The Dressmaker Of Khair Khana Part 8

The Talib seethed.

"What kind of women are you?" he shouted at Hafiza and Seema. Then he turned and shouted to the driver, "I am taking these women to prison. Now. Call another bus to take the rest of your pa.s.sengers to the border."

Kamila knew she had to step in.

"My brother, with much respect, I must tell you we are meeting our mahram mahram at the border," Kamila began. "My name is Kamila, and my brother Rahim is our at the border," Kamila began. "My name is Kamila, and my brother Rahim is our mahram mahram. He was with us, but I have forgotten my luggage at home and he has gone back to get it for me. He will meet us at the border."

The young soldier was unmoved.

"How can you call yourself a Muslim? What kind of family are you from? This is a disgrace." The barrel of his AK-47 now hovered just inches from Kamila's forehead.

Remembering the paper ticket, Kamila pulled it from her bag, hands shaking.

"Look, you see, here is our proof." She pointed at the slip of paper with Rahim's name written on it. "This ticket is under my brother's name for all of us. He is our mahram mahram. He will meet us at the border."

Hafiza and Seema looked on from their seats, motionless.

"We do not wish to violate the law," Kamila went on. "It is difficult for my aunties and me; we would not choose to travel without our mahram mahram. We know the rules, and we respect them. But we cannot go to Pakistan without all our bags and the presents we have in them for the children. How can we go to see our family with nothing? My brother will meet us very soon with our luggage."

The standoff wore on. The soldier asked for her father's name and her family's residence. Then he asked once more about her brother. Twenty minutes pa.s.sed. Kamila imagined being taken to prison, wondering what she would tell her mother and Malika if she were arrested. This is exactly what her older sister had warned her about when they finally reconciled a few months back, and why she had begged her not to accept the Habitat offer in the first place. Kamila thought of her own harsh words from several months earlier.

"If something does happen to me, I promise I will not come to you to get me out of it. It will be my responsibility."

Now she only hoped her sister would forgive her if she was hauled off to jail here in Jalalabad. Malika was right; it took only a moment for everything to go horribly wrong.

Ignoring her fear and relying on her faith and her experience, she kept on talking, calmly and deferentially. Eventually Kamila realized that she was wearing the soldier down and he was beginning to tire of the situation. He was still angry but she sensed he was growing restless and was ready to move on to more docile offenders.

The Talib peered at her through the rectangular screen of her burqa. His words came out in a deep growl.

"If you didn't have this ticket I would never allow you to go to Pakistan. Do not travel again without your mahram mahram. Next time it will be prison."

He turned around and stepped off the minibus, returning to his post at the checkpoint. Kamila tried not to look in his direction as the driver pulled away and returned to the road once more. The driver, she noticed, looked as pale and shaken as she felt.

For the next hour the women sat stunned and silent, drained of words and energy. The adrenaline that had fueled Kamila's courage was long gone, and she slumped against the window, saying her prayers and thanking Allah for keeping her safe. In a few hours they would be in Peshawar; their training would begin the next day.

When she returned to Kabul, Kamila told her family nothing of what she had encountered on the way to Pakistan. She did not want to worry Malika-or to prove her worst fears right. And she wanted to spare her younger sisters and the students the reminder of what they already knew: the world outside their green gate remained full of danger. Poverty, food shortages, and the merciless drought had drained the life out of everyone in the city, including the Taliban's own soldiers, who patrolled the barren capital in their shalwar kameez with little to protect them against the freezing winter. They were struggling to survive almost as much as the citizens they ruled. No one, it seemed, had the energy to fight anymore. Even the Kabul Zoo's lone lion, Marjan, a gift from the Germans in far better times, looked exhausted. with little to protect them against the freezing winter. They were struggling to survive almost as much as the citizens they ruled. No one, it seemed, had the energy to fight anymore. Even the Kabul Zoo's lone lion, Marjan, a gift from the Germans in far better times, looked exhausted.

Kamila continued to keep quiet months later when she heard that Wazhma, a friend and Community Forum colleague, had been arrested. It seemed that a neighborhood woman had turned her in to the Amr bil-Maroof for teaching girls in one of the nearby districts; two Taliban had waited for her early in the morning and took her away as soon as she arrived to open the Community Forum school. Though Samantha and Anne, with help from the UN system, were fighting hard to get her out of jail, the Taliban had not yet released her, and rumors of her mistreatment-though unproven-were spreading quickly. Several days into her detention, Wazhma sent word to Kamila through Habitat coworkers who had come to see her in prison that she should stop her work immediately. "Please tell Kamila she should not go to Community Forum anymore," she had said. "Tell her she is too young and has a long life ahead of her; she should not take such risks. I know the forum work is important, but nothing is worth her life." Kamila listened to her friend's warning, but she would not be swayed. She went on working, now even more aware-as if she needed another reminder-of the very real threats she was facing every day. "G.o.d will keep me safe," she told herself. "I trust in my faith."

