In 2019, CNN got a rare opportunity: to experience life within Taliban-occupied territory for 36 hours. This is the story.
Balkh Province, Afghanistan (CNN) -
On the outskirts of a dusty town in northern Afghanistan, a group of Taliban fighters gather along the dirt road.
They carry AK-47s and rocket-propelled grenades and wave the flag of the militant group.
They remain in stoic silence, staring at us.
There is no trace of emotion in his eyes.
It is a disturbing scene, especially since large concentrations of Taliban are a prime target of air strikes.
The commander seems unfazed.
He's been fighting since he was old enough to carry a gun.
"We are prepared for any sacrifice. We are not afraid of being attacked," he tells us.
"This is our sacred path, we continue with our jihad."
It is not often that a Western journalist finds himself on the opposite side of the war from the United States.
Since the invasion of Afghanistan by US-led forces 17 years ago, the Taliban world has been shrouded in secrecy and largely inaccessible to outsiders ... until now.
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After months of negotiations, the Taliban leaders have granted extremely rare access and protection in an area under their control to Afghan filmmaker Najibullah Quraishi and a CNN female team.
The 36 hours we spent with them provided us with an extraordinary window into a desolate world frozen in time.
We find little evidence that the militant group's austere insular ideology has changed.
Sometimes, as foreign women, our presence was incredibly uncomfortable.
But, as the Qatari peace talks with the United States gather momentum, the Taliban believe victory is within their grasp and, perhaps as a result, there are signs that the group is showing greater pragmatism.
Report through a veil
Our journey begins in Mazar-e Sharif, the fourth city of the country.
The Taliban were forced to withdraw from the city after a tough battle in 2001. Now, they are only a few kilometers away.
We head to the Chimtal district, which the Taliban took 18 months ago.
The government still has a small base in the main city, but the surrounding towns are all controlled by the Taliban.
Between 60% and 70% of Afghanistan is now in dispute or under the control of the Taliban.
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We crossed a small river on a hand-drawn ferry.
The US government has invested billions of dollars in building infrastructure in Afghanistan, but it has barely reached rural areas like this.
Our companions await us on the other side.
They warmly greet Quraishi, the only male member of our team.
As women, we are ignored, seemingly invisible under the full facial veil that is mandatory in public.
The Taliban have invited us to their territory because they want to show that they are capable of ruling effectively.
Our first stop is a medical clinic in the village of Pashma Qala.
A worn plaque on the door indicates that the building was originally a gift from the United States in 2006.
Taliban fighters in front of the Pashma Qala medical clinic in Balkh province, run by the extremist group for more than two years.
Moments after our arrival, a motorcycle runs over a girl in front of the clinic.
There is a moment of sheer horror when their screams fill the air.
The Taliban fighter riding the motorcycle stops his march and looks back.
Slowly, he slings the gun to his shoulder and nonchalantly approaches the girl, and when he sees that she is not seriously injured, he turns and leaves.
The girl is taken to the clinic, her frantic mother follows her.
The doctor, Haji Said Isaq, barely examines her before giving her mother some painkillers and moving on.
After years of fighting in this area, he has seen far worse things and has dozens more patients to attend to.
Sex education in a Taliban clinic
Isaq explains that while the Taliban run the day-to-day operations of the clinic, the government pays the salaries and provides the medicines.
This kind of ad hoc cooperation between the government and the Taliban is increasingly common in hospitals and schools in disputed areas.
Under the Taliban regime, in the late 1990s, women were unable to receive medical care from a male doctor, work most jobs, or even leave home without a male guardian.
That is why we are surprised to see several employees at the clinic.
The 22-year-old midwife Fazila doesn't cover her face when she talks to us, even though our camera operator is a man.
Midwife Fazila, 24, at the Pashma Qala medical clinic in Balkh province.
On her office wall, a family planning poster lists different types of birth control, including condoms and the pill.
It's the last thing we expected to see in Taliban territory, where any talk about sex is taboo.
Fazila, who did not want to give his last name, says the Taliban haven't changed a thing since they took over the government clinic 18 months ago.
It says that women continue to be cared for by male doctors.
"The Taliban never interfere with our work as women," Fazila said.
"They never stop us from coming to the clinic. They don't interrupt us."
As with all the places they take us, it is difficult to know how far the Taliban have made a scene for us.
But analysts say the group appears to be taking a more flexible approach to governance these days, co-opting institutions in the territory they take, rather than destroying or changing them.
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A family planning information board at the Pashma Qala Medical Clinic contains a list of available contraceptives, such as condoms and birth control pills.
In the clinic's waiting room, a woman cradling a disabled child in her arms describes how bleak life is here.
"There is no work here. Our young people left, some were killed, others did not return," he says.
When asked if life under the Taliban has changed compared to the late 1990s, an older woman nearby shook her head flatly.
"No," he replies.
"We are caught in the middle and we can't do anything."
The women await medical care at a clinic run by the Taliban.
First visit of women journalists
It is getting late when leaving the clinic and we have to get to our accommodation.
The Taliban cut off all mobile phone services at night and airstrikes are more frequent in the evening.
Our host for the evening is an Islamic teacher.
He wears a white shalwar kameez, a traditional long robe over wide trousers, and he is one of the few men we know who is kind and smiles at us.
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According to the strict Taliban rules on gender segregation, we must sleep in the female part of the house.
But our host comes and sits with us for a while.
Speaking in classical Arabic - our only common language - he admits that he has never seen an outside journalist, and that he never imagined that he would.
The women and children in his family are equally intrigued.
When the host leaves, we are bombarded with questions in Dari that we cannot understand.
We share our treats with them while the mothers laugh when they see us.
Later, we found out that they had never seen foreigners.
