Back-and-forth moribund ethnobotany: Erosion and fragmentation of Local Ecological Knowledge among Afghan returnees in contemporary Afghanistan and perspectives for an ethnobiology of the refugees

The Secret Library of the Wild

Imagine the natural world not just as a collection of trees and flowers, but as a giant, living library. For thousands of years, people have been writing books in this library, but instead of ink and paper, they've used leaves, roots, and seeds. This is the world of ethnobotany: the study of how different cultures use plants for food, medicine, and daily life. Think of Local Ecological Knowledge (LEK) as the specific "user manual" a community has for their local library. It's the secret recipe for a tea that cures a cough, or the knowledge of which wild weed stops a stomach ache.

Usually, when people move to a new place, they try to bring their favorite books with them. Sometimes, they find new books in the new library and mix them with their old ones, creating a cool hybrid collection. But what happens when the library itself is destroyed, or when you are forced to leave your home, live in a city where you can't touch the plants, and then are forced to go back to a home that has changed so much you barely recognize it? This paper explores that exact, heartbreaking scenario. It asks a tough question: When a culture is torn apart by war and forced to move, does the "user manual" for nature get shredded, or does it just sit on a shelf, gathering dust?

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The Story of the "Double Displacement"

This research, conducted by Ajmal Khan Manduzai, Abdul Ghani Karimi, and Andrea Pieroni, dives into the lives of Afghan people who have been through a unique kind of trouble. The authors call it "double displacement." Imagine being kicked out of your house, forced to live in a crowded apartment in a different city for decades, and then suddenly told to go back to your original house, only to find the neighborhood has changed, the roads are gone, and the garden is overgrown. That is the story of these Afghan returnees. They spent years in Pakistan, and now they are back in Afghanistan, but the connection to the wild plants they once knew is in serious trouble.

The researchers set up camp in May 2025 at a temporary shelter in eastern Afghanistan. They sat down with 144 people (60 men and 84 women) and asked them a simple question: "What wild plants do you remember using for food or tea?" They didn't just ask what people were doing right now; they asked what they remembered from the past, what they were doing in Pakistan, and what they were doing now.

The Great Erasure: 78% of the Library is "Inert"

The results were startling, like finding that 78% of a library's books have been turned into paperweights. Out of 23 different plants the researchers recorded, 78% were only remembered from the past. The authors call this "inert knowledge." It's like knowing the name of a song and the lyrics, but having no record player to hear it, or no instrument to play it. The people could name the plants and say what they were used for, but they weren't actually using them anymore.

Only 9% of the plants were still being picked from the wild (foraged), and 13% were being grown or bought. To put it in perspective, if you had a basket of 23 wild vegetables, you would only be actively using 2 or 3 of them. The rest were just ghosts in the memory.

The study found that wild vegetables (the kind you eat to fill your stomach) were almost completely gone. No one was picking leafy greens anymore. However, herbal teas (the kind you drink for health or comfort) were a little more stubborn. About 30% of the remembered tea plants were still being used. Why? Because you can buy dried tea seeds or roots in a market, even if you can't go out into the wild to pick them. But the fresh, wild greens? They vanished.

The "Double Displacement" Effect

The researchers compared these returnees to a previous study of Afghans who were still living in refugee camps in Pakistan. In Pakistan, the refugees were actively using nine different types of plants. But when they returned to Afghanistan, that number dropped to just three.

The only plant that survived the journey in both places was Trachyspermum ammi (a type of seed often used in cooking). It survived because it can be dried, stored in a jar, and bought at a market. The other plants failed because the returnees couldn't find the specific highland environments they needed, or they didn't have the money to buy them, or the social networks that taught them how to use them had been broken by the trauma of moving.

The study explicitly rules out the idea that this is just a normal case of people "forgetting" because they moved voluntarily. The authors argue that this is something much worse. It's not just adaptation; it's a rupture. The "double displacement" (being exiled and then forced back) creates a unique kind of damage that voluntary migration doesn't cause. It strips away the environment, the time, and the social safety nets needed to keep the knowledge alive.

The Gender Trap

One of the most interesting parts of the story involves the women. In many cultures, women are the main keepers of plant knowledge. The study confirmed this: on average, the women remembered 4.2 plants, while the men remembered only 2.8.

However, the women were also the ones who had lost the most. Even though they knew more, they were using fewer plants than the men. Why? Because of the rules of the city they lived in while in exile. In the crowded cities of Pakistan, women were often not allowed to walk outside freely to pick plants. Men could go to the market and buy things, but women were stuck inside. So, even though they had the knowledge, they didn't have the mobility to practice it. The authors describe this as a "structural trap": the very people who hold the most knowledge are the ones most restricted from using it, leading to a faster loss of that knowledge.

What Does This Mean?

The paper suggests that this "inert knowledge" is a fragile thing. It's not gone forever yet, but it's hanging by a thread. If the older women who remember these plants pass away before the younger generation can learn to use them again, that knowledge will be lost forever.

The researchers aren't saying this is a solved problem or that everything is fine. They are sounding an alarm. They suggest that humanitarian aid (like food and shelter) needs to include biocultural help. This means giving out seeds for wild plants, creating small gardens in shelters, and making sure women can safely move around to learn from the elders again.

The study concludes that for these returnees, the loss of plant knowledge isn't just about missing a recipe; it's about losing a piece of their identity, their health, and their ability to survive in their own land. The "user manual" for their environment is currently locked in a drawer, and unless someone helps them find the key, it might be lost to history.