«I COULD NOT EVEN CRY»:
Children of the 90s and the civil war in Tajikistan
In Tajikistan, following independence, there was a split in society, which led to a civil war as early as the spring of 1992. To a large extent, this split had parochial (regionalism) roots. Armed clashes lasted for about five years. On June 27, 1997 a "General Agreement on the Establishment of Peace and National Accord in Tajikistan" was signed between the government of Tajikistan and the opposition. Over these years, people have lost loved ones, property, their homeland, and some have lost their childhood.
Tajikistan citizens still remember the horrors of war, and do not want a repeat of history. According to our heroes, no political ambitions are worth the sacrifices Tajikistan suffered in the 1990s. Any conflicts and misunderstandings must be resolved first and foremost through diplomacy.
We have collected the memories of people whose childhood and youth fell during the war years.
Tajikistan citizens still remember the horrors of war, and do not want a repeat of history. According to our heroes, no political ambitions are worth the sacrifices Tajikistan suffered in the 1990s. Any conflicts and misunderstandings must be resolved first and foremost through diplomacy.
We have collected the memories of people whose childhood and youth fell during the war years.
Background
24 years have passed since the end of the Civil War in Tajikistan. According to official government data, over 60 thousand people were killed during the war - about 25 thousand women were widowed, and 55 thousand children lost their parents. Hundreds of thousands of families were forced to leave their homes and flee to neighboring countries from the war. According to official figures alone, over 1 million refugees were registered in Tajikistan at the beginning of 1993.
Nozanin- had been 13 years old at the time of the war.
Mazar-i-Sharif, Afghanistan
Mazar-i-Sharif, Afghanistan
- It was October '92, I had not yet realised that the war had started. I remember I was having lunch and suddenly my father came into our havli (house - ed.) and told to hurry up and go outside, the car was ready. I did not understand anything. Mom was frantically collecting some kurpashki (a Tajik blanket stuffed with cotton wool - ed.), but Dad told us to leave everything behind. Mum tied one kurpa with sheets and we got into the car.
“
«Bacham¹, we're going to Afghanistan to live there for a while," I heard from my mother already on the way.
Bacham¹ — kid, daughter, son.
It was still quiet in Kabadian at the time, it seemed that the war was somewhere far away. I heard something about the war on the radio, but I was not interested. As it turned out, it was very close - several young men had already been killed in a village not far from us. As I was sitting in the car I heard some gunshots, and only then I started to worry.
Closer to the border the sound of gunfire became clearer, my father left us at the bank of the river [Panj], where the family of my Amak (father's brother- ed.) were already waiting for us; they hid in a small hole, as the fire stopped for a short time. Dad went back to guard the house and we stayed in the pit to wait for the moment.
We waited until nightfall and crossed the Panj on a raft, the gunfire had already ended by then. But there were desperate people - I saw people crossing the river under 'rain' fire, some on balloons, some trying to swim across on their own. Three people did not make it to the other side alive; they were put on a sheet and buried in Afghanistan. At that moment my heart was torn apart, I was horrified by what I saw, I could not even cry, I just froze
Closer to the border the sound of gunfire became clearer, my father left us at the bank of the river [Panj], where the family of my Amak (father's brother- ed.) were already waiting for us; they hid in a small hole, as the fire stopped for a short time. Dad went back to guard the house and we stayed in the pit to wait for the moment.
We waited until nightfall and crossed the Panj on a raft, the gunfire had already ended by then. But there were desperate people - I saw people crossing the river under 'rain' fire, some on balloons, some trying to swim across on their own. Three people did not make it to the other side alive; they were put on a sheet and buried in Afghanistan. At that moment my heart was torn apart, I was horrified by what I saw, I could not even cry, I just froze
When we crossed to the other side, the border guards were warned about the refugees and they cut the barbed wire in one place. At that point, my mother threw a kurpa on top of the wire, so that we wouldn't get hurt while climbing over it. When we had reached over the net, we pulled the kurpa, but it got caught on the wire and broke, and all the cotton wool came out. We stuffed everything that fell out from the inside and went to the camp. That night we covered ourselves with this torn kurpa.
