Salaam America

The other day while at work, I asked a gentlemen if he would like more coffee. While pouring him coffee, we began talking. He asked me a few questions about my background. Many people do because my name. “Fatima, that’s a pretty name. Where are you from?” I get that a lot. So after hearing I was from Afghanistan he said something really interesting. “Why do they treat women so terribly in those Muslim countries?”

I wasn’t offended because he was right. But I was surprised he asked. ‘Honestly, sir, I wish I knew. Because nowhere in the teachings of Islam does it say to disrespect women.” 

“But they stone women if their brothers do something and they force them to cover and they give them no rights.”

“Those cases,” I tried to explain, “seem common because they are the only stories that come out of the media. While in Afghanistan, I saw men treat their daughters like queens. Don’t let a few bad stories make you think all of Muslim men are terrible. Yes, there is corruption and greed but there is beauty and love too. You know how women aren’t allowed to drive in Saudi Arabia? Well the Prophets wife, whom he was married to for fourteen years, was a business woman. The most well known in the Arabian peninsula. So how do people think it’s okay to restrict women from driving when she had her own caravan? I mean you’re explaining to me that Muslim women have it hard. But I know, I went through what you’ve heard.”

He thought about it. Then he said, “I just think more Muslim women in America should help the women in other countries.” And I agreed.

So here I am sharing my story, hoping to help someone, anyone anywhere…

With a few months to my high school graduation date, I was approached by my mother and a family friend in regards to a guy in Afghanistan who was seeking my hand in marriage. He wasn’t the first guy to ask but he was the first one my parents approved of. It may sound strange but in the Afghan culture, people marry young. Also, I was a different person back then. I was very religious and I just wanted to make my parents happy. They gave me two photos of him and I told them I’d think about it. I had enough on my mind already with school and graduating. Some days I’d tell my mom that I just wasn’t ready for marriage but she told me that I should think about it more. After a few months, the guy’s family called and told me that I had to make up my mind. They said “Marry him or risk never being married.” I was so frustrated at the amount of pressure they were putting on me. I began praying to see what God wanted and what was best. I spoke to a Mullah about the situation. He told me that it would be in my best interest to marry the guy and it would make my parents as well as God happy with me.

So after a few months, with the intention of making others happy I said yes. I would sit in my room, holding his picture in my hand and wonder what was going to happen. He was very stunning. Tall, handsome and strong. He had the bluest eyes I had ever seen. I still wanted to know more about him though. After a few conversations on the phone I had learned that he worked at the United Nations, knew three or four languages and many other things. He seemed wonderful. 

I had a beautiful engagement party. I wore a blue gown and felt like a princess. My mother was so happy and seeing her happy made me happy. 

Months later I graduated from High School. And one month after that, I was on an airplane to Afghanistan with my mother for the wedding. My father was already in Afghanistan. It would be my first time back after 15 years.

Once I arrived there was at least fourty people waitingg for me at the Kabul Airport. My entourage exceeded Karzais. I met uncles and aunts that I didn’t recognize, I met cousins for the first time and family friends and then I met him. I wasn’t that nervous because I didn’t like him that much. I mean, I barely knew him. But he took my hand and it’s a strange feeling to hold hands with a person you’ve never had a conversation with in person. I kept letting go of his hand and pretending it was an accident. Like I had to fix my scarf or get my suitcase or something. 

I was staying at an aunt’s house and didn’t see him often before the wedding. The Wedding was ten days after my arrival in Kabul. But I wasn’t ready. Things moved too fast and I was just getting to know my family that I hadn’t seen in forever. We went to choose a wedding gown and they were all sleeveless. In an “Islamic” country, where women cannot leave the house unless covered from head to toe, they didn’t have one wedding dress with sleeves. Back then I wore hijab so I wanted a dress with sleeves. They later made sleeves for a dress but even then, you could see right through them. I was also told by everybody that I couldn’t wear my hijab for my wedding. That it was ridiculous and nobody covers their hair on their wedding day. I was so upset. It’s funny that in America I could wear what I wanted but in Afghanistan I was told I couldn’t wear my scarf during my wedding because it wasn’t the “norm”.

The morning of the wedding I was ever so afraid. I begged my mom to stop the wedding. I didn’t want to get married anymore. I realized what I had gotten into. Everybody got angry at me. It was only my cousins who were my age that felt bad for me. My cousin Abidah hugged me and told me it’d be okay. She said “If he lays a hand on you, I’ll break his hand off.” I thought how violent yet kind of her. I wanted to get a taxi and go see my father who was in a different city at the time. But it would be too dangerous to get a taxi alone specially when I’ve got an American accent when I speak farsi. But I knew if I could get to my father, he would help me. He’d be by my side. I was always “daddy’s little girl” and he always loved me so much. He always called me his flower. I asked if I could at least call him and they told me to stop being ridiculous and acting like a child. But that’s just the thing, I was a child.

