The Bloody Wednesday

Enayatullah Naseeri is the brother of Rahmatullah Hasib Nasiri. He was born on August 26, 1986 and finished school in 2004. He has a Bachelor of social sciences from Kabul University and works as a journalist in a weekly newspaper called “Rewayat Emroz,” and as a researcher at the Pursish Research and Studies Institute. Hasib was his older brother and both were really close and had strong emotional attachment to each other. Enayatullah Nasiri has written this story and sent it to us. He says about his brother, “We used to joke around with each other. But he was my most important financial and emotional support during my school and university years.”

Narrator: Enayatullah Nasiri (brother of the victim)

Victim: Rahmatullah Hasib Nasiri

Date of the incident: May 31, 2017

Place of the incident: Zanbaq Square, Kabul

May 31 at 8:23 AM on a Wednesday; I still think about that moment. I felt as though hot lead had been poured on my heart and burned my whole body. I still cannot believe that Hasib is gone and is no longer with us. I still longingly gaze at the entrance gate thinking he might enter with a smile on his face. The sounds of car horns have startled me many times because I think it might be him wanting us to open the gate for him. Whenever he reached the gate with his car, he would always make his presence known with a different pattern of honking. It was the beginning of Ramadan. As usual, Hasib would call me on my phone to wake me up while having his sahari. We ate our food and after a bit of chatting, everyone went back to their rooms. No one knew that it was his last sahari and the last conversation we would share.

We did not see each other that morning. Before that, he would always come to my room to say goodbye before leaving for his office. He was an employee of Roshan Telecommunication Company and worked in the head office located near Zanbaq square. That day, I had slept in longer than usual because I was awake a bit later after sahari. When he had left the house, I was still asleep. When I woke up, the clock showed a few minutes before eight o’clock. I laid down on my bed and started reading a book. Minutes later, the sound of a horrible explosion shook my heart. I got worried. I picked my phone and called Hasib but he did not answer. Previously, if he did not answer the phone, he would quickly send a text that he is busy and will call later. On that day, I waited for a few moments to receive his text but there was no text from him. I tried again and called him several times but he did not answer.

I opened Facebook. Everyone [on Facebook] thought the explosion was near their location because the explosion was extremely strong. For this reason, the [Facebook] users thought the place of explosion was in different places. Among them, one person had posted that “the explosion happened near Zanbaq square in Kabul.” I got worried. Just as the pictures of the explosion in Zanbaq square and the surrounding areas were passing by my eyes, the door of my room slammed open. It was my sister-in-law and she said, “There has been an explosion in Wazir Akbar Khan area and Hasib is not answering his phone, that is why Arezu, Hasib’s wife, is crying.” Although I was feeling restless and worried, I went to speak with them and comfort them. I told them, “Pray, inshallah, that Hasib is okay and nothing has happened to him.”

With apprehension and a heavy heart, I left the house. I saw my mother enter the house after dropping Hasib’s son to school. Apparently, she was not aware of the explosion. I passed by her in a hurry. I was near Maidan Shaheed Mazari when she called and sadly cried out that Hasib’s colleagues answered his phone to inform that he has been injured and they have taken him to the hospital. My worry increased tenfold. The traffic around Maidan area was unbearable for me. I got out of the car. I spotted Hayatullah Bayan’s car on the other side of the road. I went to him and saw that he was not in good condition. The driver was sprinkling cold water onto his face and hands.

I said, “What happened? Is everything okay?”

He replied, “I was very close to the explosion, I feel faint.”

I said, “Hasib has been injured and transferred to the hospital.”

Bayan got shocked. He got up from his place and told his driver to start toward the hospital. I went toward Emergency Hospital. The police had blocked the road in Shar-e Naw. I got out of the car and ran toward the hospital. The city had been out of breath and had turned into a ruin. A large crowd were going in all direction with worry and panic. The windows in buildings were all broken. Everything was covered in broken glass. The city was filled with sorrow and smoke. The police were removing people from the middle of the street and near buildings left window shards fall on them. The front of Emergency Hospital was filled with the wounded. The sounds of wailing and groaning which I heard on that day still haunts my ears. Many were running here and there with their bloody clothes. Sounds of ambulance passing through to transport the wounded could be heard every moment.

We reached there around thirty minutes after the explosion. Black smoke was still visible in the place of the incident. I saw a few employees of Roshan Telecommunication Company running around in a panic. We were looking for any news about Hasib. The list of wounded that were admitted to the hospital was still not posted. The discussions surrounding the number of casualties of the incident filled everywhere. I asked about Hasib from any employee of Roshan that I met there. I comforted myself with the thought that he has only been injured. This was not the first time which I went to Emergency Hospital to look for those injured by explosions. Last year, as well, two of my friends named Bismillah Alizada and Sayeed Madadi, who were injured in the explosion targeting the protestors of the Roshnayi Movement in Dehmazang, were also brought to this hospital.

