Employ Every Possible Means to Save My Child

Narrator: Mahdi Valizada (father)

Victim: Rohullah Qayyumi

Date of Incident: 24 Oct 2020

Location of Incident: District 13, Kabul City, Pul-e Khokh, Dasht Barchi, Kausar Danesh Educational Center

My name is Mohammad Mahdi, the father of martyr Ruhollah Qayoumi, who lost his life in the incident at Kawsar Danesh. On the occasion of Ruhollah's martyrdom, I would like to share some details about his life. In the beginning, he attended school in Daimirdad Zimeni Village of Jalriz District in Maidan Wardak Province. He attended Ismail Khel School. Our village is called Daimirdad Zimeni. However, due to frequent conflicts between the Taliban and the government, his education was disrupted. Until security checkpoints were installed, he would attend school for some days but would miss it for several more days. Looking at the situation, I concluded he would not benefit from schooling there. Despite going through tough economic conditions, I transferred my two kids – Marty Rohullah and Moqtada – to Tamadon, a private school. They studied there for several years. While Moqtada graduated and enrolled in university, Rohullah decided to pursue 12th grade at a public school.

Rohullah attended Abdur Rahim Shahid school and wanted to enroll in tuition centers. Then, the [COVID-19] quarantine began. He moved to Behsud. For a period of two or three months, he worked at a bee farm alongside his brother. They had a bee farm in Behsud. When the quarantine measures were lifted and tuition centers resumed teaching, he returned and enrolled in a center. We never asked him about the timing or location of his studies. He said he attended two or three centers. He would take different classes at different hours and would go to the library afterward. He would study in the library; I had no idea about that. He would leave home in the morning and only return by evening. I asked him once, "You leave early in the morning without having breakfast, do you take lunch?" He replied that he did not. I insisted, "No, I won't allow you to study on an empty stomach. It's not good to be harsh with yourself."

So, I visited the market, accompanied by his sister. We purchased a lunch box for him. I wanted to buy a food container for him so that he could take a portion of the dinner the next morning, ensuring he had something to eat throughout the day. He would frequently visit this market, as one of his classmates, Martyr Mahdi, held a stall there. He was making a lot of effort; he would often urge me to work together. He used to say, “You worked hard for me; I want to become self-reliant.” He was getting an education. Apart from the quarantine period when he worked with his brother on the bee farm in the second part of Behsud, he did not engage in any other work. He graduated from Tamadon School that same year and moved there to take tuition courses in this center. I didn't visit this place since I work as a driver and had no knowledge of his study location. He would come home in the evening. In the mornings, he sometimes had breakfast before attending his classes. I never saw him wandering around in the streets.

He came to study at Kausar Danesh, and one day... two or three days ago, called to say his nephew had brought some mung beans from Behsud. Three days ago, he called me and asked, "Where is Aman? I need to go see him to receive the beans.” I told him, "Go to Shohada intersection, Bikh Tepe Market, get his number, and call him." That was his last call until today. Eventually, I went to Dareh Souf. It was around evening in Dareh Souf and I was standing with my friends in an area called Pesh-e Hamam. They knew what had happened. My nephew was with me; he was informed of the attack on the education center. Someone had called him. I was preparing dinner and chatting with my friend. I was eating and talking but food remained in the bowl. He never touched the food. I was unaware of the events. I was at the tire mechanic shop for dinner. After the dinner, they all said, "Let's go to Peshe Hamam.” It was very cold. Once in Peshe Hamam, I parked the vehicle facing the wall. I told them it was warm and we had to sleep there and get on the road the next morning. My nephew turned around in front of me and opened the door. I got mad at him and criticized him for his driving style. He got into the car. At the same moment, the night guard came and asked for the fee.

I noticed that my nephew was looking unwell. He paid my fee, looked up at me, and said, "Uncle..." He explained that there had been a suicide explosion at Rohullah’s tuition center. His words shook me to the core. I asked him, “Where is my child? Is he okay?" He replied, "No, he's injured, he's wounded.” I called my brother, Dr. Amin, to ask what was going on. He told me that Rohullah was injured and had been transferred to Imam Zaman Hospital. My mind stopped working. I told him, “Brother, employ every means possible to save my child." I told him I would give away all my possessions to ensure my child received treatment. I immediately headed towards Kabul at night. The phone signal was completely lost. I made it here.

I needed to head straight to Kabul, but it was already 9 pm, and there were no cars in this remote place. My nephew, a friend, and I started calling people to find a car. They finally found one.

