AHRDO

Another Human Tragedy Must Not Happen Again Narrator: Nik Mohammad Sharif (brother) Victim: Mohammad Dawood (28-years-old) Victim's occupation: Teacher at the Police Academy Date of arrest: August 5, 1979 Date of execution: September 1, 1979 Charge: Activity against the Afghanistan People's Democratic Republic regime and political and intellectual opposition against the regime Place and method of execution: Pul-e-Charkhi in Kabul, likely mass shooting and buried in mass graves on the site.

In May 1951, a child named Dawood was born in a home full of love for knowledge. In 1957, he started school at Bibi Mehro. From early childhood, he was serious-minded, honest, trustworthy, brave, intelligent, and committed to pursuing knowledge and education. Not only was he dedicated to his learning, but he was also a good teacher and mentor for his younger siblings. Dawood started his high school education at Ghazi High School in Kabul in 1963 and graduated in 1969. Those years were the peak of Afghanistan's intellectual awakening movement. He was conscious of injustices and considered silence in the face of injustice as a form of treason. To support himself and his family, he started different youth and adolescent sports teams, attracting many young people. He was so busy that he was rarely seen in public. His friends greatly cared for him, and he respected everyone. He was humble and debated those with opposing ideas with patience and an open mind. In 1970, Dawood entered the Police Academy. He was not happy with studying there. He had only taken the entrance exam to accompany a friend who was keen to get into the Police Academy. Surprisingly, Dawood passed the exam while his friend failed. Dawood had repeatedly assured his family he was not interested in attending the Police Academy. I remember when my father heard of Dawood's acceptance, he was so excited. A few days later, my father and I went to Kabul and talked with Dawood about continuing his studies there. At that time, unfortunately, there had been an altercation between students at Kabul University, leading to one death and causing the university to close. So, when we learned of his disinterest in continuing at the Police Academy, my father was worried about his educational future. To please my father and other family members, Dawood agreed to join the Police Academy. With his friend, who joined the following year, he graduated from the Academy in 1972. He then started working in the criminal section of a police district within Kabul. After less than a month, due to corruption in the district command, he disagreed with the head of the department and was transferred. In 1977, he was appointed deputy head of criminal investigations in Bamiyan Province. Once again, Dawood witnessed corruption. His boss, the provincial security commander, explicitly told him, "I did not come here to simply see the Bamiyan's Buddhas. So far, I have been lenient. But now we must take our due." This led to an altercation between my brother and the Bamiyan Chief of Police. That same year, he was appointed as the chief of Police Security command for Yakawlang District in Bamiyan. Unfortunately, a local influential elder named Mr. Ra'ees recruited someone to murder an innocent farmer. A few days later, my brother detained Mr. Ra'ees for his role in the farmer's murder. As Mr. Ra'ees had close connections with higher officials in Kabul, Dawood received many calls from the President's office and the Interior Ministry demanding Mr. Ra’ee’s release. Emboldened by his close ties to senior officials, Mr. Ra'ees told my brother, "You cannot keep me for even 24 hours." The next day, a telegram came from Kabul to my brother, ordering: "Release Mr. Ra'ees and return to Kabul within 24 hours!" This led my brother and our family to return to Kabul.

For a while, he struggled against the communist regime as he opposed their repressions and injustices. These activities led to his arrest on August 5, 1979, by the intelligence agency AGSA (Da Afghanistan da Gato da Saatane Adara, Afghan Agency for Safeguarding National Interest) for his ideas and political activities against the regime. We remember that he was arrested near the Radio Afghanistan building and taken away. First, he was transferred to Sedarat (premier house) in Kabul, then taken to the presidential palace where he was severely tortured. They tried to get him to identify close friends and anti-government activists, but he endured and gave no names. At the same time, my two other brothers, Aref and Shokor, and I were also held as political prisoners. I have a bitter memory of our accidental encounter in the prison. I don't remember the exact date, likely around August 10 that year, approximately 6 or 7 days after our arrest as four brothers. I coincidentally saw him as I walked passed in front of his cell. Hurriedly, he signaled me to come near his cell as we weren't allowed visits or to see each other, and our cells were far apart. I reached his cell with great effort so no one would notice our meeting or discussion. When I reached him, signs of torture and bruising were evident on his face. Without wasting time, he said, "If you show resistance during torture, they will release you. Under no circumstances mention anyone's name, not even close friends. Provide no information about them." This was the last time I was able to speak to Dawood. After that, I was no longer allowed to see or speak with him, and any effort to meet him was pointless since we were closely monitored. We were in prison for about a month. Our family knew nothing of our whereabouts or how we were treated. We were not allowed to write letters to our family or receive visits from them. Sometime later, I was released from detention with Aref and Shokor. But we had no information about Dawood's fate, and no one ever told us anything. The whole family, especially our parents, awaited his return. Our mother firmly believed that he was alive and that he would one day return home. On September 18, 2013, a list of 5,000 victims of the communist regime's atrocities was exposed and published by the Dutch government, with Dawood listed as victim number 4,102. I will never forget the day the Dutch government published that list. I was busy at the office that day when I suddenly read the news on the Hasht-e-Subh newspaper website. My mood dramatically changed, and I felt like I could see Dawood again. On one hand, I was worried to see his name on the list, anxiously checking victim names and the year of their arrest, until I saw Dawood's name. Severe grief and bitterness gripped my throat. I was completely overwhelmed. It felt impossible to have these two feelings simultaneously hit me. One feeling was happiness to finally know what had happened to him after 34 years, at least seeing his name on the list. On the other hand, I felt the old, unhealed wounds suddenly open as I saw his name among the victims list of the communist regime's crimes. I was sure my other brothers had also learned of the list's existence and its release. The next day, we were all invited to a family wedding feast. We were sitting around one table but avoided looking at or talking to each other. Maybe outwardly, we were at a happy wedding, but we were inwardly immersed in Dawood's tragic story and our family's past. Then, my eldest brother turned to the others and started speaking. He said it was good that we're together again, and said he knows everyone saw Dawood's name on the list. Instead of self-pity and silence, we should hold a memorial service in his memory and at least inform relatives and friends. We should let our mother learn that her waiting for Dawood's return was in vain. Perhaps his words were bitter and painful for all of us. But it led us to coordinate with other victims' families and, on December 10 in subsequent years, we go annually to Pul-e-Charkhi Prison, commemorating our victims' day so that history and future generations remember the past's atrocities and that this human tragedy must not happen again. We were never allowed to visit Dawood in prison after our release. He was executed by the intelligence agency AGSA in September 1979 in Pul-e-Charkhi, likely with other political prisoners, assassinated by bullets and buried in unmarked mass graves.

The Death of my Young Brother Broke my Back

Abdul Qadir Jamshidi is a man with a gray beard, whose forehead wrinkles show more than ever when he talks. He is the first narrator of the incident and he narrates what he saw carefully and in detail. He uses his hands, face, and body a lot while speaking, making his speech beautiful and spectacular. Therefore, there is no blind spot in his speech and he can very easily tell what he has seen. His catchphrase is "Insha'Allah" which is used in cases where it is thought that the sentence is wrong, but it is not and the sentence has its own meaning if it is considered as a catchword.

Narrator: Abdul Qadir Jamshidi (brother)

Victim: Mohammad Hussain Jamshidi (18-years-old)

Time of the incident: January 21, 2018

The place of the incident: Faizabad area, Haftwalaf Village, Rabat Sangi, Herat Province

Type of incident: Roadside mine explosion

I am from Herat, Rabat Sangi District, Yaka Dokan Village. My name is Abdul Qadir. I am 29-years-old. I am busy with my life and in our region, most people's occupation is agriculture like cultivating wheat and barley. My own job: I transport passengers, commuting, taking passengers, I do such things. I go from Herat to Rabat Sangi, which is my village, in the morning and return in the evening. That is my main job.

We are six brothers, our younger brother is a martyr. I am not a big brother either, I am the fifth brother. The sixth is older than us, but the martyr was our younger brother, whose name is Hussain. To support life and find a morsel of bread, Hussain wanted to go Iran, but did not cross the border of Nimroz to Iran. Recently, a new way has been opened from Islam Qala itself, which they say is on our side. From there, people are taken to Iran with a cost of 5000-10000 AFN per person.

Four of our children left the village together for Iran. They rode in a white care (a white Sarachah) from Rabat Sangi. From our village, I brought them to Rabat Sangi by my own car. I returned home and 20 minutes after their departure, we received the news of the martyrdom.

He took them on board, I said goodbye to them, they left. I returned home. Before I got home, I got a call. I did not get out of the car yet. From Sarachah, they said, 'the car of these children has been hit by a mine.' I asked where. They said in Faizabad. I did not call anyone else but my two brothers. We didn't call anyone because of the panic and fear we had.

We only meant that, God forbid, it's a landmine, if it had exploded, the car might be needed there. We should arrive sooner. God forbid, if one or two of them are wounded, they don't lose blood, and we can help them. We said it would be too late to call others in the village. We moved to Faizabad, from Faizabad to Alaf, from Alaf to down in the valley. There is a pass in the middle of Faizabad and Alaf. Going by the pass, we noticed the car. When we reached it, there were ten people inside the car.

Among the ten people in the car, there was a child, not more than ten-years-old. The child's home was in Herat. He had gone to the border area to see his relatives. Even that ten-year-old child was inside the car. One of the ten people survived. The others, nine others, I collected the pieces of their bodies myself.

People were afraid that, God forbid, we couldn't go around them as there may be mines, but we didn't know. I was thinking of getting there early to see how many people were still alive. Someone may have needed help getting the people to a car, or to the clinic, or to the city hospital. I was saying to myself and addressing the driver: "What are you crazy about? You don't have the right to go there, even the government people didn't bother themselves to go there."

They are much closer than us. Their distance [from the accident site] was ten minutes; It took us an hour to get there. They had arrived earlier than us. The government people feared that, God forbid, there were mines around or that the opponents, if we got closer, may attack us. We did not understand this. We reached the car. When we arrived, there was nothing from the car. The mine exploded in the middle of the car. There was nothing of the seat, the gate, not even the steering wheel. There was a bit of the car's pose and a bit of the trunk left. Others parts of the car were torn to shreds. Nothing was found in that car.

I looked around. There were parts of bodies everywhere. I thought that they could be not collected like that. All cars had a tarpaulin to sit on in the Sarache stall. I took it and collected the bones one by one and brought them together. Whenever a mine exploded, parts of body were thrown about one hundred to two hundred meters away. I found bodies from the waist above, while their waist down did not exist. Even one of our son-in-laws, Morteza’s father, Khair Mohammad, may God have mercy on him, only half of his face and head existed. Half of the forehead, from between of the eyebrow, the right side of head.

I didn't recognize him until I turned him around. When I turned his face away, I saw his head and brain... that this Muslim is Khair Mohammad, may God forgive him. All these nine people who had died, I collected all of them one by one. There was no car, but a flying couch. I lifted the chairs and brought them to Rabat Sanghi clinic. I said that their relatives should not go the incident site; the situation is not safe, lest there be another misfortune.

I said, since we already went to the site, let's take all of these to the clinic. It is both the base of the government and under the control of the government. Their relatives would take the corpses from the clinic. That's where we took them and went to Rabat Sangi again. Two to three thousand people gathered near the corpses of our people. It was very terrible. My prayer is that, God, no one should die young! It's hard.

Oh, not to forget, there was a second car following the car that exploded. There were all women and children in the second car. There had been distance between the first and second one. When the first car hit the mine, the second car stopped and called the relatives about the incident. A person by the name of Ghulam Nabi called me, so I went to the incident site.

Twenty minutes by car, two hours on foot. Faizabad is in the hands of the government. The same area where the incident happened is mostly in the hands of the government; Taliban traffic is very low. Be informed, they said, that the TAPI project will be passed from there. At that time, it was said that the government was looking to have that area in its hands. On the other hand, the Taliban was also thinking that it had that area in its hands. Let the TAPI project not be launched, God willing. The Talib in that area will be guided by Iran, who will lead them, and even Iran support them financially.

For this reason, they started a war, a fight, and put mines there - so that the TAPI project doesn’t start. These young people were killed by these Muslims. The government says they don't know, the Taliban also say they don't know; no one has given us an answer yet. We wandered and did not understand. We have no more prayers, God, we have entrusted everything to you. We have no strength and no force anymore. Neither Taliban nor the government took responsibility at the end.

I think 100% that if they [the victims] were government staff, the Taliban would claim that they did it to get the story to the media, and take responsibility for it. Because they were not government men, and they were innocents, the Taliban did not take responsibility. Four of these corpses were ours, which I took to Yaka Dokan with my car among my people. There were nine corpses. Five others were from Herat City, from the Babahaji neighbourhood,

It has had a lot of effects on our family. For example, we have a father who was paralyzed due to grief. Two years have passed from the incident, and my father can’t survive without medicine and without a doctor, there is no other way. Our mother is also crazy and nervous. I brought a coat, a full-blooded coat, that Mullah did not allow to be buried with the body. A piece of his clothes remained clean as it was stained with dirt but there was no blood. My mother took it and hit it on her face and head for an hour. Her nerves were broken. We haven't seen a good day in our house since the day he left.

There were six of us. Now there are five of us. After the incident, people's uneasiness has led to judgement whether we have become addicted to drugs or what other calamity has befallen us. The young men who used to be stout, now have gained strength, they don't even weigh 10 kilos. Believe me, dying young is very difficult. May God not show this calamity to anyone. Those who have young people die suffer the most. Ground from the fourth heaven, and our strength is over, and the only thing I can say is that, God, I am satisfied with your satisfaction.

My brother had very good manners. He always treated his elders with respect. If you advised him for hours, he would listen with full attention. Believe me, I had scolded my brother many times, but he always just laughed in response and said nothing to me out of respect. When we review his memories and history now, I say to myself that he was not meant to stay.

I am sure that the example of this young man is no longer in our village. The four people who were martyred were all from the same village and all of them were of the same age. Among these four people, Khair Mohammad was married and the others were single. Khair Mohammad had four children, one born after he passed. Two daughters and two sons. When he passed away, his wife was pregnant. It's been eight months since his son was born, but he hasn't seen his father's face, and his eldest son is in charge. Our family takes care of them.

My message is that until we fraternize with each other, the stranger will not. A foreign country never wants us to live together as brothers. My point is that until we unite in the name of Afghanistan, the war of fratricide and dying young will not end. My prayer is that God, if my prayer is accepted, then no one will see the death of their young family members. Our youth are our future.

For Hussain himself, I have this message: No matter how sad we are, we love you and remember you as long as we are alive. You were a good brother and good son to your parents.

Even If a Hundred Years Pass, You Will Not Be Forgotten

Narrator: Ali Shaheer

Victims: Haji Abdul Ali, son of Paiwand Ali (father), Haji Rajab Ali, son of Piwand Ali (elder uncle), Qurban Ali, son of Piwand Ali (younger uncle), Sultan Hussain (son of father's uncle) Mohammad Hasan (grandson of father's uncle)

Time of the incident: 1979

The place of the accident: Pol-e Charkhi Polygon, Kabul

I was a primary school student at that time. It was the night of Eid al-Adha, during the reign of Hafizullah Amin. I was not able to sleep that night because of the joy of Eid and wearing new clothes. Few families had TV at that time. We did not have a TV at home. But my uncle - who was living with his family in same house as us - whose young son owned a houseware store, brought a black and white TV for Eid nights. Their house was separated from our house by a partition. On Eid night, we went to my uncle's room to watch TV. That night, on the occasion of Eid, a movie called "Nawi da yaw Oshpe" (Bride for One Night), in Pashto language, was broadcast on TV.

At the insistence of my uncle and my uncle’s son, my father sat next to us and we watched the movie together, although he was not interested in watching TV or movies. My father knew Pashto and understood the story of the movie well. He was impressed by the scenes of kindness and chivalry in the movie and watched the movie till the end. That night, my siblings and I were eagerly waiting for the movie to end and for my father to henna our hands. After the movie, my father hennaed our hands.

It was late at night and my father was about to sleep when someone knocked on our door. At the same time as the door was knocked on, someone shouted loudly, "Who is Haji Abdul Ali? Come out of your room and open the gate." Some armed people were surrounding the gate. The voice shouted two or three times and wanted my father. Annoyed by their screams in the middle of the night, my father told them, “Keep your voices down. What's going on in the middle of the night? So much screaming! You know that everyone is sleeping! I am Abdul Ali. Now I will open the gate. What do you want me to do?"

When they entered the house, they said, "Haji, what weapon do you have at home?" My father said, “Tow hunting guns, a big and small one." Both are hanging on the wall of the house." The officers took the guns and said, "Haji, we will take you to the police station and then we will return you early morning." They took my father that night and we waited until morning for him to return, but he did not return that night.

On the day of Eid, all the family members, relatives, and friends gathered together to celebrate Eid as we waited for my father's return. It was time for lunch when the armed men came to our house again. They did not bring my father. We were very worried. This time, they took 6 other members of my family with them: Qurban Ali (my uncle), Sultan Hussain (son of my father's uncle), Mohammad Hasan (grandson of my father's uncle), and Mohammad Nabi (son of my uncle), as well as Ghulam Abbas and Ali Ahmad (grandsons of my uncle).

Fear and worry filled the atmosphere of the house. In the evening of the same day, Haji Rajab Ali, my elder uncle who was older than my father, came to our house and comforted us and said, "Don't worry, by God's hope, they will all come back. Don't worry as long as I am there." He said to my mother, "I will come tomorrow first thing in the morning. I will bring whatever food and other basic necessities you lack at home." It was as if he sensed that my father would not return soon. But the next day, my elder uncle did not come. He was also taken from his house in Chindawol that night.

The nights and days of Eid passed as we waited for my father and uncles to return. During the time of Babrak Karmal's leadership, Muhammad Nabi, Ali Ahmad, and Ghulam Abbas were released in general amnesty. But the others never came back. My brothers, sisters, and my uncle's children and I were nine in total, all small children a year apart in age. We used to ask our mothers every day why my father and uncles didn't come back. In the same way, my elder uncle had two children, a boy and a girl the same age as us. My youngest uncle, who was taken away, still had no children.

Our mothers waited that night, bitter days, and long years for their husbands. They shed tears and prayed for their return until they were old and their hair turned white. This wait lasted 35 years. When the Polygon victim list was released, we found the names of five of our family members on it. The wait was over and our hope had collapsed. All the family members were crying.

One day, we went with a number of friends and one of my uncle's sons to the hill of Polygon’s victims in Pul-e Charkhi. When I was walking on the soil of Polygon, I was busy with the question of what my father and uncles said to each other in those heavy moments before death and what their last words to each other were.

After we learned what had happened to my father and uncles, we honored them, their memories, and other victims by organizing a program with a title written in bold: "Even If a Hundred Years Pass, You Will Not Be Forgotten."

Let's Never Go Back To Our Past

Narrator: Abdul Raziq Rezaei

Victims: Abdullah and Abdul Karim

Time of the incident: 2001

The place of the incident: Dahan Kanak Village, Yakawlang District, Bamiyan Province

The name of the victims: Abdullah, my father, aged 45-47 years old. I don't remember the exact age of my father. And my uncle, Abdul Karim, he was 30-35 years old. They lived in Dahan Kanak Village, Yakawlang District. They were farmers.

