AHRDO

No Further Victimhood!

Name and Last Name: Sameer Tarakhil

Date of Birth: 6 April 2007

Date of Injury: 10 October 2015

Type of Arm: Mortar Shell (Hawan)

I’m seven-years-old but I don’t go to school. Instead, my brother and I go to a Madrassa. The Taliban do not allow us to go to school.

Sameer’s Cousin: I was in Khan Abad, 26 km east of Kunduz City and didn’t know what had happened. When I was informed, I quickly went home. We took Sameer and four other children to hospital. One of the children had been killed on the spot. We arrived at the hospital at 7 in the evening. Sameer was in surgery until 12 midnight. He needed blood. My friends who were at the hospital donated blood to Sameer. Then I returned home to arrange for the burial of other children killed. Four children were killed and five were injured. Those killed were younger than those injured. Sameer stayed in the hospital for one week. They operated on his leg twice, but his leg didn’t recover. They then sent Sameer to the Emergency Hospital for Victims of War in Kabul. After one week, they suggested to amputate Sameer’s leg.

The Kunduz hospital told us that they will give a wheelchair to Sameer after three months and will send him to Mazar-e Sharif. Three months later when I asked the hospital, they replied that the wheelchair had not been delivered to the hospital. Six months later, it was the same story. The wheelchair has still not arrived to Kunduz for Sameer. We just cannot give more lives and victims to the war.

Men Carried the Wounded Kids and Women Stayed with the Dead Kids

Name and Last Name: Mina Tarakhel

Date of Birth: 27 September 2006

Date of Injury: 9 October 2015

Type of arm: Rocket

Mina: When the rocket hit our house, I was playing in the yard with my brother, sister, and cousins. I don’t remember anything else. Everyone was crying and my foot hurt so bad. In the hospital, I found out that my younger sister had passed away.

The girls in our village are not allowed to go to school. This is why we go to the mosque which is located in our vicinity to have religious lessons. After I was wounded, I stopped going to the mosque for religious studies.

My foot hurts sometimes now. There is shrapnel in my left foot. I went to visit the doctor again. After check-ups, they said there is no need for taking out the shrapnel.

Mina’s Aunt: It was 5 PM. Men went to the mosque to do their prayer. Women had not done their prayer yet. Mina and other kids were playing outside when the rocket hit them. I ran out and gathered the wounded and dead kids. It was a very bad situation. There were 9 kids and the fight started just then. We were all wondering in those moments. We couldn’t understand what happened so quickly. When I ran out of the room, I faced a terrible scene. All the kids were injured and we had no idea who was dead or alive. I rose up one of the kids. He was in a very bad condition. We rose up the kids one by one to make sure they were alive. My 5-year-old son was dead.

Five of them were alive and the other four kids had passed away. Mina, Sameer, and Irshad's legs were cut off. Mina and Irshad were in bad condition. Two girls passed away on the way to hospital, one was 5-years-old and the other was 6-years-old.

The fight that started between the national army and the Taliban made our family mournful. My cousins and brother took the injured to the hospital with the private car. They went under operation that night. They cut off Mina's feet right that night. When she woke up, she was screaming and crying. Now she gets out of the home pulling herself, and has become a calm and secluded girl.

The doctors told us to come back after 6 months to get a wheelchair for Mina and Irshad. But Doctors without Borders were bombarded, and Mina and Irshad don’t have wheelchairs yet.

When the kids were injured, men took them to the hospital. I and the other women were busy with the dead. When I saw my son’s dead body, the day became dark for me as if it was night. I would check the wounded kids once and came to my son’s dead body the other time. My loved one was on the ground breathless. The three of our kids who were dead were 5-years-old. When my brother came home from the hospital, he asked me whether I wanted to see the other kids or not. I said yes I want to see them! We buried our loved ones, now we have to visit them.