There are two routes, one of which passes through the Taliban-controlled area. At this time of night, the Taliban might cause trouble. Another option is to go through Dare Souf and then Sheikh. We traveled through Kotel Qaraei and arrived at Bazar Sokhta. It was between midnight and one o'clock in the morning when we arrived there. When we reached Bazar Sokhta, we got another car at midnight, and we arrived in Mazar-Sharif. From Mazar-Sharif, we boarded a Corolla and made our way to Kabul.

When the calls came in from Kabul, they didn't reach me directly. Instead, they spoke to my cousin. As we were en-route, they repeatedly called to inquire about our whereabouts. Eventually, we arrived at Kotal-e Khairkhana. However, upon assessing the heavy traffic congestion, we decided to change, took a detour through Paghman, and eventually arrived in Kampany, where our house is located.

As I entered the front yard, I was taken aback to see my son lying beneath the tree. At that moment, I couldn't understand my surroundings. My other sons approached me and embraced me. Then, his uncle arrived. I noticed the condition of his feet. I hugged him, but I couldn't recall what happened afterward. One of my children picked me up. I was in pieces. Ruhollah's leg had been badly hurt, and his head sustained significant injuries. His body and face remained intact but were marked by numerous shrapnel wounds.

My cousin, Mr. Zamani, suggested going to Martyrs' Hill. My brothers, too, suggested burying Ruhollah on the Martyrs' Hill. But I wanted Ruhollah to be buried with his grandfathers, all buried in Maidan. I wanted to take my child to Maidan, but the route to Maidan was closed. So, we decided to go off the main road and took his body to Maidan.

So, that is how I received the news. I had never seen Kausar Danesh, its whereabouts, and where he studied. The incident here, I don’t know how and when it happened. I don’t recall the exact time or date of the incident. We took the body to Maidan and buried it there.

I have three sons and one daughter. I am 44-years-old. Ruhollah's mother has foot pain and a herniated disc. He was 19-years-old. At that age, he would wake up at night to massage his mother's feet when she was in pain. He was so kind. I used to get up [and ask him] what he was doing, and he would reply that his mother's foot was hurting. He would continue massaging until ten o'clock at night. Ruhollah's remarkable behavior will forever remain in our hearts.

He would stay up until midnight or even later to study, with his cup of tea and a book by his side. We would tell him to eat his food, he would say ok, he would eat it later. He would take a sip from his cup and resume studying. He was not the kind of boy wandering in the streets.

He had awareness of everything around him and courageously continued his studies in Maidan. He was not facing threats in Maidan. Our neighborhood, in the Jalriz district, consists of 30 houses of Hazara people. There is a group of Pashtun people living around us. Ruhollah had courage and in his studies, showed great talent, surpassing his brothers. The poor boy studied there until the sixth or seventh grade before he had to come to Kabul.

He was properly taught in grades six or seven. One day, the institute teacher summoned me during biannual exams and expressed concerns about his academic progress. I explained that it was not his fault; the ongoing war had disrupted his education, and Ruhollah would miss a month of classes. With great determination, he advanced his studies and enrolled in the Abdul Rahim Shahid School. Attending the educational center was the culmination of his relentless hard work.

He expressed a strong desire to become independent. One of his remarkable aspirations was to alleviate his mother's severe leg pain. He would say, "Mother, no matter what happens, I will be your doctor. Don't worry, I'll take care of you." Every morning at five o'clock, he would leave home, hungry and thirsty, and return by five o'clock at the end of the day. Tragically, on the day he was martyred, none of us were present at home, except for his uncles; his brothers were in Maidan where they were stranded because of road closures. His uncles, relatives, and friends gathered and took his body home. None of us were here.

Now, I am constantly on the lookout, and when the time comes for me to return home, I find myself reluctant to do so. This reveals the immense difficulty I face in living without Ruhollah, this is particularly the case for his mother. Even now, at home, I repeatedly reassure her that everything happened according to God's will and that it was his destiny to become a martyr. However, she cannot fully accept it; all her thoughts continue to revolve around him. She points to her fingers and remarks that although they may be different, they are still the same, just like our children. She reminisces about how he used to wake up and massage her feet. I can't recall ever waking up to massage my own mother's feet. If you saw my eldest child, you would notice his posture is hunched over; his sister also appears hunched, and Ruhollah's mother even more so. We have become consumed by thoughts of him, and all other matters have faded away. In the evenings, when it gets late, our eyes remain fixed on the door, eagerly awaiting Rohullah's return. He was a young man filled with patience. When his older brother was getting angry, he would remind him, "Our parents too are human beings with souls; you can do it yourself." He never issued commands to others; instead, he was a patient and understanding child.