My father was educated from mullahs at home, he could only read the Quran. Abdul Karim had attended Dehsur high school until the eighth grade. Due to riots and wars, he had left school. Both of them were married. My father had three sons: his eldest son is me, his second son is named Samad, and his third son is named Nader. My father had three daughters: his eldest daughter is named Hanifa, his second daughter is Sima, and his third is Soghara. My uncle Karim had four sons and daughters: his eldest son is Reza, his second son is Enayat, his eldest daughter is Laiqa, and his second daughter is Sabra. All were farmers and all lived in Dehne Kanak.

It was 2001 that the Taliban came and took Yakawlang. The war ended... Khalili's forces went to Chaman. There, they burned the villages and captured my father and another person named Ibrahim, and took them to the battle in Chahar Deh. The Taliban were defeated there and came to Dahan Kanak again. They brought my father and uncle back to the village, tied them back to back under the road, and fired on them, killing them.

When Taliban arrested my father, we fled to Punjab having no news about my father. People told me that my father was killed. Although it was dangerous to go to the area, we went and took the corpses of three martyrs with a small number of friends. We could not bury them in our ancestral cemetery, so we took him to Sar-e Kanak graveyard.

During the migration period, people were vigilant as to what was happening in Yakawlang. The houses and shops were burnt down and many people were killed.

My father's body remained under the sunshine [where he was killed] for a week; no one could go and bury him. When Taliban attacked Yakawlang, my father told me to take our family members to Panjab District. He said he would come after us. He stayed because of our livestock up in Qeshlaq. We could only save our lives, not the livestock. Unfortunately, we lost our father and every other thing we had in the village.

According to my cousin, four days after we left our village, my father was killed. As said, me, my younger brother Samad, and my cousin Mohammad Rahim went from Punjab to Sarma Qol during the night. At night, we took five more corpses from Sarma Qol. We went and transferred the bodies to Sar-e Kanak. The people of Sar-e Kanak cooperated with us. Thanks to them, may God protect them. With them, we buried the corpses.

We brought the family back when the Taliban attacked the American twin towers. It was September 11th. It was the beginning of the cold season. It had snowed once or twice. We went back home, but nothing remained; our houses were burnt. With empty hands, we started to rebuild our houses.

Everyone had psychological problems. We had no one, it's very difficult to talk about it. We can't tell you how it went. It was very difficult for people to live. I had lost a father and an uncle, and our economic situation was ruined. Our cattle and property were gone. We didn't have money and our situation was very bad. I personally took care of two families with many problems. I had to leave school as it is still my responsibility to take care of the two families.

Today, my uncle's family is living separately. We divided our land; I separated my uncle's land. By the grace of God, our agriculture product is good, not bad. I ended up having a lot of trouble because at that time, people did not trust anyone. Now, it is different. If needed, people will give us a loan. At that time, no one gave a single rupee to anyone else. Why could we not borrow some money? People used to say that the situation in Afghanistan is so bad, they may not be able to pay it back.

We had this difficult situation. I couldn't bear not to say it. It is very difficult for someone to say it. Those who had a better economic situation may have lived better, but I myself, who had two families on my shoulders and was empty-handed, someone who didn't have a single rupee, this is how I lived my life.

The little money that we had was in my father's pocket, which was burnt. They had holes drilled in it. It was completely destroyed. It was out of use. My mother has endured this situation until today, and today, thanks to the grace of God, our situation is good.

I was a child who did not understand anything about what to do. I went through that difficult situation alone. We struggled with a difficult life that no one can imagine. But some people are good, maybe they can. Before the incident, I had no responsibility. But once two families were shouldered by one person without a single rupee in his pocket, imagine for yourself what the situation was like. You asked me, and told you. I could not control myself not to say.

When my father was martyred, I didn't know about my uncle. People didn't tell me anything. I buried my father. We couldn't be bothered there again, so we went to Panjab. My friends told me that I should come back. I had a bad feeling, because my uncle's family was here in Panjab. As soon as he sent the message to "come once," I fell from the sky to the ground. I said what happened and he asked me again.

I went to Yakawlang again, to Sar Maqol Village, the only place I could go. People had fled to Sar Maqol. I went there again. I asked my friends about the situation, and they said that the situation was good but that they would go with me. They told me that my uncle had been captured. Well, we went. We gathered our friends and decided to find some elderly men and meet the Taliban who captured my uncle. When we came here, one of the friends said that the Taliban had captured my uncle, taken him from my village, and killed my uncle on a pass named Larasi. They said, "Go and take your martyr from there." The people of Sangardost - one of the local Taliban - gave us a soldier to guide us there. He showed us that my uncle's corpse had dried up. We took it to Dahan Kanak and buried him there. Ah, I wish they would had killed him [only], but they had cut off his hand, cut off from here (showing his elbow), and cut off his leg from the knee. We took him and buried him in our village.

By God, at that time, we had no idea what we were doing because we were children. We had no idea what the Taliban meant or what they were doing. We had no idea, they just said that the Taliban had come and killed people. Because we were children, we didn't feel, we didn't understand what "the Taliban" meant. We thought that Talib meant "student," not more than that, right? But when they came and set fire to the houses and killed the people, we thought that a human had not come, a savage had come. What were they doing to the innocent people? With the houses? No one had anything to do with the houses, but they destroyed and burned every single house.

Yes, my mother is alive. Thank God, my mother, it was my mother who brought us to this stage. Otherwise, we would have been a bunch of small kids and children. My uncle’s children were also small. My mother gave me an arm and said not to lose myself, be strong, and work hard. My mother supported us and kept telling us to be strong. The reality is that we worked hard, suffered a lot, and thank God we are seeing the results today.

I put myself in the place of my father; I left school, I sacrificed my wishes and wants for my brothers and my uncle's children. I supported my brothers and my uncle’s children to go to school. Thank God, they are now doing well with their education and lives.

My father was a normal, calm person. He never fought anybody in the village or with family members. He had a sound personality as he never shouted at me as his younger son, never used a bad word against me. He was a religious person. He used to awake us up to pray our prayers early in the morning and advised us to take fast.

I had no responsibility and didn’t think about life’s ups and downs. Everything was on his shoulders. I don't know where he earned the livelihood to earn what he would give us, the food we would eat, and the clothes we would wear. My uncle was young. At that time, our lands were not divided, only his house was separated, and he worked as a farmer with my father. Local Taliban were good people, some were Hazaras and Tajiks. But those who came out of Yakawlang, those Talibs do not want Islam at all, they were Wahhabis. These were outsider’s men.

There is nothing notable left from my father to put in the Afghanistan Memory and Dialogue Center. My father had a Quran and a watch. I have his watch with me now in my pocket and a tape recorder named 530, an old model 60-70 years old.

These are the only things left from my father. Nothing left from my uncle but a picture. The photo is a very old one. We enlarged it and put it on the wall, so he should not be forgotten and remain as part of our memory. In reality, we have very bad memories. We never return to our past, we had such a hard time in the past that I cried. We really have a very bitter past, not only for me, but for all the victims. For all the people of Yakawlang, Bamiyan and the central regions. We will never return to our past.

We are really happy to have something lasting for us in the museum. I'm happy and, you are welcome, you are all the light of our eyes who think about us and remember us and listen to our words and take them to higher levels. Thank you.

He Was a De-Miner

Narrator: Ahmad (nephew)

Victim: Nabi

Time of the incident: 2011

Place of the incident: Kohsan District, Herat Province

My name is Ahmed. I am twenty-years-old. I live in Kamaneh, Kohsan District. I work at customs at the port of Islam Qala. I get 100-200 AFN per day.

Nabi was my uncle. He was 31-years-old. He was martyred in 2014. He was a de-miner. He normally left at four o'clock in the morning and came back at two o'clock in the afternoon. One morning, while going to the demining site, he and his colleagues were ambushed by the Taliban. It was seven o'clock when they fired on them. He and his 5 colleagues were killed while others were taken alive, though they may have been killed later.

He was an employee of a de-mining agency. They were going to explore the land. They would find mines and mark them, then report the location to an engineer, then the team would going to the site and explode the mine.

We got the news at eight o'clock and went there at nine. The driver said that there was a war over the mine cleaners. We saw five or six people lying there. Mr. Behrouz's brother was also with them. He had been shot in his stomach, right here, God forgive him.

We put the body in the back of the car and brought it back to the house. I went there. Two of our uncles also came. They live in Kamanah, their families live there. My uncle’s economic condition is good, but not that good. He has two children, one is five-years-old and the other one is two-years-old.

The demining agency has given food and non-food commodities to my uncle’s family. His wife is young, about 20-years-old, and has two children. She lives with her two children. One of her children is five-years-old and one is two-years-old. My uncle was illiterate. He did not go to school.

We went to the field ourselves and picked him up. Several others had been killed there. The corpses were in different places. One in the car, one next to the car, etc. Among them, my uncle was shot dead. Many didn't even look hurt. We went there and took him into the back of the car. We thought he was alive. God forgive him. He was martyred. We put him in the back of our car and brought him to his house, that's it.

It was also the holy month of Ramadan. Taliban had been after the director of the demining agency, and they took him away. Taliban asked him to pay, but he didn't give them any money. Then five or six people were killed like this. These people were earning a living through this job, he used to get 15,000 AFN per month.

There is nothing else to say. I don’t have any message... Look, our business is ruined, there is no work in Afghanistan, nothing. I say that someone should help us with something.

I will do whatever I can for my uncle. My uncle served us a lot. I will do anything for him, for his children, for his family. My uncle was very kind to us. He used to advise us to do good things, respect the elders and children, and get an education. I told him that I can’t go to school, I have to work because my father was killed on the way to Iran.

My father used to go to Iran to work. He was killed on the way to Iran. I was small, I don't remember how he was killed. Our family knows about it, they say he was killed inside Iran. Iranian soldiers killed him. He had gone illegally and had nothing, no travel documents.

Now, thank God, it's fine. We work. My mother is with us. We are two brothers, I am her elder son and I have a younger brother. My mother was 20-22 years old when my father was killed. She has never married again. She stayed with us. We go to work and my mother is at home taking care of things at home. Thank God, the rest is fine with us. I have this intention that God will help me to serve her in my life.

When I regained consciousness, one was lying on the right side and the other on the left side.

Aziza Akbari was born in Sangcharak District of Sar-e Pul Province in Tebar Village. She grew up in Balkh. She studied education in Balkh Province and studies medicine in a private university. She is a twenty-year-old and is the cousin of the victims. She speaks very slowly and describes the incident.

Narrator: Aziza Akbari (Uncle's Daughter)

Victims: Ahmad Sohail and Marhaba

Date of the incident: November 2017

Location of the incident: Mirzavalang, Saiyad District, Sar-e Pol Province

In the winter of 2017, the Taliban attack Tabar Village - my village -which was the center of several other villages. If they took this village, they would be able to increase their control and possessions over other villages. So, they would attack this village a lot. When people got info about the Taliban’s attack on our village, people would run away to save their lives. They would take only one piece of clothing and save the family members. They would close their homes and run away to save their lives. The Taliban had spies among the people.

My uncle had three sons and two daughters. He prevented his eldest son from going to school and wanted him to be a Quran reciter. He had taken him to the reciters. One day while he was reciting, his hands were on his feet. His teacher (the Mullah) had slashed him with a stick. The sick hit on one of his eyes. He had poor eyesight for one or two weeks, and in the third week, he told his father that he couldn't see with his right eye. After that, his father wanted to take him to Pakistan for treatment. He was in Mazar-e-Sharif at the time, when Taliban suddenly invaded and occupied our area. He called his family to come out of the house and told his wife to take their children and go to a safe area.

The mother takes her two daughters and one of her sons, her other son left the area with his uncle. In the third day of the war, she heard that war had ended and everybody could go home. She had gone back with her two children; one daughter, Marhaba, and one of her sons, Sohail. Unfortunately, she was trapped in the middle of war, near their house; they had heard wrong information. At the time of the incident, I was in Mazar-e-Sharif with my family. We moved here after 2016 and they were there.

She has gone early in the morning at breakfast time. They were trapped until 11AM. My uncle's wife told us that we were in the warzone. A mortar or rocket directly hit my daughter and she was martyred on the spot. I was unconscious and when I regained my consciousness, the sun was shining on my head and the Taliban were walking here and there. They did not help us. Her son had all his intestines protruding from his abdomen. It was around 12:00 o'clock - lunch time, we got the news that two of her children were martyred.

My uncle was at our home and he was informed that he should go to the site as soon as possible. My uncle's wife said that when the incident happened, it was early in the morning as there were shadows. The sun passed over our heads; it was around 12 noon. I kept calling out that my daughter and I were okay, please help my son at least. First, the Taliban were careless. After a while, the Taliban put all his intestines in his stomach and took him to the mosque, then my younger uncle took Sohail to a hospital. His situation was so bad that even my uncle could not look at him. As said, his father was here in Mazar, he wanted to go to Pakistan. When he heard the news, he moved directly from Mazar to Sar-e Pol. He had brought his wife and son to the center of Sar-e Pol. His daughter had been killed immediately on the spot, she had been hit directly. Her mother was also severely wounded on her right leg and she was operated on several times. Sohail had been taken to Sar-e Pol, then to Sheberghan and to Mazar-e-Sharif. Sohail was operated on twice in Mazar-e-Sharif.

They only operated on his stomach and did not do anything with his legs. Doctors had operated first on his stomach and moved his intestines, then wanted to work on his legs. After a few days, the poor boy’s foot became microbial.

The boy was able to chat normally every day. He chatted in such a way that we thought that no accident had happened to him at all. But he would suddenly faint; he was getting weaker every day. Finally, Sohail was taken to Kabul. They reached out to all sides and authorities. We said we should at least save the boy’s life. With a lot of effort, they reached the emergency hospital in Kabul where it is very difficult to accept such patients.

He had been to the children's hospital in Kabul. I don't know exactly. He was operated on there too. He became weaker day-by-day and in the days close to his death, he could not even speak. When doctors opened the bandage of his legs, they faced a very bad condition. After the operation, they informed him that he had died. I don't know when Sohail Jan passed away.

He was alive for about 38 or 40 days. He had been taken from one hospital to another one. He had undergone various operations until finally he was martyred.

When Marhaba was brought to be buried, none of us saw her. It was said that her scarf was not even removed from her head, but when you touched her, all her bones were broken into pieces. Her single bones were completely torn apart under her skin.

Their mother said: "It was a mortar or a rocket. When it hit, the whole place was covered in dust. I didn't see anything, I lost my consciousness... When I regained consciousness, my daughter was on my left, my son was on my right. My daughter had been martyred and my son was saying, 'Mother!' No matter how much I told the Taliban to help me to at least save my son, they did not pay attention."

They were so cruel that they didn't even pay attention to the fact that this child was lying here, and they should take him a little under the shade. She said that there were people in the houses at that time, but they could not come out to save his life. There was a person in the neighbouring house who threw a plastic sheet out from under the door to cover the girl's body, but he could not get out himself.

There are local Taliban in the village among the people. When we called them many times and begged them, they took my child to the mosque and the Taliban who were from other areas did not help.

No, no, his mother didn't have a phone. At twelve o'clock, my uncle received a call from the village that his wife and children were martyred and he must come collect them. It was still 1 o'clock when the mother of my uncle’s wife arrived at the scene of the incident and took her daughter to the mosque, and from the mosque to the district clinic.

The Taliban brought the boy to the mosque and my younger uncle took the boy. The mother of my uncle’s wife, granddaughter of my uncle, together with my aunt's husband, went to the area. They put the body of the girl inside the roller. They had taken both the boy and the girl to Sar-e Pol.

My uncle’s wife herself does not talk about her pain, she was only worried about her children's health. When they took her to Sheberghan, her leg was operated on so she had to stay there, but her son was brought to Mazar-e-Sharif. It was November, and the village was calm and quiet. Then after 30 days, she was still worried about her son and was saying: My daughter was killed, my son should stay alive." 38 or 40 days later, when she heard that her son died too, she was mentally destroyed. She sat in her place and she could not get up for almost a year. Her eldest daughter was doing her work. Only God and herself know her pain and grief.

My uncle was a very brave man, he showed his bravery here in this very difficult time as he did not raise his noise. He was a tall man who, when you look him from his back, you'd think he was an eighty-year-old man, he was bent over like that. He became like that after the incident. Now the whole area is under the control of Taliban. The center of Sangcharak District is under the government.

Before the incident, my uncle was telling his wife not to go to the village. He called her every minute saying not go anywhere and to stay at her mother's house. She had gone out at once, but she came back soon. Someone had told her that it was good she came back. But she could not wait and told her, "Let me go and check my house once, war is ended." She moved towards the house without my uncle knowing it.

People walk there and don't use cars so much. It has been an hour walk. Her family knew, but my uncle and our family did not know that they had moved to that direction. The war was going on in the village. Some say that it was the government's rocket or mortar, and some say that Taliban deliberately hit this family. It is not clear whether the Taliban hit or the government's aerial missiles hit as the war was intense at that time.

I think it was the second war in the region, after that it was always sporadic fighting. Our village was very good in every way before that, it was populated, peaceful, and green. But when Taliban captured the area, the village was not like it was in the past. Taliban were oppressing/harassing people and shopkeepers. Taliban were taking tithe based on the goods available in the shop. They charged every shop 10-15000Afn. There are many good grape gardens in our village, which produce a lot of grape every year. Grape is the main source of income of people in our village. Taliban takes tithes of these local products.

In my opinion, the incident was as a result of difference among the people. Some take the government's side and some the Taliban's side. Taliban has put a lot of pressure on the people and propagated against the government. When you go to the village nowadays, people praise the Taliban a lot. People are not united. These differences caused the area to collapse at the hand of the Taliban.

First the Taliban killed all elders, influential people, those who could read and write, or those who could speak in public. They would kill them either at night, or on their way to somewhere, or in the evening when they came out of the mosque, or when coming out of Friday prayer. They were killed everywhere. Now when you go to the village, there is not a single person left who can write or speak. Yes, they were killed in the first stage. Then, Taliban occupied the village themselves.

It has been almost ten years since we came here (Mazar City) to study. We only went for three months in winter and one month in summer because of holidays.

Currently, the mother, eldest daughter, and one of her sons live in our village, in Tebar. My uncle has taken his eldest son to Turkey to treat his eye, which was hurt by a Mullah.

Our only wish is peace and stabilization in the area. Nothing is more important than peace. When it is calm, you are fully healthy. Can you believe that when there is a war between the government and the Taliban, people leave their homes and properties? They can’t go back to the area for a long time. You know how much they would be harmed? How much they suffer? We only want peace, we don't want anything else.

I don't know whether the government is paying attention to the perpetrators of this incident or not. In my opinion, the government should pay attention to these kinds of issues, otherwise everyone will become indifferent to the government. The government starts a war for a short time, doesn't try to capture the area, then stops the war and leaves the area. Their operations must be successful. If they can’t do it, they should not do it at all. What is the point of such operations? Only civilians are killed in the war. There are no other results of their unsuccessful operations.

