Gunmen Attack, Burn, School

Tuesday, Nov. 17—Armed gunmen broke into a school in Farah Province’s Pusht-e-road District today, holding the guard at gunpoint and setting the building afire, ending for now the education of its 1,200 students, as a sign of growing tension over the future of education in Afghanistan.

Nearby residents criticized as cowardly the burning of the school building as well as desks and chairs. “We condemn this action,” said resident Mohammed. “It not allowed in Islam to destroy the schools and mosques. God won’t forgive the people who did and do this kind of work.”

But as a bright spot, two schools, including one for girls, have opened in recent months in the Zekan village of Anardara and the Hour village of Pusht-e-koh, costing the equivalent of $200,000 USD and paid for by the Farah Provincial Reconstruction Team.

Nawid, a tenth grade student, said the gunmen who burned the school “do not have information about Islam and its principles. As Prophet Mohammad said, learning is essential for all Muslim men and women. So God forbids setting fire to schools where students are going to learn about Islam and the country.”

“It would be better to join in with the reconstruction of Afghanistan instead of destroying it,” said Rahim, 20, a Farah Province resident. “We must work to rebuild our country, not set fire to the schools. I hope the Education Department will respond and rebuild this school very soon, since the students do lose their hopes.”

The head of the Farah Education Department, Atiqullah, said 18 classes were being held at the burned school, and he warned, “It will take time to reopen.”

He also noted the newly constructed schools “fourteen classrooms and have space for 500 students in each village.”

Farah students said they were pleased about the new schools but did express concern about protecting them.

“As an Afghan student, I appreciate those people who built schools for girls and boys in the districts of Farah,” said Fahiam, a tenth grade student at Malaga Miwand Girls’ School. “I also condemn the act of insurgency that burned the school in the Pusht-e-road District.”

About 128 primary schools, 99 middle schools, and 46 high schools for girls and boys are currently open in Farah Province, and about six middle schools were upgraded to high schools in the province this year.

By Seeta

A Line of Fathers

(Eds note: This is a story based on real events and told from the viewpoint of the author’s father.)

When I was a kid, nothing used to bother me more than not having a brother and sister to play with. My father would come home every six months. He was a shepherd and had to take the sheep from one place to another. My father was a very hard worker, kind and enjoyed talking to and helping people. I like his attitudes so much; he was my childhood hero. I was always trying to follow his path. I used to attend school as well as help my dad and mom in the daily work. Life was perfect for me; everything was going all right.

Then I became aware that my father had a very difficult sickness that he and my mom were hiding from me. It was a kind of digestive sickness.

I was about 12 years old when I lost my father. In the last days of his life, I spent a lot of time with him. I prayed to Allah to make my father well. My father assured me he would be fine and there was no need to worry, but from the hidden cries of my mother, I knew that my dad wouldn’t get well. I was very upset and worried. He was the only man in my life. One day my father was talking to my mother about his sickness and how serious it was. They both were crying inside the house, and I was crying outside of the house. I tried not to breathe, so they would not know that I was there. Losing my father brought me so much sorrow; he was my comrade and the hero of all my stories. I could see stamina, valour and manhood in him.

After my father passed away, I could feel changes in myself. I became unsociable. I couldn’t attend school anymore, because I was the only child and I felt responsible for my mother, who was also not well herself. I took care of our animals and our house and most of the responsibilities that my father used to have. I had to fill my father’s space for my mother.

Every day when I took our sheep to eat grass, I had to cross in front of our school. I don’t remember a day that I didn’t cry when I saw my school, my teachers and my friends. It brought back memories from my school times. I missed every minute of school and wished I had it back. It was hard to see my friends going to school and I asked God to give me another chance to be able to attend.

When I got older, I got married, and I’ve tried to educate all my children. I made a large effort to send them all to school because I understood what a big gift education is. I worked more than 12 hours a day to afford to send my children to school.

I tried to be the example for my children that my father was for me. I have seven daughters and two sons. I am happy with my life, because I nurtured them like a lion. My children are educated and they are a big help to me. Now I am happy that my daughters and sons can help my country and its future in a way they think is the best for all the Afghans, and I am happy to be in the row of fathers who tried to help out their children.

