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Why Afghan Women Risk Death to Write Poetry NYTimes.com

April27,2012

WhyAfghanWomenRiskDeathtoWrite Poetry
ByELIZAGRISWOLD

InaprivatehouseinaquietuniversityneighborhoodofKabul,OgaiAmailwaitedforthe phonetoring.Throughaplateglasswindow,shewatchedthesinkingsunturnthecourtyard thecolorofeggplant.Theelectricitywasntworkingandtheroomwasunheated,afewfloor cushionstheonlyfurnishings.Amailtuckedherbarefeetunderneathherandpulledupthe collarofherpuffyblackcoat.Herdarkhairwastiedinaponytail,andhereyelidswerecoated inmetallicbluepowder.Inthegreenglareofthemobilephonesscreen,herfacelookedwan andworried.Whenthephonefinallybleeped,Amailshriekedwithjoyandputonthe speakerphone.Ateenagegirlsvoicetumbledintotheroom.Imfreezing,thegirlsaid.Her voicewashuskywithcold.Tomakethiscall,shedsneakedoutofherfathersmudhouse withouthercoat. LikemanyoftheruralmembersofMirmanBaheer,awomensliterarysocietybasedinKabul, thegirlcallswhenevershecan,typicallyinsecret.ShereadsherpoemsaloudtoAmail,who transcribesthemlinebyline.Toconcealherpoetrywritingfromherfamily,thegirlrelieson apenname,MeenaMuska.(MeenameansloveinthePashtolanguagemuskameans smile.) Meenalostherfianclastyear,whenalandmineexploded.AccordingtoPashtuntradition, shemustmarryoneofhisbrothers,whichshedoesntwanttodo.Shedoesntdareprotest directly,butrecitingpoetrytoAmailallowshertospeakoutagainstherlot.WhenIasked howoldshewas,Meenarespondedinaproverb:Iamlikeatulipinthedesert.IdiebeforeI open,andthewavesofdesertbreezeblowmypetalsaway.Shewasntsureofheragebut thoughtshewas17.BecauseIamagirl,nooneknowsmybirthday,shesaid. MeenalivesinGereshk,atownof50,000peopleinHelmand,thelargestofAfghanistans34 provinces.Helmandhasstruggledwiththedoubleburdenofbeingoneoftheworldslargest opiumproducersandaninsurgentstronghold.Meenasfatherpulledheroutofschoolfour yearsagoaftergunmenkidnappedoneofherclassmates.Nowshestayshome,cooks,cleans andteachesherselftowritepoetryinsecret.Poemsaretheonlyformofeducationtowhich shehasaccess.Shedoesntmeetoutsidersfacetoface. Icantsayanypoemsinfrontofmybrothers,shesaid.Lovepoemswouldbeseenbythem
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Why Afghan Women Risk Death to Write Poetry NYTimes.com

asproofofanillicitrelationship,forwhichMeenacouldbebeatenorevenkilled.IwishIhad theopportunitiesthatgirlsdoinKabul,shewenton.Iwanttowriteaboutwhatswrongin mycountry.Meenagulped.Shewastryingnottocry.Ontheotherendoftheline,Amail,who ispronetobothcompassionanddrama,begantoweepwithher.Tearsmixedwithkohl drippedontothepageofthespiralnotebookinwhichAmailwaswritingdownMeenasverses. MeenarecitedaPashtunfolkpoemcalledalandai: Mypainsgrowasmylifedwindles, Iwilldiewithaheartfullofhope. IamthenewRahila,shesaid.Recordmyvoice,sothatwhenIgetkilledatleastyoullhave somethingofme. Amailgrimaced,uncertainhowtorespond.Dontcallyourselfthat,shesnapped.Doyou wanttodie,too? Rahilawasthenameusedbyayoungpoet,Zarmina,whocommittedsuicidetwoyearsago. Zarminawasreadingherlovepoemsoverthephonewhenhersisterinlawcaughther.How manyloversdoyouhave?sheteased.Zarminasfamilyassumedtherewasaboyontheother endoftheline.Asapunishment,herbrothersbeatherandrippeduphernotebooks,Amail said.Twoweekslater,Zarminasetherselfonfire. LikeMeena,ZarminalivedinGereshk,alittlelessthan400milesfromKabul.She,too, wasntallowedtoleaveherhome.Shefirstfoundtheliterarygroupbylisteningtotheradio, heronlylinktotheoutsideworld.Oneday,onRadioAzadiRadioLibertyshehearda