Between the Bear and the Lioness

©hhabibzai1

Where does Afghanistan stand today? Regionally and internationally, security concerns remain one of the greatest fears. I’m one of the victims of the 40-year-long war. I was raised in the decades of war, and I experienced difficult times as a child when Soviet occupation forced my family and I to migrate and leave my home for an uncertain time. After the fall of the Russian-backed communist regime, my family returned to our home village. We had difficulties during the civil war among different groups in the 1990s, but when the Taliban ousted the former Mujahideen’s regime and took control, the safekeeping returned, unless someone was spilling an intentional plate or something similar to that. The Taliban knew that they immediately needed to arrest who had done something against their rules of governing. According to an ICRC survey, in the past 40 years of war, the Taliban was the first group that succeeded to control most of Afghanistan during their rule in the 1990s. And one question remains unanswered: why is it that so much humanitarian and financial damage was created through a seemingly meaningless war, a situation where it seems only Afghans have paid the price? Maybe the only people who can truly answer this are the victims; the orphans and the widows themselves, and it’s possible that they may respond with uncertainty and confusion and have questions themselves regarding why their husbands and fathers were killed when Bin Laden, the mastermind behind the 9/11 terrorist attacks, was found and killed in the heart of neighbouring Pakistan. After 20 years of struggles, Afghanistan is nowhere but more broken and divided. Politicians tried to secure international support to build and unite the country, but was left with no room but to resort for the better and talk to the Taliban. Finally, the Doha agreement between the US and the Taliban spark hopes and open doors for Intra-Afghan talks, but it would be a miracle if these Afghan parties agree. On the other hand, if you allow the country to continue fighting, it will make its control more dangerous.

Afghanistan is still suffering until now as a result of the Russian invasion in the 1980s that led to a US-led invasion.

Prologue

The culture of war enormously worried the Afghanistan people about its continuity that surrounds them. The increasing numbers of lost lives, including school demolitions and the loss of educational opportunities is a catastrophic consequence of the war. Almost four decades of war have forced millions of children in Afghanistan to feed their families. The United Nations figures show that 8.5 million children are the primary responsible members of the families working in the streets to earn money to bring food to the rest of their households. The poverty, poor security, and an influx of refugees returning to Afghanistan from neighbouring countries are the main factors that compel families to force their children to work.

A United Nations survey, released last year, shows that children are employed in a range of heavy jobs from washing cars in the street to working in shops and restaurants, as well as in mechanical factories and garages.

My Plight to Settle

My story and some examples are of the past 20 years of history that I’ve reported and witnessed in Afghanistan when it came under US occupation.

Despite challenging problems of displacement, poverty, and vulnerability, we, brothers have had a happy life under a tent in Baghlan, Afghanistan. My dad never revealed the pressure he was facing to feed us. My brothers and I were children, and we didn’t know what was happening. We were looking at our dad’s eyes, and they were full of kindness and generosity. He was the most extraordinary, generous, and kind man I have known in my life. He was a district elder with a great influence in Sardar Daud Khan’s regime and before that, during King Zahir Shah’s. That’s why the Russian-backed regime was trying to target him, and we were forced to leave our properties. Russians and their communist ally regime raided our houses and killed a number of our relatives and families.

We had massive agricultural lands, and we were exporting rice and wheat to other parts of Afghanistan. My uncle was supplying containers of garments and clothing to the Khinjan and Dushi districts of the province.

My grandfather was a famous local elder in Baghlan province and, on several occasions, he was selected as a Loya Jirgah representative. It was in 1986 when a series of Russian warrior jets attacked Bajgah Valley, killing several civilian families. My family survived. They attacked the location where we were camped under tents.

Our father would say that what we have, no one else has in the world. He was trying to give us morale. We have all the blessings, he said. You see, we have enough food once a day, he added. We were smiling despite the difficulties and tough problems we were facing. The Russians and their puppet government forced our families, like other Afghans, to leave our villages in urban areas near district towns, and we decided to go to a place where their vehicles could not reach us so that we would be safe. It happened, but they tracked our convoy and attacked us with a heavy airstrike.