In this case, it is better that Taliban take the area, so that people don’t die in the war. As a citizen, I want the government to bring peace throughout the country. How long we are displaced and go from one region to another to protect our lives. We just want peace.

Taliban are very cruel people. People come from the village and tell us stories of Taliban bad behavior and cruelty.

You should wear Burqa there. Villagers say that Taliban made a pipe out of animal skin and filled it up with coins. When something is against their will, they whip the person in public. They have dangerous appearance. We cannot go out into the street. Most grown-ups have left the village and there are small people living in the community. If we go out of the house, we have to put on Chadari. For Taliban it makes no difference if you are a 12 or 15-year-old girl, everyone has to put on Chadari.

They allowed school only until the sixth grade, girls can’t go to school above the sixth grade. The situation is not good at all, people have to fulfill all Taliban expenses. They enter a mosque and say that tonight they are guests. People are poor. Those who were not poor have become poor and left the village. This is what the Taliban do.

My uncle had five children, two of them were martyred and three remain. His eldest daughter is about 16-years-old. She was a school student. She is not allowed to study anymore. His son Nurul Amin is almost 14-years-old. If children are going to school, they must wear white clothes and caps. School teachers are from the same area. They teach the children. My uncle has another daughter, her name is Nabila. She is married. It has been 16 years that she has lived in her own independent house.

My uncle was the only breadwinner of his family. He had a three tired motorcycle and a house of their own. The mental condition of the mother has not improved yet. She remembers her children, how can her mental state improve? She is withered and unwell and can't walk. She hasn't been able to walk for almost two years now. How can she forget such a heartbreaking incident where two of her children were martyred? Her mental state is very bad for now.

Her elder daughter is also not in a good state. If you call her ten times, she will not respond. She saw her brother in that situation and she witnessed her younger sister where the incident took place. She is not normal, she was also affected mentally.

Marhaba Jan was buried in the same area where her grandmother lived, and martyr Ahmad Sohail was buried in his own area.

As far as my memories are concerned, I have many sweet memories from my childhood. Because we all lived in the same village. We all gathered in one place in the evening. Sohail was a funny kid, he used to annoy us a lot, but the girl was calm. Whenever I stayed at their house, in the morning when I was sleeping - I liked this habit a lot - in the morning after the prayer call, if it was winter, she would bring warm water and wake me up to do my prayer. She paid a lot of attention to prayer and recited Quran very well.

At that age, she was very kind. She always used to wake me up in the morning when I was in their house. This was a good memory and I liked it. It is a custom that they give all their belongings to somebody. Marhaba Jan made a knitted dress for herself. I have brought that for the museum.

Even If a Hundred Years Pass, You Will Not Be Forgotten

Narrator: Ali Shaheer

Victims: Haji Abdul Ali, son of Paiwand Ali (father), Haji Rajab Ali, son of Piwand Ali (elder uncle), Qurban Ali, son of Piwand Ali (younger uncle), Sultan Hussain (son of father's uncle) Mohammad Hasan (grandson of father's uncle)

Time of the incident: 1979

The place of the accident: Pol-e Charkhi Polygon, Kabul

I was a primary school student at that time. It was the night of Eid al-Adha, during the reign of Hafizullah Amin. I was not able to sleep that night because of the joy of Eid and wearing new clothes. Few families had TV at that time. We did not have a TV at home. But my uncle - who was living with his family in same house as us - whose young son owned a houseware store, brought a black and white TV for Eid nights. Their house was separated from our house by a partition. On Eid night, we went to my uncle's room to watch TV. That night, on the occasion of Eid, a movie called "Nawi da yaw Oshpe" (Bride for One Night), in Pashto language, was broadcast on TV.

At the insistence of my uncle and my uncle’s son, my father sat next to us and we watched the movie together, although he was not interested in watching TV or movies. My father knew Pashto and understood the story of the movie well. He was impressed by the scenes of kindness and chivalry in the movie and watched the movie till the end. That night, my siblings and I were eagerly waiting for the movie to end and for my father to henna our hands. After the movie, my father hennaed our hands.

It was late at night and my father was about to sleep when someone knocked on our door. At the same time as the door was knocked on, someone shouted loudly, "Who is Haji Abdul Ali? Come out of your room and open the gate." Some armed people were surrounding the gate. The voice shouted two or three times and wanted my father. Annoyed by their screams in the middle of the night, my father told them, “Keep your voices down. What's going on in the middle of the night? So much screaming! You know that everyone is sleeping! I am Abdul Ali. Now I will open the gate. What do you want me to do?"

When they entered the house, they said, "Haji, what weapon do you have at home?" My father said, “Tow hunting guns, a big and small one." Both are hanging on the wall of the house." The officers took the guns and said, "Haji, we will take you to the police station and then we will return you early morning." They took my father that night and we waited until morning for him to return, but he did not return that night.

On the day of Eid, all the family members, relatives, and friends gathered together to celebrate Eid as we waited for my father's return. It was time for lunch when the armed men came to our house again. They did not bring my father. We were very worried. This time, they took 6 other members of my family with them: Qurban Ali (my uncle), Sultan Hussain (son of my father's uncle), Mohammad Hasan (grandson of my father's uncle), and Mohammad Nabi (son of my uncle), as well as Ghulam Abbas and Ali Ahmad (grandsons of my uncle).

Fear and worry filled the atmosphere of the house. In the evening of the same day, Haji Rajab Ali, my elder uncle who was older than my father, came to our house and comforted us and said, "Don't worry, by God's hope, they will all come back. Don't worry as long as I am there." He said to my mother, "I will come tomorrow first thing in the morning. I will bring whatever food and other basic necessities you lack at home." It was as if he sensed that my father would not return soon. But the next day, my elder uncle did not come. He was also taken from his house in Chindawol that night.

The nights and days of Eid passed as we waited for my father and uncles to return. During the time of Babrak Karmal's leadership, Muhammad Nabi, Ali Ahmad, and Ghulam Abbas were released in general amnesty. But the others never came back. My brothers, sisters, and my uncle's children and I were nine in total, all small children a year apart in age. We used to ask our mothers every day why my father and uncles didn't come back. In the same way, my elder uncle had two children, a boy and a girl the same age as us. My youngest uncle, who was taken away, still had no children.

Our mothers waited that night, bitter days, and long years for their husbands. They shed tears and prayed for their return until they were old and their hair turned white. This wait lasted 35 years. When the Polygon victim list was released, we found the names of five of our family members on it. The wait was over and our hope had collapsed. All the family members were crying.

One day, we went with a number of friends and one of my uncle's sons to the hill of Polygon’s victims in Pul-e Charkhi. When I was walking on the soil of Polygon, I was busy with the question of what my father and uncles said to each other in those heavy moments before death and what their last words to each other were.

After we learned what had happened to my father and uncles, we honored them, their memories, and other victims by organizing a program with a title written in bold: "Even If a Hundred Years Pass, You Will Not Be Forgotten."

Even If a Hundred Years Pass, You Will Not Be Forgotten

Narrator: Ali Shaheer

Victims: Haji Abdul Ali, son of Paiwand Ali (father), Haji Rajab Ali, son of Piwand Ali (elder uncle), Qurban Ali, son of Piwand Ali (younger uncle), Sultan Hussain (son of father's uncle) Mohammad Hasan (grandson of father's uncle)

Time of the incident: 1979

The place of the accident: Pol-e Charkhi Polygon, Kabul

I was a primary school student at that time. It was the night of Eid al-Adha, during the reign of Hafizullah Amin. I was not able to sleep that night because of the joy of Eid and wearing new clothes. Few families had TV at that time. We did not have a TV at home. But my uncle - who was living with his family in same house as us - whose young son owned a houseware store, brought a black and white TV for Eid nights. Their house was separated from our house by a partition. On Eid night, we went to my uncle's room to watch TV. That night, on the occasion of Eid, a movie called "Nawi da yaw Oshpe" (Bride for One Night), in Pashto language, was broadcast on TV.

At the insistence of my uncle and my uncle’s son, my father sat next to us and we watched the movie together, although he was not interested in watching TV or movies. My father knew Pashto and understood the story of the movie well. He was impressed by the scenes of kindness and chivalry in the movie and watched the movie till the end. That night, my siblings and I were eagerly waiting for the movie to end and for my father to henna our hands. After the movie, my father hennaed our hands.

It was late at night and my father was about to sleep when someone knocked on our door. At the same time as the door was knocked on, someone shouted loudly, "Who is Haji Abdul Ali? Come out of your room and open the gate." Some armed people were surrounding the gate. The voice shouted two or three times and wanted my father. Annoyed by their screams in the middle of the night, my father told them, “Keep your voices down. What's going on in the middle of the night? So much screaming! You know that everyone is sleeping! I am Abdul Ali. Now I will open the gate. What do you want me to do?"

When they entered the house, they said, "Haji, what weapon do you have at home?" My father said, “Tow hunting guns, a big and small one." Both are hanging on the wall of the house." The officers took the guns and said, "Haji, we will take you to the police station and then we will return you early morning." They took my father that night and we waited until morning for him to return, but he did not return that night.

On the day of Eid, all the family members, relatives, and friends gathered together to celebrate Eid as we waited for my father's return. It was time for lunch when the armed men came to our house again. They did not bring my father. We were very worried. This time, they took 6 other members of my family with them: Qurban Ali (my uncle), Sultan Hussain (son of my father's uncle), Mohammad Hasan (grandson of my father's uncle), and Mohammad Nabi (son of my uncle), as well as Ghulam Abbas and Ali Ahmad (grandsons of my uncle).

Fear and worry filled the atmosphere of the house. In the evening of the same day, Haji Rajab Ali, my elder uncle who was older than my father, came to our house and comforted us and said, "Don't worry, by God's hope, they will all come back. Don't worry as long as I am there." He said to my mother, "I will come tomorrow first thing in the morning. I will bring whatever food and other basic necessities you lack at home." It was as if he sensed that my father would not return soon. But the next day, my elder uncle did not come. He was also taken from his house in Chindawol that night.

The nights and days of Eid passed as we waited for my father and uncles to return. During the time of Babrak Karmal's leadership, Muhammad Nabi, Ali Ahmad, and Ghulam Abbas were released in general amnesty. But the others never came back. My brothers, sisters, and my uncle's children and I were nine in total, all small children a year apart in age. We used to ask our mothers every day why my father and uncles didn't come back. In the same way, my elder uncle had two children, a boy and a girl the same age as us. My youngest uncle, who was taken away, still had no children.

Our mothers waited that night, bitter days, and long years for their husbands. They shed tears and prayed for their return until they were old and their hair turned white. This wait lasted 35 years. When the Polygon victim list was released, we found the names of five of our family members on it. The wait was over and our hope had collapsed. All the family members were crying.

One day, we went with a number of friends and one of my uncle's sons to the hill of Polygon’s victims in Pul-e Charkhi. When I was walking on the soil of Polygon, I was busy with the question of what my father and uncles said to each other in those heavy moments before death and what their last words to each other were.

After we learned what had happened to my father and uncles, we honored them, their memories, and other victims by organizing a program with a title written in bold: "Even If a Hundred Years Pass, You Will Not Be Forgotten."

They Were Shot in Their Chests

Narrator: Asadullah Fayzi

Victim: Baqijan Fayzi

Time of the incident: 1997

The place of the incident: Qorachin Village, Chaharbulak District, Mazar-e-Sharif

Type of incident: Gunshot

My father's name was Baqijan Fayzi. He was almost 38-years-old. He was young at the time of the accident. He had married when he was so young. I was about four or five years old when he died; I was very small. One day, I was standing at the courtyard door. I noticed that as he walked down the alley with another person, a hat was on his head, although he normally didn't wear a hat. I didn't recognize him. I said, "Hey! Hey! Who are you?" He was ahead of me. When he looked, I saw that he was my father. He smiled at me. This was very interesting to me.

My father's birthplace is Qorachin Village, Chaharbolak District, Balkh Province. As a farmer, he was busy with agriculture and peasantry.

He studied in school up to the six and seventh grades, but he had not finished school. He had two children, one girl and one boy. I was older than my sister. I am now 24-years-old. My sister, Fatima, is two years younger than me, she is twenty-two-years-old. She has finished her studies and now she is a schoolteacher. She has also studied up to the fourteenth grade.

The attack happened near our village named Qizilqala. It was Taliban’s last attack, after which the Taliban fell. I think it was 1996 or 1997.

The incident was in the morning, it was eight or nine o'clock. The Taliban came to our village and gathered the people of the village in the mosque. My father told us that he should go too. They took my father and my uncle. After three days, both of them were martyred in Qazal Qala Village as I mentioned. They were serving the people in the village. They were the elders of the village. Taliban killed them anyway. Taliban committed genocide in their first round of attack. They killed so many people in their first attack.

His family started looking for him but did not find him. In the village, someone has seen these two people who had been killed, so they told their families. My cousins, though they were small, had run away from home. They had hide in a plain. My father had told me not to go to the mosque because he was worried that I would be taken by the Taliban, but I said, "No, let them take me too." I was not afraid.

They took them that morning. I remember my father's uncle, who was an elderly person. Taliban tied his hands behind his back and carried him towards the mosque. I did not go to the mosque myself because I was small. When they were taken away, the women were crying. My grandmother was there, my mother was there, but the Taliban did not release anyone.

It was rumored that the people were tied up in a car, dragged, and later shot with bullets. The people who were from our village said so; they had seen it. There were no other witnesses except for them. They had tied my father to a car and dragged him to Qizilqala, a neighboring village. It is relatively far; half an hour away. My father's body was found by the local people. They informed us that they had found two bodies and asked if they were ours. They told me to tell someone to come and take the bodies. My uncle went to the site and recognized the corpses, so he brought them back.

They were taken and thrown in a desert. The day after they were taken, my uncle started asking about them. Where are they? Are they detained? Are they alive? Later, some people informed us that there were two bodies in the desert. My uncle went there and yes, found their bodies. They had been shot in their chests and shoulders. Their faces were destroyed. There were many wounds and scratches on their bodies. My uncle's son’s forehead was badly split. The Taliban had beaten them a lot.

Upon hearing the news, everyone was unwell. My uncle fell unconscious for a few hours out of shock. My father's death changed our lives a lot. We faced many problems. We went through a lot of hardships. Life is really hard without a father. After my father, my uncle and my mother tried to keep the family together. My mother is a seamstress, she has been sewing ever since. The Taliban will do anything for their own benefit.

They don't have much to do with other ethnicities. Charbulok Village is resided by different ethnicities, it is mixed, but they used to harass Hazara people there a lot. They asked them for bread, money, weapons. They used to say to my father, "You are the leader of the Hazara people, you have many weapons. Give us weapons." How many weapons did they give if they had them? The Taliban would come again and search themselves. Because of having [and not having] weapons, they were beaten a lot.

Yes, the responsibility of financing the house was on my father's shoulders. My grandfather was there and my uncle was there. My grandfather was an elderly man. My father was responsible to support the household financially. We all lived in the same house together. Yes, my aunt was there too. Her and her husband lived together with us. The number of family members was big, about twenty, twenty-five people in total. Now there are 9 of us. After my father, my uncles and my mother now support the family. We still live in the same house in our village. That is our own house.

Oh, I was badly affected by the incident. I got a low spirit after it. This made me personally very weak. My mother... my mother suffered a lot, for a long time she was... For now, life is good. It is normal. It's been two years that I'm married and other family members were separated from us. My uncle and his family are now in Mazar Sharif. My cousins (my mother’s brothers) are here. They are almost at the same place as us; our houses are side-by-side.

Currently, there is no war in our village. Because our village is close to Chaharbulak District - just twenty minutes away - Taliban come to our village but don’t go further. Taliban often attack from this side and the government shoots them back. A month ago, Taliban took all other villages. Only our village was left. In our village, there was a government base, but they left after the other villages were captured. Taliban come periodically, once or twice a week, and the government does not.

Although the government is close (we can see them from the village), they don't fight as much as they did in the past and don’t come to our village. Taliban take tithes and zakat from local people. Tithes is about wheat. From ten bushels of wheat, they will take one bushel. From twenty bushels, they will take two bushels. Everyone gives. If someone doesn't give, he will be punished. Taliban announced that people must wait for them to come and count the bushels of their harvest, so that the Taliban can take some right away.

Yes, there are schools. Girls go to school. The school is in our village. The girls are up to 9th grade. They say their teachers should be women. Girls were not going to school for a while when Taliban came; the schools were off for a few days. After that, school resumed.

There were many people who left their jobs in government offices due to fear of the Taliban in this district. Even the cleaners left their duties due to fear. They didn't go to the office anymore. There were a few more soldiers from our own village, they were scared because there have been so many fights. Many people were killed in the war. Soldiers managed to take a letter from the Taliban, it was a guarantee that they would not be soldiers anymore, they could go and work in their village. Although they are no longer soldiers, they could not come to their village to see their families.

There were national police present to ensure the security of Qora Chin Village. In addition to police, there were militia (called ARBAKI: local armed men) supported by the government. Arbakis were harassing people and stealing people’s property. I didn't see it myself, but people of the village say so. They have many stories. According to one story, people stopped a man on his motorcycle one night. While their faces were covered, they took away all his valuables. The Taliban is back; Arbakis don't do those things. Arbakis are also completely gone, our area has been completely cleared. It is only the district center, which is under the control of the government.

The Taliban are from the neighbouring villages. Some are from our village too. Local Talib accompany the outsiders, they are together. No, they don't harass civilians.

Our wish is peace. Since the government is there in the center, they don't want war either. Their people and many of their soldiers were martyred, they were killed. Other police bases were taken by the Taliban.

If the government fights with the Taliban, it is good to clean up our areas. Make it peaceful and calm, so that everyone can do their jobs and go to school. Our biggest wish is that there will be peace and prosperity for our homeland. Many people in Chaharbulak are complaining about the insecurity. They are tired of it. One day, people should be able to take care of their business and land properly. My father was a good-natured person. Even now, everyone who comes praises my father a lot. No, my grandmother has passed away. We buried my father in a cemetery near the village, yes, in the village of Qorah Chin.

When I regained consciousness, one was lying on the right side and the other on the left side.

Aziza Akbari was born in Sangcharak District of Sar-e Pul Province in Tebar Village. She grew up in Balkh. She studied education in Balkh Province and studies medicine in a private university. She is a twenty-year-old and is the cousin of the victims. She speaks very slowly and describes the incident.

Narrator: Aziza Akbari (Uncle's Daughter)

Victims: Ahmad Sohail and Marhaba

Date of the incident: November 2017

Location of the incident: Mirzavalang, Saiyad District, Sar-e Pol Province

In the winter of 2017, the Taliban attack Tabar Village - my village -which was the center of several other villages. If they took this village, they would be able to increase their control and possessions over other villages. So, they would attack this village a lot. When people got info about the Taliban’s attack on our village, people would run away to save their lives. They would take only one piece of clothing and save the family members. They would close their homes and run away to save their lives. The Taliban had spies among the people.

My uncle had three sons and two daughters. He prevented his eldest son from going to school and wanted him to be a Quran reciter. He had taken him to the reciters. One day while he was reciting, his hands were on his feet. His teacher (the Mullah) had slashed him with a stick. The sick hit on one of his eyes. He had poor eyesight for one or two weeks, and in the third week, he told his father that he couldn't see with his right eye. After that, his father wanted to take him to Pakistan for treatment. He was in Mazar-e-Sharif at the time, when Taliban suddenly invaded and occupied our area. He called his family to come out of the house and told his wife to take their children and go to a safe area.

