By Haniya Frotan
Qamar Gul says the weight of her sorrow after burying a son and seeing another maimed has numbed her emotions.
“The suicide bomber took everything from me. Now I am lying here like a worthless being,” the 64-year-old mother says.
“It’s been almost a year since I’ve known what happiness or sadness is.”
Islamic State affiliate ISKP claimed the attack on November 7 last year which struck in the evening rush hour as workers were heading home.
A suicide bomber targeted a mini-bus in Gulai Mahtab Qala, part of Kabul’s in Dasht-e-Barchi neighborhood.
Local Taliban authorities said at the time that seven people died and at least 10 others were injured. Qamar Gul’s sons were reflected in both statistics – her younger son Nusrat, 24, was killed, while her older son Amin, 31, lost his leg.
“Nusrat had just come from Australia for a vacation. We were supposed to celebrate his wedding in that same month. That was why both brothers had gone to buy paint from Kote Sangi to repaint the house,” Qamar Gul says in a trembling voice.
“Nusrat never returned home. Nothing was left of him to his bride except pieces of his body. In the explosion, his body was torn to shreds.”
She picks up her cane with shaking hands and slowly edges her way to the balcony at the end of the room. Her elder son remains in a wheelchair and is unable to work. Qamar Gul says her faith has been challenged by the events.
“Seeing the death of a young person would test even the patience of a prophet of God. I am just an ordinary person and a mother,” she says.
A week-long search for the wounded son
For years, the Hazara people in Afghanistan have been systematically targeted in attacks by both Taliban and ISIS to the point that some say there’s genocidal intent. Since the return of the Taliban, the cycle of deadly explosive attacks, particularly in western Kabul, has not stopped.
On the day Qamar Gul’s world changed, she had heard about the explosion until around 7:00pm when she began to worry about why Nusrat and Amin were late.
“I was anxious and restless, constantly asking Amin’s wife about my sons – what had happened and why they were so late,” she says.
Soon after, Qamar Gul was told there had been an explosion and that her two sons were injured.
“I felt as though the sky had fallen on me. I lost consciousness,” she says.
“When I came to conscious, it was daylight, and the house was filled with guests. My son, who was supposed to be married, was brought back in a coffin and placed in a corner of the courtyard.”
Of her wounded son Amin, she didn’t have any news for a week.
She says they searched all the hospitals and Taliban police stations, until finding him barely alive at the NGO-run Emergency Hospital in Kabul.
“Until Amin was found, I thought he must have been burned and turned to ashes. I had no hope of his survival,” she says.
Amin had spent an entire month in a coma, and it was only when he returned home that he was told his younger brother had died in the blast.
The grief that changes a person
Qamar Gul’s younger sister Zinat has taken care of her for the past year.
“In the first months, we never left her alone. As soon as she was by herself, she would go to her children’s room and cry bitterly,” Zinat says.
She says the suffering has taken its toll on Qamar Gul who is “no longer the woman who raised her children alone”.
Qamar Gul’s husband died from an illness while their three sons were young and she was left to raise them alone.
Ten years ago, her eldest son emigrated with his family and settled in Australia.
Nusrat, the youngest, reached Australia through smuggling two years later, but after after seven years of being away from his mother, he returned to Kabul last year.
During this time, Qamar Gul had been living with her second son, Amin. But her son in Australia is attempting to bring Amin, his wife, and their daughter to join him.
“Amin is handicapped, and his brother didn’t want to leave him in that state. If God wills, he too will leave this land that has given us nothing but fear,” Qamar Gul says.
While saying goodbye to Amin would be hard, Qamar Gul says she has always put her children first from the time she was left to raise them.
“I accepted burning in this hell so that my children could live,” she says.
