I assumed everything would have been set already for the next day to flee Afghanistan but in reality we faced many unexpected problems. It was beyond our imaginations.
Wali couldn’t find 22 tickets on the same flight from Kabul to Kandahar. He was freaking out from a week ago, constantly warning Laila it may not happen. We knew that there weren’t too many flights to Kandahar on daily basis but we remained optimistic. As days went by, our optimisms changed to fear and despair.
Late afternoon on October 1st, most of my siblings had gathered at Mom’s house. As I was hearing from them, everything was done except for our flight tickets’ confirmation and Mom’s house to be sold. Mom had a deal for the house but she had to go to the court early tomorrow morning to finalize the deal in front of a judge.
We were more nervous about the tickets than the house. If worse comes to worst, Mom would just had to leave the house but we needed the tickets to fly out of Kabul.
It seemed like everybody was walking around in Mom’s house, aimlessly. Room to room, hallway to hallway, exchanging small talks but nothing major. They were too restless to sit down somewhere. Roya was the only one with a purpose, she was checking the rooms and was expressing her worries, “Mom, the whole house is still intact… you didn’t get rid of anything?”
Mom looked lost, “I gave a lot of things to the neighbors, I couldn’t sell anything, not enough time.”
Mom looked so innocent. I knew she had tried hard to get rid of things but it would be impossible to make things that she had collected for years, disappear in a period of less than a month.
Laila was walking back and forth, waiting for Wali to call her. We were all nervous, knowing that Wali was doing everything he could to get the tickets. Our last option was to bribe the travel agency and ask them to bump some of the passengers and find room for us.
Finally, Laila got the call. We all rushed around her and watched her panic-stricken face, not knowing what was going on. She hardly said anything on the phone but after she hung up, she sat down, looked at us with no expressions whatsoever. Nobody said a word. We all expected to hear the worse but as soon as she fixed her eyes at Mom, she grinned and said, “We got the tickets.”
Screams of joy and cheers filled up the room. We all knew that our lives had depended on these flight tickets. The first step to freedom. Our journey to an unknown future had just begun.
Two hours later, right before the curfew, we all left for Roya’s house. The plan was to spend the night there and then leave for the airport to catch our 11am flights. Mom had to be at the court by 9am along with Jaan to finalize the house deal.
By the time we reached Roya’s house, it was dark. Mom was worried about Farida and her family asking everyone, “Did Farida know she was supposed to meet us here? Did anyone talk to Farida?”
Nobody knew for sure. Some said, yes, and some said, “I don’t know,” which escalated Mom’s worries.
“The curfew starts in a few minutes,” Mom talking to herself, and then yelled, “Hossain, bachaim, my son, leave the door open in case we don’t hear the doorbell.”
Soon, Farida and her family dashed into the house. She was holding Seela, the younger kid into her arms while the other two, Noor and Huda were following her. Farida seemed out of breath and anxious, “salaam, salaam...” She had pinned her hair up but the strings of hair fallen around her face, made her look prettier. It reminded me of Sophia Loren in her movie “A Special Day.”
Duran was following Farida, “Sorry, sorry, everyone, we are late, it was hard to find a taxi.”
Mom, with a sigh of relieve, saying, “Everyone is here now,” walked into the kitchen to check on Roya’s cook how far the dinner was.
That night, we all had to try on the nomads’ clothes that we were supposed to wear the next day. Little that we know of we will have to wear this same clothing for the next many days to come.
In addition to the clothing, women and girls had also burkas to practice wearing. Even my little niece, Huda, who was 11 years old had to wear a burka.
Guys had to wear the traditional tunban pairaan (pajama-like outfits) with special nomad slippers.
I tried the burka on but the hat part of it was too stiff and hard. Just trying it almost made my eyes pop out. I threw that away and screamed, “I can’t breathe, how are we ever going to wear these stupid bird-cages?”
My brother’s wife, Nadia, laughed at me loud, “haahaaahaa,” and picked up the burka and tried to help me fix it on my head, “here, here, it’s not forever, you can throw it away as soon as we cross the border,” and hugged me, saying, “It’s Okay.”
Duran was taking pictures, asking Mom and Sophia along with Farida, Laila, Roya, and Nadia to line up for the picture, “You all on the couch,” and then asking a few more to “stand in the back,” and the rest of us, “sit on the floor.”
As usual, he was trying to get the best pictures, making sure everyone looked good. “Shala look at me, Wali stand tall, Seela on Farida’s lap….Nadia pick up Meeno,….”