MirmanBaheermemberreadingpoems.Withnowaytocontactthegroup,shephoned anotherradioprogram,LostLove,apopularshowthatmostlyconnectsrefugeestofamily membersorfriendstheyhaventseenindecades.ZarminaaskedforhelpinfindingMirman Baheer.Oneofthestationsemployeeswasamember.Oh,soyouthoughtwewerelost,too! shetoldtheaspiringpoet,beforesharingthephonenumber. Zarminasoonbecamearegularcaller.Whenevershecould,shephonedintoMirmanBaheers SaturdayafternoonmeetingsattheMinistryofWomensAffairsinKabul.Zarminawouldask Amailifshecouldreadherpoemsaloudtothegroup.ButtheKabulmeetingswerecrowded witheagerpoets,vyingtobeheard.AmailoftenhadtotellZarminatowaitherturn.Idsay, No,Illcallyou,butshedcallbackwithinafewminutes. SometimesZarminacouldntstandtowaitforameetingtocallAmail.WhenAmailsaidshe wastoobusytotalk,Zarminawouldrespondwithalandai: Iamshoutingbutyoudontanswer
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Why Afghan Women Risk Death to Write Poetry NYTimes.com

OnedayyoulllookformeandIllbegonefromthisworld. Howsweetitwouldhavebeenifwedonlyrecordedhervoicewhileshewasreadingpoems, Amailsaid.Shepickedbitsofcaramelizedsugarandalmondsfromaglassdish.Now,when anygirlcalls,Inotedowneverythingthedatesofthepoems,thephonenumbers,every singlethingshesays.(Thegroupstillcantaffordataperecorder.) Inherpoems,Zarminadescribedthedarkcageofthevillage.Herworkwasimpressive, accordingtoAmail,notonlyforitsdistinctivelanguagebutalsoforitscouragetoquestion Godswill.Thatswhatourpoemshadincommon,Amailsaid.WecomplainedtoGod aboutthestateofourlives.Zarminaspoemsposedquestions:WhyamInotinaworld wherepeoplecanfeelwhatImfeelingandhearmyvoice?Sheasked,IfGodcaresabout beauty,whyarentweallowedtocare?Sheasked:InIslam,GodlovedtheProphet Muhammad.Iminasocietywhereloveisacrime.IfweareMuslims,whyareweenemiesof love? AsAmailandZarminagrewcloser,theywouldtalkseveraltimesadaywheneverZarmina couldsneakaccesstoaphonebuttherewereperiodswhentheymanagedtospeakonlyoncea month.Duringthetwoweeksbetweenherbrothersbeatingandhersuicide,Zarminagave Amailnoindicationofhowdesperateshewaswhenshecalled.Shedid,however,recite anotherlandai: OnDoomsday,Iwillsayaloud, Icamefromtheworldwithmyheartfullofhope. Stupid,dontsaythat,Amailrecallssaying.Youretooyoungtodie. TothewomenofMirmanBaheer,ZarminaisonlythemostrecentofAfghanistanspoet martyrs.ShewasasacrificetoAfghanwomen,Amailtoldme.Therearehundredslikeher. MirmanBaheer,Afghanistanslargestwomensliterarysociety,isacontemporaryversionofa TalibaneraliterarynetworkknownastheGoldenNeedle.InHerat,women,pretendingto sew,gatheredtotalkaboutliterature.InKabul,MirmanBaheerhasnoneedforsubterfuge.Its morethan100membersaredrawnprimarilyfromtheAfghanelite:professors, parliamentarians,journalistsandscholars.TheytraveloncitybusestotheirSaturday meetings,theirfacesuncovered,wearinghighheeledbootsandshearlingcoats.Butinthe outlyingprovincesKhost,Paktia,MaidanWardak,Kunduz,Kandahar,HeratandFarah wherethesocietysmembersnumber300,MirmanBaheerfunctionslargelyinsecret. OfAfghanistans15millionwomen,roughly8outof10liveoutsideurbanareas,whereU.S. effortstopromotewomensrightshavemetwithlittlesuccess.Only5outof100graduate