The illusion of gender equality is broken
The next day we left early to visit the local madrasa, a religious school.
Madrasas have a reputation for teaching tough and fundamentalist Islam.
Under the Taliban regime in the late 1990s, girls were excluded from education.
However, here we see dozens of minors, boys and girls, who study the Qur'an carefully, reciting verses while swaying from side to side.
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Most of the girls are between 8 and 10 years old, and several tell us they can read.
With pencil and paper, they proudly show that they can write their own names.
One of the girls says she wants to be a doctor when she grows up.
Another says that her favorite subject is mathematics.
His teacher is Yar Mohammed, who divides his time between the front and the classroom.
His AK-47 never leaves his side, even when he sits with the children to review the verses of the Quran.
She tells us that the Taliban are now promoting girls' education.
And he adds: "The Emirate has instructed the education departments to allow the teaching [of girls] of religious studies, modern studies, science and mathematics."
It doesn't take long for this carefully crafted illusion of gender equality to be shattered.
Mohammed adds that once girls reach puberty, they can no longer be educated in the same school as boys, because there could be contact between the sexes.
The girls study at the local madrasa.
That means there have to be separate schools for girls.
So far, these do not exist.
It's the same excuse the Taliban used two decades ago to deprive millions of girls of education.
Most of these girls will drop out of school at age 14.
But the sad reality is that women's education is simply not a priority in poor rural areas.
And this also applies to areas controlled by the government.
Smartphones and stoning
In an effort to demonstrate that they can provide basic services, the Taliban have begun appointing "shadow" governors who compete with the Afghan government for influence and support.
In the Chimtal district, Mawlavi Khaksar is one of those governors.
With his heavy black cape and striking green eyes, which protrude from under a black turban, he is an intimidating figure.
Khaksar sits across from us, flanked by four bodyguards, his AK-47 on his lap.
One of the guards is hunched over a two-way radio, listening for security updates.
We have been instructed not to ask questions about the peace talks with the United States.
When the conversation veers towards the overtly political, Khaksar tells us to consult the Taliban's political spokesperson for his opinion.
Mawlawi Khaksar, shadow Taliban governor of Balkh province.
Yet Khaksar reveals some of the apparent contradictions in the evolving image of the Taliban.
Although he has a smartphone and uses Facebook for information, he is also adamant that men and women guilty of adultery should continue to be stoned to death.
"We apply the sharia, we follow the instructions of the sharia, and the sharia allows stoning to death," says Khaksar.
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When asked about the United States' concern that the Taliban will once again give refuge to terrorists if they retake the country, he responds: "Once we rule Afghanistan, no foreigners will be allowed into the country ... Americans or ISIS. "
Where justice is tough and fast
The former Taliban governor was captured by Afghan government forces in a raid in January.
To avoid the same fate, Khaksar does not have a fixed office, but instead travels from one place to another.
When the locals learn that Khaksar is in the village, a group of men quickly arrive at the door of the house he is visiting to raise their concerns.
They carry white papers with the details of their disputes.
Most are about money and property.
The governor invites them to come in and sit with him.
One man explains: "I sold a car to someone and that person is in an area controlled by the government and they do not pay me the money. I did everything possible, but no one in the government heard my voice."
The man complains that government officials have demanded bribes from him.
Khaksar takes her request and tells her that it will be taken care of tomorrow.
The Taliban have a reputation for administering tough but swift justice, which has earned them the support of many in these areas.
However, for many Afghans, the Taliban are better known for civilian casualties than civilian government.
The group's ruthless tactics and indiscriminate attacks have left many thousands dead.
Last year the record for civilian casualties was broken, with 3,804 innocent lives lost, including 927 children, according to a United Nations report.
The Taliban were responsible for about 35% of those deaths, according to the report.
The Taliban had already recognized the problem by creating a largely symbolic commission in 2010 to investigate civilian deaths.
Yet Khaksar insists that the United States is the worst culprit.
"Those responsible for the civilian victims are those who came with their planes, artillery, B-52s and heavy weapons," he says.
"Actually, they are responsible for the deaths of civilians, not the Islamic Emirate. Because the Emirate does not possess weapons that can cause massive casualties like the foreigners who have attacked Afghanistan."
In fact, in the same period of 2018 there were 536 civilian deaths caused by air operations, of which 73% were attributed to international military forces, according to the UN mission in Afghanistan.
"They should have brought a man"
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A Taliban military commander insists on showing his forces to CNN cameras in the town of Pashma Qala, Afghanistan.
When we leave the house with Khaksar after our interview, the district's Taliban military commander, Mubariz Mujahid, arrives and a dispute breaks out over us.
He is upset by our request that the governor and me be photographed going out into the street.
He does not want any member of the Taliban to appear on the street with a woman.
He asks if the governor can walk down the street with our male colleague, Quraishi, instead.
Quraishi explains that I am the presenter, not him.
Men seem to find this confusing.
"They should have brought a man," grumbled a commander's partner.
Ultimately, we agreed to stay behind and follow the men at a distance, something I've never had to do in my career.
Taliban fighters from Balkh province.
After nearly two decades of war, 2,372 US troops lost, and more than a trillion dollars of US taxpayer money spent, the Taliban are stronger and control more territory than at any time since the conflict began.
This fact has the government of Afghanistan on edge as the Trump administration prepares to withdraw thousands of troops.
As we move away from Taliban territory, we pass a group of women who work the land.
An icy wind whips across the desolate landscape.
Time and again, we have been reminded of how hard life is here.
For much of the country, the prospect of a Taliban resurgence is a terrifying thought. But the reality is that for many Afghans it doesn't matter who is in charge. His quality of life has not improved. And after decades of war and hardship, they will turn to anyone who promises peace.