All three families reached their destination in their entirety. We were very warmly welcomed in Afghanistan, everyone here knew that we were running away from the war. They helped us with absolutely everything, but I was still worried about my father: how was he? Was he even alive?
He returned 10-12 days later, his feet were swollen and scratched. He told us that the bandits had already entered Kabadian and our house had been burnt down. After that, Dad had already run to us in Afghanistan, sneaking through the cotton fields at night, it was much safer that way.
All three families reached their destination in their entirety. We were very warmly welcomed in Afghanistan, everyone here knew that we were running away from the war. They helped us with absolutely everything, but I was still worried about my father: how was he? Was he even alive?
He returned 10-12 days later, his feet were swollen and scratched. He told us that the bandits had already entered Kabadian and our house had been burnt down. After that, Dad had already run to us in Afghanistan, sneaking through the cotton fields at night, it was much safer that way.
At the beginning in Afghanistan, we lived in a tent city, we were given clothes (even socks!) and coupons for shopping in the bazaar. I went straight to school, my parents got jobs, I even had a little sister who was born in Afghanistan!
We lived in Afghanistan for five years. I remember these years with great warmth and am grateful for the support given by the state and the people. I graduated from school in Afghanistan, managed to work with my mother in a biscuit factory, went to Mazar-e-Sharif three times with my family and became a big sister. We were the last to return home when the war started in Afghanistan.
We used to wake up early in the morning, do all the stuff, and go home at 7am and wait for the sun to set. As soon as the sun set over the horizon, life boiled up again. There was no military activity where civilians lived, there was shooting only in the mountains, but it was still scary. We decided to return home to Tajikistan - my mother missed her home very much.
When we returned to Kabadian, our houses had been burnt down, we started to rebuild it. It took us three years to renovate the house, but despite this we were happy to return to our homeland, where there is no more war.
We lived in Afghanistan for five years. I remember these years with great warmth and am grateful for the support given by the state and the people. I graduated from school in Afghanistan, managed to work with my mother in a biscuit factory, went to Mazar-e-Sharif three times with my family and became a big sister. We were the last to return home when the war started in Afghanistan.
We used to wake up early in the morning, do all the stuff, and go home at 7am and wait for the sun to set. As soon as the sun set over the horizon, life boiled up again. There was no military activity where civilians lived, there was shooting only in the mountains, but it was still scary. We decided to return home to Tajikistan - my mother missed her home very much.
When we returned to Kabadian, our houses had been burnt down, we started to rebuild it. It took us three years to renovate the house, but despite this we were happy to return to our homeland, where there is no more war.
Dilovar- had been 13 years old at the time of the war
Samarqand,Uzbekistan
Dushanbe,Tajikistan
- At the beginning of the war I was in the 9th grade and had to walk to school №53. I was just passing through Shohidon Square, the so-called "vovchiki" camp. Accordingly, I saw all those posters, all those people. They were performing from the stairs of the Central Committee and the Supreme Soviet there. I remember the song "Az hobi garon, hobi garon, hez" ("Come out of your deep sleep, come out of your deep sleep"), it was very popular then, practically the anthem of one of the squares. I, a teenager, could feel all that adrenaline and thought "wow, how cool", not realising at the time the seriousness of what was going on, being a teenager. I was watching it all, even taking part in it a bit. Sometimes I got a piece of bread and walked to the zoo, because the buses were turning around at the Putovskiy market..
Samarqand,Uzbekistan
Dushanbe,Tajikistan
- At the beginning of the war I was in the 9th grade and had to walk to school №53. I was just passing through Shohidon Square, the so-called "vovchiki" camp. Accordingly, I saw all those posters, all those people. They were performing from the stairs of the Central Committee and the Supreme Soviet there. I remember the song "Az hobi garon, hobi garon, hez" ("Come out of your deep sleep, come out of your deep sleep"), it was very popular then, practically the anthem of one of the squares. I, a teenager, could feel all that adrenaline and thought "wow, how cool", not realising at the time the seriousness of what was going on, being a teenager. I was watching it all, even taking part in it a bit. Sometimes I got a piece of bread and walked to the zoo, because the buses were turning around at the Putovskiy market..
