If I am not lucky it can feel like a big military party, at which the favourite music comprises wailing ambulance sirens and helicopter rotor blades churning the air. The accompanying lyrics go something like this, “No picture!!! Camera down!!! Get out of here!!!” followed by “Go away,” “Shove off,” and lots of swearing.

Above: Foreign military personnel (L) stop an Afghan police vehicle from advancing to a suicide blast site in Kabul

Above: Afghan police and security personnel search a suspect for explosives after a suicide bomb blast in Kabul

Amid this confused situation, we have little time to think of the plight of the victims - the dead and those wounded by the blast - we can only look for pictures that describe the carnage, and try to get away without being hurt ourselves. Scenes like this make me feel as if I am at a photo-shoot at a junk yard, with the wreckage of vehicles and the bits blown off them; the shattered bodies of the victims; the blood stains; the broken windows and a million other bits and pieces.

Above: A U.S. soldier walks away from a suicide blast site in Kabul

Above: Afghan policemen secure a car bomb site in Kabul

It is only when I have arrived back at the office and filed the pictures that I am back to myself, and continue with the routine of any normal person. I say to myself, “I should get some breakfast, I should brush my teeth…” and so much more.

Above: A British soldier (2nd L) tries to stop a mourning Afghan woman from approaching a suicide attack site in Kabul

Above: An employee of the Afghan Ministry of Justice looks out through a shattered window after an explosion in Kabul

Above: Afghan families and relatives of Tuesday’s suicide bombing victims carry the bodies to a cemetery for burial in the city of Baghlan, north of Kabul

Above: An Afghan army soldier keeps watch after a suicide bomb blast in Kabul

Above: A U.S. military personnel (R) and an interpreter stop locals from approaching the scene of a suicide blast in Kabul

All photographs by Ahmad Masood