It was hard to fit us all in one photo but he was doing his best. Then he took some individual pictures and some more of the group pictures, while the bombs had already started exploding in a distant part of town.
We certainly missed Saleem’s presence among us.
I looked around the room, we all looked so different in nomad clothing. I had never imagined we would ever wear anything but our modern, European-style outfits. It wasn’t a taboo in Kabul for women to get their inspirations from Europe and wear the designer outfits, miniskirts, or pantsuits as they wished. Local parts of the country had their own choices but nothing was mandatory.
While Duran was keeping us busy with photography, Roya’s cook had prepared dinner for us. The delicious fragrant of a freshly made Qabley Palaw (rice with meat, covered with a layer of raisons, shredded carrots and pistachios) made my stomach hurt. I didn’t even change back to my normal dress, rushed to the table and picked a plate to fill it with food.
Minutes later, we were all sitting around the table, eating. There was an eerie silence that had settled in the room. Even the children were not making a sound. I looked around, Mom didn’t have the satisfying smile on her face tonight. Every time we had a gathering, Mom would keep a smile, looking around, showing how happy she was to see us all together. Not tonight. The cloud of anxiety and worries had covered her beautiful smile. I knew Mom and all the adults in the room were thinking exactly what I was, would this be our very last dinner together?
Before we go to bed, I saw Mom going through bags of stuff that she had brought for Roya, “here, you can use this,” opening a carton of sun-dried tomatoes.
Roya looking at Mom with sad eyes, thanking Mom, knowing it will be extremely difficult for her and her kids to see us go.
There were bags of dried fruits on the kitchen counter, bottles of juices, cans of food and among all there was a big box marked, “baby stuff,” that Sophia had bought for the baby who was due in one month. She thought she could take the clothing with her but Akbar’s men told us not to take anything with you. So she left it there.
We had a full house. Momentarily, we had forgotten our pain and suffering as we had each other so close. Mom wasn’t worried about any of her kids and their whereabouts. We were all here, together, except for Khalil and his family and Meszhgan, everyone else was here at Roya’s house.
I heard Nadia laughing in the other room. As usual, she had found something funny to laugh about and made everyone around her laugh with her. I walked over the piles of pillows and blankets that Roya had brought us to use tonight. Children were playing in the living room along with little Sahar who was still sick and looked skinny and pale.
In the next room, I found Nadia cutting a t-shirt in large squares like pockets. I didn’t understand what was so funny and what were they doing. Mom saw me entering the room, she looked at me and said, “Look what they are doing to me,” and laughed nonstop. I had to ask repeatedly what was going on before I get an answer from Roya, “we are making pockets in Mom’s undergarment to hide the money, this is the only way you guys can take some money out.”
My poor mother, dear Momma, how could she ever wear such an uncomfortable undergarment for several days, sitting in the cars, walking, sleeping, it was unbelievable. My sweet, dear mother.
As sad as it was, I noticed that Nadia, like usual, had found a little humor in this darkness to make everyone around her laugh. Mom loved Nadia and enjoyed being with her, when she was brushing her hair, when she was clipping her eyebrows, or when she was singeing for her, Mom loved it.
That night, the sounds of bombing and explosions were the heaviest of all times. A few times the whole house shook with the explosions nearby but we didn’t get up to see how close the areas that got hit were.
Every time there was a loud noise, I heard Wali’s praying from somewhere in the living room where most of us were sleeping, “Besmellahe Rahmane Rahim, Yaa Khuda ….”
His prayers continued throughout the night, given me, in a way, peace and comfort in the midst of these horrific circumstances.
Around midnight, there were some gunshots followed by a man’s scream right outside the house. Nobody moved. I held my breath and waited a few minutes to see if anyone would jump in the house and search for men to take them away. A shadow came down from the upstairs and startled me. It was Roya’s older son, Omar, tip toeing in the living room to check whether we were ok.
Omar was a young boy but with his father still missing, he assumed more responsibilities and matured faster than his age. I couldn’t have imagined how it would be for them to see us all leaving tomorrow. Jaan, especially, was close to Roya, accompanying her throughout her search for Saleem. I worried about Roya.
The bombings and the shootings continued, it seemed like there was no stop to it. I started thinking of the worst, we may never make it to tomorrow.
Luckily, we survived to see the daylight of October 2, 1980.
October 2, 1980: fleeing the country, leaving behind Roya, Khalil and their families along with life as we knew it
Early morning, before dawn, we woke up with the smell of breakfast. Toast and eggs, goat cheese and sweet bread. Farida was already up, feeding Seela while monitoring Huda and Noor, “you must eat something, eat this,” offering a piece of bread and butter, making sure that they won’t be hungry.
