A Special Eid Celebration

Eid al-Fitr—the Festival of Fast-Breaking—is a special celebration for the ending of Ramadan month, after Muslims fast for almost 30 days. This last Eid was different than all others for me.

A couple of days prior to Eid, my father purchased cakes, biscuits, drinks, dry fruits, sweets and fresh fruits to serve guests on Eid’s occasion. I went with my Mom to buy henna and some other jewelry for myself and my sisters.

On the last day of Ramadan, we were busy having a meal for Ifthari when we heard firing outside in the street, people shouting, and joyfully announcing Eid day. “Oh, they must have sighted the Moon!” my brother said, and we ran to the backyard to see a crescent moon in the sky. My brother and baby sister began dancing when the radio announced that the next day was Eid day. My brother started text-messaging his friends, and my three-year-old sister put her new clothes, shoes, and jewelry next to her bed so she could wear them in the morning. I made designs with henna on my hands and and my sister’s.

I love Eid so much; Eid morning is always especially fresh, exciting, and full of happiness. I woke early the next morning. I could hear the Mullah’s prayers coming from Masjid to wake us up, and birds singing and praying in the colorful trees to wish us happy Eid. Special prayers are offered on Eid when the sun spreads and touches the earth. The prayers are offered to thank Allah for blessing us with happiness and prosperity, and also to pray for the safety and well-being of our country.

We dressed nicely for the prayers. My father and brothers went to Masjid to pray and my mom and I prayed at home.

Afterwards, everyone started wishing “Happy Eid Mubarak” to each other. Faces sparkled with happiness and joy. When my father and brothers returned to home, my parents gave us Eidi (money given to children as a gift). In a few minutes, my sister, brother in-law and other cousins were also with us. We wished Happy Eid Mubarak to each of them, and served a lot of sweets and other special foods. Music beat, kids played, and there was dancing, talking, laughing, and eating until end of the day.

But Eid is also about creating peace among all people, about sharing some moments of happiness, especially with those who are sad, deprived or in need for our support. So that night, when all guests left, my mom packed some food and asked me to go with her to our neighbor’s house. The man of the house had been one of the 45 civilians killed in the bloody bomb explosion which occurred during the month of Ramadan on Aug. 25, 2009, in Kandahar. His death left his wife and three kids alone. Hadn’t his wife wished to have a happy Eid with her kids and husband? But now her happiness had disappeared into a blast of tears pouring from her eyes.

My mom and I entered through a tiny wooden door into a small house made of clay. The house was dimmed in darkness. I held my mom’s hands until we reached the light of from a lamp blazing from the porch. The wife and the three kids were gathered there, under the light of that lamp. She was on a jainamaz (a special rug for prayers) sobbing and praying to Allah.

She wiped her eyes when she saw us, folded the jainamaz, put it to the side and stood to greet us. “Salaam, welcome to my poor house,” she said, and kneeled to clean a spot for us to sit on the floor. We sat with her and then crossed our fingers to recall memorial prayers for her husband’s death, as it was the first Eid since he had passed away. His wife cried in my mom’s arm and then she said, “He left me alone and left my kids fatherless. Who will take care of them now?” She said this while looking to her belly. She was five months pregnant with the next baby!

Beside her, her three-year-old boy was asleep with tears on his puffy and reddened cheeks. Her five-year-old boy was playing hide and seek with a cat, and her six-year-old was lying on the floor and quietly looking at the sky, as if counting the stars.

I went to sit next to him and asked him that what was he doing there? That little boy looked at me for a moment and then said: “Mom says that our Daddy went to the sky to meet Allah-Pak. Now I am searching among the stars for him. I want him to come back, so that I can ask him for my Eidi.”

Holding the little boy tightly in my arms, I said: “Here is your Eidi that your Daddy asked me to give you.” I took the money my own father had given me as an Eidi from my purse and gave it to both little boys. Then I asked them to eat some of the food we had brought them.

My mom and I stayed there to talk until the kids fell asleep and then we returned to our home.

The innocent faces of those kids and that woman’s tears didn’t let me sleep that night. I tossed and turned. How could I help them?

