One by one the women came to kiss me and offer me their good wishes. If the guests stood up, I would have to stand and if they told me to sit, I would have to sit. I wasn’t used to wearing such high heels, so by this time my feet were hurting and I was exhausted. I told Fareba that it was all too much for me and I couldn’t wait for it to be over. She joked back by asking why I was in such a hurry to be taken by my man.
Then finally the groom was brought in to me by the women of his family for the Aeena Misaf – the ceremony when we would see each other for the first time – so I was quickly covered up with my green shawl. I could hear the ‘Ahesta Bero’ song being sung for him. My heart started beating fast. Fareba squeezed my hand. ‘Oh my God, Anesa, he’s a big fat man!’
I could feel someone was standing close to me. Fareba and my mother moved to stand behind me, and my mother whispered in my ear, ‘If they force you to sit down, don’t.’ Traditionally, whoever sits down in the chair first will have no power in the marriage. I had seen this game played many times at weddings; I knew my mother and Fareba would be behind Jabar ready to push him into his seat. His mother announced that it was time for the bride and groom to sit, and then I felt her hands on my shoulders, trying to force me down. I wouldn’t give in – I knew the women would be watching to see who won. Finally, we both sat down, I think together, and chanting and clapping broke out.
A mirror was put onto my knees and my mother told me I could now look. The shawl was lifted from my face and I stared into the mirror. The first thing I noticed was that he had a big moustache; the second thing was that he had a round face and bulging eyes. I felt frightened. I looked again and this time he winked back at me. After that, I was too shy to peek again into the mirror. But that first sight of him stayed in my head and it wasn’t a nice one. This fat man wasn’t young or handsome; he was no Bollywood hero. Just one look at Jabar had destroyed my dreams.
My mother gave us a small holy Quran to read from. As I recited the verses, I didn’t glance at Jabar at all. Then Fareba poured some Fanta into two glasses and Jabar and I offered each other a glass to drink from, neither one of us looking at the other. The ceremony was coming to an end and soon it would be time for me to be taken away. My mother said she wanted to sing ‘Ahesta Bero’ for me. She took the tambourine and began to sing, and the group of women in the room parted, allowing my mother and I to walk together.
The house was full of noise, and the atmosphere was very happy. It was so touching, as everyone was talking about me leaving my parents’ house and entering a new life. I felt so special. Quietly, I told Fareba, Jabar was not as I had been expecting. She said that she was disappointed, too, as she had been told my groom was a good-looking man.
‘Fareba, you know, I was hoping for a dashing young man. Why him?’
But we both knew there was nothing I could do. Besides, the wedding taxi, decorated with flowers, was already waiting outside the house.
My mother stopped singing, she hugged me and my father spoke to Jabar: ‘Jabar, my son, I’m giving you a piece of my heart, my daughter, Anesa. Please take good care of her.’
At this I burst into tears, and my mother, Fareba and most of my relatives also started crying – Afghan women tend to cry when the bride is leaving. I didn’t hear what Jabar said in response to my father but I guess he just nodded. I got into the taxi with Jabar and some members of his family. My groom sat next to me but he didn’t say much. My mother-in-law kept singing in the car until we got to their house, which was a large villa made of mud and clay and set in its own garden behind a big iron gate. Suddenly, I realised I was among strangers – it was the loneliest moment in my life.
Anesa, like me, was looking forward to a happy family life. Her father hadn’t asked for money, and because of this she would have expected her in-laws to show her respect. I, too, was still hoping that I could enjoy a happy family life with Javed, despite the disappointment I felt at our marriage. In those early days, I believed that if I was a good Afghan girl and did my duty, accepting what our parents wanted, then I would have a successful family life.
Jabar was the eldest son, so his family had decided to make it a big wedding. When I arrived, family members were waiting, ready to put sweets and money onto Jabar and me. A chicken was sacrificed and splashes of blood were put on my shoes. Then I was taken to a large room where the women and girls were partying. A tent had been put up in the yard for the men to party in, and Jabar joined them there. The sound of a local singer and the music of a tabla (percussion instrument) and harmonica could be heard throughout the house.
