by Atia Abawi
Thirty-one
FATIMA
I haven’t taken my chadari off since I arrived, but even the covering is not protecting me from gawking eyes. There are only three other people waiting in this room, but it still feels too crowded. Two are women, neither of whom are wearing a chadari, just head scarves that cover their hair and are wrapped around their chests. The third is an old man with a white beard and turban. He is staring at the three of us, but mostly he’s looking at them. The truth is I can’t stop staring at them either. Their faces are chalky white, with spots of crimson added to their cheeks and lips. I’ve tried not to stare because when I do, bad thoughts go through my head about what kind of women they might be. And I know it is wrong to judge them—I don’t even know them. It isn’t fair. That’s the exact mentality that I’ve been running from.
But I crave the distraction.
The problem is that when I bring my eyes down and look at the ground, my brain begins to fill with tormenting thoughts. A chill runs down my spine as I think of my sister’s death. My baby. My Afifa. My Afo. She did nothing to deserve this. I should have been killed, not her. Not the little girl who cried at the sight of my burns. The baby who brought joy into all of our lives when we thought the happiness had been sucked away by Ali’s death.
And if I’m not thinking of Afifa, I’m thinking of Sami. No one told me to love him—they told me not to. But I couldn’t help it. It happened. I’ve loved him all my life. And I know I will love him for the rest of it. No matter how short or long it is. But I can’t help thinking the worst, the longer I sit heavyhearted on this broken wooden chair.
A woman with a red head scarf finally comes out of a room and calls for the ladies across from me. They follow her, closing the door behind them, leaving only me for the old man’s eyes. He doesn’t look threatening, but I feel uncomfortable nonetheless.
A young man in a suit comes out and offers us both some tea. I look away and don’t answer him. I’m afraid if I talk to him, they’ll both judge me. The old man declines the offer of tea by sucking his tongue on his teeth.
“Okay, then,” the man says, leaving.
After more time passes, the door opens again and the two ladies leave, whispering to each other.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” the woman with the red head scarf says to me. “Please come into the office.” But I find myself afraid to follow her into the room. I don’t want to be alone. Where is Sami? “Sister, please come in.”
I slowly get up, keeping my head down. She closes the door behind me, gesturing for me to sit. “Please take off the chadari if it will make you more comfortable.” It won’t. So I shake my head. “My name is Mahnaz. What is your name?” I stay silent in front of this new stranger. Until recently, I had always been surrounded by people I knew and who knew me. Now everyone I meet is someone new.
“You don’t have to be nervous with me.” She says those simple words with such ease.
But it’s not that easy. I’ve been tossed away by my old world, and now I’m just supposed to trust this new one?
“We’ll try to help you, no matter your problem,” she continues, in spite of my silence. “I can tell that it was difficult for you to come here. You’re very brave.”
Suddenly I can’t hold back my tears. Mahnaz gets up from her chair and starts rubbing my back.
“It’s okay. Cry all you want. Get it out.” She pulls some tissues from a box and hands them to me.
I bring my trembling hand out from the chadari for a moment to grab them but quickly bring it back in.
“Are you ready to talk now?” she asks as I wipe my nose and eyes. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk. Keep your chadari on. I won’t know who you are until you’re ready to share that with me, but just tell me why you’re here.”
Her voice is soft and soothing, and through my veil I can see the concern in her eyes. I know I have to talk because I can’t go back out to those crowded, frightening streets. I need this stranger’s help. So I tell Mahnaz everything. As I talk, it becomes easier. Dozens of tissues later, I’ve finished my story.
I can’t believe I told her every detail. I worry that I just gave her many reasons to kick me out: betraying my family, causing the death of my sister, being a slut who left her home for a boy. I look for shock and disgust in Mahnaz’s eyes. But they are not there. She doesn’t seem fazed by anything I’ve just said. She just looks . . . sympathetic.
“I’m sorry you went through all of this,” Mahnaz says tenderly. “I’m so very sorry. And like I said before, we’re here to help you. Whether you want to find a way to reconcile with your family or live with your husband. We’ll do our best to support you.”
