A night without saying goodbye, when terrorists shoot at humanity

July 20, 2018. It was 10 pm. The ring road of Kamyaran city was silent and there was no car passing like every night. A car was passing every few minutes at that time of the night, breaking the silence of the night for a moment, and silence and calm came everywhere once again. But that night, under that silence, a demon with sinister intentions was waiting in the darkness of the night.

It was about 10:30 when a red ambulance light was suddenly seen from the end of Noor Street. The Red Crescent ambulance was crossing the ring road. There was no none inside it but the driver, Kuhsar Fatehi, the driver and rescuer of this ambulance. Kuhsar Fatehi, a 41-year-old Red Crescent aid worker, was crossing the Kamyaran ring road while working as night shift duty.

Who knows what he was thinking in those moments and in that darkness and loneliness of the mountain. Surely, he may have been thinking of his three-year-old Karin and six-year-old Kasra, who spent the night alone at home with their mother, so that their father’s coming back will bring home happiness. But Kuhsar, like all his night shift, had more important work to do than be with Kasra and play with Karin. He had to be ready for that night in the Red Crescent night shift and wait for the moments of emergency.

Kasra, Karin, and their mother also had to deal with this loneliness hoping that tomorrow they would see their father again at the door; it was only this hope of seeing each other again that would cure the lonely hot summer nights or the long and depressing winter nights. Before that, every time Kuhsar left home for a mission or night shifts, he would say goodbye to Karin, Kasra and their mother for a longer time, as well as his coming back and meeting them took a long time, too.

But that night there was another story, a story that ending in disgust for the sweet three-year-old girl of Kuhsar. When Kuhsar left home that morning, neither Karin, nor Kasra, nor their mother, nor anyone else knew that this was their last visit.

Kuhsar was still moving at the Biara intersection on the way from Kamyaran to Sanandaj, and he was getting closer and closer to that ominous moment. Who knows what happened in the last seconds in the heart of Kasra? A 6-year-old boy who wanted to be like his father. He wanted to work to help his fellow human beings, to help humanity. He knew that the sound of his father’s footsteps meant life and hope not only for him and his sister, but for every sick and injured person who needed help. The sound of the father’s ambulance siren and its red light is a new beginning; Kasra was proud of his father.

There was no more distance to the devil’s ambush, the car was moving forward every moment. The minutes had turned into seconds, and less and less every moment led to that tragic event. Maybe time should have stopped at the same moment, maybe history should have stopped moving so that that shooting would never happen, so that humanity would not fall victim to the devil’s bullets.

Kuhsar’s wife had said goodbye to Kuhsar that morning, like every day, hoping to meet again. He knew that Kuhsar had a night shift and would not return home until Saturday morning. She knew she had to be alone with her children one more night, hoping that in the morning the sound of the key in the lock of the house would repeat the sound of life. The moment Karin and Kasra compete to reach their father’s arms sooner. Kuhsar’s wife endured all her loneliness and hardships in honor of the humanity of a helper. A relief worker who was the hope of life for the people of their city.

But the seconds are running out, Kuhsar has reached the devil’s ambush. Suddenly, two terrorists come out of their ambush on the side of the road and target Kuhsar with four bullets. After the violent and terrifying shooting, it was as if silence had taken over everywhere, as if time had stopped moving; yes, everything is over and Kuhsar has fallen on the ambulance steering wheel in blood-soaked clothes. The demons flee into the darkness of night, while happy to have killed humanity. But in the darkness of the night and next to the body of Kuhsar, a question remains that the demons can never answer: Why?

Next morning the media said:

“Last night, 41-year-old Red Crescent aid worker Kuhsar Fatehi was martyred by four bullets fired by PJAK terrorists during his service at the Biara intersection in Kamyaran.”

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