There was no use in trying anymore. There were 500 guests invited to the wedding. The Hotel was one of the finest in Kabul and the wedding singer was one of the best. Everything was ready from the people to the food to the music. Everything and everyone was ready except for me.

After many arguments and lectures, I started cooperating. I arrived at the salon and got my hair and make-up done. I put on the dress and looked like a princess, I just didn’t feel like one. He arrived to pick me up and he was more nervous than I. His palms were sweaty and he breathed so heavily I almost asked if he needed an inhaler. We didn’t talk at all in the car. I took off the fake eyelashes and blended in my lipstick with the lip liner. I then just sat in the car opposite of him and looked out the window. When we arrived at the Hotel’s Ball room and it was crazy. There were so many people, mostly people I didn’t know and the place looked like a palace. We sat down and everyone just stared. I felt so awkward and out of place but the shoes were too difficult to run in for me to run away. There was a bubble machine and these children kept trying to pop all the bubbles. I looked at them and smiled. Just as I smiled, I got ten different people running up to me telling me not to look so happy. My reply was “If a woman can’t smile on her own wedding day, when can she smile? At her funeral?” He laughed at my joke. I was starting to like him. Some Mullahs took him into a room and they discussed the marriage contract, they were there for about an hour and they brought the contract for me to sign and I looked at it, it was all in Farsi so I just signed it. I didn’t know what the hell it said but I just wanted for it to end.

When the wedding ceremony was over, the party was barely over. We arrived at his house and there were still people dancing. Before we walked through the door, they brought a chicken and cut it’s throat then put the blood underneath my shoe. I screamed. I didn’t know what the heck they were doing but it’s some sort of tradition. I asked if the chicken was going to be okay and everybody laughed at me. There was dancing and singing and I was sleepy. Then a few ladies took me to the bedroom and told me, “I hope you’re ready.” I was handed some revealing lingerie. When the ladies left, I stuffed the lingerie into the bottom of my suitcase. And I pulled out my butterfly pajama pants and a pink shirt I got from old navy.

Now the night of my wedding is one I will never forget, but not in the sense you’d think. I changed into my sleeping attire and walked into my bedroom. He was waiting for me and asked why I had taken so long. I didn’t reply, I just looked down. He walked closer to me and my heart raced. But not in the way it races when you see your crush walking down the hallway or at their locker in school, not the way your heart races when you’re meeting your favorite singer or the way your heart races when you are on a roller coaster. My heart raced out of fear. I was so scared of him and what he wanted from me. I didn’t feel comfortable at all. He brushed my hair off my shoulder and said “Tonight it will be something new but soon it will become routine.” He kissed me and I didn’t feel anything. Nothing happy at least. I asked him if we could just talk and get to know each other. He laughed. But I wasn’t joking at all. I then told him that I was super sleepy but that didn’t work either. I made so many excuses but he had that look in his eyes and I knew what he wanted. He was persistent and unkind. And in that moment I learned what so many people go through when they marry people because they are “suppose” to and not because they desire to.

It was in that moment that I realized I meant nothing. I wasn’t important or beautiful or special to him, I was just an object to satisfy his sexual needs. To give him children and pleasure. I fought and yelled and cried and told him not to lay a hand on me. But he kept trying. He gave up after a while and he went to sleep but I, I didn’t sleep that night at all. I sat at the edge of the bed, looked out the window towards the moon and I cried. I asked God, “How could you let this happen? I trusted you. I did this to get closer to you.” It was that moment in my life where my respect and love for Religion, God and Marriage all went out the window. It would take the next few years to get it back if not longer. 

I slowly began getting used to this stranger that I had to start calling my husband. I became very fond of his family. I missed mine more. I missed America. I was having to adapt to being in a completely different country and the new lifestyle of being married. I wasn’t your average Afghan Bride though and for that I got in lots of trouble. I never wore make up or gold which is tradition if you are a newly wed. You have to wear almost every piece of gold you posses everywhere you go. I thought it was an insane idea so I just wore two or three rings. I would soon fall in love but not with him, with my country and the people of Afghanistan.

