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

departed
Kabul. Of course, this meant that my father’s partner and his wife
could never again travel into Afghanistan, at least not as long as
the Communists were in charge.
    I had made a big mess of everything.
    My father’s friend at the ministry was so
disgusted by my reckless behavior that he warned my father that
never again would he cover for me. If I got into any more trouble,
I would have to deal with KHAD on my own. I was properly
warned.
    My mother cornered me and spoke some harsh
truths to me. ‘Maryam, you are a headstrong, stubborn and willful
child. You are naive, immature and show a complete disregard for
the sanctity of life, not only for the lives of strangers, but for
the lives of your family. You are a terrible disappointment to me,
and to your father.’
    I knew in my heart that my mother was right
but thought it should count for something that I was idealistic and
had acted out of patriotism. Russians were occupying my country and
murdering my friends and relatives. Afghans are known for their
fighting spirit and I was a true Afghan. I only felt bad about
endangering my family. For that reason I offered a sincere apology
to my parents, and to the minister who had helped us.
    When I apologized, my mother nodded, but said
nothing.
    My father’s reaction cut me to the core. He
stared into my eyes for such a long time I believed he would never
speak. Finally he said, ‘Just get out of my face.’
    The following day my poor father had to
return to the KHAD headquarters. He went alone. ‘I can’t trust you
not to make an attempt to assault the officials I must pacify,’ he
muttered.
    We became increasingly nervous because Papa
did not return for the entire day. He was kept for many hours, the
officials questioning him over the same points time and again,
trying to trip him up.
    Although Papa was not a warrior spirit, he
was extremely intelligent and knew he must remain calm and focused
if he was to convince the KHAD that I was innocent, and that the
driver had been the French woman now out of their reach. The KHAD
were not looking for a fight with the French government, although
we heard later that the general had pushed to make an international
incident out of the episode, but miraculously they finally let the
matter go.
    I was saved, once again.
    But never again did I feel happy in my
country. From that moment my parents treated me like a leper. Every
privilege was taken away, and they had devised a strict punishment
regime. I could not see any of my friends outside school. Never
again was I allowed to drive. The maids at our home were given a
long vacation and I was told that I would be doing all the
housework. I had to rise at five every morning and clean before
school. After school I was taken to my father’s office where I had
to do the filing. Other than during school hours, my parents
refused to let me out of their sight.
    My life was a great misery.
    Nevertheless, I graduated from Malalai.
Surprisingly, despite the fact the Russian teachers had me marked
down as a rebel, I was offered a scholarship to attend Moscow
University. But I so hated everything Russian that I turned the
scholarship down.
    My parents were in double despair, worried
about my behavior and also disappointed that their youngest
daughter would not attend medical school.
    The Cuban Ambassador to Afghanistan was a
family friend who offered to arrange a scholarship to a university
in Havana. I felt happy with the offer until my parents told me
that Cuba was a puppet of the Soviet Union, and that I would
receive a communist education there.
    I could attend Kabul University, but my
parents were determined to get their insurgent daughter out of
Afghanistan. They knew that, if I remained, I would be unable to
restrain my hatred for the regime and I would end up in prison, or
worse.
    I loved the idea of studying in India where
Nadia was still a student, although it seemed impossible for me to
join her there. Once the Soviet Union took over my country, they no
longer allowed travel to non-communist countries other than for
officially sponsored business.
    Many Afghan people fled the country
illegally, travelling by car or by foot over the mountains into
Pakistan or even Iran, but such a trip was a dangerous undertaking.
Most people were caught and returned to Kabul to face prosecution
and death as traitors. My parents said that such a journey was out
of the question.
    The decision was made that I would spend the
year at home