What Became Of The 'Mother Of All Bombs' dropped by the U.S in Afghanistan

A shallow crater spawns the earth as far as the eye can see. The mammoth hole – forty miles from the provincial capital of Jalalabad – is now stuffed with ancient stones and surrounded by tufts of green, mud homes and crinkled, curious faces coated in dust and squinting in the blinding light.

Some six-and-a-half years ago, the United States – under the direction of President Trump – dropped the almighty, 21,600-pound, guided “mother of all bombs” (MOAB) over an Islamic State cave composite traversing the Achin and Spinghar districts in the eastern Afghanistan province of Nangarhar.

It was poised to cripple the then-emerging Afghanistan ISIS affiliate from its power base in the eerily quiet terrain. Officially termed the GBU-43/B Massive Ordnance Air Blast, the strike – the first of its kind – was tailored to minimize civilian casualties while heralding a faster defeat of the country’s ISIS affiliate, known as ISIS-K, from its remote stronghold. Unlike conventional bombs, the MOAB is designed to infiltrate a building or the ground spanning nine city blocks, blasting fuel into the air and triggering a secondary detonation that ignites the atomized fuel.

“U.S. forces took every precaution to avoid civilian casualties with this strike and will continue offensive operations until ISIS-K is destroyed in Afghanistan,” the Department of Defense said in a statement at the time.

The MOAB blast devastated several miles of homes and plantations.

Villagers left in the rugged terrain complain of health ramifications, but almost all begrudgingly admit that dozens of ISIS – colloquially known as Daesh – fighters were slain.

“As soon as the bomb was dropped, all the Daeshs were killed so people could live in this area. People started coming back. Before that, we couldn’t live here. But now there are chemicals here,” says local labor worker Qari, who thinks he is around fifty years old. “It was a test bomb, but it killed some Daesh here. Houses were destroyed, but nobody was left there. Now (the people here) have problems.

Others say that their children – born less than a year ago – suffer severe digestive ailments, which the doctors attribute to “the chemicals from the bomb.”

Locals are quick to pull up their clothing to reveal bright red, angry streaks across the flesh of their stomachs. Children, who play in and around the carved parcel of dirt, scratch at roughened red bumps oozing from their clay-caked faces. It is impossible to know the cause of their distress precisely, but locals repeatedly insist that the ailments only began in the bomb’s aftermath.

But what is worse, many say, is that they can no longer grow enough crops for a basic living.

“We can’t get results from our farming,” Qari says. “Earlier, we used to have more than 600kg of corn; now, we only have 30. The trees have all been shot with bullets, too, hundreds of times.”

Mustafa, around forty, concurs that the irrigation systems no longer function properly.

And Mohammad Hanif, the 32-year-old Director of Culture and Information for Nangarhar, vows that the bomb has “impacted the people in that region mentally and physically.”

“First, many people that heard the explosion have developed a couple of ear diseases and hearing disabilities,” he notes. “Secondly, it impacted people economically because people were cultivating those grounds. They built greenhouses there, and when the bomb hit that area, everything was destroyed.”

However, the unspoken woe now is that it may have been all for nothing.

The U.S. chaotically exited the country two years ago, seemingly well before the job was complete. Making matters worse, the terrorist outfit last year executed a raid on a prison in Nangahar’s capital Jalalabad, enabling dozens of the most hardcore of its ranks to flee.

Spots that the villagers say are caused by living in the area where the MOAB bomb was dropped.

Unlike the Taliban – which has nationalistic goals – ISIS has made no secret of its global “caliphate” intentions over the years, posing more significant dangers to the U.S. and its allies.

The number of ISIS members, primarily active in pockets across Nangahar, remains unclear. However, U.S. intelligence has estimated that the number of ISIS-K fighters hovers around 2000, although security experts have surmised that the figure could be far higher.

Nonetheless, most Taliban top-brass you speak to refuse to admit that the outfit is even a problem.

“Daesh is not a big threat to us. The city is secure, and the whole province is sound and secure. We have especially deployed a lot of forces to manage the capital (Jalalabad),” says Mohammad Hanif, the 32-year-old Director of Culture and Information for Nangarhar. “We have a very active intelligence team. Daesh fighters cannot hide for more than ten days,” he continues.

But simultaneously, the Taliban released hundreds of ISIS fighters from behind bars in Bagram prison when they took over the country in August 2021, creating a confusing tangle and deepening a recipe for disaster.

“Daesh in Afghanistan is a myth. It was an ideology created for Iraq and Syria and an intelligence network operating under the name of Daesh,” asserts Dr. Basheer, the Taliban director of intelligence for the eastern zone of the country, which borders Pakistan. “They pretended like they were Muslims, but they are not Muslims. ISIS is a group that was created in the name of Islam, but they have only fought against Muslims in every country they are active in because that is their ideology. They’re there to kill other Muslims and destroy Islam. The ISIS soldiers are educated in Europe and America.”

Basheer also proclaims they refuse to call them Daesh now, instead referring to them as “baghyan,” meaning “rebels” in Pashto.

Only the attacks continue to steadily grip the struggling nation. The Taliban’s hesitancy to admit to the glaring security threat comes as the Taliban government – officially termed the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan – endeavors to propel the narrative that has restored peace and stability in the fragile nation after decades of intense conflict.

But in and around the quiet patches of Jalalabad, locals quickly recite stories of decapitated bodies found in the fields or hanging alongside notes with a word of warning. Attention may have fallen fast from the country, but the dangers remain.

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