In this piece, Tasnim Shamma takes up the identity of her fictional avatar, catherine_clark, a Chicago Sun Times reporter who gets assigned to Afghanistan. catherine_clark, while reporting, gets kidnapped and must find a way to escape from her captors while making sure she gets the scoop.  

Location: Unknown region of Afghanistan

When I regained consciousness, I felt a cloth loosely tied across my eyes. I could see the shapes of a few men pacing the room back and forth. They were wildly gesturing towards my direction. One of the men stopped his pacing, placed his hands on his face, and shook his head.

Confused, I didn’t dare move until the men / dressed in pakols, lungees, and chapans left at the sound of the evening call to prayer. But staying still was rather difficult with a beetle inching up my sun burnt arm. I had a throbbing headache and couldn’t figure out why I was blindfolded. And then-- I remembered.

[CUE 1: gunfire] – keep repeating until the word “scoop”. Start loud and lower volume throughout.

Location: Kandahar, Afghanistan, 12 hours earlier

A light brown US military tank, randomly shooting homes, sped by. I knew the military did not have a presence in Kandahar. Deeply puzzled but working off my adrenaline, I jumped into my car and told my driver to trail the tank. Rebels confiscating a US army vehicles would be headline news and I had the scoop. 

The tank made a U-turn, blocking the narrow road.
[CUE 2: cars.087, stop at 7 seconds] My driver came to a sudden halt and our heads hit the back of our seats simultaneously. A tall, young, well built man in a dirty white tee, loose pants, and a black bandana climbed out and approached us with a gun. He had a deep frown on his face and motioned with swift movements for us to get out.   

”Lock the doors!” I yelled.

The man shot a bullet through our window showering my face with glass and barely missing my thigh.

The man grabbed us out and demanded to know our business. I pointed to my press id. 

"You want to make news?" he asked. 

I managed to mumble a yes.

"Now you can make news," he said and shot my driver in the head. 

I guess I fainted then because a few hours later I awoke to the sound of thick Persian accents in a cold, dark room.

As soon as my captors left, I brought my tied hands over my head, shook the beetle off, and began to chew at the light fabric. Seconds later, I freed my hands and began to take off the blindfold when a young child entered the room, saw me, and ran out.

I knew I was now in trouble and had to get out. I found my knapsack by the door but my notepad was missing. I was distressed but knew I had to take my chance to leave before the boy could tell anyone.

I exited towards the courtyard and made a mad dash to the back of the complex.

“STOP!” yelled a man from the turret of a tank. I could hear my heart pounding. I thought back to what they had done to my driver and froze.

But the man had a large smile on his face and said, “All FUN.”

He tossed my notepad to the ground and yelled at me to go.

I took it and ran. Later that night, I found a soldier who took me to the military base and desperately tried to convince him of what I had seen.

“There ain’t no rebels here. We’re in total control.” said the soldier.

 I, Catherine_Clark (Tasnim Shamma), am a reporter for the Chicago Sun Times in Chicago, Illinois. I recently accepted an assignment to Afghanistan where I get kidnapped.

Location: Unknown region of Afghanistan

When I regained consciousness, I felt a cloth loosely tied across my eyes. I could see the shapes of a few men pacing the room back and forth, wildly gesturing towards my direction. One of the men stopped his pacing, placed his hands on his face, and shook his head.

Confused, I didn’t dare move until the men dressed in pakols, lungees, and chapans left at the sound of the evening call to prayer. Staying still was rather difficult with a beetle inching up my sun burnt arm. I had a throbbing headache and couldn’t figure out why I was blindfolded. And then-- I remembered.

Location: Kandahar, Afghanistan, 12 hours earlier

[CUE 1: gunfire]

A light brown US military tank, randomly shooting homes, sped by but I knew the military did not have a presence in Kandahar. Deeply puzzled but working off my adrenaline, I jumped into my car and told my driver to trail the tank. Confiscation of a US army vehicle by rebels would be headline news and I had the scoop. 

[CUE 2: cars.087, stop at 7 seconds]

The tank made a U-turn, blocking the narrow road. My driver came to a sudden halt and our heads hit the back of our seats simultaneously. A tall, young, well built man in a dirty white tee, loose pants, and a black bandana climbed out and approached us with a gun. He had a deep frown on his face and motioned with swift movements for us to get out.   

I refused and ordered my frightened driver to lock the car doors. Frustrated to find we were not obeying, he shot a bullet through the window - one which barely missed my thigh. 

My driver would not listen anymore. He unlocked the doors, closed his eyes, raised his hands to the roof of the car and told me to do the same as he proceeded to exit.
 
The man grabbed us and demanded to know our business. I pointed to my press id. 

"You want to make news?" he asked. 

I managed to mumble a yes.

"Now you can make news," he said and shot my driver in the head. 

[CUE 3: woman screaming]
I was in such a state of shock that I fainted. And a few hours later found myself in a cold dark room listening to men arguing in Persian and reloading their AK-47s.

When the men finally left, I brought my tied hands over my head, shook the beetle off, and began to chew at the light fabric. After a few seconds I had freed my hands and began to take off the blindfold when a young child entered the room, saw me, and ran out.

I knew I was in trouble now and had to get out as soon as possible. I found my knapsack by the door but my notepad was missing. I was distressed but knew I had to take my chance to leave before the boy could tell anyone.

Looking around furtively, I exited towards the courtyard and made a mad dash to the back of the complex.

“STOP!” yelled a man from the turret of a tank.

 “All fun,” said the man who shot my driver in English. And he tossed my notepad on the ground and said, “Go!”. 

I took it and ran. Later that night, I found a soldier who took me to the military base and desperately tried to convince him of what I had seen.

“There ain’t no rebels here. We’re in total control.” said the soldier.

I was enraged and when I went to show them the evidence, I found the film in my camera destroyed and my notes ruined.