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

that someone is attacking the
palace.’ My mother and I stared at each other. Papa’s office was
located only a block away from the presidential palace.
    Never have I been so frightened. From the
noise outside, I knew that people must be dying. But my only
thoughts were of my gentle father, a man who had been thrust into
the military life at a young age, yet had never fought in a single
battle.
    While my mother, sister and nanny remained
closeted in their rooms, I stood by the front door, watching and
waiting. I waited for three long hours, wincing at the loud sounds
of war coming from every corner, not allowing myself to envision
the destruction being wrought on our beautiful city. Just as my
knees felt they might buckle from exhaustion, I spotted my father’s
car as he came careening down the road.
    I ran into the street. The stench of smoke
enveloped me. The sound of machine-gun fire rattled in my brain.
But none of that mattered, for my father was alive.
    When Papa saw me he leapt from the car,
rushing to gather me in a bear hug. That’s when we heard bullets
striking the walls of the houses around us.
    My father bent low to the ground, pulling me
with him, and we scurried back into the relative safety of our
home. My father was quickly surrounded by the others.
    Papa told us, ‘I was saved by George
Perouch.’
    George Perouch was the French Ambassador, a
delightful man who was a very close friend of my parents and Uncle
Hakim and his family. The embassy was next door to Papa’s
office.
    Papa continued: ‘There was a brief ceasefire
so that the French Embassy employees might evacuate. George
unexpectedly rushed into my office, shouting for us to slip into
the embassy. He thought that everyone who could should withdraw
from Kabul with the French. My staff went with the French, but I
came home.’ He smiled a little. ‘I couldn’t leave my girls.’
    After a few moments of hugs and tears, he
went on: ‘I fear that Daoud is dead.’
    I gave a little cry. I had always loved our
president, mainly because he was connected to my father’s
well-being.
    Papa patted my hand. ‘The presidential
residence has been under siege and has suffered severe damage. By
the time I made my escape, I could see that the walls were breached
and the palace was ringed by tanks, although the battle was over.
No one was firing into, or out of, the presidential residence.’ He
shook his head sorrowfully. ‘I fear they are all dead.’
    My heart raced. Two of Daoud’s granddaughters
were my close friends. In fact, I had seen them at school the day
before. They were laughing and carefree, without a thought of
danger in their heads. Were those innocent girls now dead? Papa
resumed his tale. ‘After passing Daoud’s residence, I saw some
schoolgirls running down a street. They were in grave danger, so I
stopped and offered them a ride home, wherever that might be. Can
you believe those girls shouted at me, saying, “You dirty old man!
Shame on you to pick up young girls.”’ He sighed. ‘I had to leave
them to their fate.’
    Then Papa remembered that we needed supplies,
for who knew how long the fighting would last. He called out for
Askar, who appeared like a mirage from the back of the house. For
the first time that day I realized I had not seen Askar during the
entire episode. Where had he been?
    Papa told him: ‘Askar, I think there is a
temporary lull in the fighting. Quickly, go and purchase all the
food you can.’ He dug in his pockets and passed Askar a wad of
money.
    I was struck by envy that Askar would be
seeing what was going on outside. When my father and mother retired
to their room to further discuss the shocking events of the day,
and Nadia and Nanny Muma returned to their respective rooms, I
found the car keys and slipped from our building into the family
car. I intercepted Askar who was only a block or two away. When he
expressed alarm at my unexpected appearance, I lied. ‘Papa told me
to come and pick you up. We can bring back more groceries in a
car.’
    The streets were not as calm as Papa had
hoped. There were ongoing street battles. We saw dead and wounded
people littering the area. But armed with my teenager’s false sense
of indestructibility, I drove through the streets without fear,
although I saw people running in panic and heard the sound of
explosions and bullets zipping through the air. Rather than fear, I
felt mounting excitement.
    I saw brown roiling smoke rising into the sky
over the