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 gone to take the entrance exam, only to accompany a friend who was keen to get into the Police Academy. Surprisingly, Dawood passed the exam while his friend unfortunately 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 discussed with Dawood his continuing his studies there. At that time, unfortunately, there had been an altercation between students at Kabul University, leading to the death of one, and causing the university's closure. So, when we learned of his disinterest in continuing at the Police Academy, especially my father was worried about his educational future. To please my father and other family members, Dawood agreed to join the Police Academy, and with his friend (who joined the following year), they 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 from now we must take our due", leading 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", and 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, as they tried to get him to identify close friends and anti-government activists, but he endured and gave no names. During that same moment, 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 but signaling 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 inform or 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, but especially our parents, awaited his return. Our mother firmly believed that he was alive and that he would one day return home, until years later. 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 the 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 happy 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 upon me 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.

I have lost six brothers

Note: Mr, Aref has been a teacher for many years and has lost thirteen members of his family during the wars and violence in Afghanistan, and he himself has the scars of violence in his body.

Narrator: Aziz Ahmad Aref (brother of the victim)

Victim: Sultan Ahmad Sohrab

Time of the incident: 1980

The place of the incident: Polygon of Pole Charkhi

I am 56 years old and we were 13 brothers and one sister. I am the ninth brother and Sultan Ahmad was six years older than me. Sultan Ahmad was born in 1953 in Kabul. He attended elementary school in Bamyan, Parwan and Kabul and joined Habibiah High School in 1967 and graduated from Habibiah High School in 1974. When he was in Habibiah High School, it was considered the brilliant era of intellectual struggles and political parties of different tendencies were formed. These parties were formed in two main ways, one of which was the new democratic tendency, which founded an organization called "Progressive Youth Organization" under the leadership of Akram Yari, and its members were Sadeq Yari, Engineer Osman, Dr. Hadi Mahmoudi, etc. Sultan Ahmad was also a member of this organization Sultan Ahmad joined the Faculty of Literature and Human Sciences in 1973 and graduated from the history and geography department in 1976. When Sultan was in university, Dawood Khan had banned political activities, and on the other hand, “Shoalah Javid, a political party” had split. At that time, he was a member of the revolutionary group of the peoples of Afghanistan, in 1978 with the cooperation of Akram Yari, they founded the Organization for the Liberation of the Peoples of Afghanistan (Sorkha), which published the first night magazine and a book called "The Growth of Bourgeoisie in Afghanistan" written by Akram Yari, which later almost all the members of this organization were arrested and executed in February 1978.

In June 1979, four left and national parties and organizations united under the name "Afghanistan National Fighters' Front" and on 05 August 1979, they revolted against the Khalq & Percham's regime. Sultan Ahmed was arrested because they did not recognize him, but he was soon released. In 1979, he founded the "Fight to Save Afghanistan" organization, in which he was in its leadership. The government of that time broke into this organization and in 1980, almost all the members of the organization's leadership were arrested and sent to prison, they were sentenced to death in the first step, later the death sentence was reduced to twenty years of imprisonment. I must say that one of the leadership members of this organization named Hakim Tawana surrendered to the then government. When he was released from prison, he had written books against the movement of intellectuals.

Sultan had been severely tortured in prison and had spent months in asolitary confinement, as a result of which his back and neck vertebrae were dislocated, and after spending 12 years in prison, he was released in 1988, when we were in Pakistan. I had also been released from prison and could not live in Kabul, and Sultan went to Peshawar after 25 days of freedom and was arrested by Golbudin Hekmatyar kidnappers on January 5, 1989, and we still have no information about him.

One of his friends writes in his memoirs: I met Ustad Sultan in Peshawar and jokingly told him that your security situation is not good and you should go to Europe. He said with a firm tone, "My friends are being executed one by one, how can I leave this country?" I will die any horrible death you want/ I will not accept this brutish life.

My brothers and I tried hard to find him. After a lot of research, we came to the conclusion that the Sultan was kidnapped by Hizb-e-Islami with the help of ISI, the Pakistani intelligence. Sultan had a passionate life, in addition to being my brother, he was like a leader, guide, and teacher for me, and he was a very close friend. We had a football team where we were almost all brothers. Sultan Ahmad was a master historian, poet and professional writer. He remained loyal to his ideals until the last drop of his blood. When he was in prison, I was also in prison and unfortunately the conditions were so tight that I could not meet him and I only managed to meet him twice. A brother of mine named Shakur was also imprisoned with me.