By Fatima

The Sun Prepares Good Landai

(Eds Note: Landai is a specially prepared dried meat, and is a traditional Afghan food)

One autumn day when the air was filled
With wood smoke, when the sun

Twinkled from behind blown clouds
When the wind puffed up the trees, we asked our mom

“Could you prepare landai for the winter?”
“Yes,” she said, “but you must help me.”

We all promised to help, my sisters and I.
Our parents brought a beautiful plump sheep.

The butcher slaughtered the woolly brown sheep
Hung it in a tree to remove its intestines

He cut the meat in one big piece
Separated its liver, its kidney

Mom prepared the meat, sprinkled salt over it
The kitchen air filled with the meat’s scent

The copper smell of raw meat and the waxy scent of fat
Worked their way through ever corner of the kitchen

Whenever mom prepares landai and boils turnips
The turnips I eat smell of the earth
Reminding us of snowy winter days

My mother put the meat with salt in a big basin for half day
Then she drew the water off to ready it for hanging
Put it under the sun’s rays
Until all the water evaporated, leaving the husk of the sheep

The sun prepares good landai
We were happy that day
Knowing we would have dried meat
On winter days

By Freshta

A Poem To The Government

Afghans suffers pain, trial, labor, grief, sorrow, tragedy.
Now the president needs to serve them
Serve for people, serve those who need

Serve for those who have lost their families, loved ones who live only in memory.
Serve for those who have lost their parents, who had dignity but are now called orphans.
Serve for orphans who hide their face with their hands and hear the slap of tongues when they say thanks.
Serve for orphans who watch other parents caress their children
Tears come from their eyes as thunder appears in the sky.
Tears of hopelessness, discouragement, depression.
Serve for people, serve for those who need

Serve for the mother who lost her sons, now passing her life with memories
Her tears are her best friends; she shares her pains and complaints with them.
Serve for those women who lost their husbands in war, suicide attackers who were supporting them and were as the ceiling of their home.
Now their home is without a ceiling and has no support—what will happen to their lives? Who will care for them?
Serve for those women and men who are addicted, don’t have money and, in order to buy drugs, do illegal actions.
Serve for people, serve for those who need

Serve for your country, which has many wounds
These wounds have become a cancer
Find the way to calm these wounds.
Serve for your country, which is losing its sight
Bring light by building schools all over the country for male and female
And pave the way for higher educations abroad, to avoid having to wear eyeglasses
Because if some of our young graduate from university, it is like our country has a little power of sight
But to be educated in developing countries is to find the self-confidence to see completely.
Serve for those women who were exchanged for animals, whose families trampled their rights.
Serve for people, serve for those who need

Serve for those children who leave school to sell gum or water, polish shoes, and wash cars to support their family.
Serve for those children who wash cars in cold weather without warm clothes, Coughing, bending their pants and sleeves so their knees and elbows stay dry
They don’t have hot water but continue washing the car to find 40 Afs for their efforts
Not enough, especially when there is a storm.
Serve for those children who never ask for nice, clean clothes as others have
Never ask for the good food they need, never ask their parents to carry them,
But are supporting their families.
Serve for people, serve for those who need

Serve for Afghan people
Half of them have psychological problems,
Worrying about kidnapping, human trafficking, suicide attackers, poverty and more.
Serve for those with tears in their eyes, wounds on their body, grief in their hearts
But who close their mouths and cry in silence
As the cloudy sky roars with little rain.

Serve for people, serve for those who need.

By Freshta

My Hejab-Another Opinion

In my high school, I was the nerdy girl who wore spectacles and worked in science labs. Most of my classmates only hung out with me because I had the answers to their question related to science, and other subjects too. Most of my teacher didn’t seem to like me. They always asked me why I wore a scarf at school even though all the students were girls and most of the teachers were women. My chemistry teacher used to say, “So what if your computer and Pashto teachers are men? It’s not like you’re going to go to hell for it.”

