He Never Tasted Peace and Tranquility in His Life

Narrator: Marzia (mother)

Victim: Mohammad Zaki Nayebi

Date of the incident: 23 July 2016

Location of the incident: Dehmazang, Kabul City

I am the mother of martyr Zaki Naibi. He was born in 1991 in Maidan Wardak Province, Hessa Du, Behsud District, in Qol Khesh Village. We moved to Kabul when he was seven years old. He started going to Ismail Balkhi school in Sarkariz and attended this school until 9th grade. Then, he enrolled in a school in Karte Se, where he completed the 12th grade. Due to our bad economic situation, he worked in a metal workshop at the same time as he was going to school. His workplace was in Dehburi.

During his school years, he was a diligent, calm, well-mannered, and talented student. He couldn't attend his school certification process, because of his work at the metal workshop. But since he was a calm and kind boy, his teacher, along with the top student in the class, who liked Zaki, completed the admin work and obtained his certificate. He never spoke in a loud voice to me or his father at home. He and my other son who is 14-years-old were very calm compared to my other children. I am very happy with him.

We lived in poverty and destitution. He aspired to become a helpful person to assist himself, his family, and his people in the future and to improve our living conditions, but his wish did not come true. His death left me and his father in pain. Another son of mine is now in prison because of a conspiracy by some people. He doesn't even know about his brother's martyrdom. Zaki was the breadwinner of the family. When his brother asks about Zaki, I say Zaki has gone to Turkey. I say some people donated money, and we sent him to work in Turkey. He insists we should give him his phone number so that he can talk to him on the phone. I make excuses, saying he lives in an area without mobile network coverage. His salary was 1,800 Afghanis. He used to take 300 Afghanis to pay for his education and the rest he would give to me. When I remember the hardships he went through, my heart burns because he never tasted peace and tranquility in his life.

On holidays, his cousins and friends would go out on excursions, but he said he had to work to make our lives better, and that work was fun. On Fridays, when they would call him to go somewhere to have fun, he would say, “I only have Friday. You go. I can't come because I'm very tired and I don't have enough time for fun.” He always made excuses. Talking to me, he would say, "Mother, where should one go to have fun when one has no money?" When he would return home from work, he would not sleep until 10 o'clock at night. When the 10 pm news hour was over, he would have a chat with his father and then go to sleep.

My son had many dreams but in his life, he never achieved any of them. He got engaged to his cousin almost three months before his death, but this dream never came true and he left us alone, filled with sorrow. On the day of the demonstration, before he left home, he took a bath, put on his clean pants and blouse, said goodbye to me, and then he left the house. I did not know that he was going to attend the demonstration because when I asked where he was going, he said he was going to work and would not take part in the demonstration. The night before, he had talked to his cousin and friends until 11:00 p.m. and encouraged them to participate in the 23rd July demonstration. He went with his cousin. At lunchtime, his cousin went to have lunch, but Zaki did not join him. He spoke with me until 1 pm; he even said we should do something to get Zia released. I didn't know when the incident happened. His aunt called me and asked if my sons were home. I said everyone was at home except Zaki who is at work. His cousin and aunt knew that he had gone to Dehmazang. Following the suicide bombing, his cousins and aunt left their house to look for Zaki. When they called me, they only mentioned Zaki's name and then hung up the phone. I kept calling them, but they did not answer the phone.

A few minutes later, my daughter received a message. She told me, “Mother, Zainab says Zaki does not answer her calls, I am worried.” My little son and I left the house and visited Zaki's workplace. The owner of the shop, who was Zaki’s boss, said, “He did not come to work today.” I saw my nephew leave the shop, and asked him, “Hamid Jan, did Zaki come to the shop today?” He told me, “To be honest, today Zaki did not come to work.” My nephew stopped his car in front of the shop and said, “Aunty, come and get in my car.” He dropped us off at Kot-e-Sangi. His father who was a porter had gone to work that day. My nephew called Zaki's father and said, “Uncle, get home.” My husband, Zaki’s cousins, and I all searched for Zaki until 2:30 am. I saw martyrs, but my son was not among them. We searched all the hospitals until almost 3 in the morning, but did not find my son. So we returned home. After taking a cup of tea, the others rested for a bit, while I offered prayer. My husband and his nephew also stayed up till dawn. Then early in the morning, his father and I went to visit Abul Fazl pilgrimage and returned home.

His father asked Zaki's sister, “What was Zaki wearing yesterday?” She said he was wearing a blouse with English writing on it and white pants. That night, his father knew that Zaki was martyred, but he didn't tell me anything and told me that he was arrested and imprisoned by the police. Together, we left the house for Wazir Muhammad Akbar Khan Hospital. Everyone already knew my son had been martyred. When we arrived at the hospital, his father did not enter. I was waiting a little further away. When I noticed everyone's unusual condition, I started crying. Zaki's cousin informed my husband of my son's martyrdom when he came out of the hospital building. My husband started beating himself when he heard the news. My other nephew grabbed my husband’s clothes and tried to console him, and said, “Uncle it is a lie; Zaki is alive.” I was in a terrible condition; I was screaming and crying. My two sisters who were with us held my arms and tried to calm me down. I was crying and telling them that I will find my Zaki, he cannot be dead.

One of the soldiers felt sorry for me and said, “Your son is wounded; you are not allowed to meet him, please calm down.” I kept screaming and crying. I checked the list but could not find Zaki’s name. Together with my sister, we went to another section of the hospital. When I entered, there were too many martyrs. My son was not among them. They had printed pictures of the martyrs. Looking at all those young martyrs, I too hit myself and then I fainted.

When I came to, they had laid me on the grass and were pouring water on me to bring me back to consciousness. When they noticed my distress, one of the soldiers asked for martyr Zaki to be brought to his mother. We took him to the mosque first to give him a bath. In the mosque, I learned that his head and back were injured and he was bleeding severely. One of his sisters didn't know about Zaki's martyrdom, she was still at home. When she heard, she cried a lot. Even now, when I remember our terrible, difficult living conditions, my heart burns, thinking that my son did not live a good life. He said to his father, “You should not work as a porter anymore; you have done enough.” His father always takes painkillers before going to sleep due to the huge loads he carries in his job. He used to tell his father, “I wish I had enough money to treat you.” He always said, “Mother, I wish to continue my studies so that the future will change for all of us.” But his wish was not realized.

Zaki studied up to 12th grade but could not continue his education because of economic problems. First, he was an apprentice at a carpet weaving workshop, then he started doing metal work. One day, he injured his eye while working with an electric wire and screwdriver, and lost his eyesight in that eye. He would always say he could not do manual work because of his eyesight. He believed he had to study so he could change his life. He was very fond of sports and played football with his friends. He participated in the demonstration to defend the rights of his people and said that the people’s rights should not be violated.

Since my son was martyred, I have not been feeling well; I have become forgetful. His sister, who was close to Zaki, doesn't cry. She doesn’t even talk about her brother, she just says, “I should eat pepper to forget Zaki's sorrow.” The night before the incident, when Khalili withdrew from the demonstration, Zaki was very angry and said Khalili abused his own people by leaving them alone like this. After his martyrdom, Khalili went to everyone's house to offer Fatiha, but he did not come to our house. Mohaqeq came to our house and this made us happy. My husband said, “Khalili, despite being from my tribe, did not visit us and did not offer Fatiha for my son, I will never forget this and it hurt me.” Zaki was a kind-hearted boy. We buried him in Pul Khashak cemetery. And so long as I remain alive, we will follow in his pathway, will not sit quietly, and will raise his voice. We thank you for remembering the families of the martyrs and keeping the memories of our martyrs alive.