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  • Writer's pictureNnaemeka Ali, O.M.I

As Afghanistan Falls

Updated: Mar 18

Nero fiddled, they say, while Rome burnt. Afghanistan is slowly receding, its recent civilization silently dying, and the country faces its doom as terrified and fleeing citizens are being recorded and aired on our televisions and social media pages. And while all these happen, baseless arguments are going on in our capitals and media houses. Special advisers and experts are making money out of the future death penalties and public executions that will follow this drama we calmly supervise as its stage and auditorium are assembled piece by piece.

This mountainous landlocked country that stands at the crossroads of Central and South Asia is slowly moving back to a dark age while the world watch and scramble to take their citizens and belonging out of the harm way. Afghanistan, we should not forget, was once a commercial road as Pakistan borders it to the east and south, Iran to the west, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan to the north, and China to the northeast.

Its civilization dates to the Palaeolithic, Mesolithic, Neolithic, Bronze, and Iron Ages. Many of its artifacts portray the historical diversity of its culture. Afghanistan was once even compared to the ancient Egyptian empire.

Today, after what appeared to be a light at the end of the tunnel, the dimly shining star is eclipsing following the desperate escapade of all the clustered galaxy profiting from the glory of a lately promising Afghanistan.

Today, Afghans are begging to leave their homeland as if exile has ever been a choice one makes by curiosity or willingly. And as the only female mayor foresees her imminent death in the hands of the Taliban, we look at our national umbilical cords only to come back tomorrow and offer our empty condolences and pseudo-prayers to our capitalist gods. Afghanistan might be far from our capitals, but as an Igbo proverb says, “when the head is cut off, the ears follow it.”

Today, Zarifi Ghafari is a desperate voice crying in this Arab desert, but when her prophecy is fulfilled, let her cry be remembered. And in whatever we do, let this statement echo in our hearts that Zarifa Ghafari predicted it when she said:

“I’m sitting here waiting for them to come. There is no one to help me or my family. I’m just sitting with them and my husband. And they will come for people like me and kill me. I can’t leave my family. And anyway, where would I go?”

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