I passed by the kitchen as I was looking for Mom and saw Sophia. She took a baby bottle out of the “baby stuff” box and stared at it silently. I wondered what she was thinking at that moment. She had purchased the best baby stuff for months and was anxious and hopeful but she had to leave everything behind. It made me so sad, I wanted to hug her and say something to make her feel better but before I say anything, she darted a look at me and said, “What?”
I said, “Nothing. Where’s Mom?”
She said, “Oh, Mom and Jaan left to get something from the house before going to the court.”
Roya had to go to the University and report her attendance as it was mandatory for all professors to check in. She said she’ll go to the court after that to say goodbye to Mom and Jaan.
It was a chaos in the house.
Mom’s nomad cloths and her burka was on the couch next to Jaan’s tunban-pairan. They were going to the airport straight from the court and had forgotten to take the cloths they had to wear on the trip.
Nasir was looking for his shoes, “I could swear it was here last night,” and Shala was looking for the dress that she was supposed to wear, “which one is mine?”
There were pants and shirts and socks all over the house. Everyone changed wherever they could and most of them left their stuff wherever they changed.
There is a bag of something heavy on the table. As I was trying to clean up a little before we leave, I picked up the bag, it looked strange, I pushed down with the tip of my fingers but couldn’t tell what it was, so I asked, “What’s this?”
Laila jumped out of her chair and grabbed it from my hand, “my jewelry,” she said.
“Are you going to take it with you?” I asked.
I was surprised to hear that she was taking a bag-full of jewelry with her. It was as heavy as a 5-pound bag of flour.
“I have talked to Akbar’s men already, they are ok with it,” she said, with a big grin on her face. I’m freaking out, “these men could kill us just to take the jewelry, are you sure it’s safe to take it?”
She shushed me and whispered, “They don’t know how much jewelry would I take, don’t worry.”
I knew Laila loved jewelry. Every time I visited her in Herat, she bought me an expensive piece of jewelry. In fact, the only thing that I take with me is a ruby ring that she had bought me a few years ago.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
PART 3
Duran is rushing us, “hurry up, let’s go everyone ….tayaar shudain? ‘Are you ready?”
He’s all dressed up in his Kandahar clothing; a beige tunban-pairan with a hat that makes him look like someone from Nuristan who are light-skinned and have light brown hair color with hazel eyes. He has thrown a long, brown shawl around his shoulders. My nephew, Noor, with his curly hair looked adorable, wearing a similar outfit as his dad, Duran, but no hat or the shawl.
Shala was struggling to wear the Kochi outfit. She’s a tomboy who grew up with the boys in the family, Nasir, Omar, and Ali. She engaged in games and activities that were considered unfeminine in Afghanistan and she never, ever had a dress in her entire life. I remember once Mom bought her a dress on her 13th birthday and asked her to try it on. Shala refused to wear the dress as much as she could but then she gave up resisting and put the dress on while she was crying like a baby, “I don’t like it, I hate it…”
Some of us had already put the burka on and seemed ready to go. I put Mom and Jaan’s cloths in a plastic bag to carry with me to the airport. Wali saw me and started yelling, “No, no, no, you can’t take anything with you.”
I had to explain it to him what it was and wondered if he knew that Laila was taking a bag-full of her expensive jewelry with her.
Everyone was rushing to get the last minute things done. Someone was talking to herself, “I’m done, I’m almost done,” without anyone listening.
Laila was trying to get the boys ready and needed help, yelling at Wali, “Come and help them put their shoes on.”
Among all voices, I heard someone announced that, “Our rides are here, the taxis are all waiting outside.”
It was Duran again rushing us, “let’s go, our rides are here, don’t make anyone get suspicious on us,” calling us by name, “let’s go, let’s go.”
Everyone left one by one. The house was almost empty. Roya wasn’t back, yet, from the University. Her kids, Omar, Ali, and Sahar who were 15, 14, and 10 years old were all standing behind the living room windows, looking at their loved ones leaving. I had no idea what they were thinking at that time but they all looked extremely sad. I went closer to say goodbye to them. Omar looked at me and tried to stay strong and calm. Ali looked miserable, his eyes filled with tears, it seemed like he had cried a lot. And there was sweet, little Sahar who instantly broke my heart in pieces. She was crying softly, sobbing and sniffing as she was repressing tears. Her shoulders shaking a bit with every breath.