"Vovchiki"² in Tajikistan referred to supporters of the opposition. The movement was formed as an alliance of the Islamic Renaissance Party (banned in Tajikistan by court decision), the Democratic Party and some affiliated movements. The etymology of the word "vovchik" is not reliably known, presumably from the Arabic letter "و" - "vav", which means supporter of Wahhabism.
"Yurchiki" was the name given to supporters of Presidents Rahmon Nabiev and Emomali Rahmon, who mainly adhered to Communist and secular ideology. The etymology of the word is unknown.
"Yurchiki" was the name given to supporters of Presidents Rahmon Nabiev and Emomali Rahmon, who mainly adhered to Communist and secular ideology. The etymology of the word is unknown.
In the autumn of '92 we went to Samarkand (Uzbekistan). My parents had shogirds, former students who worked in the railway, who helped us get on the train. We were actually pushed into this carriage. There was no talk of centralized ticket sales, so that you could buy yourself a seat in a compartment or an empty seat. Whoever came first, sat down, got a ticket. Then the conductors would come and you would just pay them on the spot.
The train was packed. I remember there were a whole bunch of us and at one point I was lucky enough to get the luggage rack where you throw your suitcases. It was at the end of the compartment, and I found it towards nightfall and crammed myself in, it was very hot. When we arrived in Samarkand, we were already met by relatives, and in the middle of the night we walked to the house where my grandparents lived
We spent a couple of months in Samarkand and returned home in the winter of '93. When we came back, we took a train from Samarkand to Termez, and then we took a bus. It took us to the border and dropped us off there. We crossed the neutral zone on foot, quite a long way. We brought some food from Samarkand and whatever we could carry on our backs. After that we took a truck which took us almost all the way to the aluminium factory, where we spent the night in a hotel in Tursunzoda. The next morning the local authorities organised buses to take us to Dushanbe.
The train was packed. I remember there were a whole bunch of us and at one point I was lucky enough to get the luggage rack where you throw your suitcases. It was at the end of the compartment, and I found it towards nightfall and crammed myself in, it was very hot. When we arrived in Samarkand, we were already met by relatives, and in the middle of the night we walked to the house where my grandparents lived
We spent a couple of months in Samarkand and returned home in the winter of '93. When we came back, we took a train from Samarkand to Termez, and then we took a bus. It took us to the border and dropped us off there. We crossed the neutral zone on foot, quite a long way. We brought some food from Samarkand and whatever we could carry on our backs. After that we took a truck which took us almost all the way to the aluminium factory, where we spent the night in a hotel in Tursunzoda. The next morning the local authorities organised buses to take us to Dushanbe.
"When we reached the house, we saw that the second and third floors were gone.That's when I realised the seriousness of the war."
When we reached the house, we saw that the second and third floors were gone.That's when I realised the seriousness of the war. A bomb hit our house and the three-storey house turned into a one-storey house. I stood up and saw that the concrete wall had collapsed, all the glass had fallen, and the façade, the backside, was all riddled with holes. At that moment I realised that things were already different here, in a serious way.
Then neighbours, friends and acquaintances started telling us how they had experienced it all. There were some funny moments and some really scary ones. When a car pulls into the yard at night, you start thinking: "Who did they come for? What have they come for? Maybe there will be a knock on the door and something will happen."
Then neighbours, friends and acquaintances started telling us how they had experienced it all. There were some funny moments and some really scary ones. When a car pulls into the yard at night, you start thinking: "Who did they come for? What have they come for? Maybe there will be a knock on the door and something will happen."
My most vivid memory is when we were warming up in the entrance hall, there was still central heating then. The entrance was closed, there was an iron door, and suddenly there was a knock. We opened the door and a man in uniform walked in, our neighbour's boy recognised and welcomed him. The man started asking him how they live, how his parents are, and then he asked: "Are there any 'vovchiki' in the house? Any teachers? Democrats?". For some reason he was interested in History teachers. He said that if there were, the children could sort out their flats and he would sort out the tenants.