“I can never go back to my family,” I say. “Not after Afo’s . . .” I can’t say the words again. “I can never go back.”
“I understand,” she says, and I believe her.
She starts to speak again, but her small black phone rings. We never had a mobile phone in my family. My baba said there was no need for one, because everyone we knew was only a short walk away. I now wish they had one just so I could call and hear his voice, even if I never let him know it was me.
“I’m sorry,” Mahnaz says as she presses one of the phone’s buttons.
“Okay. Uh-huh. Yes, please. Thank you.” She ends her conversation and looks at me. “There’s someone here to see you.”
For a moment, her words send chills up my spine, but her smile calms my nerves. I hear the door open and turn to look. Through the blue fabric, I see him. He looks exhausted and dirty. But his emerald eyes still shimmer. My face falls into my hands, and I can’t stop my tears. But for the first time in days, they’re not tears of sadness—they’re tears of joy.
“Fatima?” he says. “Fatima, don’t cry. We’ll be okay. I promise.” He walks toward me and brings me in for an embrace. I pull my arms from under the fabric and squeeze as tight as I can. In this moment I want to fly with him toward a secret sky. I want to take a step without feet, with only our hearts to guide us.
And I know we will.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
In its modern history, Afghanistan has been a country at war since 1979. It started with the Soviet invasion and was followed by a barbaric civil war, then by the Taliban rule and finally, and most recently, the invasion led by the United States in 2001.
The country is a complicated mixture of different ethnicities, ideologies and cultures, and a lack of understanding and knowledge among the groups and outsiders continues to lead the country into further chaos. Unification is only possible with time and education.
It is hard to define an Afghan because of the complex differences between groups. It is also hard to govern the people using one set of laws, for the same reason. Each group has its own laws, which have been passed down from generation to generation. Tradition, culture and family are what reign in most of Afghanistan, not the government—and even in this pious society, culture often triumphs over religion. Many refer to the area outside of the capital, Kabul, as the “Wild West,” because it is hard to govern and primarily run by political families or criminal groups. That is the area in which this book is set.
In most Afghan cultures, a person’s destiny is scripted by others. This is especially true for a woman. Her destiny is written before she is born, formulated by her family and community. She has very little say. This norm is questioned only by a very few. Those who do raise their voices are demonized, ostracized and even killed.
In my experience, the majority of Afghan people want normalcy and peace; they are sick of the war and infighting. They want to live quiet lives in the same way their forefathers did in the past. They don’t want war—but they also don’t want to be told to change their ways, and change is inevitable. I fear that continued globalization may lead to even more cultural clashes in this traditionally conservative society. As television, radio, magazines and Internet becom
e more available, more and more people will be exposed to new ideas and different ways of life, and—like Samiullah and Fatima—may no longer be content with the rules their families and communities have followed for generations.
Even though Afghans long for peace and tranquillity, the future of Afghanistan is as uncertain now as it has ever been for the past three decades.
LOVE IS FROM THE INFINITE, AND WILL REMAIN UNTIL ETERNITY.
THE SEEKER OF LOVE ESCAPES THE CHAINS OF BIRTH AND DEATH.
TOMORROW, WHEN RESURRECTION COMES,
THE HEART THAT IS NOT IN LOVE WILL FAIL THE TEST.
—Jalal ad-Din Rumi
GLOSSARY
Aaka: Uncle (Pashto)
Abdur Rahman Khan: Known as the Iron Amir, he ruled the country from 1880 to 1901. The Pashtun leader was revered and hated. Some Afghans believe he strengthened Afghanistan following the second Anglo-Afghan war. Others believe he was ruthless and slaughtered many Afghans.
