Once they’d finished their tea, they said their good-byes, Elsa offering to return with medical help if ever Bas-Bibi or her daughter needed it. As she and Parween climbed back down the mountainside, Elsa struggled to maintain her footing and wondered how Sabia, with her stick-thin legs, could possibly manage the daily scramble up and down the mountain over this pockmarked terrain.
“Parween,” she said, “I meant what I said about helping.”
Parween smiled in reply. “I know.”
20
One morning, not long after bringing Elsa to the caves, Parween sat by the washing stream with a group of friends. They’d just strung up their clothes to dry and had gathered along the craggy rocks to gossip. She had left her two sleeping children at home with Rahima, and now she drew in her knees and looked around.
“As-salaam alaikum,” Parween called out to old friends.
Soraya, a young woman who lived just to the north of the caves, greeted her and squatted beside her. Parween kissed her and returned the greeting.
“It is good to see you, Soraya. It has been a long while.”
“Parween, I was so sorry to hear the news about Mariam. I know that she was your true sister, and my heart broke for your sadness.”
Parween kissed Soraya’s cheeks. “Thank you. I miss her smile, especially here at the stream.”
“I have heard that Allah has blessed you with a son. May he bring blessings and peace into your home.”
At the thought of her sweet baby, Parween said, “You must come soon and see him. He is a handsome babe.”
“I will, Parween, I will. But today, I have come not to do my wash, but to speak with you.” She paused. “About a private matter,” she whispered.
“What is it?” Parween leaned forward.
“Could we speak over there by the apricot tree? I don’t want eavesdroppers today.”
“Of course, of course,” Parween said as she rose and moved to the shade of the tree. There, Soraya took a slow, deep breath and began.
“It is about my cousin, a little girl named Meena. She needs help and my family has asked me to speak with you. I know that if anyone can help us, it is you.”
“You know I will help if I can.”
“Meena is just eight years old. She is the youngest child and the only girl in a family of five. They live just west of Herat. You know those small villages, yes?” Soraya spoke softly and looked around to make sure no one was listening, then continued.
“Meena’s oldest brother, a stupid boy of sixteen, took up with a bad group in their village, and they preyed on others in nearby villages, stealing and vandalizing. He made the mistake of robbing the house of Noor Mohammed, an underling to the powerful and feared warlord Rashid-Najaf, who rules that area beyond Herat. Surely you have heard of him?”
Parween nodded. Everyone had heard of Rashid-Najaf. He was said to be ruthless and vile, pillaging and robbing his way through the region without fear of retribution. He was the undisputed law in that part of Afghanistan.
“Noor Mohammed,” Soraya continued, “felt important because of his attachment to Rashid, and he saw the robbery as an assault, not just on his home but on his reputation. He ordered payment for the debt that the robbery incurred, but my uncle’s family is penniless. Noor Mohammed didn’t care. He demanded that they hand over either their son for punishment or their small daughter—Meena—as payment. The son is a whimpering dog and he begged to be saved. He would surely be killed, he cried, if given over to Noor Mohammed. He promised to be a good son if only they would protect him.”
Parween knew that though it was illegal, it was not so unusual in Afghanistan’s farthest regions for destitute families to give daughters away to pay off debts, and she could almost guess what had happened.
“My uncle is a poor man, and he reluctantly gave his only daughter to Noor Mohammed so that his son’s debt would be wiped clean. He believed that Meena would be safe, but when the day came to hand her over, he wasn’t so sure.”
Parween’s gaze grew solemn as she listened.
“My uncle is not a bad man,” Soraya said, “but he is desperate and was afraid for his whole family. He hurried back to his own village that day and prayed that Noor would treat her well.” Soraya cleared her throat. “It is difficult for me to share this sad story.” She closed her eyes for a minute before starting again.
“Noor Mohammed was not a kind man. In Noor’s house, Meena was beaten and burned and was starved for days at a time. When she was fed, she was given scraps of barely edible food. The family even pulled out clumps of her hair just to hear her screams. Her only companion was the family’s goat, who was treated better than she.”
