Afghanistan Diaries: Madina

We were living outside Kabul in one of the provinces. My father was working as an official in the government, so we had everything. I lacked nothing, but I always felt something was lacking. Anywhere but the capital is difficult to live in. Electricity is scarce, and people are close-minded. My older sister, Monawarra, who was 14 at the time, would always tell me to stop acting crazy or like one of the boys. She told me that sooner or later, people would notice. I wasn’t really acting crazy. I was just climbing trees. I loved riding horses, but my father wouldn’t allow it, so I would sit in my room and watch as my brothers rode horses with the neighborhood boys. Sometimes, I cried as I watched them.

Because my father was a government official, it was impossible for Monawarra and I to leave the house. We were always at risk. There are some people who are against the government, and if they know you are working with the government or have money, they will try to kidnap you. I attended school, but only once or twice a month, due to my father’s intolerance of girls’ education. If a girl expresses herself, accidentally speaks loudly, or even climbs a tree, people will think, “Oh, she is crazy or rude.”

In my culture, a girl has no freedom to ask for something she wants or choose a partner. She is considered a toy, a puppet, especially in her father's eyes. If he wants her to stay at home, she will do it. If he wants her to marry someone, she will do it.

I remember when my father came home and announced I would be married. We were standing in the kitchen. My mother was pregnant with my little brother. Monawarra started to cry. I was 11 and didn’t understand what was happening.

“He’s a business partner of mine,” said my father to my mother.  “He’s wealthy. Madina needs structure in her life.”

“She’s 11,” my mother said.

“She’s rowdy,” my father said. “She climbs too many trees.”

“She’s a child,”

“She’s rude.”

“Her future will be destroyed.” 

“She must be saved from a life of dishonor,”

“And you think marriage will save her?” my mother asked.

“Even if she dies, at least she will be married,” replied my father.

The man my father wanted me to marry was not someone I knew personally. I had heard about him since he was my father’s business partner, but I had never met or spoken to him. He was older than me, around 40 years old. This is how it works in my country: if a girl receives a proposal from a wealthy man from an honorable family, no matter if she is 37 or 11, she will take it, no questions asked.

My mother was only 13 when she married my father. She knew the consequences. My mother loved us so much, but her love for me was different. She was always defending me from our relatives since I was slightly different from other girls. They agreed: as a girl, I was not supposed to play, run, jump around, or do things boys did. I had no idea why people had problems with me jumping or running or why it was any of their business, and I still don’t understand to this day.

My mother, three little brothers, Monawarra, and I took the risk, knowing we would be killed if we were discovered. But we had no choice. We left my father’s house one night after dark and drove to Kabul, the capital. We stayed in Kabul for a month, living at a residence with no address so that we couldn’t be found. During that month, my siblings and I barely left that house. Only to get food. My mother paid a large amount of money to a man who promised to help get her and my baby brother to Europe. They escaped safely, leaving me, Monawarra, and my two younger brothers alone in Kabul. A few weeks later, my mother acquired the European visas needed for us to join her, and we boarded an airplane and left.

Society has the largest impact on freedom. In my country, only men have freedom. A woman is worth half of a man. We can’t even choose the color of our clothes. In our thoughts, freedom must be an ambition. We must fight for our freedom until we can fight no more.

Believe me, girls are not disabled. We are not powerless. Why do they treat us one way when we are children and in another way when we grow up and marry? Why should women be deprived of the right to divorce? Because we’re too angry? Passionate? Delicate? Emotional? Women are powerful. Women are patient. Therefore, women should enjoy freedom. Society is only relentless towards women because it knows that Paradise belongs to them.

I have four brothers. When we came here, they were young. Now my oldest brother is 14, and I can visibly see him changing his mentality toward women just by living in this society. For example, if I have a headache, my brother will say to others: turn down the music, be quiet, my sister has a headache. He would never do this in Afghanistan! Monawarra and I are trying to teach each of our three brothers: do not hit a woman, do not call her names, do not think women are weaker than you because if you think this, you yourself are weak. 

But I am always mentally preoccupied with what is happening in Afghanistan. The things I went through… when I think of other girls, I know they are going through much worse. I started seeing a psychologist because I become paralyzed when I see what’s happening on the news. I am here physically but mentally still in Afghanistan. I was hospitalized when I saw on the news that the Taliban is back. The doctors say I need to find ways to distract myself, but I can’t. My mind is in active warfare, just like my country. 

The truth is that society changes you. When my brothers go out now, they observe how men treat women. In most countries, boys follow in the footsteps of their fathers. If a boy watches his father disrespect his mother, he will grow up to do the same. If a boy sees his friends treat women kindly, he will mimic them. People are sheep; this is true anywhere in the world. 

I’ve realized since coming to Belgium just how much your society dictates your life. As women, we can teach the world 10% how to treat us with our words, but 90% is just by living in a society where we are naturally treated with the respect we deserve.