Inside the hospital, my eyes fell on a young man who had a Roshan ID card lanyard around his neck. I asked him about Hasib but he did not recall. I explained that Rahmatullah Hasib Nasiri, Roshan’s finance controller, was one of their colleagues. He let out a big sigh and asked, “What relation do you have with him?”

I said, “I am his brother.”

He paused a bit and said, “He is wounded but he is well so do not worry.”

Before I could ask more questions, he apologized and walked toward the ambulance.

A number of my friends including Hussain Hazara, Qayum Surosh, Mahmood Muhammadi, Ehsan Safdari, Bismillah Alizada, and Juma Khan Rahyab also reached and got busy searching for the list of the victims. They tried coordinating to go inside the hospital and inspect the wounded. I found another employee of Roshan; he was one of the people who had transported the wounded to the hospital. I first enquired about the condition of Omid Faizi, Hasib’s colleague. He said, “Faizi is in a good condition. Only his hand sustained a small injury.” Then, I asked about Hasib. He said, “Wallah, he was injured a bit more but do not worry; he has been transported to the hospital. Inshallah he will get better.” Despite getting really worried, I asked about the condition of Mohammad Azeem Rizayi, one of our relatives who had been recently appointed in Roshan. He said that no one had been injured from their section and he was well.

My phone was ringing every second; my friends and family were continuously calling to ask about Hasib. My mother called once every two minutes. Although her throat felt tight with grief, she would ask, “Did you find Hasib?” Then she would make a request, “give the phone to Haseeb just once, I want to hear him say even one word.” I would comfort her and say, “Dear mother, I still have not found him but as soon as I do find him, I will definitely call you.” My father called several times and said that he will come to the hospital after us, but I requested that he stays at home and take care of my mother and the rest of the family. However, Ahmad Jawed, Hasib’s friend and coworker, had come to our house after finding out about the explosion and was bringing my parents with him to the hospital. My mother had gone to the hospital twice and the second time, she had even gone to check the morgue. When she came from the hospital exist, she was completely broken and crushed. She was crying from the depth of her heart and sat on the ground by the hospital entrance. She had not found her son there.

After we were certain that Hasib was not in the Emergency Hospital, we informed all our friends to thoroughly search other hospitals around the city. I tried several times to get myself close to Hasib’s office at Roshan’s head office which was also near the place of explosion. I was told that there was a first aid clinic inside the company building. I thought Hasib might be there. The thought of Hasib stuck under the rubble and wounded even crossed my mind. I thought to go to rescue him and bring him to the hospital. However, all of the paths towards the office were completely blocked and the police did not allow people to pass through. When I looked at the buildings impacted by the blast from afar, I saw nothing expect ruins and smoke. My heart would tremble and to hide from my terrifying thoughts, I returned to the hospital to continue my search.

On that day, we search all of the hospitals until two in the afternoon but we did not find Hasib. It was close to half past two when one of my friends called that a number of critically wounded have been transported to the Emergency Hospital just now. Those of us who were there decided to split into two groups; one group would go to the Police Hospital in Afshar and I, along with few others, would head toward Emergency Hospital once again. When we reached the hospital, my companions went toward the entrance gate and checked the list of the wounded. But the moment I saw that the path towards the place of the explosion was open, I ran towards it. I passed by the street when I heard Mahmood’s voice. In hopes of hearing news, I went to him. I noticed Surosh who was crying while leaning on the wall of the hospital. Worried, I asked Mahmood, “What happened?” He replied, “They found Hasib.” Again, I asked with a trembling voice, “Is he alive?” With tears flowing from his eyes, he replied, “Hasib is no longer with us.”

My body went cold. I lost feeling in my arms and legs. With the help of my friends, I dragged myself toward the wall of the hospital and dropped to the ground. After that I do not know what happened or how we got from emergency Hospital to the mortuary of Wazir Akbar Khan Hospital. I saw my father there. He had dropped off my mother back home after quickly searching Ali Abad Hospital and got himself to Wazir Akbar Khan Hospital quicker than us. With two people holding him from his shoulders, he slowly started walking towards me. When he reached my side, he took me in his arms. He put his head on my shoulder and started crying quietly. Then he lifted his head up and let out a loud sigh after drying his eyes with a handkerchief. He turned to my friends and said, “I saw Hasib but my eyes went dark and I collapsed. You first make sure whether he is our Hasib or not, then we will inform the others that we have found him so that they do not become bothered more than this. Please ask them to gather in Wazir Akbar Khan Hospital.”

