Dear Zari: Hidden Stories from Women of Afghanistan (25 page)

She said her husband didn’t like to eat the same food twice in a row so she had to make fresh dishes for him every day.

Janpary started praying for the woman. ‘Bibi jan, God bless you and your family. For me even one day’s work is a lot. I have to provide for my children and if I don’t work they’ll go hungry. My pride won’t allow me to beg on the streets. Why should I beg when God has given me a body that is fit for work?’

The woman showed Janpary the work that needed doing and instructed her to come back the following morning. Janpary was delighted and proud; she felt as free as a bird. She thanked the guard again on her way out and wished him and his family a happy life. Then she hurried home, excited about giving the good news to her children. As she entered her house, her youngest daughter ran towards her.

‘Mummy, where have you been? I’ve missed you.’

Janpary hugged her and told her that as she had found work she could soon buy her the red sandals she had been asking for. Janpary’s eldest son, ten-year-old Naqib, had been playing outside. When he came inside, Janpary reminded him that he should work and study hard so that when he grew up he could look after her and his brothers and sister. When she told him the good news he said, ‘Mother, you don’t have to worry because I’ll do everything to provide for you. I want to buy new clothes for my sister and brothers just like my cousins have.’

Janpary told Naqib not to compete with his cousins because her brother was rich and could easily afford to buy new clothes, good food and school books, but her son was dissatisfied with this explanation.

‘But, Mother, our cousins always show off their new things to us. They say you’re begging! Is that true?’

Janpary looked into her son’s eyes and said, ‘Firstly, your uncle should be ashamed of himself. I have told you that begging is an easy job and I won’t do it. I’ll work for as long as I have the energy to do it. I can wash and I can clean.’

She showed her hands to her son. ‘Look, my child, your mother’s hands are strong. They’re not made for begging.’

Janpary advised her son to ignore what his cousins had said and instead to study hard. She switched off the lamp, lay down on the floor near her four children and recited verses of the Quran as mothers do to bless them for safety before going to sleep.

The neighbour’s cockerel crowed loudly early in the morning but Janpary was already wide awake. She went to wash in the corner of her clay mud house and as she did she heard the mullah’s call for prayer, the
Azan
. After performing her morning prayer she went to wake Naqib for school. School is free for boys and girls until the age of eighteen, but parents like Janpary often cannot afford the uniform, pens and notebooks. School starts at eight in the morning and ends at around half-past twelve in the afternoon. However, many children don’t go because they are needed to work in the home, fields or family business. Others are forced to sell cigarettes and chewing gum on the street. Girls often don’t go to school at all because their parents don’t see the point of education for their daughters.

Janpary told Naqib which house she would be working in and promised that she would return at lunchtime with food for the younger children. When she arrived at the woman’s house the guard showed her a large pile of dirty laundry and she began to scrub the sheets and then all the clothes. She didn’t give in to tiredness; she rubbed hard without thought for her skin. She wanted to show Bibi how well she could clean. By the time the woman had got up, Janpary had hung some of the washing to dry on ropes. Bibi looked at the line of clothes and praised Janpary for her hard work. She advised her to take a break and have something to eat, but Janpary wanted to finish the job and insisted that all the clothes should be washed and dried in the sunlight.

When the washing was completed, Janpary made herself some green tea. She poured lots of sugar in her cup and ate a piece of bread that the guard shared with her. Janpary hadn’t eaten for three days and this bread tasted like a meal from a rich man’s banquet. Afterwards she set to work on the marble floors. She squatted down and rubbed hard, sweating and panting with the effort.

Bibi came to sit on the sofa and ask Janpary about her life. Janpary looked up from the floor.

‘My life is very simple. I have no money. I’m a widow with four children who I need to provide for.’

Janpary wiped the sweat away from her forehead with her scarf and laughed. ‘My head is full of stories, Bibi. If I told you all that’s happened in my life you’d get tired. Living with a man who was always gambling – and always losing – wasn’t easy. I was the victim of a bet between my brother and my husband. I’m still suffering because of this.’