There was no going back in my mind. It was too late. I had screwed up big time and I could never again be happy. I contemplated what I was going to do as I realized that I had married somebody I wasn’t very fond of at all. That is when I felt my childhood fly away like  scarf on a very windy day. You can chase it, but there’s no getting it back. You can only reminisce about the time you did spend together. It was like being in prison but for something you didn’t do wrong. A simple, honest mistake. I was trying to accept that this was now my reality and I had lost all hope to ever be happy again. 

That’s when I met a few people that changed my life. At that time I was staying with the man I married, his mother, his sister, his sister’s husband and their lovely six children. Bibi Naz was his sister’s nickname, it basically meant, “The gentle one”. She was so kind and helped me with everything, a piece of my heart will always belong to her. And even if I didn’t love him, I grew to love them so much that I wanted to see them happy so I tried to be happy with him. It’s like trying to fit a square into a circle if not more difficult but I tried with all my heart. It’s a funny thing when you can grow to love just about anything if you try hard enough.

We were more different than anyone could ever imagine and that’s the problem in some of these countries and cultures. My parents considered him to be a good candidate because of two factors: he was Afghan and he was Muslim. There was nothing else that they looked for. Nothing else mattered, and if he wasn’t Afghan and if he wasn’t Muslim then I wouldn’t have been allowed to marry him. Oh what high qualifications my parents had for anyone who wanted to marry me! At least, I won’t make the same mistake. I now know that when somebody approaches me for my daughter’s hand in marriage, I will not care where they are from or what Religion they follow, I will look for other more important factors. The kindness in their heart, the love for all things, the way they treat others and not just my daughter. So many things were important and overlooked when I was married and I would never want that to happen again.

We went to Ghazni, the birthplace of my then husband. It was a few hours away from Kabul and the road was dangerous but they insisted on taking me there, everybody there wanted to meet me. The car ride was interesting, lots of beautiful scenery.  My ex’s nephews and nieces were the best. I taught them all sorts of games and they taught me some too. The girls would braid my hair and I would braid theirs. They’d tell me I was the most beautiful girl in all the land. They always thought so high of me and I never understood why. They are so beautiful and important. I’d say, “My beauty is not equivalent to the beauty of a single strand of your hair.” And they would blush. When they became shy they would hide their faces in their scarf. 

Arriving in Ghazni was very interesting. If you ever read about the province you will find it has Tajiks, Pashtun, Hazaras, Hindus and before it was a Muslim city, it was a Buddhist center. I saw so much fascinating architecture. The kids would tell me ghost stories as we entered each shrine or temple. One of them would point to a place and say, they say one lady’s ghost always comes back and waits in that corner for her children and then another one of them would jump out behind a tree and I’d scream. It was funny to them, but to me…not so much. I’d say “Do you want me to die of a heart attack?!”  But it was so beautiful in Ghazni I can’t describe. If I have been to any city that I might think resembles heaven it would be that city. The city was known for it’s mulberries. And beneath a row of mulberry trees there ran a river. There were so many sheep so sometimes before the kids would pick up and wash the mulberries, another would tell them “Make sure it’s a real mulberry!” We laughed.

We would just sit underneath the trees and tell stories. You could feel the gentle breeze playing with your hair and floating beneath your scarf, whispering in your ear. There were these huge fish swimming through the river and they said that if you caught the fish with your bare hands you could have any wish but I was so afraid of touching them. So I said who ever catches them should let me make a wish for them. So when somebody caught one and brought it next to me, he said “Hurry up and make a wish!” But I was so afraid of the fish I yelled “I wish you’d let him go!” Everyone laughed but the boy was angry that I wasted a wish but at least it came true and fish was happy again. Near the house, not too far away there were apple trees. But these trees were unlike any other. They were HALF under water. That’s right half of the entire trunk was under water. So if you wanted to climb the trees you got really wet. We climbed them anyways and I got my really expensive Afghan clothes all wet but it was worth it. Some kids came up to us and said “These are my father’s trees. If you don’t get down I’m going to go get his gun and make you get down.” I freaked out and told the boy “Okay, we’ll leave.” But the kids I was with were so bad they just replied “I don’t care, get your damn gun!” After a while I forced the kids to get down because I didn’t want trouble. We walked home and passed so many different beautiful places. I can never forget the sweetness of the apples or the cold water that reached our knees.

