Dear Zari: Hidden Stories from Women of Afghanistan by Zarghuna Kargar Page A

such cases, and according to the Ministry of Women’s Affairs in Afghanistan, and various non-governmental organisations, approximately 57 per cent of Afghan girls marry before the age of sixteen (though the circumstances of these marriages do vary).
    One particular memory stands out. In 2007 in Kabul I met some family relatives who were very poor. The two older sons were doing building work to earn money, and the two young daughters had just reached puberty. The mother complained to me that her sons and husband struggled to provide enough for the whole family. Then the elder of the two daughters, who seemed very bright, asked me if I had finished school. I told her I had. Then in front of her mother, she told me that she and her sister were no longer allowed to go to school because they were ‘becoming young’ (by this she meant reaching puberty), before going to fetch her schoolbooks and showing me how she had been awarded top marks.
    I asked the mother why she’d taken her daughters out of school and tried to explain how important it was for them to have an education, and she replied, ‘It’s just not important as these two girls are going to be given in exchange for my sons. Their brothers have been working hard all their lives to provide for us, and now that they are of a marrying age, the girls can pay them back.’
    I asked her what she meant.
    ‘We’re very poor – too poor to be able to secure brides for our sons– so we’ll use our daughters and exchange them as daughters-in-law. In any case, it is better that they stay at home because it’s seen as shameful for a young girl to go out by herself. What would other people say? They wouldn’t want to marry into our family if they thought we were too liberal.’
    One of the daughters looked at me and began to cry. ‘You heard what my mother said; I’m to be given in exchange for my older brother. She says I’m to be married into whichever family is prepared to give my brother a wife.’
    I realised I wasn’t going to be able to persuade the mother to change her mind. As I prepared to leave, the eldest daughter implored me with her eyes to save her, but there was nothing I could do.
    Shereenjan lived in a neighbourhood of narrow streets and tightly packed buildings on the outskirts of Kabul. When I went to interview her the driver and I had difficulty finding her house. It was a hot and sunny day and I had my recording equipment in a simple plastic shopping bag. I clutched it tightly as I stood outside Shereenjan’s house and knocked at the door, trying to focus on the task in hand while my mind kept drifting back to Pana and how she was going to get married when she was only eleven years old.
    Shereenjan’s two grandsons answered the door. I told them my name and that I had come to visit their granny and they smiled shyly. One shouted that the woman from the office had arrived and then they both ran away giggling. I went into the house and was greeted by several women who directed me to Shereenjan’s room, which was across a courtyard. At the far side of the yard, I could see Shereenjan. She had a stick in her hand and was beating a donkey and it brayed loudly while Shereenjan shouted and cursed, ‘You useless, lazy donkey, if I don’t beat you, you don’t move.’
    Shereenjan then called for Khudai Dad, one of her grandsons, and told him to take the donkey to fetch wood for the household. Khudai Dad ran to her, took the stick and began beating the donkey himself.Shereenjan was wearing the same clothes as when I’d last seen her: baggy, old trousers and a long dress. She greeted me and kissed me on my forehead, as is the custom for older Afghan women with younger women, and invited me to sit by her. Her room was shaded and dark but it still felt hot and humid, and when I sat next to Shereenjan on a thin mattress, it felt damp and oddly cold. I took out my recording machine and plugged in the microphone, and at the sight of it Shereenjan