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fromhighschool,andmostaremarriedbyage16,3outof4inforcedmarriages.Youngpoets likeMeenawhocallintothehotline,Amailtoldme,areinaverydangerousposition. Theyrebehindhighwalls,underthestrongcontrolofmen.HeratUniversityscelebrated youngpoet,NadiaAnjuman,diedin2005,afteraseverebeatingbyherhusband.Shewas25. PashtunpoetryhaslongbeenaformofrebellionforAfghanwomen,belyingthenotionthat theyaresubmissiveordefeated.Landaimeansshort,poisonoussnakeinPashto,alanguage spokenonbothsidesoftheAfghanistanPakistanborder.Thewordalsoreferstotwolinefolk poemsthatcanbejustaslethal.Funny,sexy,raging,tragic,landaiaresafebecausetheyare collective.Nosinglepersonwritesalandaiawomanrepeatsone,sharesone.Itishersand nothers.Althoughmendorecitethem,almostallarecastinthevoicesofwomen.Landai belongtowomen,SafiaSiddiqi,arenownedPashtunpoetandformerAfghan parliamentarian,said.InAfghanistan,poetryisthewomensmovementfromtheinside. Traditionally,landaihavedealtwithloveandgrief.Theyoftenrailedagainstthebondageof forcedmarriagewithwry,anatomicalhumor.Anaging,ineffectualhusbandisfrequently describedasalittlehorror.Buttheyhavealsotakenonwar,exileandAfghanindependence withferocity.Inthe1880BattleofMaiwand,whenAfghanforceswerelosingtotheBritish,a PashtunheroinenamedMalalaiissaidtohaveseizedtheAfghanflagandshoutedthislandai: Younglove,ifyoudonotfallintheBattleofMaiwand, ByGod,someoneissavingyouasasymbolofshame. Malalaidiedonthebattlefield,butAfghanforceswereultimatelyvictorious. Morerecently,landaihavetakenontheRussianoccupation,thehypocrisyoftheTalibanand theAmericanmilitarypresence.OnelandaithatcameintocirculationduringtheRussian occupationisstillutteredtoday: Mayyourairplanecrashandmaythepilotdie thatyouarepouringbombsonmybelovedAfghanistan. Likemostfolkliterature,landaicanbesorrowfulorbawdy.ImaginetheWifeofBathriding throughtheHimalayanfoothillsandutteringlandaisoribaldthattheycurledthetoesofher fellowtravelers.Shemightteaseherrival:Sayhellotomysweetheart/Ifyouareafarter [tizan,onewhofartsalot],thenIcanfartlouderthanyou.Shemightmakeacuttingpolitical joke:YourblackeyelashesareIsrael/andmyheartisPalestineunderyourattack.Shemight utteranelegiaccouplet:Mybelovedgavehisheadforourcountry/Iwillsewhisshroudwith myhair. Apoemisasword,SaheeraSharif,MirmanBaheersfounder,said.Sharifisnotapoetbuta
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memberofParliamentfromtheprovinceofKhost.Literature,shesays,isamoreeffective battleforwomensrightsthanshoutingatpoliticalrallies.Thisisadifferentkindof struggle. OnarecentafternooninKabul,Amaillookedoverherreadingglassesattwodozenpoets andwriters,15to55yearsold,convenedaroundaUshapedconferencetableattheMinistry forWomensAffairs.Sharifheldher7yearolddaughter,Zala,inherlap.Zalaclutcheda whitefurponypurseloadedwithmarkers.Sheunzippeditsbelly,coloreddistractedlyand playedwithaniPhoneduringabrieflectureonthenatureofthesoulgivenbyAlamGulSahar, oneofPresidentHamidKarzaisspeechwritersandtheauthorof15booksofpoems.AsSahar dronedon,thewomenyawned,theirexhalesformingpuffsofgraybreathintherooms freezingair.AssoonasSaharfinished,theworkshopbegan.Ayoungwomanstoodandraced throughareadingofhershortstoryinananxiousmonotone:agirlwhosemotherdiedin childbirthendsupgoingtocollegeandhavingtochoosebetweentwopotentiallovers.One suitorattemptssuicidebutismiraculouslyrevived.Theend.Thecritiquestarted.Oneofthe groupsmoreseniormemberspointedouttwoproblems.First,Pashtostoriesdontfeature twolovers,becausethatwouldsullyawomanshonor.Second,thestorysdictionwas monotonous. Sinceyourcharacteriseducated,sheshouldspeakinamoresophisticatedway,thewoman toldthedowncastauthor.Injudgingaworksmerit,membersconsiderthewritersrecitation. Sharifbelievesthatthegroupsmissionistoteachyoungwomennotjusttowritebutalsoto speakaloudandwithconfidence. Themeetingturnedtopoetrynext.Thewomenhadbroughtcontemporarylandaiwiththem. Traditionally,thepoemsweretradedathennanight,theeveningbeforeaweddingwhen womengatheraroundthebridetodecorateherbody.Thelandaiaresometimessungtothe beatofasmallhanddrum.