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

want to go to America. America is
where you divorced my father.’
    I wanted my son with me in Saudi Arabia, or
to meet me in America, but I struggled to be patient. ‘Duran, all I
want is for you to be happy. I will do whatever you wish.’
    He seemed pleased that I was under his
control.
    A few weeks after I returned to Jeddah, he
called me for the third time. Three telephone calls in less than a
month! I was over the moon with joy. During that third telephone
call he unexpectedly called me ‘Mouri’.
    ‘Duran! My son.’
    Then, to my astonishment, Duran confessed
that he now believed me, that he no longer believed I had sold him
to his father for $5,000.
    ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I confronted my father. I
now know that he has been lying to me. I don’t love him any more. I
hate him. I am sick of the Islamic life. I have decided I will go
to America.’
    My son didn’t know what he wanted, I thought
to myself. First he hated America, and now he wanted to go and live
there.
    ‘Why don’t you come here, to Saudi Arabia, to
be with me and my family?’
    ‘I hate Arabs,’ he said, with a troubling
certainty. ‘Yes, I hate Arabs.’
    I said nothing, although his assertion made
me feel uneasy. After all, his stepfather was Arab, and his baby
brother was half-Arab.
    Immediately after our conversation, I made
contact with the American Embassy in Kabul and told them my son had
finally contacted me. I wanted to arrange the proper paperwork for
my son to get an American passport. If Duran wanted to go to
America, then his American mother would pull every string to get
him there.
    A week later Duran called for a fourth time,
once more with a disturbing message. ‘My father told me that if I
see you, he will disown me. He told me I was no longer his son.
When I told him I was going to America, he beat me. I had to run
away. My father is looking for me everywhere. He is threatening to
kill me.’
    I gasped in distress. I truly believed Kaiss
capable of murdering Duran if that meant he could keep him from me.
My mind was racing.
    ‘Where are you now?’
    ‘I have gone into hiding. Fighters of the
Northern Alliance are protecting me.’
    I didn’t like the sound of that at all. Kaiss
had been too closely associated with the Taliban, and the Taliban
had used my son’s skills to further their cause. I knew the Taliban
and the Northern Alliance were deadly enemies. Perhaps those
soldiers would try to kill my son, too.
    To my mind, Afghanistan was full of killers,
and all were looking for my son. I would defend Duran with my bare
hands if I could get to Afghanistan, but I was in Saudi Arabia, too
far away to protect him.
    To find my son only to lose him again was too
much to bear. That’s when I thought of Farid. Thank God Farid was
still in Kabul, trying to restart his father’s business. I called
my cousin, giving him Duran’s details, and begging him to find my
son and protect him from his father.
    ‘Do not worry, little brother,’ he said
laughing. ‘I will protect your son with all my heart.’
    Indeed, within a few days Farid had managed
to locate Duran; how, I do not know. He drove him to the American
Embassy in Kabul. There he was interviewed by the consular
officials, who said they had no problem issuing Duran with an
American passport if he was my son, but they would need a
DNA test to make certain he was who he said he was.
    I decided on the spot to go to my son, to
have our DNA tested together, to solve the problem once and for
all. It was too difficult to do the tests in Afghanistan, and it
was suggested I meet my son in Pakistan. The American authorities
would have DNA tests performed there.
    The biggest obstacle was the fact that my son
did not have a valid passport. It was decided to hire smugglers to
take Duran across the border. I didn’t know where to start making
arrangements, but once again, blessed Farid handled all the
details. My cousin found dependable smugglers, men who had been
crossing the borders illegally for years.
    How could I ever thank Farid? My ‘big
brother’ cousin had shown remarkable devotion to me, time and time
again. But a few days before Duran was to leave on the risky
journey to Pakistan, Farid called me, his voice filled with
concern. ‘Maryam, I warn you, do not let Duran use your mobile
phone when you meet him in Pakistan. And do not give him
money.’
    ‘Why do you say this?’
    Farid paused a long moment. ‘Maryam, from
happiness to disaster is only one