A woman, a disability, an underage marriage, and now Taliban victimization
By Mahtab Safi*
This narrative was recounted to Mahtab Saf by Anisa*, a woman with a disability:
I remember one summer day when I was eight years old. I heard the sound of my mother’s sewing machine and asked her who she was sewing clothes for. She replied, “For Mahsa* and Razia*.” I asked, “Is the fabric beautiful?”She said, “Yes, the colour is red.” I thought, “How would I know what red is when I haven’t seen any colour?”
I’ve been blind since childhood, but I recognize sounds well. The sound of my mother’s sewing machine was dear to me. Sometimes, my mother would sew clothes for our neighbours to earn money to buy us food. Back then, we were living in Sar-e Pul province. One day, my father wanted to take my mother’s old sewing machine to sell it for drug money. He had been addicted for several years. My mother refused, so my father beat her. She screamed and cried. I couldn’t stand hearing her screams. I became dizzy and couldn’t bear it. I left the room. As I was going down the steps, I fell, injured my head and passed out. When I regained consciousness, all I could hear was my mother’s crying.
I asked my mother, “Did dad beat you a lot?” She said, “No, but he took the machine.” My mother never could stand up to my father. All this sorrow and suffering caused her to have high blood pressure. Then she had a nervous breakdown, which paralyzed her body. She lived for a few months but eventually passed away. I was nine years old when my mother died.
After that, it was just me, my three brothers, and our addicted father, who now cursed and beat me. Two of my brothers joined the army and were quickly killed. My other brother worked as a garbage collector. There was no one at home to hear my voice. We had a neighbour named Shamsia*, who was a very good woman. She would sometimes come over and ask how I was doing.
The first time I got my period, I didn’t understand what was happening to me. My back hurt, and I felt a sticky substance leaving my body. I was petrified. I stood next to the wall and screamed Aunt Shamsia’s name. She rushed to our house. I asked, “What happened? Did I do something bad?” She said, “No, come with me.” She gave me water to wash myself and then found an old cloth among my clothes, tore pieces from it, and gave it to me to use. She explained to me all the things that I did not know about womanhood.
When I turned 17, my father married me off to a 64-year-old man who had a visual disability in one eye for 300,000 afghani. My husband took me to Jawzjan province. He was a good man. He didn’t complain when I burnt the food, when it was too salty or tasteless, or when I couldn’t keep the house clean. He never abused me. My husband did daily labour and earned 100 afghani a day.
When I became pregnant, I had nothing nutritious to eat. When I was in pain during childbirth, I asked my husband to take me to the doctor. He replied, “I don’t have the money; you should give birth at home.” I didn’t have any of the basic necessities. I threw myself on the home’s rug and endured the pain until my child was born. My husband cut the baby’s umbilical cord and placed the child in my arms. I was exhausted from severe pain. This happened to me five times, and I gave birth at home each time.
Because I didn’t eat properly, I didn’t produce enough milk, and my children cried. I would soak bread in hot water for them to eat. I gave them enough to stay alive. My blindness was an issue, though – one of my daughters fell into the oven and burnt her leg because I didn’t notice where she was. Now, she walks with a limp. All my children are grown – our son got himself smuggled into Iran in September 2022, leaving me with my old husband and our four daughters.
Four years ago, I registered my name at the Department of Martyrs and Disabled. They gave me and my husband 120,000 afghani a year, while a Turkish humanitarian organization also provided food assistance as we are visually impaired. But when the Taliban came, the Turkish charity left Afghanistan, the government stipend dropped to 18,000 afghani a year for each of us. And now my daughters cannot continue their education because of Taliban rules. In addition, my husband is now so weak that he can’t work. Now, it’s just me and the 18,000 afghani that we receive annually. I have to stretch this money until the end of the year. What else can I do?
*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the interviewees and writer. Mahatab Safi is the pseudonym of a Zan Times journalist in Afghanistan.