I faced significant financial constraints. Despite the scorching heat, my son would walk from Bagh Dawood in Kampany to Tamadon school because we couldn't afford to buy him a bicycle. In those challenging circumstances, I raised him but unfortunately, heartless oppressors deprived him of his life. Our economic situation was incredibly fragile, to the extent that even purchasing a bicycle was beyond our means. I chose to send my children to Tamadon school because I believed they would receive a better education compared to public schools. I am grateful to his excellent teachers, and may God bless them for their encouragement and support. He continued to achieve greater success over time. Within the educational center, he stood out as one of the top-performing students in his class. His determination and courage were remarkable, but tragically, God took him away from us. Ruhollah had a distinctive approach to his studies. He would not lose focus or engage in leisure activities and remained dedicated to his education.

He would often say, "Dad, I can't express enough how much you've done for us." Let me share another story. He had an uncle who was killed during the attack on the Enlightenment Movement rally. That uncle had left the university to go home, but then he decided to join the protest. He took part in the Enlightenment Movement rally. At that time, he was a second-year student in the Computer Science faculty. Rohullah had a strong affection for his uncle and had a close bond with him, unlike others who only showed superficial love for their uncles. His uncle's name was Shafiqullah Zamani, and he was martyred during the attack in Demazang.

One day, as we sat together at home, he gazed at his uncle's picture and asked me, "Dad, my uncle was so... will anyone else reach this level?" It was a memorable moment. It was his fate to become martyred. He believed that not everyone could attain such a noble position, as to be martyred. I heard him saying that. And he attained that position himself.

His mother is not feeling well due to back pain. She stays indoors for twenty-four hours. We have a little child named Muslim. Since Ruhollah's martyrdom, he no longer sits in the yard. My older son stays with his mother for a maximum of two days and then calls me, saying he can't stay any longer. His mother remains in mourning and sadness, her thoughts always filled with memories of Ruhollah. I remind her that everything that comes from God. He sacrificed his life for the sake of God. He was an innocent student who became a martyr, a privilege granted to only a few. However, the weight of this grief is heavy upon us. It's particularly challenging for his mother because I am away. Whenever I return home, I find her gazing at his photos on the wall. We have a basement and an upper floor, but I don't let her spend too much time there. My children have mobile phones, and sometimes I ask them to show me photos of Rohullah. However, they have hidden them and don't show them to his mother. Ruhollah's absence is a profound and enduring pain for all of us.

Until this day, no government institution has reached out to us or offered any condolences. We have visited the educational center multiple times, hoping to establish a memorial for our children. However, our requests have gone unanswered. As the father of the martyr Ruhollah, I have not received any communication or support from the government. It is disheartening to see how little value human life holds in present-day Afghanistan. Look at the martyrs of Sayed ul-Shohada, they seem to have been forgotten. They treat us as if our children did not exist. I want to talk about the safety measures at this educational center. Why was there negligence? Why didn't they ensure security in the first place? Are there any security cameras? What really concerns me is that there is no public access road and you can see the suicide bomber easily reaching the center of this alley. How did they allow him to reach the middle of the alley? We are deeply upset about this. Who is to blame for this indifference? Is it the students, the teachers, or the government? We feel let down. After the incident, the educational center put up barriers. They are well-known, but they didn't learn from the Mawud Center incident. They were aware of the high risk. And now they have dug trenches. What is the purpose of this? It doesn't alleviate people's pain. Now we plead with the government to ensure our security.

Those responsible must be apprehended and held accountable for their actions. There is something suspicious going on, and it is clear to everyone in Afghanistan, including you and me. We strongly advocate for justice to be served, no matter how much time passes or how the government changes. We will persist in our pursuit of justice until the end. If justice is not served, our only choice is to be patient and trust in God.

It would bring us great relief if we could have a memorial in the right location, a place where we can find solace and ease our pain. Our children sacrificed their lives here, their blood was shed. We desperately need something to remember them by, to honor their bravery. The martyrs of Kawsar Danesh must always be remembered, be it through a monument, a minaret, or even a library. We humbly request the government to provide us with a plot of land where we can establish a library. Our hearts ache with sorrow, as we have lost our beloved children, and a part of our souls remains shattered. We seek a place that can bring solace to our wounded hearts. This memorial will serve as a lasting tribute to their memory. Regrettably, both the government and the educational center have neglected our pleas. We value education and knowledge, and we appreciate the efforts of teachers, but they have not addressed our needs thus far. They have made promises to us, but those promises remain unfulfilled.

We yearn for our martyrs to be remembered, and we plead for the construction of a memorial in their honor. We implore the authorities to allocate a location at any cost, to collaborate with us, so that we can establish either a library or a memorial that will eternally preserve their memory. This is our heartfelt desire, and we ask for nothing more.