“Not all our men are like my husband!”
“Perzo has been especially irritated today. I think he must have eaten something that’s upset his stomach; now that he’s crawling, he picks up things and puts them in his mouth,” described Wafa, Aisha’s neighbor, and best friend.
Sitting on a low stool, Wafa patted the dough ball into a neat circular roti and set it on the tawa, a wood-burning stove on the floor next to her. She repeated the process until there was enough roti for the meal, all the while stretching her leg out to stop Perzo from coming too close to the fire.
“Yes, now it’s going to be especially hard to control him. I’m going to see if I can get someone to look after him,” Wafa’s father announced. He had even considered remarrying. Marrying his friend Irfan’s widow would work best for her kids and his, but he was not yet ready. But he was starting to realize he did not have much choice.
“Baba, I miss school,” Wafa could not help reminding him.
She missed her time there, her lessons and being with friends. She even missed the long walk there and back. Her father heard her but ignored her grievance. Though Wafa tried to understand, a deep sense of despair was taking over her life. The loss of her mother was bad enough; that she had to leave school to care for her baby brother made things worse.
“If Ammi were alive, she would never have allowed me to leave school,” Wafa said, knowing her father was within earshot. “It’s been six months now since I stopped going to school, six months since I lost my mother; now all my time is taken up in household chores and looking after the baby. I love my brother, but…”
Her father did not want to say how much her mother’s treatment had cost; he had to take a loan to cover the funeral expenses. He was not a rich man, and it was hard to manage on his salary as a bank clerk. School fees would further deplete their meager funds. As the man of the house, it was up to him to make decisions to keep this family afloat. And adding three more members, if he remarried, would be hard. He still needed time.
Wafa sighed; she loved her baby brother with all her heart, but still, there were days that she wished things were different.
Skinny little Wafa was a year older than Aisha, who looked older because of the height she had inherited from her tall parents. The girls had been inseparable at school, and Aisha came by every day to update Wafa on what they learned and what had happened in her absence. Wafa covered the pan of meat and potato salan simmering on the embers and reflected on her friend’s visit the day before.
“I talked to my mother about your situation,” Aisha added. “Ammi suggested Perzo can come to our house while you’re at school; we have plenty of help, and it wouldn’t be any trouble. I met your father on the way home from school and told him.”
“So, what did he say?” Wafa asked, excited by the idea.
“He said, ‘That’s very kind of your mother,’ and walked on; I don’t know if he agreed or not.”
“He didn’t mention anything to me,” Wafa sighed.
She knew how burdened he was with the sole responsibility of all three of them; the baby, five-year-old Hamza, and her. It wasn’t just about Perzo; she also had to take care of the house because they could not afford help. There always seemed to be an infinite number of things to do, and she was usually too exhausted to work on the homework Aisha left for her.
Overburdened by responsibilities, the thought that she would never be able to study bothered 15-year-old Wafa. Her mother had such big dreams for her, and she was sad she wouldn’t be able to fulfill them. She brushed away the tears forming in her eyes as she heard Perzo crying for her.
“Perzo, catch, catch!” Hamza stated, who was trying his best to play ball with his baby brother. Instead, the usually happy baby howled even more; he was out of sorts today.
“I’ll go to Aisha’s mother and get some medicine from her. She’ll know what to do,” Wafa assured her father, who had now picked up his restless son. The baby hushed as he rested his head on his father’s shoulder.
As soon as Wafa entered the compound of Aisha’s house, she saw an attractive young woman sitting in the now empty courtyard. She had heard about the foreigners who had come to visit; Aisha always told her everything. The visitor had pulled a charpoy up against a wall and was using pillows to support her back. Her legs were stretched out straight in front of her, and she had a computer on her lap.
The woman had a scarf covering her hair and was wearing a shalwar and kameez; still, everything about her said she did not belong here. She was typing something on her computer, and Wafa was tempted to go and see what she was doing.
“Salaam, Bibi,” Wafa greeted politely; it would have been rude to pass her without a greeting.
“Salaam,” Zeina looked up with a friendly smile when she saw the brown-eyed girl with freckles on her face.
Wafa was wearing a long white top with loose red pants, and a long red scarf covered her head and body modestly. She had the freshest skin and friendliest smile that Zeina had ever seen.
“Hi! I’m Zeina.”
“My name is Wafa. What’s this? Is it a computer? Can I see it?” the girl asked curiously.
“Of course, here,” she replied, handing the laptop to Wafa.
Wafa admired the keyboard and typed some words, delighted to see them appear on the screen. She had seen a computer once when she had gone to her father’s office, but it was like a big, bulky box, with wires coming out of it like roots. It was not slim and compact as this one, and she envied Zeina for having such a machine.
“Aisha has gone to school. How come you’re not in school?” Zeina asked. She had seen Aisha and Wafa hanging out together in the evening.
“Wafa is a big girl. She takes care of her family,” Safia added as she made her way to them and hugged Wafa.
“Wafa’s mother died giving birth to her baby brother, and now she is the woman of the house,” Safia explained. “How’s everyone, Baiti?”
“Khala Jaan, Perzo isn’t feeling well. He has a slight fever and is very cranky. I don’t know what to do, so I’ve come to you for advice.”
“Poor thing must be teething. Wait, I’ve got medicine for him,” Safia said, and she went back inside the house.
“You don’t miss school?” Zeina asked.
“Yes, I do. But what can I do?” Wafa eyed the laptop.
“Do you like to learn?” the woman probed.
“Oh, yes! My mother fought to keep me in school,” she replied. “Aisha always tells me what I have missed, and I try to keep up with the lessons. But I do miss seeing my friends and going to school.”