The mother takes her two daughters and one of her sons, her other son left the area with his uncle. In the third day of the war, she heard that war had ended and everybody could go home. She had gone back with her two children; one daughter, Marhaba, and one of her sons, Sohail. Unfortunately, she was trapped in the middle of war, near their house; they had heard wrong information. At the time of the incident, I was in Mazar-e-Sharif with my family. We moved here after 2016 and they were there.

She has gone early in the morning at breakfast time. They were trapped until 11AM. My uncle's wife told us that we were in the warzone. A mortar or rocket directly hit my daughter and she was martyred on the spot. I was unconscious and when I regained my consciousness, the sun was shining on my head and the Taliban were walking here and there. They did not help us. Her son had all his intestines protruding from his abdomen. It was around 12:00 o'clock - lunch time, we got the news that two of her children were martyred.

My uncle was at our home and he was informed that he should go to the site as soon as possible. My uncle's wife said that when the incident happened, it was early in the morning as there were shadows. The sun passed over our heads; it was around 12 noon. I kept calling out that my daughter and I were okay, please help my son at least. First, the Taliban were careless. After a while, the Taliban put all his intestines in his stomach and took him to the mosque, then my younger uncle took Sohail to a hospital. His situation was so bad that even my uncle could not look at him. As said, his father was here in Mazar, he wanted to go to Pakistan. When he heard the news, he moved directly from Mazar to Sar-e Pol. He had brought his wife and son to the center of Sar-e Pol. His daughter had been killed immediately on the spot, she had been hit directly. Her mother was also severely wounded on her right leg and she was operated on several times. Sohail had been taken to Sar-e Pol, then to Sheberghan and to Mazar-e-Sharif. Sohail was operated on twice in Mazar-e-Sharif.

They only operated on his stomach and did not do anything with his legs. Doctors had operated first on his stomach and moved his intestines, then wanted to work on his legs. After a few days, the poor boy’s foot became microbial.

The boy was able to chat normally every day. He chatted in such a way that we thought that no accident had happened to him at all. But he would suddenly faint; he was getting weaker every day. Finally, Sohail was taken to Kabul. They reached out to all sides and authorities. We said we should at least save the boy’s life. With a lot of effort, they reached the emergency hospital in Kabul where it is very difficult to accept such patients.

He had been to the children's hospital in Kabul. I don't know exactly. He was operated on there too. He became weaker day-by-day and in the days close to his death, he could not even speak. When doctors opened the bandage of his legs, they faced a very bad condition. After the operation, they informed him that he had died. I don't know when Sohail Jan passed away.

He was alive for about 38 or 40 days. He had been taken from one hospital to another one. He had undergone various operations until finally he was martyred.

When Marhaba was brought to be buried, none of us saw her. It was said that her scarf was not even removed from her head, but when you touched her, all her bones were broken into pieces. Her single bones were completely torn apart under her skin.

Their mother said: "It was a mortar or a rocket. When it hit, the whole place was covered in dust. I didn't see anything, I lost my consciousness... When I regained consciousness, my daughter was on my left, my son was on my right. My daughter had been martyred and my son was saying, 'Mother!' No matter how much I told the Taliban to help me to at least save my son, they did not pay attention."

They were so cruel that they didn't even pay attention to the fact that this child was lying here, and they should take him a little under the shade. She said that there were people in the houses at that time, but they could not come out to save his life. There was a person in the neighbouring house who threw a plastic sheet out from under the door to cover the girl's body, but he could not get out himself.

There are local Taliban in the village among the people. When we called them many times and begged them, they took my child to the mosque and the Taliban who were from other areas did not help.

No, no, his mother didn't have a phone. At twelve o'clock, my uncle received a call from the village that his wife and children were martyred and he must come collect them. It was still 1 o'clock when the mother of my uncle’s wife arrived at the scene of the incident and took her daughter to the mosque, and from the mosque to the district clinic.

The Taliban brought the boy to the mosque and my younger uncle took the boy. The mother of my uncle’s wife, granddaughter of my uncle, together with my aunt's husband, went to the area. They put the body of the girl inside the roller. They had taken both the boy and the girl to Sar-e Pol.

My uncle’s wife herself does not talk about her pain, she was only worried about her children's health. When they took her to Sheberghan, her leg was operated on so she had to stay there, but her son was brought to Mazar-e-Sharif. It was November, and the village was calm and quiet. Then after 30 days, she was still worried about her son and was saying: My daughter was killed, my son should stay alive." 38 or 40 days later, when she heard that her son died too, she was mentally destroyed. She sat in her place and she could not get up for almost a year. Her eldest daughter was doing her work. Only God and herself know her pain and grief.

My uncle was a very brave man, he showed his bravery here in this very difficult time as he did not raise his noise. He was a tall man who, when you look him from his back, you'd think he was an eighty-year-old man, he was bent over like that. He became like that after the incident. Now the whole area is under the control of Taliban. The center of Sangcharak District is under the government.

Before the incident, my uncle was telling his wife not to go to the village. He called her every minute saying not go anywhere and to stay at her mother's house. She had gone out at once, but she came back soon. Someone had told her that it was good she came back. But she could not wait and told her, "Let me go and check my house once, war is ended." She moved towards the house without my uncle knowing it.

People walk there and don't use cars so much. It has been an hour walk. Her family knew, but my uncle and our family did not know that they had moved to that direction. The war was going on in the village. Some say that it was the government's rocket or mortar, and some say that Taliban deliberately hit this family. It is not clear whether the Taliban hit or the government's aerial missiles hit as the war was intense at that time.

I think it was the second war in the region, after that it was always sporadic fighting. Our village was very good in every way before that, it was populated, peaceful, and green. But when Taliban captured the area, the village was not like it was in the past. Taliban were oppressing/harassing people and shopkeepers. Taliban were taking tithe based on the goods available in the shop. They charged every shop 10-15000Afn. There are many good grape gardens in our village, which produce a lot of grape every year. Grape is the main source of income of people in our village. Taliban takes tithes of these local products.

In my opinion, the incident was as a result of difference among the people. Some take the government's side and some the Taliban's side. Taliban has put a lot of pressure on the people and propagated against the government. When you go to the village nowadays, people praise the Taliban a lot. People are not united. These differences caused the area to collapse at the hand of the Taliban.

First the Taliban killed all elders, influential people, those who could read and write, or those who could speak in public. They would kill them either at night, or on their way to somewhere, or in the evening when they came out of the mosque, or when coming out of Friday prayer. They were killed everywhere. Now when you go to the village, there is not a single person left who can write or speak. Yes, they were killed in the first stage. Then, Taliban occupied the village themselves.

It has been almost ten years since we came here (Mazar City) to study. We only went for three months in winter and one month in summer because of holidays.

Currently, the mother, eldest daughter, and one of her sons live in our village, in Tebar. My uncle has taken his eldest son to Turkey to treat his eye, which was hurt by a Mullah.

Our only wish is peace and stabilization in the area. Nothing is more important than peace. When it is calm, you are fully healthy. Can you believe that when there is a war between the government and the Taliban, people leave their homes and properties? They can’t go back to the area for a long time. You know how much they would be harmed? How much they suffer? We only want peace, we don't want anything else.

I don't know whether the government is paying attention to the perpetrators of this incident or not. In my opinion, the government should pay attention to these kinds of issues, otherwise everyone will become indifferent to the government. The government starts a war for a short time, doesn't try to capture the area, then stops the war and leaves the area. Their operations must be successful. If they can’t do it, they should not do it at all. What is the point of such operations? Only civilians are killed in the war. There are no other results of their unsuccessful operations.

In this case, it is better that Taliban take the area, so that people don’t die in the war. As a citizen, I want the government to bring peace throughout the country. How long we are displaced and go from one region to another to protect our lives. We just want peace.

Taliban are very cruel people. People come from the village and tell us stories of Taliban bad behavior and cruelty.

You should wear Burqa there. Villagers say that Taliban made a pipe out of animal skin and filled it up with coins. When something is against their will, they whip the person in public. They have dangerous appearance. We cannot go out into the street. Most grown-ups have left the village and there are small people living in the community. If we go out of the house, we have to put on Chadari. For Taliban it makes no difference if you are a 12 or 15-year-old girl, everyone has to put on Chadari.

They allowed school only until the sixth grade, girls can’t go to school above the sixth grade. The situation is not good at all, people have to fulfill all Taliban expenses. They enter a mosque and say that tonight they are guests. People are poor. Those who were not poor have become poor and left the village. This is what the Taliban do.

My uncle had five children, two of them were martyred and three remain. His eldest daughter is about 16-years-old. She was a school student. She is not allowed to study anymore. His son Nurul Amin is almost 14-years-old. If children are going to school, they must wear white clothes and caps. School teachers are from the same area. They teach the children. My uncle has another daughter, her name is Nabila. She is married. It has been 16 years that she has lived in her own independent house.

My uncle was the only breadwinner of his family. He had a three tired motorcycle and a house of their own. The mental condition of the mother has not improved yet. She remembers her children, how can her mental state improve? She is withered and unwell and can't walk. She hasn't been able to walk for almost two years now. How can she forget such a heartbreaking incident where two of her children were martyred? Her mental state is very bad for now.

Her elder daughter is also not in a good state. If you call her ten times, she will not respond. She saw her brother in that situation and she witnessed her younger sister where the incident took place. She is not normal, she was also affected mentally.

Marhaba Jan was buried in the same area where her grandmother lived, and martyr Ahmad Sohail was buried in his own area.

As far as my memories are concerned, I have many sweet memories from my childhood. Because we all lived in the same village. We all gathered in one place in the evening. Sohail was a funny kid, he used to annoy us a lot, but the girl was calm. Whenever I stayed at their house, in the morning when I was sleeping - I liked this habit a lot - in the morning after the prayer call, if it was winter, she would bring warm water and wake me up to do my prayer. She paid a lot of attention to prayer and recited Quran very well.

At that age, she was very kind. She always used to wake me up in the morning when I was in their house. This was a good memory and I liked it. It is a custom that they give all their belongings to somebody. Marhaba Jan made a knitted dress for herself. I have brought that for the museum.

They brought him covered with a shroud

Narrator: Aminuddin Ahmadi (father)

Victim: Abdul Hakim Ahmadi

The time of the incident: March 2014

The place of the incident: Grishk District, Helmand Province

My name is Aminuddin. My father's name is Ewaz Ahmadi. My son's name is Abdul Hakim. His surname is Ahmadi. He was 21-years-old when he was martyred. He was single and had studied until the ninth grade. At the time of his death, he was a school student. He was with some of his classmates and wanted to go to Iran. He did not say anything about it to me. He had hidden it from me. They were trapped in the middle of a war. He was martyred there in Helmand in Grishk District.

He wanted to go to work because our economic situation was not good. It is still not good now. We were not able to prepare stationary, clothes, and other necessities for him to go to school. He was suffering, so he left. In March 2014, it was raining. None of our family members knew that he left until he reached Kabul. He called me to stop wandering behind me, as I going to Iran.

I told him to come back. I told him in Hazaragi, "There is no bread hanging in Iran for you to collect." He said, "No, I'm going. It's difficult for me to study here." He went with three of his friends. I saw one of his friends who had come with his body. I asked him, and he said that they went to Helmand and stayed in Grishk for the night. In the morning, they wanted to go to the Iranian border. They were walking away from the hotel and the market when they heard gunfire. They walked ten steps back and then a bullet hit him. He fell and remained there.

On the day he was martyred, he remained in Grishk. His friends had called someone in Kabul, probably, as they had friends in the government. So, they coordinated the issue with them. The government brought the body to Kabul and handed him over to the governmental 400 Bed military hospital. Only one bullet hit him on the left side and it came out on the right side.

His friends told us that he was running ahead of them. They said, "He jumped to one side in front of me. I thought somewhere his leg got stuck and fell. I passed him, and I said 'get up and let's go.'" His friend said that Abdul didn't make any sound: "I came a little way back. When he was rolling, he didn't say anything to me. If he did say anything, his conversation was not understood." When they brought him to Kabul. I was in Nayak Bazaar. He had his ID card with him so a government staff member had called relevant officials in Yakawlang District and said that a person reading his name and village had been killed in Grishk, and instructed them to inform his family. I was in the market and I did not know anything about it. A shop keeper from our village called me to go to his shop. I went to his shop and sat in front of his shop.

Then he quickly told me, without introduction, that a man named Abdul Hakim, son of Aminuddin from Tajko Village, was martyred. He asked if I knew him. I said, "No, I don't know." A minute later, I stood and went to the bazaar behind the shop. One of my brothers was in Kabul. I called him, telling him the issue. I found out that someone else had called my brother before calling me, so my brother was already at the hospital. The road to Bamiyan was closed and planes are not accessible to poor people like me. After two days, they left at night. The body came to Bamiyan via Ghorband Valley. The Bamiyan governor cooperated. He provided an ambulance and brought him here. When I heard the news, I went back home. It was already morning. My wife was confused. "What happened?" she asked. "What is up? Why did you come back?" I said that I didn't want to go, and then she looked at me and said, "No, there is a something you aren't telling me." I said that nothing had happened. There is a valley behind our house. I left because she should not know about her son, but she came after me. From there, I turned left and went to my father's house. My father was alive at that time. God forgive me, when I turned left, she followed me again. She followed me and said, "Why are you not telling the truth? What is the matter? Something happened that you are hiding from me."

We were having this conversation when suddenly she fell down as she was paralyzed. None of her arms and legs were working. This was while I had not told her anything yet. You know that our people are a type of people who, when they hear a story, a conversation, they happily go to the top of the hill and shout it and spread that story. I had to say it to my wife myself, as people told me in the market. I told myself that someone may tell her while collecting water or somewhere else, which would not be good for her and me.

So I told her the news. She started crying, she cried loudly. My daughters who was collecting water heard and came to my father’s house. When they arrived at the gate, they understood the story. Whatever was in their hands dropped down and they started crying and moaning. It was a hard time. My younger daughter fell down. Her situation got worse and I had to bring her to the doctor in Yakawlang Hospital. Doctors did not accepted her and referred to Bamiyan Provincial Hospital.

We didn't tell her mother at all where she was. We brought her to Bamiyan Hospital. Bamiyan kept her in bed for three nights. After that, we brought her back. Fatiha ceremony was over. Her mother was always in pain, she was always screaming that she had a headache. We took her to the hospital in Bamiyan. My wife now had a high blood pressure, which was 230 or so. After her son was killed, her blood pressure is always high. My daughter also has a health issue now. If there is any noise, she will fall. Those are my problems.

He was still a child; he did not think about these things that one day his memories would be written. He was a quiet and calm child. If he was sitting in a meeting or in a classroom, he would not speak a single word. If anyone saw, they would think that he might have a problem and maybe he is dumb. But if the teacher asked the lesson, he would explain it the way the teacher explained it. He was extremely sensitive to lies.

We receive 40,000 AFN/year from the Martyrs and Disabled Department. To be honest, in the current situation, we do not have any expectations of government officials because they are corrupt. If you go to them, they would expect you to give them some money. What else can we expect from this kind of the government? His nine grade school books and a picture are left. His friends brought his phone too. Yes, the only thing they brought to me from there is his phone. They didn't bring us any of his clothes from there. They brought him in a shroud from there.

We gave him his clothes here. He had some kind of new clothes. I hid his phone from his mother and his sisters so that they wouldn't see it. I will keep those books and photo in the museum. What can I say about him? Nothing to say. He left us alone. May God grant him paradise. I pray for his soul to be happy.

His Body was Swollen

Narrator: Azadeh Sadat Hussaini (Daughter)

Victim: Fatima

Time of the incident: 08 August 1999

Place of the accident: Mazar-e-Sharif, Pole Merab Type of accident: Hit by shrapnel

My name is Azadeh. My mother was married several years after my father. Now my ID card is in my stepfather's name. I am Azadeh Seyyed Salman in the ID and my real father's name is Seyed Shah Mohammad. His surname is Sadat Hosseini. The victim is my mother, her name is Fatima. Fatima Seyed Nasro, her name on her NID. Surname? No, she did not have a surname.

She was killed in Pole Merab by shrapnel while fleeing in the plain. They were running towards the Charkent which is above from here. The area is mountainous. We buried her in Pole Merab. When the Taliban came in the first round and took the whole city, they stayed for a few years. It was June or July. The wheat had grown. People were running away to the Charkent out of fear. Many were hiding in the wheat which saved their lives.

Shima: There was no wheat on our side. I remember a day when the weather was very hot, many people died when they fled to the mountains.

Azadeh: What exactly happened, what happened? I don't remember much. I was married. People said that she had so many splinters in her armpit that she never recovered. My mother was 55-years-old. When she came home, she could not speak. Later, she told the story that she was running away: "While I was riding a donkey, I suddenly got some sharp objects in my body. I didn't understand where they came from. My body only felt burning and blood flowed. If I wasn't riding that donkey, maybe the shrapnel wouldn't have hit me." The iron pieces had not gone deep. Some were pulled out by hand. But there was no doctor in the Charkent. The wounds became infected and after four months, she was brought to Mazar City. We took her to a doctor, but it didn't work at all. She was scared.

We live in Pole Merab. When the Taliban came, most of the people of the city fled. But we didn't go. My husband did not go. Everyone fled to Charkent. The city was empty. People stayed there for a while until the city calmed down. Some came early, those who had problems came early, those who didn't have problems stayed even for a year. When it was completely calm, everyone returned to their homes and lives.

Mentally, one feels a lot of pain and suffering. When my mother passed away, her house and life fell apart. My father left one way, my sister went her way, she was single, but she got married unintentionally. We don't know where she is anymore. My poor father was sick, often he came to my house. I had no place for him and I was pregnant. What did I do? I found a wife for him. Yes, now he has gone back to his house and has a wife. He has many children from this wife. Well, that's how it happened, no one of us... no one left of my family. I have a sister, she was in Iran. It's been a few years since she has come. She was also not there. It was really hard for me, I was completely alone...

Taliban took [my husband], took him from the market, took him away, we were completely disappointed. Because when Talib took anyone, he never came back. But God helped, of course he had to live for a while in this world. He came back. When he came, I couldn't recognize him at all. His body was totally black; he didn't have a single white spot because he was beaten. His body was swollen. He was sleeping in front of the window and everyone who saw him was afraid. I sat one night until the morning. I dressed his severely injured body. I gave him medicine. He was moaning and could not sleep. This situation continued for several days. But when the Taliban were defeated, our neighbours said that he should not sit there like that. If the Taliban came again and saw him in that state, they would question what he did to be beaten so badly.

After that, they took him to the village. For a month, I was with my daughter, the same daughter who is here. I was alone in the house with a woman who was a neighbour. We have seen many bad days, no expenses, nothing... To survive, I had to sell the houseware to buy food items. Nothing was left for us, nothing. My poor husband became disabled. He can't work. Heavy work hurts his back. Many of us have seen bad days. It was very difficult for me. My poor husband had never used a weapon. He was a laborer and ordinary citizen. The people who had guns, power, and money went away way before Taliban came. We the poor were trampled.