We were playing volleyball in the prison, so we decided that Shakur would not play volleyball and sit in the audience [so that he could meet the Sultan], and ten minutes later the intelligence/Khadists realized that the two people were not allowed to meet. They separate them with humiliation and punches and kicks.

Inside the prison, the prisoners were subjected to mental torture. For example, beating my brothers in front of my eyes, in addition to sleeplessness, pulling nails, beating with cable, were considered common daily tortures. The Sultan was in a solitary confinement for eight months, and the lock-up cell's room was 1.2 meters, this room was humid and never had the sun shine. In July 1979, four of our brothers were imprisoned, me, Shakur, Sharif, and Dawood, among four of us, they executed Dawood1, whose name is on the Exa list.

In Pakistan, Shakur, Sultan, Mahmood and Mirwais were kidnapped by Hizb-e-Islami, Shakur and Sultan were also imprisoned in Kabul, and Karim was martyred in the attack by the Russians in Noor Valley district.

I have many memories of Sultan. We played in the same team and he was my teacher, both during education and school and in relation to political issues. I have learned many things from Sultan, from eating bread to social etiquette. One day, Sultan and I were walking in Makrorian area and it was snowing heavily. A young girl slipped and fell to the ground. I laughed. Sultan advised me not to laugh because this girl needs help now and we should never offend anyone. And always in all cases we must think humanly.

At that time, Sultan was about 25 years old, but he adapted his approach to time and place. Sultan was always aware of all family members and took care of them. I learned from Sultan never to waste anyone's right and how to defend my right. Sultan taught me to know the rights of others and to defend our rights. These are a series of apparently small issues, but they are of great spiritual value. This issue that who is the main person responsible in this matter is very complicated, but who was to blame, this issue is as clear as day, which means that the people are objectively and mentally were not ready for the reform that the People's Democratic Party of Afghanistan had imposed. This party massacred its opponents without cause.

While in the first months we did not show any opposition and they called us their main enemy and put us in prison, tortured and killed us. It is possible that the opposition was limited to pen and paper, but they used ropes and guns against pen and paper and killed our people. So, naturally people revolted against them, which is still going on and every day we witness the killing of a large number of our compatriots.

I have spent my whole life in the struggle for justice. If anyone takes a step, even a small one, I will accompany them for the right to reach the rightful, and those who oppressed/persecuted the nation should be punished. While my hand is completely empty, I am not disappointed in the fight for justice.

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: Pole 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 with us in same house) whose young son owned a housewares 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.

My father, although he was not interested in watching TV or watching movies, but at the insistence of my uncle and my uncle’s son, he sat next to us and we watched the movie together. 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 respectively.

It was late at night and my father was about to sleep when our house door was knocked. At the same time as the door was knocked, someone shouted loudly, "Who is Haji Abdul Ali?" "Come out of your room and open the gate." Some armed people were also 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 for him to return until morning, but he did not return that night.

On the day of Eid, all the family members, relatives and friends gathered together to celebrate Eid and were waiting for my father's return. It was time for the 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 the grandson of my father's uncle, Mohammad Nabi son of my uncle, 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." As if he had 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 night and days of Eid passed and we waited for my father and uncles to return. During the time of Babrak Carmel, Muhammad Nabi, Ali Ahmad and Ghulam Abbas were released in general amnesty. But the others never came back. My brothers and sisters and my uncle's children and I were nine in total, all small children with a year apart in age. We used to ask our mothers every day why my father and uncles didn't come. In the same way, my elder uncle had four 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 and bitter days and even long years for their husbands and 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 is over and our hope collapsed; All the family members were just crying.

One day, we went with a number of friends and one of uncle's sons to the hill of Polygon’s victim in Pule cherkhi. 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 were their last words to each other?

After we knew that what has 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, Bamyan province

The name of the victims: Abdullah my father, aged 45-47, 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 learned something from mullahs at home, he could only read the Quran. Abul Kakrim had attended "Dehsur" high school until the eighth grade. Due to these riots, these wars, he had left school. Both of them were married. My father had three sons, whose eldest son is me, his second son is named Samad, and his third son is named Nader. My father had three daughters, whose eldest daughter is named Hanifa, his second daughter is Sima, and his third is Soghara. My uncle Kakaim 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 peasants/farmers and all lived in Dehne kanak.

It was 2001, that the Taliban came and took Yakavalang, 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. Taliban was defeated there and came to Dahan kanak again, brought my father and uncle back to the village, tight them back to back under the road and fired on both/killed them.

