The Phone Was Burnt in The Incident, but the SIM Card Remains Intact

Narrator: Soghra (wife)

Victim: Mohammad Jawad Alipour

Date of the incident: 23 July 2016

Location of the incident: Dehmazang, Kabul City

My husband was born in Mashhad in Iran. When he was 10, he and his family returned to Afghanistan, to the district of Ghorian, in Herat Province. They started working and studying in a compound with some agricultural lands attached. He lived there until he was 17, but they abandoned their land and moved to Herat during the first period of Taliban rule. At the age of 17, he traveled back to Iran and lived there until the age of 22. His family lived in Herat city, and we were acquaintances who had known each other since childhood. Later, they proposed to me to marry their son. At the age of 22, when he returned to the country, we got married immediately. Eight years have passed since our wedding, and we have three children: two boys and one girl. My eldest son is seven-years-old, my second son is four-years-old, and my daughter is three-months-old. She was born after her father’s martyrdom. In Iran, he operated rebar machinery. When he returned to Afghanistan, he lived with us for almost six months. He then joined the National Army. He served in the National Army for nine months in 2010. He was dispatched to the border with Pakistan and his work there was dangerous. Sometimes, he could not even contact us.

His father suffers from cardiovascular disease, so he was concerned about my husband’s health. Following that period of ten months, he didn’t allow his son to continue serving in the national army. Out of respect for his father, he quit his army job after he left hospital [following an injury]. When he returned home, my eldest son was three months old. Once again, my husband had to go to Iran to look for work. He stayed there almost a year and a half. Following his return from Iran, he partnered with one of his friends and started doing welding jobs, and he was still doing this up the time of his martyrdom. One of his dreams was to invent a device. He would always tell me that he wished he had studied more and that our economic situation was better. Then he would make a device that would be recorded as part of the story of his life. I always encouraged him and said, "God is great, and our living situation will improve one day."

He was very interested in reading and read many religious books. He did not have many friends and spent most of his time on Fridays with us and reading books. After finishing Friday prayer and returning home from the mosque, he would always recite the Holy Quran. He has three brothers, but they are not like my husband. Because of his good morals, his father was very fond of him; he was happy with him. When his son was martyred, he was not in a good state of mind. We even moved from the house where we had lived to a different place. His father used to say, “At the time of the morning Azan [call to prayer], I feel my son calling me for prayer and saying: ‘Dad, I have prepared water for you to do your ablutions.’”

In fact, his dream came true as he always wished to become a martyr. In his diary, he detailed the hardships and problems he faced in his childhood, for example, the difficulties he encountered when he was smuggled abroad, and the bitter times he had weaving carpets as a child. After my son was enrolled in kindergarten, my husband would always help him with his homework, despite being very tired after he came home from work. He would say that he had suffered a lot and would leave no stone unturned to help his children educated. Even though I would help my son with his assignments, he was thrilled when his father encouraged him. He would always tell me to set aside a room for our children so that they could study peacefully and become people of influence later in life. I have decided to be an excellent mother to my children until the very last moments of my life. I even try to fill the void left by their father’s death, so that they never feel unprotected and lonely. His caring nature has influenced my own behavior, and made me decide this. He never spoke to me harshly in the eight years of our married life, not even once. Sometimes it was I who was harsh, but he always stayed calm and encouraged me not to get enraged because it was not worth living a sad life.

At night, when chatting with me, he would say, “Soghra, just think for a moment about the resurrection, the grave, and the other world. This world and life are not worth being greedy for or unhappy about.” I used to tell him, “Do you act as you say?” He would say, “Yes, before I go to sleep, I close my eyes for a moment and think about the Day of Resurrection, about the grave, and about good behavior. Once I gain serenity, I easily fall asleep.” Now that we have lost him, I think of his words before going to sleep. I cry and laugh simultaneously at his simplicity and honesty. When I think about him, I miss him greatly. When I recall his words, I fall asleep despite my sadness. May God bless him. We have no bad or unpleasant memories of him; we have only good memories, a lot of them. He used to take me with him for Friday prayers, and after praying, he would call me not to go home alone. He was waiting for me when I came out of the women’s section. On Muharram nights, he would wait for me and we would walk home together, while some people used to go home individually.

On Fridays, he would take me, especially my children, to the park or special shrines to have fun. Because conditions in Afghanistan, especially in Herat, were not good. He used to advise me not to leave the children unattended in the alleyway. He used to say that the kids should have fun. Sometimes his father would worry about us. My husband would secretly take the children to parks and remote areas when it was nice weather so they would not feel distressed. In the last days of Ramadan, he traveled from Kabul to Herat and stayed at home with us for a week after Eid. A day before he returned to Kabul - I don’t know what he was thinking - he took the motorcycle out early in the morning and gave the kids and me a ride across Herat City. He told us, “I want you to see nice and beautiful places in Herat. Maybe I will never return home this time.” Lately, he talked about death and did not let us have a bad time. Every time I recall his actions and approaches, I feel sad, and my heart breaks.

