After finishing high school, he attended Kabul University, studying medicine.
When the Taliban regime came to power in Afghanistan, he left Kabul and worked for NATO for years as an interpreter. He now lives in Germany.
Shah Wali Fazli’s first book, called ‘Running from Life’, was originally published in the Dari language and is now available in English.
‘The Interpreter’ is his second book.
ISBN 1466293128
EAN 978-1466293120
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
'The Interpreter' was first published by Night Publishing who can be contacted at: http://www.nightpublishing.com.
'The Interpreter' is the copyright of the author, Shah Wali Fazli, 2011. All rights are reserved.
All characters are fictional, and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is accidental.
Come to
the mountains of Afghanistan and
watch my battle with the Taliban for one day,
then imagine what I go through
every day .....
--1--
I was reminded of where I was once I heard the soldiers making noises in the yard of the camp.
Another day in Helmand.
My senses opened hesitantly yet again to the mud-ceilinged room, and my heart seemed to lose all its saddened beats, as if it didn't pump any more in response to the onset of my habitual fears.
My body urged me to stay in bed, telling me that I had time for everything; that the only thing I had enough of was time.
I remained there thinking about my family. Had I dreamt about them too, as I often did? My parents now lived in Moscow, Russia; my brother and sisters lived in Zurich, Switzerland.
My bed begged me to stay but the atmosphere of my room pushed me out. Looking at the mud walls persuaded me that I was breathing dust every second. The sight of my vest and my helmet lying in one corner made me dizzy and breathless, as if I already had them on. I needed to get out or I would go crazy.
Emerging into the yard, I breathed a lungful of air and felt better. The sun’s rays fell onto my face and warmed my body which scared me, reminding me I would have to wear my body armour and helmet to meet the village leader, the Malik, along with Ralph Parker, the commanding officer of Delta Company, in the nearby village of Naway Kalay which was located to the north of the camp.
Sweat trickled down my face at the first few touches of the sun’s rays. It was daunting to think of spending another day in Helmand. So many things were bothering me at one time, missing my family being the worst of them.
Back in my room I checked my body armour and helmet, looking for my name on them to see they were not my colleague’s kit. My colleague, Babur, was older than me but physically he was much slighter. I did not want to make the painful mistake of wearing his kit again.
Carrying my gear in my hand, I closed the door behind me in a vain attempt to prevent the fleas from getting into my room, a wasted effort, though, because they would get into my room, and all our tents anyway, biting us all night long. The soldiers got up in the morning with lots of red spots on their faces, hands and legs. Sometimes some of the soldiers slapped themselves on their faces so hard that it made the rest of the soldiers laugh. But that was not the solution, was it? The solution was to fight the Taliban and to make peace with the fleas, let them feed on your blood.
I joined the rest of the soldiers who had gathered in the middle of the yard waiting for Ralph to brief us on meeting the Malik.
Arlen smiled. “Shabir, you don’t want to wear your kit?” With his big nose and a face full of acne, Arlen looked like a relative in our village in Kabul.
“I hate to, Arlen,” I said. “I fear to think of later today having to have them on.”
He laughed. “There you go, Shabir.”
I shook my head and laughed.
Joking, teasing each other and laughing, the soldiers left the tents and joined the rest of us. That was how they fought the most dangerous people on earth, the Taliban. How old were they? Not more than in their early twenties. They made fun of Mullah Aslam, known as Mullah Dozakhi, the Taliban leader, who had fought in these areas for all his life. They fought him and his men, joking and laughing, which astonished me.
“Hey, hell-boy,” one of the soldiers who seemed like he could not live without jokes said, shading his eyes from the hot sun.
“What?” his mate asked, turning back to face him, expecting a kick from him.
“You were snoring like hell.” He kicked him in the butt. “I couldn’t sleep because of you.”
“I’m sorry, love.” He ran away, avoiding the second kick. “It was the fleas wanting to have another go on your white ass.”
“I don’t mind them kissing my ass,” his third kick also hit the air, “but I hate you screeching in my head all night, you fucking nasty little bug.” He laughed aloud.