At that moment, you begin to wonder what kind of relationship you had with all those neighbourhood children, had you offended anyone? Did anyone hold a grievance against you? They might say, "His parents are historians, and they're all democrats and from Garm. So all three of these leading questions were about me. And this was our reality. Just because you accidentally step on the foot of your neighbour's child during the football game, he can take revenge on you and just turn your family's whole life upside down. These are some of the most vivid and frightening emotions I have experienced.
At that moment, you begin to wonder what kind of relationship you had with all those neighbourhood children, had you offended anyone? Did anyone hold a grievance against you? They might say, "His parents are historians, and they're all democrats and from Garm. So all three of these leading questions were about me. And this was our reality. Just because you accidentally step on the foot of your neighbour's child during the football game, he can take revenge on you and just turn your family's whole life upside down. These are some of the most vivid and frightening emotions I have experienced.
After a big break, I went back to school and the separation into "vovchiks" and "yurchiks" began. People with whom you had previously communicated in a normal way suddenly became different and began to perceive you differently - this is the school reality of those years.
During the war I managed to finish school and attend university. In the first year we were sent to cotton collection, again we found out that there was someone among us whose parents held positions in the Democratic Party Committee, some sort of showdown started, and two of the guys were stabbed. Again the division began, everyone remembered who was who.
But we were lucky - our group was friendly, so there were no particular problems within our group. But we knew that there were accounting students in the gym of another building, and for some reason they were concentrated at that moment to represent natives of Khatlon. We understood that they were our neighbours, but we had to be careful not to bump into them, so we tried to avoid them.
During the war I managed to finish school and attend university. In the first year we were sent to cotton collection, again we found out that there was someone among us whose parents held positions in the Democratic Party Committee, some sort of showdown started, and two of the guys were stabbed. Again the division began, everyone remembered who was who.
But we were lucky - our group was friendly, so there were no particular problems within our group. But we knew that there were accounting students in the gym of another building, and for some reason they were concentrated at that moment to represent natives of Khatlon. We understood that they were our neighbours, but we had to be careful not to bump into them, so we tried to avoid them.
Afterwards, when we had already returned from the holidays to the "island" (the educational campus of the Tajik National University-ed.), we heard that father of one of our classmates was killed; he was also from Garm. It reminded me once again that the geography of my origin is not the safest.
Otherwise, I was lucky with the group, everyone was sane. But I know it wasn't like that for everyone. There was also physical violence in other groups. Unfortunately, militants and weapons were the norm at the time, there were times when students came with weapons and threatened teachers. They tried to bring in militants during the session to get their grades.
Otherwise, I was lucky with the group, everyone was sane. But I know it wasn't like that for everyone. There was also physical violence in other groups. Unfortunately, militants and weapons were the norm at the time, there were times when students came with weapons and threatened teachers. They tried to bring in militants during the session to get their grades.
At the end of my 4th year, in July '97, I got a job as an interpreter with the National Commission for National Reconciliation. At that time they had already signed a peace treaty, they were lodged in the "Vakhsh" hotel. I had to go there, translate documents, accompany and interpret at meetings. Consequently, I constantly saw militants, guns, guards.
One day, when I had to go there again, there was some kind of conflict between them. I went to the door and there was the sound of a gunshot - someone shooting at someone. I heard someone outside the door fall and I changed my mind about going in. I thought, why should I make armed people nervous? I decided to go to the four-storey building, where the "Volna" shop is located now, and hide in one of the entrances, to wait out the conflict.
I just went into the entrance and three men came running out, one of them had a machine gun and a ribbon. He ran and asked me if I had seen anyone armed, and I stood there unable to say anything. They then ran away, and I decided not to go into that entrance. I went to the university through the "Zeleniy" (Green) Bazaar and I did not return to the "Vakhsh" Hotel that day..