The nights in Ghazni were even better than the days. The stars were so bright and clear, I had never seem them so up close. One of the elders was sitting on the porch putting beads on a string to create his tasbeh (prayer beads). He kept dropping some and when I went to help him he said his eyes couldn’t see that well. I told him not to worry and in a few moments, I completed the entire tasbeh. I handed it back to him and he said “Now because you helped me make this, you do know every time I pray to God with it or even say his name while holding this, you will be rewarded.” I just smiled. It was very kind of him to say. My father always told me things like that. Like if somebody installs a lamp somewhere and underneath the light, others read books and gain knowledge, the person who installed the lamp gets good deeds from God. 

When I had walked inside the house I saw Saddiq, one of the children in Ghazni rolling on the ground crying. He was about eight years old. I asked what was wrong and he kept screaming and crying. His mom told me that he had an infection and it burns his stomach sometimes. She then walked away like it was nothing. I sat down beside him and asked “Saddiq, are you okay?” He kept crying. I was really worried. I asked everyone how to help and they said “there’s nothing you can do.” I had an idea. I called all the kids from all the rooms. They all came and I said, “We’re going to play a game. It’s called Hide-n-Seek…” as I began explaining the game they said they knew it and just had another name for it. So we went and told Saddiq what we were playing and he stood up so fast and wiped his tears away but you could still see he was in pain. They ran outside as the adults told them to stay inside because it was late. They said “Aunt Fatima is taking us!” So the adults told them they could go. And I just smiled. First off, I didn’t know that while playing hide-n-seek the damn kids would be acrobats and climb on rooftops and hide in trees. I thought I was the master of the game but I was wrong. The adults of the neighborhood all watched from the windows laughing. One of the neighbors came over and asked Bibi Naz “Is that your sister-in-law from America playing with the kids at this time at night?” Bibi Naz laughed and said, “That’s her!” 

It was so fun playing with them outside, late at night but the best part was seeing Saddiq laugh so hard. He was missing a few teeth so it made his smile even more precious. I swear to the heavens, I had never felt so much joy watching somebody else smile. He ran so fast and laughed harder. You could find him easily even in the darkness of the night and behind the leaves of any tree because all your heard was “TEHEHEHEHE” He laughed really loudly. We all came inside out of breath and tired. We had some water and rested. My then husband stayed inside the whole time and once I came inside he just looked at me. My beautiful clothing was again ruined because of how many times I ran into a tree or fell onto the dirt. I didn’t feel embarrassed for running outside and playing with kids, I felt alive.

One of the ladies in the house we were staying just had a baby. The baby would cry constantly and it was because of her belly button. It had an infection of some sort. I grabbed my purse and threw everything out and tried to look for something to help. I saw some Neosporin that I brought for cuts. I read it front and back to see if it could help. The mother, so tired from the baby’s cries said “Let’s just try it, please.” But I know that medicine from America can sometimes have a negative effect in other countries because the people are not used to it so I was worried that God forbid, it might make things worse. But the mother applied very little. Within hours, the baby slept so well. Her belly button healed a little and the bleeding stopped. I let the mother keep the Neosporin but told her if she’s not better then we’d have to find a doctor. 

Speaking of doctors in Ghazni, I woke up with an eye infection one morning. I couldn’t open my eye. It was some of the worst pain I had ever felt. I got some sand underneath my contact and it caused my entire right eye to burn. I took them out and didn’t know what to do. They started a car and said let’s go get it fixed. I was so relieved we were going to get help. Once we arrived at what I thought would be a doctor, we got to a little house. Going inside I see a Mullah. I’m thinking “what the heck is going on, I’m gonna go blind.” Basically, in Afghanistan it is more likely for people to go see a Mullah when they are not well than a doctor. I was feeling very ungodly at the moment and wanted to tell the Mullah unless he can fix my eye, I didn’t want to hear his prayers. No offense or anything but you didn’t see how badly my eye was hurt. So anyways, once we left there I told my ex, “I need to see a doctor, right now.” Finally, he convinced everyone else to drive me into the city and find a doctor. We arrived and the guy looked at my eye for 15 seconds and says, “There’s sand in your eye. You need to wash it out. Here are some eye drops.” Surprisingly, it was more helpful than the mullah. By nightfall my eye was better because of the eye drops, Thank God and that baby’s belly button was all healed. 

