Kids of Kabul (11 page)

If he wanted a nice, quiet wife, he did not get one. I was angry and scared and I missed my mother. I cried a lot. Then he would beat me for crying and I cried some more.

My husband’s family would not let me see anyone outside the family. They would not let me see my own mother. When neighbors or other visitors came over, they locked me in a back room and threatened to beat me if I made any noise.

They said I had to make carpets to be able to earn some of the money it cost to feed me, and to pay back the money my husband had given to my father for his debt.

There is skill to making carpets. I didn’t know how to do it. They would stand over me and wait for me to make a mistake. They would beat me and say, “Why don’t you know how to do this?” They locked me in the back room and I was not allowed out into the sunshine.

After a year, my mother came to visit me. When my husband discovered that she was coming, he took a big pair of scissors and cut off my hair. He cut it right off, like I was a boy. He said he did it because it would make me too ashamed to let anybody see me.

When my mother came, I kept my hair covered. I did not let her know what he had done to me. She told me she was not in favor of this marriage but what could she do? She could not go against my father.

My father-in-law ordered me to tell her that I was happy with them and did not want to go home with her. I refused to speak. I could not lie to my mother, but I was too scared to say what was really going on. And because I kept silent, they hit and beat me.

So my mother left without knowing everything that was happening to me.

It went on and on. The beatings, the hunger, the hard times with my husband.

I would cry for days at a time. I cried so much my in-laws would go a little crazy with it. It went on and on.

Finally, one day, when they let me move about more freely so that I could do the chores, I went out into the yard to throw away the garbage. I threw it away and then I kept moving. I ran away. I walked and walked for days and then finally made it home to my mother’s house.

She had heard about the Afghan Human Rights Commission. Once I told her about what was going on, and how they were treating me, she found out about how to get in touch with them and she took me to see them. They helped me to get into the women’s shelter.

I had to go somewhere safe and hidden. If my husband or his family knew where I was, they might kill me. I am not saying that just to tell my story. They told me they would kill me if I ran away, that I belonged to my husband now and if I left without his permission it would be like I was stealing from him and that was a crime. And if I ran away it would bring shame to my husband’s family and to my family.

I didn’t want to shame my family, but in the end I wanted to get away and that was all I wanted.

I have been in the shelter now for over two years, waiting for a divorce.

My husband disappeared. He went to some other part of Afghanistan, I think. It is very hard to get a divorce without him. Finally, after waiting for a long time, a lawyer went to my father-in-law. She demanded he produce my husband. When that happens, which I hope will be soon, then I will get my divorce.

The divorce will give me some protection, I hope. It is a legal paper that says I do not belong to my husband anymore. I can show them this paper if they come after me and it will protect me.

I have never been to school. It was not possible when we were refugees, and my family was too poor. It was just not possible. In the shelter, I have been able to attend literacy classes and now I am able to read a bit. And I have helped out in the shelter’s kindergarten class. We have a lot of small children staying there. It’s good that they get an education while they are young.

In the future I would like to continue to study. The literacy classes have opened a window in my brain, but it is only open a little bit. I want it open all the way because I think I could have a good brain that can do smart things.

When I first came to the shelter I was very weak. My husband’s family would punish me by locking me in the back room and not letting me have food. I would not talk to anyone here above a whisper.

And look at me now! I am sitting up straight, looking you in the eye and telling my story in a loud, clear voice. And you are a stranger. It is my story but it is not the only story. In the shelter I have heard too many stories like mine. We all need to talk about what has happened to us because bad things happen in secret.

I don’t know why I left on the day that I did and not on some other day. It was a day like many others. I was throwing away the garbage like I had done before. I had not planned it out. Nothing was packed or prepared. I just threw away the garbage and started walking. I don’t think I was brave. I just wasn’t ready to die.

Will my father have to pay his debt now? I don’t know. It is my father’s debt, not mine. I spent years married when I did not want to be. If any of his debt belongs to me, I have paid my portion back.

When the divorce is final and I have the paper, I will go back to my parents’ house. I know my mother will be happy to see me and have her with me again.

I don’t know how my father will feel.

Shazad, 10

During the 1980s and 1990s, Afghan refugees made up the largest single refugee population on the planet. More than one-fifth of the country fled the war, looking for safety in Pakistan, Iran and any other country that would accept them. Most lived in camps made of mud, tattered tents and rags with few services and little hope.

