It is upsetting for everyone that women are not going to the NATO conference in Chicago. But remember this is Afghanistan we’re talking about. No matter what you do, it will take more than just a few decades for it to change.

So I have a question for NATO and the USA: Why didn’t they invite the women?

Did they not see women as worthy, so they let the Afghan men decide who should go?

We can write about this problem but what is the point? It won’t be taken under consideration by the people in power.

By Aisha

Photo: REUTERS

There are some friends who, once friends with you, stay friends until the end.

Maali is my best and dear friend whom I met in my Iraqi school. Her sister was my aunt’s best friend at the university in Malaysia, so she asked if I could be friends with Maali, and I was very happy to have found myself a new friend.

Now Maali was defiant, but she was very cute and honest, and quiet and intelligent too. She is a very strong girl and she would never let anyone bully her. In high school life, when a new student comes in, the other students either become friends with the new student or they try to bully the new student. When Maali came to school, the boys tried to bully her because she was shy, but she stood up against the boys.

Maali would never let her friends down. She was always there for me whenever I needed her and she was the kind of friend that everyone wanted to have. Maali was never a materialistic person; she didn’t care what others were wearing or what brand they were using.

After I had come back to Afghanistan in 2002, I lost contact with Maali and I couldn’t get in touch with her, even through my aunts. But one day my mother was talking to my aunt in Canada, and she learned that Maali was in Dubai.

I couldn’t believe my ears because we were in Dubai! I asked my mom to get the phone number and I called Maali and I met her in Sharja Emarat in the Carrefour mall. She was wearing a very beautiful blue hijab. I remembered how she had liked the cartoon character called Hello Kitty, so I bought her a bracelet with the character on it. She loved it and wore it that instant; it made me really happy. We exchanged email addresses and cell numbers, and from that day on I have kept in contact with her.

I have many other friends whom I don’t want to lose, no matter what. And there are some friends who will be by your side until death do you part. This friend’s name is Farukh. Farukh was the first person I became friends with when I began at university. He’s been there to help me with studies, he protected me, he knew what I was thinking and what my wishes were. I couldn’t even tell Farukh how precious our friendship was because I didn’t want to lose it. Then one day last spring, he confessed his feelings and asked me to marry him.

And of course I said yes. Farukh is a friend who will stay with me until death do us part.

By Aisha

Having a friend is everyone’s dream. For some people, to find one special friend and to stay true friends for a long time is very rare. But in my life I have made many friends; I’m known as a very social and friendly person in my school and in my family, too.

I made my very first friends when I was in kindergarten. My aunt was the principal of a private school in Pakistan. I made two friends: a girl, Sema, and a boy, Abdulah. I liked them from the moment I met them. They were nice to me, not because I was the principal’s niece, but because I was a new student.

One day it was the teacher’s day out and the whole kindergarten class was very mean to me. I don’t know why the students behaved like that, but the whole class told me to stay out of the room because I did not fit in with them. I went out the door, and I wanted to go to my aunt and tell her about the students, but I didn’t. Instead I sat outside next to the door of the class and cried.

“Are you OK?” a sweet and gentle voice asked.

I looked up and saw a very beautiful boy with dark straight black hair. His eyes were black and his skin was white as a snow. He was waiting for my answer very patiently. I didn’t say anything. Then he reached out his hand for me and said, “Come!”

Without thinking, I took his hand and he helped me stand up. Then he introduced me to Sema. Sema was a very beautiful and cute girl. Her hair color was a mixture of brown and gold. Her eyes were brown and her skin was also white as snow. Her lips were naturally the color of pink. She was like a doll. I had never seen any girl as beautiful as Sema. The boy said his name was Abdulah and that he and Sema were good friends. He hoped that I could be their friend too. Then we played all day.

I only stayed in that school for a year and then I had to leave to go back to Afghanistan. After that, I no longer had any contact with them.

By Aisha

Photo: Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty

Editor’s note: In part two, our writer, on her own at summer camp and not knowing the local language, found herself abandoned by two girls who had led her into the woods. With the midday sun beating down, she was stuck in the middle of a pond.

I am my father’s daughter. As I stood in the mud I remembered the things he taught us about swimming, mountain hiking, and tree climbing. I knew I could get my feet out of the pond.

There was a large stone in front of me that I could reach, so I grabbed it. Slowly, I tugged each foot out with all my strength. My clothes were muddy, I felt weak, but now wasn’t the time to lose my strength and I dragged myself out of the pond. I was thankful to be out of the mud, but then I thought, “Where am I? If I try to go back I will lose my way.”

