“WEAR YOUR STURDIEST SHOES. TODAY IS THE DAY WE BEGIN OUR
travels. And remember, if anyone asks you, we are going to visit your
aunt in Herat. Say a prayer. We will need God to watch over us.”
When Saleem reached into the closet for his winter hat, I caught a glimpse of Mahmood’s watch on his wrist. I opened my mouth to say something but decided against it. It was best to leave the matter between father and son.
There was much we could not take with us: Saleem’s soccer ball, Samira’s set of plastic dolls, the fractured china set my mother-in-law had gifted us. I looked at my pots and pans, blackened with fire. The handwoven carpet in the living room had watched us grow from bride and groom to a full family, and then bore witness to the night we were undone. Tears of joy, tears of heartbreak had melted into its pattern. I left it all, the pieces of our broken life, for Raisa. I knew our home would not remain vacant long. Once Mahmood’s cousins learned of our escape, one of them was sure to claim it. Kabul had become a game of musical chairs with squatters, militants, and relatives plopping into an empty house before someone else could claim it.
Abdul Rahim checked his watch nervously. We were on a timeline. Our neighbors had offered to escort us to the bus terminal. If we were stopped, Abdul Rahim would say he was my brother.
I carried a bag in one hand and had Aziz tucked under my
burqa
. Saleem had a knapsack strapped to his back and held Samira’s hand, following behind Abdul Rahim but walking ahead of me. He and Samira both looked back frequently, as if they thought I might wander off.
The terminal was a widened road with buses parked in haphazard rows. At the front door of each bus, a man stood calling out the bus’s destination. We found our bus and saw that it was filling quickly.
“How long is the ride, Madar-
jan
?” Saleem whispered.
“Very long. Try to sleep—the time will pass more quickly.”
The children and I filed on. I went to the women’s section in the back with Samira and Aziz while Saleem took an empty seat in the men’s section up closer to the driver. I kept Aziz on my lap, and
Samira sat beside me. Seats were limited, and more than a few of the younger women were forced to stand.
The bus rumbled onto the main road.
Burqas
lifted like theater curtains as conversations picked up.
In the second hour, Samira fell asleep, despite the bumps and jumps the bus took on the rough road. Even Aziz and I dozed for a few minutes, waking only when the chatter grew in intensity. Then I realized we were no longer moving.
My right leg burned with pins and needles.
After three hours of tinkering and cursing, the bus driver was able to restart the engine. We were back on the road but moving at a snail’s pace. Twice more the bus driver had to disembark and curse the engine back into working order.
THREE DAYS LATER, WE FINALLY REACHED OUR DESTINATION,
the cantankerous driver yelling for everyone to gather their belongings and exit.
We were in Herat.
“Your father used to come here a few times each year, on behalf of the ministry,” I told my children. “He was leading one of the projects in this area.”
Saleem kicked at the dirt as he followed the blue shadows off the bus.
“Why didn’t he ever tell me about it?”
“It was long ago,” I said, taking note of the resentment in his question.
We waited, as Abdul Rahim had instructed us, and an hour after our arrival, we were approached by a couple. A short man in his fifties whispered my name as a question.
“Khanum Fereiba?” he asked.
“Yes,” I confirmed with relief.
“Abdul Rahim and Raisa-
jan
have told me to expect you.” He motioned for his
burqa
-clad wife to join him.
I ushered my children ahead of me, and we followed Asim and Shabnam to their home. Shabnam was Raisa’s sister, their voices and matronly figures remarkably similar. We would stay with them for just a night. By the following evening we would be on a bus headed for the Afghan-Iran border. Saleem and Samira were disappointed, especially once they’d met the couple’s young children. Samira played with the girls while Saleem held Aziz and listened in on Asim’s warnings for the treacherous road ahead.
“You must be wary of the people you will meet,” he cautioned sternly. He swirled the tea leaves in his glass prophetically and continued. “Herat is the doorway to Iran, so we hear and see much of the traffic that passes. The Taliban are present here and look for any opportunity to make an example out of someone. You know, of course, their rules on
mahram
escorts. And they know that many people are trying to make their way into Iran, so keep your eyes open and try not to attract attention.”