A knot grew in Parween’s stomach and she swallowed to push it away.
“After weeks and weeks of hearing Meena’s forlorn screams, the people in the surrounding homes finally had the courage to act. When Noor’s family had all left for their weekly trip to the mosque and bazaar, the men from nearby homes broke into Noor’s house and rescued Meena. They found her chained to the goat and cowering. She didn’t understand that she was being rescued.”
Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke.
“The decision had been made to take her immediately from the village, for the men were certain that Noor would be furious when he discovered that she had been rescued. Though they had gladly saved her, none of them wanted to be identified as her rescuer, for Noor would surely turn on them. Meena was brought first to the house of my grandfather, where she was kept hidden while the women tended to her wounds. She is but a little girl…” Soraya’s words trailed off into quiet tears.
Parween reached out and rubbed Soraya’s shoulder. “I know it is hard, but you must finish.”
Soraya swallowed her tears. “The warlord, Rashid, learned of Noor’s cruelty and was enraged. He ordered Noor beaten and evicted from his home. Now, we’ve heard that both Noor and Rashid are searching for Meena, Noor to silence her forever, and Rashid, reportedly, to save her. My grandfather decided to bring her here to us, and that is why I am here today. She is here in Bamiyan, but we need your help. Bas-Bibi told me that you are a friend of the American nurse and that she has offered help if it is needed. My family hopes that you and your friend will help Meena.”
When Soraya had finished with her story, Parween sat back and took a slow deep breath. She reached over and patted Soraya’s hands.
“I will help. I believe that Elsa will help too. I will speak with her today and we will decide what to do. I will come to your house once I have spoken with her.”
Parween’s whispered words belied the storm building within her, and when she rose to collect her clothes from the tree branches, her hands shook. She ripped the garments from the trees and piled them into her basket. She walked back to her own house to drop off her laundry, and then, still shaking, she strode to the clinic.
When Elsa spied her friend through the clinic’s window, she went out to greet her.
“As-salaam alaikum, Parween. Good to see you.” As she got closer, however, she could see that Parween was troubled. “Che taklif? What is wrong?”
Parween asked Elsa to sit while she shared Meena’s story, staring at the ground much of the time, as if to control her emotions. When she was finished, she turned to Elsa.
“I remembered how you offered to help Bas-Bibi, and I said that you would help this little girl. Can you? Will you?”
Elsa was stunned by the story Parween told. She sat forward and sighed, then responded in a rush of words.
“Of course I will help. She can stay at my house. No one will have any reason to suspect that I have a little girl hidden there. Amina and I will take care of her. But what of her wounds? She must need medical help. I’ll get some supplies together.”
She paused, and Parween filled the silence.
“You must not tell anyone of the little girl. Famidi? She must be our secret if she is to be safe, if we are all to be safe.”
“Shall I come with you
?”
“No, no,” Parween answered. “It will invite less notice if I quietly slip her into your house. I will bring her on the back of my donkey.” She touched Elsa’s hand. “Besiar tashakore, many thanks, my dear friend.”
They set off in different directions. Elsa went through the hospital’s supply room and quickly gathered vitamins, nutritional supplements, antibiotics, and bandages and tucked them all into a large bag. She found Laila and told her that she was going home to catch up on paperwork. She found Hamid and told him the same. She hated to lie, but if the little girl was to be safe, she couldn’t tell them the truth.
She left the clinic and walked through the fields alone, arriving home in minutes. She told Amina about their soon-to-be house-guest and, to Elsa’s surprise, the quiet young woman embraced the plan. They hurriedly set up the extra room for Meena.
Elsa and Amina waited all afternoon before they heard the knock at the gate. Parween and Soraya had finally arrived, and they quickly unloaded a small bundle from the back of the donkey and hurried inside. With the gate shut securely behind them, Parween made introductions and unwrapped tiny Meena.
