I am living in Kabul. I am 90 years old. During the civil war in Kabul, I lost my son. My son was 19 years old. After 16 years, I took him out of the grave and reburied him in Shura, in front of the mosque. When I saw his body after 16 years, it was still full of flesh. I was a butcher before. Now I don’t even have 100 Afghanis. I swear on the Koran I don’t even have 100 Afghanis in my house. I am full of pain. If I had the opportunity, I would strangle all the warlords. I was a butcher and all the people in the area knew me. I had fourteen bags of money with 500 and 1000 Afghani notes. And several thousand pieces of wood that I had buried. They all have been stolen.

One day my neighbor son, Rafur, called me to come to his house. He told me that we were surrounded and that my son-in-law was looking for me (to let me know). I couldn’t go home so I stayed there until 2pm. Then I went home and I saw that my son had been killed inside the home. I was told that my son was killed when he opened the door trying to escape to the roof. When I saw my son, I didn’t see any injury on him. When I went to the roof, I saw sprinkles of blood and pieces of his brain and clothes. That was all I saw. I don’t know how he was killed. His mother still does not know (that he is dead). His mother was mentally sick before. I hid this issue from her on purpose. Now what can I do. There are many stories like this.

This was the decision of God and I accept whatever he decides. 16 years later we unburied him. I have nothing more to say except that God should punish the cruel people, all the cruel people. I have a lot of pain but who can understand it? However, if somebody finally listened to my story and did not agree with it, I would not mind, they could hang me. My blood is in the service of the nation. Whoever asks me, I have many pains and stories to tell. First of all, today in my house there is not even 100 Afghanis. So I play with the smoke (crying). Today I am begging for 100 Afghanis.