I asked the other reporters in the office about their experience of other people’s poverty. Everyone knew of a family that was so poor they had become beggars, sold their children or died from lack of food and shelter. Not being able to find a home, food and health facilities is a problem that millions of Afghans face almost every day and many of them have told us of their worries on the BBC Afghan programmes. In some cases bringing a baby into the world and selling it for money has been the only way to feed and care for five or six other children, who might otherwise die in the freezing cold.
It was around this time that Hillai, one of our young reporters from Jalalabad, told us about Janpary. Hillai knew her story because Janpary lived in her neighbourhood.
This is what I loved about working on Afghan Woman’s Hour. Sometimes it felt as though every woman who told us her story was opening up a subject that had previously been hidden, and each story gave a fascinating insight into what it is like to be a woman living in Afghanistan. These stories came from all corners of the country and many highlighted the need for women to know their rights. Janpary’s story is no exception. It is about poverty, but it’s also the story of a woman who discovers her worth, a woman who dares to try to take what is legally hers.
Janpary was born in Nangarhar Province in the east of Afghanistan, an area famous for its pleasant climate and known as ‘Hamesha Bahar’ or ‘Eternal Spring’. Nangarhar shares a border with Pakistan so there is a large amount of traffic of people and goods in both directions. Most of the province uses Pakistani rather than Afghan currency because of regular trade between the two countries. During the war, it was one of the more secure and prosperous cities in the east of the country, and it is still an important trading route between Afghanistan and Pakistan. Many of its citizens are farmers, merchants and business people, but during the war a lot of the farmers began to grow poppies. In 1990 a severe drought affected Afghanistan and the only crop that grew was the poppy.
Different tribes live in this province but most of them are Pashtuns. Here strong tribal traditions are followed. Young marriages are common. There is a university in Jalalabad, attended by young men and women, but more men go to the university than women. Girls tend to end their education at puberty, especially if they are from more traditional families. In fact, if a girl reaches eighteen and she is not married, she is considered old and past the age for marriage, and the older women in the family will call her a ‘very ripe woman’.
Many people from Kabul moved to Jalalabad during the war between the Mujahedeen and the Taliban because there was no fighting there, and they ended up settling for good. This has helped make it a lively and thriving city, full of interesting life stories. Janpary is not one of the rich women of the city. She’s a poor, hardworking widow struggling to feed her children. Hillai went to Janpary’s house to record her story and sent it to me via the internet.
Janpary peered into the dusty tin and saw there was only a handful of lentils left. She took a deep breath and tried to work out how this was going to feed five hungry mouths, looking around her kitchen to see if she could find something to make the lentils stretch further. Just then her daughter ran in saying she was hungry.
‘My child, once again your mother is at a loss. We don’t have enough to eat and I don’t have enough money to buy food.’
Janpary’s youngest child was seven years old.
‘But Mummy, I’ve been hungry since yesterday.’
Janpary hugged her daughter.
‘If I could, I would cook you and your brothers a wonderful meal of meat and rice. And I would give you fresh fruit to savour. But your mother is helpless. There are so few lentils left that even if I cooked them all there wouldn’t be enough for you, let alone your brothers.’
Her daughter thought for a moment and then said, ‘So must I stay hungry?’
‘No,’ said Janpary. ‘I am going out to find some work and I will bring you some food.’
Janpary wrapped the blue material of her burqa around her head and left the house. She walked briskly in her plastic sandals in the summer heat. She was upset that her children hadn’t eaten for two days and wanted to get to her destination quickly. On the outskirts of the village she arrived at a large house with ornate iron gates. Janpary knocked loudly and after a few minutes a young man approached, opened the gates and asked who she was.
‘I want to see Bibi jan.’
‘Who are you?’
‘My name is Janpary. Please tell Bibi jan that the widow Janpary is here. She has come to offer her services.’
The young man slammed the door shut and left Janpary waiting outside the gate in the hot sun. After several minutes, he returned and opened the gates, ushering Janpary inside the house. Janpary followed the young man inside and took off her sandals. The house was big and grand, and her feet felt a welcoming cool sensation as she trod on the marble floor. The young man directed her to go upstairs. She climbed up the stairs, her footsteps leaving a damp and dusty outline, and walked into a room that was laid with expensive carpets. Bibi was sitting on a large wooden bed.
‘Salamalikum, Bibi jan.’
The older woman looked kindly at the younger one. ‘Waliakum-u-salam!’ She then enquired after Janpary.
Janpary replied, ‘Bibi jan, my children haven’t eaten for two days and they’re hungry.’ She was embarrassed but went on, ‘Bibi jan, you know I can cope with not eating for a few days.’ She smiled. ‘Maybe it’s the extra fat on my body; but my children beg me for food every minute of the day and I’ve promised that I’ll bring them something to eat.’
At this, tears fell down Janpary’s face and she started to cry. ‘It hurts so much to see them hungry,’ she said.
The widow slumped down on the marble floor. ‘The only way I thought I could earn some money was to come to you. I was wondering whether you had any clothes that needed washing? Or some cleaning that I could do? Perhaps some tailoring I could help with?’