Jabar’s sister said, ‘Don’t worry, he won’t leave you alone for long but he’s a man and he’ll have to party. It’s his night to celebrate.’
I just sat and said nothing, watching the partying going on around me. Children were running around excitedly and I could hear men shouting and laughing. The women were far quieter. I guess they were tired. Some time later I heard some bells jangling and music playing and asked Jabar’s sister what the noise was.
‘You mean, you don’t know? Jabar’s father and brother have paid for some boys to come and dance as part of the celebrations.’
I didn’t understand why young boys had been invited to dance and asked Jabar’s sister to explain.
‘They’re bacha be reesh (boys without beards). They’re being paid to entertain the men with their dancing and that noise is the bells they have on their ankles,’ she said. Then she walked over to the window and pointed. ‘Anesa, look!’
I knew that women sometimes danced for men and would get paid for it, but I was shocked to hear that boys were being paid to dance at the men’s party. I looked out of the window and saw a boy, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years old, in a white shalwar kamiz. He had some large bells attached to his ankles, which made a noise when he moved. In the moonlight I could see he was drinking water from the well and was wearing make-up like a woman.
Jabar’s sister said, ‘Poor bacha be reesh; he’s danced so much and now he’s thirsty.’
I was surprised by the sight but didn’t have time to think too deeply about it because my mother-in-law had arrived to take me to my bedroom. She took my hand and led me to a room with a bed in the corner covered in dark red sheets. Sweets and flowers had been placed on it to show it was a bed for a bride. My mother-in-law kissed me on the forehead and said this was now my room.
‘We don’t know when Jabar’s party will be over but he will come to you. In this house we can never be sure when our men will turn up. You can rest and sleep.’
I was grateful for the chance to lie down as my feet were still killing me. I took off my high heels and lay down on the bed without washing or taking off any of my jewellery. I felt lonely and frightened. Jabar’s mother’s words echoed in my mind: ‘In this house we can never be sure when our men will turn up.’ I missed my mother and Fareba and wished one of them was here with me. I desperately wanted to sleep but my mind was spinning with thoughts and feelings. The loneliness was keeping me awake. There was still no sign of Jabar. This wasn’t what I expected on my wedding night, but what could I do?
I woke up with a start and looked at my watch: it was four o’clock in the morning; the mullah’s call to prayer must have woken me up. I sat up in my bed. I had fallen asleep with my jewellery on, which had left marks on my neck and hands. The house was in silence, but still Jabar wasn’t there. I was lost in my thoughts when I saw the door open. Jabar walked slowly into the room. I was scared as he looked at me.
‘Why aren’t you asleep? Were you waiting for me?’
I didn’t know what to say and I didn’t have the courage to ask him why he had come in so late. He was dressed in the same white shalwar kamiz but he didn’t look himself. He didn’t smell of alcohol but his eyes were red and I guessed he had been taking some sort of drug. He sat on the bed and looked into my eyes.
‘You know, you’re a pretty woman but I’m mast (high on drugs).’
With that, he slumped dow
n onto the bed and fell asleep. I was shocked and wanted to shout or cry but didn’t know how. I was alone in a strange house. I longed for Fareba or my mother, but there was no one to come and take me away. I felt suffocated, I wanted to leave and run back to my home.
Life was showing a very strange face to me, one which I had never seen before. Was Jabar unhappy to be married to me? Was that the reason he had stayed out all night and left me alone? I hoped that soon he would be affectionate towards me. Jabar was now snoring loudly like a big fat sheep, so I got up from the bed and sat on the mattress on the floor. Eventually, I lay my head down on the pillow and tried to sleep.
I woke to feel someone touching my face.