We went back to Kabul. For the entire month I was in Afghanistan, my meals consisted of mostly the same thing. Rice, bread, tea and did I mention rice? We went to Shar-e-now or “New City” in Kabul where they had the biggest mall and best food. There was Pizza and hamburgers and all sorts of food. There were also grocery stores where I found things I could cook at home for the kids. I always thought of them in everything we did. A lot of times we fought because of things he made them do. Like making them get fresh bread from the store in the morning for me and him but the kids were suppose to eat stale bread and tea for breakfast before school. We also had all sorts of jams and everything but the kids didn’t have any of it. So while I was there, I got fresh bread for everyone. Made sure the kids ate a full breakfast before going to school. And basically, I did everything to see them happy. And they did everything to see I was happy. So we went to Shar-e-now and I got them two pizzas and four sandwiches and I brought groceries, cooked them meatballs and spaghetti and all sorts of different foods. Sometimes the neighbors kids would come over and ask “What is khala Fatima cooking tonight?” Khala means aunt but you also say it for respect to women older than you. So we’d get some food and give it to the neighbors as well. 

My ex’s father passed away when he was ten so I never got to meet him. But I met both of his father’s wives. There was his mom and then there was Bibi. That was what we called her. She was very, very old but she was hilarious. She would say things all the time like “You good for nothing kids, go make yourself useful and get me something to eat.” She wasn’t the nicest with words but I loved her a lot. I was one of the few people to sit down and spend time with her. She had these piercing blue eyes that were just stunning. One day she was trying to brush her hair but was having trouble so I brushed her hair for her. She took my hand, didn’t even look in my eyes, but she said “Fatima, you may or may not believe me but I love you to no extent.” I didn’t know what to say, I just hugged her. 

In the span of two years, I went to Afghanistan three times. Because of my ex’s paperwork taking so long to bring him to America, I went to see him since he couldn’t come to see me. On my second trip back during the winter time, I managed to get everyone at my job here in America to donate school supplies. Everybody donated so many supplies it was unbelievable. I wasn’t surprised by their generosity but it was overwhelming and most appreciated. The school supplies took an entire suitcase which I thought was awesome. My other suitcase consisted of pancake mix, syrup, board games, movies, hot chocolate, peanut butter and jelly and lots of other things I wanted to share with Bibi Naz and her children. I brought many gifts for my ex as well. But as soon as I got there, he was furious. “You used an entire suitcase for kids you don’t even know? Where as you could’ve brought me more things? You haven’t seen me in how long and this is what you bring?” I was surprised and shocked. I couldn’t believe my ears. I couldn’t believe that I married someone who was actually upset at the fact that I wanted to help others. It was something that I came to learn about him, the fact that he wasn’t very helpful to others. 

I went to see my uncle at an airbase, I was so happy to see him. I hugged him for almost ten minutes. We met one of his friends on the airbase who drove us around. He told so many funny jokes and I couldn’t stop laughing. He said, “Fatima, what have you been eating this entire trip?” I said “What do you think?” and I laughed. He said, “That’s it. We’re getting you a burger and some fries!” And he turns the car around so fast to take me to Burger King. My uncle and his friend left the car to get us some food and my ex tells me “Why are you laughing at all his jokes?” My reply was “Because they were funny?” He was angry. I could tell that he was jealous at the fact that I was interacting with another male but I didn’t understand. The way back to Kabul was rather quiet and awkward because I didn’t want to laugh at all the guy’s jokes, God forbid! It made me most upset because my ex would randomly play around with other women in front of me. Hit them and run away or playfully push them. I didn’t understand how I couldn’t speak to another man but he could openly flirt with other women.

I tried so hard to love a man that I couldn’t bring myself to love. I was so frustrated by countless things that he did or said. I would play connect four with the kids while he would be in the other room brushing his hair for two hours. We were so different and it killed me inside. I walked into our room and sat next to him. “Do you love me?” I asked. “Of course.” He said as he laughed and walked away to put on more cologne. He had this thing with cologne where he used so much that you thought he bathed in it. I asked him to name 3 things he loved about me. He began thinking. And he kept thinking. And he couldn’t think of anything. I looked at him and said “We’ve been married for almost a year and you can’t think of one thing that you love about me? Why are we even together?” I was so angry I just went to bed. I was in tears. “You’re very gorgeous.” He says after ten minutes. “Go to hell.” I replied.

It was as if all the hard work I put into being in love didn’t pay off. It was literally a tedious task for me to try and love somebody I didn’t and now to see that they weren’t trying at all, it was beyond frustrating. And I’ll tell you one thing, I held his hand. I kissed him. I hugged him. I listened to all his stories. I asked about his interests. I was there for him. I got the most beautiful outfits. I did everything that a loving wife is “supposed” to do but it wasn’t enough. Sometimes I even hated myself for trying so hard.

