My favorite part of Ramadan is when my mother wakes every member of the family early in the morning at 2:40 a.m. We eat breakfast, pray, and recite the holy Quran. Then we can go to bed and sleep until the morning.
Close by our dormitory was a shop with an old, illiterate shopkeeper. As we arrived, we greeted the man with Asalam o alaikom Kaka jan (“Hello, dear Uncle”). He didn’t respond. He just looked at us angrily and shouted: “What do you want?”
I am an Afghan girl,
tears in my eyes, pen in hand,
writhing from my heart.
Am I a passenger?
Am I an angel?
Am I a plant?
All that my school in Afghanistan had were the tents, the mud on the floor with a blackboard, and our teacher. I was sad, but never disappointed. The girls had the opportunity to go to school, which was better than before when they weren’t even allowed to walk out of their houses.