Category Archives: Prose

“What about the Taliban are you asking my impression on?”Mullah asks

Excerpt of an email written 11th of August, last year 2011.

Ramazan

Yesterday in a congregation of about 30 men before
taraweh prayers, I was asking the Mullah questions about his life,
memorizing the Quran, his impression of the concept of sin, his views
on Christianity and Judaism …..and what he thought about the
Taliban. I did not ask to debate/question. I just wanted to learn his
perspectives; which to the most part I completely agreed with. In fact
when I asked his impression of the Taliban, he answered with a clever
question “What about the Taliban are you asking my impression on?”
Later Shoaib’s brother told Shoaib not to translate any further
questions about the Taliban. It turned out the Mullah was a Talib from
Baghlan!!

At first we did not look at each other, but after that we were talking
like student and teacher.

After my questions he asked “Why did you come for only
for one taraweh prayer?”

I told him, “I did not mind staying behind
the pardah but I felt left out and could not see what was happening.
So I did prayers at home.”

He replied “God created these opportunities
to bring people together, not create distance between them. If I knew
you were upset, I would have put you right in front with us.”

Actually in the beginning Shoaib had asked the Mullah if he could
stand with me behind the pardah and the Mullah said it was not
appropriate. That night after Mullah and I started talking, he let me
pray behind without pardah and allowed Shoaib to stand behind next to
me.

Shoaib did not want me to come for the feast because it was
inappropriate, me being the only woman in a group of 30 men. I came anyway to
celebrate their Khatam of the Quran.When introducing me, Mullah and I
did not really look at each other. He was not rude and actually later
turned out to be the nicest Mullah I ever met.

The event turned out to be like a talk show. I was asking questions,
Shoaib translated, Mullah answered and all of the rest sat down and
listened. He said I had many many questions and perhaps this was the
characteristic of a traveller coming to somewhere new.

He asked me who I came with. And one of the guards interrupted quickly

in defense of me and said, “She came here with an Uncle.” Women travelling alone

is not something to be proud of!

He was happy I was here. He said God sees not your face or your origins, but only
your soul. He said I should never forget this event; it would be one
that will stay with me for a long time. He asked about my family, and
about Singapore; which Shoaib interrupted and proudly boasted about
how religious we were, and yet still how tolerant we were about other
faiths. He did not quite buy that in Singapore, we have mosque, church and temple standing beside each other. Actually all the men were a little shocked by this new revelation.

He had just wonderful things to say about Islam, about community-life. He
said look at how forgiving God is, so why do we humans not forgive all
the small things we have with each other. He also said today’s society
has the power to build building, develop science and technology, but
little have the power and courage to have faith (and faith is that
beyond reason).

At the end of the evening, I asked the Mullah if I could have a
picture with him. My colleague said “Ok nowwwww you are pushing it.”

Mullah in his own words said as a joke, “Chi bala ast.” 

Meaning what a devil she is! Mullah refused a picture :)

Love,

Fear of this world, Maryam the beggar, my lovely Afghan friends and work

Dear all,

These are pictures of Kunar and Jalalabad, in the east of the country. It is a four-hour drive from Kabul City. Shoaib attended a land jirga (“assembly”) there. 

 
It reminds me of a time when Shoby was travelling. Sitting with a man, he so innocently asked “So where are the Talibs here?” The man looked at him surprised. “I am a Talib, that guy over there is a Talib, all of us are Taliban.” Actually the word Taliban (meaning student(s)) is in reality somewhat synonymous with Afghan as many carry similar ideologies – some just fight. Most work on land. Yesterday was Afghanistan’s Independence Day (Mujahideen Day), it is one of many independence days we have. Afghanistan is going to split into fiefdoms. The South and the East will be taken over. I believe negotiations are underway. And women will be the first to suffer. 

Pictures – What beautiful country-side na? He could not take me to Kunar because they are extremely conservative there. I don’t think Shoaib trusts that I will “behave” myself too. But he prepared something for me, after introducing me by name, he will take me there the next time. A trip like that will cure the many days of seclusion in this guest-house I live in. 

In gratitude, it is a beautiful work of luck that I was born with this complexion and features. It opens me to a whole other world, one that keeps me rooted here someway or the other. And what nuances comprehending the language brings to Afghan sensibilities and thought processes. It is beautiful to understand the chatter of women, or listen between the khooooo (“ohh”) and the drag of vowels. With language suddenly the peripheral and visceral gestures become more telling. The subtle speaks louder than words stringed together.  

However because I am not an Afghan woman, I am given some degree of laxity, some degree of freedom, some degree of novelty for my mistakes. Shoaib is too protective sometimes (mama would like to hear, I am sure) but I dislike it tremendously and often feel I am not submerged enough. I still only touch the surfaces. I do not want to live with such paranoia. I was made to be afraid. It is modus operandi here. The guesthouse has an invisible banner that says “Welcome to the Expat World. Buckle Up”. 

The country changes you. I am much more conservative (not religious, but different) and am settling into an Afghan frame of thinking. Or at least a Kabuli frame of thinking. My girls and I are now always exchanging stories of married life. Most Afghan girls my age are married, probably with one or two kids. But my marriage to Shoaib has been a passport into an inner circle of the private life. And the first question we all ask each other (even me now!) is “What is your mother-in-law like?” In Afghanistan, mother-in-laws are the biggest nightmare for new brides. But I always have beautiful things to say. Shoaib’s mama called me 5 times when Kabul was under siege recently. If I am not feeling well, physically well, she suddenly asks in a low whispered voice, “Is Shoaib good to you? Is he disturbing you? Is he fighting with you?” The last time I left Dubai, her last words when she pulled me into the corner was “If Shoaib is ever bad to you, tell me please. I will talk to him.” And her last words to Shoaib was, “If you ever make her sad, you make me sad. I will be very angry with you.” I wish all my Afghan friends here will be blessed with a modar jaanom qandom like mine. 