I realized after too damn long that women are not created to be there for men. We are not created to satisfy their sexual needs regardless of what some assholes may think. Women were not created to make a man feel important. Women were created because we’re just as fucking important as men are. It killed me inside. It really did. I hated everything I had become and everything that I had done to make him happy. When I arrived back in the United states after my second trip, I told my mom I wasn’t happy. But she didn’t care. And I told him, I wasn’t happy with him. I demanded to get my life back. I demanded to be able to live my life differently and how I wanted. To find a man who would be good to me and actually love me for me. And then, at the worst timing in the universe I found out I was pregnant. 

During my many trips to Afghanistan, I had done things that were not considered “Lady like” in their standards. I climbed trees, got on the roof in high heels to watch the Kites, hit kids with snowballs, built forts and one time I made coats for the chickens during winter time because I felt bad for them.  Bibi Naz said “God gave them coats already.” And I replied “But I see them shivering so he didn’t do a very good job.” But it was one time where somebody actually got upset with me. We were walking alongside a road and I saw a butterfly. I tried to catch it but it was so fast. I chased it like a child and finally caught it. It was so beautiful, I opened my hands and watched it fly away. My aunt came up beside me, grabbed my arm and whispered, “Girls don’t run.”

When I had returned back to America after my second trip I was feeling different. I asked my cousin what it could be and she said I may be pregnant. I thought, “not possible.” But one day after work I took a pregnancy test. It was positive and my whole world had changed. I just sat down on the bathroom floor and thought “Holy shit my parents are going to kill me.” Then when I thought a little bit deeper, I realized how beautiful it is to be pregnant and how beautiful children are. It was a mix of emotions and I didn’t know what to think. I told my cousin it was positive but I didn’t know how to tell my parents. She helped me get through it all. She took me to a doctor, I got vitamins and information on what to do. I waited another week to tell my mom. When I finally did she was so upset and disappointed with me. She had always wanted me to finish school first. My father didn’t really talk to me about the situation. He just talked to me less. 

The first few months of my pregnancy was very difficult. I got really sick in the mornings. Later I had to quit my job because I was a photographer at a family portrait studio. I had to lift heavy things all the time and there were lots of very strong chemicals we used for developing the photos that were not good for me. I also really loved my job so I wasn’t happy to leave but I had to. Leaving my job was awful for a few reasons. I wouldn’t have much money for the new baby and I’d have to be home more. I would just sit in my room and think all day. I was happy deep down inside and excited even if everybody was upset but I couldn’t possibly show my happiness. Though every once in a while I’d put my hand over my stomach and whisper sweet things to the baby. I’d listen to classical music constantly.

I think the only other person who was happy about my pregnancy was the baby’s father. I called him in Afghanistan and told him I was pregnant and he was overjoyed. Him and his family celebrated. He’s his mom’s son so she’s always wanted him to have a child. They celebrated in Ghazni for days. And I was happy that I wasn’t alone, that somebody else no matter how far was also happy too. I thought, maybe this could be a good thing for our marriage. It gave me hope and made me want to fight for us. I thought this would turn things around but it didn’t.

He would call me at 8 or 9 in the morning and ask me why I was still sleeping. I told him it was very difficult for me to fall asleep because of the baby. He’d fight and yell over the phone every time he called. My mom saw this and said nothing. She only held me when I would cry. One day I confronted my mom about the way she had been acting towards me. I told her “I’m pregnant, there’s no undoing it. I’ve got a baby inside me and you need to acknowledge that. I need your help because I’m alone. If you don’t give a shit about me that’s fine but do it for your grandchild.” She finally realized how illogical it was to be upset with me for being pregnant after she was the one who pushed for the marriage to happen. Things got a little better between us. She seemed happier about the baby after she realized what it meant. She threw a baby shower for me one day and it went great.

One day after the baby shower I got a call from the baby’s father. It was one of the worst calls I have ever received. He said, “My aunt saw you yesterday at the baby shower.” I said, “Yes, I saw her too.” He continued “She said you’re really big. Listen, I know you’re pregnant and all but I want a beautiful wife. I want you to stay skinny after the baby. Maybe you shouldn’t be drinking so much water.”

I couldn’t believe him. I really, really couldn’t. I told him that if he wants a healthy baby I would drink as much water as possible and I didn’t want to hear from him again. He would also tell me how the baby has to be a boy. It just has to. No matter how much I told him I don’t control that and I don’t really care if it is a boy or a girl, he kept reminding me it just HAD to be a boy. I said, “I wouldn’t mind having a baby girl.” And he’d say “We can have a girl later, the first child should always be a boy.” We got in many fights during my pregnancy. It was the worst thing ever for the baby so I tried not to talk to him at all. Weeks went by without a call and I tried my best to stay healthy and happy. It was difficult. More difficult than you could ever imagine. I had become depressed beyond what I thought possible. I just wanted to have the baby already. I just wanted him to arrive so I wouldn’t be so alone.