The lady of the house looked at her and said, ‘Janpary, I have told you so many times that I already have cleaners and women to wash my clothes. Please don’t come here again and again. This time I’ll give you some food to take home with you, but please don’t ask me to give you any kind of work. The people who work for me are poor just like you; if I give you their jobs then what will they do?’
She told Janpary that she only needed extra help when there were lots of guests or for special occasions. Janpary stared at the floor as she took in the disappointing news.
‘Since you have come here I won’t send you away empty-handed.’ And she called for a maid and told her to give Janpary the leftovers from the previous night’s meal. Janpary took the food and prayed for Bibi to have a good life.
As she was leaving she turned around and said, ‘Bibi jan, if you know of anyone who might need a servant I’m always ready. I swear on my children’s life I’ll work hard.’
Bibi said she couldn’t promise anything but would ask her family and friends. Janpary hurried home. Panting for breath, she pushed through the broken door of her house and called out, ‘Children, come, I’ve got food.’
Within seconds, Janpary’s children had clustered around her like hungry tigers. Janpary opened the bag and took out pieces of cooked meat, rice and vegetables, which the children devoured. Bibi had shown kindness and given her and her children plenty of food. Janpary grabbed a pot, poured out some water and warned her children to eat slowly so they didn’t get stomach-ache. She watched fondly as they ate. Janpary’s daughter scooped some food into her hand and offered it to her mother but Janpary shook her head.
‘You eat first; if there’s anything left over I’ll eat it.’
Janpary picked up her old handmade fan and started to wave it over her children. She tried to think what she could do next. Perhaps she could go to her neighbour’s house and ask if they needed a servant. What made Janpary’s life still more difficult was that at this time women were not allowed to work or study outside the home a
ccording to Taliban laws. They couldn’t earn wages from normal jobs like cleaning and cooking in government buildings, schools and hospitals.
Janpary lived with her four children in a small clay house, which her husband had left them when he died. She was young when she married and her husband was already married to another woman. Her brother had lost a bet and didn’t have enough money to pay his dues so he had offered his sister as a second wife. In this way she was given away to settle her brother’s gambling debt and she started her adult life with no wedding ceremony, the second wife to an inveterate gambler. Life wasn’t easy for her. Even though her husband wasn’t cruel and didn’t beat her, she had to work hard in the house to please the first wife. She didn’t feel cared for or loved by anyone. It was a long time before Janpary was allowed to visit her parents – she had to wait until she had produced at least two children, because after this she was considered to be a used woman who wouldn’t dare escape or be desired by anyone else. Her husband was usually preoccupied with his gambling but he did at least provide food and shelter for Janpary and her children.
Janpary’s life became particularly difficult after her husband was killed. It wasn’t quite clear what had happened but his murder was linked to his gambling. In the late 1980s, for a while, Janpary survived because the communist government gave assistance to widows and orphans. Widows and government employees were given monthly coupons, which enabled them to get flour, oil, sugar, soap and some other household items. Most of these items were imported from Russia but when the Mujahedeen and then the Taliban came to power everything changed. There was no longer government help or support for widows like her.
Janpary found herself a widow with no education, stuck in poverty and with four young children to feed. The pressures of her current situation made her forget that she had been given away to pay for a lost bet to become the second wife of an old man. By now the first wife had died and the children from the first marriage had grown up.
Her brother had nine sons and a house nearby but he didn’t support her in any way. Janpary neither asked him for any help nor dared to point out that she was stuck in this situation thanks to his gambling. She visited him and his family very rarely.
Janpary’s daughter again offered her some of the leftovers but she told her to keep it safe for when they got hungry later. She asked the children to pass her burqa to her. ‘Don’t go out anywhere. I’ll be back soon.’
Once again, she went out in search of work. She walked briskly until she reached a large bungalow in a wealthy part of Jalalabad. She knocked at the gate and a servant came out. Janpary had her face hidden behind her burqa. The man looked her up and down. Even though he couldn’t see her properly, he knew she was poor from her torn plastic sandals, which had been repaired with thick black string. He could see her hands were used to hard work and her clothes were full of dust.
‘Who are you? What do you want?’
Janpary spoke with a low and uncertain voice. ‘Brother, I’ve come in search of work. I’m poor and wanted to know if this house needs someone who can clean, wash and look after things?’
The guard told her to wait outside. He, too, was poor and felt sympathetic towards her. Janpary knew it wouldn’t be a short wait so she sat herself down on the ground beside the gate and leant against the wall in the shade. She prayed that she would get work. She was prepared to take any job, no matter how menial – the stress of finding enough food to feed her children was becoming too much.
When she heard the guard’s footsteps returning she got up quickly and covered her face with her burqa.
‘Sister, madam is calling you in. I made sure she asked you in.’
Janpary blessed him. ‘Brother, I wish you lots of happiness for your children; you tried to help me, may God help you.’
The guard led her into the house and directed her to a large room where the owner of the house was sitting watching television. Before entering, Janpary removed her sandals and left them outside the door.