(Becausesingingisassociatedwithloosemorals,poetrycanbe seenasshamefulforwomen,anotionthattheTalibansconservatismhelpedfoster.)Landai oncefocusedonthegodartheplacewherevillagewomenwenttofetchwaterandwhere men,whowerenotallowedtoapproachthem,triedtosteallooksattheirbelovedsfroma distance.Theseeducatedwomenusedlandaitospeakoflargerissues,likeMullahOmar,the Talibansoneeyedspiritualleaderwhoisrumoredtobedead,notaguestofPakistan:Grass isgrowingontheblindmanstomb/StupidTalibsstillbelievethathesalive.Amailreadone aboutAmericasfailingmilitaryefforts:Here,theyfighttheTaliban/Behindthemountains, theytrainthem. WhenIaskedwhobroughtthisone,Zamzama,17,raisedherhandamidnervousgiggles.She seemedbothembarrassedandemboldenedtobecriticizingAmericatoanAmerican.Along
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Why Afghan Women Risk Death to Write Poetry NYTimes.com

withher15yearoldcousin,Lima,Zamzamajoinedthegrouptwoyearsearlier.Limahad recentlywonthegroupsliteraryprize.Whenshewas11,shebeganwritingpoemsaddressed toGod. Istartedreadingthemtomyfather,Limasaid.Shesmiledandglancedaroundattheothers whoweresuddenlylistening.Myfatherdoesntknowmuchaboutpoetry.Anengineer,he heardaboutMirmanBaheerfromacolleagueandnowsendshisdaughtershereweeklyto learntowrite.Hegavemethis,shesaid.Sheheldupablueplasticnotebookembossedwith thewordsHealthnetEnablingPeopletoHelpThemselves.Limastoodtoreciteherlatest poem:arubaiyat,theArabicnameforaquatrain,addressedtotheTaliban. Youwontallowmetogotoschool. Iwontbecomeadoctor. Rememberthis: Onedayyouwillbesick. FollowingZarminasstorymeanttravelingtoGereshk.Iwantedtoseehowshedlived, andIwonderedwhat,besidesherbrothersanger,ledhertotakeherlife.Itseemed impossiblethatIwouldfindthefamilyofonedeadgirlamong50,000peopleorthat,ifIdid, theywouldspeakabouther,butIwentanyway,astherewasalsotheslightchanceofmeeting MeenaMuska,theteenagerwhocalledMirmanBaheerandinvokedZarminasname.Ibegan mysearchinHelmandsembattledcapital,LaskharGah,ofwhichGereshkisasuburb. Governmentsourcesandalocalnetworkoftraditionalleaderscalledmaliks(theybelongto anAfghanorganization,Wadan,theWelfareAssociationfortheDevelopmentofAfghanistan) helpedmegatheralistofreportedcasesofwomenandgirlswhodiedviolentdeathsin Gereshkinthepasttwoyears.Thelistwasbriefbutgrim.WasIlookingforthegirlwhowas founddrownedintheHelmandRiverinasack?No.Thegirlwhohadherheadshavedand thenwaschoppedintopiecesbyherhusbandsbrothers?No.Well,then,therewasonlyone left:agirlwhoin2010setherselfonfireanddiedintheKandaharhospital. Tenyearsago,nooneheardabouttheseproblems,FauziaOlemi,Helmandsministerof WomensAffairs,toldmewhenwemet.Nowwehaveanetworkoforganizationsthat investigatethem. ItwasabalmyafternooninLashkarGah,andOlemiwantedtoshowmesomeofHelmands modestsuccessesforwomenseducation,whichincludedathreedayworkshoponthehealth benefitsofeatingtomatoes,okraandothervegetables.BecauseHelmandisamongthelargest poppyproducersintheworld,theresaspecialefforttoencouragefarmerstoplantother crops.
