Today I heard that one of my dearest friends died in a car accident on the Kabul-Jalalabad road. Doctor Mohammed Saeed Niazi was a true friend to me; more than that, he was one of those friends that actually defines what friendship means.

We met in 2003, in Mazar-i Sharif during the Gul-e Sorkh celebrations of the Persian New Year. I was looking for staff to recruit for the Foundation for Culture and Civil Society. I can’t remember now who recommended him; I do remember my first impression, of an energetic, sprightly and well-humored man, knowledgeable and likeable. I told him to come to my office in Kabul to talk about a possible job.

We immediately took a liking to each other, as two grown men with a lot of stuff to share. He became head of the civil society unit at the Foundation (later he would be one of the two deputy directors). I remember our first road trip together, to Pul-e Khumri, to sort out the establishment of an  FCCS office and program there. During the long road trip we became real friends. I was also impressed by his quick insights and natural authority while meeting representatives of Pul-e Khumri’s civil society. Over the following years, Dr. Niazi was the driving force behind the FCCS’s civil society activities. He soon became one of the leading figures of Afghan civil society. His energy, quick insights and generosity supported a lot of other people in this field. As another friend, a journalist who set up her own media outlet, said upon hearing of his passing away: “Oh, what will become of my country if good men like him die?”

There are people more appropriate (notably, Afghans) to commemorate his contribution to the development of politics and a free, pluralist society in Afghanistan. What I want to recall here is Dr. Niazi as friend. Together with Dr. Omar Sharifi we formed an inseparable trio in the heady days when the FCCS was blooming. After long working days we could sit together deep into the night with Hafiz, Rumi and more recent poets like Shamlu and Bedil reciting poetry. Dr. Niazi was so good at that, with his warm, booming voice; he would get so carried away by the beauty of the Persian language and the freedom of the poets that we just couldn’t stop. He loved humanity like no one else, his optimism was indestructible.

In my darkest days in Kabul, Dr. Niazi became my truest friend. Not once in my life has a friend been so close to me, so important as he. I stayed in the guest room of his house in Taimani, sleeping with his sons Mansur and Arif – both excellent young men, whom I hope will take after their father – and sharing all the meals with him. My life had fallen to pieces. Dr. Niazi put me together again. He told me about some chapters of his life, how his beloved ones had died in the war, how all his belongings had been repeatedly destroyed or looted, how he had to reinvent himself in exile not once but several times. I would see the smiling, strong and humanity-loving man in front of me, realize he had been through much worse life experiences than me, and draw from his strength to face my own troubles.

Ever since Dr. Niazi has been the shining example for me of the resilience of hope, the strength of a man who guides his family and close ones through the worst life experiences and rebounds. His expression ‘Khoda mehraban hast’ (God is kind)  has rang through my mind so often since 2006, when all this happened. It has become my personal mantra whenever I face, or see others face, what seems a hopeless situation, grief and loss. And every time this comes up I think of him and draw strength from that thought. I still do, now as I write this.

Unfortunately we haven’t seen each other much since then. We stayed in touch through skype and internet, and met a few times in Europe or Afghanistan. But this is how it is with true friends: even in those periods when you’re not in touch, the friendship is not affected. I regret, deeply regret, that I won’t be able to sit with him again. But Dr. Niazi will forever remain locked in my heart, as a shining example of a true friend, not only of me but of humanity in general. If we want to do him justice, we must take over this love for the human being – and Afghanistan – and make it the driving force of our lives, like he did.

Dr Niazi on the beach of The Hague, the Netherlands, with my son Tito