Elsa stepped back and waited as the child was uncovered. Soraya squatted and held Meena, a shriveled, doe-eyed little girl with a deep frown etched onto her bony face.
Elsa reached for her and lifted away the remaining covers to get a closer look. Wounds and burns in various stages of healing—some draining purulent material—riddled her body. Her scalp, covered only in scattered wisps of hair, was smeared with oozing, crusting, stinking sores.
Elsa swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat.
How could anyone do this to a child? She took a deep breath and tried to smile as she examined the tiny form before her.
A shrill cry pierced the stillness, startling Elsa. It came from Meena.
“Tars na dori, do not be afraid, little one.” Elsa’s voice faltered as she murmured, and Parween tried to sound soothing as she translated. “You are safe.” She attempted to gather Meena into her arms, but the little girl pulled away and cried out again in protest.
“Sorry, little one; tars na dori.”
Soraya stepped in and explained to Meena that Elsa was a nurse who would take care of her until she was well.
“Famidi, understand?” Soraya asked softly.
Meena, her eyes wide and watching Elsa’s every move, nodded and whispered, “Balay.” But her voice was filled with fear.
Elsa’s hands trembled as she gently bathed Meena, who was so frail Elsa feared the tiny arms and legs would snap with her efforts. Once the bandaging was done, she poured out three vitamins and one antibiotic pill for Meena. Amina appeared with a glass of sugary, milky tea and Meena washed down the pills before draining the glass.
“She must be exhausted. She should sleep,” Elsa said. She led them to the small room that she and Amina had prepared. Soraya covered Meena with a soft blanket and lay beside her, humming softly as the others watched from the doorway. It wasn’t long before the girl was asleep, and the four women slipped out of her room and sat together in the courtyard to make their plans.
Parween wondered aloud how she could ever bear it if something were to happen to Zahra or baby Raziq.
“If it were my own child, my life would be ended.” She glanced to the room where Meena slept.
Elsa swallowed the lump in her throat. “I don’t think I have ever seen a sadder child or heard a sadder story. Does this happen often?”
“More in the old days than now,” Parween answered. “But with the misery that runs through the countryside, it will happen more often unless we fight back.”
The women murmured their agreement.
“What of her own family in the village?” Parween asked sadly. “Do they know that she is safe?”
“Yes.” Soraya sighed. “Her father’s heart is broken, but his only wish is that she be safe. Someday, inshallah, she will see them again.” She paused. “I must say this to each of you… thank you, thank you for your help. My family will never forget this.”
There was yet another cousin in Kabul, she told them, married but childless, who would claim Meena as her own child.
“Though we have a place for her, the trip to Kabul by bus is long for a little one with such injuries. We are not sure yet how we will get her there.”
Elsa thought for a moment. “What about the soldiers?” she said, thinking of Mike. “Maybe we can ask them for help.”
“No,” Soraya said. “It is best if they do not know. They may not be able to help, and we don’t want to invite their prying eyes. They are foreign after all. They won’t understand.”
“But—” Elsa started to speak, but Parween took her hand and piped up.
“Soraya means only that they are men. No matter how good, they are men. We must do this together.”
Elsa smiled wanly. “Well, the UN has the little airstrip not far from here, and they often have flights to Kabul. Once Meena is ready, that would be the safest and quickest way for her to travel. I know Johann, the UN officer here; I will ask him if it is possible to get Meena on a plane to Kabul. I am certain he will help once he has heard this story.”
Soraya’s eyes widened. “But you must not tell him that she is the child the warlord seeks. It is best if no one knows that.”
Elsa nodded. “I will keep the secret. Will you travel with her, Soraya?”
“Yes, yes. I will stay with her until she is safe. And while we speak of that, may I also stay with her here in your house?”
Amina smiled broadly. “It will be good to have another woman in the house,” she said. “I am often alone.”