“You can never tell who is going to hell or who is not going to hell,” I would reply, and she would get angry.
The only reason I wore scarf at first was that I saw my mother wearing scarf when we were in Malaysia. Also, in photos of her when she was young, she was wearing a scarf at age 11. I asked my mother why she wore a scarf when she was just a little kid. She said, “Well, sweetie, because in Islam women are supposed to wear a scarf, and also I used to wear scarf because my mother—your grandmother—used to wear it when she was at my age.” I still remember how I used to copy my mom, her way of walking, talking, cooking, listening, thinking, and her clothing too. I started wearing scarf when I was at the age of 12 in Malaysia, and my family supported me. My schoolteachers also supported me and used me as an example to the schoolgirls every morning, saying “look at this Muslim girl. She is following Islamic law at so young an age. I hope you all learn something from her.”

But when I came to Afghanistan, I saw all the women were trying not to wear scarf. They thought of it as a restriction. And when they saw me with a scarf, they asked me in a shocked tone, “Is your family that restrictive even though you came from abroad?” I told them I wear a scarf is because I am a Muslim girl, and in Islam we women are supposed to wear it. They didn’t agree. Take my friend in high school who memorized 26 part of the Holy Quran during the Taliban regime. With the Taliban gone, she decided not to wear scarf. I asked her why not, since she knows it is required by Islamic law. She said, “I only memorized the Holy Quran because I had nothing to do during all those years, and the Taliban are gone, why should I wear a scarf? I am free now.” Every time I would cry to my mother, she would say it’s okay, after a while, people will understand that wearing hijab is not a bad thing, but God’s order for people.

On Graduation Day, we students had a party and invited all the teachers and our mothers. On that day, I told myself, “That is IT. I’ve had enough of them making fun of me.” I was so angry with myself that I cried. So I went to my cabinet and took my blue Indian Punjabi, and let my hair out in the open and I put a shiny brown lip-gloss.
When I was coming down the stairs, my mom looked at me with a confused face.

“DON’T say anything! DON’T ask anything!” I told my mom.

“Okay,” was all she said and she had a small smirk on her face. I assumed that she already knew why I was dressed like this. We arrived a little late to the party and I had wanted to be late because I didn’t have the guts to go inside. I kept telling myself it’s okay… you can do this… no one is looking at you… just take a deep breath…

When I got inside the hall, I saw all my classmates standing in line to welcome the guests. The hallway was small and dark. I was standing next to my sister and we were walking together through the hallway. I felt my knees shaking. My sister held my hand tighter and said, “Don’t worry. You look great.” Her words made me feel a little better, but I was still afraid, thinking if they make fun of me in front of my family, what should I do? When I got inside the hall and took my hejab off, I felt all eyes upon me. I was too scared to look up because I didn’t know how to face them with this new look.

“Aisha?!” I heard my classmate called my name. I looked up at her and I saw her face was full of surprise. “Ah… is it really you? I mean … of course it’s you… umm … hi.”

I didn’t wanted to say hi to her cause she gave a lot of pain to me, but that’s not how I was raised by my parents—my mom and dad always said that no matter how much you hate someone you always have to be nice to people, because Allah will always be with good people. So I said “Hi.” in a cold way. For the rest of the party, I was the main topic. Most of the mothers came to my mom and asked for my hand in marriage for their sons or brothers. Also all my teachers and asked me if I could take some pictures with them, so I took only one with each one. When they wanted to take more pictures I said no. Everyone was complimenting me, saying I looked so beautiful, and they wanted to know why I didn’t look like this when I was at school.

When the party was over, I didn’t say good bye to anyone because to me, none of them were my friend. On that day, all of my teachers and classmates came to me because of how I looked, not because of who I am.

My life changed after that day I never looked back. I never want to return to that school even to visit. My older brother enrolled me in the American University of Afghanistan in 2006, and I started studying there. At first I was scared because I didn’t wanted my hejab to be a discussion subject again. But instead, boys and girls encouraged me to wear the hejab. I was supported by my teachers and friends. Now I have a best friend who came from United States of America. She does not wear hejab, but she fully supports me in wearing it.

By Aisha