And then all at once a new epidemic hit the city. Thankfully it had nothing whatsoever to do with the Taliban: it was t.i.tanic t.i.tanic fever. fever.

The epic Hollwood romance had made it to Afghanistan, and like their brethren around the world, young people all over Kabul were swept up in their obsession for the movie. Bootleg VHS tapes of the film were now flying across the city, pa.s.sed in secret from friend to cousin to neighbor. One acquaintance of Kamila's hid her copy in the bottom of a soup pot that she transported across the Pakistani border; a cla.s.smate of Rahim's buried his among tunics rolled up in the bottom of suitcases he carried from Iran. The film could now be found in underground video stores across the capital, and though the pirated ca.s.settes had often been dubbed so many times that entire pa.s.sages were garbled and had to be skipped over, most people didn't care: they just wanted to hear a few bars of "My Heart Will Go On" and to follow yet again the ill-fated struggle of the star-crossed lovers whose happiness was impossible.

The Taliban's standard a.r.s.enal of weapons proved useless against t.i.tanic. t.i.tanic. They scrambled to fight the film's wicked influence, beginning with the " They scrambled to fight the film's wicked influence, beginning with the "t.i.tanic haircut," which they outlawed. They dragged boys they found wearing the floppy-in-the-front style to the barbershop for a full buzz cut. When that strategy proved futile the soldiers went after the barbers themselves, arresting nearly two dozen for giving aspiring Jack Dawsons "the Leo look." Wedding cakes in the form of the famous ocean liner grew popular and were also banned; the Taliban branded them "a violation of Afghanistan's national and Islamic culture." haircut," which they outlawed. They dragged boys they found wearing the floppy-in-the-front style to the barbershop for a full buzz cut. When that strategy proved futile the soldiers went after the barbers themselves, arresting nearly two dozen for giving aspiring Jack Dawsons "the Leo look." Wedding cakes in the form of the famous ocean liner grew popular and were also banned; the Taliban branded them "a violation of Afghanistan's national and Islamic culture."

Still, the craze continued unabated. Entrepreneurs rushed to turn the film's tidal wave of popularity into profit and helped rename the market in the dried bed of the Kabul River, which was now brown and parched from the drought, "t.i.tanic Bazaar." Businessmen plastered the name and image of t.i.tanic t.i.tanic to anything they could find-storefronts, taxis, shoes, hand lotion, even vegetables and lipsticks. Kamila had seen the movie herself with a group of friends at the home of a girl whose father was close with the local Taliban commander. Afterward she commented to Rahim that it seemed there was nothing in Kabul that remained untouched by the saga of Rose and Jack. "Now that," she said, "is marketing." to anything they could find-storefronts, taxis, shoes, hand lotion, even vegetables and lipsticks. Kamila had seen the movie herself with a group of friends at the home of a girl whose father was close with the local Taliban commander. Afterward she commented to Rahim that it seemed there was nothing in Kabul that remained untouched by the saga of Rose and Jack. "Now that," she said, "is marketing."

Aside from the t.i.tanic t.i.tanic interlude, life continued on much as it had, interrupted occasionally by the excitement of a letter from Mr. Sidiqi, who wrote from Iran to thank Kamila and the girls for sending money to him and Najeeb through friends and relatives. Mrs. Sidiqi was now living with the girls most of the time, and they watched in sadness as she struggled against her worsening heart condition. They worried continually for her health but Mrs. Sidiqi would have none of it; she refused to stay still and instead busied herself around the house with cooking and cleaning. Her greatest joy now seemed to come from being surrounded by her girls and the young women who arrived at her house each day to work. If Taliban rules and her own fragile const.i.tution conspired to prevent her from being out in the world, at least she could still hear what was happening in her community through the stories of these young ladies. interlude, life continued on much as it had, interrupted occasionally by the excitement of a letter from Mr. Sidiqi, who wrote from Iran to thank Kamila and the girls for sending money to him and Najeeb through friends and relatives. Mrs. Sidiqi was now living with the girls most of the time, and they watched in sadness as she struggled against her worsening heart condition. They worried continually for her health but Mrs. Sidiqi would have none of it; she refused to stay still and instead busied herself around the house with cooking and cleaning. Her greatest joy now seemed to come from being surrounded by her girls and the young women who arrived at her house each day to work. If Taliban rules and her own fragile const.i.tution conspired to prevent her from being out in the world, at least she could still hear what was happening in her community through the stories of these young ladies.

