The Pearl that Broke Its Shell

by Nadia Hashimi

  Tradition is most important in the Afghanistan portrayed in your book. Yet Shekiba and Rahima both flout it, against all odds. Writing about these rules for an American audience with different values and cultural traditions can be tricky. How did you manage to walk this fine line when shaping the story?

  While American readers may not be able to identify with the specific traditions that Shekiba and Rahima are expected to honor, I do believe they can relate to the rebellious spirit of these two women. Tradition is important in any society, but even more important is the need to break rules from time to time. Testing boundaries is an uncomfortable but necessary part of any evolving society. Rahima and Shekiba flout tradition because it doesn’t feel right. I hoped their desire to question the status quo would transcend any cultural differences between them and the readers.

  Khala Shaima, Rahima’s aunt, is such a pistol of a woman. What sass and strong spirit, despite her disfigurement! Might you talk about the process of shaping her character?

  The burqa has created this image of Afghan women as shrouded, meek shadows of people, but if you can get past that, I bet many readers would be surprised at just how “sassy” Afghan women can be! It’s a tough environment and one in which you have to be tough to survive. These women tell raunchy jokes, fire off insults, and fight for their rights. I channeled all the strengths I’ve seen in different aunts and grandmothers to mold Shaima’s character, and early on in the story she seemed to come alive. It was as if I could hear her talking and I was simply there to put her voice on the page. I’m not half as sassy as she is!

  Can you explain what naseeb is, for those who don’t know? How does it influence Afghan thinking? Do you think there is a counterpart in American culture?

  Naseeb as a concept is equivalent to “destiny” in the American culture. The difference, at least to me, is that “destiny” has a positive connotation, something you would want to fulfill. In the Afghan culture, naseeb is used to explain any event in an individual’s life, but very often is used to rationalize misfortune. To an Afghan woman, for example, naseeb explains why she was struck with illness or why she lost a young child. While it can be used for both good and bad experiences, it’s definitely a go-to consolation word for life’s darker moments.

  In many ways, Rahima’s story is a modernized version of Shekiba’s struggles. What made you decide to write the book as two parallel narratives? Was one section more difficult or interesting to write than the other? Did you write them in tandem or separately?

  I really wanted to write a story that would demonstrate the perils of being born a girl in Afghan society. The bacha posh custom was a natural vehicle for a discussion on gender. Rahima’s dual identity shows us what it means to be a boy and what it means to be a girl in Afghanistan. The inspiration for the parallel story lines came from a New York Times article about the bacha posh tradition. Tangentially mentioned was the period in history when Afghanistan’s King Habibullah used women dressed as men to guard his harem. That connection, two young women a century apart dressing as the opposite gender, seemed like an intriguing way to link Afghanistan’s history to today. I wanted to connect the women of Afghanistan across time and geography and, in a way, I was hoping one would learn from the other’s legacy. I wrote the two story lines in tandem, though at times one story line would take off and I would have to come back to the other. There are definitely some events in the book that were hard to write because they were so gritty and emotionally draining. I have to say, though, those particular sections are even harder for me to read than they were to write now that I’ve grown so attached to the characters.

  Midway through the novel, Parwin makes a frightening choice. As the author of this tragedy, do you see Parwin’s actions as inevitable, or could she have followed another path? How about Benafsha and her actions?

  I struggled with Parwin’s decision. She has a delicate strength in my mind, a girl with talents buried by her circumstances. Parwin is the music and artistry in Rahima’s world, and all that beauty is snuffed out when she becomes a child “bride.” Given her character, I think her life becomes unbearable, as it does for so many Afghan women. Self-immolation is a frighteningly common practice in Afghanistan and speaks to the desperation these women feel. I don’t think Parwin could have tolerated the home life she was thrown into for much longer. Everything that was important to her was taken away.

  Benafsha’s path is paved in love. It’s odd, but in a country of arranged marriages and strict modesty, romance actually flourishes! Afghan poetry and songs are rich with passion and devotion. Benafsha’s is that love story—that Romeo-and-Juliet kind of love that defies reason and circumstance. Her commitment to her beloved makes sense only because she believes the love between them is so profound that it transcends this world. She accepts her fate because she knows the risks that accompany her perilous relationship. If Benafsha chooses any other path, her romance loses that fairy-tale quality.

  Each of your characters has dealt with hardship: Madar-jan, Rahima, Shekiba, Parwin, Khala Shaima, and Benafsha. As a female and their creator, if you had to choose one of your characters’ lives to jump into, which one would it be and why?

  Eek. To be honest, I wouldn’t want to jump into any of their shoes! Once you’ve tasted “the good life,” it’s unimaginable to live any other way. I’ve been blessed with an upbringing and environment that gave me opportunities, liberties, and autonomy. For me or any reader to answer this question, we can get a quick glimpse at how hard it would be for a bacha posh to transition back to a meek girl who is not in control of her path.