The day he was finally born was tremendous. I went through a lot, I had lots of pain and all of it was worth while. When he was born he was crying so much and thought that’s a good sign and a good thing I kept telling my mom to make him stop crying. I didn’t want him to cry ever, even the moment he was born which is silly but still. 

He was perfect. No, he was perfection. I was so overwhelmed with joy. I named him Amir Ali after one of my favorite people in the universe, Imam Ali. Amir was also born on one of the Holy nights of Laylatul-Qadr. The day the Quran came from the heavens onto the earth. So I always think of him as my little angel. He’s also a Sayyid meaning that he’s a descendant of the holy Prophet Muhammad. His father called because he had heard the great news and we weren’t talking at the time but I didn’t want to hold any grudges because of how happy I was. Amir made me a better person before he could even talk.

After a couple months, I took him to Afghanistan to meet his father and my in-laws. When we got there, his father was in Pakistan. So for a day we just relaxed and we were taking a nap in the afternoon. Then his father arrived home. He came in the room and woke Amir up and brought him some toys. Amir loved the toys. I woke up and saw them playing. I smiled at them. His father didn’t look at me once. I thought to myself not to take it personally because afterall he is seeing his son for the first time. But it was more than just that. He never even kissed or hugged me after all the time we were apart. I was just a means of him having a child and that’s all there was to it. I felt awful but I tried to make things work. I really did. 

When me and Amir got back to America, I got an apartment for the two of us and for his father whenever he arrived in America. Amir loved the space, the furniture, his own room and we just had a blast all the time. We did whatever we wanted. I would get a kitty pool and fill it with bubbles. He and I became best friends. We didn’t have a dining table so we’d make forts and eat inside them. Many people don’t realize Amir is my son because of how we act around one another. Everyone thinks he’s my little brother which is so funny to me. 

When his father finally arrived in America, my parents threw a big family dinner for him. He was so happy to see Amir and they played so much. I had once again been fooled into thinking it could work. When we got home to my apartment, it wasn’t so wonderful anymore. We slept in separate rooms. Aside from me letting him know when dinner was ready, we never interacted. He was upset that I worked so much and wanted me to stop working. I told him that the rent wasn’t going to pay itself. The apartment without utilities was 1200. I said, if he could find a job that was better than what I had, then I wouldn’t work and I’d watch the baby instead. But it was so many things. He didn’t want me to go to school. He didn’t want me to talk on the phone. He didn’t like the way I dressed. Everything was a problem. Everything I did was wrong. Dressing up, getting roses and making dinner on Valentine’s day wasn’t good enough. Nothing was ever good enough. And after all of that I still stayed. Even though he had anger issues. He would shout for no apparent reason and threaten to hurt me. I was so afraid for my life. I would tell my mom and she’d tell me to make it work. So I slept with a phone under my pillow so I could call the police if I ever needed to. I didn’t know what else to do because if I had left the relationship even if it was because all that he did to me, I would still be the bad one.

But one afternoon while Amir was sleeping, we got into an argument. He ran into my bedroom and grabbed Amir, locked him in the other room with himself. Amir was screaming and crying and he kept threatening to take Amir away. He kept saying “You’ll never see your son again.” I cried my eyes out as I threatened to call the police but he didn’t care, he said call them! I was telling Amir that it was okay and that he’d be alright. I called my parents but nobody was home. After an hour he opened the door and Amir ran to me, he had been so afraid from all the yelling, I could feel him shaking when I held him.

It was in that moment that I realized what I needed to do. I needed to do what was best for my son and that would mean getting a divorce. I told him to leave my house. He was pissed at the very thought. I told him to leave that moment. I called my parents and told them that I refused to be with him. He left and of all the places he could stay and all the relatives he has in America, he stayed at my parents house. My parents didn’t say a word to him about the way he’d been treating me. My father who was suppose to be my protector took his side because he was older. My mother who was suppose to be the one I can always turn to and go to for help was now against me. In fact, she disowned me. Her exact words were, “If you want a divorce, do not call yourself my daughter.” She refused to help me with Amir so I could go to work. I missed two weeks of work. She told me she’d take my car away and never help me again. It was the worst feeling in the world but I didn’t care if me and Amir were in a shelter, as long as we were together and safe I’d be happy. 