I sat under a tree. I had a watch with me and it was almost 4 p.m. The air was stifling hot. Usually whenever I’m lost, I stay in one place and wait for my parents to come looking for me. I sat for fifteen minutes, feeling lost and miserable and wondering, “What did I do to them?” Why would they do such a thing to me?”

These thoughts were circling my head when I remembered one of the teachers had pointed at a tree with a piece of metal nailed on it. I jumped up and started to look at each tree until I found one with the marker. “OK, I found one! Now what?”

“Could it be that if I follow these marks I could find my way?”

I looked for another tree with a piece of metal tacked to it, and there it was. I ran toward it and saw another. I ran toward that too. I kept on finding the markers and following them until I reached a river. The river path was very narrow. Malaysian jungle rivers are very muddy and rapid. I was being very careful not to fall into it.

I was making my way along the path, when I heard what sounded like a wild boar. I panicked and my foot slipped and I started to fall towards the river, but I grabbed at something on the ground and began crawling. After a while I stood up and now my clothes were dirty, but I didn’t care. I looked for more trees with markers and I kept on walking. “It’s so hot, I can’t stand it anymore,” I thought. I dragged my feet and felt dizzy. I was thirsty and hungry.

Finally, I heard voices. It was the girls from camp. Now energized, I ran toward the voices. I could hear a waterfall.

When I reached them I saw a big lake with clear water and all the girls were in the water swimming and laughing with the trees shading them from the hot sun. When the wind moved the tree leaves, the sunlight hit the water and the reflection looked like sparkles all over the lake. I fell on my knees, I felt so weak, and I didn’t hear anything else.

“Aisha?” I heard my name. When I opened my eyes, Emma was sitting next to me and I was half in the lake, cooling off.

“Aisha, are you okay?” Emma asked with a worried look on her face. “Tell me what happened? Why did you show up like that out of nowhere? Why weren’t you with the group?”

I didn’t have the energy to tell her. A crowd gathered around me next to the lake. I looked for the two girls who left me in the mud, but they weren’t there. I whispered to Emma, “There are two girls who aren’t here. Could you find them for me?”

Emma told the teacher and she looked around, and then called out two names. No one showed up, so the teacher called the names again and the two girls came up front. They looked scared. But I had no pity for them, so I told Emma everything.

I was very happy to see Emma. I was still in the water when all the girls came over to hear the story. One of the girls asked, “Did you say something to them? Did they say something to you?”

“No.” I said. “Why would anyone do such a thing to someone? I haven’t done anything to them.”

“Maybe her boyfriend had an interest in you,” said one of the girls. Everyone was speaking in Malay so I didn’t know what this was about, but at that moment I saw everyone was looking at the girl who spoke and Emma was giving the girl a look that said, “Don’t say another word.” But the girl continued. She said that the night before, one of the girls’ boyfriends had said he “liked me” and wanted my brother to help arrange for him to talk to me. My brother had gotten mad and started hitting him. He got a nosebleed. The girl was saying that she thought the girls were getting revenge.

When the teachers heard this, they took the girls back to the camp and sent them immediately home. They were suspended for a year.

One of the teachers in charge of looking out for me also was punished.

As for me? I asked everyone to keep the story a secret from my brother. Camp ended a few days later and by then I recovered from my heatstroke and sunburn. That was my first and only summer camp, and I loved it! There are no summer camps in Afghanistan, but if there were, I would be the first to sign up.

I’m 24 now. I know there are bigger bullies in the world than those two girls and their plastic bag. I was tricked, lost, frightened, filthy, sunburned, and dehydrated. But if I hadn’t gone to Malaysian summer camp, I would not have had this adventure, seen the sunlight flickering through the green trees, and I might not have learned that sometimes, I could find my way out of the woods on my own. And now I always pay attention to ways of learning new survival skills.

I still get lost, whether it’s at the airport in Dubai or on the streets of Kabul near my home. But, thank goodness, today we have cellphones!

By Aisha

Photo by Schloke

After having gotten over everyone staring at me during prayers, we went for lunch. The boys and girls were allowed to sit together, but I couldn’t see my brother.

Malaysian food is spicy and I only took a few spoonsful but my homeroom teacher saw this and took me to the chef who made me a fried egg, and then after lunch we were allowed to just hang around camp. I wanted to explore, but the teacher was following me and then she spoke to Emma in Malay and left.

“What did she tell you?” I asked.

“She said that I should keep an eye on you,” Emma replied. “Why?” I said.