Wafa sat beside her and watched as Zeina continued her work. Zeina had designed a “Missing” flyer with images of Rebecca and Ahmad, which she planned to distribute after it had a Pashto translation. The words were out about the visitors; nothing remained secret here. Everyone would see the flyers soon; there was no need to hide this from Wafa. The ping of an email she received broke the silence. The printers had just sent her a rough copy for her approval.
As Zeina opened the file, Wafa also peered at the poster.
“That isn’t the right translation in Pashto for ‘A reward of Rs. 5000.00 for information leading to the recovery of these missing persons.’ It should say…”
“Wait, you write on my computer so that I can email it directly back to the printers. Here,” Zeina offered, handing Wafa the laptop.
Wafa took the machine and very carefully wrote the words while Zeina looked on in fascination. The girl had probably never typed before, but she seemed to take to it like a natural. Checking the translation on the computer and with the printer, she saw it was spot on. Wafa was brilliant, and it was a shame she could not study further.
“It’s so sad that we’ve been unable to find Ahmad. I used to play with him; I remember his sweet little face with those lovely big, green eyes. I feel so bad for the family…”
“We’ll find him,” Zeina assured determinedly.
“I’ve told Aisha she needs to go to more places for her search. I think her method can be very effective. Maybe if she gets help, she can do more. I go with her sometimes. I tell her she must try other places too, like the airport, the hospital, the railway station. People from all over the area pass through these places.”
Impressed, Zeina nodded. Aisha’s rudimentary system was an excellent way to search, but they had to make the issue reach a wider audience. She would talk to Phil and Ismail and brainstorm ideas; maybe that evening when they had their final strategy meeting at Sheikh Sahib’s house.
Seeing Wafa’s situation, Zeina remembered when the then crown prince, her father’s cousin, arranged a comedy show for the whole family to enjoy. Afterward, Zeina had got a chance to talk to the prince.
“Thank you, Your Highness. The comedy show is an outstanding initiative.” Zeina congratulated the prince. His encouragement for modern ideas in their conservative part of the world had made him very popular among young people.
“My pleasure,” the prince had said as he bowed with a hand on his heart and encouraged by her steady gaze, had added, “It’s up to girls like you to take Saudi Arabia to its next level.”
There was something about his words that had inspired Zeina to fight the society she thought at times was very backward and oppressive, especially for girls. Her reverie stopped when Safia came back.
“Here’s some medicine; mix it with warm milk, and Perzo should get some relief,” said Safia, handing over the packets of powders. “Teething babies love to put everything in their mouths… I remember my…”
Unable to say her son’s name, she handed over a cloth bag of wooden toys with instructions to wash them regularly. She had also added some fruit and sweets; she knew the father was not exactly well off.
“I’ll tell Shahzad to get a teething ring for Perzo. Biting on it will relieve his gums,” she said.
“Safia…,” Zeina began as she looked around the spacious courtyard, “do you think it would work to set up a kind of home school here? Maybe start with one class. I’m sure there are others like Wafa who need education but can’t go to a formal school full time. Wafa could bring the baby with her, and maybe some mothers can help care for him and any other young children.”
“That’s a smart notion, and I’m glad you are bringing this up,” said Safia with a warm smile. “You know, I’ve had that idea in my mind, and I think it’s time I must do something about it.”
They both looked at Wafa, and her face lit up so much it brought tears to their eyes.
“Oh, that would be wonderful! I know two other girls who also cannot go to school and who would love to learn. I’ll…”
Suddenly they heard a crying baby. Wafa jumped up, grabbed her things, and ran off, shouting over her shoulder that she would come back later. Zeina watched Wafa as she raced towards her house, and she shook her head.
“The literacy rate among women in tribal areas is alarmingly low. Why are girls discouraged from getting an education?” Zeina asked, always interested in finding out more about people. “While the free mixing of men and women is not allowed in my country, we always had good schools and colleges for girls, and our mothers are very keen for us to go as far as we can.”
“Cultural and social practices keep our women down. Tribal traditions restrict and exclude them from decision-making, even at the domestic level. Early marriages and a lack of medical facilities add to their misery. Our society is too, huh, how do I say it? Let me say that smart, assertive women frighten our men, I think,” Safia shrugged. “When a girl shows any intelligence or independence, her chances of getting a good Rishta goes down. Not all our men are like my husband.”
“So, you managed to go to school?” Zeina said as her interest was evident.
“Oh yes, I finished school and had finished two years of college when I got married,” Safia responded with a smile. “Then, I did another two years and got a bachelor’s degree…in education.”
“Wow! That’s fantastic!” exclaimed Zeina. “Your husband didn’t mind?”
“I got a lot of criticism from others, but my husband encouraged me,” Safia exclaimed, enjoying the memory. “I was pregnant with my first child when the academic year ended; luckily, I got my degree before the baby arrived. My husband would drive me to college and pick me up; I remember how the girls would rush to the gate to peep at my handsome husband!”
The women giggled like teenagers.
“Sheikh Sahib’s wife, Zakiya, told me the worsening security situation and the changing power dynamics within the region have been a major cause for keeping women home,” Zeina stated. She was interested to know how she could make the home school succeed. “She said the tribal women here suffer from poverty, oppression, and a lack of knowledge about themselves. The low priority given to their needs does not allow for their betterment.”
“Zakiya is right,” Safia agreed. “The internal displacement of millions of people due to government operations against militancy has stopped whatever women’s education that existed in rural areas. So many negative factors combine to make women’s lives here a living hell. Not all, but a good number of women have no hope of improvement.”
Zeina was excited; she had found a good reason for not going on the practice hike with the boys. She must work on the school plan with Safia.