IF IT WERE NOT FOR THE SOLDIERS who came back to that kindergarten battlefield, by now I would be history. After being responsible for starting the first civil war in the post-war era in Afghanistan. But the incident was good enough to give us time to leave that area. I lost my GPS, that vanished in some boy's hand during the discussion, to be used as his game until the batteries run out or he finds someone to exchange it for food. But I kept my discs with digital photographs, and could not avoid laughing how I did this. Even now it is hard to me to believe that, as it is hard to you to believe in anything I am writing here. Sometimes I think this has been a dream or you would take me as a kind of Forrest Gump. Anyway, his mamma was right when she said that life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get.
December 31, 2001
THERE WAS THIS OTHER GROUP of Afghan tribesman armed with Russian guns and three photographers with them, two of them working for a NY newspaper and the other one for a news agency in Tokyo. When I arrived they were trying not to give them his discs containing digital photographs.
HAVE YOU EVER TRIED TO FIND ANYTHING in a dark cave in Tora-Bora, Afghanistan? Neither I did before. Touching the ground, I found dust, stones and bones before I could feel the flashlight back in my hand. Fortunately it was not broken and I had light again. But I had to hurry if I wanted to take pictures of the things I found in the cave. Or do you think I am crazy of leaving that place with my pockets full of old little statues, my arms fashioned with bracelets, a crown on my head (no, I am not sure there was a crown in one of those bags) and an old book under my arm? Oh! Yes, the book... lets get back to the book.
NO, IT WAS NOT ALI BABBA's CAVE, I am not Alladin and the cave was not large enough to hold forty thieves. And it was not filled with gold and precious stones. On the other hand, there were not those traps you see in the movies and I was not wearing Harrison "Indiana Jones" Ford's hat. There was a man laying there, with his head resting on a kind of metal box the size of a computer CPU, if I can use that to give you the idea. Well, it was not really a man, but what was left of him. It was more than just an skeleton, because for some strange reason the skin was still on his face and he was dressed.
MY NAME IS ALI KILABAH and I am a journalist from a Middle East country. Ok, it is not my real name, but I had to adopt it for safety reasons. I don't expect you to believe in what you are going to read. It is hard for me to believe in the events and the things I've been studying during the last days. I know many will not think this could be true -- my story, the manuscripts, its words or my opinion and conclusions on them. Anyway, I am publishing this story on the Internet, hoping it can be of help to some.