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Twelve Days in Batken
by Aimira Urustemova
It seemed nothing could spoil the peaceful existence of Kyrgyzstan. And in the summer of 1999 when ominous rumours leaked out that armed conflicts were taking place between government troops and the Mujaheddin, no one wanted to believe it, no one did believe it. But the mass media had already officially reported that in the south of the republic in Batken, there is armed conflict and captured hostages numbering more than twenty people, including four Japanese. They are killing soldiers and peaceful civilians. Through a mistake on the part of the Uzbek pilots “providing aid to neighboring Kyrgyzstan,” several houses of peaceful residents in Zardala were bombed. Every day, new victims...the war in Batken lasted 86 days and all through it, Kyrgyzstan lived in tension. This war demonstrated the lack of military preparedness of government troops and the poverty of our army. But that is already another subject. As in every extreme situation new people come to light: there are patriots and then there are those who decline to defend their motherland. Each has his own reasons...
I met an extraordinary woman, Zakia Alisherova, who was not scared to fulfill her professional and civilian duty, to be in the war zone and provide medical help to the wounded. There are many stories I could tell, about her limitless love for Kyrgyzstan or her wonderful parents or her difficult life....But lines written by her own hands will tell these stories better than I...
Aimira Urustemova
Excerpts From the Diary of An Infectious Disease Doctor, Zakia Alisherova
September 11, 1999
I heard that supposedly in Batken there were several skirmishes, that some kind of Mujaheddin forces there wanted to cross our border (and where did they come from?), in order to take the shortest path through the Batken region from Tajikistan into Uzbekistan. Then they began to say they want first to capture the Batken region, establish a base there and then take the entire Oshskaya district. Then rumours surfaced that they want to organize an Islamic government out of several Central Asian republics. But when a week ago they transferred our polyclinic boss down there, I thought, “Can things really be that serious?” vague uneasiness emerged, but overall it still didn’t affect me.
Today they called from the medical board and explained that in Batken an outbreak of intestinal infection had just begun, and that there are already several cases of typhoid, and that the boss was really counting on me, because as of now there is no one else to go. Naturally, I was curious to know why neither the director of the infectious disease department nor the deputy chief of the Military Aviation hospital could not go, since they are army officers and also doctors of infectious diseases, unlike me who is a civilian doctor of the military clinic. They replied that one is gravely ill and the other just got sick.
“And very suddenly,” I silently finished the sentence. They gave me only an hour to think it over, as they were to present to the Ministry of Defense the list of the second group of medics to fly to Batken. Yes, I have a choice. I am not a reservist, I could just not go. But then who will go? Or what if I go, but they do not send the promised replacements? No, I am not a coward, never was one, and I have so many friends and acquaintances -- what if one of them is sick? No, afterwards I could never forgive myself for that. Even if the sick are complete strangers to me, after two years of work in the system of the Ministry of Defense, all military officers have become like family to me, close. How can one in such a difficult hour not go, not help? Certainly that would be a betrayal. No, I simply must go, even if there won’t be replacements, even if they desert me, even if my parents are against it. It is a matter of honour. I should be close by my loved ones, I should....with all these thoughts I sat in my office, as colleagues began to stop by and ask about the call:
“Zakia, turn it down, let them find a man!”
“Zakia, do you really need to do this?”
“Zakia, what, have you lost your mind? Are you tired of life? There’s a war going on there!”
The truth is the truth. At that time Batken was the “hot spot.” Everyone was of the same opinion: Zakia should decline. And the longer it went on, the stronger my conviction became that I should go.
“All of you,” I thought “will decline, will point fingers at each other, at whoever, only to rid yourself of the responsibility. Yes, in our time there are few patriotic, honourable people who would think not only of themselves but look out for one another....”
September 16, 1999
Oh how tedious it is to fly in a helicopter! We’ve been flying for two and a half hours, my right ear has started to hurt and I can’t get comfortable. And my thoughts give me no rest. My poor mother! Forgive me, that you sit now and cry on my account. Even father had tears in his eyes when he drove me with m y suitcase to the departure point. But it is you who brought me up this way, you yourself are like that papa. You are the first one who said what I was thinking, what I was waiting for. I know how your heart was aching, I know that I am your beloved daughter, I know how you didn’t want to let me go to this awful place, but nevertheless, trying not to falter, you supported me: “If you are really needed there, then you must go.” How noble that is, Papa! We understand each other without words.
Through the window of the porthole there are only hills and small lakes between them. There are 12 people in the cabin. The three in the furthest corner are with the special forces, in green berets. Of us medics there are also three. On the right are two men from the military prosecutor’s office. Across from me sits the chief of the intelligence directorate. He is in a foul mood and has not said one word since morning. But no one approaches him, they all know that he was once taken hostage by the militants. What the Devil, probably those guys already know who is flying in our helicopter. And the boxes with the weapons -- what a treasure that would be for the bandits! Supposing they suddenly shoot us down? The helicopters are not flying that high, so it is entirely possible...
September 19, 1999
...It is already the third day I am in the Batken battalion. All neighboring battalions have done an inspection as to whom they are treating on the spot, whom they brought with them to the field hospital, with especially critical cases sent to the Batken central regional hospital. Every day the killed and wounded arrive. Such young lads!
