The Story of Tawab Fayazi (son/brother)

Victims’ Names: Abdul Rahim, Abdul Raof, and Suhaila
Date of Incident: August 6, 1979
Place of Incident: Pul-i-Charkhi, Kabul

My name is Tawab. I was born in Kabul in 1978 but am originally from the District of Jaghori district in the Province of Ghazni. I was only eight when the Communist Regime arrested my father. The night before, my uncle Abdul Raof had come home and told my father of the Bala Hissar Rebellions’ decision to launch an uprising from what is now the Kabul Education University. The next day, despite everyone being on the lookout, my uncle slipped away and joined the team waiting for him in Karte-Sakhi. My father was working with the Ministry of Agriculture and was aware of arrests and suppression of the people by police and AGSA (Afghanistan Gato Satolo Adara- Department for Safeguarding the Interests of Afghanistan) forces. When he returns from work, he instantly asked where Abdul Raof was. Thinking that being a government employee would provide him immunity, he went directly to Karte Sakhi and without knowing that the AGSA had already raided the house and arrested Raof and his team. Suspected to be a rebel, they arrested him too.
It was during Hafizullah Amin’s rule that the People’s Democratic Party of Afghanistan arrested, tortured, and executed my father. Whatever they were, political activist or rebel, they deserved a fair trial before being executed. My father and uncle were executed within two days of their arrest and without any reliable evidence. They were not the only victims; thousands of other innocent people have disappeared and later found executed without a proper trial and investigation. Abdul Raof was a high school student and had just engaged when they put in an end to his short life.
After my father’s death, another uncle, Nasim Fayazi took care of my older sister and me. He was very caring and protective of us. We were living in Kabul when the Communist Regime ended and the Mujahideen took power. The situation deteriorated when the different militia groups started fighting each other. A disastrous war of all against all overshadowed Kabul. A rain of bullets and rockets wouldn’t let anyone dare to go to the grocery stores or even the bakery. When my uncle and I were returning from a short visit to Jaghori, he came to learn of my sister’s death. To hide it from me, he told me to go back to Jaghori as Kabul was not safe, but I refused. When we reached home, nothing was in place, windows had been shattered and our home was in ruins. I cried for my grandparents but my mother came out crying. She hugged me and told me of Suhaila’s death and that her soul was now with father. I felt like I had lost everything and everyone. In the dark of the night, I went to look for her grave but could not find it because there were dozens of new graves of those killed in the clash between the Mujahideen groups. I sat by those new graves and cried for long hours.

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