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

with most Afghans under the power
of clan heads or regional warlords.
    Such tribal authority made it nearly
impossible for any government to impose change, for tribal law
takes precedence over civil law, as does religious law. The Sharia
court and the Islamic police have the authority to enforce certain
laws, most particularly family law. Yet when tribal law confronts
Sharia law, most Afghans will follow tribal law.
    Islam asserts that men and women are equal
before God, and gives women various rights such as the right to
inherit, the right to choose their own partner in marriage and the
right to work. But Afghan men have always ignored these rights,
instead focusing on the sections of Islamic Sharia law that keep
women under the sway of men. For example, in the Sharia court
system, it takes two women to testify to equal the testimony of one
man. In divorce cases, the man always wins.
    With so many laws from too many groups
refusing to bend to government laws, it was challenging for any
government in Afghanistan to govern properly, and impossible for
women to have a voice.
    But there were some diamonds to be found in
the dunghill. Various Afghan kings proved to be reformers, brave
souls attempting to loosen the restraints upon women. No one was
more determined than the son of King Habibullah, the ruler so loved
by my grandfather Hassen. While his own father had one hundred
wives, King Amanullah took only one wife, showing his respect for
the female who shared his bed. Once the brief 1919 Anglo-Afghan war
was over, he found his kingly footing, encouraging foreign
investment and industry. Later he started trying to modernize
Afghanistan, encouraging the people to abandon their traditional
dress and don European fashions. He encouraged the establishment of
a uniform civil law and, surprisingly, was most progressive when it
came to the lives of women. He pursued reforms that would suppress
the ‘wall of purdah’ (total isolation for females), abolish the
veil, educate females alongside males and prohibit marriage for
girls before the age of eighteen. Another surprising reform forbade
any government official from having more than one wife.
    The king’s brave reforms mounted the first
serious attack against the evil of prejudice that had plagued
Afghanistan, especially its women, for as long as anyone could
remember.
    The air was tense with female hopefulness as
the educated urban elite embraced the king’s modern ideas. But
things were different in the countryside. There, fevered
imaginations conjured up images of wanton women prancing about
exposing their naked faces to strangers. Stirred up by tribal
chiefs and clerics, the men became so enraged at the image in their
minds that they rebelled in a fury. Eventually King Amanullah was
forced to flee Afghanistan and seek refuge in Europe. He was too
progressive; thus, he was deposed. Hopes dashed, the broken-hearted
women of Afghanistan crept back into their homes and pulled their
burqas tighter.
    The years that followed were more of the
same: paralyzing confusion and tribal conflicts. Kings came and
went, with one king putting the fear of God into all Afghan
citizens when he murdered his enemies by firing them from the
mouths of cannons. Another king was an immature 19-year-old boy,
who, although later to prove himself, was too young at the outset,
and whose uncles ruled in his stead. Without a strong king,
unearthly chaos reigned in Afghanistan, with mutual hatreds
erupting into a dozen internal conflicts going on at once.
    But lucky me! By the time I was born and
experiencing the life of a young Afghan girl, a sane voice reigned
once more. Female freedom once again beckoned. Sheltered by my
father, I could have never imagined that the freedom I took for
granted was nothing more than a mirage, and that unimaginable
oppression and abuse lay in wait for every Afghan woman.
    An old enemy still lived in our mist.
     

Chapter
VI
    In so many ways my childhood was wonderful.
My loving parents respected each other, my guileless grandmother
was kindly, albeit sad, and I was shielded from the harsher
realities of our world by layers of protective aunties and uncles
and cousins from the maternal side of the family. Until I was ten
years old, I bounced happily along in my loving family cocoon. Most
importantly, there were faint signs that Afghanistan’s king was
guiding the country with a moderating influence when it came to
women, at least in the capital of Kabul. Although my