AN AFGHAN WOMAN’S STORY IN EXILE
12.0pt;font-family:"Lucida Bright";mso-ansi-language:EN-GB">A run-down
seaside resort on the dogleg of Britain is haven to a relentless trickle of
Afghans fleeing the trauma and tragedy of their homeland. Since September 11th,
authorities have tried to turn them back fearing an influx of Taliban freedom
fighters disguised as asylum seekers. But still they come, widows and orphans
mostly, each with their own nightmare behind them. They arrive by boat,
disorientated and bewildered. They arrive dirty, dishevelled, traumatized and
crushed. They cannot understand how they got to England, some of them even
where England is. But they are relieved and they are free.
12.0pt;font-family:"Lucida Bright";mso-ansi-language:EN-GB">They are
the real victims of war. Not just the war of 2001, but the 24 years of war
that have battered and brutalised the Afghan people and caused them to live as
fugitives in their own land. Firuza, one of these victims is only now able to
breathe freely. “When you die once, it’s over. But I have died every
minute of every day for nearly four years. How can a human being live like
that? How can I leave that behind and move on?” The 40-year-old widow and
her 13-year-old son are all that is left of their family of six. They have
just started to live without looking behind them and wondering whether the
next minute might be their last. For the first time in two months they are
able to take stock of their lives. Firuza describes herself as an uneducated
village woman, deeply disturbed by the past and facing the future with
trepidation. Her son Hakim is bursting with energy, desperate to get his hands
on a computer, but has never had a day’s education in his life. He talks
ceaselessly in his sleep, his mind churning over the desperate events he has
witnessed. Neither can speak the language of their new land. Firuza can hardly
believe she survived a regime that slaughtered her husband in front of her,
and dispatched three of her four children as runaways into the mountains
behind her village. That they are now safely in England is a miracle, but a
miracle tinged with intense grief over the fate of her other children.
12.0pt;font-family:"Lucida Bright";mso-ansi-language:EN-GB">Reliving
the nightmare, Firuza describes the four years of war since the Taliban came
to power as the worst. The battle has been fought from within and the enemy
has been ruthless, killing, maiming, torturing and hounding anyone who stood
in its way. In the name of God, the Merciful, they raped, pillaged and
dismantled every strand of life. They annihilated minority groups in their
wake, mowing them down with machine gun fire as each city was captured.
Thousand of Shiites, she claims, were slaughtered in her city the day the
Taliban marched in. Some were strung up on trees as an example. She sent her
eldest son to guard his sister in the mountains fearing her rape and torture
at their hands, knowing she would probably never see them again.
12.0pt;font-family:"Lucida Bright";mso-ansi-language:EN-GB">Trying to
save her husband, her head was staved in by a zealot who smashed a rock into
her face. “Everything in me wants the Taliban destroyed,” she whispered,
still unused to the freedom of her new land. “For each one I see killed I
rejoice,” she said. Pushtun neighbours rushed her to hospital, and risked
their lives to shelter her remaining boys. When she returned they were forced
to hide in the cellar for two years, only emerging briefly at night to eat.
One of the boys could not stand the captivity any longer and ran away. She
will probably never see him again, if indeed he is alive at all, she says.
12.0pt;font-family:"Lucida Bright";mso-ansi-language:EN-GB">With her
extended family murdered or scattered and all food gone, neighbours helped to
sell the house and found someone who for its proceeds of $7,500 would help
them get away. She was handed over to a masked, silent driver one night. He
took her money and bundled them with three other families, each into a
coffin-sized compartment in a windowless container. For 22 terrifying days,
not knowing whether he would get scared, slit their throats and escape with
the money, they drove. They barely stopped to eat. The final three days were
spent, without food and water and without a break even to relieve themselves.
On the 23rd day, the truck movement changed. It began to gently
rock. Firuza threw up whatever was left in her stomach. She had never felt the
ocean and had no idea how near she was to safety. She thought she was about to
die.
12.0pt;font-family:"Lucida Bright";mso-ansi-language:EN-GB">But the
nightmare was over. She was free. She was in “Inglistan.” Kindness, smiles
and gentle faces surrounded her. They could eat and they could wash. The tears
kept coming. Tears of joy, of relief, of gratitude to the country who had
taken her in, of heartbreak. The accumulated grief of years welled up and
cascaded out. They still well up every day.
12.0pt;font-family:"Lucida Bright";mso-ansi-language:EN-GB">She and
her son will rebuild their lives slowly, but has nothing but fears for her
country. “Pushtun hates Hazara hates Uzbek hates Tajik”. Suspicion, envy,
hatred and long-standing clan feuds have embittered every segment of Afghan
life. “We hate and mistrust each other,” she said sadly, terrified of the
Northern Alliance seizing power. Masood’s successor would not improve
things; she was convinced. “Their targets would simply be different,” she
said, adding that their first attacks would be on Pushtuns. “There will be
more bloodbaths,” she added. Neither did the prospect of life under the
former king hold any promise. “He is old and weak. He could never hold
together the warring tribes of my land,” she said hopelessly. She has been
given a future, but as far as she could see, there was nothing good ahead for
Afghanistan. The tragedy of her country would continue to unfold for years;
she was convinced.
"Lucida Bright";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:
"Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;mso-fareast-language:EN-US;
mso-bidi-language:AR-SA">By Jennifer Balfour