I don't remember anything. He came home late at night on the same day they took him. He used to say that he couldn't come home on my foot; he walked from the city to the house like a child using his hands and knees. His knees were swollen. He said that Taliban made me sleep, one of them stood on his feet, one of them put his foot on his back, and one of them put his foot on his neck. They hit him three times with a big cable with three locks tied at the end of it. They said to give them weapons. He said he doesn't have a weapon. They said to give them a weapon soon. Helpless, he is now disabled and can no longer work.

If he finds light work, he will do it, but he cannot do heavy work. He was beaten savagely. Taliban's takeover ended up very difficult for ordinary people. No one has good memories of that time, they all have bad memories.

Even If a Hundred Years Pass, You Will Not Be Forgotten

Narrator: Ali Shaheer

Victims: Haji Abdul Ali, son of Paiwand Ali (father), Haji Rajab Ali, son of Piwand Ali (elder uncle), Qurban Ali, son of Piwand Ali (younger uncle), Sultan Hussain (son of father's uncle) Mohammad Hasan (grandson of father's uncle)

Time of the incident: 1979

The place of the accident: Pol-e Charkhi Polygon, Kabul

I was a primary school student at that time. It was the night of Eid al-Adha, during the reign of Hafizullah Amin. I was not able to sleep that night because of the joy of Eid and wearing new clothes. Few families had TV at that time. We did not have a TV at home. But my uncle - who was living with his family in same house as us - whose young son owned a houseware store, brought a black and white TV for Eid nights. Their house was separated from our house by a partition. On Eid night, we went to my uncle's room to watch TV. That night, on the occasion of Eid, a movie called "Nawi da yaw Oshpe" (Bride for One Night), in Pashto language, was broadcast on TV.

At the insistence of my uncle and my uncle’s son, my father sat next to us and we watched the movie together, although he was not interested in watching TV or movies. My father knew Pashto and understood the story of the movie well. He was impressed by the scenes of kindness and chivalry in the movie and watched the movie till the end. That night, my siblings and I were eagerly waiting for the movie to end and for my father to henna our hands. After the movie, my father hennaed our hands.

It was late at night and my father was about to sleep when someone knocked on our door. At the same time as the door was knocked on, someone shouted loudly, "Who is Haji Abdul Ali? Come out of your room and open the gate." Some armed people were surrounding the gate. The voice shouted two or three times and wanted my father. Annoyed by their screams in the middle of the night, my father told them, “Keep your voices down. What's going on in the middle of the night? So much screaming! You know that everyone is sleeping! I am Abdul Ali. Now I will open the gate. What do you want me to do?"

When they entered the house, they said, "Haji, what weapon do you have at home?" My father said, “Tow hunting guns, a big and small one." Both are hanging on the wall of the house." The officers took the guns and said, "Haji, we will take you to the police station and then we will return you early morning." They took my father that night and we waited until morning for him to return, but he did not return that night.

On the day of Eid, all the family members, relatives, and friends gathered together to celebrate Eid as we waited for my father's return. It was time for lunch when the armed men came to our house again. They did not bring my father. We were very worried. This time, they took 6 other members of my family with them: Qurban Ali (my uncle), Sultan Hussain (son of my father's uncle), Mohammad Hasan (grandson of my father's uncle), and Mohammad Nabi (son of my uncle), as well as Ghulam Abbas and Ali Ahmad (grandsons of my uncle).

Fear and worry filled the atmosphere of the house. In the evening of the same day, Haji Rajab Ali, my elder uncle who was older than my father, came to our house and comforted us and said, "Don't worry, by God's hope, they will all come back. Don't worry as long as I am there." He said to my mother, "I will come tomorrow first thing in the morning. I will bring whatever food and other basic necessities you lack at home." It was as if he sensed that my father would not return soon. But the next day, my elder uncle did not come. He was also taken from his house in Chindawol that night.

The nights and days of Eid passed as we waited for my father and uncles to return. During the time of Babrak Karmal's leadership, Muhammad Nabi, Ali Ahmad, and Ghulam Abbas were released in general amnesty. But the others never came back. My brothers, sisters, and my uncle's children and I were nine in total, all small children a year apart in age. We used to ask our mothers every day why my father and uncles didn't come back. In the same way, my elder uncle had two children, a boy and a girl the same age as us. My youngest uncle, who was taken away, still had no children.

Our mothers waited that night, bitter days, and long years for their husbands. They shed tears and prayed for their return until they were old and their hair turned white. This wait lasted 35 years. When the Polygon victim list was released, we found the names of five of our family members on it. The wait was over and our hope had collapsed. All the family members were crying.

One day, we went with a number of friends and one of my uncle's sons to the hill of Polygon’s victims in Pul-e Charkhi. When I was walking on the soil of Polygon, I was busy with the question of what my father and uncles said to each other in those heavy moments before death and what their last words to each other were.

After we learned what had happened to my father and uncles, we honored them, their memories, and other victims by organizing a program with a title written in bold: "Even If a Hundred Years Pass, You Will Not Be Forgotten."

I Found Him at Dusk

Narrator: Ghulam Abbas Mobarez (Victim’s brother)

Victim: Ali Madad Mobarez (18-years-old)

Place of incident: Mirzaolang, Qul Khatoon Village, Sayyad District, Sar-e Pol Province

Time of incident: During Soviet occupation 1979 to 1989

On the day of my brother’s martyrhood, I was somewhere else. Our martyred brother Ali Madad Mobarez was harvesting wheat somewhere at the time when the Soviets attacked and killed civilians. He was harvesting on the fields and at around noon, they took a break from work when the Soviet aircrafts came. There are a lot of juniper trees in Mirzaolang. The trees are really massive and he was sitting under their shade. While the aircrafts were flying over, he had come out from under the trees to look at them. It was at this moment when they were spotted and shot at. They fled to another area while injured. They took refuge there and then started towards their home when the aircrafts saw them and fired again. He was about half an hour away from our home when he was spotted. He had fallen on the ground right there.

At first, my brother was just injured and, in that state, had fled the area. He had gotten himself close to our home when he was spotted once again and they fired at him. After that, he had fallen on the ground and we knew nothing about his situation or whereabout so that we could have checked up on him. The day went by and by sunset, we were waiting for him to come back. We kept on waiting but there was no news of him. I went out to look for him and after walking for a bit, I saw him on the ground. He was right across the fields in Mirzaolang, we farm in this area. It was at dusk when I found him. I saw him on the ground but he was still alive. I grabbed him by his arm but I could not lift him up. He was not skinny like myself; he was a lot heavier and twice my size even though I was older than him. No matter how much I tried to bring him back home, I could not carry him. Finally, he told me, “Go and bring a donkey.” I came back home. My parents asked me, "What happened? Is Ali Madad not coming?” By God, I could not tell them anything. Instead, I told them, “He will come from the back [of the house].” I took a horse and left. I did not say anything at home but went to my neighbour to inform them that my brother has been injured by the aircraft and we need to bring him back home on the horse. By the time I arrived, he had already passed away and became a martyr. Now we were forced to carry his body back home on the horse. Sadly, my parents did not know anything so when I brought [my brother’s dead body] home, they were devastated. My father collapsed. My mother also collapsed. Basically, both of them lost consciousness as my brother had left home healthy and well in the morning but at night, his lifeless body came to them. We brought him back and buried him after people gathered. After that incident, we left Mirzaolang, specifically the area we lived in which was called Qul Khatoon. We left that area because my parents could no longer bear living there. After my brother’s martyrdom, we migrated to the Mirzaolang Valley itself. In short, we experienced so many changes after the incident. It has been twenty years since but I do not remember the exact date when it happened.

After my family, many of our neighbours also migrated to the valley but this time, the valley was captured by the Taliban. This time, the Taliban killed people and looted their property. Afterwards, we came to Sar-e Pol and currently, we live in Mazar. They [the Soviets] had come with helicopters and fired. There were bullet wounds in different areas of his body. A bullet had hit his hand and another his leg. The last bullet had entered from his back and existed on the other side of his abdomen. After his funeral ceremony, when we came back on the fields, there were bullets on the ground.

Areas such as Mirzaolang, Sar-e Pol, Saidabad and Charbagh, had Mujahidin fighters whom fought with the Soviets. For this reason, the Soviets would kill anyone part of the Mujahidin or the residents of those areas. Although my brother was just a farmer, they had shot him under the suspicion that he is a Mujahid fighter or might become one.

Two or three months after Ali Madad’s death, my mother fell sick but did not recover from it and passed away. Two years after that, due to my brother’s grief, I lost my father. My sister got married. I also got married. Basically, life was very difficult. My brother had good manner. He respected our parents and me. Although I was older, he was a lot bigger than me in size and always took care of the heavy labor. He used to say, “I am strong, I can do it but you are weak, so you cannot.” There were around 400-500 families living In Mirzaolang. Around us, everyone was Sunni Muslims and we had no way out. There was only one route to Sar-e Pol. When the Taliban captured Mirzaolang, the residents there made a lot of complaints to the government. In response, the government sent four tanks in support of the people. The tanks could not hold up and as a result, fled towards Sar-e Pol.

The people lost their morale and while the Taliban had captured from Sar-e Pol to the valley, only very few people were fleeing the area. There was so much bullets being fired that people no longer cared. They would say, “If we are going to die, let us die and if we are going to live, let us live, but we do not want to be captured alive by the Taliban.” At night, everyone fled. Whether it was a woman, a child, an old man; those who wanted to escape fled the area. Of the individuals whom fled around two or three in the morning, some were able to pass through and flee but some were captured by the Taliban. The Taliban killed around fifty or sixty people.

Although I was not there and have only heard from others, they say that those captured were taken back on foot around 10 minutes away from the place of their capture, and ten people were beheaded. There were old men, children aged five and six, and even women among those ten people. Women were in such a state [of terror and panic] that they were not able to take their headscarves with them. After everything calmed down in the area, people went back to recover the dead. Around fifty to sixty people were killed.

My first wife’s father, who was around 55 to 60-years-old, was beheaded during that incident. He was a farmer but he was beheaded. I do not remember exactly, but we buried his body maybe ten to fifteen days after – after the Taliban had left the area. He could not be identified by his face, we identified him through his clothes.

A Shrapnel Caused His Death

This story was recorded on April 29, 2019 in the local office of the AIHRC in Herat Province. Ms Dasta-Gul describes the story of grief, love, and the years after the loss of her husband with patience and in detail.

Narrator: Dasta-Gul (victim’s wife)

Victim’s name: Qurban (30 yrs)

Date of Accident: Summer of 1984, 11:00 oclock

Place of Accident: Kareezkhoni Village, Rubat Sangi District, Herat Province

Type of accident: bomb shrapnel (bombed by Soviet aircrafts)

My name is Dasta-Gul and Qurban was my husband. It has been 35 years since my home was wrecked. He was thirty-years-old and I was twenty-years-old in 1989. It was July, yes, it was the proper time of the year for farming. The Soviets killed him; their bomb killed him. The Soviet aircraft killed him. He was killed in Kareezkhoni Village, part of Rubat Sangi District. It was eleven in the morning. We were married for seven years; he was killed in the eighth year. We had two children, one aged 2 and the other a 9-month-old breastfeeding infant. Yes, two children. We had two children and both are sons. We were married for just 7 years.

He was a farmer and used to raise livestock. He harvested wheat and oats. Agriculture was his only profession. He had gone over to harvest wheat from the fields when an aircraft dropped a bomb. He died among the wheat crops. A lot of people, around nine or ten, were killed. In that village, around a hundred or more people were killed. The tanks and aircraft killed all of them in that village. They were all working in their fields. Those villagers who were inside their houses were also bombarded and got buried under the rubble, poor souls. Our house was far [from the houses which were bombed].

A member of my family informed us that a person has been killed in the fields, and asked us to collect the corpse [and nine other martyrs] and take them to the mosque. Yes, I saw him. The shrapnel had entered the back of his head and exited from his abdomen. That one shrapnel caused his death. I did not have anything after my husband’s death. Out of destitution, I turned to carpet weaving. Until my children turned ten years old, I was busy weaving day and night. No one helped me. No one cared for us. They did not care that my orphaned children were hungry and alone with me, who owned nothing.

Yes, the fields on which my husband grew wheat belonged to us. They [Qurban’s family] gave a plot of land to my orphaned children. My children had uncles, a grandmother, and aunts. I asked them to give only two acres of the land on which my husband worked to my boys. I worked hard by myself. I wove carpets, and went from one to the other to make ends meet. I did not have any other assistance.

I sent my boys to school. After they finished school, we came to Herat City for them to go to university. Ah, after my eldest son did not learn in university, I sent him to Iran as a laborer. My eldest son is named Nur-Ul Deen, and the youngest is named Saif-Ul Deen. They went to Iran and worked hard. They also got married from their hard work. They did not have sisters who could be married off and from their marriage’s gifts, I could have taken wives for my sons and settled them down. My poor boys worked hard and built lives for themselves. I used to live with my in-laws but they did not like me. They would always argue and tell me to give up my sons and re-marry. I told them I will not marry and even if it kills me, I will not give up my children. What can a second marriage give me when I did not gain anything from my first marriage? The marriage life which I had was one where my husband never once told me what to do or not do. God took him from me, his death came soon.

During the seven years of us being married, he never once told me to do or not to do this or that. That is because I was content with him, and until today, I have stayed in his memory and for his sons. When you are content with your spouse, even after they are gone, your heart does not allow you to think of someone else or to leave their children. My brother-in-law would bring a bag of wheat and rice. My parents also helped and asked me to bring my children to live with them. My conscious could not accept this so I worked and wove rugs by myself. I never folded the carpet loom close; it was always open as I constantly worked on weaving rugs. It was like whenever I finished one rug, I would start another the very next day. What else could I have done, I was hungry and poor, I had no other choice. I had to do it in order to make ends meet and survive absolute poverty because I had no other source of income. The situation at that time was not good, but I do not know why they bombed our village. However, the [neighbouring] village was bombed heavily. They bombed that village a lot. My husband was also killed there but I do not understand exactly the reason why they bombed. It has been thirty years since and my mind has gotten weak as well as my memory and I no longer remember why they killed our village’s people.

When my home was ruined after my husband’s death, I was twenty-years-old. I was married off at the age of fourteen. I was married for 7 years when my husband died. It has been whether eighteen or twenty years, what is the sum of seven years and fourteen years? It has been twenty years, twenty. My husband was from outside my family, I was happy with him that is why I have remained unmarried until this day in his memory. I loved him, do you understand? When you love a person, even if there are hundreds of others around you, your feelings for them will not change. This is why I did not accept anything else after him. By God, he did not have anything. My carpet was the earth underneath and my roof was the sky. I just loved him and I loved my sons. He had a good personality and a muscular figure. He was very lucky meaning when he was in a group gathering, he could make everyone laugh till tears would come out of their eyes due to his good humor and manners. But what can I do now that God has taken him from me?

When my [eldest] son was in Iran, he studied till eleventh grade and after he came back to Afghanistan, he finished his last year of high school. However, I do not know what major he studied at university. I did not ask, my dear, I did not ask him. He studies half of the day and the other half he works as a watchman for a school. He sweeps classroom floors and arranges the desks and chairs. He also has the keys to the school, as if he is the watchman of the elementary school. He gets five or six thousand Afghanis per month. My second son is also married. Thankfully, he is also married. I have three grandchildren from one son, and four from the other. I live with the two of my daughters-in-law in Wahdat Village, in the town of Abulwaleed which is part of the Injeel District of Herat Province. I am satisfied with my sons, thankfully. My sons have never ill-treated me. They say ‘dear mother’ at the beginning of their sentence and one at the end of their sentence. Their wives are not from our family so naturally, they might act irritated or say something to me, but when my sons treat me well, I have nothing to do with my daughters-in-law because my sons are important to me. Yes, my sons have a lot of respect for me; they respect me a lot. When I get sick, they borrow money for my medications and doctor’s visits so that I get treated. They borrow money from others so that their mother can get better. I have such dear sons and my heart is happy from them. One of my grandchildren passed last year and that broke my heart. He was only eleven-years-old. They said he had an incurable illness. They said he had cancer and his lungs had been destroyed. We took him to Kabul and brought his body back to Herat. He was only eleven-years-old and in fourth grade.

I am happy with my sons, my dear. My sons also love me a lot. I pleaded to God that my sons do not have a father, what would become of them? They could become addicts and junkies; they could become gamblers. However, thank God, they grew up to become really modest and decent men. My children are virtuous and chaste; they do not have any addictions, thankfully. My boys do not have any faults, they are clean and virtuous. I am thankful to God that I have good sons, they are decent people. I shall share the ache of my heart with the women of Afghanistan. I shall say how much I suffered and went through to raise my boys. I pray to God that my efforts do not go in vain and make my decent sons even more decent to people. And if they are friends, make them even better friends to others. I only want to say that. Some women ask me how my sons are and I respond that thank God, my life is completely good. I am not unhappy with my sons or their wives. Thank God, they are very nice. I have a very good life. My relatives ask how I manage with my sons and I tell them that my life, in general, is good and that I am completely content with my sons. They turned out to be decent people, they are humane. They do not bother people. On their university campus, there are around two thousand girls and boys studying, but they do not bother them or the girls there. They are such strong-willed sons.

Yes, I love my sons a lot, how can I not love them? For them, I have gotten beaten, verbally abused, and even been charmed with a talisman so I could leave my boys. They cast a magic charm on me so I would leave my sons and go back to my father’s house. By God that I am telling the truth, my dear. I went to a Hajji and he told me that I have been charmed to leave my sons and re-marry. By God, they did everything they could to me so I would leave my sons but God made my love for them so strong that nothing could separate us.

My daughters-in-law are unemployed. When we were in the village, they used to weave carpet a bit but after coming to Herat City, they no longer work as there is no work here. No one buys handmade rugs anymore. My daughters-in-law are busy with house chores and with taking care of their children. Their husbands (Dastagul’s sons) make ends meet now. I tell them that I was able to bring up two orphaned boys through carpet weaving, why do you not work? They tell me that I had the willpower and courage to do that, they do not have that. Ah! [Laughing] They tell me I had a lot of courage to do that; that I had a lot of vitamins and in comparison, put their vitamins in shame. [Laughing] They do not wish to work and cannot work. Yes, I told them I got weak because of work, my eyes lost their power, and my hands and feet don’t work anymore. I have gotten weak from all that work and now, it is on my sons’ shoulders to bring food. I can no longer work. There is a dent in my hand where I held scissors while weaving carpets. My hand has gone limp now because I would constantly work on the carpet loom and my eyes have gotten weak.

My sons tell me, “Mother! Even if we take you to Mecca [for pilgrimage], we cannot repay you even for one night of you taking care of us.” This is life. I suffered a lot, got beaten up, received verbal abuse, and heard all kinds of things. I would tremble day and night like an animal getting slaughtered for fear that someone would take my sons away from me. I suffered all kinds of pain. My sons would know my value after all. Now that they have grown up, I tell them about my suffering. They tell me that they could not have done anything because they were young and did not understand. Some mothers who raised their orphaned children were kicked out of the homes by their sons. Meaning, they kicked out their poor mother. There are children like this. There are children like this in our village.

