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

would admit defeat.
The socialist government was fighting until the end. The warlords
were the same. Those violent men would fight until the entire
country was in rubble. I could barely abide watching news
broadcasts showing Kabul in cindery ruins. To my eyes, it appeared
that no building had survived intact. Where in that rubble was my
little boy? I spent many hours reading the Koran and praying for
Duran’s safety.
    One day Aunt Shagul announced that she had
decided to make the dangerous trip into Afghanistan in January 1990
to see one of her daughters, who had been trapped there. While
there she was going to seek out Kaiss so she could visit with my
son. She was a determined woman and I knew she would get to see
Duran, one way or another. I longed to send my son toys and
clothes, but I was unable to walk into a children’s clothing or toy
shop without collapsing, so Papa and Nadia and Aunt Shagul shopped
for Duran instead, gathering many items they thought would appeal
to a seven-year-old boy. Unbelievable to imagine, my baby would
turn seven during Aunt Shagul’s visit, as his birthday was on 27
January.
    Aunt Shagul arrived safely in Kabul, although
the city was under bombardment. She found Kaiss easily enough, as
he was still in the catering business. First he had worked for the
Russians. When they were defeated, he had worked for the pro-Soviet
government until the day they fell from power. His lack of loyalty
to any one group meant that he had easily allied himself to
whomever was in power. Over time, he had amassed a fortune, or so
we were told.
    Kaiss’s home was extremely grand, large and
beautiful. A servant answered the doorbell, but Kaiss appeared
almost immediately to discover the identity of his visitor. He
remembered Aunt Shagul from family gatherings and he fell into a
rage, shouting at her, ‘You stay away from my son!’
    Aunt Shagul spoke softly, but firmly. ‘I only
want to see him, Kaiss. I will not make a scene. I give you my
word.’ Her calm demeanor finally convinced Kaiss to allow her entry
into his home.
    Aunt Shagul soon discovered that Kaiss had
remarried, to a very shy woman sitting silently in the living
room.
    Kaiss called out for Duran, who came walking
down the stairs, a puzzled look on his face.
    Aunt Shagul said she gasped because Duran had
grown so big, and extremely handsome.
    My son looked at his father and quietly asked
in English, ‘Who is this lady?’
    Aunt Shagul spoke calmly. ‘I am your
great-aunt. I have brought you some presents.’
    Kaiss growled in his gruff voice: ‘These
gifts are from that lady in the picture, the one who was my
secretary. Now, take them up to your room.’
    Duran quietly gathered his presents and left
the room without saying goodbye to Aunt Shagul. He seemed a sad,
reticent child to his auntie’s eyes.
    Aunt Shagul looked at Kaiss. ‘He doesn’t know
about his mother?’
    ‘No. And if you tell him, I will kill
you.’
    Aunt Shagul looked over at Kaiss’s wife. ‘Do
you have children?’
    The wife looked cowed, too frightened to
answer.
    ‘No,’ Kaiss answered on her behalf, ‘she does
not. She is here to look after my son. When my son is grown, I will
let her have her own baby.’ He glared at Aunt Shagul. ‘So, you have
seen him. The show is over. Now get out. If you ever come back here
you will live to regret it.’
    Aunt Shagul pleaded with him. ‘Kaiss, please,
let me have a picture. For his mother.’
    He opened the door. ‘Get out. I will send you
a picture.’
    As Aunt Shagul walked away Kaiss shouted
threateningly, ‘Tell Maryam for me that if she ever comes to Kabul,
I will send her body parts back to her father in a plastic
bag.’
    Some things never change.
    Surprisingly, Kaiss kept his promise. After
nearly five long years I finally had a new photograph. My baby was
now a young boy, looking so serious and so handsome. I kissed that
photograph a hundred times. I had it enlarged. I framed it and hung
it in the most prominent place in our living room. I stared at it
endlessly. I wept tears of joy at how healthy he looked. And I wept
tears of bitterness that my son did not even know I existed.
     

Chapter
XX
    The civil war in Afghanistan never ceased.
Sometimes I thought the war might carry on for ever. When the
Soviets finally pulled out they had left the country brimming with
the latest military hardware, which was commandeered by the Afghan
warlords, who proved themselves easily more brutal and merciless
than