Some people demonstrated in Herat in support of the mandate of the Enlightenment Movement. He wanted to participate but his father did not allow him to, saying he had a bad feeling about it, and would not let him sacrifice himself. But he told his father, “I must participate. We have to support the Hazaras. If we stay home, other people will also stay home, and then who will be at the demonstration, which is our right?” He had a book he would often read, entitled ‘Hazara History.’ He believed the Hazara should be proud.

When he went to Kabul, he didn’t tell us about the July 23rd demonstration. We did not even know he might take part in it. The only person he told that the was going to the rally was his work partner. After finishing work in Kabul, he bought a return ticket to Herat. A few days earlier, he had hurt his foot at work. At 11 o’clock on the day of the incident, I called him and asked him why he had not been more careful, and asked him how he had hurt his leg. He said: “No, it’s fine. My foot was not hurt badly, it is much better now.” He was working in an industrial zone in Kabul. When I asked him where he was, he said he was going to Dehmazang but did not tell me that he was going there to join in the demonstration. That was our last call. After he said goodbye, we never talked to each other again.

Almost 12 days had passed since we’d seen him before he travelled to Kabul, and his work was not finished yet. His cousins, who were working with him, had already returned to Herat on Friday. But he had booked a ticket to return home on Saturday. His cousins had even urged him to go home with them on Friday, but he refused to go on Friday, saying he would return to Herat on Saturday instead. Mainly, they worked in Herat, and their work included cutting, metals, PEB structural sheds, and welding. He had two cutting machines, one in Kabul and the other in Herat. He had gone to Kabul to install this machine.

Whenever he talked about martyrdom, I would immediately stop him and argue against it, saying, “Don’t yearn for martyrdom because if you die one day, what should I do with two sons and the little girl on the way?” He used to say that a person should not grow old because his sins also increase as he ages. He said my children have God, and he knows how to help them and to help me. He would tell me to think of how much he could help us if he became a martyr. He really believed it was not worthwhile living a long life.

After my husband’s martyrdom, my sons always ask about their father. I teach tailoring. On that day, I was in the classroom teaching students when my mother-in-law called me and asked if I knew about Jawad. I told her I had called him, but his phone was switched off. She asked if I had watched TV, and I said no. In the afternoon, the children sleep, and we don’t turn on the TV until their homework is finished and their grandfather has watched the news. Again, she said, go home and turn on the TV. I went home and turned on the TV. TOLO News was airing live footage from Dehmazang. I felt terrible, and my worries increased. My two sons and I did not know about his martyrdom until three days later, when his body was brought to Herat. We did not have anyone to transfer my husband’s body. His brothers and cousins had departed that night [to get his body] but they did not inform me. When I asked them, they said they had not found him. Of course, they had found him, but they wouldn’t tell me anything because of my condition. I was pregnant with my daughter at the time. I just sat all day on the dirt in the front yard, holding the phone in my hand, unable to do anything else. When I cried, my children frequently brought me water. My eldest son said, “Mom! When you cry, I get thirsty.”

When I recall those moments, my heart is on fire; I just shed tears because of this great sorrow. Once I learned about it, the family said that his children shouldn’t see him because it would impact their mental well-being, but I said that it was wrong because if they don’t see their father, they will always wait for him to come. My husband always called my children at night before they went to bed, spoke with them, and asked them what they wanted him to bring them from Kabul. They told their father to get them a bicycle. That’s why I told them it’s better to show them their father’s face.

My younger son didn’t believe that the body was his father’s. When my eldest son saw his father, he said, “Alas, my father sleeps forever.” When my eldest son completes his homework, he tells his little brother every night that their dad has become a butterfly and gone to the sky. He points to the brightest star in the sky and says it is their dad. If my little son makes noise, his big brother will tell him, “Didn’t daddy say don’t bother your mother? If you annoy my mother and me again, he will not forgive you, but since he has become a spirit, he will not return to us.” Even while eating, he says to my younger son, “Didn’t daddy always tell you that you should sit cross-legged at the table?” He recalls his father all the time, and quotes my husband’s statements to his little brother.

I was teaching tailoring from 3 to 6 pm. I got ready at 2:30 and went to the class. I was in my classroom until 5. There was an hour left when my mother-in-law called me and told me to go home. The moment she said her call [to my husband] did not go through, believe me, my hands and feet started shaking. I told my students that I was going home and left the class. When I got home, I turned on the TV. Seeing the painful scenes of Dehmazang, I was crying and kept calling, hoping that an acquaintance might locate my husband. My husband was missing for two nights. My sister-in-law is studying in Kabul, and she tried to find him through Facebook, but every time I called her, she said she did not find anyone named Jawad Hossaindad, and if she did, they belonged to other provinces. My poor son-in-law went to Kabul from Mazar-e-Sharif and started looking for him. I kept phoning his number, and kept asking him about my husband. The poor guy would sometimes not answer my calls when he started to become frustrated with his fruitless searching.