“I’ll do that,” Ralph said to his superiors in the TOC (Tactical Operations Centre) tent as he left it. “I’ll do it, don’t worry, Sir.” Turning his face, Ralph walked towards us. “Sorry, guys.” He stopped in front of us, tall and slim, with his blond hair, hazel eyes, long face and rough skin, brushing the fleas away from his face with his hand. “These fleas have taken over. I couldn’t sleep last night at all.”
“They work for Mullah Aslam, Ralph.” I called, standing among the soldiers.
“Yeah, that is how he mortars the camp, Shabir Khan.”
Everybody laughed.
Why had they chosen Ralph to be the commanding officer? I asked myself this question every time I saw him. I was curious about all of the officers and soldiers. I had loads of questions to ask myself about every one of them. I was there with them fighting the Taliban, but their job was much more complicated and difficult than mine. I went and translated between the locals, official people and the officers, but when there was a fight they hid me in a Hummvee or a truck and they fought with their whole being.
The answer to my question about Ralph was that he was smart and healthy, and approached his job and his men with compassion. He regularly came over to ask me about my family and my hopes of returning to them one day. As a young and enthusiastic officer, he handled his job in a way that his men could associate with in fighting one of the worst people on earth. He slept a lot but his men could talk to him any time they wanted.
Holding onto the corner of the table that he had placed in the yard, Ralph turned round to show us the route to the Malik’s village on the map he had rolled out on the table. He paused for a moment and straightened up. Holding his pencil at the point, he identified the hills and farmlands.
“Here we might get attacked,” he said, looking up at us. “It’s been a dodgy place for us in the past. And it is not any different now. Alan and Colton, you two should provide the top cover and be very cautious when we reach this particular area.”
“Hua,” the two soldiers answered as one.
“Shabir, you’re going to explain to the Malik what I want to tell him.”
“It’s a new experience, Ralph.” I fixed my helmet on my head. “I’ll do my best,” I said, fastening on my body armour.
“That’s completely fine with me. I may need your extra help directing me in the meeting if I make any mistakes.”
“Ok.”
“Any questions for me, guys, before we move?”
“Sir, we’re meeting a Governor?” a soldier asked looking uncertain as if he was asking his teacher about a difficult formula.
I smiled. “No,” I said, “he’s a village leader.”
“What should I say to the locals if they try to talk to me?” asked another soldier whose raised hand was showing in front of a bunch of soldiers.
“Say hello Asalam alaikum. Try to use the Pashto words you know. They’ll like it.”
“How do they say ‘hands up’ in Pashto?” the medic, Jade, asked, holding her hands up in the air. Jade tended to keep away from me for some reason which I did not understand, maybe, because I found her adorable in her military uniform and she noticed it.
Ralph noticed. “Laznabora,” he repeated. He smiled.
Two of the soldiers laughed. “Lazonaborara,” one of them said. The second one nodded.
I gave up.
“Shabir, you go and sit with the platoon commander Craig in his vehicle,” Ralph ordered. “Now, check your radios and get ready to move.”
Dust and noise filled the air as the soldiers made their guns ready and rushed towards their vehicles. My heart started pounding to the noise of the guns getting ready to fire or to the noise of the soldiers’ boots. Why was I so nervous? What was making me so anxious? Why did I feel so much out of place? Was it something to do with my family? Did I miss them so much that when I was not with them they came to me and stoked my fears? If that was the case, then not one of us was free from those fears because we were all away from our families.
Checking my gear, I followed Craig who took steps twice as wide as any other normal man. Thank God it was only to his vehicle, unlike the long patrols when he made me run after him. Craig tapped his distracted driver on the shoulder and tended to his PRR (Personal Role Radio) headset. The Hummvee knocked as soon as the driver pressed his foot on the accelerator.
Ralph’s vehicle was the first to move, kicking dust into the faces of the rest of the vehicles that were following it. For a moment I lost everything in the thick dust.
“Tell me what these Maliks are, Shabir,” Craig asked. “What do they do?”
“They’re the village leaders.” We bounced up and down as the vehicle reached a bumpy section. “A Malik acts like a Governor or a Chief of Police, but he is not an official person. He decides most of the things that should or should not happen in a village.”
