By Tahmina Forozan
In those days when no woman locked herself in a house for fear of being whipped, we went out for a run with my mother and my cousin every morning, and while out we met many girls and women who were going to work, school, and daily lives.
As the war intensified and the northern provinces of Afghanistan started collapsing to the Taliban, my mother recounted the atrocities of the previous period of the Taliban regime. I started to worry. Despite these concerns, I never believed that the Taliban would succeed in conquering Kabul. Many other people in Kabul thought so as well.
The sudden collapse of Kabul shocked us all. Although it was difficult for us to stomach, especially for those who had lost loved ones in the fight against them. My mother was distraught having lost two brothers during the wars against the Taliban.
We didn’t leave the house for about two months. After the stories my mother had told me about the Taliban, I was afraid of facing them.
Finally, I decided to think about running again. I liked my mother to run with me and knew that I took advantage of her motherly concern to have her accompany me. So, I said, “I’m going to run. If you are scared and do not want to come it is also fine.”
For the first two days, I ran alone. While there was no visible presence of the Taliban in the area, there were also no boys and girls doing morning sports as they did before the former government fell. You only saw people going to work.
I was the only girl going for a morning run. Fearful and anxious, I would run for an hour and return home.
On the third day, my mother’s reticence ended, and she joined me. For a few days, we jogged together. On November 8, after my mother and I had run for maybe 20 minutes I noticed a Taliban Ranger approaching us. I got scared. As the vehicle came near, we began walking slowly. I looked behind me. A Taliban gunman ordered us to stop. I worried what could happen to us? Many disturbing thoughts came to mind, including that maybe someone had identified me to the Taliban, and they know that I am a member of the women’s protest movement. The pick-up stopped beside us. Two Talibs came towards us. I quickly told my mother, “If they ask anything, I will say that you have high blood pressure, and you need to walk.”
The Taliban asked, “What are you doing this early in the morning?”
I was holding the water bottle tightly so that my anxiety could not be seen. I said, “My mother has high blood pressure and needs to walk. We go for a walk every morning.”
He asked, “What are your jobs?”
At this point, I was convinced that someone must have reported me to the Taliban. I wanted to speak but my mother intervened, saying, “Like everyone else, we are normal people. I am a housewife, my daughter is also a student, who now attends school.”
We were both afraid that they might have seen my image or voice in the media. I held my breath and could not say anything.
The Taliban gunmen talked to each other in Pashto, which I did not understand, and then turned to me, saying that I should come to the station with them. I got really scared. I asked them why I should go to the station with them. They calmly said, “There is nothing. We ask questions and bring you back here.” The only excuse that came to mind was to say, “My mother is alone and cannot go home alone.”
This time, with harsher tones, they stated, “She won’t get lost. Let’s go.” They tried forcing me into their vehicle. My mother, whose hands were shaking from fear, tried to stop them, saying, “Don’t touch my daughter.” One of them punched my mother in the face. She fell to the ground, her face red from Talib’s punch. I cried out, “What did you do, son of a donkey?” The Talib who punched my mother rushed toward me and wanted to hit me, too. I looked around for a rock to hit back but I found nothing. My mother came forward one more time and begged in an effort to stop them from beating me.
My mother’s pleas were effective. Instead of taking me, they just warned us never to argue with mujahedeen or leave our home without a man. “Now, everything is in our hands,” one said. “Be thankful that you are alive.” After they left, I felt helpless because my mother had been beaten because of me. I could not stop crying. I vowed never to put my mother in that position again. So, I had no choice but to stop going for my morning runs. Even a year later, the sorrow of not exercising outside continues.
Tahmina Forozan is a pen name for a poet.
