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

Her second option, she learned, was to remain in Saudi and
to share her husband with a second wife. Unwilling to leave her
children, Linda remained in that miserable situation. The new wife
turned Linda’s previously loving husband hateful and malicious.
    Later in the year a second friend named Joyce
had a similar experience, when her husband too surprised her with
his second wife. Joyce’s husband Ahmed was even more ruthless than
Mohammed. At the same time he took a second woman, he removed his
children from Joyce’s care to live with his brother in another
city. Joyce was allowed to ‘visit’ her children only once a month.
She was too fearful to ask for a divorce and leave Ahmed after he
warned her she would never see her children again.
    Such stories intensified my own continuing
sadness over the loss of my son, although I would have felt myself
in heaven if I had had the opportunity to see Duran at least once a
month.
    Khalid made me happy when he found me a
lovely little three-bedroom townhouse by the Red Sea. The view was
extraordinary, and the sound of lapping ocean waves incredibly
soothing.
    That’s when I became unexpectedly pregnant.
Khalid was overjoyed. He was so different from Kaiss in every way
that I soon found myself excited. Khalid insisted on going to the
doctor with me for every appointment. I discovered the sweetness of
enjoying a normal pregnancy with a loving husband.
    Of course, Saudi Arabia being what it is,
everyone around me wanted my child to be male. I remember one of
Khalid’s female cousins asking, ‘How is that healthy baby boy that
is growing inside your stomach?’
    I wrinkled my nose and laughed. ‘This time, I
would like to have a healthy baby girl.’
    ‘ No! No! No! Don’t say that,’ she
hissed, superstitiously waving her hand around in the air as though
she wanted to erase my words. ‘Maryam, don’t ever wish for a
girl! Girls are no good. Wish for a boy. Having boys is the only
way for you to get respect from the family.’
    I had to bite my tongue to keep from making a
retort.
    Other things about living in Saudi were
beginning to annoy me. One day Khalid called the cable company to
come and put up the TV dish at our new home. I was sitting in the
living room while our maid was tidying up when the man arrived.
Khalid raised his voice to me for the first time and ordered, ‘Go
into the bedroom at once, Maryam, and stay there until I call
you.’
    I was embarrassed that our maid had heard my
husband speak to me in a rude tone. ‘Why?’ I asked.
    ‘Because I said so.’
    We had our first argument after the cable
employee left. ‘Why is it OK for the maid to stay in the room but I
am kicked out?’ I demanded.
    ‘Because she is a maid, Maryam. It would not
be honorable for you to be seen by a stranger in my house. You are
my wife. It is that simple.’
    The next time a repairman came to the house,
I decided to prove a point. My modesty protected by my abaaya and
scarf, I deliberately sat in the living room. But Khalid pulled me
by the arm and marched me to our bedroom. I was furious when he
locked the door.
    Khalid’s mother and sisters were on his side.
‘The maid is nobody. It doesn’t matter if a strange man sees her.
You are a wife. You are somebody. You must be respected.’
    And that was that!
    I didn’t want all-out war, but I was not too
happy about it. The following day, however, I forgot my anger at
Khalid when I discovered the heart-stopping brutality occurring
next door. When our doorbell rang I answered it. The visitor was
Sarah, our next-door neighbour, a twenty-three-year-old Saudi woman
who had a four-year-old son, Ali. I welcomed her in my home,
despite my surprise, because up till then she hadn’t sought me out.
Saudis do not mingle easily with their neighbors, and are content
to seek companionship within their family units. But I was happy to
meet her and I had a special affection for little boys who reminded
me of Duran. I spoke some Arabic and she spoke a little English, so
we managed to communicate.
    The month was July and the humid heat in
Jeddah was unbearable. I quickly understood that Sarah and her son
were hot, thirsty and hungry. Since they had just moved in, and
rental houses in Saudi Arabia are not equipped with refrigerators
or stoves, I thought nothing of her request for food and drink, and
was happy to present them with snacks and drinks.
    After the two of them satisfied their hunger,
they left.
    Later that day I prepared