I felt miserable. After their dad went missing, we became very close to them and spent a lot of time with them. It hurt me to think what was on their minds as we were leaving them one by one, taking a journey without a known destination.
Did they get a chance to say goodbye to anyone? I wasn’t sure.
Someone angry pulled my arm and yelled, “Are you coming?”
It was Nasir who was sent back to see who was missing. They had a head-count before getting in the cars and found one head missing.
I looked around, everyone had left already. I threw the burka on my arm and rushed outside, taking the last look at those beautiful souls watching us leave with despair.
That picture hunted me for a long time. The three little kids, alone, standing behind the windows, witnessing their loved ones disappearing.
I would never forget the despair and agony on their faces as we were leaving and abandoning them.
The taxies were packed already. Doors shut, ready to go.
I was trying to see which taxi had room for me. As I peeked into each one of them, I found all four taxies full. There was a moment of sheer panic when I realized that there may not be any rooms for me. Fortunately, I heard Farida calling me, “Nash, here….over here.”
She was in the very last taxi, looking out of the window, waving at me. I ran over and squeezed myself inside and sat almost on her lap while Seela was sitting on her other lap.
The bulky, heavy dress was already bothering me.
As the car was about to drive, I heard Wali praying. I didn’t even know that he was in the same car as me until I heard his voice.
All taxi drivers were told to follow each other. We didn’t know what would happen along the way, but we wanted to be together in case one was flagged down. It was a busy time of the day in Kabul streets. People were jaywalking with no fear of the cars, making it hard for the cars to pass. Men on bicycles were no better than the pedestrians, riding their bikes inches away from the cars. The traffic was jammed packed, some streets were blocked, and as a result, we heard a lot of honking everywhere.
While our cars were driving slowly, it gave me a chance to look around and see the familiar places that I had seen and been there a thousand times before. This time I was looking at them differently, trying to tattoo some of the memories in my brain. It could be the last time that I was seeing them.
A cluster of half a dozen or more military and police officers were seen guarding some government buildings. Everywhere we looked, we saw armed men, Afghans and Russians, standing alert. There were numerous tank units that had set up positions around the city.
After 40 minutes of an extremely uncomfortable drive, we reached the airport. No one had flagged us down. I took it as a sign of good luck.
As soon as I stepped out of the taxi, I realized that my left leg was completely numb because of sitting in one position for too long. With burka on my head, it seemed like I was dancing on one leg, as I was trying to hold onto something to keep my balance.
I heard my brother in-law, Daryus, all freaked out, “what are you doing? Everyone is looking.”
I yelled, “I don’t care, my leg has fallen asleep, I can’t walk, it’s tingling all over.”
Daryus tried to calm me down, while holding Sophia’s hand as she couldn’t see her steps with the burka, he lent me his left arm, “Just don’t jump so much, hold onto my arm,” he said.
I snapped at him, “It is not a joy-jumping!”
Sophia heard me and said, “Stop it you guys.”
As we walked a few steps further, there it was, a big sign, “Kabul International Airport,” and a smaller sign on the far end of the building, “Domestic flights.”
Duran took charge, as he was leading us to the terminal, he looked back all the way to the end of the line and said, “Before we enter, we need a head-count again.”
He stood on the sidewalk and as we walked to the airport, he counted the heads and reminded us, “If anyone asks you where you are going, you say that we are going to a wedding, remember, we are going to a relative’s wedding in Kandahar.”
He was nervous like everyone else in the group.
The airport security seemed extremely tight. It was hard to ignore the number of Russian soldiers walking around the airport. They had outnumbered the Afghan soldiers. Most of them stood alert and watched people as they entered the security check lines.
We were directed to stand behind a very long line of people.
Wearing burka, I felt humiliated. It had made me disappear from my own self. I can’t even tell who’s who in my family. All I saw were burkas in different shades of blue and blinking pairs of eyes from underneath the mash part of the burkas. The only uncovered thing from head to toe were our shoes.
The shoes. We were allowed to wear our own shoes as long as they were flat. Some of the shoes were familiar, so I started looking down. It was extremely hard to see from behind the burka. As much as I could see, I couldn’t see Mom’s shoes. I knew she’d wear her most comfortable shoes and they were not among us.
Nadia was holding Meeno who was crying nonstop. It made it easy for me to find her. I went to her and asked with desperation, “I can’t tell from the burkas which one is Mom, I don’t think she’s here.”
Nadia freaked out, “You didn’t take her burka with you?”
