A Far Away Home

by Howard Faber

  Copyright ©2012 Howard Faber

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from publisher.

  Published by WriteLife,

  (An imprint of Boutique of Quality Books Publishing Company)

  www.writelife.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN 978-1-60808-051-9 (p)

  ISBN 978-1-60808-121-9 (e)

  First Edition

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  A Boy With a Bent Knee

  Chapter Two

  Doctors Come to Sharidure

  Chapter Three

  An Airfield and a Hospital

  Chapter Four

  Ali’s Knee is Straightened

  Chapter Five

  Ali Learns to Fly

  Chapter Six

  Russians in Sharidure

  Chapter Seven

  Ali Leaves for Iran and Starts a Family

  Chapter Eight

  Flying Supplies to Sharidure

  Chapter Nine

  Good News and Bad News

  Chapter Ten

  A Surprise Landing

  Chapter Eleven

  The Taliban Are Coming

  Chapter Twelve

  Escape From the Taliban

  Chapter Thirteen

  Americans in Afghanistan and Ali Brings His Family Back Home

  Chapter Fourteen

  Raiding the Taliban

  Chapter Fifteen

  Taliban Attack Sharidure

  Chapter Sixteen

  A Time to Grow

  Characters

  Dari Words and Phrases

  Places and Names

  Author’s Bio

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  A Boy With a Bent Knee

  Shireen waited so patiently. Her mother and father had told her she would be a big sister. She waited a long time for this to happen. She was almost old enough to go to school. “Next year,” her mother said almost every day, “there will be a school for girls. We’ll go to the school and you will be in first grade.”

  Father & Daughter • By Unknown

  Her friends had brothers and sisters. She sometimes helped them take care of their brothers and sisters, so she knew what to do to be a big sister. It made her feel important and proud to think she would soon be one. She didn’t care if she had a brother or sister. “A sister might be nice. I know all about being a little girl,” she thought, “but a brother might be just as nice. He could grow up to be a pilot.” So, she was ready for this baby, whether it was a girl or boy.

  “Shireen, come meet your little brother.” Her dad was shaking her to wake her, because she had fallen asleep waiting. She went in with her dad to see him. He was asleep with her mom in her parents’ bed. Her dad told her she was born there, too, and her first days were in this bed. Her aunts and her grandma were sitting on the cushions next to the bed. “His name is Ali,” her dad told her. “You can wake him up and tell him your name.”

  He was pretty little, smaller than she imagined. He had dark hair like her, and she thought he looked like her. She took his tiny finger and put it around her finger. She lifted it up, and he opened his eyes.

  “Salaam Ali. I’m Shireen. I’m your big sister.” He looked at her and smiled. “Dad, he smiled at me. Did you see? He likes me. He knows I’m his big sister.”

  Her family laughed. “You will be the best big sister.” It was her grandma, Bibi Jan. She was her dad’s mother, and she lived with them. Her grandpa, Bibi Jan’s husband, died two years ago, and she remembered him a little. He always gave her candy and lifted her up high. She thought her family was the best ever.

  Sister & Bound Brother • By Unknown

  As it turned out, Shireen would be the best big sister. She first heard it from her friends. She was telling them how cute and smart her little brother was. They looked at her in a strange way, like didn’t she know? They weren’t mean, but they said everyone was talking about her little brother, and how sad it was that he couldn’t ever walk. Shireen straightened up. She was his big sister, and she would defend him. “Yes he will. He will walk and run, faster than any of you!”

  Like all little girls the world over do when they have an important question, she ran home to ask her mom or dad or grandma what her friends meant, why couldn’t Ali ever walk? He was only six months old, so of course he couldn’t walk. Like all the other babies in Sharidure, he was mostly kept bound to a board so he didn’t get hurt. How could he walk?

  When she got home she asked, “Mom, what do they mean? Why won’t he be able to walk?” She started crying.

  Her mom gently said, “Shireen, they know about his left leg, so they think he won’t be able to walk. I think he will, if we just help him.” Her mom walked over to where Ali was propped up in his bound up board. She began to unwind him. “I’ll show you.” When she got him all unwound, Shireen looked carefully at his legs. They both were moving. They both were bent. They looked the same. Then Ali straightened out his right leg, but his left leg stayed bent. Her mom told her then, “Ali doesn’t seem able to straighten his left leg.”

  Shireen stayed quiet for a while and watched her little brother. She asked her mom if she could touch his leg. “Of course,” her mom answered, “and it doesn’t hurt him. I’ve gently tried to move it. It can bend more, but it won’t straighten out.”

