When hundreds of reporters began to descend on the small Afghan town of Jabal-us-Saraj six weeks ago, the locals were licking their lips at the prospect of an economic boom.
They have not been disappointed. Drivers, translators, restaurants, shops, carpenters, mechanics and officials have all earned sums of cash that hitherto would have only been a dream.
But as time goes on, the tensions and problems caused by the presence of the world's press have surfaced -- between the Afghan population and journalists, between the locals, and, of course, between the highly competitive reporters themselves.
US air attacks on Afghanistan's ruling Taliban are in their fourth week, and the war on world terrorism focused on the hardline Islamic movement has regularly topped news bulletins.
The appetite for news and views from what was one of the world's most inhospitable countries has been insatiable.
The inevitable media frenzy this created has hit two main locations -- Khoja Bahawuddin, near the Afghan-Tajik border in the very north, and Jabal-us-Saraj, about 300km south at the mouth of the Panjsher Valley.
They lie at either end of the Afghan territory held by opposition United Front forces, also known as the Northern Alliance for the location of their tiny redoubt.
The remainder of the country -- more than 90 percent -- is held by the Taliban, which does not usually welcome foreign reporters and promises to deal harshly with any it finds without proper accreditation.
The challenge for the media is getting into northern Afghanistan.
The trip to Khoja Bahawuddin is made most often by road from the Tajik capital of Dushanbe.
Taxis charge US$400 to get to the border, four times the rate before the Sept. 11 attacks on the US and resulting military campaign in Afghanistan.
The lucky ones get a ride in an aging Soviet helicopter, although even that is no guarantee of landing where you want.
Many reporters promised a flight to Jabal-us-Saraj land instead in Khoja Bahawuddin, where they can wait for up to ten days for another helicopter. Some take the road instead.
"It was the worst journey of my life," said one South African cameraman, a hardened war reporter not easily frightened.
Translators and drivers make about US$100 a day each, a percentage of which goes to the foreign ministry, which registers reporters and gives them permission each day to visit the front lines to the south or head along the valleys to the north.
Before the boom, average monthly wages were US$15-US$20.
With the stakes so high, rival clans in the area have begun to clash over who should get the spoils.
The bulk of the business has gone to people from the Panjsher who live in Jabal-us-Saraj.
But those from the Shomali Plain further south, where the front lines cross, have pushed for a redistribution of the wealth, and media companies have been forced to change drivers.
The real estate industry has experienced unprecedented growth, with large houses snapped up by the major news corporations seeking a few home comforts in a country where falling sick and getting tired are to be expected.
The going rate for a big house with a garden, cook, security guard and fixer is US$200 a day.
Opposition commanders have been overwhelmed by requests to visit their front-line positions, from where cameramen and photographers get shots of the US bombardments and of the ongoing, low-level civil war.
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