The four sat and shared tea until Parween stood. “My mother will wonder what has kept me. I must get home.”
Soraya stood and embraced her friend. “Tashakore, dear Parween, tashakore. Please give your mother my blessings.”
Elsa said good night and settled into her own room, wondering what else they might do to help Meena.
That first morning, Elsa rose early and left the house before Meena ventured from her room. It would be better, she told Amina, if there were fewer new faces for Meena to deal with, and she wanted to catch Hamid before he arrived at the gate.
She planned to tell him that she had women guests and that he wouldn’t be allowed in for a while. She knew he wouldn’t question her, and he didn’t. Instead, he looked pleased.
“Ahh, Elsa, guests! Good, that is good.”
Parween arrived at the house early. “How is she?” she asked.
Amina frowned. “Not eating, not speaking.” She shook her head.
But Soraya smiled. “She is safe, and though she did not eat so much, at least she ate something. Inshallah, tomorrow she will do better.”
Yet they seemed unable to convince Meena that she was safe. She spent the day hiding behind Soraya, peeking out at Parween and Amina, but otherwise it was as if she wasn’t there. She didn’t make a sound.
In late afternoon, Parween said good-bye.
“Tomorrow, Meena. I will see you tomorrow.”
Meena didn’t reply.
When Elsa arrived home, they all sat together in the kitchen to share supper. Meena only picked at the food on her plate, but she did gulp down three large glasses of the sugary tea. Elsa was relieved.
“At least it’s something.”
That night, Meena’s sad eyes filled with tears when Elsa poked at her wounds and bandages, but even her cries were silent.
“I’m so sorry to hurt you, but I have to clean your wounds.” Elsa tried to smile, hoping that might comfort Meena.
“It will take time,” Elsa said, trying to reassure herself and the others. “She was locked away for weeks; she’s only been safe for a few days. We have to give her the time and space to trust us.”
The second and third days were replays of the first. Meena spoke little and barely ate, and Amina, worried, picked absently at her extra finger.
“She will starve, Elsa, yes?”
> “No, no, not yet. She’ll eat. We just have to be patient and let her take her time.”
On the fourth morning, Meena ate a little of the warm naan and rice and pushed the rest away. She spoke only when asked a question, and even then her answers were simple—a whispered balay or nay, nothing else. She kept her head down and stayed close to Soraya.
Parween arrived in the late morning, and Meena buried herself in the folds of Soraya’s skirts.
“I think she needs children around her. Let me bring my two and see if it helps.” She hurried home and returned with Raziq, bundled in her arms, and Zahra in tow.
Zahra scurried in, and she searched the rooms and courtyard as though she were moving in. When she spied Meena, she ran to her and chattered as though she’d always known her. She reached out and gently touched the bandage on Meena’s scalp.
“Dard mekona,” she asked softly. Does it hurt? Meena nodded in reply.
“Ohh,” Zahra muttered as she took Meena’s hand and led her outside. The women watched through the doorway as she encouraged Meena to play pretend. She took a handful of dirt and sifted it through her stubby fingers.
“This is rice. See.” She giggled, and Meena smiled.
The women could hardly contain themselves, but they remained silent for fear of ruining the moment.
Meena sat and watched Zahra as she played in the dirt. She didn’t join in, but she didn’t race back to the safety of Soraya’s skirts either.
At lunch, the two girls sat together. Meena ate a full serving of rice and bread, and Amina relaxed. After lunch, they sat outside again until Meena fell asleep in the dirt.
On the fifth day, with Meena’s budding recovery fresh in her mind, Elsa arrived at the clinic to the news that two strangers had appeared in search of a little girl. Laila’s eyes flashed with fear when she described them.
“They carried guns, Elsa, and asked for the doctor in charge. Ezat was angry to be interrupted, and he snapped at them, asking what they wanted. They told him they were looking for a kidnapped child, a small girl,” she said, motioning with her hand to indicate the size.
Lipstick in Afghanistan Page 17