Aday: Mother (Pashto)
Afghanis: Afghanistan’s monetary figure
Agha: Sir (Dari and Pashto)
Ahmaq: Stupid or Fool (Dari and Pashto)
Allah tobah: God forgive—a reproachful expression meaning that one should show penitence to God (Dari and Pashto)
Aush: Afghan noodles
Azizam: My love (Dari)
Baas: Enough (Dari and Pashto)
Baba: Dad (Dari)
Bachi: Boy (Pashto)
Bia: Come (Dari)
Bitay: Give me (Dari)
Boro berun: “Go outside” (Dari)
Chadari: All-covering garment worn by women, also known as a burqa in the western world (Dari and Pashto)
Chai sabz: Green tea (Dari)
Chai: Tea (Dari and Pashto)
Charsy: Smoker of hashish (Dari and Pashto)
Dewana: Crazy (Dari)
Dewanagak: Crazy, in a playful way (Dari)
Dilta rasa: Come here (Pashto)
Distarkhan: Eating mat—similar to a tablecloth but primarily laid out on the ground (Dari and Pashto)
Dokhtar: Girl (Dari)
Dostit darom: I love you (Dari)
Gak: term of endearment usually directed to younger individuals often meaning “little.”
Ghagayga: Speak (Pashto)
Ghengiz Khan: A powerful Mongolian leader who established one of the largest empires in the history of the world in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. He is revered by some and known as a ruthless killer by others. His many descendants have spread throughout much of the world—the Hazaras are generally considered to have Mongolian lineage, though others dispute the claim.
Gul: Flower (Dari and Pashto)
Hazara: An ethnic group primarily in Afghanistan, but populations also inhabit neighboring Pakistan and Iran. Hazaras are the third largest ethnic group in Afghanistan.
Inshallah: God willing (Dari and Pashto)
Jaan/Jaana: Dear, a term of endearment (Dari/Pashto)
Janem: My dear (Dari)
Jinn: Spiritual creatures that, along with humans and angels, make up the three sapient creations of God
Kafir: a nonbeliever (Dari and Pashto)
Kaka: Uncle (Dari and Pashto)
Karachee: Cart (Dari and Pashto)
Kalon: Big (Dari)
Kena: Sit (Pashto)
Khajoor: A deep-fried Afghan cookie (Dari and Pashto)
Khak da saret: Literally, “dirt on your head,” said to wish for someone’s death
Khala: Aunt (Dari and Pashto)
Khan: A leader, in this case the leader of a tribe (Dari and Pashto)
Khar quss: Derogatory curse word (Dari and Pashto)
Khastgaree: When a male’s family approaches a female’s family to ask for her hand in marriage (Dari and Pashto)
Kho/kha: Okay (Dari/Pashto)
Khuda/Khudaya: God (Dari and Pashto)
Khuda hafiz: Good-bye (Dari)
Khuday pamon: Good-bye (Pashto)
Khwarak: Sister, spoken as an endearment (Dari)
King Amanullah: King of Afghanistan from 1919 to 1929, known for his attempts to modernize the country. He was forced to abdicate and flee the country.
Koonak: Little butt (Dari)
Kor mo wadan: “May your house always be safe”—a way of saying thank you (Pashto)
Kuchi: A Pashtun group, nomads who live and wander in Afghanistan and Pakistan
Lala: Older brother, spoken as an endearment (Pashto)
Larsa: Leave (Pashto)
Laywanay: Crazy (Pashto)
Lungee: Long piece of cloth used as a turban (Dari and Pashto)
Madar: Mother (Dari)
Madrassa: Islamic religious school (Dari and Pashto)
Mahr: A mandatory gift given by the groom to his bride, over which she has sole ownership (Dari and Pashto)
Manana: Thank you (Pashto)
Mayan wogora: “Look at the fish” (Pashto)
Masjid: An Islamic place of worship, or mosque (Dari and Pashto)
Maymon khana: Guesthouse (Dari and Pashto)
Mainday: Mothers (Pashto)
Naan: Food or Bread (Dari and Pashto)
Neh: No (Dari)
Nikah: An Islamic wedding (Dari and Pashto)
Nikah khat: Marriage document (Dari and Pashto)
Pakhto ghagaygay: “Do you speak Pashto?” (Pashto)
Pakol: Type of Afghan cap made of wool with a rolled rim
Pashto: A language spoken in Afghanistan primarily by the Pashtun people
Pashtun: An ethnic group primarily in Afghanistan and Pakistan. Pashtuns are the largest ethnic group in Afghanistan.