‘Anesa, come to bed. You’re a bride and you must sleep on your bed.’
I told him I was quite all right on the floor. He laughed and said he could see I was a very polite girl.
‘You have to sleep with me. You’re my so-called wife and I have to be a bit naughty with you.’
‘What do you mean, you have to be naughty with me?’
‘Don’t ask questions. Now is not the time for talking. I have to prove to your parents and to my own family that I’m a proper man. I’ll have to show them the sign soon. Hurry up, it’s getting late.’
And he started taking my jewellery from my neck and hands. He seemed in a sort of panic as he tugged me by the hand and pulled me to the bed.
I was like a helpless doll in his hands. He did whatever he wanted and got what he needed: the proof that he had slept with me. There was a drop of blood on the white sheet, the sign of my virginity. I think my body went into shock and I couldn’t stop shaking. I put my shalwar back on and went to sit on the mattress, sobbing and calling out for my family.
On that dark morning my life changed. I had hoped for a happy family life and a loving husband, but my life and freedom as Anesa had ended. I would never look forward to new clothes for Eid or weddings, and I would never watch another Bollywood movie with Fareba.
That morning Jabar was in a deep sleep, snoring loudly, and I was sitting on the mattress when I heard a knock on the door. I opened it and Jabar’s mother came in. She told me to wake Jabar up as he had to go for Shah Salami at my parents’ house. I knew what this tradition was – Jabar would be expected to show my family the sign of my virginity. In some families the groom would show the bride’s blood-stained handkerchief. The family of a bride feels a sense of pride that the groom is paying them respect on the morning after his wedding night. I went up to Jabar and told him his mother was calling him. He didn’t move so I had to shake him awake. When Jabar had gone, my mother-in-law brought me breakfast and we ate it together.
‘Anesa my child, I’m proud of you,’ she said. ‘You’re the honour of this family. Later, I’ll show you your house. My son has his own place. We only brought you here for the first day. You’ll be living with Jabar and we won’t interfere with your life at all.’
I was alarmed to hear this. I didn’t want to leave, even though I knew it was unusual and prestigious for an Afghan bride to have her own house. I liked being with Jabar’s mother.
A few days after my wedding I moved to our small house and my life as Jabar’s wife truly began. He used to go to work every day, coming home late or sometimes not at all. It was something I got used to after a while. I didn’t dare ask him what he got up to. His attention wasn’t directed towards me. During the first year of our marriage he was quiet and distant. I got on with my chores in the home and he never spoke about his outside life. My first son was born in that first year of marriage. I was busy looking after him and for most of the time I was alone. The one good thing in all this was that I was allowed regular contact with my family and also with his. Jabar and I didn’t really have a loving relationship but he did look after my son and me. He would provide us with enough food and clothes. Perhaps being a mother made me stronger. One day I asked him why he didn’t spend more time with his son.
‘Anesa, you’re a mouse,’ he replied angrily. ‘Where did you get the courage to ask me all these questions? Just eat and drink what I provide and shut your ugly mouth!’
But I couldn’t keep quiet and repeated my questions, finally saying, ‘Look, Jabar, you’re the father of my son; we both need you and we have the right to spend family time with you.’
He didn’t listen and carried on doing whatever he wanted, including not coming home at night. Two years of marriage passed and I had another son. I don’t even remember how it happened as we were rarely intimate. I did tell his mother that we didn’t see her son that often and I didn’t know what he was up to, but she simply said,
‘Anesa, my child, remember on your wedding night I told you that in this family women never know when men come home and they don’t care. It is better to say nothing.’ She put her hand on my head. ‘Sometimes ignorance is kind.’
I didn’t say anything further then but I couldn’t cope with keeping silent and not knowing what was happening. One morning I went to the tanoor with one of my neighbours to cook bread. I had good neighbours, we were all friends, and I had told this woman about Jabar and about our relationship. Well, that day as we sat by the tanoor she told me she had asked her husband to find out where Jabar spent his time. I got very excited, eager to hear what she had found out. ‘Did Jabar have another wife?’ She looked down and said it was a rather shameful story. I didn’t understand: what did she mean by shameful?
