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

can’t stop me. This is America.’
    Kaiss sprung at me, grabbing my head with
both hands, squeezing my skull until I waited to hear a deadly
crack. ‘You do not talk back to me. Understand? Talk back to me
again and I will make you regret it.’
    I stumbled from the room. My life was
becoming the mirror image of Grandmother Mayana’s miserable
existence. I was no different from my cousin, Amina. I was even
more pathetic than her because I had no innocent children to bond
me to my beastly husband. I was living the life of bondage I had
sworn never to endure. I was stupid, stupid, stupid! I had been
deceived by dreams of happiness, of perfection, dreams of dancing
the night away. My mind raced, plotting how I might flee Kaiss and
file for divorce.
    Circumstances intervened within a few weeks
when I started feeling nauseous. I vomited constantly. Nothing
would stay in my stomach. I needed a doctor but Kaiss refused,
relenting only when I was unable to move from our bed.
    The doctor relayed what he thought was good
news. ‘You are not sick. You are pregnant. Congratulations.’
    I glanced at Kaiss, thinking the news might
make him happy. Perhaps he would change and would now become the
kind husband he had presented himself to be, if only I gave him a
son.
    Kaiss shrugged indifferently. When the doctor
said that I must have monthly check-ups, Kaiss’ face turned a shade
of angry red. After we left the clinic, Kaiss began cursing. ‘That
greedy son-of-a-bitch doctor. He is not taking my money. You are
not going to go to that son-of-a-bitch and open your legs to him
every month.’
    I remained quiet, yet noted the date of my
next appointment, knowing that I must defy Kaiss for the health of
my child. The following month when I started to leave our
apartment, Kaiss blocked the door. ‘You will not go, Maryam. My
mother never went to see a doctor. After nine months, she went into
her room and gave birth. The next day she was back in her normal
routine. You will do the same as my mother!’ He gave me a violent
shove before returning to slump on the sofa to watch
television.
    Kaiss never once believed I would defy him.
But even as my body nourished my innocent growing child, my child
nourished my courage. I nonchalantly sidled up to the door, and
then ran out, screaming, ‘I will go to the doctor!’ I
sprinted outside and jumped into a taxi before Kaiss could catch
me.
    For the first time I understood why Amina had
returned to her husband’s beatings so that she could protect her
babies. Although my child was still nestled in my womb and I had
not yet seen my baby’s little face, my love for my child was
already overwhelming.
    After my appointment I walked home trembling,
terrified of what I had to face. I inched into our apartment,
poised to run should Kaiss try to assault me.
    But Kaiss walked towards me, smiling. ‘We
must take care of you. Your father said that if I was good to you,
that you would give me a son.’
    I hesitated, still thinking it was a trick to
catch me unawares. ‘What if our baby is a girl?’
    ‘If it is a girl, Maryam, I hope it dies in
your stomach. I only want a son.’ He lowered his face to mine,
glaring, ‘Did you hear me? I will only accept a son.’
    I nodded, too afraid to disagree with Kaiss’s
law, yet knowing very well I had no way of ensuring the child in my
womb would be a boy.
    During the coming months the beatings were
less frequent and less severe although our life together was still
volatile and frightening.
    On 27 January 1984, I came alert out of a
deep sleep with sharp back pains. As Kaiss was driving me to the
hospital, he was pleading with God: ‘Allah! Let it be a boy! I
don’t care if he is blind or crippled just let it be a boy.’ Kaiss
repeated his bizarre mantra the entire time I was in the delivery
room. I found myself praying to God for a boy, too, terrified that
Kaiss might murder our baby if it was a little girl.
    Allah helped me by giving me a healthy baby
boy. Everyone was relieved and happy. Kaiss was suddenly attentive
and loving, proud that he could brag to everyone about his big and
handsome son. Papa rushed into my room with tears streaming down
his face. I had given him something to live for, he finally had his
much longed for grandson.
    On that miraculous day one could even love
Kaiss.

    Maryam’s firstborn son
Duran with his grandfather.
     

Chapter
XIII
    When my precious baby burst into the world
the thousand hardships and tribulations I