Suddenly, I remembered one of WFP’s employees I could ask for help. When I was working with Mercy Malaysia in its Vocational Training Center in Kandahar, the WFP used to provide food items, such as flour, beans, salt, biscuits and a tin of oil to all trainees and trainers on a monthly basis, and my friend was responsible for monitoring food distribution process in our VTC site.

The next morning, I called him and explained the situation. He agreed with my idea and asked me for the address to send some food items. The next day, my friend brought food items with some clothes, shoes, and a small amount of money. The woman and kids’ faces were shining with joy and they were grateful for everything my friend did for them. I thanked him for his support.

“WFP aims to provide food items to all those needy people who are attending our project sites, such as literacy and vocational training centers, schools, and hospital, rather than supporting individuals. Therefore, food may not be provided to your neighbor more than a couple of times, so I suggest she attends one of the literacy centers in order to continually receive our support,” my friend said while he was leaving.

When my neighbor heard her words, she began thinking deeply about how to study.
Previously, she had never gone to school, nor had she been allowed to work, but now the situation was different. Now she had to take care of her kids by herself.

“Look,” I told her, “we all face problems in this challenging life and sometimes it’s tough to meet those problems, but that doesn’t mean we should give up.”

“You can prove yourself both as a father and mother to work for the bright future of your small children, rather than just sitting at the corner of your house crying on your fate. No one will help you unless you help yourself. Therefore, I advise you to go to one of these literacy centers to learn both education and tailoring skills, and to receive every month some food to feed your kids,” I added.

She smiled at me and asked me if I could take her to the literacy center.

“We can go tomorrow,” I said joyfully.

Although the war has been considered over since 2001, its effects still remain, particularly in the southern region of Kandahar, where daily bomb explosions, suicide attacks and kidnappings are adding to the numbers of widows, orphans, and other disabled people begging for a piece of bread on the street.

There are many others like my neighbors who do not feel the happiness of the Eid. For them, freedom and peace is what they have not yet experienced. Still, there is hope and this is education. Everyone should get an education and then every day could be an Eid day.

by Safia

Be Proud, America

(Editor Note: Rosemary Stasek, AWWP friend and former mayor of Mountain View, California, died on Thursday September 24, 2009, in Afghanistan.)

It was a Wednesday in June when I had my interview with Rosemary. She accepted me as program assistant for her organization, “A Little Help.” I was glad and I was afraid. But she was not like a boss to me. She was like a teacher. The first days, everything was new. She gave me some letters to print. I tried and I tried, but the printer was angry; it was not printing, I went to Rosemary and told her, “Please, come check the printer.” She came and checked, and plugged the cable on the printer and smiled at me.

One day she gave me a list of supplies she had to buy for a hospital, and sent me to get price quotes. When I left the office, I found I understood all the words but one. I studied the word and then went to the furniture store and ordered some chairs. When I got back to the office, Rosemary asked me, “Where did you go?” I replied that I was at the furniture store. Again she looked at me and smiled and printed out a paper with a picture and showed me: the word I didn’t understand was “crutches.” When I looked at the paper, I laughed, and she laughed too, but she didn’t make fun of me.

Her office with its green lawn and roses was also her house, but it was my home too. I felt calm there. She was not like a foreigner. She was a family member. She stayed in Afghanistan almost six years and Afghanistan was her home. Her other assistant, Karima, and I were both studying at the university. On exam days she didn’t like us to work very much at the office. She encouraged us to study and try hard.

Rosemary did a lot for women. Take a few minutes and visit her site www.stasek.com .
She was working days and nights, helping Afghan women not only in the capital, but all the provinces of our country. In Bamyan, Ghor, Mazar, Kabul, Parwan, and many, many other provinces, there are hearts who love Rosemary.

She remains in a lot of memories in my heart and soul. I remember the time we visited a blind school. The blind teacher and students were playing music and she started to dance. Everyone was blind so only I could see her, but she danced and we both had tears in our eyes, oh oh oh.