If I were to tell you my whole life story, you will see a situation in it that many Afghans are facing right now. Problems such as displacement, hunger, and various economic and social problems, but today I’m incredibly lucky as I live in the UK. I have everything here. But, back in Afghanistan, there are many people who do not even have a single meal a day and are facing severe poverty and hardship. Within this poverty-stricken and war-torn nation, I see displaced families, a refugee going through many difficulties, a ten-year-old orphan becoming responsible for feeding his family, or a woman who has lost her husband and now must look after her children while she has nothing. These are the exact reasons as to why I established Helping Orphans; to change lives in Afghanistan and elsewhere around the world for the better.

I was forced to become a refugee when I was under 10 with my family

It was 1984 when the Russian airstrikes bombed hard and killed several civilians, including women and children. They were so angry because one of their planes were crashed by Mujahideen, so they hit everything. Their forces landed through parachutes with painted faces and hairs, and some of them had their heads shaved. We left our village because of the threats of the Khad or the pro-Soviet government intelligence agency and moved to a mountainous area where we lived in a tent. On the other side of the mountain near us, a Russian jet crashed and the pilot was captured by the Mujahideen. We were very frightened when the Russians launched air strikes in response. We took cover and kept ourselves on the ground.

We had not left for half an hour, when suddenly, a hand grenade was fired outside our tent. At that moment, our horse which was tightened next to our tent, dried up and ran. We were still on the ground, not breathing loudly, when we heard a sudden approaching loud scream.

My father looked outside the tent and quickly turned around and said, Oh God, it’s Russians.

We came out of the tent; the Russian soldiers searched us and then entered the tent and found no paper—nothing. In any house, if they found a piece of paper, the Russians would kill the family or take the leaders of the household away. The Russians searched the tent and came out. They assembled and spoke among themselves in Russian. The other soldiers had their guns pointed at us, but we did not know what they said.

The appearance of the Russian soldiers was so horrible. We had never seen a foreign soldier, so when we saw the Russians, we were shocked and scared, and it gave us a horrifying portrait of the foreign army. I still have flashbacks of the scene whenever I see troops or soldiers. I don’t feel confident seeing or being around them because of what I saw in my childhood as it reminds me of the harsh Russians who attacked us. I’ve become a refugee ever since.

Our lands and properties have been occupied by a Russian-backed regime that wanted to impose communist ideology by force. Those who resisted the Russian invasion were forced to leave their homes and take their families out of Afghanistan.

We were very upset when we immigrated in 1986. On one hand, there was the security challenge, and on the other hand, there was the challenge of immigration. The security problem was with my father. He was blacklisted by the communist regime because his three sons were involved in the armed struggle against the regime. The brutality of the Soviet forces and their domestic allies forced the people to revolt.

My father told us to get to Kabul, so there was no problem because most people there didn’t know him. Fortunately, his pictures were not published by the regime. My father had guessed all these things. He said he would look for me at the polygon if he was identified by Khad on the way.

Afterwards, he left our secret hideout and went to the house of a friend who had a Mercedes van and lived in the Khinjan Valley. Khinjan Valley is north of the Salang Pass, which connects Baghlan with Parwan. In other words, the Northern Salang connects with the Southern Salang.

From the Northern Salang Pass to the port of Sherkhan, which connects Afghanistan with Tajikistan, there were militants loyal to Gulbuddin Hekmatyar who would interfere with Soviet convoys. On the Southern Salang Pass up to Jabal Siraj were Burhanuddin Rabbani’s loyal militiamen who had a protocol with the Russians, and in exchange for money, drove Soviet convoys safely to Jabal Siraj.

My father’s friend advised him that we should get into his Mercedes van, and lock the car doors. If someone stops on the way, the driver will tell them that the car was empty and on its way to Kabul to bring goods to the shopkeepers in Khenjan Bazaar. The car’s driver, who was the son of the host, was very businessman-like and made sure nothing happens. All the soldiers at the checkpoints were his friends.

My father laughed and asked how this was possible. Sometimes I pay the soldiers or invite them to dinner, so they don’t tell me on anything, the driver said. He added that everyone loves money. Money is a very bad thing; it could be someone’s enemy and someone’s friend. In this episode, it has appeared as a friend. Everyone laughed and went to the conclusion of the conversation. Two days later, we have arrived at Khinjan Valley and then left the man’s house and moved on towards Kabul.