I lost my husband three years ago. Now I am a tailor. I sew collars and live in my father’s home with my brothers. I feed my children with the money I get from sewing. My 10-year-old son works too. We don’t have land so we could use the agricultural harvest. I try hard to feed my kids with sewing collars and my son’s wages.

Confidential

Confidential

Mechanic! The Bad Luck That I am Suffering from Happened to You Too

Name: Mohammad Hasan

Date of Birth: 2 April 1942

Date of Injury: 8 March 1994

Type of Arm: Kalashnikov

More than ten people were killed that night, my son included. We were digging a grave for my son. We were almost done when rockets started firing again. Everyone left and wished peace for my son. They said they didn't want to be killed. I was left alone. There was no one else. I wished my son was a kid so I could pick him up and put him in his grave.

I entered the alley and knocked on a door. There were many people in that house. They all refuged to a corner of the house. When I told them the story, some of them said they are no better than my son. They followed me to the mosque to take my son’s corpse to the cemetery. We buried my son in the dark.

After we were done, no one was left there. I was wondering how to go home. I returned home in the darkness. When I came home, I saw that my wife was sitting very sad with a neighbor next to her. She told me that Nilofar was wounded. None of us had seen her. A neighbor took her to the hospital. The neighbor told me that Nilofar was on the roof. When the rocket hit our house, our son was killed instantly and Nilofar was injured. She was jolting in the yard, and the neighbor took her to the hospital.

That night passed. In the morning, I wanted to find someone to go to the hospital with so that we were not alone if any of us were injured on the way. When I left the house, I raised my hand. There was a house close to ours. Someone from the roof of it shot me. It was 7 AM. Another person was watching me from the front house. He told me to enter the house before I get shot again. I went. He tied my hand. He said, “Uncle, the bleeding does not stop.” In that moment my blanket (men’s scarf) slipped down. A woman ran to take it. Just then, a rocket was fired and the poor woman was killed. A boy riding his bicycle was passing by. He was killed by a Kalashnikov bullet. He had no one to look after him.

Members of the house that I had entered told me that if the bleeding did not stop, it could kill me. He said to get up and go somewhere from the back way. I thanked him. My hand was bleeding. I stepped down the first and second stairs, but fell down the third stair and lost consciousness.

When I woke up, there were two boys next to me. The tied my hand with a piece of cloth and were giving me syrup. They told me, ”Uncle, there is fighting everywhere. We cannot find anything in the bazar. We will take you outside. You might find a car. Take yourself to a hospital.” After they took me outside, they ran back. I realized that no one was outside.

There were bullets being shot everywhere. I thought I was going to be killed. I wanted to enter an alley but I fell down. After some minutes, there was a bullet shot next to me. I tried to get up, but again my sight grew dim. Someone I knew very well was passing by. He was the District Chief of the 16th District. I told him, “Sir, help me to take myself to a hospital.” He replied, “You are about to die, and want me to get killed too.”

Just then, two young boys riding bicycles appeared. They got down and looked at me. One of them said, "There is someone killed." When I heard them told them that I am alive, helped me to get to the hospital. One of them said, "Leave him alone, we will be killed." But the other one said, “No, let’s help him. He has come out of his home and is injured.” One of them held me up to ride the bicycle.

I asked them, “Where are you taking me?” He said, “There is not a fight in the village. But in here, you can be killed by a bullet any time.” He tied the blanket around my shoulder and moved. A few steps further, I saw one of my friends. I was happy to see him. He was aware of what had happened to my family in the last two days and when he saw me, came toward me. I told the boys that he was a friend, and if it is possible leave me with him so that he helps me. The boys asked him, “Uncle, can you help him? We have to go and see how our families are.” He helped me and we entered a house.

There was food inside the house that we entered, plates were filled with rice and breads and were left untouched. When the fighting got intense, they house members had ran away without touching their food.

