AHRDO

When Homes Turn into Graveyards

Narrator: Safia

Victim: Shirin Gul

Date of the incident: 1993-1996

Location of the incident: Kabul city, Dash-e Barchi

Shirin Gul is not the only woman whose house was destroyed over the past three decades of war in Afghanistan though all houses destroyed in Kabul resemble that of Shirin Gul. The injuries visible to the walls of the houses mirror the injuries inflicted onto the bodies of its residents.

During the various conflicts, in particular the one between the different Mujahidin factions, the houses in Kabul were no longer people’s shelters but rather their graves prepared in advance -albeit on the surface. There was always the possibility of a rocket or artillery shelling destroying people’s homes. None of the houses were beyond the reach of violence and neither were they durable enough to protect their inhabitants against the persistent attacks. These ruined houses became a refuge for death, making his home among the many people buried in the rubble of their own homes. The whole of Kabul was turned into a gigantic graveyard.

Shirin Gul was one of those people whose house was bombed and took her life during the civil war in the 1990s. It happened on an evening where she attempted to defy the terror of war, by holding a small reception to bring back the happiness of former times to what had by then become a city of ghosts. She did not expect that her home would one day become a slaughterhouse and that her reception would end in terrible tragedy. Shirin Gul had invited her son-in-law and brother-in-law to an evening reception. They had just begun their supper when a stray rocket fired by the Taliban hit the exact room where the reception was taking place, immediately killing Shirin Gul and her two guests. The death of Shirin Gul marked the end of happiness for her children. Her husband did not marry again and dedicated himself to take care of his mother-less children.

The Story of Shirin Gul

My name is Safia and I am 42 years old. I am living in Dugh Abad area of Dasht-e- Barchi. During the war, I lost three members of my family: My mother, my cousin and my brotherin-law. My whole family including my son-in-law and my cousins were in our home when a rocket hit our house and killed them. I was not personally present when the incident happened.

According to my family members, their bodies were ripped to pieces and it was almost impossible to identify them. My cousin had a two-month old child who died soon after his father’ untimely death. His wife had no option but to return to her father’s home. My mother left behind six children, 2 sons and four girls. Today, my father is old and my sisters are mentally unstable. One of my sisters left her husband and children because of these mental problems.

Now she does not recognize anyone anymore. I am not mentally stable either. I was desperate after the death of my mother. She loved me a lot.

The worst moment in my life was when I heard about the death of my mother. After she died, no one ever properly welcomed me in my father’s home anymore and this made me so disappointed.

Narrator: Nasrin Naderi

Victim: Nasrin Naderi

Date of the incident: 24 October 2020

Location of the incident: District 13, Kabul City, Pul-e Khoshk, Dasht-e Barchi, Kausar Danesh Educational Center

In the name of God I am Nasreen Naderi, the daughter of Mohammad Aman Naderi from Maidan Wardak province, Daymirdad district. I am 18 years old and have graduated from school. However, due to the coronavirus situation, I have not yet been able to take the university entrance exam. At the moment, I am busy with social activities. Our family resides in Maidan Wardak, but I am in Kabul for my education. We have rented a room here. In Daimirdad district, Naqshi village, Due to the lack of facilities and insecurity, we have left our village of Naqshi in the Daimirdad district,. Every year, we are attacked by nomadic tribes; I don't know their motive, whether political, ethnic, or otherwise, but we are attacked by them annually. These attacks cause us both human and financial losses. When they occur, all villagers flee to the mountains or elsewhere. Upon returning to their homes, they find their animal supplies and food materials burned, along with their schools and houses. It has been a few years now since my parents left. Initially, they were here with me, but once quarantine was introduced, they returned to Maidan Wardak and have remained there until now. It's been about two years since they left; my father is farming, and I have been here for approximately five or six years.