  But since I should answer the question, I would choose Khala Shaima, the spirited aunt who is ever present in her nieces’ lives. She’s got so much spunk and plays a big part in giving her family a different perspective to consider. Despite her physical ailments, she’s a firecracker and has no one reining her in. I admire her quick wit, bravery, and the impact she’s had on the lives of these young girls.

  The Pearl That Broke Its Shell discusses many important issues in Afghanistan: political corruption, child brides, violence against women, and gender inequality. If your readers want to learn more about these issues, can you recommend some books or articles they should read? How about noteworthy organizations dedicated to helping Afghan people and putting a stop to these injustices?

  I made a conscious effort to bring up some of the major issues in Afghanistan because I think acknowledging them is the first step to making any kind of positive change. For those interested in learning more, I would highly recommend Fariba Nawa’s Opium Nation. She traveled through Afghanistan tracing the opium trade and describes, through real stories, how the international drug trade affects the everyday people in the country. In terms of organizations, Women for Afghan Women works hard on the spectrum of women’s issues with, and is very active in, Afghanistan. Skateistan is one particularly edgy organization that promotes education, leadership, and creativity in Afghan youth. I especially love that they teach young girls to skateboard. It is so cool to see helmeted Afghan girls challenging the social norms and gliding down ramps with outstretched arms.

  The book ends on a somewhat hopeful note. What are your thoughts about Afghanistan’s future?

  “Somewhat hopeful” is a good way to sum it up. I think the country as a whole is challenged by the geopolitics of the region. As long as we have countries like Pakistan and Saudi Arabia funding extremist factions, Afghanistan will never enjoy peace. The new government needs to learn to stand on its own feet and cleanse itself of the internal culture of corruption. There’s going to be a long recovery process, but I think it can happen if the younger generation stays motivated and invested. I am hopeful because of what we see in spite of the many obstacles. The recent presidential election saw a nearly sixty percent voter turnout (equivalent to the U.S. voter turnout in the 2012 presidential election) despite kidnappings, violent threats, and suicide attacks at election centers. A female candidate ran for vice president and man
y women ran for provincial seats. We’re again seeing women working as doctors, lawyers, or other professionals outside the home. That’s a pretty steep curve of progress given that women had been barred from the public world just over a decade ago. The younger generation is especially determined to have a voice in the country’s future and they are working hard to bring about change. I think that energy is going to push Afghanistan into a new era.

  This might be too personal a question, but did anything change for you or your family after September 11? How about your attitudes toward the United States? Afghanistan?

  I was actually quite surprised by the experience my family and I had after September 11. Growing up with immigrant parents, I knew my family was not fully “American,” but I was fortunate to grow up in an open-minded town where we very much felt part of the community. I was living in Brooklyn at the time of the attacks and sitting in a medical school lecture that morning. My cousin (and best friend) was evacuated from World Financial Center, where she worked. I watched smoke float across the river and waited, along with my classmates, for word that my family had gotten out safely.

  In my mind, I was like any other American: shocked and frightened by an attack so close to home. I was caught off guard by the hateful comments shouted as I walked home from school that day with three olive-skinned classmates. I was scared for my parents when rocks shattered the windows of our convenience store in idyllic Warwick, New York, where we knew nearly everyone. I couldn’t believe anyone would channel their rage toward us. Soon thereafter, many people came to my parents and expressed remorse for the hateful vandalism that occurred in our close-knit community. It was heartwarming and opened doors for discussion.

  When I was young, few people could find Afghanistan on a map. For decades it was a forgotten land exploited by parasitic extremists and foreign powers. All of that changed after September 11. The world learned that the Afghan people were also victims. The United States sent its men and women in uniform to my parents’ homeland and it is my hope that the sacrifices they made will not be in vain. Afghanistan is now a household name and the awareness that came from September 11 has helped bring my Afghan and American identities together.

  The Pearl That Broke Its Shell is your debut novel. Congratulations on getting it published! How would you describe your experience as a first-time author?

  Writing a novel seemed like an impossible dream to me, but my husband was convinced I should give it a try. I doubt I would have started this book without his encouragement. To find myself now with the amazing team at William Morrow and to have the proud support of my family and friends has been a thrilling experience. It’s so exciting to see this project that I worked on quietly and independently for months now appearing on websites and reaching people’s homes. I’m humbled by the feedback I’ve gotten from readers who have connected with the characters and learned something about the hardships women face. I’m especially grateful that the story has brought attention to so many issues affecting women in Afghanistan and in other parts of the world. I’m honored that folks are reading it and love to hear what readers think.

  If your readers wanted to take a trip to Afghanistan to see the sights and learn more about the culture, where would you recommend they go? What should they do?