On the day of the incident, when my husband was martyred, somebody had found his phone, taken out the SIM card from his burnt phone, and put it in his own mobile phone. The only number that had appeared on the SIM card was the number of my husband’s uncle. He had contacted the number and had asked whose phone number it was. My husband’s uncle had said that the number belonged to his nephew. Then, the caller said that the phone was burnt in the incident and only the SIM card was left intact. Hearing the news, my husband’s uncle became disappointed and realized that Jawad had been martyred. After hearing the news, he informed my brother-in-law and my brother-in-law booked a ticket and went to Kabul the same night. But they did not tell me anything. Then they spent two nights in Kabul, and on the third night, they said that Jawad was fine and they would return to Herat. I was so happy. I asked why he didn’t call me or talk to me if he was okay. Why didn’t his phone ring? Whenever he went to Kabul, we had made an arrangement that he would call me at 9 in the morning because I was at home in the morning doing tailoring. Then in the evenings, at 6 o’clock I would wait for his call, and once my eldest son finished his homework, he would talk to his dad.

He was not like some other men who treated kids harshly when they got home. When he got home, he would play hide and seek with his children. Children love a happy father; they were always pleased to play with their father. I frequently told him to show some seriousness, but he would say it would be okay if children were guided to the right path through smiles and happiness since they will never be taught by hitting and cursing. One day before the incident (i.e. on Friday) he called and said he felt extremely sad. He asked his children to read him the poems they had learned in kindergarten and school. I feel despondent when I remember what he did on the Friday. When I heard about my husband’s martyrdom, I didn’t eat or drink anything for two days and two nights. When my sisters saw me, they insisted I ate something and said since I was pregnant, if I didn’t eat food, I could become dehydrated, and the baby would be damaged. I told them I had lost my appetite.

The day they found Jawad, his brother called me and said they had found him, he was injured lightly, and they would bring him to Herat. That morning, I was thrilled. I had breakfast, and it was so luscious that I still remember the taste of it. After having breakfast, as soon as I folded the tablecloth, I noticed two vehicles in front of our gate, and all our close and distant relatives were coming through our gate. When they entered, I asked my mother why they had come. My mother said they were there to visit Jawad. As soon as I had eye contact with my brother, my heart trembled. This brother of mine had been friends with my husband since childhood, and he loved him very much. My brother had cried a lot, and his eyes had turned all red. When I looked at my brother, I immediately realized the truth of what had happened. My brother could not look me in the eye. We ran towards each other when I saw him and we cried a lot. I don’t recall those moments clearly. I didn’t know where I was.

In the afternoon, the body was taken to the mosque. I kept comforting myself, hoping that maybe there had been some mistake and that this body was not Jawad. When I looked at my husband’s face, I told myself it was him, but I still comforted myself and wished it was all a terrible mistake. Even now, I think he has gone to work. I don’t believe he was martyred. I visit his grave on Fridays, talk to him and open my heart. I regularly think about the things he used to do. I comfort myself and say that it was his wish to be martyred, and that it’s good that he got what he wanted. Now God is with us. Every person, male or female, has dreams for his life and for his children. I try to fulfill my husband’s wish to educate my children. I try to provide for them through work and tailoring, until they can stand on their own two feet. So that they don’t feel that void left by their father’s death.

My eldest son is a brilliant and kindhearted child. He always talks about his father but never asks me about him. When his little brother asks me about his father, his older brother advises him that I will get upset and that he should stop talking and asking about their father. My little son asks so many questions! We buried my husband in a shrine campus in Jibra’il District. Because my husband’s grave is far from our house, my younger son kept asking questions and misbehaving. He asked questions like: “Why did you bury my dad? Who told you to put him under the ground? Dad will be spoiled there.” The following day, when we visited my husband’s grave, we found another martyr buried next to him. My younger son walked over to his grave and then jumped on his father’s grave and said, “Dad, why did you sleep under the ground? Why can’t I see your hands and feet?” He kept asking why his father’s shirt was not visible. He yelled and asked to dig up the ground and get his father out. Until Eid al-Adha, he was hopeful that his father would come back home. When my nephew talked to him about his father, my son would also say, “My father, too, will come and bring me a gift from Kabul.”

His grandfather always watches the news on TV. When my son hears news of a suicide attack, he says, “My father, too, was martyred in a suicide attack.” In the month of Muharram, when I was taking him out, he would be afraid of the police and say they killed his father. He would cry and say they had killed his father and he would hide under my chador. I have no other demands to make of the government. I just want them to know that they need to pay attention to the children of martyrs. I ask human rights organizations to assist the martyrs’ families. They should provide educational opportunities for the children of martyrs, because if they don’t have access to work and education, they may end up in adverse situations. Economic conditions are an important issue. If youth have access to employment and education, they will never turn to drugs. We all know that poverty is a crucial reason for delinquency among teenagers and youth. I hope my children can study and have a bright future. Sometimes, when I think about how I lost my husband and a life partner at 27, I comfort myself, believing I am not alone and should stay strong.