They haven’t seen life yet, where is the sense in all this? God, who needs this war? How, why and when will it all end? During my third day in Batken, I broke down sobbing on the chest of my good friend, who became almost a brother to me, and I couldn’t calm down for quite some time.
September 21, 1999
Only yesterday the “KamAZ” [big truck] of the Oshskaya Brigade was blown up on its way over. Two snipers sat above to fire at the soldiers in the cabins. Only last night we observed a minute of silence to say farewell to the killed officers. Today they are sending us to that same brigade. We are going in a private car, among us five there is one machine gun. The road is clear, around us it is so quiet and deserted, and this makes it all the more terrible. I managed to get the “seat of honour” at the window facing the hills where the bandits have ensconced themselves. Those officers were our men, the medics did their best, real gentlemen!
You, Zakia, don’t be scared, they will not kill you. And maybe you will end up in Bin Laden’s harem, and there you will live like a queen! But I’m not in the mood for jokes. I am, as you are, mortal, and if they start to shoot, then the first bullet will be for me. That’s how I look at it. Then all of a sudden the motor died. Just on time! The chauffeur got out, we began to look around, and again silence, such heavy silence. Most likely, at this moment, every one of us silently bade farewell to our family, loved ones and acquaintances, just in case, and looked upon life as a walked path, and evaluated our deeds and mistakes...
September 24, 1999
...Ah, what a wind there is here! ... On that hill opposite us sit those swines, you ought to be bombed ruthlessly, you sell your motherland for money. Or for a murderer does the process itself become like a drug, is there something I don’t understand? Yes, here each and every one of us is a target. Well, not to worry, during the daytime they don’t usually show themselves We can walk here and there in any direction, but Choro Nasiridinovich, my colleague, holds my hand tightly, and places me protectively behind him. Here goes! If we are fated to die, so we will die. I have brushed aside my fear for good, I’m sick of being scared, to live under constant strain for this many days simply gets on one’s nerves..
September 27, 1999
Once again the Batken battalion. All in all it is not as terrible here as it first seemed, I am becoming more resilient. I notice that gradually I am losing my tenderness and femininity. Or maybe it just seems this way to me. My character has certainly changed drastically. Out of a soft girl, I am becoming boorish, very sharp and excessively militant. One has to change,but I am still a woman. Oh yes, Bolot should be coming round now, I promised to help him somehow. That guy does not even know how I had to beg, to persuade his boss to help him, because no matter what, I should fulfill his request. This is also a matter of honour for me. Bolot, Bolot! You probably have not even an inkling of how I once loved you and how much I suffered when you turned away from me. How sacred that was to me, how I wanted to prove to you my boundless love, my devotion, my trust. At that time you probably had a good laugh about me, having messed with my head so much. But I, idiot that I am, searched the entire past for my mistakes, you were to me so smart, decent and kind. How many years did I continue to love you and secretly believe that someday fate would unite us again. And fate did not betray my wishes, having brought us together here at war. God, how much you have changed, suffered. On your face there is written only fear, you can’t even think of anything else, I see. You’ve forgotten how to greet normally, after all it’s been about ten years. Right off the bat you began to complain, and beg and implore and follow after me. Now you are prepared to kiss me ten times over, to humble yourself before me, listen to anything I have to say, so long as I get you out of this place. Yes, fear has torn away your mask, which you wore for so long in civilian life. And underneath the mask, there turned out to be nothing at all, not a thing. That kind of man is one capable even of betrayal. He trembles for his own skin before the face of death and will do anything to save his own pitiful life. We will all die some time, sooner or later, but I would like to have dignity even in death. Like a self-respecting human being. Ugh, you, Bola, Bola!
How much better if you didn’t recognize me, didn’t approach, had been at least a little bit ashamed by your guilt before me, after all I was barely 19 at that time. And fortunately it worked out so that I could help you, and here I am giving you my last 40 somas for the journey, I will not take vengeance upon you ever, nor will I help you any more, ever. Henceforth you are to me a pathetic, insignificant little man, and it grieves me that at one point I considered you a real man...
September 28, 1999
...Yes you are right, Choro Nasiridinovich, we are already in Bishkek, and there is no longer need to fear the bombs and military lines. But I cannot calm down, though the plane landed several hours ago. And the city leads its life as if nothing’s happened. That woman in the bazaar who just now begrudged me an apple, perhaps she is not guilty. You see we have no money, and without money we cannot buy a thing, even that apple. But she has children to feed. You and I, Choro Nasiridinovich, are foreign to her, even in military uniform, even with suitcases, even with dirty fingernails. Perhaps it’s for nothing that we risk and give our lives out there for our land, for what? That woman, along with her children, will not understand. And this trolley bus driver who stands now asking us for three somas, not believing that we just returned from the front...this driver still will not understand that someone is protecting him, along with his trolley bus and his money. Very well, Choro Nasiridinovich, you will get promoted in title and post, but they will not even say thank you to me. However that is not why I went. My soul is at peace, my conscience clear, my duty fulfilled.
Maybe they will make him an officer? I would also like to become an officer, not to gain the title, but for the calling of my heart.
Oh if only it were possible to write the entire truth of this war...but seeing the attitude of civilians towards the soldiers who were in Batken, and in general towards this Batken War, I begin to doubt that this truth is necessary to anyone at all.