One day, when I had to go there again, there was some kind of conflict between them. I went to the door and there was the sound of a gunshot - someone shooting at someone. I heard someone outside the door fall and I changed my mind about going in. I thought, why should I make armed people nervous? I decided to go to the four-storey building, where the "Volna" shop is located now, and hide in one of the entrances, to wait out the conflict.
I just went into the entrance and three men came running out, one of them had a machine gun and a ribbon. He ran and asked me if I had seen anyone armed, and I stood there unable to say anything. They then ran away, and I decided not to go into that entrance. I went to the university through the "Zeleniy" (Green) Bazaar and I did not return to the "Vakhsh" Hotel that day..
Mamlakat - had been 21 years old
at the time of the war.
Kabadian, Tajikistan
at the time of the war.
Kabadian, Tajikistan
- It was the end of October '92. I was living in the centre of Kabadian, and rumours started to reach me that the Popular Front was advancing. There were many Tajiks from the so-called "opposition area" living in our town at that time - the Garms, Darvazis, Pamiris. In general, we had a very international city - there were many Germans, Uzbeks, Tatars, who just did not exist, I myself am a Kyrgyz - Tajik. Then everyone started to pack their belongings and run away. I looked out of the window and saw everyone leaving, in just a couple of days the city was almost deserted.
My elder brother also packed his bags and wanted to escape to Afghanistan; he almost succeeded. He reached the border and should have crossed it already, but according to acquaintances who were with him, he forgot something in town and returned. Unfortunately he was never able to return to the city; he was caught and killed on the way. We still don't know where he was buried, we still haven't found his grave.
Then they started blocking the roads, it was impossible to leave - they were killing people on the spot.
My elder brother also packed his bags and wanted to escape to Afghanistan; he almost succeeded. He reached the border and should have crossed it already, but according to acquaintances who were with him, he forgot something in town and returned. Unfortunately he was never able to return to the city; he was caught and killed on the way. We still don't know where he was buried, we still haven't found his grave.
Then they started blocking the roads, it was impossible to leave - they were killing people on the spot.
One of the brothers was taken right in front of me. In November, we went to Farogat for a couple of days on business, we came back through the village of Kurot and stayed with acquaintances there because we noticed a large number of fighters. We called our qudos (matchmakers-ed.) to Kabadian and told them where we were, so they could take us away from there.
"Don't go anywhere, wait for us there, we'll be there soon," matchmakers told us. My brother was a paratrooper, had been through the whole of Afghanistan, he was a very big and tall guy. While I was quietly sitting and hiding at my acquaintances' house waiting for my relatives, my brother was constantly going out of the house into the yard and back. He was spotted; militants came through the gate and told him to go with them. I asked him to stay, but unfortunately, there was no choice. The relatives didn't make it in time, he was taken away earlier.
"Don't go anywhere, wait for us there, we'll be there soon," matchmakers told us. My brother was a paratrooper, had been through the whole of Afghanistan, he was a very big and tall guy. While I was quietly sitting and hiding at my acquaintances' house waiting for my relatives, my brother was constantly going out of the house into the yard and back. He was spotted; militants came through the gate and told him to go with them. I asked him to stay, but unfortunately, there was no choice. The relatives didn't make it in time, he was taken away earlier.
He was killed on November 14 in Kurot, we found his remains only 8 years later. They shot 5 men and poured concrete over them for serving in Afghanistan and "killing Muslims".
The place was shown to us by a man who had seen them being shot. We looked for a long time for the exact spot, we dug all the ground around the area, but found nothing, there was only a concrete slab left. Eventually we started breaking the concrete. The first thing I saw was his shoes, they were the shoes he was wearing the last day we saw him.
When they started pulling out the remains, I was given his skull with a bullet in the forehead and, even though everything had rotted away and the skull was deformed over eight years, I recognised the outline of my brother's face. His bones were immediately separated from the others, he was the largest of those killed. According to the story of the man who saw them shot, he was shot 6 times, after which he shouted to the murderer: "If you are going to kill me, kill me". After that he was shot in the forehead one last time.
