Unfortunately, even my willingness to take on the more arduous missions wasn’t looked upon favorably by the members of my squadron. The Afghan Air Force had only recently been reconstituted, which meant a lot of the personnel were relatively young. However, a number of pilots and officers had served in the air force during the Soviet era and before the Taliban came to power. My squadron included an interesting mix of experienced and newly commissioned pilots, some of whom were open-minded and others who were very much not.
To be on the safe side, I always arrived at base early so as not to be seen during high-traffic hours. Consequently, I would enter our squadron building before most of the other pilots. Before changing, I would immediately check the mission board to see where the flights were heading that day, which one I’d been assigned, and who I was paired with.
I would then change into my flight suit and take care of some of my preflight activities: eating breakfast, checking the weather report, gathering any supplies I might need, and so on. Often, when I’d pass by the mission board later in the morning, I’d notice someone had erased my name from one flight and put me on another. I never witnessed this happening directly, but I knew someone was making the switch; I was always there early enough to have seen the original assignments.
It didn’t happen every day, but it occurred often enough that I knew it wasn’t because friends were trying to fly with other friends. Rather, it was clear some of the pilots didn’t want to fly with me. This bothered me. I hadn’t encountered this kind of activity in training because the NATO advisors would never have allowed it. But here, in an Afghan squadron manned by Afghans and commanded by Afghans, my colleagues were deliberately excluding me and doing whatever they could to avoid flying with me.
Rationally, I knew whoever was doing this was bigoted and chauvinistic; however, it also made me question my abilities and made me wonder if I wasn’t good enough. Had I done well in training only because the NATO advisors made sure there was an even playing field, but now in a real unit I wasn’t made of the right stuff? I knew in my heart of hearts this wasn’t true, but these doubts still crossed my mind.
Fortunately, not everyone in the squadron was averse to flying with me. One pilot in particular, Major Abdulrahman, didn’t mind. He was in his early forties, of average height and build, and wore a trim mustache. But he had a baby face, making him look much younger than he actually was.
Major Abdulrahman always treated me with the utmost respect and didn’t have any problem flying me, and soon enough I realized most men from his generation or older had no qualms having me as a copilot. From what I could gather, it was the younger pilots who didn’t want to fly with me, and beyond the changes on the mission board, it showed in how they openly dismissed or ignored me.
During one of my missions as Major Abdulrahman’s copilot, I asked him about this. I was very frank and inquired why he believed the older generations seemed much more accepting of me as an aviator and fellow officer.
He thought for a moment, then asked me if my father was different from most Afghan men and, if so, why I thought he might have a different perception of women. I told Major Abdulrahman a little about my father, how he’d always supported me and the rest of my family, and how he’d been raised to respect women. He wanted us to feel as he did.
Major Abdulrahman said that was precisely it. He said he grew up in a time before the Taliban and was raised to have a different view of women in society and the workforce. He didn’t feel threatened because I was doing the same job as he was. He grew up believing everyone is equal and women should be free to do whatever they want.
The majority of the younger pilots, however, grew up under the reign of the Taliban. Whether they were intentionally raised this way or not, they grew up seeing women oppressed and abused; all they knew was war and violence. Afghanistan had essentially been in a state of war for over thirty years; the joy and beauty this land once possessed had been ravaged by decades of conflict, political strife, and religious extremism.
That was all these young men knew, he said. It was ignorant and wrong, but there was a reason the situation was the way it was. Abdulrahman was inspired by people like me. That meant there was hope and things would change.
I found Major Abdulrahman’s perspective uplifting, because it helped me to further understand the challenges I’d been encountering since I first joined the military. Afghan society had been in turmoil for so long, and there were generations of people—men and women—who held these oppressive and harsh worldviews. From personal experience, they believed life was hard and the only way to survive was to live in a similar manner.
For the situation to improve—not just for women but for all Afghans—it would take a generational change; the only way that would happen was if people like me and Abdulrahman fought for it.
At that point, I resolved to log my 280 hours and become an AC as soon as possible. Once I was an AC, there would be a lot more opportunities to prove a woman could do as well as a man.
In July 2014 I reached my goal of 280 hours. I passed the qualification test and the check ride for AC, received my certification, and was promoted to captain. I couldn’t wait to command my first mission.
31
Flying Operations
My passengers often didn’t know a woman was piloting their aircraft. Once they found out, they usually assumed I was a Westerner and a NATO pilot. Consequently, I received more than a few shocked looks when I spoke to passengers or ground crews in Dari and they realized I was not only a woman but an Afghan.
Sometimes passengers’ facial expressions showed disbelief, but they’d still board the aircraft and keep their opinions to themselves, often whispering to the person next to them. Other times I saw genuine admiration in people’s reactions, happy to see an Afghan woman piloting an airplane and glad their country was changing for the better.