Meanwhile, orders for the tailoring business continued to come in, and the living room/workroom remained a hive of activity.

One autumn afternoon Saaman and Laila were hard at work on a large batch of wedding dresses, along with a made-to-measure order for a young woman who was marrying a Sidiqi neighbor. The groom was one of the only other people the girls knew who had ties to the international community; he served as a guard at a foreign agency charged with removing the millions of land mines left behind by the Soviets. The Sidiqi girls had heard that his position-and salary-had been invaluable when his brother was jailed for a week in nearby Taimani for the offense of having taught students to draw at a friend's art school. He had only been subst.i.tute teaching, but the Taliban had caught him mid-lesson and hauled him off to jail the moment they found art magazines hidden in an office desk drawer.

As they sewed the green and white dresses, the girls listened on their ca.s.sette player to the low and lugubrious notes of Ahmad Zahir, still one of Afghanistan's most famous singers though nearly twenty years had pa.s.sed since his death. The former teacher and Kabul Times Kabul Times reporter had been a.s.sa.s.sinated in 1979 at the age of thirty-three, reportedly on the orders of a communist official who was angered by the popular singer's politics. reporter had been a.s.sa.s.sinated in 1979 at the age of thirty-three, reportedly on the orders of a communist official who was angered by the popular singer's politics.

Zahir's voice filled the works.p.a.ce: On the one hand, I want to go, to goOn the other hand, I don't want to goI don't have the strengthWhat can I do without you Just after 5 P.M., Kamila rushed through the gate and the front door. She was now delivering clothes and food to needy Kabulis for another UN agency, the International Organization for Migration, and she was not expected home from her staff meeting for another half-hour. Her cheeks were red and she was out of breath.

"Have you heard the news?" she asked her sisters. "They've killed Ma.s.soud."

Laila immediately reached for the radio, and a few tense minutes later the static of the medium wave gave way to the clear voice of the BBC Persian news service's anchor, who was broadcasting live from London. Mrs. Sidiqi's face grew even more wan as she listened to the foreign voice that was entering her living room from thousands of miles away. The girls gathered around the radio.

"There has been an attack against Ahmad Shah Ma.s.soud at his headquarters in Afghanistan's Takhar province," the BBC's Daud Qarizadah said, citing a source close to the Northern Alliance leader. "Ma.s.soud has been killed along with several others present." Apparently the men who led the attack had been posing as journalists; they had hidden a bomb in their camera and had been killed themselves in the blast. Mrs. Sidiqi and her daughters knew that Ma.s.soud's forces represented the last holdout against the Taliban; for the last few years they were all that had prevented the movement from taking complete control of the country. If Ma.s.soud was killed, the Taliban would be rid of their most formidable foe, but the fighting was unlikely to end.

The girls sat stunned and silent. Kamila watched the shock, fear, and despair spread across her mother's face. She refused to believe Ma.s.soud was gone; surely he, the Lion of Panjs.h.i.+r, could survive a bomb even if it exploded at close range. He was a veteran of many wars, was he not? He had fought for decades, first against the Russians, then against rival Mujahideen as defense minister, and now against the Taliban. Surely this could not be the end of him?

The next day's reports brought only confusion and more questions. Burhanuddin Rabbani insisted that his former defense minister was still alive, as did Ma.s.soud's spokesman, but journalists and officials contradicted them. No one knew what to believe, though everyone suspected the worst.

Sara came to the house at her usual hour and got to work, eager for the distraction from the news. "If the reports are true and he is dead," she said, "things are likely to get worse. The fighting could be even more vicious than it was during the civil war. You girls may yet need to leave the country. I hope I am wrong, but it's possible that things will descend to a level even we have not yet witnessed."

Kamila thought for a moment of her father and how badly she missed his wisdom and rea.s.surance. But she refused to give up hope.

The next twenty-four hours saw little work done in the Sidiqi household, and then came more disastrous news: two airliners had flown into the World Trade Center in New York City and thousands were believed dead, though the rescue effort was just beginning. Another plane had crashed into the Pentagon near the American capital of Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., and a fourth had failed to reach its target, which many guessed was the White House. The world was off its hinge.

