Women in Afghanistan usually don’t have smiles on their faces. They are taught not to laugh; they are told laughing is not right for women. Society says you are not a good woman if you laugh loudly or even smile. You will bring disrespect onto your family, your father and brothers. Society will not respect your father because people will say of him, “you cannot control your wife or daughter.”

Also, Afghan women cannot find many opportunities to laugh. Many Afghan women are still affected by wars. Some have lost their fathers, brothers, husbands and other relatives; in some cases, they don’t know if their relatives or alive or not. How can they laugh?

During happy events that we celebrate in Afghanistan, like Eid or a wedding, instead of smiles on every face, there are tears in every eye. Women wish that their fathers and brothers could be with them at this happy occasion.

And when Afghan women see one another after many years of migration, instead of smiling, their eyes are tear-filled because they feel lucky to see each other after many years. They feel lucky to be alive and to have found an opportunity to be together.

And when they arrive at a new environment, instead of being happy, they cry, because how can they be happy when their families are in danger and not safe?

And when they marry, instead of smiling because they are beginning a new life, they cry since they are leaving the home of their parents, and they don’t know if they will be happy with this person who they must marry by arrangement, and they have no idea how to start a new family. They are fully afraid of their future.

When an Afghan woman laughs, it is not from the heart. When she smiles, it is always with tears in her eyes. An Afghan woman even celebrates with tears. When something happens to her that is good, even then she cannot laugh, because the wings of her flight have been already cut.

By Sabira

photo by Lana Selzik

photo: Michael Foley

There was an old woman who came from a poor family, but it was full of love. In telling the story of her life to her children, she began her tale like this:

“As usual, I went to the animal’s house to milk the cows and give them food. My mother was sick and my father had died. We were living in a world full of problems and troubles.

“I, the oldest child of my mother, had taken on the responsibility to work and provide food, since my brothers and sisters were too young. We finished the days with problems and passed the nights with dread.

“In our village we had a tradition that girls should be married by the age of 12. I was the only one who was 18 years old; I was unmarried at home. Problems surrounded me from all sides of society.

“A short time passed, and my mother died, leaving us alone. My brother, who was younger, tried to help with projects around the farm. All of us were deprived of learning. We had to suffer the daily difficulties of our lives and travel the road of tribulations.

“Traveling that road was a hard, boring trip, but we had no other way. Everyone made fun of the fact that I still had not gotten married. Being single was reprehensible to them but abandoning my brothers and my sisters was reprehensible to me.

“It was a hot, summer day when my youngest brother got sick. I had to find the money to get him to the city to cure him—I eventually did. When my brother turned 15 years old, he became a great help for the family. He worked so hard for our comfort that my work lessened. I sewed and earned money for household needs. I was also able to save a little. We passed many years without any head of our family.

“One day I suddenly realized that my brother, smaller than me, had become like an older man; we were all very proud of him. Our life was improving; the fearfulness of the nights and the dread of the day to come were starting to fade. We were all able to work for our future. My brothers and sisters gained learning and knowledge through their jobs. I was no longer worried about the children of my mother because I could see that they were able to determine their futures. After many years, prosperity had opened its door to us. Day by day our lives became better and better.

“One day, my aunt (the only elder member of our family) came to our home and told me about a man she wanted me to marry. I was worried about my brothers and sisters because it was so difficult for me to leave them alone, but at their insistence, along with my aunt’s, I accepted the marriage.

“And so I married. My brothers and sisters were able to make their futures. We could all remove the shadow of misery from us and feel the brightness of prosperity.”

The old woman told her children, “I advise you to work hard in your life, work to improve your life, and don’t permit selfish and pointless pride. You should treat orphans and the poor in the same way that you treat me. Because in the past, your old mother was one of these people—and remember that a person in one condition may at another time be faced with a different condition of life.”

By Sabira

“It’s the 15^th of July,” I told her.

“That’s in just two weeks,” she said.

No one had ever celebrated my birthday, not in my home nor at my other school. So two weeks later, on the day of my birthday, I did not even think of it. As usual, I walked alone to school. I remember that particular day, it was very hot. As I did every other day, I wore a simple uniform of a black dress with white scarf. The black color of my dress drew the sun into me. I sweated as I made my way to school.

The day was normal, no different than any other day. The first three hours of school consisted of mathematics, Dari literature, and then physics. After our lessons were complete, we had a twenty-minute break. As usual, I walked out into the schoolyard. I remember standing alone, watching nothing in particular, when I heard clapping coming from across the yard. The clapping grew closer. I turned around and saw Fatima; she was clapping and looked very happy. I had no idea why she was clapping or why she seemed so happy.

As she got closer, she said, “Happy birthday, Sabira!”

No one had ever said this to me and I suddenly felt a swell of joy. Fatima reached her hands into her pocket and pulled out a beautiful notebook. It was a diary with beautiful pictures and a blue cover. I opened the notebook to see that Fatima had written Happy Birthday Sabira! on a page. I remember the feeling I had as I looked at the notebook. I was so grateful and happy.

I am in the twelfth grade now, and to this day, I still have that notebook. Every time I open it, I remember the day my friend Fatima gave it to me. But her gift was bigger than that notebook. It was the biggest gift of friendship. And from that day forward, no one in my family ever forgot my birthday again!

