Letters to My Daughters (37 page)

With all the roles in place, the parliament opened for business. That was another truly historic event, and it was broadcast on live TV both in Afghanistan and around the world. As the speaker was not present, I had to chair the first plenary session. I looked around and once again realized that here I was chairing a parliament in which former presidents, ministers and Mujahideen leaders were all sitting. But I wasn't nervous. Debating is one of the things I enjoy most in life, so to have the chance of chairing such an important debate was wonderful. I simply loved it.

That day went very well, and afterwards a number of male MPs commented on how surprised they had been that a woman had managed the task of keeping order so well. They too now recognized what an important symbol this was for Afghan women and for the nation.

But very soon the jealousy started. Some of the old MPs, the corrupt ones, are losing power and public support day by day. And they know it. These old-style politicians who use guns and intimidation as their means of communication could not stomach the fact that a young woman like me was growing in political popularity and influence. As I walked past them in the corridors or stepped down from the podium, I would hear them muttering, “What? A woman is chairing our parliament and we must just sit here and watch? She cannot be allowed to continue.”

I tried to ignore them and started focusing on providing the services that voters had wanted when they elected me. The Kabul-Faizabad road, for example, was still a dirt track with no asphalt. I started to lobby for funds to build a proper highway that would for the first time link Badakhshan with the capital city. On a political visit to the U.S., I met President George W. Bush and his wife, Laura. I found Laura to be a very pleasant, warm woman and I liked her immensely. She seemed genuinely committed to civil issues—children's rights, education for women, school-building projects, human rights. I got a sense that as a mother herself she understood the plight of women and children in developing countries. She asked me many intelligent questions about the situation in my country and listened carefully as I outlined what I thought she and the U.S. could do to help. I felt encouraged by her support.

I also used my time in the U.S. to try to gain wider support for construction of this road. The U.S. ambassador told me he couldn't make me any promises, but that my request had been noted. Four months later, I learned that the U.S. Agency for International Development had approved the budget for the road. I was thrilled.

The road is now completed and it has improved the lot of Badakhshanis immeasurably. What was once a three-day journey to Kabul now takes less than a day. The road takes in some wonderful scenery, and I think it's the most beautiful in all Afghanistan. Some Badakhshanis have nicknamed it “Fawzia's road.” The road on the other side of the Atanga Pass is still not completed, despite my best efforts. I will not rest until this road is built too. I feel I owe it to my father to complete the dream that he so bravely started.

In recent years, I have met several other famous international politicians, including Tony Blair, Gordon Brown and David Cameron, the previous and current prime ministers of the U.K. I have also met Hillary Clinton twice. I find her an incredibly inspiring woman who has a definite grace and power about her. I also met Stephen Harper, the Canadian prime minister, and Peter MacKay, the Canadian defence minister.

I have yet to meet President Obama, but I hope I shall. Afghans followed his campaign and subsequent election very closely, and he became a very popular figure here. There was something very inspiring to us about his journey to become the first black president of the United States. Many Afghans also regarded him as someone who would favour negotiation over war and who had a very strong understanding of foreign policy and global issues.

As the years have passed, I have made some very good friends and allies at the international level, among the fraternity of diplomats, aid workers and journalists. I believe we all have something to learn from each other and that co-operation between nations is essential. For too long, Afghanistan has allowed itself to be a pawn that is moved and shifted by the hands of more powerful players. I believe that Afghanistan can and will one day take its rightful role as a power player within the Asian region. As a nation, we need to learn to work more strategically with our allies and stand up to our enemies.

We don't have to be a nation that the world either fears as terrorists or pities as victims. We are a great people and we can be a great nation. Achieving this for my country is my life's ambition. I'm not certain what God's purpose is for me, only that he has one. It may be that he has chosen me to lead my country out of the abyss of corruption and poverty or simply that he wants me to be a hard-working MP and a good mother who will raise two shining stars as daughters. Whatever the future holds for me and my nation, I know that God alone wills it.

Dear Father,

I was almost four years old when you were martyred. In that short time, you addressed me directly only once, and that was to tell me to go away.

I do not know how you would react to seeing me in the position I am in today. But I like to think that you'd be proud of what the youngest child of your favourite wife has achieved.

I barely knew you, my father, but I know I have inherited many of your qualities. When I hear people tell stories about you, I am always proud of your honesty, frankness and hard work. Even now, so many years after your death, you are still widely remembered for these qualities. That is an inspiration to me.

I think that if a person is not honest to himself or herself, he or she cannot be honest to others. I know your openness and truthfulness made you different from the other members of parliament. I know you always believed in what you did and would stand by your values and the decisions you took on behalf of your people. These characteristics made you a great man.

In my job as an MP, the very same job that you held before me, I often think of you and wonder how you would react to a difficult situation.

Remembering you gives me the courage to remain fearless and determined. Over thirty years after your death, you still lead me and your family by example.

I inherited more than your values, Father. I inherited your political legacy. It is a legacy I will never betray. Even if I know that one day, just like you, I will probably be killed because of this work.

But I don't want that to happen, Father. And maybe, God willing, it won't. If I stay alive then perhaps one day I might even get to be president. What do you think of that, Father? I hope the idea of that makes you smile in heaven.

With love,
Your daughter,
Fawzia

· · EPILOGUE · ·
A Dream for a
War-Torn Nation

{
2010
}

LET ME SHARE a memory with you.