“Like what?” He looked out of the tiny window to check the area.
“Like the meeting the Malik will have with us, solving people’s family or tribal disputes, anything to do with a village and the people of the village.” More potholes launched us from our seats. “He actually rules by his wealth and manpower. The people of the village choose him as their Malik.”
“They’re good, aren’t they?” He looked out again.
“They could play positive roles, but most of them aren’t good.”
“What the hell!” He looked back at me, arching his brows in discontent. “Why should we bother to go and meet this Malik? It’s a waste of time. Isn’t he linked with the Taliban? I’m pissed off with all this.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. You won’t get many meetings with Afghan officials if you think like that because there are few good, or even clever, people who have power in Afghanistan. Look at the warlords running the Parliament and Government. They killed thousands of our people. NATO had to sit with them from the start and they are still doing it.”
“They’re frightened, aren’t they?” He stopped touching the butt of his rifle and looked up at me. “They’re scared of the warlords turning against them and joining the Taliban?”
“That’s right. NATO can’t afford to fight another front against the warlords. These people are far worse than the Taliban.”
“We should talk to the Taliban.” He looked at his rifle. “We can do that instead of all this shit.”
“NATO and the Kabul Government will talk to them. But the warlords will oppose it for fear of losing their power.”
“Don’t know the politics.” He shook his head. “It’s completely unbelievable. I could die here any minute and innocent Afghans are dying too. I haven’t talked with my wife and children since being here in Helmand.”
“You must miss them very much. Yeah, these people go to any extreme to get power and then keep it —”
“One-two. Commando two,” Ralph called. “Radio check. Over.”
“Commando-two. One-two,” Craig called back. “Loud and clear. Over.”
“Commando two. Roger. Out.”
We reached the hills and farmlands, and then I heard a bang. I thought I knew where the rocket was fired from, so I looked at the hills to my right. On my left the mud walls and farmlands ended at the Naway Kalay village about a mile from our position.
Bang! The rock in the hills, and the smoke and dust around it, confirmed that I was wrong because the rockets came from the opposite direction, maybe from behind the mud walls that separated the farmlands, or from the farmlands themselves.
“Command two. One-two,” Craig called. “The contact is from the village, Sir! Over!”
“One-two. Commando two,” Ralph called back. “Don’t stop your vehicles! Keep on going! Over!”
“Roger that! Out!”
To my horror I was knocked down to one side of the hard aisle when our vehicle took pace and intense fire broke out outside. I did not get another chance to talk to the platoon commander, Craig. Holding onto my head, I cowered. I felt pain in my legs and back from having to hold myself in one place. My neck was striking against hard metal which was excruciating. I did not want to be there for one more second. How long would the fighting continue?
Craig jumped out as soon as the vehicles stopped, shouting for me to remain. “Shoot towards the village. Shoot towards the village.” Somehow his eyes had turned red. Was he sleep-deprived, or what? Why had his eyes turned red? He threw a quick glance at me to see that I was all right before disappearing into the farmlands, running after his men.
“You stay where you are, Shabir,” Ralph shouted, running to check on his troops to see that they had fired.
“One-two. Commando two,” Ralph called. “Get your men to shoot. The enemy is in the village. I’ve asked for air support. It’ll be here any moment.”
Pressing against the aisle, I shrank further and further as Mullah Aslam and his men fired their RPG rockets, PK machine guns and AK-47s. The radios did not stop for a second as if they were urging me to shrink, hide, not move and wait for hours before the fighting was finished when I did not want to be in there for one more second.
“One-two. Commando two,” Ralph radioed. “Watch out for your left and right flanks when you are taking the farmlands. Over.”
“One-two,” Craig radioed back. “Roger. The enemy could be hiding in the farmlands, Sir. We’ve no idea. The bullets and rockets are coming from all directions. Over.”
“They’re hiding in the village. Out.”
For a second I thought about Mullah Aslam. It was he who giving the troops a hard time. I imagined how dangerous Mullah Aslam could be. He knew the ground well and his fighting tactics were impressive. He attacked the American forces any time and anywhere, disengaging without being captured or killed.