‘Assalam-alikum,’ said Janpary.
The woman was wearing a new cotton shalwar kamiz and in her hand she held a remote control for the television. She turned the volume down, even though it was already very low as this was a time when people had to watch television secretly. The Taliban had banned television but some families continued to watch it surreptitiously, especially if they were rich. The woman returned the greeting to Janpary and asked her to be seated.
Janpary gazed at her new clothes, her golden bangles and her soft smooth hands. She thought how beautiful she looked. The woman observed Janpary carefully too. Janpary was the younger woman, yet looked older, paler and tired. The woman asked Janpary what she could do.
‘Bibi Jan, I can do all sorts of cleaning, washing, cooking, guarding and looking after the animals!’ Janpary gabbled in her desire to impress her hostess.
The woman smiled and said, ‘Cooking I do myself. I will need some help washing and cleaning, but only for the next two weeks as my cleaner has gone back to her village. Might you be able to start work from tomorrow? I’ll give you clothes to wash and you’ll be cleaning the house. In return, I’ll pay you and you can take the day’s leftover food home with you each day.
She said her husband didn’t like to eat the same food twice in a row so she had to make fresh dishes for him every day.
Janpary started praying for the woman. ‘Bibi jan, God bless you and your family. For me even one day’s work is a lot. I have to provide for my children and if I don’t work they’ll go hungry. My pride won’t allow me to beg on the streets. Why should I beg when God has given me a body that is fit for work?’
The woman showed Janpary the work that needed doing and instructed her to come back the following morning. Janpary was delighted and proud; she felt as free as a bird. She thanked the guard again on her way out and wished him and his family a happy life. Then she hurried home, excited about giving the good news to her children. As she entered her house, her youngest daughter ran towards her.
‘Mummy, where have you been? I’ve missed you.’
Janpary hugged her and told her that as she had found work she could soon buy her the red sandals she had been asking for. Janpary’s eldest son, ten-year-old Naqib, had been playing outside. When he came inside, Janpary reminded him that he should work and study hard so that when he grew up he could look after her and his brothers and sister. When she told him the good news he said, ‘Mother, you don’t have to worry because I’ll do everything to provide for you. I want to buy new clothes for my sister and brothers just like my cousins have.’
Janpary told Naqib not to compete with his cousins because her brother was rich and could easily afford to buy new clothes, good food and school books, but her son was dissatisfied with this explanation.
‘But, Mother, our cousins always show off their new things to us. They say you’re begging! Is that true?’
Janpary looked into her son’s eyes and said, ‘Firstly, your uncle should be ashamed of himself. I have told you that begging is an easy job and I won’t do it. I’ll work for as long as I have the energy to do it. I can wash and I can clean.’
She showed her hands to her son. ‘Look, my child, your mother’s hands are strong. They’re not made for begging.’
Janpary advised her son to ignore what his cousins had said and instead to study hard. She switched off the lamp, lay down on the floor near her four children and recited verses of the Quran as mothers do to bless them for safety before going to sleep.
The neighbour’s cockerel crowed loudly early in the morning but Janpary was already wide awake. She went to wash in the corner of her clay mud house and as she did she heard the mullah’s call for prayer, the Azan. After performing her morning prayer she went to wake Naqib for school. School is free for boys and girls until the age of eighteen, but parents like Janpary often cannot afford the uniform, pens and notebooks. School starts at eight in the morning and ends at around half-past twelve in the afternoon. However, many chil
dren don’t go because they are needed to work in the home, fields or family business. Others are forced to sell cigarettes and chewing gum on the street. Girls often don’t go to school at all because their parents don’t see the point of education for their daughters.
Janpary told Naqib which house she would be working in and promised that she would return at lunchtime with food for the younger children. When she arrived at the woman’s house the guard showed her a large pile of dirty laundry and she began to scrub the sheets and then all the clothes. She didn’t give in to tiredness; she rubbed hard without thought for her skin. She wanted to show Bibi how well she could clean. By the time the woman had got up, Janpary had hung some of the washing to dry on ropes. Bibi looked at the line of clothes and praised Janpary for her hard work. She advised her to take a break and have something to eat, but Janpary wanted to finish the job and insisted that all the clothes should be washed and dried in the sunlight.
When the washing was completed, Janpary made herself some green tea. She poured lots of sugar in her cup and ate a piece of bread that the guard shared with her. Janpary hadn’t eaten for three days and this bread tasted like a meal from a rich man’s banquet. Afterwards she set to work on the marble floors. She squatted down and rubbed hard, sweating and panting with the effort.
Bibi came to sit on the sofa and ask Janpary about her life. Janpary looked up from the floor.
‘My life is very simple. I have no money. I’m a widow with four children who I need to provide for.’
Janpary wiped the sweat away from her forehead with her scarf and laughed. ‘My head is full of stories, Bibi. If I told you all that’s happened in my life you’d get tired. Living with a man who was always gambling – and always losing – wasn’t easy. I was the victim of a bet between my brother and my husband. I’m still suffering because of this.’
Dear Zari: Hidden Stories from Women of Afghanistan Page 18