‘My husband says that only we women are ignorant about Jabar. Apparently, all the men in the village gossip about him and what he does.’
The suspense was making me dizzy and I told her to hurry up with her story.
‘Anesa, your husband is sinful. He’s committing a major crime. Your husband has a wrong relationship with a boy. He’s a kuni (homosexual)!’
I was so shocked, I nearly burnt my hand in the tanoor. My neighbour told me to take care, and she pointed to my two young sons who were sitting nearby.
‘Anesa, you have to stay strong and live for your sons.’
I told her I didn’t believe Jabar could do this; if he was a kuni then why had he married me? I felt angry and confused. I told the neighbour I had to go home, and picking up the baby and grabbing my young son’s hand, I ran back home.
I was crying and the boys had started crying too. I was in a state of shock. I couldn’t believe my husband was sleeping with another man. In our culture this is incredibly shameful. I waited all night for Jabar to come home but he didn’t appear, so early the next morning I went to his family home with my children. My mother-in-law came out into the yard to greet me. I said I had heard something about Jabar and I wanted to know whether or not it was true. She told me to calm down and explain what had happened.
I looked deep into her eyes. ‘Please swear on my children’s life if it’s true that your son is a—’
Suddenly, she put her hand across my mouth to silence me. ‘Ssshh, Anesa, you must not speak about such matters. ‘Some things are best left unsaid.’
‘What do you mean?’ I shouted. ‘I’m going to tell people the truth. I know from people in the village that your son is a kuni.’
She looked at me angrily. ‘I can’t say anything. You’ll have to ask your husband.’
I grabbed her by the arm and said, ‘You chose me for Jabar. You came to our house and boasted about him. Remember, you told me that I brought honour to your family. Admit it! It’s your fault that I’ve suffered all this time.’
She began to weep and took hold of my hand. ‘Anesa, no mother wants her son to die. I thought he would change if he married you. I thought you and the children could save him from the village. Do you realise that if it was proved he was doing these things, he would have been killed by now?’ She let go of my hand and, without saying another word, walked back into her house. Now I needed to hear the truth from Jabar.
When I arrived home he was already there. He was clearly surprised that I hadn’t been at home waiting for him. He stood up when I entered the roo
m.
‘Anesa, where have you been?’
I began to cry and told him I’d been out trying to find out about his real face, his other life, and that I thought his mother was ashamed at having given birth to him. He hit me hard across my cheek and asked what I meant by his real face.
‘Don’t you have any shame? People in the village know what you’re doing with a man.’
Then he began to beat me properly, punching my face and body, kicking my legs and stomach as I fell.
‘Whatever I do is none of your business,’ he shouted. ‘Just keep your ugly mouth shut.’
Despite the pain and beating, I still wanted to know the truth: ‘Jabar, I need to know whether what people are saying is true.’
‘Do you really want to know?’ His eyes were red and bulging. ‘I love that boy. I’m in love with him and I’m going to bring him here to live. My parents forced me to marry you so that they could save me from the judgement of people in the village. My parents would have disowned me if I hadn’t married you and pretended that I like women.’ And with that he left with the children crying at my feet.
All hope I had was now gone. I felt ashamed, frightened and embarrassed. I couldn’t cope with the fact that my husband was a homosexual, the shame was too much to bear. All I wanted was to be with my mother and dear Fareba.
My mother was at the well when I arrived. She took one look at me and asked, ‘What’s wrong, Anesa? Is everything all right with you?’
I began to sob hysterically. ‘No, everything is wrong. I’m living in hell right now.’
I heard the bucket drop and my mother’s steps coming towards me. She flung her arms around me.
Dear Zari: Hidden Stories from Women of Afghanistan Page 14
