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

been publicity regarding American
women trapped in Saudi Arabia after their husbands married other
women, or, worse, stories of Saudi men stealing their half-American
children, who never saw their mothers again.
    Everyone knew that Saudi Arabia was not a
woman-friendly country. It wasn’t surprising that I preferred
living in a country where women had legal rights, as we both knew.
Afghanistan, too, was a frightful country for women to live in, and
was getting worse for them by the day, by all accounts. Why would I
leave the freedom of America for another misogynist country?
    Yet I agreed to move with Khalid to Saudi
Arabia. Khalid left the choice to me, promising that if I did not
want to move, we would not move. His attitude made me trust him all
the more. Most importantly, I was aware that marriage had not
changed Khalid. Unlike Kaiss, he had not turned from an adoring
suitor one day to a beast the next. I could count on Khalid. But
Papa and Nadia were opposed to my move, once again trying to tell
me what I should do – a mistake, as after the fiasco with Kaiss I
had vowed to never again allow my father or sister to make personal
decisions for me.
    I decided to give it a try. I knew in my
heart that Khalid wasn’t hiding any nasty surprise from me.
    My family went crazy at my decision. Papa was
getting older, and at seventy-seven years recognized that his time
on earth was limited. He wanted his daughters near. But I plunged
ahead with my plans to move, promising to spend half the year in
America.
    When we said our goodbyes at the airport,
Papa spoke bluntly. ‘Khalid, I don’t think my daughter will do very
well in “no-woman’s land”.’ (Papa’s nickname for Saudi Arabia.)
    Khalid smiled without taking offense.
    And so it came to be that I went to live in
Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. On the plane, I felt tense when Khalid
presented me with a black garment encased in plastic wrap,
explaining, ‘You will need to wear this when we reach Saudi
Arabia.’
    I slipped the black light-weight cloak and
scarf from its packaging, shaking it out, examining for the first
time the obligatory disguise, called an abaaya, worn by all women
in Saudi Arabia. Everything was black. Considering Saudi Arabia’s
blistering climate, I knew I would look a ghoul, a sizzling hot
ghoul. Although the costume was styled very differently from the
pleated pastel burqas worn by many Afghan women, the intention was
the same, to hide women behind a curtain. My mother had broken
Afghan law when she refused to wear the burqa. I had never worn it
myself other than once when I played a trick on relatives and
friends as a young girl and had pretended to be a beggar asking for
the price of a ticket to the movies. This of course sparked a
sermon from my aunties who thought a beggar woman should use any
alms given for food rather than for frivolous entertainment.
    If mother had been alive, I’m certain she
would have ripped the outfit to shreds rather than allow her
daughter to submit to this backward tradition. I sighed. What was I
getting myself into?
    An hour or so before our plane landed in
Jeddah, I noticed that the chatty, animated Saudi women on board
became very quiet as they donned their abaayas and scarves. Some
went so far as to cover their faces with a black veil. The
atmosphere on the plane was transformed as soon as the lively women
transformed themselves into black shadows.
    At Khalid’s behest, I threw the abaya over my
dress and loosely draped the scarf over my hair. I shrugged,
thinking I was luckier than the Saudi-born women, because I could
always leave if I found the place too oppressive. At least, that
was my plan.
     

Chapter
XXI
    I arrived in Jeddah on 29 October 1994.
Jeddah was a surprisingly beautiful city, homes and buildings
shaded by swaying palm trees and situated on the Red Sea. Khalid’s
family was as I remembered, friendly and very pleased to welcome me
to their country. I was not unhappy.
    Nevertheless, despite the fact that I loved
Jeddah and made many new female friends, and adored my husband’s
family, I would be lying if I claimed that Saudi Arabia was a
friendly place for women. Although I had grown up in Afghanistan, a
country well known for harsh discrimination against women, here
there were so many ‘rules against females’ that it was difficult to
remain in high spirits.
    Not being able to drive was exasperating,
although Khalid was happy to take me anywhere I wanted to go. Also,
after arriving in