The place was shown to us by a man who had seen them being shot. We looked for a long time for the exact spot, we dug all the ground around the area, but found nothing, there was only a concrete slab left. Eventually we started breaking the concrete. The first thing I saw was his shoes, they were the shoes he was wearing the last day we saw him.
When they started pulling out the remains, I was given his skull with a bullet in the forehead and, even though everything had rotted away and the skull was deformed over eight years, I recognised the outline of my brother's face. His bones were immediately separated from the others, he was the largest of those killed. According to the story of the man who saw them shot, he was shot 6 times, after which he shouted to the murderer: "If you are going to kill me, kill me". After that he was shot in the forehead one last time.
Haspallaev³ - Commandant of the Kabadian district.
I knew all the guys who were killed with him; they were good and sinless young men. I counted 40 days since their deaths and went to the head of the mahalla, Haspallaev³, to get a permit for me to go to the mosque, where fighters were located and ask for cow and oil.
"I'll give you meat," he said, and I replied, "I've got meat, give me a cow" (to sacrifice a cow, to bleed for the deceased- ed.).
Haspallaev allocated me a companion- guy named Shohimardon . He was a tall and very handsome fellow, with one gold tooth, a wide smile and a machine gun. Shohimardon and I went to the mosque, where all the fighters were gathered. I was not afraid of anything then, I had no fear in me, I was full of hatred and anger.
When we approached the mosque, I saw 25-30 huge kazans, they were celebrating something while the people were starving. I knew the bandits had collected all the cattle from the population and were keeping them in the mosque.
When I entered the mosque, everyone looked at me. I was not afraid; if I had been handed a machine gun, I would have shot them all there. I went to Rais (commandant-ed.), showed the paper and said that I needed a cow and oil.
"I'll give you meat," he said, and I replied, "I've got meat, give me a cow" (to sacrifice a cow, to bleed for the deceased- ed.).
Haspallaev allocated me a companion- guy named Shohimardon . He was a tall and very handsome fellow, with one gold tooth, a wide smile and a machine gun. Shohimardon and I went to the mosque, where all the fighters were gathered. I was not afraid of anything then, I had no fear in me, I was full of hatred and anger.
When we approached the mosque, I saw 25-30 huge kazans, they were celebrating something while the people were starving. I knew the bandits had collected all the cattle from the population and were keeping them in the mosque.
When I entered the mosque, everyone looked at me. I was not afraid; if I had been handed a machine gun, I would have shot them all there. I went to Rais (commandant-ed.), showed the paper and said that I needed a cow and oil.
“
"There is neither meat nor money," he said, and I got very angry: "Ah no money, then here you go," and threw four hundred roubles on his table and demanded exactly a cow!
They provided a cow and a butcher, and slaughtered it there. The cow was big; more than 100 kilos of meat came out. They gave my money back, said there was no oil.
We carried all the meat in a tractor, and in the meantime there were drunken bandits in a Willys driving along with us. They were speeding and their car overturned on the railway, they broke all their legs and arms. I looked at them and wanted to kill them on the spot, I was so angry at them.
We made a big ma'raka (fortieth day obit-ed.), a lot of people came to the commemoration, including gunmen and a field commander.
I laid a very large and rich table for those days - there were fruit and sweets, everyone was surprised. The fighters were whispering among themselves: "Where did she find all this? Could it be that people have hidden something from us?".
We carried all the meat in a tractor, and in the meantime there were drunken bandits in a Willys driving along with us. They were speeding and their car overturned on the railway, they broke all their legs and arms. I looked at them and wanted to kill them on the spot, I was so angry at them.
We made a big ma'raka (fortieth day obit-ed.), a lot of people came to the commemoration, including gunmen and a field commander.
I laid a very large and rich table for those days - there were fruit and sweets, everyone was surprised. The fighters were whispering among themselves: "Where did she find all this? Could it be that people have hidden something from us?".
Maston, had been 21 years old at the time of the war.
