AHRDO

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.

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.

No statement

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.

It Would Have Been Better If the World Had Ended

Yaser Qubadian is one of the war victim's family and a brother of martyr Kawsar, who was killed by a suicide attack on Mawoud Education Center on August 15, 2018. In that tragic incident, 57 students were killed, and 67 others were injured. This narrative was delivered a year after the incident at the Public Hearing of War Victims at Human Rights and Democracy Organization (HRDO) to a large group of public audiences.

Narrator: Yaser Qubadian (victim's brother)

Victim: Kawsar Qubadian

Date of the incident: August 15, 2018

Location of the incident: Kabul, Dasht-e Barchi, Mawoud Education Center

In the name of the kind and merciful God.

I am Yaser Qubadian, and I am speaking and sharing my memories on behalf of the war victim families. I should add that in addition to Kawsar, I lost my father in 2006. Around ninety years ago, my family moved from Logar to Kabul, and since then, we have been living in Kabul. After completing his graduate studies at Kabul University, my grandfather worked as a colonel during Zahir and Najeeb governments. My father was born on one of his trips to Herat province. When they moved to Kabul, my father started his studies after his military service, went to Polytechnic University, and studied engineering there.

Considering the hardship of those years, my father ended up doing military duties and, consequently, wounded one of his feet and therefore limped. We were in Kabul during the civil war, in Dasht-e Barchi. After that, my father went to Iran and Pakistan for labor work. After the Taliban collapsed, he returned to Kabul and worked with an Australian construction company between 2003 and 2006. He was working for six months and then was returning home for a while.

I was born in 2002, and Kawsar was born in 2004. On February 13, 2006, my uncle received a phone call that afternoon indicating that his brother's car had hit a roadside bomb. I was a kid [and did not understand much], but it was very hard for my family. After my father's death, it was hard for everyone as we lost our biggest supporter. My father and Kawsar are buried in the hillsides of these Kabul mountains. The hillsides are starving and are still expecting more people but are still hungry. Probably that is their nature. After 2006, our family lives leaned toward disappointment and frustration. In 2007, my mother married my oldest uncle, and we have been living together since then. Many of our family members have lost their lives in recent years in different incidents, like my father's nephews and other relatives.

As years passed, we reached the winter of 2018. I was in the eleventh class; therefore, after Ramadan, I went to Mawoud Education Center to take its courses. Later, we both enrolled at the center. However, she was more talented than me and always said graveclothes or scrubs. Probably she meant the graveclothes that took her from us.

She was always asking about our father and about whether I remembered him. I was always running away to answer her questions as I was afraid, which was difficult for both of us. She had a great personality and always told my mother and me to stay strong. I had no one in this world but Kawsar. She was calling me "mustache," and since she had beautiful green eyes, I was calling her "my greenish eye." After the martyrdom of Kawsar, I do not want to be called "mustache." That word ended for me.

She was in ninth class. But she insisted that she wanted to enroll in university entrance exam preparation. She had seen Tahmina winning the first position in the public university entrance exam. She wanted to repeat the history for the year she would take the exam. I was teasing her that we would see. So we both enrolled at the center and were going there together. The night before the attack, I remember I was awake until 2 am watching movies and entertainment programs. Then, around 8 am or 8:30 am, Kawsar woke me up and said, "Get up because if I am not here, none will make your bed." I do not know; probably, her subconscious was aware of what was to happen. She was saying if you do not get up now, I will not be free to make your bed anymore. She was speaking strangely. It was Wednesday, and we would have a quiz for tenth-class history on Friday. She gave the book to me, and I started asking questions. She answered most of the questions though she was at nine class.

After lunch, I told her that I would go to Kuti Sangi and I needed to buy something. I told her we would go to the center once I returned. I do not know what she was feeling. She said she would go to the center today and had some work at home. I told her that's no problem but talk to mom, and if she agreed, she could stay at home. So, I went to Kuti Sangi and came back home. She said our mom disagreed and told us to go to the class. So, we got ready for the course. Usually, we would use van taxis for our transport, but that day she said let's get the bus. But the bus was jam-packed, and both of us were harassed. When we took off, I ironically told her how good the bus was. She smiled and unlike other times, said nothing. This was the last time I saw her alive.