By Sabira

Once, there were six of us in my family: me, my husband, our two sons and our two daughters. We had a simple life but full of love. My husband worked at the Ministry of Energy and Water. I taught elementary school. My oldest son was in his second year at the university, studying civil engineering. My younger son was in primary school. My oldest daughter was in elementary school and my youngest daughter was too young for school.

Early one morning as I was coming home from the bakery, I saw men knocking at our door. I approached and asked: “Do you need someone?”

They said: “Yes, we need Sharif Khan,” who is my husband.

I went inside the house and called to my husband: “Some men need you.” I stood behind the front door as my husband talked to them. They asked him where our oldest son was. My husband told them he was at the university taking his exams. Without saying anything, these men took my husband.

It was Communist period, when officials ordered the arrests of well-known and powerful people so those people couldn’t take authority from them. I couldn’t do anything to find my husband or my son because conditions in our country were difficult. I was also afraid they might arrest others in my family, so I told my children, “Your father and your brother are outside the city.” I kept telling them that until they grew up.

Many years passed and we waited for my husband and son to return home, but they didn’t and we did not hear from them. I remained with my three children and continued my life, but I never stopped hoping they would return home. I went to my job and my two children went to school. I left my youngest daughter with a neighbor during the day.

I lived my life like this until war came to Kabul. Day by day, the situation in Kabul got worse. During the war, my younger son got hurt and I could not rescue him. I lost him. Then there was just me and my two daughters left. I couldn’t continue at my job, and my oldest daughter could not go to school because all the schools were closed. All the teachers and students remained at home. Our life was going bad. We didn’t have anything to eat.

All of our neighbors migrated from Kabul to Pakistan and Iran. I did not know what I should do. Just one family remained on our street. Finally, they were going to Pakistan too, so I went to their home and said I wanted to go with them. “I can’t remain alone in this street with my daughters.” They agreed. We left Kabul in the dark of night. It took us two days and two nights to reach Pakistan. I remember how hungry we were as we crossed the mountains.

When we arrived in Pakistan, I did not know what to do. I couldn’t find a job right away. But I rented a house and finally found a job. After that, our lives became a little better. I registered my daughters in school. I wanted them to prepare themselves for the future. We lived simply.

After many years, we returned to our homeland. Everywhere was desolate. But we didn’t lose hope. We just prayed to Allah that my daughters would pass the university examination. One was accepted into the Faculty of Science and the other was accepted in the Faculty of English Literature. I thank Allah that now my daughters can serve the people of Afghanistan.

But every day, I still wait for my husband and my oldest son. Every day, my eyes are still on the door, hoping that they will return. Twenty-three years have passed like this, and I still don’t know what happened to them, if they are dead or alive. I pray to Allah to give me patience.

By Sabira

What do Afghan women want from the world and their country? They want honor, confidence and respect.

Afghan women want to pick up a pen and write their destiny. With their own hands, they want to remove the destinies that have been written by others.

Afghan women are tired of staying at home. Like other women around the world, they want to work for the development of their country.

Women have value. Afghan women are valuable. They do not want to be regarded with contempt. Afghan women no longer want to hear that a woman has no value.

Afghan women want education, which gives a person value. Education is how Afghan women can help develop their country.

Afghan women have wings for flying. Afghan women want to be free like other birds that fly into the blue sky. But ancient cultures and old thoughts have clipped their wings and, like birds alone in cages, they remain looking out, waiting to fly to the highest point in the sky.

Afghan women quickly become old, their wishes carried with them to the grave. Still, their children remain, becoming brave women and men. Afghan women want their children to complete their wishes. Then the souls of Afghan women are happy.

By Sabira

Afraid of fall and winter,
Flowers share their happiness slowly until
They realize it is their world.

They celebrate their return with exhilarant sounds of swallows,
Attracting butterflies and
Humans who wish to celebrate with them.

The blossoms make me want to hold them
But I fear their guards: the thorns
They prevent me from picking the laughing flowers.

Every morning they wash their faces
With dew that is like pearls
I smell the perfume and it refreshes my mind.

By Sabira

I am a daughter who was born into a big family
Of unschooled parents who still gave special importance to education.
They provoked the flame of knowledge in their babies.

I am a daughter who was born into the heart of Asia at a moment when
Everywhere was clothed in blood and danger and fear.
My mother feared for me all the time.
Every family mourned for their dear children.
Guns and missiles were the voices mothers heard instead of their children’s babbling.

My family emigrated as refugees to neighboring lands.
When we returned to our homeland, its beauty was gone.
It had changed to a desolate place. Bloodshed
And the sound of crying was everywhere.
Friendship between people had been forgotten.

I was able again to enter into the garden of education and pick some flowers.
I benefited from that garden.
My family praised me as I grew day by day.
I came to understand my homeland was sick and desolate.
I knew I must help transform it.

My teacher said: “You are the future. You are the gardeners of your homeland.”
Remembering that, I made myself a garden.
I made myself a gardener and I’ve learned to irrigate.

In my mind, I see a beautiful homeland, one far from war.
When I walk the streets of my homeland; it is like nightingales at dawn.
I sing for the improvement of my homeland.
I give my childhood and youth to develop my homeland,
The place I call my own.

By Sabira