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Why Afghan Women Risk Death to Write Poetry NYTimes.com

Inasquat,cementblockgovernmentbuilding,about50womensatinfrontofawhiteboard, whichread,Ifyoueattwokilogramsoftomatoesaday,youwillbecuredofcancer.This groupwasverydifferentfromtheoneinKabul.Manyofthewomenwereintheir20sand30s, theirfacesdeeplylinedfromworkinginthefields.Itwasnearingmidday,whentheinsurgents wouldbegintoexplodeI.E.D.salongtheroad,andthelessonwasalmostover.Asthewomen gatheredtheirthingstoleave,Iaskedifanyofthemlikedpoetry.Assoonasthequestionwas translated,awispofawomanleapttoherfeetandbeganwhatlookedlikefreestylerappingin Pashto.Sheshookherbonyshoulderstofourbeatlinesthatendedinarhymeofmaorna. Gulmakaiwas22butlooked45.Shemadeuppoemsallthetime,sheexplained,asshecooked andcleanedthehouse.Shesaid, Makinglovetoanoldmanislike Makinglovetoalimpcornstalkblackenedbyfungus. Thewomenroaredwithsurprisedlaughter,whichI,hearingthepoemintranslation,tooka minutetounderstand(thefirst,sanitizedversionofferedtomewassomethinglikeBeing marriedislikecorn).Iknowthisistrue,sheannounced.Myfathermarriedmetoanold manwhenIwas15.Shetriedtosaysomethingelse,buttheworkshopleader,aman,silenced her.Timewasup.Theparticipantsneededtogohome,ortheirfamilieswouldworry. Afewdayslater,IarrangedtotraveltoGereshkandmeetwithZarminasparentswiththe helpofalocalwomensadvocate.UndertheTaliban,theadvocateworkedasaphysician assistantinGereshkHospital,whereherserviceswereinhighdemand.Paradoxically,since theirfall,herlifehadgrownmoredangerous:beingawomensadvocatelinkedhertoKarzais governmentandtoseeminglyWesternnotionsofwomensrights.Likealmosteverylocal womensleaderImet,shedsurvivedseveralbotchedassassinationattempts.Ihavesixor sevencoloredburqassotheTalibandoesntknowwhoIam,theadvocatetoldmeonthe phone.Shelaughed.Theburqaskeepmesafe.YetsheagreedwithOlemithat,formost women,violencewasmorelikelytocomefromhome.NowthatAfghanwomenareawareof theirrights,theyfightforthemintheirfamily,shesaid.Iftheygettheirrights,thatsgood. Iftheydont,theykillthemselvesorgetbeatenup. ThenightbeforeweleftLashkarGah,IdialedMeenaMuskasnumber,hopingshewouldbe abletomeetmethefollowingday. Absolutelynot,shetoldmytranslator. Shecouldntleavethehousewithoutraisingsuspicion.Shealsohadreservationsbasedonher familyscodeofhonor.Becauseofthewar,itsdishonorableforaPashtuntomeetan American,shesaid.Pleasedonttakeitpersonally,sheadded.Ididntmeantoinsultyou.
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Why Afghan Women Risk Death to Write Poetry NYTimes.com

Suddenly,inthesilence,shechangedhermind.Meetmeatthehospital,shesaid.Illbe waiting.HeronlystipulationwasthatIandmytranslatorcomealone. Thenextmorning,ourminiconvoytwowhitesedansflankedbytwogreenpolicepickup truckslefttownforthe50miledrivenorthalongHelmandsmainhighwaytoGereshk. Wedbeendrivinglessthanfiveminuteswhenanoversizerickshawcatapultedoutofan intersectionandrammedintoourToyotaCorolla.Withinseconds,aswarmofonlookers surroundedthecar,lookingatthesmashedheadlight.Itwasntagreatplacetobetrappedina crowdtwoweeksearlier,asuicidebomberblewupatruckonlyyardsaway.Therewere suretobeTalibaninformantsamongtheonlookersifanyonehadntknownwewerecoming alongtheroadthatday,theydidnow. Wedroveonpastyoungboysrakingpatchesofblownuproad,themangledrebargnarledlike hairpastAmericassurveillanceblimpshangingcartoonishlylowabovethesaltplainpasta lineofcamelscruisingunderindustrialpowerlines.TheelectriclineswerealegacyofaU.S. sponsoredmidcenturyhydropowerproject,theKajakidam,which,forawhile,earnedthis stretchthenicknamelittleAmerica. Anhourandahalflater,wearrivedatthemudwalledcompoundofFatimaZurai,amember ofGereshkslocalwomenscouncil,throughwhomIhopedtomeetZarminasparents.An elderlycouple,theywereseatedinthecorneroftheroom.Zurairanawomensbusiness collectivethatsoldheartshaped,beadedrainbowpursesfor10U.S.dollarstoforeign soldiers.Overteaandcaramels,Zuraispokeofthelossessheandherfamilysuffered,caught betweenAmericanforcesandtheinsurgents.Zuraisentherdaughtertofetchabundleof cloth,whichsheunwrapped,holdingupawhite,bloodsoakedshalwarkameez. MyhusbandwaswearingthisshirtwhentheTalibanmurderedhimtwoyearsago,shesaid. Herhusband,MirAhmad,wasontheTalibanhitlistbecauseheworkedwiththelocal governmentasamalik. Thensheshookoutasmallpairofbrownmuslintrousersfromtheclothpile.Muddyandtorn, theysmelledlikerot,andZuraissmalldaughterheldherchadoragainsthernosetoblockthe stench.Thetrousers,Zuraisaid,belongedtoher12yearoldson,Ihsanullah.Hewaswalking homefromschoolinthespringof2011whenamilitaryvehicledrivenbyaU.S.Marinestruck andkilledhim.TheU.S.Marinecommander,Zuraisaid,broughtthedrivertoherhouseto makeamends. Godgavemethisson12yearsago,beforetheAmericanscame,sherecalledtellingthe commander.Zuraisaidthat,yes,sheforgavethedriver.Thiswaslessapersonaldecisionthan aculturalone.ForgivenesswaspartofthehonorcodeknownasPashtunwali.(TheU.S.
