# 009

This has been a month of lots of work for me. And excitement too, as I read what I’ve found in Tora-Bora’s manuscripts. It starts with some kind of explanation about the reason Bishr Ibn Al Sirri wrote it. I will try to translate it the best I can, but you must be aware that it was written many years ago, and I am not the best person to do this job.

# 008

IN MY LAST POSTING I told you about the events that made me publish this blog on the Internet. While in Islamabad, I read many parts of the manuscript, enough to make me think about lots of things. It seems to be Bishr Ibn Al Sirri comments on a series of books of what today is called the Bible – he treats them as different books. I am not used to the Bible and could not identify which part was taken from it and which one was a Bishr Ibn Al Sirri comment.

# 007

THE IMAGE OF THE SOLDIER'S LETTER was on my notebook's screen, defying me to read characters written by the trembling hand of a dying man. I opened a notepad in another window, so I could take notes while reading it. Actually, it seemed to be part of a letter, perhaps one of the last pages. I hadn't noticed other pages on the body when I was in the cave. They were probably covered by dust or had fallen somewhere else. The only page, in Arabic language, went more or less like this:

# 006

"WE WILL KILL EVERY AMERICAN!" After last night's "Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong, these were the first and harsh words waking me up in that not yet sunny morning in Islamabad. I was sure it was not Louis Armstrong's voice, nor they were part of the original song. The shout came through the open window of my hotel room, only one store above the street level. I took a careful look there, only to see what could become a bloody battlefield gathering a few feet below.

# 005

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.

# 003

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.

# 004

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.

# 002

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.

# 001

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.