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

owned an expensive European wardrobe and she was
determined to find out who was responsible. One day she decided to
hide in a corner of the courtyard. While the servants were busy
washing clothes, she saw two of Shair’s sons sneaking up to the
baskets, ordering the fearful servants to identify Sharifa’s
clothes. They then took out knives and began to shred her
clothes.
    My father was furious when he found out what
was going on, but he knew confronting Shair about his sons would
only lead to violence. From that point on, my mother saved her
soiled laundry to send to the home of her own mother. No one knew
it at the time, but my maternal grandmother’s health was failing
and Mother only had a few years left to enjoy her own mother.
    Later my mother found more ominous signs that
she was being targeted. She discovered several small dolls pierced
with many pins hidden in corners of her apartment. Although Islam
forbids anything to do with witchcraft, some Muslim women are known
to tempt fate by trying to reach the dark spirits. Certainly,
someone in Shair Khan’s household was practizing black magic in
order to frighten her.
    My parents were clearly unwelcome in my
father’s family home. Soon the stress affected the health of both
my parents, and my father’s weight plummeted until he began to look
emaciated. My parents knew that their living situation was the
cause, and that the only solution was to move away from the
galah.
    Despite their ill treatment at the hands of
Shair and his wives and children, when my father informed Shair he
was moving his family out to a private house in Kabul, Shair was
aggressively opposed to the idea. ‘You will be an outcast! No one
will respect you! I will never allow a pariah to share in my
father’s wealth!’ he shouted.
    But in his heart my father knew that his own
life and that of his child were in danger from Shair. He firmly
believed that Shair had already murdered all his other siblings, in
order that he, Shair, alone would inherit all of Ahmed Khan’s
wealth. My father decided that, even if his brother did not
eventually find a way to kill him, he would rather be a happy poor
man than a miserable rich man. That night he left the galah with
his wife, mother, daughter and Nanny Muma.
    The Hassen family were the opposite of the
Khail clan. They were intellectuals, a family who raised their
seven daughters to be educated and resilient, and equal to their
three sons. They also helped each other in times of need and, after
hearing of my parents’ dilemma, they rallied round them, assisting
them to find a modest but comfortable home in Kabul. They also
helped them financially, because my parents lived frugally on my
father’s military salary. In their new arrangement, my parents
became an exceptionally close couple, enjoying their life away from
the tense atmosphere of the galah. My father often said,
‘Bitterness squeezes the happiness out of any person.’
    My mother confided that her most joyful time
was the day she and my father moved away from the galah and my
father’s toxic family. By fleeing Shair Khan’s lethal influence, my
mother celebrated a rare victory against the woman-hating evil that
cloaked the galah and all that lived within.

    Maryam, her mother
Sharifa and sister Nadia
     

Chapter
V
    My father was a distinguished presence, tall
and handsome, a man of learning blessed with the light of
intelligent conversation. He had pale skin and large, expressive
amber-flecked brown eyes, with a deep cleft in his chin. I remember
how he used to walk with his hands in his pockets, a kindly smile
on his face. He dressed immaculately, usually wearing a starched
white shirt and grey or beige trousers. Father was so serious about
his clothes that the women of the family had their individual
duties in order to keep his wardrobe perfect.
    From an early age I was responsible for
cleaning and shining his shoes. Although I hated most tasks thrust
upon me, this duty never felt like an unwelcome chore. I spent long
hours lovingly cleaning and buffing his shoes with small cloths.
Hands and arms aching, I shined until his European-styled leather
shoes sparkled.
    Around the time he returned from work, I
would be watching the front path. Another treasured responsibility
was to greet him with a kiss, remove his shoes and socks, then
present him with his freshly ironed kurta pyjamas. When he slipped
out of his work clothes, I would deftly hang them on a hanger.
    I would be rewarded