But life is unfaithful sometimes. The woman we knew was sick in the last three months. Most of the time she looked tired, but didn’t express it in her face. She had her cute smile. But you could read from her face that Rosemary tolerated pain. Once or twice I asked her, and she told me: “I am not feeling well, but don’t worry. I will be okay soon.”

She was sick all of Ramazan but in the beginning she gave lots of prayer rugs and holy Qurans for Muslims. The last time we went to the girl’s prison, she carried a lot of stuff that was very heavy. I told her I could carry it, but she wouldn’t let me.

The other day we went to tax office together. I had all the work done there. She thanked me and congratulated me. I told her, “Don’t thank me. It was all your work, Rosemary.” But she smiled and told me, “No, Roya, it was you doing all the work.” She drove us home. On the way, I told her, “Rosemary, this time when you go to States, I will take a driving course.” She laughed and told me, “You missed your chance; why didn’t you go when I was in Africa last month?” I repeated, “This time when you go, I will go to a driving course.”

When we reached the office, Marne, Rosmary’s kind husband, arrived from his office. Rose greeted him very friendly: “My dear husband, how are you?” She laughed and her laugh was an ocean of love.

One day before Eid, she gave all the office staff Eid gifts. She gave me new clothes. On first day of Eid, I sent her a message of Eid greetings. On third day of Eid, I called her. Although she was sick, she didn’t tell me on phone. I missed her, so on fourth of Eid, even though it was holiday, I went to the office to visit her. She was in her living room. I was checking my writings on AWWP when Rosemary tried to walk to her office, but she was having trouble walking. She used the walls to help her. I followed her into her office and wanted to hug her, but she was very sick, very, very sick. She couldn’t talk and could hardly breathe. She pointed and invited me to sit. I sat down and told her, “Rosemary, you will be okay soon. Take it easy.” She smiled, and I asked, “What can I do for you?” She said, “Roya, I know what my sickness is. You can’t do anything for me. Go to your office and make yourself some tea.” I went to my office but I was worried because of Rosemary; what was happening to her?

She left the office and sat on the chair in her lawn. Tequella, her lovely dog, was barking, but she was just sitting. She couldn’t breathe, but she was brave. She called me and asked me to add credit to her mobile phone. I did it and she asked me to make her a salad, but then she felt worse and didn’t ask about it. Marne came from his office and sat with her. I looked from the window. They were like two birds fallen in love. After a while, he returned to his office.

It was 5:00, time for me to leave. Again I sat with Rosemary and I didn’t want to talk. I just wanted to look at her and be with her. She looked at me and she felt I was very sad. I asked her, “What should I bring you tomorrow?” She said, “Bring me apricots.” I asked, “What about peaches?” She said, “That’s okay, peaches are also soft. Try to find good ones.”

When I said goodbye to her, she said, “Roya, don’t leave me alone. Stay a few minutes until Marne comes from his office, or tell Fatha the driver to stay here.” I stayed with her longer. Then she told me, “Go, it will be late for you.” I told Fatha to stay and I left the office. When I was on the street getting a taxi, I saw Marne arriving, and I was happy.

On the way home, I was thinking about Rosemary. The next day was Thursday. We had lunch guests. I was worried because I had to get to the office, but the guests were late. So I texted Rosemary that I would come to the office late, but she didn’t reply. It was the first time she didn’t reply to me. I thought she was disappointed in me. I didn’t want to accept that she was sick and couldn’t reply to my message.

On the way to the office, I tried to buy apricots. There were none, but I bought some peaches. I was in a hurry, hurry, hurry. Fatha was at the office. I asked him, “How is Rosemary? Where is she?” He told me Rosemary was very sick and Marne had taken her to the hospital.

I put the peaches on the nice plates Rosemary had in her kitchen. I was hopeful that when she came, she would eat the peaches and I would bring her more. I called Marne. He told me they were at ISAF hospital. I told him, “I want to come,” but he said it was not possible for me to enter because it is a military hospital.

At 5:00, I went home. That night the sky was dark and the moon was lost. At 10:00 p.m., I messaged Marne and asked about Rosemary’s health. He wrote back that she was very ill. I think I only slept two hours that night. Early Friday, I was washing my clothes and then I checked my phone and there was a missed call from Marne. When I called him back, I didn’t greet him. I just asked, “How is Rosemary?”