To his mother's relief, Rahim came home early from school, saying that no one was paying any attention to cla.s.ses; they were only talking about the news of the past two days and wondering what would happen next. Most everyone in the capital had immediately a.s.sumed that Osama bin Laden, the wealthy Saudi who had been living in the country as the Taliban's guest, was involved in the attack against America. Years earlier the United States had bombed suspected bin Laden training camps in eastern Afghanistan in retaliation for attacks on two American emba.s.sies in Africa. Was.h.i.+ngton had demanded that the Taliban turn bin Laden over to U.S. authorities, but the regime refused to revoke its hospitality. Their guest should be tried in Afghanistan for whatever offenses the Americans were accusing him of. Hostilities between the United States and the Taliban had worsened ever since. Now the Americans claimed they had evidence that bin Laden was behind the b.l.o.o.d.y 9/11 plot and they again insisted that the Taliban turn him over. Once more, the Taliban leaders refused.

The Sidiqis, like most Afghans, had only a vague sense of who the Taliban's "Arabs" were. The men were widely thought to be fighters from Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Chechnya, Yemen, Somalia, and elsewhere who had come to join the Taliban's cause at the behest of bin Laden. When the Taliban movement first began, its leaders had presented themselves not as enemies of the West but as humble purifiers of their own country, committed to restoring a desperately needed peace. But as the years pa.s.sed and international recognition eluded them, the leaders.h.i.+p adopted increasingly angry rhetoric against the United States and moved ever closer to bin Laden and his organization, which went by the name Al Qaeda, or "the base" in Arabic. This relations.h.i.+p only deepened after the United Nations imposed military and economic sanctions on the Taliban, leaving the regime even more isolated than it had previously been when only three countries in the world had recognized its legitimacy.

Al Qaeda's fighters were thought to be responsible for the attack on Ma.s.soud, according to news reports that at last confirmed irrefutably the Northern Alliance leader's death. And now they were rumored to be behind the strikes against the United States.

Mrs. Sidiqi and her girls knew only what they had heard on the BBC and the cla.s.sroom rumors that Rahim came home with. But that was enough to make it clear that Afghanistan was at the center of the past week's horrors and would certainly be the target of whatever retaliation would follow. The U.S. government was already threatening to strike back if the Taliban did not hand over bin Laden. And no one in Kabul had any reason to think that they would. For years Afghanistan had lived as a pariah nation, utterly forgotten by the rest of world. Now no one on the radio talked of anyplace else.

And so the waiting game began. What little economic life had managed to survive in the capital came to a sudden halt as the citizens of Kabul held their collective breath. Everyone knew their destiny now lay in the hands of men in Kandahar, Was.h.i.+ngton, London, and other unknown and faraway capitals. Gossip spread like wildfire, as it always did in Kabul, pa.s.sed along by families, neighbors, and shopkeepers. The city's most seasoned observers believed a military attack by the Americans against the Taliban government was imminent-and unavoidable. The girls heard that the UN was evacuating its staff in antic.i.p.ation of war; they wondered what the internationals knew that they didn't.

Brace yourself.

Stay indoors.

And pray.

That was all that was left for most Kabulis.

Those who could, however, were determined to get out. The smattering of families still living on Kamila's street were packing up their few belongings and evacuating the city. They would head for Pakistan if they could get that far, or the Afghan countryside if they couldn't, and they urged Mrs. Sidiqi to do the same. This was no place for her and her children; surely the Americans' bombs would soon rain down upon all of them. You had better get out of here as soon as you can, their neighbors warned. Khair Khana is teeming with targets: the airport, the fuel depot, Taliban artillery units. All of them were located within just two or three miles of Kamila's house. Even Sara urged Mrs. Sidiqi and the girls to leave their home; she herself was taking her children to live in another part of Khair Khana, a few miles farther from the airport. The risk of staying put was just too high, she said. What happens if the Americans miss?

As the economy withered in the weeks following the attacks of September 11, the price for pa.s.sage out of the capital skyrocketed. Trucks, buses, and taxis overflowed with families seeking safer places, with fares reaching as high as five hundred dollars. People rushed to money changers by the Kabul River to exchange savings they held in Pakistani and Iranian currencies into afghani so they could buy food and other supplies. But the rates moved against them by the day. The city's savvy traders were betting American dollars would soon be entering the country once the Taliban government fell. After the war.

Mrs. Sidiqi heard the stories and watched her neighbor's preparations. But she remained convinced that her family was best off staying exactly where it was. There would be no fleeing for them. If something happened to her or her girls while they were in their own home, that was one thing, and she would leave it to G.o.d's will. But she would not have her precious daughters made vulnerable to the kidnappers, murderers, and bandits who awaited them once they left the security of their own courtyard. They were better off here, together, off the streets and far from the bedlam outside.

