By Mahtab Safi*
This narrative was told by Sakina* to Zan Times journalist Mahtab Safi:
When I look outside, the whole city of Kabul appears to be occupied by men who can wander freely. When we women leave the house to earn a piece of bread, we must cover ourselves so much that our femininity is barely visible. I am one of those women.
My name is Sakina. Daily, I clean my wooden stall, located in one of the busiest areas of Kabul. I lay out cold water, boiled eggs, and biscuits for sale. Those men who live so freely also harass me. For instance, one parked his car in front of my stall and said, “Aunty, what are you doing here daily? Aren’t you ashamed to stand among men and make eye contact every day?” Another stopped his car in front of my stall and said rudely, “Get into the car; you will no longer need to do this work. We’ll take you wherever you want.” They insult and mock me daily; all I can do is cry.
I work hard to feed my eight children and my disabled family. I earn just enough to buy a few loaves of bread on my way home. My concern is how long we can survive with just these few loaves – we are humans and have other needs.
Our misfortune started two years ago when war came to where we lived in the Aqkupruk area of Balkh province. In early 2021, a rocket destroyed our house while a bullet hit my husband’s waist. He wasn’t fully treated in the hospital and since then has been incapacitated with pain and can barely move his legs. We didn’t have enough money for his complete treatment.
At the time, we were making ends meet, thanks in part to my job in a government office. After his disability, I had to earn enough for our entire family. We left Balkh for Kabul where, with the help of friends, we rented a house. I started street vending. Most days, I earn up to a 100 afghani, but some days, no one comes to buy from me.
My feet hurt from standing all day but I couldn’t afford a stool. I leave my 1-year-old daughter at home in the care of our other children while I take my 3-year-old son as he’s very attached and cannot bear being apart. Though he suffers in the cold and heat beside me, I have no other choice.
One day, a neighbour came to our house and asked, “How long can you continue like this?” He offered 400,000 afghani for one of my daughters to marry his son. I refused because his son is already married and is around 40 years old, while my eldest daughter is only 14. My husband says daughters are meant to be married off, and we should give her into marriage to improve our circumstances, especially since there’s no schooling for girls now.
I am a woman who cannot ruin my daughter’s life. I told my husband, “If you are helpless, I am not. I work hard and take care of my children. I work and bring food home.” This deeply upsets me. When my youngest daughter was born, relatives would come and offer to buy her because I couldn’t afford her food. They said they would pay up to 150,000 afghani for her. I repeatedly refused and chased them out of my house, but their offers distressed me – a human is not a commodity to be bought and sold. I will fight to support and care for my children until my last breath.
For my children, I go to work in the morning and return in the evening. My two sons, aged 8 and 10, collect plastic and paper which I use as fuel to boil water and cook food. Still, my children are malnourished because I can barely afford bread for the family.
Some days, my sons don’t go to school. They need new clothes and shoes but I cannot afford them. If that weren’t enough, my 18-year-old son has neurological and psychological issues and his brain functions no better than that of a 2-year-old. Every time I look at him, I cry as I can’t afford this treatment.
My heart aches when I stand beside my stall and look at others’ lives, their tall buildings, and their luxury lives. I wish I hadn’t been born a woman in this society, or at least that I could have a healthy husband and lead a simple and peaceful life.
*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the interviewees and writer. Mahtab Safi is the pseudonym of a Zan Times journalist in Afghanistan.
