It was a cold winter day when we arrived. The city was still and calm, the roads nicely asphalted and lined. We walked towards the police building where we had to submit our request. Going to the police frightened me. I had a painful picture in my mind. I had the feeling I was going to jail, or that they may treat us like criminals.
I can’t forget that day when we didn’t have anything to eat in our house. My father was jobless and my mother was working outside in rich people’s houses to earn money. My mother tried to prevent me from feeling hunger. I know it was difficult for her not to be able to feed her child properly.
I remember January. A memorable night, round moon, stars shining in the clear sky, and all because I met you for the first time. / I remember February. The cold days when my friends and I were making a snowman on the roof of my house and you came to help us. / I remember March. We became good friends in English class during a debate about money and education.
It was a huge room, like one in movies about kings and queens. All around the room were a dozen golden couches with a touch of light green. Three red sofas with golden pillows were at the end of the room. The smell of fresh roses was in the air, probably coming from the flowers on the balcony.
It was Friday evening and as usual I had to spend all my Friday in the house. I was so tired it was even hard to breathe. But I didn’t know what I was tired of: my repetitive office work, my assignments or maybe my life that was losing its meaning. I didn’t want to talk or hear anyone else talk.
During my first year at university, I had to work to support myself and my family. I didn’t want to ask my mom for money. I knew women love saving money, and my mom was a woman who loved to save money.
Finding a part-time job is like dreaming of going to space! It is very hard, especially since I was teaching English privately and searching for a good job.
One of my biggest wishes / is to be a famous journalist, / Going around the world / to see different people / to get to know them. / Trying to learn all the languages / that people can speak.
It was raining. I was walking the dusty streets of Shar-e-naw. The Kabul air was different; everywhere smelled like roses. Yellow leaves on the trees looked like a bride wearing a yellow veil.
It was Fall and under my feet, the yellow leaves made a sound: cretch, cretch, cretch…
I walked on a strange street: half dark and half very light. I grew afraid.
In the cozy Long Island beach town where I live, everyone goes to an old-fashioned soft ice cream stand called Marvel. Not Carvel. It was still open for the season on a chilly evening in October when I arrived with a brand new customer, a confident, petite young woman who wore a red trench coat over blue jeans and a black head scarf.
“She’s never been here before,” I told Anthony.
The last time I went to Dashte Abdaan was two years ago. After my sister’s engagement party, we went to Dashte Abdaan straight from the wedding hall. It is a desert located between Kunduz and Imam Sahib. It is fruitless; no one uses it for farming.
It was evening. The sun was sitting down when we got there.
The Afghan Women's Writing Project : Dedicated to the Memory of Zarmeena
Security notice:
The security situation can be difficult for many women in Afghanistan, especially those who are determined to further their education or those who frankly tell their stories. Out of concern for their safety, this blog will not use family names or specific locators.
Afrikaans