For the Love of a Son: One Afghan Woman's Quest for Her Stolen Child

amusing, while I
was burning inside. I faced another disappointment when we
discovered that the cemetery caretaker at Eve was not open to
bribery. I was wounded to the core when Khalid and Duran were
allowed inside the cemetery to visit my father’s grave, while his
daughter was banned, forced to wait outside in the hot sun.
    Never once have I been allowed to visit my
father’s grave, although ironically for some months I tended
carefully some unknown man’s plot.
    *
    Although I was Muslim and had been raised in
a Muslim country, I found I was happier socializing with westerners
than with Saudis. There were too many hang-ups about women in Saudi
society. I became active in the American Ladies of Jeddah
Committee, where we were involved in good works.
    My little Duran was now four years old, a
happy and well-adjusted child with a kindly father and loving
mother. He was very bright and, most importantly for me, extremely
sensitive and caring about other people. But loving Duran did not
alter my love for my first son, whom I now called Big Duran. I
thought about Big Duran so many times each day, so sad that I had
missed his childhood. Big Duran was twelve years older than Little
Duran, so my lost son was now sixteen years old, a teenager, an
image I found it impossible to imagine.
    When Little Duran reached an age of
understanding, I confided that he had an older brother who would
one day be a part of his life. Little Duran became very excited and
started putting aside his most special toys, saying, ‘I will give
this to my brother when he comes for a visit.’
    The idea that Big Duran was becoming a man
without even knowing that he had a mother who had never stopped
looking for him, pushed me to try and visit Afghanistan yet again.
Although Afghanistan was still ruled by the Taliban, I did not
care. But Khalid’s knowing that Kaiss had threatened to kill me
should I set one foot inside my country caused my husband to forbid
me from trying. Still, I redoubled my efforts to locate my son, and
the development of new technology was to open up new avenues of
research for me.
     

Chapter
XXIV
    Once Khalid and I had internet access in
2000, I paid someone to create a web page in honour of Big Duran.
There I posted my life’s story, and listed all I knew about my son.
I signed off with a plea: ‘I have not seen my son in nearly 14
years. He was stolen from me when he was only two years old. He
will turn 16 on January 27th. In my dreams I am with my son. Please
help me find him so that he is with me in reality.’
    Many people responded in sympathy, but one
person in particular kept sending me messages, teasing me with: ‘I
know Duran’s family.’
    I pleaded for further information and was
told: ‘If you want to know about your son, you must first become
good friends with me.’
    ‘I will be your friend,’ I promised, ‘but
first, I must hear directly from my son.’
    I never heard from that person again,
although I wondered who my anonymous correspondent might have
been.
    I wrote to three Taliban ministers. Because
they were supposed to be religious men, I invoked their piety to
plead my case: ‘In the Koran, there is a verse that says that
heaven is under the feet of mothers. If you are true Muslims, you
will help me to contact my son.’
    I didn’t hold out much hope of an answer, and
was startled when one of the Taliban ministers telephoned me at
home in Saudi Arabia. He told me firmly, but not unkindly: ‘I am
very good friends with Duran’s father, Kaiss. Duran is a good boy
and is loyal to his father. He is doing very well. But Duran
belongs to his father. Leave him alone now. He has a family, and
that family is here.’ I cursed that man, thinking that all men
stick together against women.
    I began gathering information from friends
who had remained behind in Taliban-ruled Afghanistan. I was not
surprised to learn that Kaiss had switched allegiance to the
Taliban. He now scorned the communist regime he had once served and
was in a powerful position close to the Taliban leadership. I also
heard that after my letters to the Taliban ministers, they had
alerted Kaiss and ordered a guard to be set up to protect my son
from his mother. Other friends told me that my son had been trained
in computer English and that the Taliban were using his computer
skills for their purposes. Perhaps my son was safer than I thought,
although I was not pleased to hear of his close association with
men I considered to be