Four weeks after Ma.s.soud's death and the attacks of September 11, the barrage began. Just after the girls finished dinner one evening, missiles whizzed across the night sky and the boom of explosions was heard around Kabul. Sitting in her bedroom, Kamila felt the windows shudder and the floors shake while Nasrin and Laila ran to look for their mother and their older sisters, crying out in terror as they ran down the long hall that connected the living room to the family's sleeping chambers. The house turned black in an instant as the Taliban cut the city's power supply in hopes of throwing off the enemy planes that roared overhead. They heard the sharp rat-tat-tat sound of the Taliban's lumbering antiaircraft guns chasing the foreigners' jets around the city in their black trucks, attempting in vain to hit the elusive American aircraft soaring unfazed up above.

And finally, silence.

Kamila sat with fourteen-year-old Nasrin for another hour, cuddling her in her lap. "It's all over," she whispered. "Everyone's okay. See? We're all here, just fine." She patted her little sister on the back and hoped the girl wouldn't notice how uncontrollably her own hands were trembling.

Dawn arrived and a new day began as if it were any other. Shops and offices opened and the clear autumn sun shone cheerily. But terror and uncertainty had settled over the capital. Panicked families were clamoring to leave, struggling to find a way out before dark, when the bombs were likely to start pummeling the city once more. Rahim, returning from the market, reported that Khair Khana's streets looked like a graveyard. Finding food was no problem, he said; he had the shops to himself since everyone else was busy planning their escape.

The fighting ground on for one week and then another, with an occasional break on Friday, the Muslim holy day. The family grew accustomed to early dinners followed by a tense, candlelit evening in the windowless bedroom waiting for the night air to fill with the boom of jets and the thud of explosions. Like many Kabulis, Rahim and the girls came to know the distinct sounds that each warplane made. They were fluent in the differences among B-52s, B-2s, F-14s, and AC-130s. They learned about "cl.u.s.ter bombs" and "smart bombs." And they were now sorrowfully familiar with the stench of sour smoke that steamed up from the ground in the wake of each night's air raids.

Khair Khana reeled under the relentless pounding of the American air blitz, which sometimes began long before nightfall. Sara Jan was right, Kamila thought. No one is safe here. Bombs dropped from the sky sometimes landed so close that Kamila was shocked to open her eyes and see that her house was still standing. She now felt certain that she would not survive. American planes targeted neighborhood Taliban sites night after night, leaving behind deafening explosions and cratered streets. One afternoon a week after the aerial a.s.sault began, a bomb demolished two homes in another part of Khair Khana and killed seven people inside. The intended target appeared to be a military garrison a few miles away. Word of the deaths spread swiftly among the few families who were still living in Khair Khana, and with it came even more fear.

"Stay in your houses!" Taliban soldiers shouted on the nights they patrolled the streets of Khair Khana. The government had blocked all of Kabul's main roads and inst.i.tuted an even earlier curfew now that the Americans had attacked. They needn't bother, Kamila thought, hearing the soldiers' warnings pierce the silence on the street outside her gate. The whole city is under fire. Where are we going to go?

Each evening Kamila and Saaman tuned the battery-powered radio to the BBC's broadcast to hear the latest on the fighting. The news anchors in London now regularly raised the possibility that the Taliban regime would be replaced; the men from Kandahar, they reported, would eventually be forced to retreat before the overwhelming air strikes of the Americans, who were deploying the twenty-first century's most powerful technology against their cars, trucks, bunkers, barracks, radio stations, airports, weapons depots, and trenches. None of the girls dared to discuss out loud what would happen if or when the Taliban government gave up, though the voices on the medium-wave suggested that Zahir Shah, the former king, might possibly return to rule the country. Kamila and her sisters had no way of knowing how much longer the war would go on. Or whether they would live through it.

Kamila depended on her faith to help her endure the terrifying offensive and stay strong for her younger sisters. She prayed for her country, which had known nothing but war and bloodshed for her entire life. Despite the fighting that now engulfed her home and her city, she wanted to believe that whatever came next, the future would be brighter.

Peace and a chance to pursue our dreams, Kamila thought to herself one night when it seemed there would be no end to the blasts that rocked the earth beneath her. That's all we can dare to hope for.

For now, she thought, it would have to be enough.

Epilogue.

Kabul Jan, Kaweyan, and Kamila's Faith in Good Fortune On November 13, 2001, the Taliban abandoned Kabul.

Radio Sharia once again became Radio Afghanistan. And Farhad Darya's voice rang out in his song "Kabul Jan" ("Beloved Kabul"), this time in the open, for everyone to enjoy, with no Amr bil-Maroof to fear: Let me sing the hymn of the Afghan nationLet me go to Hindukush and recite the Holy Q'uranLet me sing to my homeless wandering peopleFrom Iran all the way down to Pakistan Northern Alliance soldiers in their crisp camouflage uniforms spread out across the capital, riding up and down city streets and shouting that the Taliban had gone. On Khair Khana's main road, Indian songs blared from shops and stalls. Cars honked their horns. Men shaved their beards on the streets. Children brought out their soccer b.a.l.l.s. The city relaxed-and celebrated publicly-for the first time in five years.