Still, I thank God that my sons are decent men. Who knows if I will live ten more years or not? Only God knows. My youngest son says, “Mother! Do not fret. Do not worry too much. Mother! Your presence is a blessing to us. You are our hope. Your shadow over us is a blessing.” But I tell them that now that have wives and their own families, forget about my shadow over them. My sons tell me, “No, your shadow and presence are a blessing to us.” My boys did not have a father so they only had their mother, they received love only from their mother. Only we know a mother’s pain. For their peace of mind, I tell them that, God willing, I shall remain like a cloud that provides shade to you. I am very much pleased with my sons. They ask me about their father like how he looked, his height, and his figure. And no ease their minds, I tell them that their father looked like their uncles. They look at their father’s photos and constantly ask about his height and face. They tell me, “Mother, if our father were alive, God knows how much better our lives would have been.” For their comfort, I tell them their father was not the only one who was martyred. There are thousands of other orphaned children who grew up in similar circumstances without their fathers. I tell them that their father’s life was that long. Yes, sometimes they ask me about their father all day, twenty-four hours. They love their father so much that when my youngest son went to Iran, he took his father’s photo to make a bigger print and frame it. They always miss their father. Still, to ease their pain, I tell them that that person does not have a father and this person lost their father in an accident so that they do not suffer too much because of their father’s absence. Their hearts find comfort in that and they share their pain with me.

The Bloody Wednesday

Enayatullah Naseeri is the brother of Rahmatullah Hasib Nasiri. He was born on August 26, 1986 and finished school in 2004. He has a Bachelor of social sciences from Kabul University and works as a journalist in a weekly newspaper called “Rewayat Emroz,” and as a researcher at the Pursish Research and Studies Institute. Hasib was his older brother and both were really close and had strong emotional attachment to each other. Enayatullah Nasiri has written this story and sent it to us. He says about his brother, “We used to joke around with each other. But he was my most important financial and emotional support during my school and university years.”

Narrator: Enayatullah Nasiri (brother of the victim)

Victim: Rahmatullah Hasib Nasiri

Date of the incident: May 31, 2017

Place of the incident: Zanbaq Square, Kabul

May 31 at 8:23 AM on a Wednesday; I still think about that moment. I felt as though hot lead had been poured on my heart and burned my whole body. I still cannot believe that Hasib is gone and is no longer with us. I still longingly gaze at the entrance gate thinking he might enter with a smile on his face. The sounds of car horns have startled me many times because I think it might be him wanting us to open the gate for him. Whenever he reached the gate with his car, he would always make his presence known with a different pattern of honking. It was the beginning of Ramadan. As usual, Hasib would call me on my phone to wake me up while having his sahari. We ate our food and after a bit of chatting, everyone went back to their rooms. No one knew that it was his last sahari and the last conversation we would share.

We did not see each other that morning. Before that, he would always come to my room to say goodbye before leaving for his office. He was an employee of Roshan Telecommunication Company and worked in the head office located near Zanbaq square. That day, I had slept in longer than usual because I was awake a bit later after sahari. When he had left the house, I was still asleep. When I woke up, the clock showed a few minutes before eight o’clock. I laid down on my bed and started reading a book. Minutes later, the sound of a horrible explosion shook my heart. I got worried. I picked my phone and called Hasib but he did not answer. Previously, if he did not answer the phone, he would quickly send a text that he is busy and will call later. On that day, I waited for a few moments to receive his text but there was no text from him. I tried again and called him several times but he did not answer.

I opened Facebook. Everyone [on Facebook] thought the explosion was near their location because the explosion was extremely strong. For this reason, the [Facebook] users thought the place of explosion was in different places. Among them, one person had posted that “the explosion happened near Zanbaq square in Kabul.” I got worried. Just as the pictures of the explosion in Zanbaq square and the surrounding areas were passing by my eyes, the door of my room slammed open. It was my sister-in-law and she said, “There has been an explosion in Wazir Akbar Khan area and Hasib is not answering his phone, that is why Arezu, Hasib’s wife, is crying.” Although I was feeling restless and worried, I went to speak with them and comfort them. I told them, “Pray, inshallah, that Hasib is okay and nothing has happened to him.”

With apprehension and a heavy heart, I left the house. I saw my mother enter the house after dropping Hasib’s son to school. Apparently, she was not aware of the explosion. I passed by her in a hurry. I was near Maidan Shaheed Mazari when she called and sadly cried out that Hasib’s colleagues answered his phone to inform that he has been injured and they have taken him to the hospital. My worry increased tenfold. The traffic around Maidan area was unbearable for me. I got out of the car. I spotted Hayatullah Bayan’s car on the other side of the road. I went to him and saw that he was not in good condition. The driver was sprinkling cold water onto his face and hands.

I said, “What happened? Is everything okay?”

He replied, “I was very close to the explosion, I feel faint.”

I said, “Hasib has been injured and transferred to the hospital.”

Bayan got shocked. He got up from his place and told his driver to start toward the hospital. I went toward Emergency Hospital. The police had blocked the road in Shar-e Naw. I got out of the car and ran toward the hospital. The city had been out of breath and had turned into a ruin. A large crowd were going in all direction with worry and panic. The windows in buildings were all broken. Everything was covered in broken glass. The city was filled with sorrow and smoke. The police were removing people from the middle of the street and near buildings left window shards fall on them. The front of Emergency Hospital was filled with the wounded. The sounds of wailing and groaning which I heard on that day still haunts my ears. Many were running here and there with their bloody clothes. Sounds of ambulance passing through to transport the wounded could be heard every moment.

We reached there around thirty minutes after the explosion. Black smoke was still visible in the place of the incident. I saw a few employees of Roshan Telecommunication Company running around in a panic. We were looking for any news about Hasib. The list of wounded that were admitted to the hospital was still not posted. The discussions surrounding the number of casualties of the incident filled everywhere. I asked about Hasib from any employee of Roshan that I met there. I comforted myself with the thought that he has only been injured. This was not the first time which I went to Emergency Hospital to look for those injured by explosions. Last year, as well, two of my friends named Bismillah Alizada and Sayeed Madadi, who were injured in the explosion targeting the protestors of the Roshnayi Movement in Dehmazang, were also brought to this hospital.

Inside the hospital, my eyes fell on a young man who had a Roshan ID card lanyard around his neck. I asked him about Hasib but he did not recall. I explained that Rahmatullah Hasib Nasiri, Roshan’s finance controller, was one of their colleagues. He let out a big sigh and asked, “What relation do you have with him?”

I said, “I am his brother.”

He paused a bit and said, “He is wounded but he is well so do not worry.”

Before I could ask more questions, he apologized and walked toward the ambulance.

A number of my friends including Hussain Hazara, Qayum Surosh, Mahmood Muhammadi, Ehsan Safdari, Bismillah Alizada, and Juma Khan Rahyab also reached and got busy searching for the list of the victims. They tried coordinating to go inside the hospital and inspect the wounded. I found another employee of Roshan; he was one of the people who had transported the wounded to the hospital. I first enquired about the condition of Omid Faizi, Hasib’s colleague. He said, “Faizi is in a good condition. Only his hand sustained a small injury.” Then, I asked about Hasib. He said, “Wallah, he was injured a bit more but do not worry; he has been transported to the hospital. Inshallah he will get better.” Despite getting really worried, I asked about the condition of Mohammad Azeem Rizayi, one of our relatives who had been recently appointed in Roshan. He said that no one had been injured from their section and he was well.

My phone was ringing every second; my friends and family were continuously calling to ask about Hasib. My mother called once every two minutes. Although her throat felt tight with grief, she would ask, “Did you find Hasib?” Then she would make a request, “give the phone to Haseeb just once, I want to hear him say even one word.” I would comfort her and say, “Dear mother, I still have not found him but as soon as I do find him, I will definitely call you.” My father called several times and said that he will come to the hospital after us, but I requested that he stays at home and take care of my mother and the rest of the family. However, Ahmad Jawed, Hasib’s friend and coworker, had come to our house after finding out about the explosion and was bringing my parents with him to the hospital. My mother had gone to the hospital twice and the second time, she had even gone to check the morgue. When she came from the hospital exist, she was completely broken and crushed. She was crying from the depth of her heart and sat on the ground by the hospital entrance. She had not found her son there.

After we were certain that Hasib was not in the Emergency Hospital, we informed all our friends to thoroughly search other hospitals around the city. I tried several times to get myself close to Hasib’s office at Roshan’s head office which was also near the place of explosion. I was told that there was a first aid clinic inside the company building. I thought Hasib might be there. The thought of Hasib stuck under the rubble and wounded even crossed my mind. I thought to go to rescue him and bring him to the hospital. However, all of the paths towards the office were completely blocked and the police did not allow people to pass through. When I looked at the buildings impacted by the blast from afar, I saw nothing expect ruins and smoke. My heart would tremble and to hide from my terrifying thoughts, I returned to the hospital to continue my search.

On that day, we search all of the hospitals until two in the afternoon but we did not find Hasib. It was close to half past two when one of my friends called that a number of critically wounded have been transported to the Emergency Hospital just now. Those of us who were there decided to split into two groups; one group would go to the Police Hospital in Afshar and I, along with few others, would head toward Emergency Hospital once again. When we reached the hospital, my companions went toward the entrance gate and checked the list of the wounded. But the moment I saw that the path towards the place of the explosion was open, I ran towards it. I passed by the street when I heard Mahmood’s voice. In hopes of hearing news, I went to him. I noticed Surosh who was crying while leaning on the wall of the hospital. Worried, I asked Mahmood, “What happened?” He replied, “They found Hasib.” Again, I asked with a trembling voice, “Is he alive?” With tears flowing from his eyes, he replied, “Hasib is no longer with us.”

My body went cold. I lost feeling in my arms and legs. With the help of my friends, I dragged myself toward the wall of the hospital and dropped to the ground. After that I do not know what happened or how we got from emergency Hospital to the mortuary of Wazir Akbar Khan Hospital. I saw my father there. He had dropped off my mother back home after quickly searching Ali Abad Hospital and got himself to Wazir Akbar Khan Hospital quicker than us. With two people holding him from his shoulders, he slowly started walking towards me. When he reached my side, he took me in his arms. He put his head on my shoulder and started crying quietly. Then he lifted his head up and let out a loud sigh after drying his eyes with a handkerchief. He turned to my friends and said, “I saw Hasib but my eyes went dark and I collapsed. You first make sure whether he is our Hasib or not, then we will inform the others that we have found him so that they do not become bothered more than this. Please ask them to gather in Wazir Akbar Khan Hospital.”

I wanted to go and see Hasib, and tell him, “Get up, brother, the grief of your absence is heavy and breaks my spirit. Get up because I cannot return home without you.” I remembered his dreams and my dreams which were destroyed in a blink of an eye. I got up from my place and walked toward the mortuary but others stopped me by my shoulders and requested that I be patient. They told me that when everyone else comes, all of us shall go inside.

Slowly, everyone gathered. They also took me to check the body. After the door of the fridge swung open, my eyes fell on Hasib’s pale and bright body. The whole world turned black in my eyes. Yes, the body kept in the drawer of a mortuary fridge in his bloody and dusty clothes was indeed was our Haseeb. My mother, Hasib’s wife, and his son. Oh God! How could I tell them that Hasib is no longer with us? It was decided that the news would be broken to them slowly; my father would go back home and tell them that Hasib is injured but Surosh and I are by his side. A group of my friends and I went to Bayan’s home to plan for Hasib’s funeral and burial.

My mother, my elder brother Asad, my younger brother Ehsan, and other friends, which were not informed, would call me every second to ask about Hasib. I was scared of answering them and each call startled me. Especially when my mother would call, I tried my best to talk calmly and not let my voice tremble lest she finds out about what had happened. I am still scared of my phone ringing. I have jolted awake at night several times after hearing the sound of my phone ringing but then realize that it is the middle of the night and I am in a world without Hasib. Ah!

Instead, my father calling me gives me comfort. The patience and strength which he displayed after coming to face with Hasib’s lifeless body also gave me strength. That night, around ten, he called to tell me that I need to get myself back home no matter what because my mother was not in a good condition. She had become suspicious of our behavior and had suspected that Hasib is no more but she was also scared that something must have happened to me as well. I got worried and quickly started toward home. I got myself home but that night, the atmosphere inside our home was very strange. Everyone was awake and waited for Hasib. After I got back home, my mother said, “Hasib left me, did you also want to leave me now?” Everyone was worried that something would happen to my mother after hearing about Hasib’s passing because she had high blood pressure. For this reason, we tried to not tell her at once and suddenly. But I was surprised to find that my mother was quite strong that night. She would comfort me and tell me to have patience. My father paced the room that night until morning. Sometimes, he would come by my side and comfort me and some other times, I would talk with him. Each moment passed heavily and bitterly. Everything felt bothersome and unkind.

The following day, early in the morning, we went to Hasib once again. The mortuary of Wazir Akbar Khan had a busy day ahead. From that early in the morning, we saw large crowds of people who had come to collect the bodies of their loved ones. We, too, collected the lifeless body of our beloved and went toward Forensic Hospital. That day and the day after it when we brought Hasib’s body from the Forensic Hospital to the mosque, I took a long look at him. Even when I was by his body, I felt calm. Asadullah, my elder brother who lived abroad, wanted to come to the country for the funeral. He was able to reach Kabul around one in the afternoon on Friday and we decided to hold the funeral at two o’clock on the same day. That day when we brought Hasib to the Mosque from the Forensic Hospital, I saw that Asadullah was impatiently waiting for his brother. He had come to the mosque directly from the airport. I went to his side. He took me in his arms. The hug of a brother is so warm and calming! I became alive once again and took refuge in his arms. That day, I was stronger than the day before because Asad was by my side and Hasib was also in front of my eyes. Around three o’clock, all of us said farewell to Hasib and sent him to his eternal home. The ground became heavier after swallowing so many bodies but the world above it turned empty for us forever with the absence of Hasib.

Hasib is currently living in the memories of us, many of our friends, colleagues, and relatives. Rahmatullah Hasib Nasiri was born on August 26, 1986 in Shaki Nawka of Qarabagh District in Ghazni Province. He finished school in 2004. He had a Bachelors in Certified Accounting Technician (CAT) from Bakhtar Private University and held a post-graduate degree from a Malaysian university in ACCA (the Association of Chartered Certified Accountants). He was an instructor at the American University of Afghanistan and had previously worked with Care International in Afghanistan, Actionaid Afghanistan, and finance initiative of the United Nations. At the time of his death, Hasib was an employee of Roshan Telecommunication Company as the Finance Controller of the company and was a member of the High Board of Accountants of Afghanistan. He was a hope for his family and country which was lost and is no longer with us. Like thousands of other innocent souls of this country, he became the victim of extremism, violence, and terror.

No statement

He Died From Gunshots

Narrator: Hussaindad Tabish (victim’s nephew)

Victim: Mohammad Alidad

Date of incident: 2000

Place of incident: Sauf Valley Market, Samangan Province

My uncle’s name is Alidad and he did not have any surname. I do not remember his birth year but the year he died. He died twenty years ago, in the year 2000. He was born in Bamiyan and he was a farmer in Bamiyan’s center called Dehzardak Shaidan Town. He also used to live there. There were no schools back then but he had studied a bit under a cleric. He knew just enough to be able to read.

He had not married and was single. He became a martyr in 2000 at 20-years-old, but the exact date is not known. I was a kid back then and at that time [time of incident], I was not there. It was during the Taliban regime. We are originally from Shahidan. But when the Taliban came to Shahidan, they looted and took everything. All our possessions and our cows, everything we had, they took it all.

The men fled Bamiyan Province. I do not remember these incidents, but these stories are what I have heard from my father and grandfather. When the Taliban came, they took all our property and possessions. Other than that, our people fled the area towards mountains and deserts. After they [the Taliban] left, the people came back and took their belongings to migrate towards Khakdu, Zardakao, and Sauf Valley. After coming to Sauf Valley, we resided there for a while. My uncle went out to the market to buy groceries but he was killed on his way.

The Taliban were responsible, yes! It was almost in the afternoon. My uncle was alone when they shot him. A bullet struck his shoulder. I think he fled to the jungle to hide among the trees but he was sprayed with bullets and died from the gunshots. The place of the incident was the market itself, Sauf Valley market.

The Sauf Valley market was completely under the control of the Taliban. It was under their total control. Although I do not have precise information, it was surely taken [by the Taliban]. They must have controlled all of the market or a large portion of it. For instance, the Taliban went to and from that area. At that time, my uncle went to the market and even got bread or something similar, but he was killed on his way back. At that time, all of our family was in Samangan.

A person named Aziz Rahimi broke the news of his death. At that time, Aziz Rahimi was a commander or something of the same effect, I think. He almost had a sort of kinship with my uncle and he broke the news of his death to us. Unfortunately, I do not remember the name of the area we lived in. All I know is that it was in the surrounding areas of the Sauf Valley market. We got the news at night. Aziz Rahimi had not brought his body, he was only informed that Alidad had been killed. They took the body directly to the mosque and from there, to the cemetery. So my father, Aziz Rahimi, and some other local people went to the place of the incident. Without a doubt, the death of a person, whether they were young or old, is painful. Especially, for Alidad – though I do not remember and this is what my family says – who was a calm, kind, well-mannered, and good young man. While at home, he always treated everyone well, like his mother, grandmother, my father, and other family members. When my grandmother heard the news, she collapsed. She fainted several times and from then on, she has become ill. There has never been once (since the incident) when she has been well and healthy; she could not regain her health. She is always unwell and there is always someone who helps her get up and go around. She is not able to get up on her own. She always thinks about my martyred uncle. She says if only Alidad had a son, or wishes that he had been older, but they lost him when he was so young.

[Alidad’s death was difficult] for the rest of the family members. For my father, it was very difficult because after we lost our uncle, my grandfather also passed away and he was left in all the hardships of life alone. This was also when we had nothing left. The Taliban had looted all our property and cattle. They took everything we had. We could only save ourselves from that place. Other than that, we did not have anything we could use for charity and other commemorative ceremonies after the funeral for my uncle and grandfather. We could not afford that. Those times were truly difficult for my father. When you think about it, it was like he would leave his bed and go out several times at night just to cry. My uncle provided for the family, along with my father, as farmers. He would work actively as a breadwinner.

There was no fighting when we were in Samangan, but before this incident, there used to be fighting. It was around afternoon when my uncle had left toward the market to buy bread or something similar. Possibly, the Taliban were in those areas. After he went to the market, got the bread, and was coming back, they spotted him and fired at him. There was no fighting there. There were no intense fights, but those areas were under the control of the Taliban. The fighting had just stopped but it did not make a difference to the Taliban whether the person outside is a civilian or not, because no one left their homes out of fear. He had only gone out to get food so that we do not starve to death. His grave is still there in Samangan but sadly, it is too far from us. It is really far from our place. My grandmother always wishes we were closer so that she could visit his grave one more time.

My grandmother is still alive but she is very weak. She could not recover from my uncle’s death, although she is not very old. My grandmother only had two sons: only Alidad, my uncle, and the other is my father. After my uncle died, she said that her life became incomplete. Since then, she has been bedridden and sick. She is still alive but she is very weak; extremely weak.

