The Trauma of Rebuilding a Shattered Existence

Narrator: Negar

Victim: Qand Agha

Date of the incident: May 31, 2017

Location of the incident: Zanbaq Square, Kabul City

One of the main tragedies of war is that it makes all kinds of atrocities possible. When a war begins, repeated catastrophic events eventually lead to an endless cycle of violence and suffering, depriving the people of any kind of prosperity and joy. War transforms suffering into a daily routine, thereby destroying the dreams of even the simplest of lives. Everything evaporates except war, destruction, and suffering. Life itself loses its inherent meaning and begins to resemble a hollow ditch that opens its mouth to devour everything.

Even when war finally comes to an end, the trauma of rebuilding one’s life casts a huge shadow and further prevents a return to normality. In Afghanistan, generation after generation have grown up under the dark shadow of war. For many, war has by now been accepted as a way of living, thereby giving further life to the rule of swords, guns, suicide attacks, and a society full of hatred and violence. Consequently, violence is no longer bound by time and space while the legacy of conflict is so overwhelming that post-conflict life is often more difficult than life during the violent event itself.

Qand Agha, the son of Negar is one of the victims of senseless war. He was not killed during the time of the civil war nor during the Taliban regime, but as a result of a suicide attack under the current regime of president Karzai. He is the victim of a cycle of violence initiated decades before and likely to continue for years to come as the thousands of innocent deaths since 2001 prove that the roots of violence have not yet been totally wiped out. It seems that the dragons of death are not yet satisfied and that every now and then the city of Kabul must fill its stomach with more victims. The death of Qand Agha constitutes an explicit warning that the possibility of a return to full-fledged war and its tragedies should not be underestimated.

The Memory Box project is an explicit statement against the return of tragedy. It aims to shake the human consciousness and expose the tragic nature of violent conflict.

The Story of Negar

My name is Negar and I am 40-years-old. Four years ago, my son was killed in a suicide attack in Charahi Zanbaq in the city of Kabul. I now live in Chehil Sutun in very difficult circumstances. In the past, my life was much better, especially since my son was working.

One day, my son was asleep when I woke him up and told him to go to work as it was getting late. He asked me to let him sleep and covered himself with a blanket. After a while I sent my other son to go and remind him. He refused again but eventually someone called him on his mobile and he finally got up. He had not eaten well the night before and I brought him fresh rice to eat. Then, he took his jacket and left the house. It was late afternoon and he never came back. I borrowed my neighbor’s cell phone and gave it to my younger son to call him. When my son called, somebody else answered his telephone and informed us that Qand Agha had been injured. Later, my husband came home and confirmed that he was injured. My son was hospitalized for one month. Every time I visited him at the hospital, he asked me not to cry, ensuring me that he would recover soon. After a month, he passed away and his dead body was returned home.

My son was a really funny person. He was working somewhere as a security guard but I don’t know exactly where. I do not remember which month he was killed but I do remember it was winter. He had received his salary only once and was waiting for his second salary when he died. Before, he used to work as a street seller and later he became a bus conductor. His father was old and could not fully support the family.

My son was always telling me that one day he would buy a house for us. Whenever he saw the car of a newly wed couple covered with flowers, he jokingly promised he would get married soon. I remember that I cooked rice that day when he was injured. He ate but left home hungry and often complained of hunger during his month in the hospital. His cloth was torn into pieces. I still keep it as a memory of him. I want you to use his stuff for the Memory Box exhibition.