“She was ordered by your father to keep an eye on you until the summer camp is over because you have a habit of getting lost, and your dad does not want to risk it,” she said.

I was embarrassed hearing that, but then I thought maybe my dad knows better than I, so I kept quiet and did what the others did. I thought I was getting along so well with everyone! The boys were being very nice to me. This was because I looked older than eleven and I was one of the only foreign girls there.

On the second day of camp, while Emma and I were eating lunch, a boy came over to us. He looked worried and started yelling to us in Malay.

“Oh my God,” said Emma, and looked at me. She grabbed my hand and said, “Come!”

I followed Emma without asking questions and we headed towards a crowd of people. Emma pushed a few of the guys away; I heard yelling and a familiar voice. I pushed through the crowd where I saw one boy on the ground being punched in his face, and the boy who was punching him was my brother.

I would have jumped in and stopped the fight, but the teachers came. In a short time apparently everyone in camp knew what the fight was about, but I didn’t hear the story because I didn’t understand Malay. I did see two girls glaring at me, and I thought “What is their problem?” But we were going hiking and I was so excited that I ignored them.

Finally I would get to explore the forest. I wore sports pants and a very light shirt because it was very hot, and I had my scarf and sneakers and my backpack ready.

We lined up in pairs. I wanted to be with Emma, but a girl pushed me and I found myself at the back. That girl looked familiar, but I didn’t know her. As we left the camp gate, the boys were coming in from their hiking. But the ones who were so nice earlier were now ignoring me. This seemed wrong.

When we entered the forest I was amazed by what I saw. There was a tiered bridge to cross, a small maze and tree climbing, and all kinds of sports climbing stuff. I was busy studying all of it when I heard my name: “Aisha!!” I looked and saw the teacher calling me, “Come here! That’s the boys’ sports place, the girls are over here.” I turned around and saw a kindergarten playground with small hills. “What a disappointment,” I thought to myself.

I am very good at climbing trees, swimming, all kinds of sports, because my father used to take us to hiking every Saturday or Sunday and he taught us to climb up and down the trees and rocks and hills. When it was my turn to climb the hill there were four girls behind me. I picked up the rope and held tight to it, leaned backward with my upper body, and started to walk down the small hill.

When I arrived at the bottom I met up with other girls and wondered why their clothes were dirty, when mine were not. I heard a scream and looked up to see some of the girls having difficulty climbing and were sliding down instead. I kept looking for Emma. The other girls pushed me into last place again. The two girls in front of me took their time sliding down. When it was my turn and I climbed down, I found there were three girls standing at the bottom and it looked like they were waiting for me.

We looked at each other until one of them said “Come,” in English. This was good; it meant at least one of them knew English! I followed them and we went under a tree, over a river, and into the forest until we arrived at a big black pond.

They were ahead of me and by the time I reached the pond, they had crossed to the other side of it. I saw a few stones and I jumped on them to get across the pond, too. I jumped on one and two and three and I was halfway across. I stopped, took a breath and started again.

The fourth stone I jumped on was a plastic bag with air in it. When I jumped on it, the bag sank and both my feet were stuck in the mud.

I called out for the girls, “Hey, I’m stuck! Help me out!.”

I was on the verge of crying, but I saw the girls smiling. They said something in Malay and then they turned their backs to me. I yelled, “Hey!” They didn’t look back. I yelled again and again. I thought to myself, “Maybe they are going to ask for help?” But actually they looked like they were just enjoying their walk.

I cried until I realized that I really was stuck in the mud. I started to panic. The more I moved my leg, the more stuck I became.

By Aisha

Editor’s note: The conclusion to My Malaysian Adventures will come next week.

Photo by Claire Linney

It was July in Malaysia and I was eleven when my mother announced to our family that she was going back to Pakistan with my younger brother and sister for a wedding, and my dad and my brother and I would be staying home. In Kuala Lumpur, where we were living at the time, July is the hottest month of the hot season, and soon after she left, one of my mom’s friends, who knew my dad was stuck here with the two of us, called and asked whether we wanted to join her kids and go to a summer camp.

When I heard “summer camp” my heart started to pound as I tried to imagine what sort of camp it was. Since Malaysia is a green land, a summer camp must be in a wonderful place, on a high hill surrounded by trees and clear blue sky with a clean river running though it.

I persuaded my father to agree, but it was hard to get my brother to agree to go with me. He was twelve and a bit lazy then. The trip would be in two days. I packed my bag that day; with still another day to go, I packed his bag, too.