Asim and Shabnam lived in a three-room home that had not gone unscathed in the rocket attacks. Parts of the roof had been patched, and the windows were boarded up. With her
burqa
off, Shabnam’s resemblance to Raisa was even more apparent. Saleem and Samira smiled to see her familiar face. I listened intently as Asim went on.
“You’ll be traveling in a small van. Usually, they are very full and there’s hardly room to breathe, so keep your little ones at your side. They’ll be nervous. The driver should take you across the border and into Iran. The price for the passage has already been settled, but they will try to wheedle more from you. Keep all your monies and valuables well hidden. Look very reluctant and give him a little token piece. Make the driver believe that’s the very last thing you have.”
I looked at Saleem, wanting to tell him to run off and play so he
could be spared this conversation. On the other hand, maybe he deserved to know what he was about to be involved in.
“Bear in mind that the van will only take you to the border. You’ll have to walk across on foot. The smugglers make the crossing under cover of night. Once you get to the Iranian side, there will be another van waiting for you. This van will take you to Mashhad. I believe Abdul Rahim has given you the address for your contact there. There are many Afghans in Mashhad and,
inshallah,
they will help you to find your way. I understand that you’ll be going on to Europe. The road ahead of you is difficult, but many have traveled it.”
I sighed heavily. Saleem took notice.
“I pray God will make us among the many who successfully pass through it. This is the only way I see for my children. I hope I’m making the right decision.”
Shabnam nodded sympathetically.
“You are a mother and a mother’s heart never guides her children down the wrong path,” Shabnam reassured, her plump hand squeezing mine.
The children, exhausted from the bus ride, slept well while I nodded off, waking periodically to find myself still in Herat, unable to believe that I’d actually set off on a journey so dangerous with three small children. In the dark room, amid the hush of night breathing, I still wondered if I’d made the right choice.
What was it that my orchard angel had promised me so many years ago?
In the darkness, when you cannot see the ground under your feet and when your fingers touch nothing but night, you are not alone. I will stay with you as moonlight stays on water.
I closed my eyes and prayed he hadn’t forgotten me.
THERE WASN’T MUCH TIME FOR ME TO RECONSIDER. IF I’D HAD
just one more day, I might have lost my nerve. The desert before us made me dizzy with fear.
Aziz was not nursing well. He was sleeping more and fussy when awake. The journey to Herat had not been an easy one and we were all exhausted.
In the afternoon, I leaned over my sleeping children and kissed their foreheads gently, whispering to them to coax their eyes open. Night, the time when the border was most vulnerable to trespass, was approaching. Holes opened up and scared, desperate people crawled through. While war had turned some Afghans into lions, it had turned a good number of us into mice as well.
Shabnam gave us bread for our journey. Asim led us to the meeting point. Saleem and Samira followed his footsteps. They held hands as dusk settled in, a half-moon luminous in the cloudless sky. We stood at the storefront of a mechanic’s shop and waited. It could be minutes or hours, Asim had said with a shrug, but the van would come.
Forty minutes later, with Aziz twisting and grunting uncomfortably, a van rounded the corner. I pushed the children behind me, pressing them against the shop’s façade. The van came to a stop just a few feet from us.
“
Get in,
” whispered the driver. “
Quickly.
”
This was Mahmood’s plan for us,
I reminded myself, as I ushered my children into the van.
Trust him that this is the right thing to do.
Two other families were packed into the van, each with four or five children. I whispered a greeting and led my family into a corner of the hollowed-out vehicle.
There was no room for idle chatter. Too much weighed on our minds. Thick silence was cut by Aziz’s noisy breathing as it harmonized with the rusted engine.
Just outside Herat, the driver stopped the van and leaned over the back of his seat.
“From here, we cross the desert and then the border. You will all pay now or be left here.” His tone was dry.
The driver got out of the van and opened the back door. He pointed at the man sitting across from me who crept out to settle his family’s fare. His wife and children watched on anxiously, nervous to be even a few feet apart from their father.
