A Story of Never Ending Pain

Narrator: Nargis

Victim’s Name: Sakhidad Hedayat

Date of Incident: November 22, 1999

Location of the Incident: Kabul City

If there had been no war, Nargis could have been one of the happiest women on earth. She is a strong and good woman, full of courage and determination. In spite of all the difficulties that she has faced, she always has a smile on her lips. At the same time, she is dejected and disillusioned by all the things that happened to her over the years: successive displacements, homelessness, and most of all, the death of her husband, Sakhidad. When the Taliban arrested him, she was forced to sell her house in order to bribe the Taliban to release Sakhidad, but all she received in return was his dead body. She alone had to transport the corpse all the way from the eastern part of Kabul to Dasht-e-Barchi. Since then, her life seems like a never ending journey of suffering, in which Nargis plays the role of both father and mother for her five children for whom she hopes that a better tomorrow will eventually arrive.

The Story of Nargis

My name is Nargis and I am 40-years-old. I live in Dasht-e-Barchi. I am originally from Bamyan Province. When we lived in Bamyan, we had a decent life as my father in-law had a great deal of land. My husband Sakhidad, known as Hedayat, was the only son of his family. When the Taliban attacked Bamyan, they looted our properties and we were displaced to Kabul. We had to walk all the way and my youngest child was only 40-days-old. Once in Kabul, my husband opened a shop in Sar-e Kariz. However, some people did not like my husband and reported to the Taliban that he was a member of the opposition.

The Taliban came and arrested him in May 2000. When we learned that he had been arrested, my cousin searched everywhere but could not find him. After four days, we came to learn that he had been detained in Department No. 11 but that no one was allowed to meet him. He was first taken to the Intelligence Department and then to Department No. 6 where he was detained for six months.

We know that the Taliban tortured him daily without giving him any food. When my cousin tried to deliver food for him, he was not allowed to meet my husband.

One day, I was sitting at home when my cousin came. It was early morning and I was very worried that something might have happened to Hedayat. When I saw him, I was full of fear because he usually did not visit us in the morning. He held a letter in his hand and told me not to worry. He said that Hedayat had sent a letter through the ICRC and that we were now ensured that he was alive and where he was held captive.

After a great deal of effort, I found out that Mawlawi Abdul Haq was the director of Department No. 3. I asked him to give me permission to visit Hedayat in prison and after paying him a huge amount of money, he allowed me to meet my husband. From then on, every two weeks my youngest son and I visited him in prison, even though sometimes the Taliban made excuses and denied us entry. Every time we went to the prison, I prayed to be granted permission to see my husband. Every time I went to see him, I had to walk all the way from Cinema Pamir to Department No. 3 with my child in my arms and food and clothes in my hands, hoping to meet my husband. Every time I saw him, he gave me little gifts for the children.

Hedayat was imprisoned there for six months. Then we were told that they would release him in exchange for 350,000 Afghani. I did my best to find the money. I sold our house. I borrowed money from my brother and took money from people, promising to pay the money back with interest. I finally gathered the money and paid the authorities. They promised to release him the following Sunday, but several Sundays passed without his release. After forty days, I went there again and asked two guards, Shah Wali and Mudir Abdurraham, whether Hedayat would be released today. They said that they did know now and asked me to wait.

Shortly after, the gate was opened and a body was brought out on a footstool. I thought that someone had fainted but it was Hedayat’s body. I began to scream and curse at everyone and threw away my chadari. I was totally out of my mind.

I was running around like mad until I found a taxi. I told the taxi driver to take us home. He accepted and put my husband’s body inside the car. When my brothers saw me in the car, they thought that Hedayat had been released. They all came to my home. I told them that the Taliban had informed me that Hedayat was dead but I still thought that he might be unconscious.

I asked my brothers to fetch a doctor. He eventually came and said that Hedayat had passed away a long time ago. We then buried him in Tap-e Shuhada.

When my husband died, he was 33-years-old and I was 28. We had nothing left at home as I had sold everything to pay for the release of Hedayat. We had five children and my oldest son was only 10-years-old, with the youngest no older than 8 months. After my husband’s death, we had a very hard life. No one helped us. We lived in a tent as no one was willing to rent out his home to a widowed woman. I was indebted and the government did nothing to address my suffering.

Today, no one listens to our stories of sadness. I voted for Karzai to help the victims’ families but he has done nothing so far. I also voted during the parliamentary elections, hoping that the Members of Parliament would do something for us but they have not done anything either. As soon as they reach a position of power, they forget us. They just make vague promises and then do nothing. No official has ever asked us about our problems or listened to us.

Earlier, I used to receive 300 Afghani. This year, they have removed the names of my sons from the list of beneficiaries.

My husband’s most valuable souvenirs are his five children. The most important object that he left for us is his blanket. It is the same blanket with which we covered his coffin. Another object is the letter that he sent us from prison, as well as some gifts that he had given us. Most importantly, I have kept the veil that he gave me for our wedding ceremony. Finally, there are some photos and clothes of him that help me to always remember him.

I have included these objects in my Memory Box so as to make my husband’s memory live forever. I wanted to share his story with the wider public. I also hope that in the future, the government will use these objects to build a museum so that the people become aware of the pain and suffering our county has endured, and to finally learn how to live in peace.