I suddenly remembered that I was holding her burka in my hand which means that she’s not here, yet. It was almost 10:30am.
The news of mom being late to arrive to the airport spread like a wild fire among us. Everyone started asking, “What are we going to do now?”
Nobody had an answer. We all knew that we couldn’t leave without Mom and Jaan.
All we knew was that Mom and Jaan were not back from the court. Our flight was scheduled to leave at 11am.
Duran and Wali split in different directions and started looking around for them.
One-year old Meeno was freaking out, crying hysterically and pulling the burka off of her mom’s head. She had never seen a burka before and didn’t know why her mother would be wearing that. We all tried to circle around Nadia and Meeno to calm her down but it scared her even more.
While we were standing behind a long line, I looked at the far corner of the terminal and saw someone familiar. It was hard to see with the burka covering my view but it looked like Khalil, standing afar, watching us. As usual, Khalil looked like a fashion model with his stylish clothing and his true elegance that made him stand out among the crowd anywhere he went. He couldn’t come to say goodbye to us in fear of someone recognizing him.
I elbowed someone standing next to me and said, “Khalil is there, I see Khalil.” I heard Sophia saying, “I know, he came to make sure that we get out of here safe and will pass on the news to Roya.”
Moments later, Wali came back, out of breath and nervous. He looked like a typical Kochi with his dark black eyes and mustache and thick eyebrows. His grey tunban-pairan looked a little too small on him but the black shawl around his neck looked alright. He went to Laila, “good news and bad news,” he said.
We are all waiting. He is trying to decide which news should he give first but Laila snapped at him, “Bogo, bogo dega,” just say it.
Wali rubbed the palms of his hands together repeatedly before saying, “We have no idea how soon Mom and Jaan would arrive, but the good news is that the flight has delayed an hour.”
Nobody said a word. Wali continued to rub his hands together with extreme anxiety.
I was worried whether they were ok, questioning myself, did they get into an auto accident, did they get caught? Picturing Mom and Jaan being caught at the court sent a chill down to my spine. It horrified me instantly and made me shiver with fear.
The line was moving extremely slow but the clock was ticking fast. I set my eyes at the entrance where I thought Mom would enter from and prayed for their safety.
Another 15 minutes passed. No signs of Mom and Jaan.
Half an hour later, we reached the front of the line while Mom was still not here. Everyone whispering, “Do you see them? Is Mom here, yet? Do you see Jaan?”
I was standing almost towards the end of the line while some of us had already boarded the plane or walking up the plane stairs to get in. Duran kept a track and counted each head as they entered the plane… 9, 10, 11….”
And finally, I recognized Jaan from a far, wearing jeans with a blue dress shirt and Mom wearing her beautiful grey dress with the lacy white collar. “Mom is here, they are here.” We passed the good news around and almost cried with joy. They were safe.
As soon as Mom got close to us, one of the Afghan soldiers looked at Mom and wanted to say something but Mom darted an angry look at him that stopped him right there.
Mom doesn’t say much when she’s angry but she has the look. Many of us have admitted that we rather hear Mom yelling at us instead of giving the look. Jaan gets the ‘look’ more often than the others and he says, “Mom’s look is definitely more like a weapon of mass destruction.”
There was no time for any of them to change clothing. I opened the bag and picked Mom’s burka for her to wear but she just grabbed it from me and held it under her arm. The kochi dress along with Jaan’s clothing were still in my bag.
The airport screening was heavy. Chances were high to stop us here or to find something wrong with our paperwork. We were nervous.
Since no one else had a bag or luggage with, the check-in went faster than expected. My heart was pounding when Laila was questioned and screened for security. I didn’t see her jewelry bag in her hands and wasn’t sure where had she hid it. I started praying she wouldn’t get caught. She was questioned and searched but she passed the security check and entered the plane.
Sophia was ahead of me. As she was being checked by the woman security, I saw that idiot poking on her belly making sure that she’s not hiding anything.
It was my turn, she asked me something I didn’t understand, my voice was shaking so badly, I could hardly talk. She felt sorry for me, saying, “boro, boro, khala jaan, taair show,” go, go, aunty, you can pass.
She called me ‘khala jan,’ which means ‘dear aunty,’ referred to old women as a sign of respect. With my voice shaking so badly, she assumed I was an old woman. She didn’t poke my tummy and didn’t search my bag for anything. I passed the security check smoothly.
We got on the plane, walking down the aisles one by one, as the flight attendants were showing us our seats. The burkas were catching into our feet, we had a hard time to walk.