  Shireen reached out to touch Ali’s little legs. First, she moved his right leg. It bent and straightened. Then, she carefully moved his left leg. It bent just fine but would only bend back part way. She was afraid to try to straighten it more. It didn’t seem to hurt Ali. “Mom, it’s all right. He’s just fine. Maybe it will straighten, but I will help him walk. I’m his big sister.”

  ***

  Some of the children (and grownups) in Sharidure weren’t so nice. When Ali was three, Shireen started to hear people talk about the poor little boy with the bent leg. One day after school, she had a fight with a girl who said Ali would never walk and he was pitiful. That girl was bigger than Shireen but not so big when she was lying on the ground crying. When Shireen’s mother heard about the fight, she told Shireen that she wasn’t happy about it, and that the other girl had no business saying anything about Ali. That’s all she said, and Shireen wasn’t sure just what her mother meant. She decided to defend her brother but not by fighting.

  All of Sharidure became familiar with the sight of Ali on Shireen’s back. They would go around town, buying nawn (bread), picking out the best grapes, and, best of all, flying a ki
te. Sharidure is in the province of Bamiyan, part of a high, hilly area, where wind is a morning-and-evening constant. There is enough wind to fly a kite every summer day. Winters are long, with lots of snow. People stay inside in the winter, using paths through the snow to go to another house or store. Sometimes, the paths are so deep people can’t see out.

  ***

  Ali’s eighth summer had been a good one for Hassan, Ali and Shireen’s father, who was a carpenter. The weather had been good for the farmers, so they placed more than the usual amount of orders for cabinets, closets, and wooden plows. A new customer, the new girls’ school, was growing and ordered more desks. Because of this good summer, Hassan and Mariam (Shireen and Ali’s mother) decided to try to get a doctor to help Ali, but there was no doctor in Sharidure. They had a cousin in Kabul (the capital and largest city in Afghanistan) who might know of a doctor who could help.

  This meant a long distance call from the telephone office. Only the sub governor had a home phone. Everyone else went to the telephone office to place a call, so this was the procedure. Ask the day before for a good time to call. The next day get in line, have some tea, and wait for your turn. The local operator would ask for the number in Kabul, plug in the line to the next town, spin the handle to generate the call, talk to that operator, wait for that operator to connect the line to the next town, and eventually connect to Kabul. If anybody more important wants to use the phone anywhere along the line, you are disconnected and have to try again.

  The call went through, and Hassan was soon talking to his cousin. His cousin hadn’t been in Kabul very long, so he didn’t know much about doctors and hospitals. “Could you look around?”

  “Sure, give me a week or so. I’ll call you when I know more.”

  When he got back home, Hassan told Shireen and her mom about what he found out. They all thought they should try to get Ali to a doctor in Kabul.

  Ali could hop around on one leg, but he soon got tired so he couldn’t go far. Shireen and her dad decided to make Ali a crutch. Since Hassan was a carpenter, he thought he could make one pretty quickly, like in a day. He made it in about an hour. It was a straight branch, about five centimeters thick, with another piece across the top to hold it in place under Ali’s arm. Shireen helped hold Ali up to get the length right. Ali was feeling very hopeful of being able to walk. Shireen helped him get the feel of it, using it to lean on when his left leg would take the weight as he moved. At first, it was hard, but Ali was determined to get it right. He could soon move along at a walking pace. He laughed and tried to go faster. After a few falls, he could swing along at a jogging pace. It was great! He could walk! Well, a little bit.

  Now, Ali was ready to go to the big city. He and his dad would be going on a truck to Kabul. The morning they left was a cool summer day, when the road was free of winter snow. They said their goodbyes to mom and Shireen. Shireen wanted to leave, too, but that would cost more, so she didn’t get to go. She did put in her order for some candy. They climbed up into the back of the truck. The driver started the engine and they were off on an adventure. They were sitting on bags of wheat, along with a dozen or so other travelers. After about an hour, they went past Bondi-Amir, a series of large deep, clear blue lakes, formed by natural mineral deposit dams, like steps. When they stopped, Ali found out that the lakes were also cold.

  Bamiyan Buddha • UNO Picture

  Another couple of hours and they arrived at the provincial capital, Bamiyan. They stopped for tea and nawn. This was also the first time Ali had seen the two giant Buddhas carved into the side of the canyon overlooking Bamiyan.

  His dad said you could climb out on the head of the biggest one. Ali planned to do just that when he was bigger and when his leg was straight.