Dushanbe, Tajikistan
Khorog, Tajikistan
Dushanbe, Tajikistan
Khorog, Tajikistan
- In 1992, I was 17 and my brother was 18. I had just entered TSU (Tajik State University - ed.). We studied for a month and a half. In October 20, I remember my brother woke me up early in the morning and said: "I think the war has started. I heard the rumble of heavy artillery almost under my window and realised it was no joke.
In those days we were afraid to stick our heads out of the window for fear of being shot in the head. On about the third or fourth day, the shooting ended and we decided to leave the house to at least buy some bread. The town was empty. Only the bakery had a crowd of people standing in a chaotic queue for bread.
We were not yet aware of the seriousness of the situation, but we knew that most of our people had already left their homes in Dushanbe and the regions and had gone to the east - the Pamirs. We stayed in Dushanbe until December 1992.
In those days we were afraid to stick our heads out of the window for fear of being shot in the head. On about the third or fourth day, the shooting ended and we decided to leave the house to at least buy some bread. The town was empty. Only the bakery had a crowd of people standing in a chaotic queue for bread.
We were not yet aware of the seriousness of the situation, but we knew that most of our people had already left their homes in Dushanbe and the regions and had gone to the east - the Pamirs. We stayed in Dushanbe until December 1992.
Already from the middle of November we realised that it was serious. We realised that a purge was already underway in some districts, i.e. they were looking for our fellow townsfolk and executing them. The sensations were terrible.
Since mid-November we had been looking for transport to leave Dushanbe every day, but all in vain. It was only on 5 December that we found one departing tipper truck. We were taken to the back with five more passengers and set off for Khorog.
Since mid-November we had been looking for transport to leave Dushanbe every day, but all in vain. It was only on 5 December that we found one departing tipper truck. We were taken to the back with five more passengers and set off for Khorog.
“
It was cold on the auto body in December. It was scary. While we were driving from Dushanbe to the east, we were waiting for shelling every minute. It was only once we entered Badakhshan that calm came.
When we arrived in Khorog, our relatives could not believe that we had managed to escape from this hell. Because in those days, almost every day there was news that one of our people had been shot or brutally murdered again in Dushanbe or elsewhere.
Everyone's lives changed in those years. No one knew what was going to happen next. Everyone was surviving as best they could.
Everyone's lives changed in those years. No one knew what was going to happen next. Everyone was surviving as best they could.
AKDN⁴ (Aga Khan Development Network– ed.).
In 1993, AKDN⁴ had already arrived in the Pamirs and immediately established a supply of humanitarian aid to the entire population of GBAO in the form of flour, oil, milk powder, pulses, etc. The local authorities very quickly managed to count the total population, including refugees, and calculate the ration per person. It can be said that the AKDN helped the population to survive in those years, for which everyone in the area is very grateful to the fund. This assistance continued until the early 2000s.
At the same time, AKDN launched its projects in the region, which helped many people to find jobs and earn good money at the time.
The Foundation has also contributed to my life. I became a scholarship holder of the foundation and went to study in Russia in the autumn of 1993. I was not in Tajikistan until 2001. And life there was already relatively stable.
At the same time, AKDN launched its projects in the region, which helped many people to find jobs and earn good money at the time.
The Foundation has also contributed to my life. I became a scholarship holder of the foundation and went to study in Russia in the autumn of 1993. I was not in Tajikistan until 2001. And life there was already relatively stable.
“
But it was all a good lesson for the generation who lived in those years. Because any thought of going to someone with a gun, brings fear to those who survived the war.
But the new generation, which has not lived through all this and lives in a relatively well-fed world, does not understand this. And again there is a growing division among them into regions.
But the new generation, which has not lived through all this and lives in a relatively well-fed world, does not understand this. And again there is a growing division among them into regions.
Шухрат, на момент войны 8 лет
Душанбе, Таджикистан
Душанбе, Таджикистан
We lived in the 91st micro-district. Our houses were called "Central Committee" houses at that time for some reason. Apparently, because our neighbours were government officials, prominent journalists, poets.