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militarysaiditdidnothaveenoughinformationtoverifytheincidentpaymentsforaccidental civiliandeaths,whichZuraisaidherfamilyreceived,arecommon.) Fromherseatonafloorcushion,Zarminasmother,SiminGula,amaroonburqapulledback fromherfacetorevealamouthdevoidofteeth,leanedintomytranslatorandpointedtome. Dotheyhavethecustomofmarriagewhereshecomesfrom?sheasked.Isshemarried? Yes,thetranslatorlied. Zarminasfather,KheyalMohammad,remainedsilent.Zarminaburnedtodeathtwoyears earlier,hermothersaid.Itwasanaccident.Shewastryingtogetwarmafterabath,butthe firewoodwaswet,soshepouredgasolineonitandcaughtherselfonfire.Zarminasfather noddedassent.No,theirdaughterabsolutelydidnotlikewriting,readingorpoetry.Shewas agoodgirl,anuneducatedgirl,Zarminasmothersaid.Ourgirlsdontwanttogotoschool. Themotherislying,Zuraiwhispered. TheparentsagreedtotakeustoseewhereZarminawasburied,afiveminutedriveaway.A mazeofrockyhummocksmarkedthegraves.Wepassedthreewomenkneelingoverthree smaller,freshplots.Zarminasparentsstoppedbeforeagravecoveredinlooseblackgravel withnoheadstone. Walkingbrisklybacktothecars,wepassedthethreekneelingwomenagain.Behindme,one murmuredZarminasname.Shesetherselfonfirebecauseherfamilywouldntlethermarry themansheloved,shesaid,thenreturnedtogrievingovertheplotthatheldherson,who waskilledinarecentsuicideattack. Theearlyafternoonsunhadswungaboveus.Thelocalcouncilmembersurgedustohurry. ButbeforeweleftGereshk,wehadonefinalstoptomaketomeetMeena.Leavingthe entouragebehindatthedistrictgovernorsoffice,wedrovethroughthebazaarscrowded warrenofstreetsandpulledupunderthedusty,redletteredsignofGereshkDistrict Hospital.Ahandfulofpeoplemilledintheparkinglot.MeenaMuskahadntcomeafterall,I thought,myheartsinking.Thenthephonerang. Whydidyoubringthepolice?ahighvoicedemanded.Shewassuspiciousofourarmed governmentguard.Throughthewindshield,Isawawomaninceruleanblueglidepast.Her burqawasanawkwardshapeshewasonthetelephone.Withoutglancingourway,she breezedaroundtheedgeofthewhitewashedclinic.Itumbledoutofthecar,unaccustomedto thetangleoffabricengulfingme,andshuffledafterher.Behindthecornerofthebuilding stoodayoungwomanwithadiamondstudinhernose.Sheworethickblacksocksandopen toedrhinestoneslippers.Therestofherfaceremainedbehindapieceofwoolenfabric.There
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wasnoneedforintroductions.Weembraced.Nexttoherstoodashorter,rounderwoman, withaheavilywrinkledface.Shewasthegirlsmeira:hersecondmotherandherfathers secondwife. ItoldmyfatherIwassickandhadtogotothedoctor,sheexplained.Butshetoldher motherandhermeirathetruthbothwomensupportherwriting,atleastfornow.Sheledus intoawintergarden,wherewefourMeenaMuska,hermeira,mytranslatorandIknelt facingoneanotheronthefadedgrass.Ourblue,crimson,jadeanddoveburqasweretheonly colorsinthegraygarden.Fromherplasticpurse,Meenapulledouthernotebook.The forearmsofherdresswereblackmesh,herfingernailscarefullypainted.Foragirlwho couldntleavethehouse,herlatestIndianinspiredfashionsweresurprising.Butthiswasa specialoccasion,andMeenahaddressedinherfinest.Atmyrequest,shetookanotebookand begantotranscribesomeofhernewpoemslinebylineinsloppy,schoolgirlscript.Shecopied