When Taliban arrested my father, we fled to Punjab having no knews about my father. People told me that your father was killed, although it was dangerous to come to the area, we, however came and took the corpse of three martyrs with a small number of friends. We could not bury them in our ancestral cemetery, we took him to Sare kanak( a nearby village) graveyard.

during the migration period, all the people were vigilant to what is happening in Yakawlang, the houses and shops were burnt down, many people were killed.

My father's body remained under the sun shine [where he was killed] for a week, no one could come and bury him. When Taliban attacked Yakawlang, my father, told me( I am his elder son) take the family members to Panjab district, I would come after you, he stayed because of our livestock up there in Qeshlaq(pasture land, where people take their cattle/livestock ). We could only save our lives, not the live stocks. Unfortunately we have lost our father and every other thing we had in the village.

According to my cousin, four days after we( family ) left our village, my father was killed. As said, me, my younger brother Samad and my cousin Mohammd Rahim came from Punjab to Sarma Qol during the night. At night, we took five more people from Sarma Qol, we came and transferred the bodies at night in Sare kanak. The people of Sarkanak cooperated with – Thanks them, may God protect them – with them, we buried the corps.

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 came back home, but nothing remained, our houses were burnt, with empty hands, we started to rebuilt our houses.

Everyone had psychological problem. 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 the 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 - it is my responsibility to take care of the two families until today.

Today, my uncle family is living separately, we divided our land, after my uncle, I separated his land, by the grace of God, our agriculture product is good, not bad, but I ended up having a lot of trouble because at that time, people did not trust anyone. Now it has been changed, if neede people give us a loan, at that time no one gave a single rupee to anyone else. Why could not borrow some money? People used to say that the situation in Afghanistan is bad, I may not be able to pay back.

We had this difficult situation. I couldn't bear not to say it, it means that it is very difficult for someone to say it; Yes, those who had a better economy 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 were burnt, they had holes drilled in it. It was completely destroyed. in general, it was out of use. My mother endured this situation until today, and today, thanks to the grace of God, our situation is good, and we suffered a lot that day. No one could take care of his family, but I supervised two families...

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 this 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, I beg your pardon.

Where did I find out about your uncle? 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 and again, my friends told me that you should come once, I had a bad feeling, because my uncle family was here in Panjab. As soon as he sent the message that "come once" I fell from the sky to the ground, I said what happened that he asked me again.

I came to Yekavlang again, I went 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 is good [but] let's go together with you, they say that your uncle has been captured. Well, we came, 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 your uncle, they took him to your village, they killed your uncle on a pass named “Larasi go and take your martyr from there. The people of Sangardost(one of the local Taliban) gave us a soldier to guide us there, showed us that my uncle corpse had dried up, we took it to Dahan kanak and buried him there. Ah, I wish they would had killed him [only], they have 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, what they were doing, we had no idea, they just said that the Taliban had come and killed people. this much. Because we were children, we didn't feel, we didn't understand what the Taliban means? We thought that Talib means "student" not more than that, right? But when they came and set fire to the houses, killed the people, we thought that a human had not come, a savage had come, what were you doing to the innocent people, with the houses, No one has anything to do with the housed, but they destroyed and burned every single houses.

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

I put myself in the place of my father, I left school, I sacrificed my wish and wants for my brothers and my uncles children. I supported my brothers and my uncles’ children to go to school. Thanks 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 on me ( as I remember) as his younger son, never used bad word against me, but 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, didn’t think about life’s ups and downs, everything was on his shoulders, I didn't know where he would earn the livelihood and what he would give us, we would eat and wear only etc. 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.

Nothing noticeable left from my father to put them in the "Afghanistan Memory and Dialogue Center". My father had a Qoran and a watch. I have his watch with me now in my pocket and tape recorder named 530, and 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 hard time in the pasts that I cried, we really have a very bitter past, not only for me, but for all the victims, for all the people of Yakavalang, Bamyan 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/voices and take them to higher levels. Thank you.

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

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 and I do such things. I come from Herat to Rabat Sangi, which is my area/village, in the morning and return in the evening. This is my main job.

Martyr? 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/Qarabagh, and from there people are taken to Iran with a cost of 5000-10000 Afn/person.