‘What’s your brother doing now?’ she asked. ‘How’s his life?’

‘My brother is rich,’ Janpary replied. ‘He has nine sons and lives in a villa.’

The woman asked how her brother had become so rich, and Janpary explained that when her parents died her brother had inherited everything. ‘Men are so lucky. He took all the land that my father left and now he lives a comfortable life with his wife and children.’

‘But Janpary, listen carefully, you must ask for your part in your family’s inheritance!’

Janpary didn’t understand what Bibi meant and asked how she could do this. Her mistress was educated and recited the Aayat from the Al-Nisa chapter of the Quran: ‘Men shall have a share in what their parents and closest relatives leave and women shall have a share in what their parents and closest relatives leave, whether the legacy be small or large: this is ordained by God.’

‘But Bibi,’ Janpary said, ‘you know how it is with daughters; in our culture no one gives them anything from their
meeras
(inheritance). I know my brother will get very angry if I ask.’

‘If you don’t ask for your rights, he’ll never give you anything; and he should help you, anyway, because he’s the one responsible for your hardship.’

She sat down on the floor next to Janpary.

‘All this cleaning and washing you do in houses like mine won’t help you for ever. You’ll get pains in your hands and legs and after a while
you won’t be able to do the work. I think you’ve already suffered enough. You should be proud of yourself for working so hard and for being prepared to do whatever is necessary to look after your children. This strength that I can see in you will make it possible for you to take your share from your brother. It’s your right. God, in our holy book the Quran, says you should ask for your right.’

Bibi’s words gave Janpary strength. Before leaving the house she went to find Bibi.

‘I’m so happy to have met you. You’ve shown me a way out of my situation. I now feel able to ask my brother for the
meeras
. My father left behind things for both of us. You’re right, if I don’t ask my brother he’ll keep his eyes closed and will carry on eating my children’s food.’

Janpary left with food for her children and money for the work she had done. On her way home, she stopped at a shop to buy oil, flour, sugar and rice. It was the first time for a month that Janpary was able to buy food. She felt so strong and proud of herself for being able to do this. She hurried back to her home carrying two plastic bags of food. Her daughter saw her in the street and ran towards her calling for her mother.

‘My child,’ Janpary said, handing one of the bags to her daughter, ‘we’re going to cook lots of bread and tasty food for you. You won’t have to go to sleep hungry any more.’

Her daughter smiled. ‘But, Mother, you forgot to buy my red sandals.’

Janpary laughed and told her that she would buy them soon but couldn’t buy everything with her first day’s wages.

That day, Janpary’s body didn’t know what tiredness was. She was so happy and excited to be able to provide for her children that she went straight to the kitchen and began baking bread and cooking rice and vegetables.

Early the next morning, she got her children up and told them to hurry because she wanted to pay a visit to their cousins’ house. Her eldest son asked why they were going to their uncle’s house so early.

‘Naqib, my son, I want to ask your uncle for what is rightfully ours. We’re living in hardship and poverty and he may be able to help us.’

Janpary’s brother was surprised to see his sister and her children at his house so early.

‘Janpary,
salaam
. How are you?’

Janpary greeted her brother and told him that she was there to ask him for help. He sat on the
charpoie
while she and her children sat on the floor. His wife offered them all green tea. She and her husband were impatient to know what Janpary was going to ask.

Janpary began by explaining how poor she was. ‘Brother, you know how difficult it is for women to earn money. Since my husband died I’ve been finding bits of work here and there to feed my children – some washing and cleaning – but it’s not enough. I was wondering if you …’

She paused. Her brother looked at his sister and her four children and laughed out loud. ‘Janpary, come, come; you know I have an even larger family than you to look after. How can I possibly help you too?’

Her brother’s wife joined in: ‘We can’t feed any more people. Where do you think the extra money will come from?’

‘I’m not asking for charity,’ Janpary replied. ‘When did I ask for that? You haven’t let me finish what I was trying to say.’

Her brother and sister-in-law were surprised to hear Janpary sound so confident and became alarmed at what this might mean.

‘I think you both know what I’m going to ask.’