His voice held the pain I felt. He told me with deep sorrow that Rosemary died the night before.

I couldn’t hear that news. I hung up and started to cry. I was alone and needed someone to share my grief. It is very hard when you are alone, and you lose someone who you love. I called Mr. Ted, my dear teacher, director of SOLA. He thought I had a family problem. When I told him, he was shocked. Then I called Kathleen Rafiq, Rosemary’s best friend. She tried to console me. I called Karima; she was shocked too. I went to her house and we talked about Rosemary and her kindness. One day and one night, nonstop, I cried, it was not only tears coming from my eyes, but blood was with them.

On Saturday morning I didn’t go to the university; I went to Rose’s house. When I opened the door, I saw a sad picture I can’t forget: that tiny house and office was like a garden without a tree. Everything looked sad and worried; walls cried. Marne was sitting alone on the chair on the lawn. When I saw him, I couldn’t control myself. We cried. Even Rosemary’s dog Tequella cried; trust me, there were tears in her eyes. Later I went into the kitchen. The peaches I had bought for Rosemary were still on the plate. Her office door was open a bit, her handbag on the chair, her writings on the board of her office. I put some rose petals on her desk on her office, and some petals on her empty chair. I asked Life: why is it like this? We can find everything in our life, but when someone leaves this world, we can’t find them back.

She passed her last breath with us Afghans. I tell American people, if all of the women are like Rosemary, be proud. She was an example of love, kindness and hard work. We learned a lot from her.

As I left at the end of the day, I knew I would never again tell the taxi driver, “2 Qalay Fathallah.” I won’t say, “Rosemary, see you tomorrow.” She won’t tell me, “Bye, Roya. Have fun!” I left the office at 5:00, walking empty streets, crying and saying “Goodbye, Rosemary. Goodbye, Rosemary.”

By Roya

Bloom!

I think green about you

I bloom, like anemone, carnation

I feel as a champion

To think about you is to think about new poem

Thinking about you…

Dreaming the world

With splendid beauty

The happy days and nights

Days of anticipation

Waiting for you is sweet

And

At night looking out of the window

See you on the face of moon

And…

The first kiss

Oh !

Thinking about you is

To drink fresh air in

In the peak of mountains!

By Roya

My Election Day

A week before the election, because of security concerns, the people of Afghanistan faced hundreds of problems, like not being able to attend school or do their routine work. Suicide attacks took a lot of victims, and people hardly wanted to leave their homes. As the election neared, the situation got worse, with the suicide attacks and blackmails attempts from anti- governmental people and Taliban. My province, Kunduz, which used to be very famous for being one of the safest provinces, is now one of the most unsecure provinces. People would recite their Ashhad, words of passing away*, every day. No one was sure if they would return home by day’s end, nor did people trust each other, because no one could recognize good people from bad. Both were living in the same clothes.

I was in Kabul far from my family, in my uncle’s house with my sister. There, I saw how much they were involved with the election. Seeing their courage and confidence, I drew courage from them. I told my uncle’s wife that on Election Day, I wanted go with her to help, and I was pushy about it. I got trained for 15 minutes about where, how and what would happen.

I was afraid, but I felt really strong about my country and I couldn’t stop myself. When my sister saw me, she was willing to come with us, too.

On Election Day, streets were empty and silent. You would see only twenty people in a mile. We woke up at 4:45am, got ready to go, and I was in my section at 6:00am. Election workers had fear but didn’t want to show it to others to keep everyone strong and make them feel nothing would happen. I was distributing voting papers to people and giving instruction about how to vote.

We waited for a long time. At about 8:00 am a group of women arrived. We were very happy to see them and we welcomed them. By the end of the day, we had 208 votes from one women’s section, which was over our expectation. They were very supportive of their favorite candidates.

The voting process finished at 4:00 p.m as it should have, and then we had to start counting the presidential candidates’ votes. I thought the process of voting was very straightforward and clear. Still people think that the process did not go how the government says; I heard them doubting an honest process.