I have [paternal] aunts, yes! I have four aunts. All of them are married. At that time, we were around eight members in our family when my father and uncle worked. We have our own home in Bamiyan. When the Taliban came to our areas, they pillaged, plundered, and set fire to everything. They took our possessions and cattle with them. After that, we left that place and came here. We did not know anything here. The houses which we lived in, no one has told me whether they were rented or not, so I do not have any details on that matter.

A very long time ago, I am not sure when but long ago, my grandfather used to assemble people for fighting. In one of those fights, my grandfather was injured and lost one leg. After that, he was unable to provide for the family so all the responsibility as the guardian fell on my father’s shoulders.

As far as I can remember, my grandmother has a handkerchief. She had gotten my uncle that handkerchief when he used to work somewhere. He had bunched up the handkerchief into the shape of a ball and used to play with it as a ball with us and anyone else that was at home. When he would come back home, we used play with the ball-shaped handkerchief. That handkerchief is still with my grandmother back home. My uncle also used to love to read and write. I have some of his notebooks and similar things with me. It has been many years that we have preserved them with us. They are very dear to us. Very much dear to all of us. But if the place (War Victim Museum: Center for Dialogue and Memory in Afghanistan) is safe, we will surely send it [to you]. We would definitely give them to you as a way to commemorate him but if it gets lost or misplaced, for example, then we cannot give them to you unfortunately.

There has not been any instance when they tell stories about my uncle to us because after every time there is a mention of him, everyone becomes absolutely silent at our home. But yes, the things that are mentioned very, very, very much are his good behavior and manners toward others. They say he had a lot of respect for elders. At home, he was always good to his mother. He always treated his mother, father, brother, and sister-in-law very well. One other thing that they mention is that he had a keen liking to me. Whenever he would come back home, he would hold my hands and lift me to play with me, whether I was asleep or awake. Also, he would lift me from where I was sleeping to wake me up to spend time with me.

God bless and thank you for your program. It is a very interesting and good program. Truly, no family wants to be away from the memory of their lost loved one. Their good manners and behaviors, and all of their characteristics are always remembered. They are always remembered by the family and after I heard about your program, I became really happy. I thought that this program will commemorate the victims for centuries, and we can see all of the things that occurred many years ago. It is possible that everything that he left behind, his pictures or pieces of writings, could be lost, torn, or misplaced at home, but here it will be preserved. I am happy with your program. Thank you and best of luck.

No statement

He Died from Attack Helicopter Bullets

Husniya Khademi is a housewife and is the third narrator of this incident. She is narrating from her mother’s perspective. This story tells of the massacre in Bamiyan during the Soviet occupation. Many lost their lives at that time and bodies were buried in mass graves.

Narrator: Husniya Khademi (granddaughter of a sibling)

Victim: Reza Bakhsh Zawar (43-years-old)

Place of incident: Shahidan, Bamiyan Province

Date of incident: 1979

In spring of 1979, the Soviet soldiers shot him to death in the Shahidan area of Bamiyan Province. Reza Bakhsh Zawar was born in Norka Village, Sia Dara area of Bamiyan Province. During the years of the Soviet attacks, my mother’s uncle went to Shahidan area to look after his nephew. As a result of the rounds of fire by Soviet attack helicopters on the people of Shahidan area, he, along with forty other people, were killed. One bullet hit his head and the other hit his chest. The dead bodies remained on the ground for several days until the Soviet attacks calmed down, after which the people gathered to bury all the bodies in a mass grave without any graveclothes.

My mother’s uncle (Reza Bakhsh Zawar) was a farmer. He was married with a daughter and a son. His parents had died previously and he did not have any siblings. His body was left where he had died for a week. His wife did not know about his death, but after my father went to that area and came back, he informed her. His wife left the village one month after his death. Their house, which my uncle is taking care of, is still there to this day. The widow was the breadwinner of the family and they migrated to Iran where she worked to support two of her children. Afterward, her son broke his leg in a traffic accident and he can no longer work. Also, my mother’s aunt, who had cancer, went to Iran but passed away in the spring of 2019. She left behind two sons and two daughters.

The life of Reza Bakhsh Zawar’s widow was good in Iran at the beginning, but her son’s (Asad) traffic accident has caused a toll on them. The victim’s widow passed away last year in Iran, and her daughter also passed away this year. Asad is married and has one daughter. He is forced to provide for her despite his physical disadvantage.

We Still Have Father’s Bullet-Torn Blanket

Jaweda is a student at Bamiyan University. She is sharing the story of losing her father based on how her mother had narrated it to her. She retells the story of hardship that her mother experienced after she lost her husband.

Narrator: Jaweda (victim’s daughter)

Victim: Sayed Mohammad Alam Hussaini

Date of incident: 1998

Place of incident: Bamiyan

His name was Sayed Mohammad Alam Hussaini and he was 23 or 25-years-old. Yes, he was very young. He died on the year as I was born, in 1998. His place of birth and residence was Bamiyan Province and he belonged to the Bedmishkeen area of Yakaolang District. He had studied only until second or third grade. Due to some problems, he was not able to continue his education. He was a farmer by occupation but in his free time, he usually read books and could write as well. After my father’s death, we migrated to Iran for three years. My father died on December 30.

When we migrated to Iran, we did not take any of his belongings or writings with us. After we came back, none of his possessions were there either. I do not have any brothers. It is just my mother and three of my sisters. We did not have anyone to help us so we had no other choice but to leave for Iran. That is why we do not have any of my father’s possessions that I could bring here today with me. There is only one blanket left. When the fighting happened, [my father sent] all of us to the mountains to flee from danger. My mother, three sisters, and I were in the mountains when my father had gone to bring a blanket to keep us warm. It was winter so it was cold. He was moving toward the mountain with the blanket when he was shot at. The bullet struck his back and left a hole through the blanket. I have brought the torn blanket with me today. After going to and coming back from Iran, we no longer had my father’s personal items with us. He had many diaries filled with his writings but he did not have anyone else here to preserve them. He only had us but we had left to Iran at that time.

It is mountainous here and he was struck with a bullet while he was walking towards the mountain. My grandfather and cousins brought us and my father back from the mountain. Afterward, I think my father was alive for one more day because there were no hospitals back then advanced enough to treat a bullet wound like that. Yes, they did not exist back then. After one day, my father passed away in our home in Bedmishkeen area. They [grandfather and cousins] had brought him back home since if he had been shot in his abdomen, he could not be saved. They did not take him to the hospital. He was alive for one day before passing away. Only the families of my cousin and mine went to the mountain, but there was another woman from Bedmishkeen coming toward the mountain with my father. However, she survived and is still alive today. Only my father was lost. We did not stay in the mountain after that. Only my father died.

The first time I heard about the fighting, people were saying that it was not that intense and not many people had been killed. The next time, the fighting was intense [had more casualties too] and maybe that is why it was over sooner. The people returned to their homes from their places of hiding in the mountains. Maybe that is why we also came back home. My grandfather brought us to Akhundu area about one week after the attack. My grandfather, who had become our guardian after my father, along with my three uncles and cousins buried my father. We only had them. My father was buried near a shrine called “Shah Qalandar” in Bedmishkeen area.

My mother was young and she tells us about the problems and hardships that we faced [after my father’s death]. She tells us about the [difficult] life she had. Obviously, my mother was very young. She only had three daughters with only one year gap between them. My mother was very young. She said that when my father died, there were not many casualties. There was no one to emphasize with her and tell her they are with her to support her. There were no such things. My mother fought [for us] all alone and faced many hardships. She even says that we did not even have shoes. She used to patch and sew our shoes together. We had a lot of such problems. When my grandfather was alive, he took us under his guardianship and he used to provide for our living expenses. He had four wives and my father was from his eldest [first] wife. My father did not have full-siblings. He only had one full-sister who lives in Iran. As for my uncles (father’s half-brothers), except for creating problems for us, they do not provide any help. As long as my grandfather was alive, my uncles used to help us. Now that he is no more, we have no one to help us. Three of my sisters are married now. Before that, we used to make hand sown [items] and sell them in the market. Also, before we sold our cow, we used to make ends meet that way.

I do not know the details [of how the incident took place]. I don’t know, maybe when he was fleeing towards the mountain, they were there and fired at him. Other than that, I do not have any more information. My mother says she could not enjoy her youth and how it went. There is a lump in her stomach area and when we ask her about it, she responds that it is all because of grief and sadness. She tells us that it is because of stress and worry that that area has hardened and now she is unwell. Her hands and feet hurt. She has worked a lot and now her wrist joints all hurt. We cannot even afford to treat her. There are some problems which prevents us from taking her to the hospital for treatment and her betterment.

I am a university student now. When I got accepted to the university, I told my mother that I would not go because she did not have the money to give me to go study. She told me to go because God is merciful; He has helped us until now without my father and He shall continue to help us.

I currently live in Bamiyan and with the seven thousand provided for living expenses, I manage. We do not have a financial support or a brother that can work, we only have my mother and she is unwell now. She is old and cannot work to provide for me. She cannot go work and give me money. Currently, with the living allowance that my university provides for me, I manage. My father was a hard worker and used to work in the fields day and night because he was a farmer. He was young back then. I heard from many people, they praised [how hard working] my father was. He was youthful and always used to work hard to provide for his family in an honest manner. Despite that, my mother tells me that my grandfather used to punish my father a lot and used his catchphrase, “may God take you young” a lot. However, I do not know the reason why he used to say that. Even then, my father always respected my grandfather and always worked hard to keep him happy and satisfied. Yes [we have pictures of my father], which one should I bring? Yes, [we live in Bedmishkeen currently] in a single room which my grandfather had given us at that time. My uncles are fighting over that now but we still live in that home.

I Identified Her from Her Ring, Earring, And Skirt

Maryam Hussaini was born on June 26, 1994, in Zardney Village, Shahristan District, Daikundi Province. She is five years younger than her sister, Najiba, who she looked to as a role model. Maryam has a BA in environmental studies from Kabul University and a BA in computer science. Currently, she is working with the Health and Social Care Organization in Daikundi. This narrative has been recorded by Afghanistan's Human Rights and Democracy Organization (AHRDO). Maryam had to search for her sister among tens of dead bodies. Therefore, she cried several times while narrating this narrative.

Narrator: Maryam Hussaini (victim's sister)

Victim: Najiba Hussaini

Date of incident: July 24, 2015

Venue of incident: Sar-e Kariz area, District 3, Kabul City

I am Maryam Hussaini, sister of Najiba Hussaini. I am 24-years-old and five years younger than Najiba. When the incident happened, Najiba was 28-years-old. She was born in 1989 in Shahristan District, Daikundi Province. She was the first child of my parents. I was born five years after her, and then my five brothers were born. Najiba was martyred in the incident on July 26, 2015, in the Sar-e Kariz area. When such an incident happens, the Taliban or Daesh usually take responsibility. But no one knows who is responsible for this attack.

Najiba was not supposed go to her office that day. She had taken leave from her office. Her passport was expired. She was supposed to apply for her new passport as she was planning to go on a trip abroad. In fact, she left home that day with such intention. I had left for the university an hour earlier than Najiba. At the university, I heard the explosion from Sar-e Kariz, District 3, Kabul City. When I heard the explosion, I thought that Najiba should not have been on her way to the office at this time along with other employees. I thought she would leave home later as she was planning to follow up on her passport renewal. I called her, but her phone was off. You know, it is a usual reaction for us Afghans to call our loved ones as the first thing after an explosion to make sure none of our family members are hurt. So, the first person I called was Najiba, as others were either at home or were not at that route at that time.

The second person I called was Mr. Rezaie. I thought he might know about her. When I called Rezaie, he had just left home for his office. He said that, unfortunately, he did not know either. He said that he knew there was a suicide attack but did not know about Najiba.

We went to different hospitals. I was hoping that she might have been injured or simply that her mobile phone was not working as it was common after such incidents. However, I could not think that such a significant incident had happened.

It was 7 am when we started searching for her, hoping that she might be injured or her phone was lost. We thought we should rush and take her to a better hospital if she was injured. The last hospital that was searched was the Police 200-Bed Hospital. It was around 11 am that we found Najiba's body there.

I was at the university when the attack happened. The first hospital I searched was Muwla Ali Hospital, the closest hospital to the explosion’s site. We were also told that the wounded were taken to that hospital. We found an injured person called Najiba on the list of that hospital with no severe injuries. As we searched further, we found that there were two martyrs in the same hospital. The hospital’s steps were covered with blood. It was the first time that I saw humankind's blood. For the first time, I saw pieces of human bodies. This was very difficult for me.

We searched many other hospitals afterward. But we could not find Najiba. That injured person, also called Najiba, was a school student. Najiba's body was not identifiable in the hospital where we found her. I identified a hand cut from her body and a silver earring in her ear. A part of her face was fused. The other thing we could identify was a piece of her clothes that she had worn at her MA graduation in Japan. That day, she wore the same clothes. It was tough for me. At the hospital, the officials did not let the extended family identify the corpse. It had to be someone from their immediate family. As my mother was living in Daikundi, it was only me. My aunties were there, but the hospital officials were not letting them go and identify the corpse. They were saying it had to be her sister. My brother first went to see the corpse. When he saw the corpse, he was shocked. I took him to the hospital. Then it was only I who had to go and identify the corpse. This was my first time and worst memory of seeing pieces of human bodies. I kept opening the coffins to find my sister. It was very difficult for me. I identified her from her ring, an earring in her ear, a part of her face that was not damaged, and a piece of her skirt.

All my hopes were destroyed there. There was no hope of searching for other hospitals. I opened the coffins three times. The doctors insisted to make sure we were not taking the wrong corpus. They were saying: "You must be very careful. You must be very strong and precise so that, God forbid, you do not take the wrong corpse instead of your sister's corpse." Therefore, I had to search the corpses three times. I was sure for several reasons. First, her hand was cut at the explosion site and it was intact, and I identified her from her ring. A piece of her skirt was also beside the coffin, and her earring was fused on her face. These clues made us sure that it was Najiba.

As our family members, colleagues, and friends got the news of the incident, everyone gathered and started searching for Najiba. We were divided into different groups. I was with Mr. Rezaie and some other relatives. We went to every hospital in Kabul, and there was a possibility that the injured ones might have been transported there. So the first thing we would do was to list the injured ones. We visited all these hospitals but could not find Najiba's name among their injured person list, except a Najib, who was 16-years-old and was a school student. First, we hoped that she would be our Najiba. But unfortunately, she was a Najiba of another family. We are happy that at least that Najiba was alive. When we could not find our Najiba in the list of wounded persons, we were forced to search among the martyrs and the torn bodies of martyrs. When I went to morgues, at the same time, an incident had happened in one of the provinces, and there were so many corpses of policemen. There were so many corpses, and it was very difficult for me. I had not seen a human corpus before; forget about bodies fused and torn into pieces.

I visited every coffin three times in search of Najiba, and then, I was sure. I told them it was her and did not know what happened next. I do not know how long I was unconscious at the hospital, for example, when they decided to transport the corpse. Once I opened my eyes, I realized that we were transporting the corpse to Daikundi. And it was very difficult that while searching for Najiba among the corpses, my father and mother kept calling me. I told them that there was such an incident and that they should pray that Najiba's car had not been the target. But they were distraught and wanted to ensure that Najiba was not among the incident's victims. It was very difficult for me to tell my father and my mother that such a horrible incident had happened. Finally, when I was sure it was Najiba's corpse and she was no longer alive, I had to tell my mother to prepare her. When my mother called me for the last time, all I could say to her was that Najiba was no longer among us. I do not know what else I told her. That is the toughest thing I ever told my mother. So that is how it happened. A year and few months after the incident, we still must deal with it.

Najiba and I were together in Daikundi only during our childhood and teenage years. After she finished school, she went to Bamiyan to give the university entrance exam and then moved to Kabul to study languages. So we were separated when I was in the seven or eight class of school. However, my mother always says that we were good during our childhood. She says we were very close and kind to each other and that she does not remember if we ever argued about anything.

Our childhood and teenage years were excellent. After Najiba moved to Kabul, it was the winter that year when she got a full scholarship in India as she had held the first position in all her school. We did not know that Najiba had the first position in her school. After that, she got a scholarship, and we understood that she had held the first position in all her schools, from first class to 12th class. Therefore, she was nominated and won a scholarship in India.

So Najiba moved to India, and I stayed in Daikundi with my mother. Najiba returned to Kabul after three years and completing her studies. I also came to Kabul to continue my education here. At the time, I was in 11th class. So it was the time that we reunited after almost four years. But our family was still living in Daikundi, and it was only us residing in Kabul.

Then, Najiba got a job at the Ministry of Mines. I was busy preparing for the university entrance exam and my school studies. After three years, Najiba won a competitive scholarship to study for a master's degree in Japan. So Najiba went to Japan while I stayed in Kabul and continued my studies. At that time, I was studying at Kabul University.

We both hoped and insisted on studying the same field. Our dreams were always the same. Najiba had studied Computer Science and I was accepted into Geology. So I also enrolled in Computer Science at a private university. I finished it this year.

Najiba got her MA in Computer Science and Information Technology. When she returned to the country in 2016, we reunited after almost three years. We, two sisters, had a happy and good life. It is a calm life. I am not saying it was a luxury. We were enjoying our simple lives and were moving to reach the peak of our happiness. We were getting close to our goals. Najiba had almost already reached her goals. I was trying to get there as well.

Najiba had only lived in Afghanistan for seven months when this attack happened. She was preparing for her wedding those days. We were planning to hold her engagement party in Daikundi a week or two after the incident. We mourned for the 40th day of her killing exactly when we planned to celebrate her wedding. Unfortunately, this incident happened. I have good memories with her. We went to Daikundi for the 2017 Eid. All the family members were together. On the second day of Eid, we traveled to Nili, where my aunt lived. My father was driving, and we, two sisters, were busy photographing and creating memories. Then, we traveled to Band-e Amir, Bamiyan. It was for the first time that we visited Band-e Amir.

It was very hard to deal with this incident for my mother. I was seriously sick after the incident, I was hospitalized, and had two operations. It was very difficult for my mother, who had already lost one daughter and was preparing to lose the second one. Even she had forgotten Najiba's death.

I hope and pray that no other family becomes a victim. Today I am telling this story and hoping it reaches those who commit such horrible crimes. At least with our repeated voice, their consciences trail them and stop them from committing such crimes against any other family. And no one mourns for the loss of their loved ones. So I am hopeful for that day and pray peace comes.

We do not know whose hands were behind the incident. The Taliban and Daesh usually take responsibility after each incident, whether big or small. And we also know that the Taliban and Daesh are fake. So probably, someone else's hands are involved behind the scenes. I hope the day comes that these people will be held accountable in front of their consciouses and that their consciouses are awake and do not let them commit such a crime against any other family whose members have not committed any sins. At least, they do not take their happiness.

No statement

No statement

Bamiyan Exists in the Government’s Blind Eye

Mohammad Zohak, as explained in the beginning of his speech, has graduated as a sociology major from Bamiyan University. He is a calm man. While talking, he speaks in a calm manner and explains the incident in all its details from memory. He has profound respect for his uncle, Jawad Zohak, and therefore, uses honorific words such as “Eishan” and “Raees Sahib” constantly while talking about him. To avoid repetition, we have omitted these words from the text below, except in few instances. At the time of the incident, all responsibilities fell on Mohammad Zohak's shoulders. Consequently, he has experienced a difficult time. He mentions those incidents and happenings in his life with confidence.

