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

push
against all barriers.
    Eid, the celebration at the end of Ramadan,
seemed a funeral rather than a festival that year. During Eid the
family gathered, and while the little children played, the adults
discussed ways we might flee the country. I overheard my father
say, ‘There are smugglers who will take us across the border into
Pakistan. From there we can go to India.’
    Uncle Hakim said, ‘No. Just last week I heard
of a family who hired such a smuggler. As soon as they entered an
empty area, the men of the family were bound while the women were
raped. No. No. We cannot risk it.’ He reflected before resuming
telling his ideas. ‘I have been thinking. We must use our contacts.
Farid is working now to obtain visas for us all.’
    I felt a small glow inside. My hero Farid, my
dear cousin, he would save us for certain. After attending school
for a while in India, Farid had enrolled at a good college in Iran.
But that country was in the throes of revolution too, and the
increasing tension there had caused him to seek refuge in Bahrain,
where he had acquired a good job. Yes. Farid would save us all.
    ‘Thank God Farid was out of the country when
all this started,’ Uncle Hakim sighed. ‘We must be patient. We must
wait to see what Farid can do for us.’
    During such a family meeting, Uncle Hakim
placed his arm around my shoulders and led me away. ‘Maryam, I can
see that you are very tense and angry. Your mother told me about
your outburst at school.’
    I looked at him and nodded, knowing that I
was in for a lecture. Yet I loved my uncle Hakim and knew that he
was a wise and good man, and more courageous than most. He had even
stood up to the brutal Nazis.
    ‘Maryam, you must keep your mouth shut. When
I was in Germany, I saw that it was the young who were most eager
to speak out against the Nazis. Do you know what happened to them?’
He snapped his fingers. ‘They vanished, Maryam. They disappeared,
never to be seen again. Of course, we found out later than Hitler
and his thugs killed everyone who dared to disagree with their
brutal policies.’
    He leaned in closer, and for the first time
in my life I saw fear in his eyes.
    ‘Maryam,’ he warned, ‘the only people as
ruthless as the Nazis are the Communists. These people will not
hesitate to execute our young people, even a young girl like you.
But before they kill you, they will torture you. You know such an
outcome would suck the life out of your parents. You must promise
me, Maryam, to hold your tongue.’
    I promised him I would. If Uncle Hakim was
frightened, there was good reason for me to be careful.
    But I knew this would be a promise difficult
to keep.
     

Chapter X
    Sadly for our family, Uncle Hakim’s warning
was prophetic. Our family soon lost two of our most intelligent and
gentle cousins.
    Due to Shair Khan’s unpleasant conduct, we
had always been much closer to my mother’s family than to my
father’s family. Yet there were some Khail family members we grew
to know and love. Two of the most special were young cousins, a
dedicated physician named Sabor, and his older brother, Mohammed,
who worked at the Ministry of Justice in Kabul. Because they were
older, we called them ‘uncle’, which is a sign of respect in our
culture. Both were married to their cousins. Sabor was the proud
father of a six-month-old daughter, while Mohammed was the joyous
father of four young children.
    Sabor was a tall man whose persona exuded
kindness. He had large expressive eyes and bore a remarkable
likeness to the Hollywood movie actor Clark Gable. Although Sabor
was so modest that he blushed when receiving compliments on his
fine appearance, he was proud of his perfectly groomed beard and
moustache.
    Sabor was the hardest-working doctor in the
country, and his dedication to Afghan’s poor meant that we saw him
infrequently. He would generally pop by once a month, his hands and
pockets loaded with fresh fruit. Secretly I wanted sweets and gum,
but he made it a point to tell me that such delicacies were
damaging to my health. Sabor was years before his time with his
insistence on a good diet for a healthy lifestyle.
    Despite a lack of sweets, I greatly enjoyed
Sabor’s visits. He was always interested in every detail of my
young life. He would regale us with stories of the most interesting
titbits of hospital life or remarkable medical cases.
    Sabor’s older brother Mohammed was also tall,
with a thin nose and full lips. He was carefree and