As we were entering the class, I saw Attaullah and Rahila. We had met them a day before the attack. It was just a week and four days since our class started, so we were still new and I did not notice where Kawsar sat. Unlike usual, when we would have physics, our math teacher came to class and said our physics teacher was busy with another class. We were assessed, and I answered the questions. I told [myself] once back home that I would be proud of myself as I answered the questions and would tease Kawsar. Our math teacher left the class, and I took my mobile phone out and was busy with it, and suddenly everywhere was blackened. I did not know what had happened. I thought probably my mobile had exploded. When I opened my eyes, I noticed that our class was significantly brightened, unlike usual. As I turned my face, I saw Dawood had fallen on the floor, and his foot was wounded. He did not talk. But he was alive. He did not speak. I looked to the other side and saw one of our classmates who was shocked like me. He stood up and rushed outside of the class.

I was left alone among all the wounded and martyred. My left ear was damaged, and I still couldn't hear properly. I can't tolerate noisy environments, and I hear that sound again when alone. I tried to hold Dawood, but I couldn't. So, I pulled Dawood from the door to the next house. I was terrified and knew that Kawsar should be more terrified.

She was always waiting for me on the road. I fluttered. I took my mobile phone to call my uncle. But I couldn't. As I walked, some very bad … crossed my mind. But I never thought that Kawsar might have been injured. I walked to the road and noticed that she was not there. Had the world ended, it would have been better. I rushed back to the class. I entered from the door close to the front of the class [where girls usually sit]. The blackboard was covered with blood and partly destroyed. Wherever I looked, I saw human body parts and blood. One had no clothes and lost a body organ, but no one had come to help. I was the first person to enter the class. I was looking [for Kawsar] in the third and fourth rows. I saw Rahila. She was in the third row, and her face was covered with blood but still recognizable.

I wanted to rescue her, but there were so many corpora that I could not proceed. I saw Kawsar just in front of me. I tried to put her on my shoulder, but I couldn't. She was very heavy as Dawood. Before Eid, I remember we bought her the clothes, which are now donated to Memory Box. I put Kawsar on my shoulder to run toward the road; I saw a taxi with its boot open. I put Kawsar there and thought the Watan hospital was close. But my uncle said they do not have the proper equipment and we should go to Emergency Hospital. So I told the taxi driver to go there.

I called my uncle on the way, but I do not know what I told him. The taxi driver was terrified as well. He told me to check if she was still alive. I could not think she would be dead. I checked her blood pressure and [noticed that] she does not have. I put my hand in front of her nose and did not notice any temperature. Her eyes stared at one side, but she did not know where. Her body was hit by several pieces; one at her nose, one at her neck, and several others at her right ear. Therefore, I still can not tell what side of the class the suicide attacker exploded. I told the taxi driver that I did not know, and I was not first at the scene, so I did not know if she was alive or not. The driver was driving very fast. At Naser Khesor hospital in Gulay-e Mahtab Qala, he stopped to check if she is still alive. I told a doctor to check, and when he checked, he noticed that Kawsar was not alive anymore. I could read this from the face of the doctor. The doctor then said that the wounded had passed away.

It was tough, and I do not know how much. I called my uncle and told him that Kawsar was martyred. He told me not to go home, and I must say nothing to them if anyone called from home. Many friends called on the way to the morgue, and slowly many got the news. But still, I did not know what to say when my mom called. I did not know what to do if my family asked to give the mobile phone to Kawsar. It was a time that even holding a call was very difficult. Finally, we reached the coroner. I saw my uncle waiting for us. When he saw me, he was horrified. He hugged me, and I needed the most. He asked me if I was okay. I told him that I was okay. They took Kawsar to wash her and prepare her to be transported home.

As I was waiting out of the morgue, my mom called. She asked where I was. I told her that I am in Koti Sangi. She asked what I was doing in Koti Sangi; I told her I had some work with my uncle. Then she asked where and how Kawsar was. I told her that she was okay. She said your center was attacked. I told her it was not in our center; the attack was far from our center. She did not know yet it was our center. I immediately told her that her voicing was cutting and hung up the phone. A few minutes later, my mom called again and said to give the mobile phone to Kawsar; I told her that she was not here and that she was with my uncle to buy clothes. As she overheard people's voices in the background, she insisted on talking to Kawsar and asking where she was. I told her again that Kawsar was fine. My mom said we bought her clothes yesterday, and you are lying. I told her she did not like that and had come to change it. She hung up the phone.