I asked him how he could help me. I told him that I had enough money with me, find a driver and give him as much as he wants. He left the house. After some minutes he returned and said there were no cars outside. I was wondering what to do. I gave him the address of a doctor I knew and asked him to tell the doctor that the mechanic is injured. Thankfully, he agreed and left. When he returned, he said that houses’ members have all left the house and the house was empty. He had no clue where they were.

Suddenly, I remembered a commander I knew. Almost a month ago, he lost three of his family members, his father and two of his brothers.

The person who was with me knew him too and told me that he had just seen him outside. I asked him to go out and tell the commander that mechanic is injured; he knows me.

After a few minutes, the commander came and told me, “The bad luck I am suffering from happened to you too.” I said, “Yeah, I lost my son and my three-year-old daughter is injured. I don’t know how my family is and they don’t know where I am.”

The commander called in his soldiers and they took me to a Russian Jeep. They took me to the Wazir Akbar Khan Hospital. I don’t remember anything after we got close to the hospital. I just remember that they put me on a blanket. There were three people wearing masks, one of them injected me with Anesthetic Ampoule, I was unconscious after that. When I woke up, my hand hurt. I looked around to see where I was. When I took a careful look, there were three more people on the ground and they were injured like me. We were all on the third floor and were lying on the ground so that we were safe from bullets. We were lying in the corridor. Many people were injured. I saw one of my relatives. He was injured too. I asked him to let my sister know that I am in the hospital. After three days, my sister could inform my wife about me. They had looked for me in all the nearby hospitals and could not find me.

Even now, my hand is numb. If it is wounded or burned, I don’t feel it. It took two months for my wound to get better. “Every night, I walk to my duty to find bread to feed my children, to be able to send them to school. We are a populated family.”

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I Returned to the Country…

Name and Last Name: Aziz Ahmad Arif

Date of Birth: 25 August 1959

Date of Injury: 26 January 1984

Type of Arm: Kalashnikov bullet

I was student at Kabul University during the rule of Noor Mohammad Taraki and Hafizullah [of the Afghanistan People’s Democratic Party (PDPA) that had ceased power after a bloody coup in 1978]. Kabul University students demonstrated in opposition to the regime. Like hundred of other students, I was one of the demonstrators. In response, the government arrested about one thousand students. When freed from jail, they had to either leave the country or live a hidden life. I was put into jail several times at the time of Taraki and later when the country was occupied by the Soviet forces.

When I was freed from jail in 1984, I was persuaded that living in Kabul was impossible for me anymore. I left Kabul for my home village, Khiwa, in Nangarhar Province in eastern Afghanistan. Our district in Nangarhar was not yet occupied by the government and Soviet forces.

The time of peace did not last long. Pro-government forces attacked our home on a late night in the fall of 1984. On the night the attack happened, I was at home with my brothers, one of whom was killed while the other and I were injured. I was 20 or 21-years-old at the time. It was night time and I couldn’t recognize the type of gun I was injured with. But it was obvious that we were killed and injured by Russian guns because all pro-government forces used Russian weaponry.

The regime had created local militias who worked based on the order of the government and were advised by Russian advisors on how to carry out their military operations. They were tasked to assault places where the residents were opposing the regime. Most of these ground attacks were carried out during night time.

It was winter and the weather was very cold. Bullets had pierced my leg and I couldn’t walk. There were also bullets that tore through my chest. One of my brothers who had undergone medical emergency courses bandaged the open wounds and then they took me to Peshawar, Pakistan. We went through mountainous terrain sometimes on his back, sometimes on mule or donkey.

I was hospitalized in Peshawar in a hospital run by the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) for 9 months. I suffered a lot in that hospital. It was terrible. My wounds were opened and tied so many times. The wound on my chest went under operation 13 times.

