By Zahra
I am a lonely and helpless woman. My nights are filled with sighs and tears at the separation from my only child. My days are passed staring up at the sad sky of Kabul, searching for a ray of hope. My life wasn’t so dark a year and a few months ago. I was a cop until the misogynists again seized power. In spite of my problems, I had hope for the future.
Ten years ago, when I was 17, my cousin came to Kabul from Iran. At the time, I was a student. His marriage had just ended. My cousin’s wife was my other uncle’s daughter, who separated from him because of mistreatment and violence. In spite of this, my family forced me to marry him. From the beginning, my husband blamed and physically abused me for nonsense reasons. During my first year of marriage, I finished school with difficulty. It will be fine if you have a baby, my mother used to say.
I became a mother. While my son’s birth made my world more beautiful, it did not change the way my husband behaved. My husband was a lazy person who didn’t want to work. He was at home most of the time. The cost of living was high, and I didn’t want my child to suffer. I discovered that the police academy was accepting students and paid a living wage during their training. For me, this was a remarkable opportunity. To make ends meet, I enrolled in the police academy while my child was still a baby.
I was hired by the police department after completing the training course. Things changed for the better. Seeing that I was taking care of the house, doing the housework, and caring for my son, my husband became lazier. Mostly, he stayed at home. He was also addicted to drugs. My work led the Ministry of Interior to nominate me for a six-month scholarship in Turkey in 2018. My husband, who knew that studying would give me a possibility to improve my work situation and income, agreed to take care of our son, who was five years old at the time. To study, I moved to Turkey.
Six months later, I returned. In the Ministry of Interior, I was appointed to a new position of monitoring and controlling biometric information. I was responsible for identifying individuals with criminal histories or Taliban members and reporting them to the security department. That new role caused me trouble. My life was threatened many times, both directly and indirectly, and I was once beaten up by an unknown person while walking home from work. Despite these concerns, I worked hard to secure a safe Afghanistan and a better future for my child.
All of a sudden, the page turned. Based on the state of the country and successive losses of provinces, the fall of the government was evident. My life was filled with worry and fear. It was obvious what would happen to me when the Taliban took over power. I had no idea what to do. Kabul fell before I could devise a solution. For a few days, I hid at home. I forbade my son from going to school or playing with his friends on the streets.
On TV, I saw that a large crowd had rushed to the Kabul airport to find an escape route. Afghanistan was not a safe place for me, but I had no visa. I had no knowledge of any foreign country or organization that could assist me. My husband said, “Your life is at risk, and you will certainly be flown abroad on one of those planes.”
Early one morning, I packed a small suitcase with the belongings of myself, my husband, and my son. We took our documents and passports and headed to one of the airport gates. While struggling to get through the gate, we heard a loud noise. Before our eyes, the world began to darken. In a tight hug, I held my son close to me. To protect him from harm, I made myself a shield for him. A big explosion occurred. Dust was everywhere and the body parts of the victims were raining down on us. Our survival was a miracle. But what a survival! My son fainted out of fear. I was speechless and unable to speak. I was unable to move my legs. There was nothing I could do but hug my son even tighter. My husband found a taxi and we headed home.
Two or three months passed before we were able to cope with that horror. My husband, having previously worked in Iran, suggested we have smugglers move us there. We also had relatives and acquaintances in Iran. There were no problems until we got close to the Iranian border. Nevertheless, I was worried the Taliban might identify me under the burqa. Finally, we reached the border.
Our hardships continued. Among the things I remember are long walks in the middle of the night, being hungry and thirsty, and riding in small cars filled with too many people. Finally, we made it to Tehran. Death was not a threat in Tehran, but unemployment and lack of money were major problems. As usual, my husband wasn’t working and I couldn’t find a job. Meanwhile, the lack of drugs to feed his addiction made him anxious. Every day, my husband became grumpier. He pulled my hair out without a reason. He beat me. My whole body was bruised. My mind was blank. There was no one to help me.
My confidence eroded. It was as if I was a walking dead. Witnessing domestic violence made my son nervous and scared. I was unable to protect him from the psychological damage he was suffering. I blamed myself for not being able to provide a decent life for him. My fear was that his anxious and addicted father would kill me in one of these fights. I was scared that my son would be left alone in this cruel world, when I was dead and his father in prison. I didn’t know what to do. I decided to return to Afghanistan. At least my brothers could help me. I tried running away with my son two or three times, but my husband always caught me.
Finally, I had to make the hardest decision of my life. I had to leave my son with his father and move back to Kabul alone. Initially, I hoped that human rights organizations would help me find refuge in a free country and even offer the chance to be reunited with my son. With these hopes in my mind, I returned to Kabul. My mothers and brothers treated me unkindly. I am blamed for everything. They view me not only as an extra burden, but also as a source of shame. I am accused of playing with their reputation. By running away from my husband and child, I have broken them. I am now watched over by my brothers’ wives and their daughters so that I don’t leave the house. To them, guarding me means preventing me from doing something wrong. Every few days, my brothers’ wives invent an excuse for my brothers to abuse and beat me. My tomorrow is bleak, hopeless, and helpless. The hope of seeing my only child is the only thing that has kept me alive so far. One day, may I hug and see him again?
Zahra is a pen name for a former police officer.