Aslam and his men fired from the nearby village. Two of Mullah Aslam’s commanders were also hiding in two of the houses in order to take part in the attack. Aslam and his men fired more of their RPG rockets and PK machine guns at the soldiers, hoping to kill them all.
The Chinook helicopters and the sounds of the rockets and bullets bombing Mullah Aslam and his men in the village overwhelmed my ears. Two of the houses where Mullah Aslam’s men were hiding were hit by two bombs, one after the other. Fire and smoke filled the air after the Chinooks turned their backs away from the village, manoeuvring ahead for the next bombing. Seeing the Chinooks closing down on the village, I felt a pain in my throat as I worried about the people who lived there.
“Man down, man down.” The voice made me hold my head up to see what was going on. “Man down, man down.” Shouting, the soldier dragged his injured mate behind a mud wall as quickly as he could. God, seeing the soldier in that condition terrified me. In another second I was lying flat in the aisle, feeling its coldness return to my back and the pain return to my neck.
“Commando two. One-two,” Craig called. “We’ve one casualty. Urgent. We need to carry him as soon as possible. Over.”
“One-two. Commando two,” Ralph responded. “Ask the medevac to take him back to the convoy. I’ll call the casevac to be here soon. Over.”
“Roger. Out.”
Up on their feet and down on their chests, the soldiers moved forward, firing towards the village. Left and right, they ran and fired. Running in the farmlands, exploding the walls and throwing the smokes, they pushed from one farmland to another. Smoke, dust and fire followed them as they got closer to the village.
“One-two. Commando two,” Ralph spoke on the radio. “Push your men forward and be alert. Over.”
Like ants, the soldiers streamed from one place to another. Their bullets hit the houses in the village, leaving smoke and dust behind them where they had struck. It looked like a horrible game to the eyes of someone who watched from a distance. To the soldiers and people who were dealing with the bullets and rockets, it was a deadly reality.
Aslam’s commanders knew they could not fight the Americans, although Aslam himself was determined to stop them entering the village. “Why have I to lose every fight because of you pimps?” Aslam was furious as his voice was intercepted by the ICOM. “If I lose this fight as well, I will cut off your heads, you dishonourable pimps.”
I noticed something familiar in Aslam’s threatening voice, something that terrified me. Who is he? I thought. Is he the Taliban commander who took me to jail and tried to kill me in Kabul? My heart was filled with grief and anger thinking about it, but was relieved once I began to question myself. It cannot be that commander. He probably died in Kabul or Helmand in the American bombings a long time ago. It cannot be him. It’s only my own horror, nothing else.
“One-two. Commando two,” Ralph called. “Give me a Sit Rep. Over.”
“Commando two. One-two,” Craig called back. “We’re fifty meters from the village. The Taliban are firing from the outskirts. Over.”
“Continue with your push and remain alert. Over.”
“Roger. Over.”
“Are there any civilian casualties in sight? Over.”
“The village is quiet, only the enemy’s casualties in sight. Over.”
“The civilians are dressed in their traditional clothes. Make sure your men don’t shoot the innocent as they won’t look any different from the Taliban. Over.”
“Roger that, Sir. The enemy is isolated now firing from the outskirts of the village. That will help us separate the civilians from the Taliban. Over.”
“Roger that. Out.”
“You can hear me, son of an infidel,” Aslam taunted me on the ICOM. “I know you can hear me and you tell the American infidels about me. I’ll cut off your head, son of a dog. Believe me I’m sharpening my knife for your neck. I’m going to behead you.”
Aslam and his men kept launching their shells that hit the armoured vehicles and rocks in the hills, and flew back into the air. I held my head down and shrank. The exchange of fire intensified. I did not dare to look up and see what was going on. The horror of the extensive fire and continuous shelling made me reconsider daring to look up. I thought I would go mad any minute. The exchange of fire grew angrier from one second to the next. The radios shouted right into my ears. Ralph got angry at his men for making mistakes. He was shouting at his men to do the right thing and look out for the innocent people.
I felt sad for the soldiers, for me and for the people of the village, wondering why I was destined to be in this war. There was war before I was born and it was still there. I had lived through many such rocket attacks with the Mujahidin, fighting street by street and house to house in Kabul. I now hoped to survive the Taliban attack in Helmand. Would I ever be able to live a life without the rockets and bullets?