aghazal,asophisticatedformofPersianpoetry,thenscribbledthefollowinglandai: O,separation!Ipraythatyoudieyoung. Sinceyouaretheonewho lightslovershousesonfire. Thiswasherprotestagainstbeingtornfromherdeadfianc,shesaid.Sheaskedthat translationsofhermoreformalpoemsgounpublishedinthisarticle.Mypoemsdont deservethismuchattention,shesaid.Iamjustlearningtowrite.Meenahadlittlehopefor herfuture.Shewouldbemarryingoneofherfiancstwosurvivingbrotherswheneverher fatherandbrothersdecideditwastime.Shewrinkledhernoseandlettheclothdropfromher face,thenpulledtwomobilephonesfromherpurse.Herbrothers,whoransuccessful irrigationpipefactories,boughtherthephonestheyalsomonitorhercalllogtomakesure sheisntspeakingtoboys.Iwantedtogivehersomething,butIfearedthatabookofmyown poemsmightendangerher.Ifherbrothersfoundit,howwouldsheexplainwherethis Americanspoemshadcomefrom?Havingnothingelse,Ituggedascarffrommyneck.She reachedintoherpurseandhandedmearhinestonebutterflycomb.Thenshetuggedthe burqassoftgrillebackoverherface,tookherchaperonbythehandanddisappearedintothe crowd. Intheparkinglot,oneofthehospitalsdoctors,Dr.AsmatullahHeymat,waswaitingtospeak tome.Iknowofthisgirlyouarelookingfor,hesaid.HernamewasZarmina,andsheset herselfonfirebecauseherparentswouldnotlethermarrythemansheloved.Thatwasallhe knew. Zarminasmothercouldnttellyouthetruthinfrontofherhusband,thegirlsaunttold mebyphoneoncewereturnedtoLashkarGahthatevening.Zarminalovedtodanceandsing.
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Shelovedfashion,herauntsaid.Shelovedagoodburqa,niceshoes.Shealsoplayedthe handdrumatweddingsandlovedtorecitelandai.Shedsaylandaiinfrontofhermother,but neverinfrontofherfather,theauntsaid.Asforbeingabletowrite,SheknewsomeKoran, butonlyhadachildhoodmadrassaeducation.Theauntcouldrecalllittleelseabouther poetry:Ivehadsomanyofmyownproblems,Iveforgottenthelandaisheusedtosay. Fromchildhood,Zarminawasengagedtomarryherfirstcousin,whomshedgrowntolove. Yetwhenthetimecame,theboycouldntaffordthebridepriceofabout$12,500.Zarminas fatherrefusedthematch,knowingthathewouldhavetosupportthecouple.Theboyvisited Zarminashomeseveraltimeshopingtowinherfathersapproval,herauntsaid. ZarminatooksolaceinwritinglovepoemsandreadingtothewomenofMirmanBaheerby phone.Thencamethespringdayin2010whenZarminagotcaughtreadingthesepoemsand herbrothersbeather.Acoupleofweekslater,accordingtoheraunt,whenthegirlwas cleaningthehouse,shelockedadoorbehindherandsetherselfalight,acommonmeansof suicideamongwomeninAfghanistanandelsewhere.Thecustomcanbelinkedtotheoutlawed Indianpracticesuttee,whenawifeclimbsonafuneralpyre.ThepracticeandeventheHindi wordsutteeexistinPashto,too.Inthissense,itispossiblethatZarminasawherchoice todieforloveasromanticandhonorable. HersisterinlawtriedtobreakintotheroomtoreachZarmina,thencalledherhusband,who wasworkingasacontractorfortheCanadianmilitary,stationedatthetimeinGereshk. Zarminasfatherwasathisfactory.Hermotherwasatherauntshousefetchingwater.A younggirlcameracingintothecompound,cryingthatZarminahadtriedtokillherself.Bythe timeherauntandmotherreachedher,Zarminawasnearlyunrecognizable. Givemewater,givemewater,shesaid. Withoneofherbrothersasachaperon,Zarminatraveledbyhelicoptertoahospitalin Kandaharmorethan100milesaway.Buttherewaslittlethedoctorscoulddo.Zarminahad severeburnsovermostofherbody.Aweeklater,shedied. AfterZarminasdeath,herfianctriedtocommitsuicidebystabbinghimselfmultipletimes. Hisfriendsmanagedtostophim,Zarminasauntsaid.