I don't remember all the names, but the ones I can remember are Loiq Sherali and Amirqul Azimov. I was 8 years old... I was not aware of the scale of the civil war, nor of all the terrible atrocities that were going on in the country everywhere in those years. My whole world was confined to our "square", beyond which we were not allowed to go.
The Civil War for me was a kind of interactive game, played by everyone from children to adults.
I don't remember all the names, but the ones I can remember are Loiq Sherali and Amirqul Azimov. I was 8 years old... I was not aware of the scale of the civil war, nor of all the terrible atrocities that were going on in the country everywhere in those years. My whole world was confined to our "square", beyond which we were not allowed to go.
The Civil War for me was a kind of interactive game, played by everyone from children to adults.
I remember my mother waking me and my brother up at 3 a.m. so we could go with her to the nearest grocery store and stand in line for bread. Bread was only given out two loaves at a time, I think.
The men of our courtyard organised a squad of vigilantes to protect homes from militants, criminals and simply looters, and were on duty in shifts behind a large fire all night.
We lived on the fourth floor and our neighbours, who lived on the first and second floors, slept in our flat every night because there were cases of grenades and incendiary mixtures being thrown into the flats.
I remember a Popular Front⁵ fighter who lived in our neighbouring house. He was a veteran of the Afghan war and he was always armed to the teeth. There were also soldiers who guarded the perimeter in this 'square', we used to go to them to hold a real automatic rifle or pistol in our hands.
The men of our courtyard organised a squad of vigilantes to protect homes from militants, criminals and simply looters, and were on duty in shifts behind a large fire all night.
We lived on the fourth floor and our neighbours, who lived on the first and second floors, slept in our flat every night because there were cases of grenades and incendiary mixtures being thrown into the flats.
I remember a Popular Front⁵ fighter who lived in our neighbouring house. He was a veteran of the Afghan war and he was always armed to the teeth. There were also soldiers who guarded the perimeter in this 'square', we used to go to them to hold a real automatic rifle or pistol in our hands.
Popular Front ⁵
A politico-military movement that supported the government against the United Tajik Opposition Alliance.
“
One morning our neighbour was sweeping the yard and called me over to ask what was under one of the cars. I bent down to look and saw a round little object. When I pulled it out and lifted it above my head, I shouted with pride at the top of my voice: "GRANATA!". In an instant our yard was empty. I was holding an RGD-5, a hand grenade.
But tragedies have not bypassed our little 'square'. Towards winter, I remember a journalist who was our neighbour was shot at point-blank range, he took out the rubbish and was killed.
On the same day, a man who worked for some embassy was shot with a automatic rifle in his car. He was driving out of his garage, which was under our windows. Sitting next to him was his son, who was not even five years old, I think. The boy survived.
There was a case when a yellow Volga approached the "Central Committee" house, several armed men get out of it and start shelling one of the apartments located on the second floor.
At that time I was often haunted by nightmares in which I or my loved ones were killed.
On the same day, a man who worked for some embassy was shot with a automatic rifle in his car. He was driving out of his garage, which was under our windows. Sitting next to him was his son, who was not even five years old, I think. The boy survived.
There was a case when a yellow Volga approached the "Central Committee" house, several armed men get out of it and start shelling one of the apartments located on the second floor.
At that time I was often haunted by nightmares in which I or my loved ones were killed.
This publication was produced as part of the mentorship programme under the Development of New Media and Digital Journalism in Central Asia project delivered by the Institute for War and Peace Reporting (IWPR) with support from the UK Government. It does not necessarily reflect the official views of IWPR or the UK Government
Автор
Динора Камолова
Редактор
Марат Мамадшоев
Иллюстрации,
Фотографии
Фотографии
Насиба Каримова
Александр Макаров,
РИА новости
Brian Harrington Spier
Аттар Аббас
Радио Озоди
PACCAUD Claude, CICR
Malcolm Linton,
Getty Images
Александр Макаров,
РИА новости
Brian Harrington Spier
Аттар Аббас
Радио Озоди
PACCAUD Claude, CICR
Malcolm Linton,
Getty Images
Верстка
Динора Камолова