By Farhad Azad While self quarantined at home, remembering the story of my maternal great grandfather inspired me to make this short montage about how his death and the lasting impact on my family. None of our family stories are written— all accounts are oral. I have no letter, photo, or physical description of my great grandfather. He was most likely born in the 1890s. How was he trained as an architect and by whom, I don't know. From family accounts, it is told he architected several buildings in Kabul. Most likely works commissioned by the Royal Afghan Government, at a time when constructing government buildings was necessary. He was the child of Mohammad Ali. He was named “Masjiti” to protect him from any "harm," mostly childhood diseases. It did. But the name didn't protect him from the Spanish flu. He died from the 1918 global pandemic. His death was tragic. He left behind a young widow and three children who had to fend for themselves. His son, my grandfather, Mohammad Azim, managed to provide for his family with the modest prosperity that some in Kabul gained for over half a century. Yet, this generation saw the demise of the nation with the political turbulence of the 1970s. If they were alive today, would they be surprised that their homeland is far from peace and another global pandemic is reshaping the world?