  It’s tough for me to recommend a trip to Afghanistan in light of the ongoing unrest. The U.S. State Department issued a travel advisory in February 2014 warning against travel to Afghanistan. There was an unfortunate uptick in violent attacks around the elections. I hope that safety will improve soon and that visitors will be able to take in all that Afghanistan has to offer. It once was a popular travel destination and renowned for its hospitality and breathtaking landscape. Kabul, the capital, is an amazing blend of old history and new construction. It’s got bustling markets, quiet neighborhoods, and historic buildings. Outside the capital there are landmarks like the majestic Blue Mosque of Mazar-i-Sharif and breathtaking mountain ranges. I’m sure most of Afghanistan wishes to see a rebirth of tourism. Afghans are proud of their country and its history and are eager to share it with the rest of the world!

  You are also a pediatrician and work in the emergency room at a children’s hospital in Maryland. I bet you have long workdays! How do you balance your “day” job with being a mother and a writer? Do you write in your sleep?!

  I think juggling is an essential part of motherhood, regardless of whether you work outside the home. I wish I could say I woke up at three A.M. and wrote until the sun came up, but it was a bit less structured in my case. I was expecting my daughter at the time and slowed my work schedule a bit to allow time for writing (and putting my feet up!). Sometimes I write during the day. Other times I write after the little ones have gone to bed. I love my work as a pediatrician, but it’s also exciting to try something totally different. I’m blessed to be able to do two things I enjoy in addition to being a mother. That being said, I am typing this response at nearly midnight, so maybe I am capable of writing in my sleep!

  What is Lady Docs Corner Café, and how did that come about?

  Lady Docs is a group of female physicians in Maryland. It’s a sort of sisterhood of doctors (and other health-care professionals) who get together for Saturday morning “boot camp,” social dinners, and other excursions. Our collective website is a wellness resource with blogs on topics such as adult medicine, pediatrics, psychology, and even recipes for healthy eating. I joined relatively recently, but have been so happy to get to know this amazing group of dedicated and dynamic professionals.

  What’s next for you?

  I have an upcoming second novel about a family that escapes a dangerous political situation in Afghanistan. A teenage son is separated from his mother and younger siblings as they make the treacherous journey to Europe to unite with family. It’s based on the very real plight of refugees desperately trying to find a better life abroad and the struggle Europe is having in dealing with the influx. I love writing and hope I can continue to tell stories. It’s a challenging but incredibly rewarding process. Fingers crossed that more books are in my naseeb!

  About the book

  The Story I Had to Tell

  by Nadia Hashimi

  The Pearl That Broke Its Shell is a story I simply had to tell. I am an Afghan-American woman, and in my lifetime the reaction to my identity has changed drastically. Growing up, it was not uncommon for people to scratch their heads and ask me if Afghanistan was part of Africa. In the aftermath of 9/11 and the U.S. involvement in Afghanistan, the world has learned a lot about this country where women have been oppressed and terrorized by hard-line fundamentalists. But, as is often the case, there’s more to the story.

  My parents were born and raised in Afghanistan in the 1950s and ’60s, a time when things were much different for the country. My aunts graduated from college and my mother even traveled to Europe on scholarship to obtain her graduate degree in engineering. On our walls and dressers were faded pictures of aunts, uncles, and grandparents—the women dressed in trendy skirts or bell-bottoms and the men in wide-collared suits. Kebab shops played popular music and poetry was a part of everyone’s life.

  It was hard for me to reconcile these images and impressions with what I saw on television or what I read in the newspapers. Women lost so much in the violent years that followed my parents’ emigration. For so many Afghans, there’s been a burning desire to express that what is seen today is not the whole story. Many of us want to shout from the rooftops that our culture has been robbed and our women have been brutally stripped of their rights. Our girls, our young women, our future mothers have to fight, all over again, to be valued as part of society.

  Afghanistan’s patriarchal traditions value sons over daughters. In more remote areas of the country, women never enjoyed the liberties that women in Kabul experienced. Decades of war and fundamentalist regimes left Afghan women battered and scarred, their rights buried under piles of rubble. Gender is of ultimate consequence in Afghanistan. Life as a girl is ver
y different than life as a boy. This was the story I wanted to tell.

  The country is fraught with problems—child marriages, warlords, political unrest, drug addiction, corruption, and more. I’ve woven these crises into the novel since they are part of the Afghan reality. I read anything I could find about women of Shekiba’s and Rahima’s generations. I spoke with friends, family members, and women working with the Afghan Parliament. I learned of frustrations, heartbreaks, and triumphs. Ultimately, I wrote this story to share the experience of Afghan women in a fictional work that is made up of a thousand truths.

  Rahima is a former bacha posh who is married off to a local warlord when she is barely an adolescent. She is the living legacy of her great-great-grandmother, Shekiba, and draws strength from this relationship. They share a common tenacity, a desire to survive despite everything. This tenacity is what I see changing the face of Afghanistan today and giving hope for tomorrow.