(Localleadersconfirmedthis.)Later, hemarriedandmovedtoKandahar. Zarminasfamilyhadalsodispersed.OnebrotherescapedtoHeratafterreceivingthreatsfor workingwithforeignsoldiers.ThedayafterImetthem,Zarminasparentswerescheduledto joinhimthere.ThereislittleevidenceofZarminaslifeleftinGereshk.Aftershedied,her fathergatheredupherbelongings,includingsomebooksandsomescrawledonpiecesof
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Why Afghan Women Risk Death to Write Poetry NYTimes.com

paper.Idontknowifhehidthemorburnedthem,herauntsaid. ButthewholevillagerememberedZarminasstory.Hertwoneighbors,15and17yearold girls,confirmeddetails,asdidthelocalwomensleaderwhorecordedthecasetwoyearsago. Shewassuchagoodpoet,the15yearoldneighborsaid.Weweretheoneswhoencouraged hertostartcallingtheradio.Weweretheoneswhotoldhertowritedownherpoems. WhenIreturnedtoKabul,IwenttoseeOgaiAmailinMicrorayon,arowofconcrete RussianeraapartmentblocksinnortheastKabul.For$200amonth,Amailsharesasingle roomwithanolderpoetandmemberofMirmanBaheerwhotookAmailinafterafamily argument.Shehadnowhereelsetogo.Stillunmarriedat40,Amailhasnohusbandor childrentoensureherpositioninsociety.Althoughshecherishesherindependence,shesaid, hersisadifficultfreedom.ShehasmadethewomenandgirlsofMirmanBaheerintoher family.Shecallstheyoungerpoetsherlittlesisters.Amailwasnearlyecstatictohearthat IdmetMeenaMuskafacetofaceandthatIdfoundZarminasparents. AmailrecalledhowshelearnedthatZarminasetherselfonfire:shortlyaftertheincident, ZarminamanagedtocallfromherhospitalbedinKandahar.ShetoldAmailthatshehad burnsover75percentofherbody.Shesoundedsonormal,Ididntthinkshewasdying, Amailsaid.ZarminawantedAmailtocallherbrotherandimpersonateadoctoroffering treatmentinKabul,Amailtoldme.Shethoughtifshecouldmakeittothecity,shecouldstart anewlife.AmaildidwhatZarminaasked,butsheknewZarminawouldnotmakeittoKabul. ThenextphonecallshereceivedfromKandaharcamefromZarminassister,whotoldAmail: Allyoucandoisprayforhernow.Sheisdead. WhenItoldAmailthestoryofZarminaandherfianc,shewasntsurprised. Herpoetrywasallaboutbrokenlove,Amailsaid.Sheaskedme,Doyouloveanyone?I said:Whynot?AmInotahumanbeing?DoInothaveeyes?Zarminaonlysaid:Ihaveso manyproblems,Idontwanttoworryyou.Illtellyouwhenwemeet. Amailassumedthatsomedaytheresourcefulyoungpoetwouldreachtherelativefreedomof Kabul.Sheusedtosayyouaretheluckiestpeoplesinceyoucanmeetwithyourfriends openly,Amailsaid.Youcanlearnfromyourmistakesandwritebetterpoems. Flippingthroughhernotebook,shefoundapoemshewroteafterZarminassuicide,called ThePoetWhoDiedYoung: Hermemorywillbeaflowertuckedintoliteraturesturban. Inherloneliness,everysistercriesforher.
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Why Afghan Women Risk Death to Write Poetry NYTimes.com

ThisarticleandtheaccompanyingphotographswerefinancedinpartbyagrantfromthePulitzer CenteronCrisisReporting. ElizaGriswoldisaseniorfellowattheNewAmericaFoundationandtherecipientofaGuggenheim fellowship. Editor:SheilaGlaser

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