Dear Zari: Hidden Stories from Women of Afghanistan (37 page)

I spent so much time crying, especially on the Central Line going to and from work. My emotions were very mixed. I was angry that I had to pay a substantial amount of my hard-earned money to end a marriage that I never wanted in the first place. With that money, Javed bought himself a nineteen-year-old bride from Kabul. Yet in all this darkness there was light, and this light was the kindness of my friends in London, who are mainly not Afghan. They were friends I chose and with whom I decided to share my life. They didn’t judge me for being a divorced woman. My friends taught me how to love and to accept being loved. It hurts less when I remember the women in my country and their bravery.

When I took the decision to end the marriage and leave Javed I knew I would be going against the will of my family. It was the hardest thing I’ve done in my life, and with that decision I lost my blind faith in Afghan traditions and culture. It made me the centre of gossip amongst Afghans in London and back in Afghanistan. I felt lonely and vulnerable but every judgement made against me made me more determined. Every hurtful comment made me stronger. It enabled me to understand the pain of others better. This one action empowered me and made me kinder to other women whom I might have judged more harshly had I been the same old Zarghuna.

Growing up in a country like Afghanistan has given me the benefits I have today: I have an understanding of the languages and traditional culture; and I work with Afghan people, yet I can travel around London as freely as the woman sitting next to me on the tube – this is all a privilege. It’s a big advantage to know and understand two different cultures. My heritage has given me so much and I love it when friends who are not Afghan enjoy the Afghan music I introduce them to. Equally, I enjoy it when they introduce me to Abba or Madonna.

Of one thing I’m certain: the pain I went through in my childhood and early adulthood have made me the Zarghuna I am today. As one of my friends pointed out, I’m the Zarghuna who is ready to fight for every scrap of her rights. I’ve found that in life there is always someone or
something that helps you make difficult decisions. For me, it was the example of the Afghan women that I came into contact with through Afghan Woman’s Hour. Their lives and their strength helped me make this, the hardest decision of my life. Women like Anesa, Sharifa, Shereenjan, Wazma, Layla and Ghutama; they have all given me the power to make changes in my life. They made me realise that I didn’t have to embrace the traditional views of people around me and accept being humiliated as a woman.

The stories of these Afghan women have given me the courage to write my own life story and share it with you. They made it clear to me that telling the truth is important, accepting the truth requires strength and dealing with difficulties is what adults do in a civilised society. These Afghan women enabled me to write about my life openly to millions of readers across the world so I would like to give them a big thank-you for empowering me.

It is forbidden in traditional culture in Afghanistan for a girl to fall in love with a boy before marriage. However, if a boy sees a girl in his village and falls in love with her it is accepted and encouraged. Usually, his family will do what they can to try to get the girl for him but any girl found to have feelings for a boy will be condemned and her reputation stained for ever. Ghutama was brave enough to stand up for what she wanted and decide her own future. When I look at her example I’m forced to ask myself if one day I will ever find the courage to tell my parents that there is someone that I am in love with, but, after all the upheaval of the last few years of my life, am I prepared to cause another revolution so soon?

In autumn 2001 Afghan and coalition forces ousted the Taliban from power and an interim government was set up with assistance from the international community. The expectations of Afghan people were raised, with the hope that at long last their country might find some peace and even prosperity. Women and men felt liberated. Men shaved off the beards they had been forced to grow by the Taliban and many women in cities swapped their
burqas
for a headscarf. Women once again could leave their homes to go to work or study. Now, a decade on, there is still the freedom for them to do this, but the question remains: how far have the lives of women improved since 2001? After all the lives which have been lost fighting against the Taliban and Al Qaeda and all the millions of dollars that have been spent on international aid, has the situation got much better for women?

There are undoubtedly advances: there are more than sixty women members of parliament and many women in powerful positions in local government, the judiciary and media, but this is a country that is still deeply religious and intensely traditional. At the beginning of 2009 a law was introduced by the Shia Mullah of Afghanistan – Shias make up a minority section of Muslims in Afghanistan, the majority are Sunni – and signed by President Karzai himself, which limited the rights of Shia women. The government argued that the law was being introduced to
provide more protection for Shia women within the family, but others saw it as directly responsible for limiting the rights of women. For example, it gave a husband the right to starve his wife if she refused to have sex with him. She could only deny him this if she was ill. It also forbade a wife from leaving the house without the permission of her husband unless it was an emergency.