Kawsar was laying down silently on the coroner's bed. My uncle and I had lost all our strength. I went to see Kawsar closely and saw Kawsar and Dawood's clothes covered in blood. Meanwhile, other relatives also arrived at the coroner. I wanted to run away from them, but they kept asking what had happened, and I had no answer to their questions. They went to see their niece's corpus. Then our neighbor started calling and quizzing me. I told them I was in Koti Sangi at my uncle's clinic. Kawsar was with her uncle to buy clothes. They were asking why my uncle was not answering his phone. I understood that my uncle was unable to answer phone calls. I told them it was hectic, and he did not notice the calls. Other relatives also called. I said a mix of true and cover stories to them. We thought we should keep the corpus at the morgue for the night as it would be tough for all family members to mourn [alongside the corpus till morning]. However, our family told us we should take the corpus home, whatever it might take. I wish I had agreed with her and taken her somewhere else. The ambulance was ready, and they brought a covered piece with some blood spots. I could not believe inside that was my sister, Kawsar. As we were driving home, I did not know how to face the family and what I should do.

That day, you could hear the ambulance anywhere which were taking wounded or killed ones. Our house was close to the road, so these noises frightened them. They kept calling me and were just making covers. My relatives did not let me go home directly, saying my clothes were bloody, and asked me to change my clothes. I went to my auntie's home, which was close to us; I changed my clothes and ran to my home. Our alley was very crowded, unlike usual. The people had gathered in our house. They had laid Kawsar in a bed-like coffin. My mother was sitting there, not crying or shouting. But when she saw me, she told me: "I sent Kawsar with you apathy/zeal-less." This word was callous to me. Indeed, they sent Kawsar with me, and I could not protect her. But I had no answer and just felt shameful. I saw Kawsar's face turning yellow. She looked gorgeous in the coffin. She was tall, and her feet were taller than the coffin. I was shocked and did not know what to do. Then my mom hugged me, and we both cried a lot. I tried to comfort her, but I could not tolerate it anymore. My uncles and aunts and then everyone else was weeping. Everyone had their questions, and I had no answer.

That night went, and everyone gathered for the funeral at nine o'clock in the morning. My mom insisted that she wanted to attend the funeral and lay her to rest. I did not let her go knowing that would have been very difficult for her. My grandmom said she tolerated her father's death; she could do this as well. But the people did not let her. I shouldered the right side of the coffin, shaking. I still wonder how I could do it in that situation and why my cursed life did not end. We performed the prayer, took the corpus to the grave that was dug, and let her rest where she has been laying for the last eleven months. While laying her down, my uncle and my oldest uncle from the mother's side took her to the grave. I will not lie if I say that I laid myself, my soul, and everything else in that grave. I wish they buried me, and Kawsar was alive as she had much bigger and better dreams. With my hand, I buried myself there and put much sand that she could not get out. I could not tolerate it and secretly ran to home. I hid in my room for hours. Later, there was Fateh and reciting the holy Quran, and people came. The people think they are respecting us by coming for condolence. But I am saying I wish they did not come. For us, it was all pain and nightmares.

I am alive a year after now. I miss her terribly and do not know what to do. If I am not gone by the next year or doomsday does not come, I do not see how she would tolerate it. I visit her grave every three days. I talk to her. But she says nothing. She is probably saying, but I cannot hear as I silenced her with my hand. I pretend to be strong when I am visiting her grave, for my mother. She cries and asks me to sit next to her. I tell her that is enough, let's leave. I visit her grave alone. Now that I am visiting my father's grave, I feel like he is saying you could not protect your sister against your enemies, like my mother. The enemies that we might sign a peace deal with them and they might come with their land course cars, marching in front of our eyes, and we could do nothing. Since she passed, I have wished for death for myself every day.

When I attend the classes, I expect someone to follow me and await me on the road when the classes finish. When I go home, I expect someone to play with me. Visiting her grave, I tell her: "Get up, let's go home." However, this is our situation. My mother kept saying that I was a man and that an Afghan man could only live here if he is strong. She says you will experience more pain and problem; this is just the beginning. I tell her I can tolerate it; enough is enough. Thank you for your patience.

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