The United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) says that since 2002, more than five million Afghan refugees have returned to their country. In some areas, as many as one out of every three people is a returned refugee. They return to a country still reeling from war and, in many places, still engaged in one.

Returning families need jobs, land, shelter, food and opportunities. Some assistance has been provided by international agencies, but it does not stretch to meet all the needs. In situations like this, children are especially vulnerable. Families in desperate need sell children to traffickers who smuggle them into other countries to act as domestic, sexual or industrial slaves.

There are still 1.7 million Afghan refugees in Pakistan and almost one million still in Iran. Many of the Afghans in Pakistan are in areas badly affected by recent flooding, adding to their misery.

IDP stands for Internally Displaced Person, or internal refugee — a person forced to leave their home area who flees to another part of their country, hoping it will be safer for them there.

The Afghan Ministry of Refugees and Returnees estimates that there are now over 450,000 IDPs in Afghanistan — people who have fled areas where the war is still raging. Many have ended up in makeshift camps on the edge of cities, where they think they will be safe.

These IDP camps have few services like proper latrines or clean water. People freeze in the winter and swelter in the summer heat and dust. People living there try to find work doing anything they can, but it is very difficult. There have been unconfirmed reports of families trying to sell one or more of their children in order to keep the rest of the family alive.

Shazad and his family are living in an IDP camp on the edge of Kabul.

We came from Sangin in Helmand Province. A lot of us in this camp are from that place. Some of the people came here from Iran. They are Afghans but they lived in Iran but then Iran told them they had to leave, but they had no homes to go back to. So they live here.

We left Sangin because of all the fighting. There was shooting, planes, bombs, lots of soldiers. I didn’t like all the noise. There was a lot of fighting, and no rain, so nothing would grow and we couldn’t eat.

A yard in Shazad’s IDP camp.

I think we came here a year ago, maybe a little more. I never went to school in Helmand and I don’t go to school here. There is no school in this place.

I’m here with my uncle. He brought me here. I don’t know where my parents are. I think they are dead.

I would like to go to school, I think. I don’t really know what that would mean, but I think I’d like to do it. It would be something to do.

There’s not a lot to do here. There are a lot of children and we play football when we have a ball. When we don’t have a ball we use something from the garbage for a ball. Anything that rolls works okay.

The things I don’t like about this place? I don’t like that it is right by the highway, so there is a lot of noise and smell from the cars and trucks. The air is hard to breathe. We can’t play without coughing a lot. Everybody coughs at night, too. It’s hard to sleep with all the coughing.

I get cold at night. I sleep in my coat but it is still cold. There are not enough blankets and there is no covering on the floor. Just hard dirt and some paper and things we found in the garbage. It is hard to sleep on. But at least I have shoes. Some kids have no shoes and they can’t play very well in winter because their legs and feet hurt.

Sometimes I don’t do anything. I sit outside the camp with my back against the mud wall someone built. It’s warm there if the sun is shining. I have a friend and we sit there together and look at the cars going by and decide which ones we like. I want to have a car some day. Maybe a red one.

We get water from a pump. We have to carry it a long way. That’s one of my jobs. It’s heavy to carry but it’s something to do.

There are animals here and they smell, but at least it is a farm smell. It’s a smell like from my home.

I want to go home if the war stops. It is nice there. They grow a lot of poppies and they are beautiful. I want to be back in my home. I want to breathe normal again.

The things I like about this place are there is no war or shooting. We see helicopters but they don’t shoot at us, they just fly around. And most of the adults here are nice if we don’t make too much noise and they are not too worried. If someone gets some food they usually share it.

A baby was born here yesterday. I’ve seen her. She’s very tiny. When she cries it is not very loud. She’ll get louder.

We look through garbage piles to find things to burn to stay warm. Sometimes we find food like old bread, or something we can use, but not often. People usually throw away what they don’t want. Some of the food is bad and we feed it to the sheep. They eat anything.

Some people have taken up the work of making birdcages and raising birds. It doesn’t take long to grow a bird, so that’s a good job. They make the cages from sticks tied together. People buy the birds for good luck or maybe to eat. I don’t know. I might do that job some day.

That’s if I can’t go back to Helmand. How long does war last? I don’t want to still be here when I’m old.

Sara, 17