Minutes later as we all settled into our seats, the cabin door closed. A skinny Afghan woman with a nasal voice and beautiful hair piled up on top of her head, stood at the very front of the plane and smiled at us. She was wearing a uniform that nicely fitted her and matched her elegant high heels. I thought of the burka that had trapped me like a bird in a cage and almost cried. I hated the burka once again.
The nasal voice overtook the passengers’ chit chat and got everyone’s attention with, “tawajoh, tawajoh,” meaning attention. She started reading the safety instructions from a chart that she was holding. Another flight attendant stood up in the aisle, next to her and demonstrated with hands and arms, showing us how to fasten the seat belt and how to reach the oxygen supply overhead…
I didn’t listen, rested my head on the seat’s head-rest and felt safe, sitting next to Mom. Since the doors had been closed already, I took a sigh of relief, assumed that the airplane was ready to take off. I thought for sure that we made it out of Kabul and anticipated our adventure to start.
I was wrong.
The flight attendant who was giving us the safety instructions, suddenly stopped talking. We heard the Captain’s announcement that came over the loudspeaker, “there is a delay, stay calm, don’t leave your seats.”
A dreadful silence and fear crept into our hearts.
I thought for sure that they were looking for us. Inside the plane, there were dozens of other passengers besides us but all I could hear was a deadly silence only broken by a little baby’s hiccups and someone’s ‘shhhhhhh,’ trying to stop the baby.
As we held our breaths, we expected for the worst.
The cabin door opened, an Afghan militant jumped in with his gun pointed straight at the passengers. A Russian soldier stood behind him. Another man showed up from behind the Russian and called someone by name. No answer. He called again and repeated a few times in Farsi and Pashto, “if you’re here, stand up immediately.”
Not any of us. We didn’t know that name, neither did anyone else on the plane because nobody stood up or said anything. The afghan soldier walked through the aisle and looked into each one of the guys’ faces. It was an extremely tense moment. My heart was pounding, I could hear my own heartbeat.
Moments later, without saying a word, as they had jumped into the plane, they walked out without finding the person that they were looking for.
A sigh of relief. I thanked god for the cabin door when it closed again.
The flight attendant picked up the chart again, her voice visibly shaking as she started over, “make sure to fasten your seat belts, there are designated seats for the smokers …”
Finally, as the cabin door remained closed. People started talking again as soon as the flight attendant finished instructions. She smiled at us and pulled the curtain across the aisle to separate the first class seats from us and disappeared behind a curtain.
We almost cheered with joy as we heard the engines pushed the plane forward and the plane started moving. Soon the plane went upward, up in the sky.
I looked down from the window, we were flying out of Kabul airport. All 22 of us, together.
Sitting next to Mom was like being in heaven. It gave me a great feeling, I wanted to hug her so bad but noticed that she was hot as she uncovered her face. The burka had trapped the air and made it hard for her to breath. The flight attendant was walking by, I asked her, “Do you have ice-cold water, anywhere?”
She stopped and looked at me as Mom elbowed me. I suddenly remembered that I shouldn’t have talked in Farsi. I didn’t know Pashto well-enough to talk, so Mom took over and asked her in a fluent Pashto to bring her some water.
Little mistakes could cost us our lives. I felt horrible for not being careful.
The woman came back with water and stared at Mom’s fancy dress with lacy collar. She seemed suspicious, asked Mom, “So I hear that you are all going to a wedding?” Mom said, “Yes,” and tried to cut it short.
The woman asked again, “whose wedding is it?”
Mom with a stern, firm voice that gave her an instant cold shoulder said, “A relative.”
That was enough to put a stop to her curiosity. She wrinkled her nose and walked away. Something bothered her and I was afraid to know what she’ll do next.
I craved for the fresh air and had to uncover my face. It was impossible for me to tolerate the burka trapping my own breath any longer. I never knew that I would exhale that much hot air with every breath that I take.
The heat of my own breath was grilling me. To have only a small gap in the fabric allowing women to see and breathe, was insane.
A few minutes passed before the flight attendant came back. As I heard her coming, I leaned back and closed my eyes instantly before she reaches our seats. Even though she saw that my eyes were closed, she asked, “Do you want water?”
I didn’t want to talk to her and pretended to be asleep. I took some deep breaths and exhaled slowly through my nose while making hissing sounds.
I heard Mom answered her, a little kinder this time than before, told her “She doesn’t, but thank you for asking.”
The woman laughed loud and told Mom, “She looked nervous, I think this is her first time on the plane.”