After 9 months, I was still in a critical situation. My friends helped me travel to Germany for better treatment. It took almost two-and-a-half years in Germany till I fully recovered. But those wounds affected my whole life and I still bear the scars on my body. During the recovery period, I used to play football in order to help recover like before. But, unfortunately, one of my legs never recovered fully and there is a part still numb. However, a proverb says: “Till roots reach to the water, there is a hope.” I believe while we still breathe, we have hope to live for.

When living a period of time, we experience both happy and bitter moments which form our memories of life. There are some experiences that affect your life till the end. My whole life was affected by those wounds and I never experienced a peaceful life in Afghanistan after that. That’s why I cannot forget that memory. I may forget this memory for moments, but, it is not like a pencil’s mark on paper that can be easily erased. After a while, the memory is refreshed.

When I was under treatment in Germany, all my expenses were covered by my German friends. When I recovered, doctors insisted I stay in Germany. But I did not accept and returned to my country because I felt my friends and my country need me. I preferred to return among my friends.

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The Curse of Incidents Always Hit the Poor

Name and Last Name: Kabalsha Aghajan

Date of Birth: 10 November 1968

Date of Injury: 22 March 1989

Type of Arm: Mine

In the dark midnight, all were sleeping. That night when the explosion took place, I imagined our home upside down. Those scenes of horror and darkness still haunt my dreams. In the dark, I tried to move and look for my family members, those who were fine and who were injured. But I couldn’t get up and move. Then, I figured out that my leg felt wet and I was injured by the broken glass from my house. I had lost one leg in 1989 in a mine explosion. This time, my other leg was injured.

All my family were terrified. The floor was covered with broken glass. We could not see anything in the dark.

After the first incident when I lost my leg, my family behaved and liked me like before. But it was painful for myself because I sometimes feel that I can’t do enough with disability.

When I was injured the first time, I was treated at the government hospital and also provided with other assistance. After I got out of the hospital, I was provided with monthly coupons along with 4000 Afghanis in cash. But the assistance our current government provides is not sufficient.

I ask the government to bring peace and to not forget war victims. We were disabled in this land and we are its citizens. Sometimes I hear very unfair words. They say that people like me are culprits or perpetrators. That’s we are disabled. When I hear these words, my heart breaks and it makes me sad.

