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

America is the land of the free. After Kaiss
moved to Los Angeles, he shined up his ‘best product’ and presented
his charming face again to my father. Never had a man so devoted
himself to the work at hand. He poured himself into the moment. To
my horror, my father began to weaken once again to his studied
charm, to forget the monster Kaiss had proved himself to be.
    But I was not deceived. I knew the real beast
behind the mask of civility. I was revolted by his performance.
    I refused him visitation without supervision.
So I went along each time Kaiss came to spend time with our son.
During our fifth or sixth outing, I was sitting on a bench in front
of a drugstore watching my son play with his father. Kaiss looked
at me and smiled, pointing at the drugstore behind me. ‘Maryam, I
need some toothpaste. Do you mind buying me some?’
    My guard was down. ‘Sure,’ I said, as I ran
into the store to purchase a tube. When I returned five minutes
later, Kaiss and Duran were nowhere to be seen. My heart stopped. I
began to dash about like a mad woman, searching for Kaiss and my
baby. I cursed my stupidity.
    My lawyer could not believe that I was still
so naive. He told me: ‘The court has not yet ruled to give you full
custody. So we cannot claim Duran was kidnapped by his father.’
    I was distraught. I blamed myself, wondering
if I would ever get my son back. I didn’t know where to turn, what
to do. I stood guard over the telephone, waiting. An agonizing week
later Kaiss called. With a smirk in his tone he said, ‘I will give
you one day to get back to Virginia. I will give you one day to
start living as my wife again. Otherwise, I will slip away and take
your son to Afghanistan. You will never see him again.’
    I wanted wings so that I could fly instantly
to my son. I left my job, my new home and my Papa. I was in
Virginia the following day. I was resolved to endure every misery
to reclaim my baby. Within minutes of entering Kaiss’s apartment,
even before I had the opportunity to hold my son in my arms, I was
raped and beaten.
    Kaiss had taken four days off from work. He
raped me repeatedly during those endless days and nights. When he
went back to work, I was locked in our bedroom and guarded by one
of his friends, an Afghan Mujahedin who had travelled to the United
States for medical treatment after being wounded in battle by the
Russians. He was hard and cruel and without pity. He was a perfect
guard.
    Most Afghan men are suspicious of females.
They believe all women are promiscuous and must be isolated from
men who are not of their family or else they will commit the most
sexually depraved acts. He accepted my husband’s lies as the truth,
that I was an immoral woman. He easily believed that I refused to
stay home and take care of my son and that I was so untrustworthy
that I had to be beaten and locked in our home. Without
supervision, I would abandon my faithful husband and our son, to
slip out to go dancing and engage in sex with strangers.
    The truth was that I lived only for little
Duran, who had been traumatized during the week away from his
mother. My baby screamed in terror if I just stepped out of his
sight. I worried about what had happened to my little son during
the time his father was in charge of feeding and changing him.
Kaiss was not a patient man. My baby had probably gone hungry, and
perhaps was slapped around.
    After a month, my jailor, my husband’s
friend, returned to the war in Afghanistan. Kaiss secured our
apartment with heavy locks, and popped in and out at odd times to
make certain I was not trying to escape.
    The holy month of Ramadan came to us but I
failed to maintain my fast for the first time since the Russians
had invaded my country. My life of relentless tension and abuse was
taking its toll, and I was frail. I lost so much weight that the
contours of my bones showed through. I knew that I would die if I
didn’t get away, but I had to plan my escape carefully or risk
losing my baby for ever. I really did not know where to turn. My
family all believed me to be fine after Kaiss forced me to
telephone Papa to assure him that he was keeping his promise to be
a devoted and loving husband. Most likely all were relieved that I
was not causing the family dishonor by going through with my demand
for divorce.
    But change was coming sooner than I
thought.
    One afternoon during Ramadan Kaiss walked
into the kitchen to see that I was preparing some food for Duran
and me. Kaiss