Mom laughed, too. Her beautiful laughter, it didn’t seem normal today. Mom never had anything fake in her entire life. If it takes to stop the woman’s questions, Mom would fake a laughter. I loved my mother more than ever before.
Our situation was completely uncertain, we smelled the danger surrounding us without a doubt. Mom and I both felt the tense situation with that woman and found her excessively nosy and sneaky.
Luckily, the woman left us alone and didn’t come back again. A huge sigh of relief.
As I sniffed Mom’s perfume, I felt lucky to have been sitting next to her. It is Shala who always sits close to Mom and looks inseparable from her.
Mom was sitting quietly, holding her water cup in hand, staring at the lonely ice-cube that was melting fast.
I tried to ask Mom why were they late to get to the airport but she shushed me, “passaan, later.”
Mom had a very long day, today. An exhausting, torturous, long day.
I stayed quiet and listened to the voices that came from the surrounding areas. I could tell Farida and her kids were behind us and Sophia with Daryus were sitting in front of us. I could hear Laila’s voice from a few rows away, talking to her boys. Meeno was crying off and on but aside from that, there were no one else’s voice that I could recognize.
A man, sitting on the left, was laughing hysterically, bragging about his new position in Kandahar that the communist government had assigned him, “I got this job because I can tell who’s who, Kee Watan Parast Ast, Kee Naist, who loves the country and who doesn’t.”
I envied him for being so carefree and relaxed. He seemed like he had nothing to worry about in the whole world. For us, every step we took, was full of danger and risk.
I had my eyes closed and was listening to the roar of the plane engines. I found it soothing and relaxing and thought it could easily put me to sleep.
Hearing some shuffling from the aisle, I looked up and saw Shala, smiling. Her face uncovered while the burka was still covering her head, she was holding the tail of the burka wrapped around her arm like a fashion model holding a shawl, walking down the runway.
As soon as mom saw her, she bloomed like a flower. They exchanged hugs and kisses, “muaaah, muaah, muaah,” both of them smiling with joy.
I told Shala, “sit with Mom, I can go to the back,” but Shala said, “No, I wanted to make sure that Mom is ok,” asking her, “Mommy gak, dear mommy, do you want more water?”
Mom said she’s ok as they exchanged more hugs and kisses before she left. The burka tail still wrapped around her arm, she blew a last kiss and winked.
Shala is mom’s bodyguard. She’s tough and strong. She’s only 14 but she’s so much more than her age.
We always laughed when we heard the stories of Shala being hard on the renters at our rental properties. It was Nasir’s job to collect the rent at the end of each month. Nasir is about 5 years older than Shala. Every time the renters denied to pay the rent or asked for extra time, it was Shala’s turn to go and get the rent from them. She wouldn’t leave empty-handed and wouldn’t buy their excuses. A few times, the renters had pleaded with Nasir not to send Shala and promised that they’ll pay the rent soon.
As soon as we got close to the destination, we heard that nasal voice of the flight attendant, “We will arrive Kandahar airport in a few minutes, pick up your bags, make sure not to leave anything behind and stay put until we land.”
We didn’t have any bags to worry about but we were restless to get out of the airport safe and unharmed. There was a big chance of us to land and face the authorities telling us that they know who we are. It wouldn’t be a simple returning us back to our homes, they’ll punish and jail us for committing a criminal act of trying to escape the country.
After flying 288 miles and about 50 minutes, we landed in Kandahar.
Kandahair airport was designed and built by the United States in early 1960s but it was now occupied by the Soviets and used heavily by their forces to fly the troops and to carry the supplies. The Soviets also used the airport as a base for launching airstrikes against the Mujahideen.
Holding our breaths, reciting all the prayers that I knew, I stepped off the plane and looked around. Dozens of Russian soldiers along with the afghan soldiers were monitoring us intensely but no one stopped or questioned us for anything.
It was amazing how we all walked with burkas swiftly and fast to get out of the airport. Shala and Hoda had both picked up the tail of the burka in one hand to walk without catching their feet, I heard Duran freaking out, “bachaim, daughter drop it, Shala drop your burka,” meaning let the burka down not to raise any suspicions.
Immediately outside the airport, we were surrounded by bunch of men, who instructed us to stay quiet as they were lead us into pickup trucks that were already waiting for us. Duran wanted a headcount but the men told him, “Go, go, get in,” and gently pressed his shoulder and showed him a truck, “We do the counting.”