Four of our children, left the village together for Iran. They rode a white care(a white Sarachah) from Rabat Sangi. From our village, I brought them to Rabat Sangi by my own car/Sarache, and I found a care for them and myself 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 Saracheh - they said, the car of these children has been hit by a mine. I said where? They said in "Faizabad". There 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 has 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 will be too late to call others in the village. We moved to Faizabad, from Faizabad to "Alaf", from Alaf down in the valley. There is a pass in the middle of Faizabad and Alaf. Passing the pass, we noticed the car, when reached it, there were ten people inside the Sarache car.

Among ten people in the care, there was a child, not more than ten years old. The child home was in Herat. He went to the border area ( which is a residential area) to see his relatives. Even that ten-year-old child was inside this car. One of these ten people survived. Others, nine others, I even collected the pieces of their body myself.

People were afraid that, God forbid, we could go around them, there would be mines, but we didn't know. I was thinking of getting there early to see how many of these are still alive. Someone needs help getting these to the 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 gov. people fear was that, God forbid, there are mines around or the opponents, if we go closer, they may attack us. We, did not understand this, we reached the care; When we arrived, there was nothing from the car. The mine exploded in the middle of the car. There was nothing from the seat, the gate, not even the steering wheel. A bit of the car's pose and a bit of the trunk left from the Saracha/car. Others parts of car were torn to shreds, nothing was found in that car.

I looked around1, there were parts of body everywhere, I thought they cannot be collected like this, all the cars had a tarpaulin to sit on in the Sarache stall. I took it and collected these 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 from the waist down dose not existed. Even one of our son-in-laws, Morteza’s father, Khair Mohammad, may God have mercy on him, half of his face and his head exist (half of the forehead, from the 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 Muhammad, 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= minivan. 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 never safe, lest there be another misfortune.

I said, since we already came in 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 relative, would take corps from the clinic. That's what we took them and came to Rabat Sangi again, two to three thousand people gathered near the corpse 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 has been a second car, following the care exploded. There were all women and children in the second car. There has been a distance between the first and second one. When the first car hit by mine, the second car stopes and calls 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, and at that time it was said that the government was also looking to have that area in its hands, and on the other hand, Taleb was also thinking that it had that area in its hands. Let the TAPI project not be launched, God willing, the Talib who is in that area will be guided by Iran, who will lead them, and even Iran support them financially.

For this reason, they start a war, a fight, and mines there, so that TAPI project doesn’t start. These young people were killed by these Muslims. The government says we don't know, the Taliban also says we 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 were government staff, Talib was claiming that we did this to get himself to the media, and take reward for it; Because they were not government men, and they were innocents, did not take the 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" neighborhood,

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, my father can’t survive without medicine and without a doctor, there is no other way. Our mother is also crazy and nervous, even this morning the same dress I brought is coat, a full-blooded coat, that Mullah did not allow us to be buried with the body itself. A piece of his clothe 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 that incident, people's uneasiness has led us to judge whether we have become addicted to drugs or what other calamity has befallen us. The young men who used to be stout, now they 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, otherwise those who have young people died will 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 elder with respect, if you advise him for hours, he would listen all 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 and only among these four people Khair Mohammad was married and the others were single. Khair Mohammad had three daughters. Two daughters, one son. When he passed away, his wife was pregnant. It's been eight months since he was born, but he hasn't seen his father's face, and his eldest son is in charge, and until now, our family is taking 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 his/her young family members, our youth are our future.

For Hossein himself, I have this message that 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.

No statemetn

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

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: Pole 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 with us in same house) whose young son owned a housewares 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.

My father, although he was not interested in watching TV or watching movies, but at the insistence of my uncle and my uncle’s son, he sat next to us and we watched the movie together. 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 respectively.

It was late at night and my father was about to sleep when our house door was knocked. At the same time as the door was knocked, someone shouted loudly, "Who is Haji Abdul Ali?" "Come out of your room and open the gate." Some armed people were also 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 for him to return until morning, but he did not return that night.

On the day of Eid, all the family members, relatives and friends gathered together to celebrate Eid and were waiting for my father's return. It was time for the 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 the grandson of my father's uncle, Mohammad Nabi son of my uncle, 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." As if he had 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 night and days of Eid passed and we waited for my father and uncles to return. During the time of Babrak Carmel, Muhammad Nabi, Ali Ahmad and Ghulam Abbas were released in general amnesty. But the others never came back. My brothers and sisters and my uncle's children and I were nine in total, all small children with a year apart in age. We used to ask our mothers every day why my father and uncles didn't come. In the same way, my elder uncle had four 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 and bitter days and even long years for their husbands and 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 is over and our hope collapsed; All the family members were just crying.