To most of Kabul's women, however, the party outside felt decidedly premature. Mrs. Sidiqi was so worried about the chaos in the streets and the sudden change of government that she sent all five of her girls into a crawls.p.a.ce under the stairs that led up to Dr. Maryam's office and ordered them to stay there until she judged it safe for them to come out. "Who knows what will happen?" she said to the girls as she shooed them into the little windowless storage area. Who knew if marauding men would wander into their home now that the Taliban had fled? "Wait here until tomorrow; then we'll know better." All night long the girls listened to the m.u.f.fled sound of street celebrations from their bunker.

For days afterward, female visitors arrived at the green gate still wearing their chadri. Kamila agreed with her friends that it was wise to wait before shedding the veil they had gotten so used to over the past five years. No need to rush. If things really had changed, there would be plenty of time to adjust to the new order and embrace their hard-won liberties.

By the time I met Kamila, in December 2005, the first stage of the war had long since pa.s.sed, and so had the euphoria that greeted the American invasion and the retreat of the Taliban. Many Afghans I interviewed wondered why things weren't getting better. They pilloried the free-spending foreigners for their wasteful ways: the big cars that hogged the torn-up roads, the expensive fortified compounds, the well-intended development projects-and their well-paid staffs-which left little behind once they ended. The more time I spent in Kabul the more I saw what they saw and the more I understood their frustration. I also wondered if this latest international foray into Afghan nation-building would end well for anyone.

Perhaps that's why the first thing I noticed about Kamila-other than her ebullient youth-was her optimism. Her faith upended my own mounting despair. She spoke about her country's promise with conviction and hope. Not a trace of skepticism or cynicism. "When the international community returned to Afghanistan in 2001," she told me, "it was as though they suddenly remembered our country just as quickly as they had forgotten it, after they abandoned us once the Soviets left." And Kamila welcomed the world back with open arms. "This is a golden chance for Afghanistan," she said. An opportunity to help her fellow Afghans rebuild what war had destroyed: the roads, the economy, the country's educational system-all the vital infrastructure that had collapsed-and to give her generation and the next one the first chance they had ever had to live in peace. For the past four years Kamila had been doing her part, working with the foreigners on behalf of her countrymen, first with the United Nations and then with the global aid organization Mercy Corps. Women like her who had experience with the international community were in short supply and high demand.

Kamila's work after the American invasion and the fall of the Taliban focused on women and business. Soon after the Taliban troops pulled out of Kabul she left the International Organization for Migration to set up and staff a Mercy Corps women's center in Kabul that offered literacy cla.s.ses and vocational courses. She trained women in microfinance, teaching them how to use small loans to grow vegetables or make soap and candles, and how to sell these products once they were ready for market. The key was to help women help themselves so that they could support their families long after the foreigners left.

As she got better at her work, Kamila began to train other business teachers, and she traveled around the country leading courses in entrepreneurs.h.i.+p. She could connect to uneducated and illiterate Afghans much better than the highly paid foreign consultants could, and she was adept at bridging the gap between her international bosses and the people they had come to Afghanistan to help. Mercy Corps colleagues, including Anita, who first recruited her to the organization, and s.h.i.+reen, a former journalist who had worked for AT&T, helped Kamila to fill any gaps in her knowledge.

But as much as she enjoyed her work for the big global organizations, Kamila never lost the entrepreneurs.h.i.+p bug herself. While working at Mercy Corps she started a construction business. The company thrived for a while, but it was hard to find the capital to keep it going, and compet.i.tion was fierce. So she closed it down and began looking for other opportunities.

Kamila's colleagues became part of her family just as they had when she ran her tailoring business. Only this time it was members of the international community who pa.s.sed through the green gate, not determined young women looking for work. It was nothing unusual to have coworkers from France or Canada show up for dinner at the Sidiqi home, and one foreign friend even moved in with the Sidiqi clan so they could help her improve her Dari language skills. Ruxandra, a consultant with the International Labour Organization, whose work and research focused on women and business, was a regular visitor. Kamila's parents were amazed by the salaries the foreigners were paying. Young women like Kamila who had worked for the UN and NGOs under the Taliban now earned nearly as much in one week as they had in a year. The money Kamila brought home funded the university education of her brothers and sisters as well as the upkeep of the house in Khair Khana, where most of the siblings now lived.