From this point on, we were completely in hands of Akbar’s men. The lead-man looked like an actor from a French movie that Sophia had seen last month and so she named him SheeriBibi.
We had no idea what will happen next and what had SheeriBibi planned for us. Akbar had told Laila, “don’t ask too many questions, trust these men, they will sacrifice their own lives to save yours.” But could we trust?
Kandahar Hotel
After 20 minutes of drive, we reached a decent-looking hotel. The words “Kandahar hotel” was written in bold letters on top of a several stories building. We all stood at the lobby as Sheeri-Bibi and his team checked us in and gave us the keys to our hotel rooms. Four rooms on the third floor.
I was exhausted like everyone else and craved for a hot shower. We all settled in quickly but Laila was restless, “something bothers me about this hotel,” she said and repeated this again as she threw her burka on the sofa, “something is not right.”
Most of us had gathered in the room where Mom was. Some of us sat on the bed, some on the floor, but most were standing, trying to find out why is Laila so certain that this is not safe for us to stay.
Wali is frustrated, “Laila jan, dear Laila, if there is something that you know, tell us, why are you trying to freak us out, just tell us.”
Laila didn’t have anything in particular to say but she was clearly bothered. As she shook her head she said, “I don’t feel safe here, something is wrong.”
Kids were running from one room to the other, some of them were hungry and asking for something to eat, some were just too tired and needed a nap. Meeno was crying again, her voice was echoing in the hallway.
Laila sat on the bed next to Mom and said, “I didn’t like the way those policeman looked at me, I think he recognized me.”
Jaan laughed at her, “Are you kidding? Even I can’t tell who’s who under these bird cages, how would anyone know you from underneath a burka?”
Laila didn’t even look at him but said it sharply, “I worked with these people for years, I had a lot of patients from Kandahar, they know me burka or not.”
Nobody took Laila’s fear too seriously, minutes later, we all forgot about her fear and tried to get some rest. Mom was the only one who was concerned and asked her to tell SheeriBibi what you told us.
Sophia walked in from the other room, “where’s Mom?” found her on the bed, “Mom, what took you so long to get to the airport, we were worried sick, what happened?”
Before Mom said anything, Jaan replied, “we had to sign a lot of papers, and then the buyer made us watch him count the money before receiving the keys. We had a pile of bills that covered the judge’s desk, almost as tall as his head.”
Mom shaking her head, “If we wouldn’t have to sign the papers, we would have left.”
“So what did you do with the money?” I asked.
Jaan said, “We were lucky to see Roya walked in to say goodbye to us. Mom told Roya to put the money in her purse and take it home,” he was laughing.
“She needed several bags to carry the money home, I don’t know what did she do, we just left.”
Mom was sad, “we couldn’t even say goodbye to her.”
Suddenly, our door burst opened without any knocks or anything and SheeriBibi barged in, yelling at us, “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s leave, they are searching the hotel.”
SheeriBibi’s men rushed us out of the hotel from the backdoor and piled us up in pickup trucks and drove off. We had no idea where were we being taken.
After a half an hour of drive through mostly destroyed and damaged houses, we reached to an old, fort-like house with very tall walls and a door with locks and chains. They told us, “Men up front of the house, and women in the back.”
We walked through a narrow passageway to the back of the house. In the middle of the courtyard, we saw a few women already cooking chicken and rice over the wood-fire grills. They all smiled at us and greeted us with extreme kindness and compassion.
When they separated men from women, I was scared for a few minutes not knowing what their intention was but seeing these kind, smiling women cooking for us, calmed me down.
They were all speaking in Pashto. It was Mom who went to them and talked to each one of them and thanked them for their kindness. Others were taken to a huge, square room with a dozen toshaks spread on the floor next to the walls (Toshak is a narrow mattress used instead of chairs in most Afghan homes). Sitting down felt comfortable.
I felt safe at least for a few hours. For the remaining part of our trip, I feared their planning. Thinking about the hotel and Laila’s concerns made me think that if Laila’s face was covered, her four kids were enough to give us away. Most Kandahar patients visited Laila at her clinic. Her clinic was next to her house. The kids went in and out of the house and the clinic often. How unsafe of Akbar’s men to neglect our safety and take us to a hotel which was guarded by a police?
An hour later, the dinner was served. They spread a large sheet on the floor and covered it corner to corner with food. The delicious chicken, freshly baked flat bread, a variety of vegetables, along with chutney and home-made yogurt seemed unbelievably generous. We were smiles ear to ear.
I ate as much as I could.
Nobody knew when and where would be our next meal.