I was deep into my thoughts when a bullet hit the window, scaring me to death.
Mullah Aslam and his men were still firing on us from the outskirts of the village, hiding behind the walls and trees in the distant farmlands as the fight was building up. Their machine guns were aiming at the soldiers but missing their targets and hitting the areas where the vehicles were stopped. The rest fired rockets and bullets which were hitting the houses, reducing them to semi-ruins. The fury of the shells was mixed with the scorching rage of Mullah Aslam who was irate at his men. They flew everywhere, burning the trees, the houses and anybody coming up against them.
No one knew how many civilians had been killed in the village. My stomach lurched every time I thought of the civilians. I listened to Ralph, dreading to hear about the deaths of children. What was a child’s tender skin and bones against Mullah Aslam’s wrath? Nothing! It was only another exciting moment of yet another propaganda war for Mullah Aslam against the Americans.
“One-two. Commando two,” Ralph called. “Get your men to clear the houses!” Ralph did not stop shouting on the radio. “Ask your men to search every house and look for the Taliban. Tell me about civilian casualties as soon as you see the first one. Make sure the people are safe. Over.”
“Commando two. One-two,” Craig responded. “Roger that, Sir. We’ve no information about civilian casualties. Mullah Aslam and his men are targeting the houses with their RPG rockets and PK machine guns. Over.”
“Try to minimise civilian casualties by pushing forward and breaking Mullah Aslam’s rocket attacks. Over.”
“Roger that Sir. Out.”
I imagined that no one lived in the village as both sides struck with heavy ammunition and the helicopters bombed Mullah Aslam and his men. One of the houses was on fire and two others had fallen apart. The rage of the explosion had sent a deluge of smoke and dust into the air.
After another hour the village went quiet as the fighting reduced and Mullah Aslam and his men disappeared into the far away hills.
The firing stopped.
The scenery of death and destruction filled the quiet atmosphere of the village. My heart pounded with the fear of the deadly silence. I did not want to go to the village and see what my heart was pounding for. I did not want to go and see the shredded bodies of the men, women and children. My eyes were filled with tears, my head was full of miserable thoughts, my lungs stopped breathing.
I was dead at that moment and in that place.
“All elements one,” Craig called on his squad leaders. “Get into each house and look for the Taliban. Over.”
“Roger that Sir. Out,” one of his commanders called.
The others followed.
The soldiers went into each house which they had first encircled. Within a minute, two or three of them reached the roofs of the five or six houses they had cleared in the southern part of the village.
“One-two. Commando two,” Ralph called. “Are there civilian casualties inside the houses? Over.”
“Commando two. One-two,” Craig answered. “There’re no civilian casualties here, Sir. The houses are empty. Over.”
“Roger. Out.”
A few of Mullah Aslam’s men had taken bullets to their heads, faces, chests and other parts of their bodies, and were lying wherever they had been hit. Fortunately, there were no civilian casualties as everybody had left the village when Mullah Aslam and his men had arrived. However, Aslam would go to the media and boast that he had killed many American soldiers, hiding his casualties. To his men who had lost their mates in the fight and left their bodies behind, the attack should only have been a humiliation, but it did not matter to Mullah Aslam. He would carry on as usual with his shameful life.
I reached the village alongside Ralph. It consisted of about twenty or thirty houses. Some of them were built on the edges of the farmlands, away from the main compound of houses. They were separated by a few narrow paths in the centre and the farmlands on the outskirts. I saw two small shops which were closed as we walked further inside the village. For me it was not new to see such a village with its typical sludge-wall houses, but it was for Ralph and his men.
The sounds of the rockets, bullets and helicopters had overwhelmed the sound of the water in the ditches coming from the Helmand River that went down the Sangin Valley and irrigated the vast lands of poppies all along the way. Now I heard the sad sound which added to the horror that my heart was filled with. It reminded me of my family in a time and place where I could not even think about them. I felt helpless and I thought I would die.
