Captive – My Time as a Prisoner of the Taliban

"I looked at the land and the canyons around us. Everything was rugged, rust-colored in the fading sun, starkly beautiful, jagged and empty. The sun was behind us, almost gone now. We were walking easily. I looked ahead. We were in a valley. There was grass, and it was comforting. I wasn't tired. We walked on.

I looked up and saw a black turban appear from behind a rock on the hill in front of us. I froze. Oh my God. Oh no. It's not possible. I stared in disbelief. A tall, lanky man man came up running, shouting, jumping over a rock, holding a rocket-propelled grenade launcher, and other men followed behind him. It was the Taliban.

They came swarming down the mountain, spreading out, shouting, "Kenna, kenna!" get down, get down!--holding their rifles high, like Indians in an old Western movie. I'm dead, I said to myself. I'm dead."

A small man was in the lead, holding a walkie-talkie and coming toward me. All my energy and strength disappeared. They stood around us, at least a dozen men with rifles and grenade launcher, all pointed at us. I didn't move. I was about to die. I felt weak, hopeful, frustrated and trapped. I couldn't run. I couldn't do anything. I was dead. I was going to die."

Excerpt from "Captive"