I am 38 years old. I lost my husband during the Mujahedin fighting in Kabul. I didn’t have any brothers. I didn’t have anyone. My children were all very small and one of my children was still in the womb. 17 days later we found the dead body of my husband. When my husband was alive, our life was ok. My husband had a job in Simtui. He went there and he was killed there. Life was ok, but when he was killed I lost everything.

There was nobody to help me except God. My husband was on duty. He worked as an electrician and he was working in Tahia Maskan. 17 days later an ambulance brought his dead body and he was buried. There was neither a ceremony on Friday night, nor 40 days later. Nothing official was done for him. It was war. There was fighting. There was a child in my womb. His dead body was found 17 days later but my life was destroyed. Everything destroyed. I sold whatever I had, like carpets and other things. My children were all small. We were all going to this mountain to collect rocket shells. I carried them on top of my head. I was collecting them with my children. I was scared to go there but when I eventually went I became more confident. We were selling these shells and with the money we earned I bought food and other things for my children. People were buying stones even. I was going to the mountain, breaking the stones and bringing them to the city and we were selling them and taking some money to buy food. Later I was given a mattress, a blanket.

When my husband was killed, there was fighting and the rockets were coming from everywhere. Now I am confused. When someone tells me something in the morning, I cannot remember it at noon. And if they tell me at lunch time I can’t remember it until dinner time. If you hit my head, you would realize my brain is not in its proper place. Now I am with my children. I have raised all my children. There were fighting everyday with one another. They were beating each other. Two of my daughters are now married and the boy that was in my womb is now 18 years old. Sometimes my children ask about their father. Sometimes they don’t. They were all beaten up because they didn’t have a father.