Next went the father of the second family. I looked at my children, watched them stare unabashedly at the fathers.
I must be everything to them,
I told myself.
I stepped down to meet the driver, leaving Aziz on Saleem’s lap. I handed over a small envelope and waited while the driver nimbly thumbed through the bills I’d already counted and recounted.
“You and your children are traveling alone.”
I nodded.
“That’s a problem. I don’t think we can take you.”
I tried to steady my voice.
“What’s the problem? The money is all there.”
“You know how it is. I’m taking a risk by bringing people across.
But you, an unescorted woman . . . you understand? This is a much bigger risk for me and not one I can do for this price. It’s not fair to me.”
Though Asim had predicted this, I seethed to hear the driver’s reasoning. If we were stopped, no one would pay a bigger price than I. But I was prepared. I would play his game.
“Please. Have mercy on me and my children. We have nothing left. What are we to do for food?”
“Sister, what is anyone to do for food? I have children too. Do I look like a king? Who will have mercy on me?”
The border was so close I could taste it.
“This is all I have left,” I said and reluctantly slipped a gold ring with a turquoise stone off my finger. “This was a wedding gift from my late mother-in-law, God give her peace. Now I pray I’ll find a way to feed my children.”
“God is great, my sister,” he said as he stole a quick glance at the stone before stuffing it in his jacket pocket. “Your children will be provided for.”
THE ROAD ROUGHENED AS WE LEFT HERAT’S LIMITS. WHEN THE
van came to a stop, we all held our breath. I put my hand on Saleem’s.
“This is the border,” the driver announced. “The guarded passage is ten kilometers that way. There’s a trail that cuts through the mountains. I’ll lead you across. It’s not easy, but many have crossed it before you. Keep your children close and keep them quiet. Watch your feet. There are loose stones, scorpions, and snakes to worry about. Watch for my flashlight.”
Saleem and Samira pressed themselves against me, terrified by the driver’s warnings. Under my
burqa,
Aziz’s breaths felt moist and rapid on my neck, as if even he felt nervous.
We trod carefully, following the distant yellow glow of our guide’s flashlight. When I heard a hiss, I nudged the children along without
breathing a word. They were frightened enough without naming the shadows. For hours, we stumbled through the dark, falling and scraping knees, bending ankles. I’d flipped my
burqa
back and let it drape behind me, like the other women. I’d swaddled Aziz with a long muslin cloth and tied him around my torso. I held my children’s hands as we did our best to tread carefully.
Samira’s hand pulled out of mine and I heard a yelp.
“Samira! What happened? Where are you?” I strained my eyes to make out her shape.
“She fell, Madar,” Saleem said calmly. “I’m holding her hand.” Even as Samira’s ankle had turned in under her, he had held on.
Samira whimpered softly in the dark.
“Can you stand, my love?” I watched the distance between us and the others widen.
“Get her up and walking,” the driver hissed at us. “We cannot fall behind.”
I felt around for her ankle. My hand touched something wet and warm, and I realized she must have cut it against a rock. I prayed it was not too bad. I took a scarf from our bag of clothing and tied it around her ankle.
The driver’s light grew dimmer. My heart fluttered with alarm.
My daughter pressed on, though I could tell she was limping. Saleem did his best to support her weight, but he too needed to be careful with his footing.
God forgive me for putting them through this.
An hour later, the mother of the family ahead of us slipped, with her two-year-old in her arms. Their cries rang out in the night.
The flashlight turned on them. The mother’s face looked horrified.
“What have I done?” Her husband was at her side, helping her up. The baby’s arm had twisted grotesquely, bent between the elbow and wrist in an obvious break.
They were distraught. I wanted to help but didn’t know how.
The baby howled when his father tried to touch his arm. The driver stood over them, sighed heavily, and spit into the darkness.
“Look, there’s nothing you can do for him here. If you have something with sugar, give it to him. It might quiet him down. We must keep moving. He’ll fall asleep soon enough.”