As always, Malika tried to encourage her younger sister, offering advice when asked but otherwise staying out of her way. She marveled at how quickly her sister adapted to the end of the Taliban and the arrival of the foreigners, and watched in pride as Kamila unleashed all the ambition and talent she had stored up in the Taliban days now that Afghanistan had rejoined the rest of the world.

In January 2005, the Thunderbird School of Global Management, located in the United States, in Arizona, accepted Kamila to a two-week MBA program for Afghan businesswomen; already she had been invited to join Bpeace, a New York nonprofit that ran a mentoring program for high-potential entrepreneurs. And then one day in October the phone rang and Kamila learned that Condoleezza Rice, the American secretary of state, had invited her-the dressmaker from Kabul who had started a construction company-to Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C. Just days later she found herself speaking into a s.h.i.+ny microphone and peering out at a sea of tables set with linen tablecloths and glimmering crystal and around which sat Very Important People-members of Congress, businessmen, diplomats, and the secretary of state herself-who were there to hear her story: "I am Kamila Sidiqi," she began. "I am a business owner from Afghanistan. ..." She told them how she started her first venture from the living room of her home in Khair Khana, and how today-with the help of Thunderbird, Mercy Corps, and U.S. government funding-she had trained more than nine hundred of her countrymen and women so that they, too, would have the skills to build and grow their own businesses. She spoke about how business and education transformed women's lives, and how this change had led to another extraordinary development: women in Afghanistan taking part in the political process. "This partners.h.i.+p between America and my country, it's a good and helpful beginning. Together, I believe that we can and will make even more progress in building a more stable and successful Afghanistan."

I met Kamila for a cup of tea about a month after her Was.h.i.+ngton speech in the Mercy Corps' Kabul offices. It was a somewhat cheerless winter afternoon and she was at a crossroads. After attending a business development services training in Italy sponsored by Mercy Corps, she had decided to abandon her work for international agencies and begin her own business-again. She was about to turn down a good job that offered her stability and some security, and she had no doubts about her decision.

"If I go to work with some international agency they will give me a very high salary but it really only benefits just my family and me," she told me. "It doesn't create jobs for other people, like we did during the Taliban. On the other hand, if I start my own private company, I can train a lot of people, and those people will go out and start their own businesses. And then maybe they will inspire even more people to do the same thing, and so on. I know this business could make a big difference for this country."

It was her beloved brother Najeeb who came up with the name for Kamila's new enterprise. Her dressmaking business had supported him during the Taliban years, and the word that he found to capture his sister's energy and aspiration was Kaweyan Kaweyan, after an eastern Iranian dynasty that was known for its glory and good fortune. Najeeb confidently predicted that his sister would have the same lasting success.

At this time, though, Kamila was Kaweyan's sole employee, and its only a.s.sets were a silver Dell laptop-courtesy of Mercy Corps-and the clear, pa.s.sionate vision of its young founder.

"Once I have launched this business," she said, "I will start training people-both men and women-and create mobile teams that can travel to different provinces all over Afghanistan and maybe even Pakistan and India. Kaweyan will teach people to develop their ideas and write a business plan, to make a budget and do profit-and-loss a.n.a.lysis. Later on we can work with private companies on marketing and business ideas, because Afghanistan needs business if it is going to keep growing once the foreigners leave. And I want to work with students, too, just as we did with the tailoring business: Kaweyan could give part-time work to university interns so they can write business plans for all different kinds of companies around the country. We don't have enough jobs for everyone in Afghanistan, and this way we'll create opportunities for young people as well as entrepreneurs."

Women, of course, would be a particular focus of Kaweyan. After so many years of war, women's entrepreneurs.h.i.+p was about far more than business.

"Money is power for women," Kamila said. "If women have their own income to bring to the family, they can contribute and make decisions. Their brothers, their husbands, and their entire families will have respect for them. I've seen this again and again. It's so important in Afghanistan because women have always had to ask for money from men. If we can give them some training, and an ability to earn a good salary, then we can change their lives and help their families."

She paused for a moment to make sure I was following, then continued. "I was lucky. My father was a very educated man and he made certain that all nine of his daughters studied and learned. But there are families everywhere who have six or seven children and they can only pay for the boys to go to school; they don't have enough money for girls to go. So if we can train a woman who never had the chance to study, and she can start her own business, it will be good for the whole family as well as for the community. Her work will create jobs for other people and pay for both her boys and her girls to be educated. For the future of Afghanistan we must provide good education for our children-for the next generation. That's why business matters. And that's why I started Kaweyan."

Over the years that I spent visiting with Kamila, she and I kept up a running joke that we both needed to get married soon, if only to stop our families from asking us when we would. I thought it funny that though the worlds we came from could not be any more different, we shared a similar set of pressures from relatives who, though proud of our work, were eager to see us find good husbands and "finally settle down."