My father’s friend’s house was about twenty kilometres from the centre of Khad, which was in Khinjan Bazaar. A Russian tank called the Birdom would always be on the road. Sometimes, they would stop on the side of the road in front of their house, and Russian soldiers would come down and gather the children of the surrounding village. The Russian soldiers would have some kind of chocolate and show it to the children so that they would come to them.

A friend of my father said that the Russians were doing this so that they would not be attacked from our village or anywhere else. It is a kind of shield used by the invading forces. My father was a very smart man; he would always analyse the situation. We are not telling anyone where we’re going, he said. Even among the opponents of the regime, we did not tell our friends because Khad people can be everywhere, and they might report us. At that time, we were displaced from our original village and lived in Andarab district. Along the way, between Andarab and Khinjan, we encountered many of my father’s friends. Village by village, a friend unquestionably welcomed us. We moved from one village to another, so carefully, and step by step, that no one knew which way we were going.

When people would ask where we were going, we would tell them we came to see them. That person would welcome us warmly. We would spend a day or so there, then move on to another village until we reached the house of the friend in whose van we had to go to, to reach Kabul. He welcomed us very warmly and appreciated us very much. The friend had a short white beard, and was a short man, neither too fat nor too thin. He wore a white turban and looked like a strong man. His sons were very respectful and did not disobey his orders.

Early in the morning, it was still dark, he sat in his Mercedes van, and locked the door behind us. There was not much air in the boot of the van because that was created to carry goods. But there was a small hole between the boot and the front seat of the vehicle for conversations between us and the driver so that we could inform the driver if there was a problem. The driver called for us to pray.

We all prayed for our safety. We were scared and worried. After a while, the van was stopped, and the driver got down; we heard the sounds of friendly discussions and laughter. A moment later, the car started moving again. We drove for about an hour, then the car stopped again, and the driver talked to someone then moved on. We couldn’t see anything outside from but we could only hear if someone talks outside. We stopped a few times and left.

We went a little further, and the car stopped there. The driver opened the door and we got out. He took us to an old traditional restaurant where all the staff looked like cooks, and there was a stove and a frying pan with hot tea around. He took us to a room and gave us food, then the driver left. We spent about four hours in this room. We sat down, as if waiting for something. Our goal was to get to Kabul. Five hours later, the driver came and said he found us a place to spend for the night. We spent some more time in the room and then the driver came and said that there was this house of an acquaintance, and we can spend the night in his house. By the time we got out, it was getting dark.

The driver was in front and we were behind him. In a few minutes, we reached the house of the man called Haji Sahib. He was a grey-haired man and was very pleased to see us. He gave us a warm welcome. I and the other children were seated with my father in the living room, and my mother and younger sisters were joined by the women of the family.

The man had no sons, only daughters. He was a very hospitable man. They brought tea and a variety of sweets, pistachios, raisins and cookies. I used to have a party like this with my father from way back.. During the conversation, they got to know each other, mentioned some names and symbols, and the meeting became even hotter. My father tried hard to keep himself out of the political debate, but the host would sometimes get into political situations, and complain about the government. He called Babrak Karmal, who was appointed as president by the Russians at the time, a poor and corrupt man who had no agenda other than to spend time with drunkards and girls. He did what the Russians told him to do. Even his statements were written by the Russians; he had no choice. Oppression against Afghans was going on, the country had been sold to foreigners and he was happy, but the people were sad. I listened to the host’s words. I understood that in our house there would always be talk against the communist regime and they would be called a puppet. Haji Sahib also served in the Carmelite government but was found to be unhappy. The presence of foreign troops and the government’s communist policies were unacceptable to any Afghan. When I heard this, I was hopeful that the opposition was not only in the mountains and remote villages but also in the cities, and that the people were tired of it, and no longer wanted to continue this puppet government. It was late at night; the man went out and after a short delay, came back, and fetched water in a jug. He said that he would perform ablution in this water in the morning. Shortly afterwards, the host’s wife and my mother also came into the room corridor. My mother and sister entered the room, and the hostess left. The driver was also waiting outside in the morning when he got up for prayer time. My parents said their prayers and went along. When we got out of the house, my father told me to stop, and I thanked the host.

My father came and said, Let’s get in the car. The driver opened the door, we got in and headed for Kabul.

We arrived in Kabul in about an hour. The good thing was that no one stopped us on the way. The car stopped at Sarai Shamali. The city was very crowded, the sound of music coming from all sides, and the cars were very loud. Soldiers also