Two years ago, I went to a village in Badakhshan to hear the problems of the people and to find out what I could do to help them. The roads were difficult, and as dusk fell we got stuck in a village. We had no choice but to spend the night there. The family we stayed with was one of the richest families in what was an extremely poor village. The house owner led us to his home, and on the way we were greeted by the young people of the village, who had lined up on both sides of the road to welcome us. After talking with them a while, we went on towards our host's house.

A beautiful young woman, aged about thirty, wearing ragged clothes and a deep red
hijab
, came out of the house to welcome us. I greeted the woman, and she bent to kiss my hands. I was embarrassed. I hadn't done anything for this beautiful young woman or her village, so she had no reason to do it. I felt uncomfortable and didn't allow her to kiss my hands. The woman, who seemed unhappy and worried, invited us into the living room. The room was small and dark. It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the gloom.

When they did, I noticed she was heavily pregnant.

The woman brought us green tea, dried mulberries and walnuts. I asked her how many children she had. She replied that she had five children, all under the age of seven, and was now seven months pregnant again. I was worried about her: she did not look quite right to me. She left the room again and came back with a big plate of sweet Afghan rice pudding that she had made for us. She spread out a cloth and then put the big wooden bowl of rice on it.

Dinner was a good opportunity for me to try to engage her in conversation to get more information about her life. I started by talking about the weather.

I said, “It's summer, but your village is so high up in the mountains it still feels cold. In winter it must be very cold here.”

The shy woman replied, “Yes, in winter we have a lot of snow. We can't even get out of the house, it snows so heavily.”

I asked her, “How do you manage then? Is someone helping you with the housework?”

She replied, “No one helps me. I wake up at four in the morning, I clear the snow 'til the stable doors are clear, then I feed the cows and other animals. After that I prepare dough and bake
naan
in the oven. Then I clean the house.”

“But you are heavily pregnant,” I said. “Do you still do all this on your own?”

“Yes,” she replied. She seemed surprised by my surprise at her answer.

I told her I didn't think she looked well and that I was worried about her.

She told me she felt very ill. “I work all day and at night I cannot move because I am in so much pain.”

I asked her why she didn't see a doctor. She told me that it wasn't possible because the hospital was far away. I told her I would talk to her husband on her behalf and tell him he must take her.

She replied, “If my husband takes me to the hospital, then we would have to sell a goat or a sheep in order to pay for my treatment. He would never agree to that. On top of that, how would we get there? The hospital is three days walking and we don't have a donkey or horse.”

I told her that her life should be more important than that of a goat or a sheep. If she was healthy, she could take care of the whole family but if she was sick then she couldn't look after anyone.

She shook her head and slowly gave a sad, wistful smile. “If I die,” she said, “then my husband will marry somebody else, but the whole family is fed by the milk of the goats and the meat from the sheep. If we lose a goat or sheep, then who will feed this family? From where will this family get food?”

I have never forgotten this poor woman. And I doubt she is still alive. Multiple pregnancies, poor diet, exhaustion and lack of access to a doctor—any one of these things could have killed her. And there are hundreds of thousands of women like her across Afghanistan. The typical Afghan woman does not fear death and wants to keep her family happy and satisfied at any cost. Brave and kind, she is ready to sacrifice herself for the sake of others, but what does she get in return? Normally very little. And often, a husband who puts the cost of a goat or a sheep above his wife's life. When I remember this woman, tears come to my eyes and I feel more compelled than ever to help all those others like her.

I have a dream that one day all human beings in Afghanistan will have equal rights. Afghan girls have capacity, talent and skill. They should be given every opportunity to be educated and literate and to participate fully in the political and social future of the country.

I also dream that the culture of ethnic divisions that has so marred our nation will one day disappear. I hope too that the Islamic values that have shaped our history and our culture are kept safe from false and wrong interpretations. The Afghan people are the main victims of terrorism worldwide, yet Afghanistan is known to the world as the main producer of terrorists. I hope that with active diplomacy and good representation, we will be able to change this perception. Afghanistan is traditionally a poor country, but we have great resources. We have copper, gold, emeralds and oil. I hope our untapped mineral wealth can be used to combat poverty in Afghanistan and to give our country greater importance.

Afghanistan as a nation has witnessed great struggles. We have never accepted invasion nor have we ever been colonized or conquered. On the night in the nineteenth century when the British retreated from Afghanistan, in what is known as the First Afghan War, local tribesmen sang a song of victory. One of its lines went like this: “If you don't know our zeal, then you will know it when you come to the battlefield.” This is an accurate statement. We are proud and fierce warriors by nature. We will always defend ourselves when required. But it should also be understood that we do not search for war.

The doors of globalization and global opportunities, open to so many other countries in the world, should no longer be closed for Afghanistan. I dream that one day, Afghanistan will be a nation free from the shackles of poverty. I dream it will no longer be labelled the most dangerous place in the world for a woman or a child to be born. Around a third of Afghan children die before their fifth birthday. Our future generations are lost to us through poverty, disease and war. I dream this will end. Since 2001 and the fall of the Taliban, billions of dollars of aid money has been spent in Afghanistan. I am grateful for every penny of it, but unfortunately much of it has been wasted, misdirected or diverted into the wrong hands, such as those of corrupt local politicians or profiteering contracting companies who take great profits but build poor-quality roads or new hospitals without proper plumbing.