This new law became a major discussion point amongst my colleagues in the Afghan service at the BBC in London. I found myself arguing fiercely against male colleagues who believed that a wife should ask her husband’s permission before leaving the house. One day one of my colleagues said to me, ‘Zarghuna, you wouldn’t be arguing like this if you were still living in Afghanistan.’ I thought hard about his comment and realised he was right. Living in a country like Britain has made it much easier for me to stand up for women’s rights. Many women activists in Afghanistan also raised their voices against the law, but making any progress in a fight against society is difficult even for women who are lawyers or members of parliament. I realised I certainly wouldn’t have been able to leave my husband and face the shame it would bring upon my family had I still been living in Afghanistan. When I think back to the days when I was trapped in an unhappy marriage, I can still feel every moment of the pain I endured. At the time my future seemed very bleak, but I found the strength to fight and defend my rights even though it meant confronting my own community.

The women in this book, the women who have trusted me with their stories, have had far more strength and courage than me. They have stood up for their rights in much harsher conditions than I have ever known. Women like Janpary, who was denied her right of inheritance but nevertheless went to court to try to claim it, or Nasreen, whose crime was to fall in love with the boy next door; these women were not afraid to follow what they felt was right in spite of their family. Others like Shereenjan, who experienced cruelty almost beyond belief, or Anesa,
whose marriage was for the benefit of appearance: these women were brave enough to tell us their stories.

When I put on the headphones and heard the words, ‘Dear Zari’, my heart would pound with expectation and emotion. I knew the voice wasn’t just speaking to me but to the thousands of women it would touch with its story of pain, courage and hope. This is what these stories do. It doesn’t matter if you are Zarghuna in London or Gulalai listening in Kabul, they have the power to change lives for the better. Fatima from Pul-e-Khumri told us: ‘Dear Zari, I have been listening to Afghan Woman’s Hour for almost four years. I have benefited from it so much. In my village women get together to listen to the programme. They finish their chores quickly so they have time to listen to the friendly words and interesting stories. I have learnt about other women’s lives. I heard the story about the woman who was given away to settle a dispute and from listening to the programme I realised there are other ways to end a disagreement, like giving animals or money. In my village, a local family had decided to give away their daughter to settle a dispute but after listening to your programme decided to offer the other family money instead. This is a big step that we women have made to stand up for our rights and understand that, even though we have suffered, there’s no reason for our daughters to have to go through the same experience. We can prevent it.’

The political changes in Afghanistan now mean that women’s voices are heard in parliament through female members of parliament and politicians. Women are nominating themselves in elections. Many that I’ve spoken to tell me that the first thing they will do if elected is give equal rights to women.

In some ways it’s easy for me to stand up for my rights because I work full time in a well-paid job and live in a country that has equal rights legislation, which is enforced. However, all this doesn’t protect you from gossip, judgemental comments and disapproving looks. Other Afghans would be critical of me for divorcing my husband. It was I who was
always blamed for the marriage not working, not him. People would criticise me if they saw me enjoying myself and they would accuse me of becoming a western woman and forgetting my own culture. These remarks hurt less now but going through all this did enable me to identify more strongly with women like Layla.

In January 2010, the British government decided not to fund Afghan Woman’s Hour any longer and have turned their attention to other broadcasting projects. However, the programme has had a lasting effect on my life and I know it has changed the lives of other Afghan women and men. Suraya Parlika, an Afghan woman’s rights activist in Kabul who appeared on our programme several times, sent us this message:

Dear Zari, Afghan Woman’s Hour has been very successful in exploring human rights in our country. I went into a village and saw some women working; I asked then how they had learnt to do this and they said they had been taught to work by listening to Afghan Woman’s Hour. For the last six years this programme has had a positive impact on the lives of women. The stories have been very popular and enabled Afghans to learn about their own culture. The programme made it clear there should be respect for both women and men.

Another listener, from Khost, the same province as Bakhtawara, said that the programme was so popular people remembered the wavelength and the time of broadcast by heart. When Afghan Woman’s Hour ended many people contacted us to thank the programme for the contribution it had made to their lives. I too, want to thank the programme and the listeners but most of all I want to pay tribute to those who said ‘Dear Zari’ and told us their stories.

Aayat
– verses from the Quran

aeena misaf
– the part of an Afghan wedding ceremony when the bride and groom see each other for the first time in a mirror

attan
– local Khosti or Pashtun dance

awdas
– ablutions

azadi
– a kite flying free from its string

Azan
– mullah’s call to prayer

bacha be reesh
– ‘boys without beards’ (i.e. male prostitutes)

bailcha
– spade

burqa
– full-length robe worn by some Muslim women to cover their bodies in public places

chador
– big scarf

chalak
– clever

chapli
– sandal imported from Khyber Pakhtunkhwa in Pakistan

charma kari
– golden lace

charkha
– wooden spool used for kite wire

charkha gir
– person who holds the wire of a kite

charpoie
– daybed

chiraghs
– lights

daira
– tambourine

degadaan
– wood-burning stove made of clay

desterkhan
– large plastic tablecloth

dohl
– drum

dukhmany
– the practice of using girls and women to settle disputes by offering them as brides

Eid
– three-day Muslim festival that marks the end of Ramadam