  After Bamiyan, the road got steeper. The truck growled in lower gears up the winding road. Sometimes the curves were too sharp, and the truck had to go ahead into the curve as far as it could, then back up to the edge of the cliff, repeating this several times until it could make it around the curve. When they backed up, the driver depended on his assistant, the cleanar, to keep them from backing off the cliff by shoving a big wooden wedge on a long handle (sort of like a shovel) under the back wheel. Then he would change from reverse to low gear and go ahead again. When they made it around the corner, the cleanar would jump up and hang on the back until the next turn. This was all pretty scary to Ali, who could see off the back of the truck over the cliff, and could just imagine going off the cliff and crashing down onto the rocks. He just hoped the driver and cleanar knew what they were doing. His dad told him he had ridden on this truck before, and the driver was a good one and knew just what to do.

  When they got over the Sheebar Pass and started going downhill, the truck growled less, and it seemed to Ali that everyone was less afraid and talking more. He wasn’t ready to talk to strangers, but he noticed that his dad did, and he listened in. The men talked about Kabul and all the great things of the big city. When they talked about movies, Ali hoped he could see one. When they talked about buzkashi, the great horseback game of the Afghans, he hoped he could see that, too. He tried to stay awake to hear more.

  They stopped at a small teahouse along the road. It was just like the teahouses in Sharidure, and they had tea and bread. The long trip continued into the evening. When they got to the blacktop road, the traffic got heavier, even including some cars. The cleanar started singing louder, and everyone seemed excited. One more stop for some grapes and then on to Kabul. It wasn’t hard to see it in the distance, with all of the lights.

  They climbed down from the truck at a busy bus and truck stop. It seemed like there were a million, billion people, people with turbans, people with karakul hats, people with no hats, people with beards that wound up around their ears, people with long mustaches, so many people. Someone was calling his dad’s name. “It must be dad’s cousin,” thought Ali.

  “Peace be with you. Welcome to Kabul.” Dad and his cousin hugged each other, smiling.

  “Ali, this is my cousin, Fareed. Fareed this is my son, Ali.”

  “Peace be with you. It’s very nice to meet you.” Ali knew just how to be polite when meeting adults. Fareed smiled at Ali and hugged him.

  “Ali, you must be tired. We have a nice meal and a soft bed for you tonight.” Ali thought dad’s cousin was going to be someone he could like a lot.

  ***

  In the morning, Ali, his dad, and his dad’s cousin Fareed got ready to go to the hospital. They took a crowded bus, and Ali laughed at the people hanging on to the bar next to the door. They were hanging outside of the door, because there was no room in the bus. He laughed, but really he was nervous about seeing a doctor because he had never seen one before. There weren’t any doctors in Sharidure. He hoped and hoped the doctor would say he could make his leg better, but he worried that it couldn’t be healed. Mostly, he was silent, just looking at all the people.

  Kabul 1965 – Howard Faber

  They got out of the bus near the hospital. It was huge, three stories high. There was a line of people waiting outside, so they got in the line. Hassan asked Fareed how much it might cost, but he didn’t know.

  After about an hour of waiting, it was their turn and they went inside. A nurse greeted them and asked why they were there. Ali’s dad explained about Ali’s leg and said
they hoped a doctor could make it better. The nurse led them to a smaller room, where Fareed and Hassan talked quietly. Ali just waited and hoped some more. The doctor came in, greeted them, and asked Ali to stand. He complimented Ali on the smooth wooden crutch. He pushed up Ali’s pant leg and felt gently around his knee. He bent Ali’s leg carefully and straightened it out as far as he could, then wrote something on a small piece of paper.

  “Ali, your good leg is strong, and I can tell you get around really well. I think I know what is wrong with your left leg, but I am not able to fix it. There might be doctors somewhere who could make it better, but we don’t have any in Afghanistan. I could try, but I’m afraid it would be worse. I’m so sorry. You are a brave boy.” The doctor shook Ali’s dad’s hand and left the room. There was silence for a while. They walked slowly back outside. Ali was very sad. He cried. His dad tried to console him.

  ***

  Back in Sharidure, Shireen and her mom worked and talked and talked and worked. Her mom was showing Shireen how to make a felt vest. Shireen was making it for a present to Ali. This was a lot of work. She started with just wool, washed it, rolled it into felt, then cut it, sewed the edges, and decorated it with brightly colored cloth cut into shapes that matched on both sides in the front and on the back. They talked about how Ali would be able to stand without the crutch, walk and even run.

  When Hassan and Ali got back home they climbed down from the back of the truck and started towards their house. They hadn’t told any other people why they really had gone to Kabul. They just said they were visiting family. When they came through the door, Shireen saw Ali’s leg still bent and thought hard what to say. What she said was, “Ali, we’re so glad you’re home. Look what I made.”

  Her mom exchanged glances with her husband and looked carefully at her sad faced little Ali. “Ali, you look so tall these days. You know what I found in the shops yesterday? Some lemons. I was waiting for you both to make some lemonade. Hassan, you must be tired, too. Let’s hear all about Kabul, your cousin, and his family.”