مردگیش درگ نداره راوی: خدیجه عزیزی (دختر کاکا) قربانی: حسن زمان حادثه: ۱۳۷۷ مکان حادثه: مزار شریف [نامم] جدیجه [و تخلصم] عزیزی [است] آری. [شهید نامش] حسن [است]. پسر کاکایم می‌شد و ایورم. یگان ۲۵ ساله بود که شهید شد. در خود یکاولنگ، در قریه زارین متولد شده بود. [حسن] غریب کار بود دهقانی نمی‌کرد، گاهی وقت دهقانی هم می‌کرد، مقصد کار می‌کرد در شهر ملک‌ها کار می‌کرد. گاهی به مزار می‌رفت گاهی به کابل، بامیان [برای کار کردن می‌رفت]. [محل شهادتش] مزار [شریف است]. حسن وقتی که به شهادت رسید همرایش یک بچه خاله‌اش و یک بچه عمه من یک بچه تغه/طغه من هم بود همه‌اش در مزار غرق شدند. 1 [در حمله طالبان به مزارشریف] شهید شد. کارگری، آری در مزار برای کارگری رفته بود. [حادثه] سرِبهار بود، آری سربهار. [همان سال ۱۳۷۷] البته، من آنقدرش را نمی‌فهمم. نه، درس نخوانده بود فقط یک سیاهی خوان بود، درس نخوانده بود. آری [خانه‌اش در] سرآسیاب بود. نه، نه قبرش سرگُم رفت ما ندیدیم. (نامفهوم) ما دیدیم که شهید شد، خیلی کسان [دیگر هم شهید شد] همان بچه خاله‌شی همین بچه عمه من همین‌ها هیچ مردگی‌اش درک ندارد. خیلی دیر بعد قوم‌ها جمع شد گفت ما به چشم خود دیدیم کشته شد. آری گفتند طالب‌ها کشته بچُوم که چه رقم کشته. خبر داشتیم یک عکس سیاه و سفید از کابل روان کرده بود، همینطور یگان نشانی روان می‌کرد احوالش را یگان دکاندار می‌آورد، گاهی خودش می‌آمد. تیرماه [خبر شدیم] و پدر و مادرش را شنواندیم. مادرش سهو شد از آن پس خیلی دیوانگی می‌کرد، گپ‌های ایله کاله می‌گفت بیچاره. آری از خاطر همان [مرگ نوجوانش] آب یخ می‌خورد دیگر چیزی خورده نمی‌توانست. بیخی شب در خانه نمی‌آمد روز تا بیگاه و شب تا صبح را می‌گشت و می‌گفت دلم سرخ می‌آید؛ همینطور می‌گشت بیچاره. پدرش خوب بود، غنیمت بود به اندازهٔ مادرش کُوتو نمی‌کرد. [وقتی پدر و مادرش را خبر کردند بعد از آن آنها هیچ سرقبرش نرفتند چون] او گم شد، هیچ قبر نداشت. خیلی آدم خوبی بود، کارگر بود، زحمتکش بود، یگان کَرَد می‌آورد، ما خیلی... آنطور که... گاه چیز نبود یک روغن نباتی ایلفی بود در همان دوره، برنج پرمل بود، کار که می‌کرد از آنها به ما می‌آورد، خوب بود، خیلی بچه قاش‌واز بود. خانه نمی‌نشست. آنجا کار کردن می‌رفت، گاهی غزنی می‌رفت، گاهی کابل گاهی بامیان. آری مجرد بود، خانه دار نبود. دایم او را ازبک می‌گفت، سید و هزاره به نام اوزبک می‌شناخت، قد بنلد داشت و خوبشی بود. او دایم کوله پکول سر می‌کرد. پَک گُم شد. یکدانه قاشق داشت، قاشق قدیمی ارمنه که از او بود. یک ساعتش تا بعدها بود [اما] خراب، اگر بچه‌ها بیرون نینداخته باشند. [پدرش] آری دو سال شده فوت کرده، مادرش یک دو سال پیش [از پدرش فوت کرد] یعنی چهار سال می‌شود. آری [مادرش تا آخر عمر] یادش را می‌کرد. مادرش از همان خاطر مریض شد، پای درد شد، کم فکر شد، خیلی کم فکر شد. آری [وقتی زنده بود با پدرش خرج خانه را فراهم می‌کردند]. پدرش که ماند هم در گردن او(شوهر خدیجه عزیزی) بود و مادرش هم. زیاد نفر که قتل شد هیچ کس هم جستجو نتوانست که پیدا شود، از هیچ کس پیدا نشد. نه، نه هیچ چیزی نگفت [روزی که طرف مزار می‌رفت] او که می‌رفت از دشت می‌رفت و هیچ در قصه‌اش هم نبود که خبر کنم یا نکنم هیچ در غمش نبود، می‌رفت همانطور. آری [نترس بود] هیچ در غمش نبود. ما آنجا را ندیدیم، می‌گفتیم کجایه؟ [می‌گفتند] کابله! کابل را ندیدیم، مزار را همین حالا هم ندیده‌ام، کابل را هم آنطور ندیدیم یک بار همانطور گذری رفتیم. می‌رفت همانجا، ما دیگه سیاسریم ندیدیم که کجا می‌رود یا نمی‌رود. باز می‌آمد، می‌رفت، قدیم یک خط می‌آمد. تلفن نبود، نه برق بود نه تلفن بود هیچ چیز هم نبود. در اول [حکومت] کرزی جنراتور پیدا شد که برق آمد. خانه که می‌آمد هیچ قصه نمی‌کرد، هیچ چیز نمی‌گفت.

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