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is a victim/survivor of a/an
Addtional information
Date of birth:
1986
Village/Town of birth:
ChehlSton
Province of birth:
Gender:
Female
Ethnicity:
Tajik
Education:
She has not reached the stage of going to school
Date of the main incident:
January 25, 1993
Place of the main incident:
Kabul city
Related incident:
Incident description
Many Mujahidin factions waged a civil war throughout Afghanistan in the 1990s, killing thousands of people, including women and children. Some were forced to flee their homes and subjected to various forms of violence like rape, extortion, abuse, harassment, and arbitrary detention. On January 25, 1993, a mortar shell or blind rocket fired by Mujahidin hit an innocent family in the Chehlston area of Kabul, resulting in the death of Zaki and Matiullah and injuring other family members.
AHRDO Archive
Alleged type of harm
Alleged type of crimes
Province:
Latitude:
34.5168788437339
Longitude:
69.1499999975304
Latitude: 34.5168788437339
Longitude: 69.1499999975304
Tears Of Joy, Tears of Pain
Narrator: Basira
Victim: Zakia and Matiuallah
Date of the incident: January 25, 1993
Location of the incident: Kabul City
For Basira, her life began to unravel on one bloody afternoon. The cold February weather brought everyone to the yard of the house. A clear sky and plenty of sunlight provided an opportunity for the children to play. Zakia, 6-years-old, brought her little brother Matiuallah to the yard to enjoy the sun. Everyone was ready for a beautiful day. The joy and happiness was evident on the faces of all, especially on Zakia’s face.
She was speaking to her little brother as if she were an adult. In her sweet and innocent accent, she told her brother about the light of the sun, the hardships of winter, and the good future that lay ahead of them. She showed her toys to her brother and promised to buy a good toy for him, too.
She took Matiuallah’s hands, rubbed them together, sang a song, and then kissed her little brother. Zakia was wearing a red coat. With the reflection of the sunlight and the snowy background, she looked almost purple. Her brownish hair was dancing on her red coat as she was jumping up and down.
Her face was shining and her eyes were hidden under the thickness of her black eyelashes. The big world outside was also very exciting for Matiuallah. He loved laughing, playing, and sometimes shouting at his older sister Zakia. Matiuallah had fleshy white skin, thick hair, and blue eyes. When he smiled, everyone was enchanted.
Watching such a memorable scene in a city where nothing except the sound of guns, rockets, and bullets could he heard, made Basira very happy. While watching her children play, she prayed to God to protect them in these difficult times. What she did not realize is that happiness in times of violence is not sustainable and that even a mother’s prayer cannot halt the brutal power of war. That day, a reception was prepared and they were invited to a feast in their beautiful yard. Everything was ready for Basira and her children to forget the horrors of war for a brief moment. Yet, this moment quickly transformed into unspeakable tragedy.
No one understood what was happening. A thunderous sound followed by a huge explosion blurred the atmosphere. The blue sky and clear sunshine were suddenly gone. Basira can perfectly recall the tragic event but she cannot precisely explain what happened that day. After the explosion, Basira says, “I got up and saw that all my family members were lying on the ground. I was confused, wandering around not knowing what to do. I heard Zakia screaming and calling for me. She asked for water. When I returned with the water, Zakia was no longer speaking. I touched her body but it was already cold. Her eyes were open, staring at me. I put her down and ran towards Matiuallah. I was so happy when I realized he was still alive. I hugged him. Suddenly, he stopped crying and I felt something cold and wet in my hand. I saw his belly ripped open and all his intestines coming out.
I understood that he was dead just like Zakia. I cried and cried and cried! I was screaming and running around. After that, I cannot remember what happened." Basira cannot talk much about that tragic moment. When she speaks about Zakia and Matiuallah, the color of her face changes. Tears flow uncontrollably from her eyes. Sometimes, she cries so much that her headscarf is soaking wet. She says, “I feel that I have a deep wound in my chest. A wound that continuously spits out blood. I’m sure one day I will drown in my own blood.”
Latitude: 34.5168788437339
Longitude: 69.1499999975304
Many Mujahidin factions waged a civil war throughout Afghanistan in the 1990s, killing thousands of people, including women and children. Some were forced to flee their homes and subjected to various forms of violence like rape, extortion, abuse, harassment, and arbitrary detention. On January 25, 1993, a mortar shell or blind rocket fired by Mujahidin hit an innocent family in the Chehlston area of Kabul, resulting in the death of Zaki and Matiullah and injuring other family members.
Tears Of Joy, Tears of Pain
Narrator: Basira
Victim: Zakia and Matiuallah
Date of the incident: January 25, 1993
Location of the incident: Kabul City
For Basira, her life began to unravel on one bloody afternoon. The cold February weather brought everyone to the yard of the house. A clear sky and plenty of sunlight provided an opportunity for the children to play. Zakia, 6-years-old, brought her little brother Matiuallah to the yard to enjoy the sun. Everyone was ready for a beautiful day. The joy and happiness was evident on the faces of all, especially on Zakia’s face.
She was speaking to her little brother as if she were an adult. In her sweet and innocent accent, she told her brother about the light of the sun, the hardships of winter, and the good future that lay ahead of them. She showed her toys to her brother and promised to buy a good toy for him, too.
She took Matiuallah’s hands, rubbed them together, sang a song, and then kissed her little brother. Zakia was wearing a red coat. With the reflection of the sunlight and the snowy background, she looked almost purple. Her brownish hair was dancing on her red coat as she was jumping up and down.
Her face was shining and her eyes were hidden under the thickness of her black eyelashes. The big world outside was also very exciting for Matiuallah. He loved laughing, playing, and sometimes shouting at his older sister Zakia. Matiuallah had fleshy white skin, thick hair, and blue eyes. When he smiled, everyone was enchanted.
Watching such a memorable scene in a city where nothing except the sound of guns, rockets, and bullets could he heard, made Basira very happy. While watching her children play, she prayed to God to protect them in these difficult times. What she did not realize is that happiness in times of violence is not sustainable and that even a mother’s prayer cannot halt the brutal power of war. That day, a reception was prepared and they were invited to a feast in their beautiful yard. Everything was ready for Basira and her children to forget the horrors of war for a brief moment. Yet, this moment quickly transformed into unspeakable tragedy.
No one understood what was happening. A thunderous sound followed by a huge explosion blurred the atmosphere. The blue sky and clear sunshine were suddenly gone. Basira can perfectly recall the tragic event but she cannot precisely explain what happened that day. After the explosion, Basira says, “I got up and saw that all my family members were lying on the ground. I was confused, wandering around not knowing what to do. I heard Zakia screaming and calling for me. She asked for water. When I returned with the water, Zakia was no longer speaking. I touched her body but it was already cold. Her eyes were open, staring at me. I put her down and ran towards Matiuallah. I was so happy when I realized he was still alive. I hugged him. Suddenly, he stopped crying and I felt something cold and wet in my hand. I saw his belly ripped open and all his intestines coming out.
I understood that he was dead just like Zakia. I cried and cried and cried! I was screaming and running around. After that, I cannot remember what happened." Basira cannot talk much about that tragic moment. When she speaks about Zakia and Matiuallah, the color of her face changes. Tears flow uncontrollably from her eyes. Sometimes, she cries so much that her headscarf is soaking wet. She says, “I feel that I have a deep wound in my chest. A wound that continuously spits out blood. I’m sure one day I will drown in my own blood.”
AHRDO Archive