Departure day finally arrived and I couldn’t sleep because I was so excited. I was up at 4 a.m. We didn’t have to leave until 6:30. I took a bath and made breakfast and then I could wake up my father and brother for prayers. It was only 5 a.m. but we were all set to go. I fell asleep in the car and dreamed of my beautiful summer camp.

We finally arrived. But when I stepped out of the car ready to feel the fresh grass on my bare feet, I was shocked.

I found I was standing on sand. There were trees, but the environment was steamy and yellow like desert. The weather was hot, but I felt a chill from the shock. I was hoping to see the excited faces of every kid at camp, but it seemed like they were nagging their parents and wanted to go home.

I wasn’t the only one with a shocked face. Just by looking at the faces of my brother and father I could clearly hear what they were thinking. My brother’s face was turning purple and I could tell he was thinking, “I will kill her right here and now.” My father was thinking, “I will kill that woman for suggesting this place!”

I didn’t look at them for long. Then my father took a deep breath and said, “What’s done is done, it can’t be helped.”

My father and my mother’s friend went to register us, so I waited with the friend’s daughter, Emma, and her maid. I asked Emma, since this was my very first summer camp, if there was anything that I should be worried about. Emma said “bugs,” and her maid said “leeches.” I was thinking about how to avoid bugs and leeches when my father called me and asked whether I wanted to stay or go home.

I hate bugs. But I wanted to stay and experience this summer camp. “Yes!” I said with lots of enthusiasm. My father looked like he didn’t want me to stay, so he took a few minutes, but then he said, “Okay. But you have to promise that you will not get lost.”

“I promise!,” I said, smiling. My father was still worried, and he asked my brother to keep checking on me.

My father stayed for the introduction ceremony, which was in the Malay language. It started with the recitation of the Holy Qur’an and the introduction of the teachers. At one point they called my name and I stood up and everyone was looking at me, but I didn’t understand Malay, so I had no idea what they were saying. We said goodbye to our parents. I still remember a concerned look on my father’s face, though he kept on smiling.

They separated the boys and girls, divided us into groups, and the counselors led us to our cabins. We walked down a narrow path with trees on both sides. I looked up at the trees, wondering where they came from since the entire area was very dry. The wind was blowing and the fresh smell of trees was everywhere. I was enjoying looking at the trees when I bumped into a girl in front of me. Everyone had stopped and there was one man standing in front speaking in Malay. He was telling the rules of the camp. Emma translated for me:

 All those who throw their garbage on the ground will have their mark cut. All those who quarrel with their group or any other group or with their instructors will have their mark cut. All those who miss a prayer will have their mark cut. All girls caught hanging out with a guy will have their mark cut. All those who wander off will have their mark cut. And all those who break two of the rules will be sent home immediately!

As I listened to this, I was thinking to myself, “Wow, this is a very strict camp and I love it.”

Then Emma said, “Aisha, you are also included in these rules and if you break two of the rules you would be sent home along with your brother.” Hearing that, I was excited because even if I was the only Afghan girl at camp, it meant I was one of them.

We went to our rooms. Walking behind Emma, I saw a wonderful fairytale view. There were small cottages on stilts high off the ground with beautiful flowers in front of them. The best part was how they were scattered everywhere to look like an old Malaysian city.

We rested, then went for afternoon prayers. In the Afghan culture when we pray we are usually as covered as we can be. For example, we wear a long shirt with jeans or a Shalwar-Qamiz, and a very big veil to cover our heads. The color of the veil is not a problem. But in Malaysia at that time it was completely different: the girls wear white.

When we went to the afternoon prayers the men were up front and the women were standing in the back. A large curtain separated the women and men sections.

I wore my blue jeans and a red blouse with a red scarf. I felt I was being stared at, and when I reached the prayer platform, the curtain was pulled and every girl was putting on her white clothes for prayers. Then they stood in a line, every single girl in white. Except me. I was in the front row wearing red.

This is when I thought that maybe I was not fitting in with the rest of the girls.

To be continued …

By Aisha

Photo by Ben Hays

You ask me to go to the mall.
……It’s just the mall, I think.
……It’s not like he asked me to go on a date.
I repeat those words to myself
until we arrive at the mall.

We walk. We talk. We laugh. We sit.
We did many things and enjoyed!
Until you tell me you were glad I came along.
My heart beats faster.
……It’s just the mall.
……It’s not like he asked me to go on a date.
……This isn’t a date! Right?