One day, we went with a number of friends and one of uncle's sons to the hill of Polygon’s victim in Pule cherkhi. 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 were their last words to each other?

After we knew that what has 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."

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, called Kohsan district. I myself work at custom at the port of Islam Qala. I would get 100-200 per day.

He was my uncle (victim), he was 31 years old. He was martyred in 2014. He was a de-miner, He left at four o'clock in the morning and came back at two o'clock in the afternoon. Last time, it was four o'clock in the morning when he left house. While going to the demining site, he and his colleagues were ambushed by the Taliban. It was seven o'clock, they fired on them, he and his 5 colleagues were killed there. They took others alive. They might be killed later.

He was an employee of De-mining agency. They were going to explore the land. They would find mines and mark them, they would report to the Engineer about the spots where mine exist, then the team was going to the site and explode the mine.

We got the news at eight and nine o'clock and went there. The drivers 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, brought it back to the house. I went there, two of our uncles also came. They live in Kamanah, their families live there [in Kamanah]. My uncle’s economic condition is good, but not that good. He has two children, one is five years and the other one is two years old.

The demining agency had given food and non-food commodities to my uncle’s family. They don’t have other thing. His wife is young( about 20 years old) and has two children. She lives with her two children. One of his 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. Several others had been killed there. The corps were in different places. On in the car, one next to the car etc. among them, my uncle was shot dead and many didn’t even hurt. We went there and took him from 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 have been after the director of demining agency, 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 were earning a living through this job, he used to get 15,000 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 to him, to his children, to his family. My uncle was very kind to us. He used to advise us to do good thing, respect the elders and children and get education. I was saying that uncle I can’t go to school, I have to work because my father was killed in 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 document.

Now, thank God, it's fine. We work, my mother is with us, yes, 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. Yes, 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.

No statement

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: Pole 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 with us in same house) whose young son owned a housewares 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.

My father, although he was not interested in watching TV or watching movies, but at the insistence of my uncle and my uncle’s son, he sat next to us and we watched the movie together. 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 respectively.

It was late at night and my father was about to sleep when our house door was knocked. At the same time as the door was knocked, someone shouted loudly, "Who is Haji Abdul Ali?" "Come out of your room and open the gate." Some armed people were also 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 for him to return until morning, but he did not return that night.

On the day of Eid, all the family members, relatives and friends gathered together to celebrate Eid and were waiting for my father's return. It was time for the 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 the grandson of my father's uncle, Mohammad Nabi son of my uncle, 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." As if he had 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 night and days of Eid passed and we waited for my father and uncles to return. During the time of Babrak Carmel, Muhammad Nabi, Ali Ahmad and Ghulam Abbas were released in general amnesty. But the others never came back. My brothers and sisters and my uncle's children and I were nine in total, all small children with a year apart in age. We used to ask our mothers every day why my father and uncles didn't come. In the same way, my elder uncle had four 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 and bitter days and even long years for their husbands and 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 is over and our hope collapsed; All the family members were just crying.

One day, we went with a number of friends and one of uncle's sons to the hill of Polygon’s victim in Pule cherkhi. 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 were their last words to each other?

After we knew that what has 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."

No statement

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: Pole 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 with us in same house) whose young son owned a housewares 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.

My father, although he was not interested in watching TV or watching movies, but at the insistence of my uncle and my uncle’s son, he sat next to us and we watched the movie together. 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 respectively.

It was late at night and my father was about to sleep when our house door was knocked. At the same time as the door was knocked, someone shouted loudly, "Who is Haji Abdul Ali?" "Come out of your room and open the gate." Some armed people were also 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 for him to return until morning, but he did not return that night.

On the day of Eid, all the family members, relatives and friends gathered together to celebrate Eid and were waiting for my father's return. It was time for the 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 the grandson of my father's uncle, Mohammad Nabi son of my uncle, 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." As if he had 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 night and days of Eid passed and we waited for my father and uncles to return. During the time of Babrak Carmel, Muhammad Nabi, Ali Ahmad and Ghulam Abbas were released in general amnesty. But the others never came back. My brothers and sisters and my uncle's children and I were nine in total, all small children with a year apart in age. We used to ask our mothers every day why my father and uncles didn't come. In the same way, my elder uncle had four 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 and bitter days and even long years for their husbands and 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 is over and our hope collapsed; All the family members were just crying.

One day, we went with a number of friends and one of uncle's sons to the hill of Polygon’s victim in Pule cherkhi. 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 were their last words to each other?

After we knew that what has 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."

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