Dear Zari: Hidden Stories from Women of Afghanistan by Zarghuna Kargar

Author:Zarghuna Kargar [Kargar, Zarghuna]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781409029144
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2011-05-04T22:00:00+00:00

Wazma’s Story

In 2005 I went back to Afghanistan after more than ten years’ absence. I had left Kabul as a child and I was now returning as a young woman. I could never have imagined that the city of my childhood could have changed so dramatically. When I left in the mid-1990s Afghanistan was in the middle of a civil war, with different factions fighting one another. Every day we would hear rumours of what was going on, but we have a saying in Dari, ‘What you hear is nothing like what you see.’ This saying perfectly matched how I felt on the day I arrived back in Kabul. This was the city where I had been born and spent my childhood. I had nurtured the hope that one day it would be peaceful enough for my family to return and live there once more.

I remember that the day we left had been especially beautiful. It was winter and the high mountains that surround Kabul were dressed in white snow. When it snows in Kabul you can look forward to a clear blue sky the next day. It casts such a brilliant light on the snow that it hurts your eyes to look at it. Despite the bitter wind that day, the streets were full of people rushing about on their business. All the shops were open and doing brisk trade as people hurried to buy all they needed before the firing started up again. Women and girls mingled in the crowds, dressed in winter coats and trousers with scarves tied round their heads to keep out the cold air.

This time when I landed at Kabul International airport – not far from the area where I grew up – the atmosphere was very different. A crowd of unkempt men with long beards unnerved me as they surged towards the passengers at the airport. Some wanted to earn money by carrying bags, others were waiting for other passengers, but they all stared at me because I was an Afghan woman who had arrived on her own. As I waited in the long queue at passport control, I held my headscarf tightly. It seemed to me as if every man was staring at me.

I walked into to the arrivals hall and spotted a BBC colleague waiting for me. It was such a reassuring sight. I got into the car without speaking, as my eyes searched for the Kabul I had left behind. I recognised the roads but so much had changed. The huge green trees had gone, the roads were choked with traffic, everything was chaotic and dirty. I could see only men and boys on the streets, staring through the car window at me as we passed. Everyone appeared to be angry and shouting at each other.

I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. My colleague asked me if I was all right but I just carried on crying. He and the driver said nothing as I wept and memories of my childhood flooded back.

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