There were other instances when passengers were belligerent or disruptive and I, as the AC, had to manage the situation in a way that, traditionally, was highly unusual for an Afghan woman.
On one occasion during the summer of 2014, I was ordered to fly a mission to Kandahar. It was a routine mission and didn’t involve any combat supplies or wounded soldiers. My copilot and I were merely going to fly some passengers from Kabul down to Kandahar, and then bring another group back. A milk run, so to speak.
At Kabul Airport, I sat in the cockpit performing my preflight checks while my copilot was on the tarmac supervising the loading of passengers and gear. About midway through the boarding process, I heard a commotion outside. I looked out the window and saw an army colonel arguing with my copilot, waving his arms and gesticulating, shouting he wouldn’t board the aircraft unless a man was going to fly it. Somehow he’d heard the pilot was a woman.
It was one thing for my colleagues to criticize me or ignore me in the squadron building, but I found this situation totally unacceptable. This colonel was disrupting the flight line (which can be a very dangerous place with all the moving aircraft, noise, wind, and crazy things like spinning propellers) and threatening the conduct of an official mission. As the AC, I couldn’t let this continue.
Not wasting another moment, I jumped out of the cockpit onto the tarmac and marched back to the rear of the plane where the colonel was making a scene. I went straight up to him, and even though he was a few inches taller than me and noticeably older and more senior, I spoke firmly, without any hesitation.
I said, “Sir, we’re about to take off. If you want to fly to Kandahar today, you will need to board now. If not, go back to the hangar.” I turned around, not waiting for an answer, and climbed back into the cockpit to continue my preflight checks.
Through the rear window, I could see the shock on the colonel’s face. He was speechless, and he stood there for at least a minute gawking, but he reluctantly boarded the aircraft. I watched him take his seat and pull out a string of prayer beads, which he fidgeted with the entire time we were in the air.
The
flight was smooth and clear, and we landed at the Kandahar airfield on schedule without incident. By this time, I’d moved on from the exchange, but as I powered down the aircraft and completed my postflight checks, I saw the army colonel waiting for me by the ramp.
When I got out of the cockpit, he approached me and said, “Captain, I shouldn’t have doubted you. I am proud to see how an Afghan woman like you flew today, and I do apologize.”
I never expected this man to say this. I’d become pretty callous to the negative comments made by others, and I rarely heard anything positive from my colleagues. For this Afghan colonel to compliment me as he did truly touched my heart. I replied softly but confidently, “I’m just happy to be serving my country and bringing change to Afghanistan.”
* * *
Later that fall, I commanded a mission to Helmand Province. The fighting there had always been tough, but in recent months there’d been talk about the American military drawing down and leaving the bulk of the combat operations to the Afghan security forces. For weeks the Afghan army had been taking a lot of casualties in Helmand and the surrounding provinces.
I initially assumed this flight was another routine passenger run. I’d land at the airfield on Camp Bastion (today called Camp Shorabak), perform the pickup, and return to Kabul. Easy.
However, about midway through the flight the squadron commander called us over the radio and directed us to RTB in Kabul. When I asked why, he said the mission would require us to transport the bodies of soldiers killed in action back to Kabul for burial. According to regulation, I wasn’t allowed to do this because I was a woman.
For a brief moment, I felt disheartened. Once again, because I was a woman, someone was telling me I was not strong enough or couldn’t handle it. But I quickly stopped this line of thinking. A voice inside me said I must do this mission. I had to prove a woman was strong enough to accept and treat with honor and respect the remains of dead soldiers. Instead of acknowledging the order to RTB, I pretended the radio transmission was garbled and I didn’t understand. I continued our flight plan to Helmand.
My copilot, Lieutenant Amiri, was stunned I was disobeying an order, and even though he had to follow my orders since I was the AC, he feared he would be reprimanded and dismissed from flight duty. I assured him this was my decision and he would not get in trouble, that I would take full responsibility for any fallout—but we were still going forward with the mission.
When we landed at Camp Bastion, we taxied to the hangar where the bodies were staged and prepared for transport. When I got out of the plane and the medical officer in charge, an army major, saw I was a woman, he directed the medevac team not to load the bodies onto the aircraft. He said military regulations didn’t permit women to handle or be around the remains of deceased soldiers if they weren’t family or next of kin.
I knew I couldn’t let this happen, so I took a chance. As respectfully as I could, I informed the major my flight was the only one for the day and I was the only option. The families of the deceased were waiting for their loved ones, and it was our duty to transport them home. I would not leave with an empty aircraft.
Recognizing the social and religious issues of the situation, I assured the major I would stay out of the area during the loading of the bodies so as not to disrespect them. My copilot could supervise the loading and make sure everything was done with respect and honor. Once everything was secure, I would simply fly the aircraft back to Kabul.
