The right side of my head hurts. The pain goes to the middle of my eyes. I haven’t eaten since last night. I feel weak, but I have to go to Azizi Bank and get some money. I wear my mother’s clothes for fear that the Taliban will find fault with my appearance. My father accompanies me.
We have been standing here since nine o’clock in the morning. It is now twelve noon. A large crowd is waiting in front of the bank to get inside to withdraw cash. Everyone has an urgent reason to get their money: some have travel plans, some need to buy groceries, and some must pay their hospital bills. The crowd is large and the work inside the bank is slow. Three Taliban gunmen are standing at the entrance to control the flow of people. Everyone is pushing and shoving to get ahead in the line, which causes chaos. Some scream and some swear. I can’t move forward in the midst of all this.
Taliban beat the men with rifle butts. A woman faints from stress of the chaos, or maybe fear of seeing the Taliban gunmen. My heart aches for a skinny man who is repeatedly hit in the stomach with the barrel of a gun by an angry Talib. I see another man with an open wound in his face, still trying to push ahead.
The Taliban are screaming on men, “Shame on you! You are pushing yourselves past women’s bodies. Don’t mix with women. Make way for them.” I hear women’s voices cursing loudly, “Shame on you, you uncouth scoundrels.” I don’t know who is the intended target of her rage? Is it the people who have rushed the bank to withdraw cash out of desperation or the Taliban gunmen whose methods of crowd control are rifle butts and barrels and iron rods? Women’s and men’s voices mingle in the commotion. Near where I’m standing, a Taliban gunman raises the barrel of his rifle and fires in the air. The deafening sound of gunfire causes whistles in my ears. I cover them with my hands, then sit against the wall.
The crowd calms down for a moment. I get up again and see that men and women are again pushing each other to get in the bank. The crowd is getting more tumultuous and chaotic. Amidst the pressure of the crowd, my right hand hits the corner of a wall and I feel a sharp pain as if I no longer have a hand.
For the second time, the Taliban gunman raises the barrel of his gun in the air and fires three shots in the air. A loud and scary sound echoes in my ears. I am terrified. I don’t think I can stand on my feet anymore. I want to escape from this field of terror, but there is no way to leave. I have almost reached the bank. Someone from the bank announces that they are out of cash. The crowd roars in anger and frustration.
For the third time, the Taliban gunman points his gun in the air and shoots four times. Panic overtakes me. My older sister calls me. I don’t have the strength to speak; hatred and fear clog my throat. Instead of words from my mouth, tears flow from my eyes. I hung up the phone to take a deep breath and find the strength to speak again. Before I was about to call, my sister called again. I tell her what happened and ask her to call father [who is waiting nearby] and tell him to wait for me, so that I can pull myself out of the chaos and terror.
My hands are shaking. The feeling of weakness runs from head to toe. My legs can’t stand. My head hurts. I think I’m going to fall and be trampled. Finally, I push myself out of the crowd. I take a deep breath to steady myself. It’s like it’s the last time I have a chance to breathe.
When I find my father, I breathe a sigh of relief and go home with him. I buy a bottle of water on my way. I am doing my best to overcome the fear created by Taliban gunmen and their methods of crowd control. Together, we return home with empty hands, without saying a word, without crying, and without sharing our thoughts. Never, never until today, had I heard a gun fired so close to me and I had never seen the shadow of death so close to me. The gunshots were so loud that my ears were ringing as if death is still nearby. That day ended and I did not die of terror. I am still struggling to survive.