Payron: Shirt—in this case, a long baggy shirt worn in some central and south Asian countries, including Afghanistan and Pakistan. It is often accompanied by a matching tumbon. (Dari)
Peghlo: Girls (Pashto)
Qari: A reciter of the Quran, often one who has also memorized the holy book (Dari and Pashto)
Quran-e-sharif: Islamic holy book
Quroot: Dried and hardened yogurt
Qussy: Derogatory curse word
Quza wa chilemchi: Watering can and bowl used to wash hands before a meal (Pashto)
Rafeda: Small pillow used to place bread in the tandoor (Dari and Pashto)
Rasa: Come here (Pashto)
Rawra: Bring (Pashto)
Saib: Sir (Dari and Pashto)
Salaam/Salaamona: Hello (Dari and Pashto)
Shadi gak: Little monkey (Dari)
Shaw bakhair: Good night (Dari)
Shayton: Satan (Dari and Pashto)
Sheen: Green (Pashto)
Sheen Chai: Green tea (Pashto)
Singaye/singa yasti: How are you? (Pashto)
Sufis: Muslims who practice a mystical form of Islam
Taliban: Literally “students”—an Islamic extremist political movement in both Afghanistan and Pakistan. The group controlled most of Afghanistan from the mid-1990s until their overthrow in the invasion led by the United States in the fall of 2001.
Tandoor: Cylindrical-type oven usually built into the ground (Dari and Pashto)
Tashakur: Thank you (Dari and Pashto)
Toophan: Storm (Dari and Pashto)
Toot: Berry (Dari and Pashto)
Toshak: Mattress pad (Dari and Pashto)
Tumbon: Trousers—in this case, long baggy trousers worn in some central and south Asian countries, including Afghanistan and Pakistan. It is often accompanied by its matching payron. (Dari)
Woror: Brother (Pashto)
Za: Go! (Pashto)
Ziyarat: Shrine
Zoy/zoya: Son (Pashto)
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would not have been possible without the incredible support of
the Philomel and Penguin family, who immediately made me feel like I had always been a part of their team. A special thank-you to Jill Santopolo; her guidance and expertise were invaluable—as was her friendship, honesty and kindness. I cannot express in words just how deeply grateful I am to you, Michael Green and the entire Philomel and Penguin team—there are so many who worked hard and with kind hearts and I am very thankful to all of you. And I cannot forget Nick Schifrin for sending the e-mail that set this all in motion, besyar tashakur and dera manana, dear friend.
I also want to thank my family for the love, support and patience they showed as I immersed myself in the adventure of writing a novel during my breaks from work—spending less time with them and more time with my computer and imagination. They never stopped believing in me. First, I want to express my gratitude to my husband, Conor Powell: you are my everything; thank you for taking this journey with me and for always motivating me in all that I and we do. My mother, Mahnaz Abawi, whose prayers and love have guided me all my life. My father, Wahid Abawi, who was my rock and taught through his strength and kindness what a true Afghan man is. My brother, Tawab Abawi, and his wife, Kelli, for their encouragement and love. And the Powells and Phelans for supporting us always. God has blessed me with so much, but the greatest blessing of all has been my loved ones.
I want to take this opportunity to thank my brothers and sisters in Afghanistan who took me in as family and showed me true Afghan hospitality during all the years I lived there. They are an inspiration. Every Afghan has millions of stories trapped in his or her heart, stories most will never be able to share. One day I hope the world can see past the war and destruction and glimpse the beauty and wonders that lie in this tragic history. Very special thanks to Qari Saib Fazal Ahad for his research, to the Shinwaris for their help, and to Mandy Clark for her input. And to everyone else who has touched my life and given me knowledge of a country that continues to survive with the patience and hard work of the good people inside it—both Afghans and internationals.