© the other press

The Dark and

 

Mohammad Fazili
OP Contributor

Anyone who hasn't lived in an occupied coun-
try, or in a city where war continued for sev-
eral years, cannot imagine the terrible situa-
tion in Kabul, the capital of Afghanistan. For
two months of that fearful period between
1992 and 2002, I lived there. Looking back
to that time, it is just luck that I came out
alive from an area enveloped by the darkness
of death. I saw terrible things that I’ll never
forget.

I lived on a military base in the southwest
part of the city, where 12 major battles had
taken place. All buildings, houses, streets,
markets, even roads were destroyed. That part
of the city was in ruins. There was no elec-
tricity, so the city at night was in a fearful
absolute darkness. In addition, it was the
middle of winter, when the weather in Kabul
is very cold and stormy. Sometimes I felt that
the environment of Kabul was, like its people,
nervous. Angry and powerful winds blew the
falling snow into the walls of the ruins and
the faces of soldiers at the fronts. The wind
sounded like the howling of wolves mixed
with the sound of gunfire and explosions, and
sometimes I imagined I could hear the
screams of those who lay murdered among
the ruins.

There were many unknown, fragmented
dead beneath the stones and in woods, and if
you looked, you could find human body
parts: hands, feet, hair, fingers, heads. One
day I found two bodies in a destroyed house
beside our base. They had been thrown into a
well after they were killed. Their heads were at
the bottom of the well. Dirty and oily water
covered most of their bodies. In fact, this part
of the city was a cemetery, a cemetery of
human bodies, of human rights and con-
sciences.

In Kabul, I observed that war destroys
cities, kills people, and changes the innate
character of the human. But it also creates
strong qualities. For example, there was a
young soldier who participated in the war and
killed other people, but wasn't killed himself.
He had the effects of the war and killing in his
character, even in his appearance. He was an
ordinary member of a nearby base. I didn’t

Features

Dusty

 

”

 

know his story, or even his name, but his face
and his red eyes made me think that he had
fought a long time—not for defense of his
country, but for himself: robbing, looting,
and killing. He was a murderer. He always
looked angry and didn’t like to talk with oth-
ers. His hair was always long and dirty. He
usually held his gun in his right hand and
walked alone in the ruins. On dark and cold
nights, he walked in the ruins, among the
human body parts, and played on a flute. I’m
sure he hated life and the living. Perhaps he
liked murder, murderers, and the murdered.
He walked among the souls of the dead,
among their dismembered bodies, and sang
for them. His song was a disgusting song of
death.

There was a struggle between “death” and
“life.” Although the dominant positions were
controlled by death, life had struggled to con-
tinue its existence. For example, businesses in
markets continued, but in a bloody form.
Irregular missiles flew from the surrounding
mountains and exploded among the crowds
in the markets. After the explosions the most
disgusting and ugly face of war would appear.
It brought out great opportunities for the nat-
ural sons of war—the looters. When they
arrived to help the victims or their relatives,
they would hurriedly check the pockets of
those they helped.

One day, a beautiful young woman was
among the victims. Her arm was severed from
her body. On her wrist was an expensive
bracelet. A thief tried to open it, but couldn’.
He tried several times, to no avail, so he took
the bloody arm and hurried from the market
toward the ruins. A frightened man in bloody
clothes, a bleeding arm in his hand, was run-
ning across the street.

A black cloud of sadness covered the faces
of the people of Kabul. Fathers worried about
tomorrow, mothers thought of their sons at
the fronts, girls weren't as beautiful as they
were before, children were sad and dusty.
The ugliness of war and aggression covered
the beautiful views of Kabul. Death, fear, rob-
bery, violence, and destruction governed.

ae Page 16 e¢ http://www.otherpress.ca

 

 

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