My Eid

Only the clouds feel my pain
my eyes shed tears, hurting deeply.
So too do the clouds.
I grieve, so too it does- grey in mourning
Hurting silently.

Sitting in her bed under the covers typing away furiously at her laptop, spilling her emotions in colourful words, dismissing her pain and venting her sentiments. Her darkened brown eyes tell a story as her neatly manicured fingers rapidly conveys her mood. Her eyelids feel heavy, lack of sleep and crying. She stops for half a second and looks outside the window. Her silky brown hair resting on the side of her face, she frowns slightly. A few odd kites flew forlornly in the sky. The dark clouds cast a gloomy shade. Even Kabul was in tears.


I just felt like typing that from a third person narration. I wrote that yesterday in my journal when my aunts and uncles had left for the airport to return to Oz. The house was in thunderous silence.


My sister, my brother in law and my brother had gone to town. My younger sisters were playing in their rooms. My baby sister was asleep. I suddenly felt so alone. I looked at my phone. It seemed so useless to me. I sms more than I call, back home my phone would constantly beep. I had to put it on ‘vibrate’ mode so it didn’t disturb the rest of the house.

I went to my room, sat in my bed under the covers coz it was way too cold. Put my laptop on my lap and unleashed my feelings. I looked at the silver box which I had brought to my room. It was the box which my grandfather had packed his things in hope of returning to Afghanistan before he left for Australia recently. I brought it to my room so that my dad doesn’t come across it. It would only make him upset.

I opened the lid and peeked inside. I didn’t want to touch anything; I left it as it was. Just the way he had packed it. Little did he know he would no longer return. It made me feel very sad. A small brown book caught my sight, I gently leaned into it and pulled it out. It was a photo album of my cousin who had passed on in 2001 at the age of 13. he was close to all of us, we grew up together. I flipped the pages. Tears filled my eyes. I hate death, departure and goodbyes.

The night before was my sisters wedding, tired and exhausted I had fallen asleep. I had promised my aunt 1 I’d take her shopping the very next day before their departure. Which meant no later than 8.00am. I woke up with a knock on my door, ‘qandeh ama, nawakht mesha.’ I had forgotten its their last day today. I jumped out of bed and went to the restrooms. We left for Share Naw in a taxi, it’s so much easier travelling in a taxi. I discussed a few things with her and she advised me many things- all of which I wanted to hear.

My grandmother later on confirmed it. My dads uncle, my dad and all my relatives were in the room. The topic of marriage came up. I cringed, it’s definitely about me. Dad mentioned there’s a doctor asking for my hand. I looked down, saying nothing. I indirectly explained to everyone loud and clear that I don’t want to marry anyone who doesn’t know me. I stated that this person has never met nor seen me, he’s interested in either my dads money or my passport. Some raised eyebrows, others frowned. One relative from my dads’ extensive family spoke up. I sighed silently in disagreement. This woman never understands, she’s always bringing up crazy proposals. ‘why won’t u marry someone from your dads side? Why don’t u like them? If you think it’s about the money, it’s not. They’re all rich themselves and they have status.’

I looked at her and responded ‘I don’t mean any disrespect but no matter how rich they are, let’s not forget that one Australian dollar is worth 40 Afghanis.’ Everyone laughed. I really didn’t see the funny side of it. ‘Ay chawtaar… very smart’ my uncle commented. ‘But it’s true,’ I started giggling.

My grandmother took my side and gave it to them straight, ‘what this girl wants, she’s not saying it because she doesn’t want to disappoint her father. I agree with her, no man in Afghanistan is worthy of her. She’s too intelligent, smart and has a deep personality. Let her chose for herself’. She ordered everyone not to refer any proposals to me and to refute them immediately. I grinned. She spoke in my favour.

My aunt 1 had told me not to marry anyone from here, not the doctors not the engineers or their lawyers. I had no intention of doing so. That was endorsed. My uncles also agreed, they told me I deserve much more. ‘Anyone to let go of you is an ultimate fool.’ My uncle said. I laughed.

Later that day, aunt 2 held my hands in hers and told me, ‘If there’s anything that you need, I’m only a phone call away.’ I couldn’t say much. I responded with a broken smile and a nod. I sat in the room watching them pack. I carefully watched my uncle pack his suitcase. He had too much to pack but only a small suitcase. I looked at him, seeing if he can do it right. Eventually, he gave up. ‘Someone get me another suitcase, please’ he said in exasperatingly. I started giggling ‘Allow me,’ I offered to pack. I took out his towel and explained to him that it’s not necessary and takes too much space. The second thing I took out was his bathroom bag. I opened it and gave him a funny look, ‘You’re going to take half empty shampoo bottles and used soap back to Australia?’ he laughed. I emptied his bathroom bag, neatly folded it and zipped the suitcase shut. ‘Voila, too easy mate!’ I said. ‘Wow, magic.’ He said sarcastically. ‘Haha, very funny’ I shot back.

My sisters wedding went well. I sent both of my sisters to the salon at 11am. I went to the Russian hairdresser with my cousin. We got our hair done there, caught a taxi hours later to meet my sisters at their salon. She was close to finishing. We put on our black robes, and covered our hair. There were too many men waiting outside for their brides from the salons next door. The hairdresser insisted on taking my photo, I declined saying I have no permission to do so. Truth be told, hairdressers tend to take photos of girls and give it to women who are looking for brides for male relatives. Eventually, she gave up.

The decorated Mercedes waited elegantly outside the salon. My sisters husband-to-be escorted her to the car. Everything happened accordingly. But the minute I stepped behind the bridal table with my sister. I felt the negative ambience, I was spun out. I recited ayatul qursi in my mind. I kept getting stuck, forgetting the rest. I deafened myself to the music and began again. I can’t have forgotten. My sister and I looked at each other. I smiled and she returned my smile, she knew what was going on in my head.

Black magic.

I’m not scared of suicide attacks, I’m not scared of rocket propel grenades or being kidnapped or whatever Kabul holds. But I’m scared of the evilness of black magic. It’s around you, waiting to hit you. I was told that someone attempted black magic, but because I constantly recite Ayatul Kursi, it has protected me. Should the curse hit me, it will have devastating effects. At first I laughed it off, ignoring it. But that night at the wedding I felt it. I’m not going to say anymore just yet. I’ll be seeing a mullah soon.

On 2nd day of Eid we were on our way to my grandma’s house. All of a sudden French convoys passed. I heard a little boy scream before a loud bang. A crowd gathered next to the Corolla to see what had happened. The tank had smashed the car which was parked on the side of the road.


I wish you all a belated happy Eid. May Allah accept your prayers, your fast and may he guide us all on his righteous path. Amen. I'm sorry i didn't send out personalised emails as i normally used to but i'm a little cut with time. You all know i still love you.

Further, check out this site- www.masoodkamandy.com An American born Afghan (born in 1981) who is a photographer for NY Times and has established the Photography dept in Kabul University in 2006 where he also lectured. I read about him in an amateur Afghan magazine, but his work is excellent. It's all on his site, take a look.

ba omideh deedaar, khuda negahdaar