I wanted to go and see Hasib, and tell him, “Get up, brother, the grief of your absence is heavy and breaks my spirit. Get up because I cannot return home without you.” I remembered his dreams and my dreams which were destroyed in a blink of an eye. I got up from my place and walked toward the mortuary but others stopped me by my shoulders and requested that I be patient. They told me that when everyone else comes, all of us shall go inside.

Slowly, everyone gathered. They also took me to check the body. After the door of the fridge swung open, my eyes fell on Hasib’s pale and bright body. The whole world turned black in my eyes. Yes, the body kept in the drawer of a mortuary fridge in his bloody and dusty clothes was indeed was our Haseeb. My mother, Hasib’s wife, and his son. Oh God! How could I tell them that Hasib is no longer with us? It was decided that the news would be broken to them slowly; my father would go back home and tell them that Hasib is injured but Surosh and I are by his side. A group of my friends and I went to Bayan’s home to plan for Hasib’s funeral and burial.

My mother, my elder brother Asad, my younger brother Ehsan, and other friends, which were not informed, would call me every second to ask about Hasib. I was scared of answering them and each call startled me. Especially when my mother would call, I tried my best to talk calmly and not let my voice tremble lest she finds out about what had happened. I am still scared of my phone ringing. I have jolted awake at night several times after hearing the sound of my phone ringing but then realize that it is the middle of the night and I am in a world without Hasib. Ah!

Instead, my father calling me gives me comfort. The patience and strength which he displayed after coming to face with Hasib’s lifeless body also gave me strength. That night, around ten, he called to tell me that I need to get myself back home no matter what because my mother was not in a good condition. She had become suspicious of our behavior and had suspected that Hasib is no more but she was also scared that something must have happened to me as well. I got worried and quickly started toward home. I got myself home but that night, the atmosphere inside our home was very strange. Everyone was awake and waited for Hasib. After I got back home, my mother said, “Hasib left me, did you also want to leave me now?” Everyone was worried that something would happen to my mother after hearing about Hasib’s passing because she had high blood pressure. For this reason, we tried to not tell her at once and suddenly. But I was surprised to find that my mother was quite strong that night. She would comfort me and tell me to have patience. My father paced the room that night until morning. Sometimes, he would come by my side and comfort me and some other times, I would talk with him. Each moment passed heavily and bitterly. Everything felt bothersome and unkind.

The following day, early in the morning, we went to Hasib once again. The mortuary of Wazir Akbar Khan had a busy day ahead. From that early in the morning, we saw large crowds of people who had come to collect the bodies of their loved ones. We, too, collected the lifeless body of our beloved and went toward Forensic Hospital. That day and the day after it when we brought Hasib’s body from the Forensic Hospital to the mosque, I took a long look at him. Even when I was by his body, I felt calm. Asadullah, my elder brother who lived abroad, wanted to come to the country for the funeral. He was able to reach Kabul around one in the afternoon on Friday and we decided to hold the funeral at two o’clock on the same day. That day when we brought Hasib to the Mosque from the Forensic Hospital, I saw that Asadullah was impatiently waiting for his brother. He had come to the mosque directly from the airport. I went to his side. He took me in his arms. The hug of a brother is so warm and calming! I became alive once again and took refuge in his arms. That day, I was stronger than the day before because Asad was by my side and Hasib was also in front of my eyes. Around three o’clock, all of us said farewell to Hasib and sent him to his eternal home. The ground became heavier after swallowing so many bodies but the world above it turned empty for us forever with the absence of Hasib.

Hasib is currently living in the memories of us, many of our friends, colleagues, and relatives. Rahmatullah Hasib Nasiri was born on August 26, 1986 in Shaki Nawka of Qarabagh District in Ghazni Province. He finished school in 2004. He had a Bachelors in Certified Accounting Technician (CAT) from Bakhtar Private University and held a post-graduate degree from a Malaysian university in ACCA (the Association of Chartered Certified Accountants). He was an instructor at the American University of Afghanistan and had previously worked with Care International in Afghanistan, Actionaid Afghanistan, and finance initiative of the United Nations. At the time of his death, Hasib was an employee of Roshan Telecommunication Company as the Finance Controller of the company and was a member of the High Board of Accountants of Afghanistan. He was a hope for his family and country which was lost and is no longer with us. Like thousands of other innocent souls of this country, he became the victim of extremism, violence, and terror.