Narrator: Mohammad Zohak (victim’s nephew)

Victim: Jawad Zohak

Date of incident: June 7, 2011

Place of incident: Pul Rangan, Ghorband Valley, Parwan Province

My name is Mohammad and my surname is Zohak. I have a bachelors degree in social sciences and have graduated from Bamiyan University’s sociology major. I was born in Qufqool Village, Yakaolang District of Bamiyan Province. I am married with one child. I am the nephew of martyr Jawad Zohak. When he passed away, he was 44-years-old. He was also born in Bamiyan’s Yakaolang District in Qufqool Village, which is part of Sia Dara. Sia Dara is a zone and Qufqool is a village.

He was the chair of the Provincial Council and the people’s representative. Jawad Zohak had studied until twelfth grade. He had participated in the night-time Kankor Examination but did not succeed, unfortunately. His place of study was in Dasurkh High School in Yakaolang District. He was married and had three children: two sons and one daughter. His eldest child was his daughter and at that time, she was around 14-years-old. His two sons were 12 and 10-years-old. His daughter’s name is Freshta, his eldest son is called Farhad, and the last child is named Milad. At the time of the incident, all three were students at the center of Bamiyan. Their residence at that time was in Bamiyan, Zargaran area of the Safa Shahrak. We were there together.

On June 3, 2011, while travelling towards Bamiyan from Kabul, Jawad Zohak was captured by the Taliban in the Sia Gard area in Ghorband District. He had just participated in a conference in Herat which was for all Provincial Council chairs. He was killed on June 7, 2011, after five days in captivity.

He left Kabul around four in the morning or even earlier. Around six thirty, he was stopped in that area by the Taliban. He was with other passengers.

It was a Friday that day. It was June 3, 2011, when he was passing by Pul Rangan. They took him to the other side in Qumchaq Village. When the vehicle he was originally traveling in reached Shaikh Ali area, then since the people knew him, they informed the Provincial Council that the chair of the council was taken by the Taliban. We were informed around seven o’clock. Half an hour. Only with a half an hour delay. They had taken him to Qumchaq Village. He was kept there until his last living days.

I was informed later since there was no network where I was. The passengers and the driver he was with informed the Provincial Council. Then, the council informed our family. In just an hour or an hour and a half, even the television networks were informed. Tolo News had a news ticker that the Bamiyan Provincial Council chair was taken by the Taliban. Some news outlets had released a short news segment about the incident. Almost all of the family and relatives got to know about the incident through TV news channels.

No, they had not taken anyone. They had not taken anyone else but him. They had stopped just the car that the Provincial Council chair was in and let all the other cars go. When I got network connection, I was informed that my uncle had been captured in Pul Rangan in Ghorband. Unfortunately, I could not take any action. Naturally, in a state where a person like him is captured – that too by a brutal, terror group – it is difficult to manage yourself normally. It is difficult to manage yourself in those circumstances. Even now that I am talking about it, explaining it is difficult for me. Later, the local people, Bamiyan Provincial Council, other influential figures in Bamiyan, and some friends gathered in a mosque and decided that a team should go negotiate with the people in Sai Gard of Ghorband District about the reason why a people’s representative was taken and what they want from him. He is neither part of the military nor the government, he is a civilian. He is the representative of the people. If they [the captors] are against the government, then he, too, as a civil activist (despite people saying all kinds of things about him) has criticized the government and called it incompetent as part of his civil activities. So... what is it that you want?

In the end, six people were selected and they negotiated for around three or four days. At first, we would get good news. The negotiating team did not hear from him [Jawad] on the first day. Until the team found the elders of their community and got in touch with them to get [my uncle] released on the second day. I remember precisely that it was seven in the morning when they said that they would return the chair of the Provincial Council. We prepared to go to welcome him back. Well, we prepared around four o’clock to go to Ghorband and bring raees sahib. However, they called to inform us that his release was delayed and it might happen tomorrow instead. The people from the team of representative that were selected by the people to negotiate my uncle’s release called, which caused our family to wait until tomorrow in hopelessness. The next day, we were told that around nine, nine-thirty, or ten o’clock, raees sahib would be released. However, just like the previous day, his release was cancelled. On the fourth day, we did not hear any news about his release. There were rumors that Zohak was not even alive and that they were lying about releasing him. He had already been killed.

The members of the negotiating team and other influential figures who left Bamiyan were assured that the chair of the Provincial Council was still alive. They once again contacted to ask what the captors wanted from them and whether it was money that they wanted. They shall give them the money. If this person [referring to the victim] has harmed you in anyway, we shall compensate the harm. This continued on until the last day, when they said they would release him. He was supposed to be released at seven in the morning but then it got cancelled to eleven o’clock. And then, it was cancelled again. They said he would be released at seven in the evening.

It was around 11:30 PM. Around that time, the news outlets announced that the Taliban killed Bamiyan’s Provincial Council chair. The next day, they had thrown his body by the side of the road and sadly, planted land mines around him. Until that time, we still had a bit of hope because we wanted to wait until the body was identified and his death could be confirmed. There were land mines around his body so no one could get close until an expert team of bomb diffusers came to Shaikh Ali area from Parwan’s military unit. The people had zoomed on his face with their camera but they said his face could not be seen so it was not clear whether it was Zohak or someone else. After the team came and diffused the land mines, they identified the body as the chair of the Provincial Council. After that, we took the body to Parwan. From there, it was transported to Bamiyan via a helicopter. It was around four in the afternoon when we brought the martyr’s body to Bamiyan.

No, they did not ask for any ransom or anything like that. Like I mentioned previously, there were days when they would say he was going to be released. Some days, they said this two times and on the last day, they said it three times. From seven in the morning, to eleven in morning, and seven in the evening, they were saying he would be released. [They said] now that the people and influential figures came from Bamiyan, we will let him go. They were killing time like this until, unfortunately, we lost him.

One of the people who negotiated with the Taliban directly – I do not remember his name – was the focal person between the people of Bamiyan and the Taliban. He would deliver their word to us and ours to the Taliban. That person used to say that the Taliban will release raees sahib. After everything was over and raees sahib became a martyr, we were told that the Taliban had asked their elders – who were either part of the Quetta Shura or something, or were inside Afghanistan - whether to release him. But they decided that he would not be freed.

The negotiating team did not meet with Zohak at all. The Taliban did not even allow the team to talk with the victim on the phone. Also, even when one person from the family agreed to go there and see the victim just once to be sure he was alive, that was not allowed. No such thing happened. They took his life in a short span of time. If they had told this beforehand, more effort could have been taken at that time. Unfortunately, as I mentioned previously, you cannot manage yourself normally in such a situation because it is very difficult. We are a big family of around 18 to 20 people living together in a house. Trying to calm his family and children and other members of the family was a difficult task.

Under those circumstances, each relative gives a certain advice and one says to do this while the other says to do that, which puts you in a crossroad. At that time, we were not able to manage the situation as we should have or would have. As a result, they [the captors] also came to the conclusion that if this situation gets dragged longer, they might get calls from the higher ups and be forced to release him. Since he was the chair of the Provincial Council and had spent admirable years during the Jihad, he also knew many politicians, be it from Tajiks, Pashtuns, or Hazaras. He had met and interviewed many politicians up the ladder in the government. He had served as the people’s representative for two terms in Bamiyan. All in all, he was well known, so that is why the captors decided to finish the job quickly.

Unfortunately, there were many injuries on his body which indicated torture. It is very difficult for me to say this. His skull bone had become completely soft. His whole body was covered in bruises and injury; he was tortured. There was bullet wound and traces of torture. His bones were broken. The majority of his face was not recognizable. He did not have any kind of animosity with the Taliban. He was the people’s representative, not police or the army. He always traveled through land between Kabul and Bamiyan, although air travel was not available at that time. The airport in Bamiyan was not like it is today and the runway was unpaved. The airlines operating in Bamiyan today did not operate at that time. There was one airline called ‘Pactech’ but everyone preferred land travel over traveling on their airplane. I also have a memory of it. I came to Kabul on that airplane. As though it was going over the land like a car. Air travel was not available at that time as it is today, except for UNAMA which had a helicopter that came to Bamiyan sometimes. The heads of provincial offices, members of the provincial councils, and parliament members travelled with the help of their colleagues in UNAMA. Other than that, there were no airline companies which had scheduled flights during the week. In general, Jawad travelled on land. In addition, there were no such incidents on the Kabul-Bamiyan, Ghorband, and Maidan Wardak routes. You could say that it was completely unprecedented and such thing had happened for the very first time. Other than that, it is not known who had reported him as everyone said something. Certainly, the Taliban have people in all the paths between one province to the other. The other passengers with him and the car which came to deliver his bag to us said that only their car was stopped to pull raees sahib out, and the rest were told to leave. They said the captors came directly towards Zohak while he was in the passenger seat. As they spotted raees sahib in the car, they pulled him out of the car and told everyone else to leave. From what the driver said, it is evident that his whereabouts were reported. It was not an accident.

[Mohamamd Zohak stays silent in response to the question about the condition of Zohak’s wife and children upon receiving his body] Well, it was a difficult time. Although death is inevitable, the sudden death of a loved one who had traveled and you were waiting for his return, is difficult. The fact that the loved one’s body is returned to you is difficult. Although I was not at home at that time, I got a call from Parwan. From what I remember, Parwan’s governor had called the family that the body of raees sahib was transported to the airport in Parwan. He had informed the family that two helicopters will bring his body to Bamiyan. After that, deputy of the minister of defense, General Jawhari – he was a deputy back then – also called that he will reach Bamiyan in an hour. We were busy with these things back then. The airport that you saw, at that time, was unpaved and a helicopter landed. From there, the people accompanied the victim’s corpse to Rahbar Shaheed mosque inside the market area. Yes, on foot... Then, it was decided to not bury him on that day. The elders of Bamiyan and the council made the decision to bury him the next day because many government officials were coming from Kabul. The president’s representative and the provincial council representatives were to come the next day. After a small ceremony, we took the body to the hospital and kept it in the mortuary fridge. By the time we got back home, it was around 7:30-8:00 in the night. It was dark outside when we reached home. The situation in our house was unimaginable and uncontrollable. I was not very old or mature when Zohak died and I became the caretaker of the family. I am around 30-34 years old and this incident took place about 8 or 9 years ago. Managing the household was difficult. His wife, sons and daughter, and my sister and mother, all of us were part of the same household. Although he was a boss and the chair of a provincial council, with his family and extended relatives, he was always like a friend. Without him, we are around 7-8 brothers. With our sisters and other family members, he was always very nice. But when this incident took place, everyone was shocked. It is hard to describe how the situation was at that time.

Still, with whatever little ability we had, we managed ourselves. That night was a very difficult night. By the next day, when the representatives of the provincial council were supposed to come, a number of representatives from Herat, Mazar, and Bamiyan came for the funeral. The next day, we were busy with the funeral and burial of our martyr. As the head of the family, in a way, all of the responsibility for the funeral and burial was on my shoulders. We had funeral ceremonies one after the other. There were ceremonies here and in Yakaolang. After the ceremony in Yakaolang, we had another funeral ceremony in Kabul. I was responsible for the family as well as all the funeral ceremonies. We were busy with those and so was the rest of the family. Well, he was an important and big person. Despite all the difficulties, his death was unbelievable for us. Meaning, it was difficult to bear it. On the other hand, we were obliged to follow the customs and traditions of our society. We were busy with these things until the fortieth day of his passing.

Regarding the reason why this incident happened, he had a saying, if you have heard it, that if the government does not have the money to pave the streets in Bamiyan despite it being an important province and the center of tourism in Afghanistan, then the people will do it themselves. He paved the street in Bamiyan’s market area, all of the streets there. This was a form of civil protest against the government’s neglect. He was protesting for the streets, drinkable water, and issues of electricity. We have a roundabout in Bamiyan called Alakain roundabout. Zohak, along with his other civil activist colleagues, decided to install a lamp so that Bamiyan becomes illuminated. He had a famous saying during Karzai’s term that went like, ‘One eye of the government is blind and unfortunately, Bamiyan exist in the side of that blind eye and that is why they get no attention from the government.’ He was always a critic of the government in a way. However, on his last trip to Herat, two representatives from each provincial council were present. The conference was important in terms of its accountability towards people. Since provincial councils are bodies that observe the government’s actions, even in the conference during his speech, there were some problems and it was about to get cancelled. That was his last engagement with the government. In my opinion, the government was capable – the government has that much power to free the chair of a provincial council from few Taliban members – to save him under those circumstances, as the protection and security of the people is the responsibility of the government. I can say in confidence that the government was negligent. They were so negligent that even the defense deputy minister had posted on his Facebook page that even foreigners were asking for the release of the provincial council chair. They had requested the government for one or two people who could rescue him as foreign nationals were not allowed to use aircrafts and send people to rescue someone who was not their fellow countryman. They had even found the place where raees sahib was held and told [the government] that he was kept in a room with another person. They requested for one or two people to be sent there via a helicopter to rescue Zohak.

The government did not respond to this matter either, unfortunately. I want to say there is a sort of collusion between the government and the Taliban. In all the issues of districts collapsing; the conflict in Kunduz; the conflict in Baghlan; in the assassination of Burhanuddin Rabbani and other assassinations; even Karzai’s brother, who was the head of a provincial council, was assassinated; in all these matters, the government is aware and there is a collusion between them and the Taliban. Those who criticize the government in any way, they are not allowed to succeed and are not tolerated. I am certain that in the assassination of martyr Jawad Zohak, there was some sort of collusion between the government and the Taliban. Both parties cooperate with each other in such matters.

The impact of this incident was that we lost our family [member], he was everyone’s hope and someone we always relied on. I can say that after losing him, our family no longer has been able to be happy in the true sense of it. We sent his wife and children abroad because guaranteeing their safety was beyond my capability, whether they lived in Bamiyan or Kabul. Although I could also go with them through their [asylum] case, I did not leave. I could not go. I could not let go of this place. [His death] definitely left a negative impact on our lives. Especially on his children, who lost their father and their friend at such a young age. The impact will be felt throughout all their lives. It is difficult for all of us, truly difficult. His children and widow do not have any financial or security problems, but we all have mother and fathers and losing such a great father in such a young age is difficult. For us, the loss of such a significant person has left a huge void in our lives.

We took a lot of initiatives, even submitted a petition to the United Nations. We also sent a copy of it to ten other reputable embassies in Kabul. I submitted the petition to the office of the president myself. I delivered the petition to the deceased former vice president, Marshal Fahim, and personally gave another copy to the second vice president, Mohammad Karim Khalili. As for human rights organizations, we sent a copy to the Afghanistan Independent Human Rights Organization chaired by Ms. Samar. This was all we were able to do but unfortunately, we have not received any response. In 2017, we submitted a complaint to the International Criminal Court in the Hague through your organization but we have not gotten any result so far. Getting a response for such an incident is difficult in Afghanistan but we will still pursue it. Although I am very disappointed, I will still pursue it. We shall participate in such issues. We hope that we will get a result, although the person we lost cannot come back to life. Still, we hope that all our effort will lead to a possibility of bringing these criminals to the court. We shall participate in that. Inshallah just as such atrocities have happened in other countries like in Europe, Latin American, and even the United States, and after years of the people advocating, the perpetrators were brought to justice. We constantly hear from the media that this dictator or that group has been sentenced to life imprisonment or death. We also hope that these people who have committed such acts shall be dragged to the court and be brought to justice. They shall be asked what right they had to make three children without a father and make a family without their guardian. Who has given you such a right? Certainly, it is not God. We are hopeful that one day they will be brought to justice. Just as you explained before and showed a video, we definitely want a part of his [Jawad's] memories to be there [in the museum] although it is part of our customs that when a person becomes a martyr, their clothes and other items are given to poor people and their personal possessions like wristwatches, rings, pens, mobile phone and such are distributed among the close relatives. The ring is given to this person and the wristwatch is given to that person, like the brother or his children. Just like that, after his passing, everything. We even sent some of his personal belongings to his sister abroad to keep as a memory. However, we have a few of his clothes which can be displayed in the [memory] boxes. We shall place his pictures there which are part of his memories. Aside from that, we have kept his shoes which he wore the very last time. It is still at home and we have not given it to anybody. Yes, we have kept it with us. We are willing to place some of his items with his pictures in the [memory boxes]. How can we not be willing?

Although Jawad Zohak was the youngest child from my grandfather, they were eight brothers in total. Only two of his elder brothers are currently with us but the rest six of them, including Jawad, have passed away. He has two sisters. One of them is here in Bamiyan and the other lives abroad, both of them were elder to Jawad. From among our relatives, only the nephews and nieces are left, two of my aunts and uncles. The country they went to as political refugees provides for their expenses. His children study and his widow is busy taking care of them. They are currently studying. One of his sons is in high school and his daughter, who is also the eldest child, is a first-year college student.

All of us had that one house and we still have it now. My grandfather’s house is in Yakaolang but after the end of the Taliban regime and start of the new government, we came here and built this house.

We remember his behavior almost every evening. He had a busy job as the head of the Provincial Council of a whole province and was occupied with meetings with government officials and the people (part of his responsibility was accountability toward the people). He was very fond of nature and even if he could not do it daily, he still took the whole family out to tour around in Bamiyan valleys whenever he had the time. Sometimes he would tour for only an hour and once time, it was just for half an hour. He was very fond of touring around. One of his best characteristics, besides loving the nature as I explained before, was that he played sports and he would always encourage all of us, one way or the other, to exercise. Although at the end times, because he had sustained an injury, he was not very physically strong and because of that injury, could not do heavy sports. He was very capable in three sports which were Taekwondo, Kung Fu, and gymnastics. In his recent times, when he could not do heavy sports, he was interested in playing tennis. He liked playing tennis but there were not many facilities at that time but there was a table tennis inside a hall in Telecommunications Directorate and he always played there. His other good feature was that he never had any bad intentions toward other people. Whenever I would say that this person is not a good person, all from lack of experience, he would tell me, “No, you might not have the experience or the age to pass a judgement on whether a person is good or bad. This might just be your opinion of that person that they are but in reality, they could be good people.” He would tell me that that person might be good but your impression of them might be bad. It is also possible that the other person also has a negative impression of you but that does not mean that either you or that person is bad. He would also tell me that these all are the judgements that we make about people. In general, he did not like improper judgements of people.

He would advise us that such a characteristic was not good. He would always want the good of the people and even today, if you ask the people of Bamiyan, they would tell you about his good behavior. Issues of language, ethnicity, and identity did not matter to him. He would say that we all are humans and that all of us should find a way to live a life that is worthy for a human being. Definitely, all people were not created in once place and all of us belong to a certain district and area, but such issues like a person’s background did not matter to him. He had good behavior. He was very kind to all family members and most of people. If he wanted someone to realize that they had made a mistake, he would do it with humor and in a joking manner. His humorous nature is well known among the politicians, whether they are in Kabul or Bamiyan.