Janpary still had her
burqa
covering her head but her words were coming out loud and clear. ‘Brother, I’ve come to ask for my share of our father’s inheritance. He left some land, which at the moment you have. If you give me my share, it would be a great help to me and my children.’

Janpary’s brother could no longer contain his anger and got up from the
charpoie
. Her words were like bullets shot into the back of his head. His wife was first to respond. ‘Janpary, where is your shame? How can you ask your brother for the
meeras
?’

Janpary’s brother came and sat near her. ‘Look, my dear sister, you
know that in our culture no woman – I mean, no decent woman – asks for
meeras
. What our father left behind belongs only to your brother. You got married a long time ago.’

‘Oh, I swear to God, I swear on my children’s lives, that if I had some money or an income I wouldn’t be here. If I was able to feed my children I wouldn’t ask you for anything.’ Janpary began to sob. ‘Please, brother, have some mercy on my fatherless children; don’t force me to beg on the streets. Just give me what you can. I’m not asking for all that I’m due.’

The more Janpary pleaded the angrier her brother became. He said he would look into a way to try to help her but that she must now leave his house. By now Janpary and all her children were weeping. They were upset to see their uncle angry and shouting at their mother and their mother’s helplessness.

Janpary’s sister-in-law came close and whispered in her ear. ‘Woman, I’m telling you: forget all this nonsense about your
meeras
.’

‘Have you no shame?’ Janpary replied. ‘You’ve taken the whole of my family’s inheritance. If I ask for my share, you think it’s shameful, but when you don’t give what is rightfully mine, it’s not?’

Her sister-in-law faced her directly. ‘Woman, I’m telling you to stop dreaming about getting even half a rupee. You’re just a shameless widow. Go back to your begging and don’t bother my husband any more.’

Even through her tears Janpary found her voice. ‘Whatever you say about me, I’m not weak. I’m not taking anyone else’s right. Yes, I know I’m a widow and I’m well aware that I’m not allowed to live like other women whose husbands are still alive – I lost this right when my husband died. I know widows are not allowed to express their feelings; but I’m also a mother. I realise I embarrass you – I have to think twice before I go out, be careful about what I say and everything I do is judged. Since I lost my husband I haven’t worn new clothes; Eid and festival days are closed and dark occasions for me, but pay attention to who I am. I am your sister. I can’t wish anything bad on you because your husband is my brother. I wish my brother every happiness and pray that God will
direct you in the right way. I can’t even curse you because I don’t have the malice in me to wish that you were in my situation. If I did that, I’d be no better than you. I don’t know where your sense of justice has gone and I don’t understand where my brother’s kindness has gone.’

Then Janpary took hold of her daughter’s hand and walked out of her brother’s house followed by the rest of her children.

As they walked away Naqib said, ‘Mother, I wanted to beat my uncle when he shouted at you like that.’

Janpary was shocked. ‘My child, you’re too young; you mustn’t talk about beating people up. I’ll sort this out and make sure we get our share from my brother.’

Janpary took her children home and then left the house for work. She wept as she walked through the streets, her
burqa
like a curtain closing her off from the world. She was anxious to see Bibi and tell her what had happened. Her children had cried with her but they were young and couldn’t help. She needed a friend to share her pain with. Janpary marched straight into the kitchen, took off her
burqa
, tightened her scarf around her head, rolled up her sleeves and began washing a large pile of dirty dishes. Next, she sat on a small wooden stool and began to scrub the dirty pots. She splashed them with water as the tears continued to flow down her face. She blew her nose on her sleeves and tried to stop crying but the pain her brother had caused and the fear of poverty made it impossible. Somehow she found the energy to scrub and give a perfect shine to the black pots. She rubbed sand over the bottom of them where they had been scorched with heat and took them out into the sun to dry. She moved quickly to finish her jobs but her mind was stuck on how her brother had treated her.

When Janpary went upstairs to see Bibi, she was just finishing her late breakfast. She greeted Janpary and noticed her red and puffy eyes. She asked if anything was wrong. This one question was enough to start Janpary crying again.