My sister and I stayed there until 8:30 p.m. As the day got darker, we worked faster. Our section was the first to finish counting out of nine sections. Our boss praised my work.

I got home very tired, with zero energy. Even so, I went to volunteer for the second day, to count the provincial candidates’ votes. After finishing our own section, I went to two other sections and helped them. It made me proud. I knew that any minute anything could happen, but I really wanted to participate. I did it spite of the risk.

Now people are waiting for the result and everyone is guessing that it will be a big deal to know their president. The violence has not stopped yet. We still have the situation that we had a month before election. Now Afghans are praying and hoping for everything go alright, at least from this point after.

Ashhad: Muslims read “there is no God but Allah, and Mohammad is his prophet” when they die, or they are about to die. If they read that they die as Muslim. And the words in quote are the Ashahad.

By Fatima

The Kandahar Lawyer

We were almost done with school when a Land Cruiser with UNAMA written on the sides drove up. I had a big smile on my face, because my mother was in that car. She got out with two of her colleagues. I stayed outside the principal’s room while she met with him. I usually waited for her while she met with the principal about their problems at school. My mother worked for the Gender Issues Unit of the United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan to help improve the lives of women.

When she came out, she said, “Yagana, my dear, I have to go to the Chinese Hospital.”

I knew there might be other women’s cases for her to review there. “Mom, can I go with you this time? You promised you’d take me with you sometime.”

Mom said, “You know I am not allowed to take you with me in my office car because of our office policies and security issues.”

“Can’t we take a taxi to the hospital?” I really wanted to go with her.

She finally smiled and said, “Okay, let’s go.”

At the hospital, we were taken to a room where a 19-year-old girl was lying with tubes coming from all over her body. I sat next to my Mom, who started interviewing the girl’s mother first.

The mother said, crying, “My daughter tried to commit suicide because we didn’t have money at home and her father tried to make her marry an old, rich man in our village. The man had promised to pay us 50,000 Afghani if we let him marry her. We had to accept this because we had to raise our other seven kids.”

I watched my mother write the report. My mother asked, “How did your daughter try to commit suicide?”

The mother replied, “She ate nails.”

We were shocked. “Why nails?” my mother asked.

“Because in our village we do not have any poison. There are no big buildings to jump from. This was the only option, I guess,” she said.

I suddenly burst in to tears. I realized my dream of becoming a lawyer was not a bad idea. I thought if I could become a lawyer, I could ask the government to help this family on regular basis or at least find her father a job so he could support his family. I thought of providing an opportunity for this girl to attend a literacy course so she could then teach the girls in her village. I thought of embroidery and tailoring courses. When I worked with the Afghan for Civil Society (ACS), we conducted workshops for women where they learned a skill and sold their work in the market.

After a while, a parliament lawyer came into the room. She shook hands with everyone. My mom whispered in my ear, “Yagana, she is a lawyer.”

I thought, wow, I’m finally seeing a female lawyer in Kandahar. But I was so disappointed when my mother told me she was not even a high school graduate. I felt as if I was somehow put here in this moment to observe the lawyer and witness my future job. The lawyer promised bunch of things to the family. Instead of trying to find out who that cruel old man was, she said “I’ll build a girls’ school in the village.” I was angry at the lawyer, because I thought, I am only a high school student and I feel she does not understand this family’s problem.

The mother of the girl said, “We don’t need a school at the moment. Just try to solve our current problems.” But the lawyer seemed to barely listen to the villagers.

It was as though she thought that just by saying she would build a school, it would fix all their problems. I wondered whether she thought about the larger problems building a school would create in a village controlled by the Taliban.

Most of the lawyers I knew seemed the same to me: they only knew how to deliver speeches and act as if they were being helpful. It seemed to me they weren’t really helping at all.

Later that day I decided that, God willing, I will fulfill this dream of mine of becoming a lawyer and solving my people’s problems. When I become a lawyer, I want to go to these villages that don’t have any access to the government, and introduce them to people who can help them. I want to really understand what their problems are, and hopefully take action to truly help them.

By Yagana