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

were
not allowed to go to clubs. But as soon as I married, I could go
dancing. I was so naive that I was stupid. In my stupidity, I
failed to see this was the most important battle of my life.
    Soon Papa came to me with the news that he
had selected a groom, and told me that the man of his choice was a
man loaded with every virtue.
    My husband-to-be was a man called Kaiss. He
was thirty-five years old, fifteen years my senior. He was five
feet nine inches tall. He was not ugly. He was not handsome either.
He was a Pashtun, and from the same region of southern Afghanistan
as our family. Papa had known his father in his youth, although
their acquaintance had ended then. It was most important for my
father that his daughter would marry a Pashtun.
    I was told that the groom was eager to marry
the daughter of Ajab Khail, the Khan of the Khail tribe, albeit my
father’s was an honorary title.
    Kaiss wooed my father with exaggerated
courtesy and repeated promises. He would be my father’s ‘son’, not
his ‘son-in-law’. He agreed with all my father’s conditions for the
marriage to move forward.
    ‘Yes, of course, Maryam must complete her
college education. I will make certain of that,’ he vowed with a
smooth voice as he looked at me with undisguised pride in his eyes.
‘I have a good job at a hotel. Your daughter’s studies will come
before everything else, even the food I put in my mouth.’
    Well, at least he is gentle and compliant, I
said to myself. I forgot that too many Afghan men will pretend to
be something they are not to get what they want.
    Nadia happened to be on a rare visit from
medical school in India. She had not yet told Papa that she was
secretly married to a man whose background was so repugnant to the
Pashtun. My sister was in a heated rush for me to marry Kaiss,
thinking that the moment of Papa’s greatest happiness would be a
good opportunity for her to confess to her marriage. Papa would be
so exultant with my wedding that he might be less offended by her
own.
    ‘He seems very nice.’ Nadia smiled at me.
‘You should marry as soon as possible.’
    ‘Yes, it will be easy for you to bring an
Iranian home once Papa is happy with my Pashtun,’ I muttered
sarcastically.
    ‘Who are you, Maryam, a princess waiting for
your prince charming? You don’t have anyone else in your life, do
you? For Allah’s sake, marry this Kaiss. Get it over with.’ My
sister looked at me coyly. ‘Maryam, if I were in your place, I
would make this sacrifice. This is what it is to be part of a
family. A good daughter always sacrifices her own wishes for the
name of the family.’
    I nodded. My sister was right. I was not in
love with anyone else. I knew nothing about romantic love. And I
was ensnared out of respect and concern for my father. After my
mother’s death, he had become everything to me, both father and
mother. If I backed out after the engagement was announced, my
behaviour really would put my father in his grave. Should I cause
him such grief, my life would be unbearable.
    I would follow the Pashtun way. I would be an
obedient daughter. ‘All right,’ I said to Nadia. ‘I will do
it.’
    I was stupid and naive, ignoring what I had
learned in my youth about forced marriages.
    My contented Papa conferred with a beaming
Kaiss to set a hasty wedding date.
    Kaiss appeared besotted with his good fortune
and acted as though he had found a great treasure in Maryam Khail.
My fiancé’s behavior led me to believe that I would be worshipped
by my husband after we were married. Somehow I had forgotten that
Pashtun wives are treated as goddesses before marriage, and as
servants after.
    After the wedding announcement was made, and
friends and relatives learned the name of my groom, we were
startled when many came forward with forewarnings. Two friends of
the family, both Kabul natives, called to warn my father. ‘Ajab.
You must call off this wedding. This man is violent, he has a
terrible reputation. He is considered dangerous by all who know him
in Kabul.’
    A burning thought flashed through my mind:
the evil I had fled from had followed me to America . . . and now I
was trapped.
    ‘Papa?’ I cried, wanting him to call off the
engagement.
    But Papa was offended. He angrily defended
Kaiss, the man who had so pleased him with his talk of becoming a
son to him. Later, after the two well-meaning friends left our
home, Papa reassured me: ‘It is their word against Kaiss’s word,
daughter. And I