I was sad to see that the village was deserted. One of the houses was burning on the southern side with other five or six one-storey houses attached to it. I breathed the dust and smoke generated by the many hours fighting. My ears had yet to clear of the sounds of the different kinds of munitions fired by either side. It felt like I was still hearing them.
Ralph and I saw a group of people coming towards the village, taking the path that separated the farmlands on either side. As they got closer, men, women and children enlarged the crowd. Ralph and I strolled towards them.
“Keep a close eye on the crowd.” Ralph left the locals for his men to deal with and started whispering into his radio.
I was tired of having to hide in the vehicle for hours and go through the horror of rockets and bullets. Ralph sounded odd when he tried to speak up. It was heartbreaking for me to see the bewildered children, men and women. The children’s bare feet and confused expressions made me forget about my pain. These children did not know why they had to leave their houses and put up with the hunger and thirst. They did not know the reason why they had to suffer that much. Most of them did not have a chance to attend a school.
“You’re the residents of the village?” Ralph asked, returning to address them. He shook his head and took a deep breath.
“We’re back in our village from the Regi village, Mister,” the local man answered. He breathed hard.
“I’m glad you left before the fight started.” Ralph took his PRR-headset and helmet off when he was talking to the locals, but he put his helmet back on again, on the advice of his commander. He was confused and apologised to the locals in front of him. “I’m sorry. There’s been some damage in your village. Once we can identify the owners of those damaged houses and estimate the damage, we will make sure those families get their compensation from us.”
“Can we go to our houses now, Mister?” another local man asked, coming forward from the back of the crowd. “It’s been two days since Mullah Dozakhi came here and we left everything behind.”
“First of all, I want to thank you for leaving the village when you thought there would be a danger, but I’m sorry, you cannot go to your houses as yet because not everything has been assessed. There might be some elements of Mullah Dozakhi’s men who want to blow themselves up or start firing. Our men want to make sure there are no security threats to your lives before you can return to your houses.”
“Sir, our children are starving.” The locals insisted on going into their houses. “They haven’t eaten for the last two days. We can’t wait here any longer.”
“I’m so glad you took these beautiful children out.” Ralph rested his hand on a little girl’s head. “If anything had happened to any of them, I would feel guilty all my life. I must say it’s not safe for these children to go into those houses until my men make sure everything is under control.”
“Keep talking to them,” Ralph said to us, “until our team has cleared the village.”
Ralph left me and some of his men with the locals and began whispering into his radio again.
My eyes fell onto the children’s shivering bodies. My throat was in pain and I was in tears. Why? Why should they suffer so much? “Have you eaten anything?” I asked. I did not hear any response from the child of whom I asked the question. “Are you hungry?”
“Oh,” he answered looking at the houses.
“What’s the matter?” I followed his drifting eyes. “Is that your house?”
“Oh.” He looked at me with his sad eyes.
“Who is your father?”
“Halta.” He pointed his finger to an old man standing there who was deep in his thoughts contemplating his burning house.
I approached another child who stood there, her shivering tiny body in need of food and her tired eyes in need of a long sleep. I embraced her. “You’ll be all right. You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”
“Oh,” she answered moving her head up and down.
“What’s your name?” I smiled at her.
“Layla.”
“What a beautiful name?”
“Oh.” She smiled.
“You can go to your houses.” After another hour’s wait Ralph asked everybody to go to their houses, as the village was now safe. The soldiers mounted their vehicles to head back for the camp. I went along with Craig.
“What do you think?” I asked Craig. “Is it worth it?”
“I’m worn out, believe me.” He breathed hard. “I was running up and down and barking like a dog. The money we get is good. But it’s nothing against having to fight for your life.” He stopped to take a breath. “There must be other reasons besides the money that gets us into this.” He took another breath. “It’s hard to believe Mullah Aslam could put up such a fight.”
“I can understand what you are saying.” I took a deep breath of air thinking about the children of the village. “There’s something else apart from the money that gets you into this. I wonder what it is.”
“Devil knows.” He looked out through the window. “There must be other reasons, couldn’t say now.” He stopped to take another deep breath. “We’ve to kill the Taliban before they come and kill us.”
“Someone was shot. Is he alive?”
“Yup, he was lucky.” He stole the words from a constant