To my satisfaction, the major and the medevac team agreed. Within a half hour, they’d loaded the six bodies and we were back in the air, heading back to Kabul. When we landed, I again distanced myself from the unloading process to accord respect to the remains of these men. Rather than performing the postflight checks, I left them to my copilot and headed to the squadron building.
Along the way, I spotted the line of families waiting to receive the bodies of their loved ones. I could tell some were parents, others were wives, and there were also some young adults, and likely someone’s child. Many were crying, while others stood stoically.
I was glad I’d brought their loved ones back to them, rather than returning with an empty aircraft and putting them through another agonizing night of waiting. But I was also sad, as I could empathize with the sorrow they felt losing a father, son, or husband to this war. The war was now in its thirteenth year, with no end in sight. Many more soldiers—people’s loved ones—would die in the months and years to come, and it pained me to think about it.
Nonetheless, I was a pilot in the Afghan Air Force and this was my job—my duty—and I was proud to serve my country. I held my head high and strode confidently into the squadron building to report to my commanding officer.
Colonel Pacha Kahn was waiting for me in his office. I suspected I was about to be severely reprimanded—I’d disobeyed a direct order; I deserved to be in deep trouble, no doubt about it—so again I decided to take a chance.
When I entered his office, I saluted, but before he could say anything, I said, “Sir, before you start, I’m going to be honest.” I then proceeded to tell my commanding officer I had, in fact, heard him over the radio but decided on my own to continue the mission. It was an important mission, and I knew I could complete it with honor and respect. Although I understood the religious and social issues of me being a woman around the remains of deceased men, I didn’t agree with the regulation and believed it should be changed. I continued on with the mission to prove I could do it, without disrespecting the fallen. I finished by saying it was now in his hands, and I would submit to any decision he made concerning my future.
I’d spoken for several minutes, pushing the words out as clearly and assuredly as I could. Once I stopped to catch my breath, a heavy silence fell between us. I remained at attention in front of my commander’s desk, as he sat behind it with a stern and impassive face. He hadn’t moved or said a word since I reported in. He sat there, his eyes boring into me.
All kinds of thoughts raced through my mind, many of them resulting in my losing my flight status and being transferred to another command, maybe even being demoted. I even started to question whether I’d done the right thing and if it really had been worth it.
But my commander smiled and stood up. He looked me in the eye and said our country was at war; these missions were critical and had to be done to honor our countrymen killed in action. Although I’d gone against regulations, Afghanistan was changing, and I’d done the right thing despite the risks. He thanked me and said he would talk to his superiors about getting the regulation changed to allow me to carry out more such missions going forward.
I was speechless.
* * *
Besides flying missions across Afghanistan, and despite the animosity some of my colleagues felt against me, I also had to perform numerous public relations activities. I was Afghanistan’s first female pilot, and the Ministry of Defense wanted to use me as an example to show they were indeed recruiting women and that we were serving in some of the most demanding jobs.
Ironically, some of the senior officers pushing me to interview with national and international media outlets were also the ones who quietly, and sometimes loudly, complained about having a woman in their ranks. Nonetheless, I did as ordered.
Unfortunately, these PR events put me and my family at greater risk. I’d already been outed when my picture appeared on social media after my first solo flight. Now not only was my picture appearing on the news, but I was also being formally identified as a military pilot and closely associated with the Americans.
My extended relatives had already ostracized my family, but I feared this ongoing notoriety would put my parents, my siblings, and myself in much greater danger.
32
The Threats Come
Since our relatives knew where we lived, and since some of them had already threatened us, my father decided we should move to a new apartment closer to the air base and keep it a secret from our extended family. We’d already changed our
phone numbers, so he hoped we could hide in a new apartment while still getting on with our lives. I would continue flying, my younger sisters would change schools, my brother would continue to attend university, and my father would find another job.
Our plan worked for a time. My brother and father continued driving me to and from the base, and everyone else seemed to be settling in to their new routines and surroundings. I thought things were actually getting better.
Then, one night while I was helping my sister Manizha with her homework, my phone rang. The caller ID said the number was anonymous, but that wasn’t unusual. Caller ID wasn’t the most reliable service in Afghanistan, and people often blocked their numbers. I answered it.
The caller was a man, and I didn’t recognize the voice. As soon as I said hello, the caller started shouting. He demanded I quit my job with the air force. If I didn’t, I would be killed. I was a disgrace to Islam and Afghanistan, a traitor—I deserved to die.
I immediately hung up and did my best to control the alarm I felt. The call startled me, but I needed to stay in control. When my sister asked who called, I told her it was nothing. I knew if I shared the content of the call it would terrify her. I couldn’t do that to my sweet, innocent little sister.
Later that night, as I thought more about the call, I wasn’t surprised someone had my number. The men in my squadron had it, as well as the personnel office and countless others in the command, so someone was bound to either call me or give my number to someone else who would call and shout threats and insults. That kind of behavior is common in Afghanistan.
Open Skies Page 19