We leave the mall, go to the park.
You walk ahead, fast. I was barely keeping up!
You stop and take a deep breath!
I look at your back, repeat these words to myself.
……This isn’t a date, right?
You turn. My heart beats faster.
I want to ask you why you stopped.
You say you have something to say.
I wonder what it is.

You look at me, embarrassed. You say you are in love.
I am not expecting that. I turn red. I want to panic.
But before I panic I ask who it is that you have fallen in love with?
You start walking toward me. I step back,
wonder why you are coming closer to me.
……Why can’t he just tell me from where he is standing?

You come close. I can hear your heart beat.
……What am I supposed to do?
……Should I take a step back or should I stay where I am?
Your hand reaches for my face, warm and gentle.
I close my eyes.
You say my name, say you love me the most.
……This wasn’t supposed to be a date.
……He wasn’t supposed to confess.
I feel your other hand on my face. You make me look up.
I look into the eyes of the man I truly love!
……This can’t be for real! I must be dreaming.

Then you say my name, want to hear what I am thinking.
My heart races. I tremble.
……..This isn’t a dream. This is for real!
You stand in front of me, hold my face.
I can’t think straight, touch the hand that touches my face.
The warmth of your hand gives me courage.

Before I can speak
You kiss my lips
My eyes fill with of tears of happiness.
I rush into your arms, hold you tight.
I shout, I love you!
……Was that the word I really said?
……I was thinking I would say I’m glad I went out with you.

By Aisha

photo by Jeremy Blanchard

For women in Afghanistan, there are three possible reasons why dreams just stay dreams. Since the groom’s family carries the burden of the wedding cost, if the groom is poor, the dream will dissolve. And although the groom must pay, the bride has a hand in creating the wedding, so when she is not happy about her upcoming marriage, she will not want a lavish wedding. Finally, though the daughter has a dream, her family also has dreams and desires, and she cannot break their hearts and say “No.”

In my dream, my wedding lasts two days. The first day begins with the recitation of the Holy Qur’an and my Nikahh (the binding of a woman and man when they are announced as man and wife). After the Nikahh comes the Maheer. Maheer is the amount of money a girl will receive in her future if, God forbid, she should ever get a divorce. The groom must pay whatever the amount the bride chooses. In my dream, I am present at the Maheer and decide my own Maheer.

According to Islam, a bride must be present in her Nikahh room. But in Afghanistan, this is not so. Most women are not allowed to choose their own Maheer or even be in the Nikahh room because the men say: “We are the men, and we know what’s good or bad for you women.” But I want to be present in my Nikahh room and no one will be allowed to interfere with what I am going to decide or discuss. I will wear my Nikahh dress. A Nikahh dress is green for pureness and happiness and is the real color of the Islamic flag, which symbolizes peace.

The first day of my wedding will end with feeding all poor people. Then, of course, I will have my Henna night, when the bride leaves her house and makes her way to her husband’s house with her hands red like a rose.

The first part of the second day, I will spend at a beauty parlor. After I am all made up, I will put on my white wedding dress—a dress that no one has seen before. Then I will dance and party like I have never partied before. I am sure no one will like me for this. In Afghanistan, people think brides must sit like a statue. The bride must look unhappy; she must look like she is sad to be leaving her family. However, in my dream, I am a happy bride.

As much as I dream of my wedding, I also dream of my groom. My dream-groom must be smart, a hard worker, and a real Muslim; by real Muslim I mean he must pray five times a day and read the Holy Qur’an every morning, like I do. He must respect my family as if they are his real mother and father, as I will respect his parents. I have been brought up to believe all the mothers and fathers of the world, even if they are not Muslim, are like my mother and father. If I do not respect them, it’s as if someone is disrespecting my mother and father.

As lovely as my wedding dream is, I fear it will stay just another dream. I have no choice but to accept and fulfill my family’s desires. I am the eldest daughter and my parents also have their dreams of my perfect wedding. My little sister made me swear I will choose her to be my maid of honor. As such, she will design my wedding and clothes. I do not have the right to suggest or interrupt her ideas. I do not have to worry much about what my elder brother wants for my happiness; he only says my future in-laws must be from a good and wealthy family. My sister in-law is the easiest to please; she is a doll. As long as I am happy, she is happy. But my little brother does not like it when my family talks about the possibility of his sisters marrying one day. He is an Afghan boy who will hate to see some man standing next to his sister, even if his sister is happy with that man.

My family will have my dream come true, but in their own ways, and I will accept it with all my heart. I am pleased to be their daughter.

By Aisha