Unfortunately, I sustained injuries. The first incident took place at Kawsar Danesh in February 2018. Human rights activists certainly know that the incident - it was the first incident that happened to Afghanistan's education center- had a serious impact on educational programs. In this incident, my hand was wounded by shrapnel. The attacker was carrying a hand grenade, and I was only one or two meters away from him. It was the first time I saw the explosion of a human being with my eyes. No one was killed, but many were wounded, most of them girls because they were sitting in the front row. The second incident happened in 2019. I witnessed an incident at Mauood that impacted heavily on my mental health and I was obliged to take a break from my studies for a year. After Mauood was hit, we lost confidence but we carried on. Once the Kawsar educationa center was thriving again, we went back there and enrolled in the preparation course for the university entrance exam. Once again, there was an explosion at Kawsar Danesh alley last year in the fall. I don't recall the incident accurately; I think it was on the 29th October. We were in the alley, and I was injured in the back by shrapnel. It penetrated deeply and reached close to my spinal cord. Due to the serious risk, the doctors in Kabul did not want to take responsibility for such a complex operation. A neurologist was needed, an expert in such surgery, but there was no such person.

Unfortunately, due to financial constraints and my father's self-employment as a farmer or street vendor, we've been unable to afford the expenses of surgery in private hospitals or seek medical treatment outside Afghanistan. Walking poses significant challenges for me. Every few steps I take, the wound area becomes bruised, leading to subsequent internal bleeding. Although the doctors have extracted the shrapnel, my injuries persist. The damage is situated on my spine, suggesting severe internal trauma. The shrapnel was only removed from my body about fifteen or sixteen days after the incident, by which time it had shifted 15 millimeters. I'm enduring immense suffering as a result of this ordeal. Despite being a victim, I reject such a label; I am averse to the term 'victim.' In my view, no one is a victim if they possess the determination and resolve to fight. I am committed to ensuring that no one else experiences the pain and suffering I have endured.

Perhaps I lack all the details; even if I once knew them, they've slipped from memory. It was around 4:00 pm when our class was dismissed, and we were on our way to a chemistry session when the explosion rocked the alley. Our class at Kausar is large; at least 800 students attend. As we moved to another class, my friend Shukria Hussaini and I were reviewing our lessons when we noticed a young boy carrying a large sport shoulder bag, a rare sight given the center's rules. Another institution, Afghan IT, shared the same alley, so we didn't find his presence suspicious. Despite what we'd been taught about the signs of a suicide bomber, we saw no indication of such in him. My friend nudged me, pointing out the boy's bag size. When I turned, dust and smoke filled the air. Though close, we heard no sound, only saw blood everywhere, and people covered in it calling for aid. It was terrifying. I realized my clothes were drenched in blood, my fresh wound throbbing. Shukria had passed out, and I felt paralyzed, unsure of what action to take. I'm uncertain who transported me or how I reached home, or who relayed the news. When I came to, we were at Dar al-Salam hospital, where I spent days. With no adequate medical facilities, my condition worsened; the shrapnel had caused intense bleeding at the back of my head. Though it wasn't a major blood vessel, the risk was severe.

I hope to survive the adversities faced at such a young age; by international standards, we're still children. Let's transform these hardships into energy for our ambition, refusing to succumb to despair or isolation. We shouldn't see ourselves as just victims of Afghan conflict; instead, let's aspire to compete globally in science and art.

Well, as I mentioned before, not all my classmates were close friends. It is difficult to have close friends in a classroom with 800 students. I loved all of them; we raised our voices together, studied together to understand derivative and integral and electric currents. There was only one friend whose death hit me hard, Miss Maleka Ibrahimi. I was truly hurt by losing her. She was a girl with beautiful political and economic ideas; a lady whose loss you can not ignore. <…pause..> We didn't spend much time together but looking at our strong friendship, it hurts to have lost her. I lost another friend in 2017 in Mauood, Miss Rahela. Miss Rahela and I were in the same English class; we completed our English course together and we attended other courses together. Rahela was determined to take the entrance exam. Since I lost them, I have tried to forget them, but it's difficult. You can’t forget such individuals. Losing such talents is a great loss for society.

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