A few AWWP writers and some of their friends gathered for a recent Saturday workshop at our office in Kabul where they each wrote a childhood memory. Here are a few of them…
My Grandfather’s Present
When I was about eight years old I wanted to ride a bicycle in the street like the boys. Then one day when the weather was rainy and my mom was cooking rice with kofta, suddenly my grandfather arrived, bringing a bicycle for me. I don’t know the words or sentences to tell you how happy that made me. I was wearing a t-shirt and trousers and without eating lunch, I started practicing riding the bike. I fell a lot, but I didn’t care. After that, every day I rode my bike with my sweet friends to the park.
My Best Friend
When we were living in Pakistan, in Peshawar, I was seven years old and I had a friend named Khalida. She was my best and only friend but when we left Pakistan to come home to Kabul I lost her. Then last month I found her on Facebook. She is a housewife and she has two babies and now we are friends again. Thank you Facebook!
A Cold Day in Ramadan
Years ago when I was a small child, Ramadan came during the winter months and it would be cold and dark by the time we ended the fast. I would sit up on a wooden bunk waiting for the Iftar food to appear. I had a woolen coat with a hood that I wore and I held my knees to my chest to stay warm. Sitting like that I think I appeared to look like a heap of clothes. I couldn’t move well in that shape, and suddenly one day I fell from the bunk and crashed head first into the clothes machine. My forehead was bleeding and it hurt badly. But my mother had already cooked the bolani for us, so she quickly bandaged my forehead and told me I could eat my bolani now. I was crying so much I wasn’t even hungry, and I still have the scar on my forehead to remind me.
My Annoying Cousin
The day gone is gone forever and only memories remain in the human mind. One that still makes me laugh is this: When I was a child I always fought with my cousin when he came to our home. I would shut the door and tell him: “Why do you come to our home? Go away. Don’t you have a home?” I never let him come in and one day my mom said “Why do you act like this with him? Look, he is your brother.” I said to my mom, “No he is not, he fights with me and also he wants to cut my hair.” Now when he comes to our home he always reminds of this, and it makes me laugh.
By Sara R.
When I was a child whenever anyone, especially my mom, was going to the bazaar, to school or somewhere else, I always cried. I would only stop my crying if my mom said, “I will bring a doll for you.” Now I realize all of this crying was just for a doll. But I still like dolls, even now.
Photo by V/Ryunosuke