“Two Thousand Afgani for that? What a rip off!”... “I want five of them! Give me five, I paid for five!”... “Move fast, Move along!”
The babble of voices and annoyed men had become a regular occurrence for Aisha Karim, every Saturday morning.
“How much for a tub of Corn young man?”
“600 Afgani” replied Aisha.
“Where is it from?” asked the customer as Aisha bagged the corn up for him
“We grow it.” Aisha lied through her teeth as she had become so accustomed to.
The truth was, Aisha did not grow anything. At 15 years old, and hardly ever seeing her father anymore, Aisha had to find her own way in Kabul, Afghanistan. Over the years, she had worked on her act of dressing up as a boy every time she left the house. This was because men in Afghanistan continue to treat women with disrespect, even after the fall of the Taliban.
With her hair tied up under her hat, she was now known by the people around Hamid Kazi as “Akram Karim”, the respectable young farm hand. The townspeople did not think much of the boy, but knew he worked on a farm out in the country and would sell his produce every week at market day. Aisha had in fact stolen everything she sold, and lived a few houses down the street.
That night, Aisha sat in her bedroom in her father’s house. All of a sudden, a large figure opened the door ferociously. “Father!” Aisha squeaked, and she ran forward to hug him. He picked her off, and threw her across the room. Aisha did not know much about her father. Ever since her mother had died when she was 6, Muhammed Karim had not been present to look after Aisha. He was a huge figure, standing at 197cm tall. He pulled his hood off his head. Aisha saw underneath the toughness in his face, a look of terror. “Where is my money?” He yelled. Aisha looked away in horror. She had used the money she had found under the oven to get herself out of a sticky situation. “Why do you need it?” Aisha asked, trying to change the subject. “I am going… on a journey.”
Aisha looked up. She had never had a conversation with her father like this. Occasionally turning up every few months to demand food or pick something up from his house, he would usually completely ignore Aisha. Today however, there was panic in his voice, and Aisha did not know why. She opened her mouth to ask, but Muhamed was gone.
Aisha knew that she could not follow her father out onto the streets at this hour. She had heard stories of people from foriegn countries shooting rockets around other cities. Aisha had never gone to school because she had been forced to survive by herself since the age of 6. She did not have any money for a phone or access to the news. This is why she woke up the next morning hearing screams and yells from outside, and did not understand.
Aisha had normalised the sheer panic and terror of being in a crisis without a parent. This feeling for you and me is horrible. As a child in this situation, you worry about being abandoned and having to face the world on your own.
Because she had experienced this before. Aisha knew what to do. She gathered together everything she would need, and listened to the voices of the people outside. Aisha could not understand anything from the loud screams everywhere apart from one word: سفر. Journey. The people outside were going somewhere. Aisha was trying to make sense of this when she suddenly heard… the sound of a gunshot. The street went silent. Aisha ran.
Holding her hat on her head so her bun would not fall off, she knew she had to get out. Suddenly, a loud noise from above came. The droning of a massive plane. It was going to land in the airport just down the road. Aisha’s legs, very fast from stealing so much, flew down the street. She noticed the path ahead was blocked. Forign men in strange uniforms. They spoke a language that Aisha had not heard before. Aisha’s path was blocked by more people than she had ever seen before. The soldiers were guiding them over a fence. She did not know where they were going. Suddenly she heard a voice. “Move! Let me through!” It was the mountainous figure of her father. The uniform he was wearing seemed strangely familiar. Aisha had not seen him wear it before. Suddenly Aisha spied something else. Her father was holding a gun.
What happened next was very quick, but Aisha seemed to see it in slow motion. Her father was yelling at the soldiers to let him through, but they could not understand him in the Pashto language. He said something about money, and lifted his gun to find his pocket, but before he could, Aisha heard three quick shots. BANG BANG BANG. Time seemed to freeze as a dark red stain spread gradually down Muhammed’s uniform. He fell to the ground, wilting like a flower, rendered limp and lifeless, colour seeping out to be replaced with the ashen pale of death.
Aisha stood still. The was being shunted through the gap in the fence, but all she wanted to look at was her father. “No. NO! LET ME SEE HIM!” A stream of rage and protests and tears came pouring out as Aisha was pushed closer and closer to the Hercules aircraft. The next 20 minutes, time seemed to fly past. She found herself packed in with a group of people, looking out of the small window. Watching the city she knew so well, grow smaller and smaller. Her life was going to change as she embarked on this new journey.