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The bang of the blast was deafening. But the comments of the Taliban soldier standing at my bed in the hospital twisted the knife in my wounds. “I wish they were all killed,” pointing to me and my colleagues when I was reeling in pain.
Greetings everyone!
Thank you to all my friends and all those who contacted me, and wished me strength and speedy recovery.
Last Saturday morning [March 11, 2023], I was among many other journalists of Balkh who attended a meeting at the Tebyan Cultural and Social Center organized for our felicitation. The program started with a recitation of the Quran and the inaugural speech of a representative of the Directorate of Information and Culture of Balkh. A group of innocent kids followed him singing an anthem on the stage when a big bag happened. The news breakers themselves became the news. It was blood, cries and dust all over.
I was unconscious for a while, and when I got my senses back, I was confused about whether to leave the building or not, fearing that the attackers would be killing us after the blast. Still, I went to the gate of the basement and unknowingly picked up my tripods. I could feel my phone ringing again and again as I was brought up to the hospital on a stretcher. I couldn’t receive the call from my mother. Laying on the bed in pain, I was worried for my other colleagues. I came to know that they were in better condition than me.
I will not complain of the irresponsible treatment of government officials and doctors, because it doesn’t make any difference. But to cut it short, patients get discharged but I was expelled from the hospital.
On Monday, I did some checkups and I was told that I still have some shrapnel left in my leg. My hair, eyebrows and a part of my face are burnt. My eardrums have been damaged and my back is in bad pain with one of its discs being damaged. As we say in Pashto: “wounds of the bullets heal, but wounds of the words don’t.” I am hopeful that I will stand again, will hold my camera and to be the voice of my voiceless people. But the memory of the treatment we got after the blast will haunt me for a long time.
I wish that no one, especially my colleagues, and my Afghan people see a day like that.
I apologize to all those who tried to reach out to me but I couldn’t answer their phone calls or reply to their messages.
Lots of love and regards
Your Sirat
Greetings everyone!
Thank you to all my friends and all those who contacted me, and wished me strength and speedy recovery.
Last Saturday morning [March 11, 2023], I was among many other journalists of Balkh who attended a meeting at the Tebyan Cultural and Social Center organized for our felicitation. The program started with a recitation of the Quran and the inaugural speech of a representative of the Directorate of Information and Culture of Balkh. A group of innocent kids followed him singing an anthem on the stage when a big bag happened. The news breakers themselves became the news. It was blood, cries and dust all over.
I was unconscious for a while, and when I got my senses back, I was confused about whether to leave the building or not, fearing that the attackers would be killing us after the blast. Still, I went to the gate of the basement and unknowingly picked up my tripods. I could feel my phone ringing again and again as I was brought up to the hospital on a stretcher. I couldn’t receive the call from my mother. Laying on the bed in pain, I was worried for my other colleagues. I came to know that they were in better condition than me.
I will not complain of the irresponsible treatment of government officials and doctors, because it doesn’t make any difference. But to cut it short, patients get discharged but I was expelled from the hospital.
On Monday, I did some checkups and I was told that I still have some shrapnel left in my leg. My hair, eyebrows and a part of my face are burnt. My eardrums have been damaged and my back is in bad pain with one of its discs being damaged. As we say in Pashto: “wounds of the bullets heal, but wounds of the words don’t.” I am hopeful that I will stand again, will hold my camera and to be the voice of my voiceless people. But the memory of the treatment we got after the blast will haunt me for a long time.
I wish that no one, especially my colleagues, and my Afghan people see a day like that.
I apologize to all those who tried to reach out to me but I couldn’t answer their phone calls or reply to their messages.
Lots of love and regards
Your Sirat
