This is the fourth time that I have survived repeated explosions in western Kabul. I don’t know whether to call myself lucky or unlucky, but each time, with the same exhausted spirit, I have witnessed the sight of charred bodies and dismembered fragments of my friends. Each time, I have been saved, but in reality, after each incident, as much as the pain and burning of the wounded and burnt loved ones before my eyes, I have become distressed. I have experienced death many times and returned to life. This time, when I had poured sweat for years to make it my own and spent my fortune on the gym, it burned and was destroyed. The evening the incident occurred was on Thursday, an odd number day.
According to the schedule we had set, we had training sessions on even days, and on odd days, we practiced boxing with our instructor Mr. Rahim. It was late in the evening, and I was close and heading to the sports complex. It was 7:30 in the evening, and as usual, shopkeepers in the area and the market were gathering their stalls when suddenly a terrifying and ominous sound reached our ears, once again making the hearts of the residents of the Dasht-e Barchi area tremble. Everyone, in a state of panic and confusion, reached into their pockets, took out their mobile phones, called their loved ones, and checked the well-being of their family members.
I don’t know which father’s hands trembled there, and which heart succumbed to palpitations. After a few minutes, I heard someone with a trembling voice say, “It’s an Explosion in the Milat gym.” For a moment, I might have heard it wrong, but I remembered that a month ago, the Taliban had warned that your sports complex was under threat. My hands and feet trembled, and my body went weak. With all the strength I had, I ran towards the sports complex to get to the scene.
I don’t know at what speed I reached there. Before me, the Taliban members had arrived at the scene and were not allowing anyone to enter the sports complex and the building. At that moment, even the Taliban’s beatings didn’t matter to me, and I managed to get closer to the building. After the explosion, flames shot up into the sky, and the smell of smoke mixed with charred bodies filled the air. The wounded and the dead were being carried into ambulances, their bodies so dismembered and burnt that I couldn’t recognize anyone.
Amidst the loud ambulance sirens, the cries of the students’ relatives echoed even louder. However, this account is only one aspect of the incident, and the real pain began when the Taliban fighters’ aggressive behavior during the incident intensified the suffering of the people. The fighters of this group pointed lasers at those who had come to help and transport the wounded and did not allow anyone to assist the injured. Moreover, they prohibited anyone from taking photos or videos. One of the individuals who wanted to capture the incident was beaten by the Taliban, and they confiscated his mobile phone. I don’t know how to convey the depth of this pain; what we went through is far heavier than words can express.
The next day (Friday), a competition was scheduled to take place at the sports complex, and on the night of the incident, around thirty-five individuals were training, their dreams of becoming champions forever shattered by this tragic event. With the repetition of such horrifying incidents, they once again sowed the seeds of despair and fear among the younger generation, making it clear to us that the slaughter continues, regardless of whether you work for health and honor in the sports complex or worship in a mosque; in any case, you must die and endure the pain.
Following that night, I went to the scene once again. Until that time, I couldn’t get information about the number of casualties and fatalities because the Taliban group was trying to keep the exact figures concealed. At the scene, journalists were present with some Taliban members and wanted to interview eyewitnesses. During the interviews, the Taliban fighters were standing over us, and what we had to say had to align with their wishes. Therefore, we couldn’t disclose everything to the reporters.
When our interviews with the journalists concluded, the Taliban intelligence forces took us to their monitoring center, where they angrily stated, “Didn’t we tell you to stop the club’s activities because there was a threat, Rahim the instructor didn’t stop the activities. Now, Who is responsible for the incident at the club, us or Instructor Rahim? If you reopen the club in the future and anything happens to you, you are responsible for it, not the security forces of the Islamic Emirate.” The Taliban intelligence forces had come to the sports complex a month ago and had informed our Instructor Mr. Rahim that your sports complex is under threat and that you must cease your activities within the next two months. However, that place was not just an ordinary sports complex for us; it was the result of years of hard work and the dreams of the youth.
The government must ensure the security of its citizens, even in the face of security threats, as it is responsible for the people. However, despite being aware of the threats, the Taliban failed to provide us with security. Moreover, we had suggested on several occasions that they send one or two Taliban members to ensure security, or allow us to purchase and provide security ourselves with locally available firearms, as is common practice. Unfortunately, our request was rejected by the Taliban, and we had to inspect individuals entering the sports complex with empty hands to ensure security.
For me, it was baffling how an intruder could easily enter the complex without being noticed and move explosive devices without anyone seeing it. Therefore, I wanted to understand how this incident had occurred. I asked the market supervisor to check the cameras for clarity, and in response, he said, “The cameras, along with all equipment and memory cards, have been transferred by the Taliban security forces. They also told the individuals they took to their investigation department that it was their fault that the incident happened. The Taliban intelligence had previously warned you, and now they have no responsibility.”
Once again, I witnessed the shattering of my every wish. All the equipment I had purchased with my own money has been destroyed. The sports complex, where students’ dreams to become national and international champions were nurtured, is now soaked in blood. A place that just a few days ago echoed with the loud sound of students’ training has now turned into a horrifying ruin, resonating with the cries of the wounded and the smell of the deceased.
Three days after the incident, I think about my survival and the fact that surviving in Afghanistan is a miracle in itself. I have witnessed numerous tragedies in this land of sorrow, and I am astonished that I am still breathing. In the attack that happened at the Kawsar-e Danesh Educational Training Center in western Kabul, I witnessed the loss of friends and colleagues, but I remained unharmed. I didn’t know that I was going to witness such events multiple times. The second time, at Kabul University, I witnessed a similar and heart-wrenching incident, with a large number of friends and young people, each of whom was a hope and a beacon for the future of our grief-stricken and painful land, killed and injured.
For the third time, I was present in an attack that took place in the Mahtab Qal’eh area during a memorial ceremony for the day of the late Abdul Ali Mazari’s martyrdom. I witnessed the miracle of my survival once again, making it the fourth time I have emerged unscathed from deadly assaults. Many of my friends became martyrs, but I continue to live. However, I am no longer the same person I once was. I lack the motivation to continue living with the same enthusiasm as before. Often, I tell myself that you are condemned to carry on. To reach your goals, you must take risks and persevere, even if unexpected events may occur. You should not lose hope in the future and the light beyond the darkness of the night. Sometimes, I remember the sentence that was written in the notebook of one of the martyrs of the Kaaj Educational Training Center: “As long as the birds fly in this city, one must have hope and strive.”