Marriage is a beautiful thing. Ours we keep simple. Shoaib is so nurturing, like a mother is. 

Work is wonderfully exhausting. I work with F.I. and I/we work with two other NGOs, providing legal training for lawyers on women’s rights litigation. My team and I also designed a training program for community mobilizers to raise awareness of women’s economic rights amongst community members, Mullahs and government officials. To be honest, I don’t always know what I am doing, or whether what I am doing is the most effective way for the cause and audience. But we are all trying our very best. I work with some of the loveliest girls; some with children, and some who over lunch talk about their dreams for the future. I always walk into the office with a smile and a long high pitched salaaaammm. With our slightly elder colleagues, they are so nurturing and warm; Its so nice to hold their hands and hug them in comfort when work gets frustrating.

Of course there will always be stories that haunt you, that never leave you. Never at any time was I so convinced how each person counts, every human being, every child, every handicapped man, every woman. Sometimes after leaving a restaurant, we drive by a beggar sitting on the road in the winter cold. It is heart-breaking. Endlessly heart-breaking. The other day we drove a beggar, M, and her child home. They were sitting in the rain and Shoaib could not but tell her not to take her child out with her when it rains. She was completely drenched in the cold rain. M was very young, though she had the quaver of an aged woman. We were directed to their home in Karte Seh, a very rich area. And then she stopped us at an alleyway, like a dumping space, between two large expensive homes. Shoaib just said, “It is better not to look.” It was raining and very cold, very very cold. Her husband is dead, she told me. Her daughter does not go to school. She had a broken leg. 

Love,

I had run away, Human Rights Watch Report

March 28, 2012

This 120-page report is based on 58 interviews conducted in three prisons and three juvenile detention facilities with women and girls accused of “moral crimes.” Almost all girls in juvenile detention in Afghanistan had been arrested for “moral crimes,” while about half of women in Afghan prisons were arrested on these charges. These “crimes” usually involve flight from unlawful forced marriage or domestic violence. Some women and girls have been convicted of zina, sex outside of marriage, after being raped or forced into prostitution.

The fall of the Taliban government in 2001 promised a new era of women’s rights. Significant improvements have occurred in education, maternal mortality, employment, and the role of women in public life and governance. Yet the imprisonment of women and girls for “moral crimes” is just one sign of the difficult present and worrying future faced by Afghan women and girls as the international community moves to decrease substantially its commitments in Afghanistan.

Download the report and read the news release here: 

http://www.hrw.org/reports/2012/03/28/i-had-run-away

He remembered people not by names, but by stories.

I miss

The mind crawls back into an inner recess of thought. I wonder was there some place else, or some time else I lived with a little less time (“sense of time”), and with a little more thought. When were the days I chased the morning sun as it glided across the meadows, only to meet a face of a tall mountain and think “This is the most beautiful of this world!”. I had all answers and none. Chaos sat with certainty. And there was always time to read. 

~

The kind indian soldier

The day before yesterday we visited the home of a military man. I was bought by his persona. His currency was compassion. And I was surprised when he said, “you win people only through the language of love.” I did not expect that of a high rank soldier. In each person he met, it was as though he kept a tiny piece of them in a book, written out like a poetic biography. So he remembered people not by their names, but by their stories — a novelty in a world where soundbites and pungency defined “person”. Muslim. Man. Bangladesh. ….. Muslim. Woman. Afghan-foreign. In Afghanistan, I find these categories efficiency tools when classing people. He is Afghan. And he is an Afghan American just mean different things. 

So I saw myself elevated from a label. And I took from him this important lesson. To see the humanity in others, let it precede before nationality, race, qualification, …

We also met so many good-hearted people. And conversations enlivened me, I think of them occasionally. 

~

A piece from a blog entry I wrote, quoting Steve Hagen.

Our journey must go nowhere- neither in nor out. Rather, ours is a journey into nearness, into immediacy. Our journey must be to awaken here and now, to awaken to here and now. To be fully alive, we must be fully present.  (Buddhism plain and simple  - Steve Hagen)

~

Smiling face

When I wake up in the morning, I turn to Shoaib’s smiling face and these words always come to me, “Is it really true???” 

Violence – significant cause of death amongst women

A World Bank study estimated that rape and domestic violence are “a significant cause of disability and death among women of reproductive age in both the industrial and the developing world.” These account for 5 per cent of the healthy years of life lost to women of reproductive age in de- mographically developing countries.

At a global level, the health burden from gender-based victimization among women age 15 to 44 is comparable to that posed by other risk factors and diseases already high on the world agenda, including the human immunodeficiency virus (HIV), tuberculosis, sepsis during childbirth, cancer, and cardiovascular disease (World Bank 1993). Similarly, WHO recognizes that violence against women causes more death and disability in the 15–44 age group than cancer, malaria, traffic accidents and war combined (World Health Organization 1997).

So when you compare money/attention/rhetoric spent on war and that on ending gender-based violence, it makes you want to puke at how misplaced global priorities are.

More women on the table, please.