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

the Russians at the expense of the civilian population. A
fully fledged civil war erupted when the warlords failed to agree
on anything.
    We were all frantic for Duran’s safety. In an
effort to save my son from all the mayhem and madness, Papa wrote
to Kaiss, offering to pay for a boarding school in India or any
other country Kaiss might choose. He would leave all the decisions
up to Kaiss, if only he would take my son out of danger. My father
sent letter after letter. But we never knew if Kaiss read any of my
father’s heartfelt correspondence, although several of our
messengers were beaten bloody by Kaiss and his men.
    There were a number of attempts to steal my
son back by friends still living in Kabul who had learned of my
situation. Some were more serious than others. One particular
friend and his young brother were determined to right a wrong, and
made my son their cause. They watched Kaiss’s house, noting when he
was away and the time that Duran left for school in the
morning.
    One morning, perfectly timed for Duran’s
departure for school, the two parked their automobile close to
Kaiss’s house. When Duran came out, my friend’s brother approached
him and urged him to walk over to my friend, who was waiting in the
car.
    Just as my mother had frightened me when I
was little about being kidnapped by Shair Khan, Kaiss had terrified
his son that he would be kidnapped for ransom. When he was
approached by our friend poor brainwashed Duran ran screaming for
his life. His screams alerted his father, who happened to be
unexpectedly home, and he came dashing to the rescue.
    My two friends sped off, but were spotted and
identified by Kaiss.
    That very night Kaiss and a gang of thugs
arrived at my friend’s home armed with machine guns. My friend’s
brother was beaten senseless, and would have been shot, but the
boy’s mother clung on to Kaiss’s feet, begging for her son’s life.
Kaiss demanded to see my friend, but he was not there at the time,
so he threatened he would be back and, when he did, that he would
kill the whole family. Since Kaiss was protected by those in power,
there was no recourse to the law, and my friend and his brother
felt compelled to flee across the border into Pakistan.
    But that failed attempt bore dire
consequences for me, because Kaiss took his wife and son and fled
Kabul to an unknown destination. All knowledge of my son’s
whereabouts was lost.
    About this time exiled Afghans first heard
about a new group rising from the concrete dust that had once been
the grand buildings of Afghanistan: the Taliban. Led by a cleric
named Mullah Mohammed Omar, the group came out of Kandahar in 1994.
Afghans heard how Mullah Omar and his faithful armed religious
students first appeared as defenders of the ordinary people from
the corruption and brutality of the warlords after they went to
free some girls from a poor family who had been raped on the road
to Kandahar.
    In the beginning, the Taliban were welcomed
with open arms by the Afghan civilians, who were weary of years of
ruthless violence and incessant fighting between the Mujahedin
warlords.
    Papa and I were cautiously optimistic,
because the Taliban were religious students ( talib is Arabic
for student, and in Afghanistan is used for students in religious
schools, who study the Koran in Arabic). Although Papa never wanted
to be ruled by a religious movement, we were hopeful that a pious
group of holy warriors would bring peace to the land.
    Never did we imagine that the Taliban would
spell unimaginable repression, suffering and doom for our poor
fellow countrymen and women.
    During this anxious time Khalid graduated
from college and surprised me when he broached the subject of our
moving to Saudi Arabia. Khalid was from a large family, consisting
of ten brothers and sisters. I had met several of his siblings who
had visited us in Los Angeles. They had made a good impression.
    ‘But we agreed before we married that we
would never live in Saudi Arabia,’ I reminded him.
    ‘We won’t stay long. I just want my family to
get to know you.’
    ‘But, Khalid, Saudi Arabia ?’ I didn’t
want to say the obvious, that no woman in her right mind longed to
live in the gilded cage of Saudi Arabia.
    ‘Oh you will love Jeddah,’ he assured me.
    I knew nothing much about my husband’s
country, other than that women were still veiled, and were not
allowed to drive, and that Saudi men commonly took more than one
wife. Over the years there had