I know that divorce isn’t a good thing but sometimes it is necessary. And that is what people failed to realize. Rumors spread everywhere about me because I had made him leave. He later left my parents house and moved to a different state. People called me and asked me why I did it. I constantly got lectured left and right. Everybody told me the same things, “You are ruining your life. People think you’re a slut. Everybody knows that you are only trying to be with somebody else, Why else would you leave him? You are never going to be married again. Nobody will ever consider being with someone who has a child. You’ve let your family down.” It was ironic being told that I let my family down when the truth was they let me down. The only person who took my side was my brother.

I went to different Mullahs to get my Islamic Divorce and they refused. At a Masjid while holding Amir in my arms I told the Mullah my situation to which he replied “You cannot take care of that child alone, go home and make it work. Be a good wife.” I cried in front of him. All of my respect for him flew out the window. Another Mullah told me I’d have to go to Iran for two years to get a divorce. One even told me that women cannot get divorced, I must get him to ask for one. He didn’t want to divorce though. He refused it. And for the next year and a half, he wouldn’t sign any documents. I think that in Afghanistan if two people divorce they are supposed to be enemies because no matter how much I said, you can still see your son, he didn’t think he could. He had so much hatred for me not wanting to be with him. He apologized and begged for me to take him back. But that was not going to happen. He made it as difficult as possible but I got a lawyer and eventually he gave in. The nightmare was finally over.

Now he comes every once in a while to see Amir. Amir loves him so much and I’m glad. I don’t hate him anymore. I’ve learned that it was a difference in the cultures. And while somethings were clearly wrong, he does feel bad about them now. He has since gone through a lot of things and has learned his lesson. He is doing okay and now has a job and he can help his family in Afghanistan. I miss his family so much. I sent them pictures and they sent me some too. They also sent me a beautiful shirt and an outfit for Amir. They wrote me a letter and asked me to come see them. It made me cry because if I could, I sure as hell would.

I am also getting my life back. I’m now taking classes. I am writing stories. Recording music at the studio. I am also on good terms with my parents. Even if a little part of me will always be hurt because of what they did, I am learning to be forgiving. Me and Amir are doing wonderful. He is the best friend I ever had and he teaches me more than I could ever teach him. Yesterday while trying on some dresses, he looked at me and said “Princess.” It was the sweetest thing ever. He really is my world. And while some people said that they are sorry for what happened to me and that they wished I had never got married when I did, I, myself think differently. I would go through everything I went through a thousand times again just to spend one day with Amir. And others told me I’d never find love again but they don’t know what love means or what it means to be loved.

When some people say they are sorry for what happened to me, I remind them that I was one of the lucky ones. I know most women in some of these countries or from these cultures can never, ever get a divorce. It’s a nightmare for them that they have to go through every single day. I hope that my story brings awareness. I know that since my situation, three girls my age and younger broke off their engagement to men overseas whom they didn’t know. I am not against all forms of arranged marriage. I don’t know if my marriage can even be called arranged because I did agree to it. But I am against women not having the same rights as men. I am against women being forced to marry. I am against women not being able to get a divorce unless they go to hell and back but a man with the snap of his fingers can get divorced. I am also against laws being passed by Karzai where rape is okay in marriage. Rape is not okay in any circumstance, ever. I also don’t want people to think that men from Afghanistan are not good men. There are good men and bad men in every country in the world. I had met some wonderful people there and know they will be the best husbands and fathers ever. There are men there who pray to have daughters and when they do they treat them like princesses. My great grandfather had 4 daughters and 2 sons. In his will, he left them all equal acres of land. My grandfather had 10 children and loved my mother the most. So it varies and we mustn’t make assumptions based on a few stories we hear.

Since the day that I had gotten married, I had been hurt, yelled at, disowned, bruised, broke and more. People also started making assumptions about what happened and being told that I was a bad person. Only until recently, did people realize that the stories they heard didn’t match up. They are finally asking me what really happened instead of accepting the rumors because they want to know the truth. My aunt while pouring me a glass of tea at her daughter’s house, asked me, “Why did you leave him? Why didn’t you stay for your son?”

“I stayed for my son. That’s the only reason I stayed. My father, as you know, was abusive. As a woman and mother, it is my job to protect my child. So people shouldn’t think that I didn’t stay for my son and I left for myself. I stayed with him for my son’s sake and then I left him for my son’s sake. Women are strong. They will go through anything for their children. I never ran away. I never gave up. I fought until the last minute. Don’t you remember what you said to me when I was running in the streets of Kabul? Girls don’t run.”