And by the time 2008 finished, both of us had-happily. Kamila's groom was a cousin who had studied engineering in Moscow and now lived in London. Though she had no doubt she wanted to marry him, she insisted during their long months of courts.h.i.+p by phone and email that he understand and accept how committed she was to her business and to Afghanistan. With the delight of a new bride she showed me a wallet-size photo of him that she carried with her. He has a movie-star smile and, she says, a generous heart paired with a powerful intellect.

Their 2007 wedding was a glorious, two-day, 650-guest Afghan affair with pounding music and endless meals. Kamila shone in an intricately beaded, long-sleeved white gown. (Saaman's earlier prediction turned out to be true: Kamila no longer had time to sew anything herself and found both of her dresses at a fas.h.i.+onable downtown store.) Looking as glamorous as a film star, she posed with her handsome new husband for picture after picture. Mr. Sidiqi, always noticeable for his impeccable military posture, beams in the photos, looking every inch the proud patriarch.

A year later Kamila gave birth to a baby boy, Naweyan. She takes him to Kaweyan's second-story office nearly every morning-sometimes to her out-of-town trainings, too-and jokes that he is the firm's youngest employee. He sleeps through most of her meetings, only occasionally waking up to interrupt his mother's discussions with cries of hunger. When he gets very fussy one of Kamila's eight sisters comes by the office to take him home for the afternoon. I confess that, as I watched the infant's handoff among the sisters, it sometimes seemed easier to be a working mom in Kabul than in Was.h.i.+ngton.

On my last reporting trip to Afghanistan, in October 2009, I met Kamila's older brother, Najeeb. He had spent most of the Taliban years in Iran, working odd jobs, before returning to university study and a prestigious public service position in Kabul. We had arranged to meet at the Kabul Inn, a quiet hotel with a modest dining room that looked onto a courtyard filled with flowering shrubs that shook in the winter wind. Indian music videos loudly played on a TV set in the corner near an abandoned buffet table. An hour had pa.s.sed since our scheduled meeting time, and I began to worry. Perhaps he had decided not to come; perhaps he worried that telling his sister's-and his family's-story was unwise in the current political climate. But finally he rushed through the door and apologized for his lateness. Roads were blocked all across downtown Kabul in hopes of thwarting suicide attacks around the upcoming presidential runoff elections; it had taken him ninety minutes to go only a few kilometers.

I waited nervously for him to begin.

"Gayle Jan," he said, "I wanted to meet you because I wanted to thank you. I always hoped that someone would come from a foreign country and tell my sister's story. She was so brave at such a difficult time, and she did so much for all of us-not just my own family but so many other families in Khair Khana and around Kabul. And she is the reason that all of us got educated. I wanted you to know how glad I am that her story will finally be told. And to thank you for coming here."

For the first time since arriving bleary-eyed in Afghanistan that sunny December morning-for the first time ever on a reporting trip, I admit-my eyes teared. And I realized that Kamila's brother understood better than I did why, at this moment, telling his sister's story matters so much. Brave young women complete heroic acts every day, with no one bearing witness. This was a chance to even the ledger, to share one small story that made the difference between starvation and survival for the families whose lives it changed. I wanted to pull the curtain back for readers on a place foreigners know more for its rocket attacks and roadside bombs than its countless quiet feats of courage. And to introduce them to the young women like Kamila Sidiqi who will go on. No matter what.

Where They Are Today Sara continues to work for the betterment of her family. Her two sons are enrolled in university, which makes her very proud, and her work allows her to afford a home for her family so she no longer has to be a financial burden on her in-laws. Today she and her children are living on their own in the capital. Sara continues to work as a seamstress while also serving as a cook and house manager. continues to work for the betterment of her family. Her two sons are enrolled in university, which makes her very proud, and her work allows her to afford a home for her family so she no longer has to be a financial burden on her in-laws. Today she and her children are living on their own in the capital. Sara continues to work as a seamstress while also serving as a cook and house manager.

Mahnaz went on to achieve her dream of becoming an educator. Though it was difficult for her to resume her studies after the five-and-a-half-year ban on girls' education, she persevered, taking the university entrance exam and landing a position as a young professor at one of Kabul's leading inst.i.tutions of higher education. For two years after the Taliban departed, she continued to wear the chadri, finding it difficult to adjust to the change of being out on the street in a mere headscarf. Her sister, who also sewed with Kamila and her sisters, resumed her studies alongside Mahnaz and went on to become a doctor, just as she had always hoped. went on to achieve her dream of becoming an educator. Though it was difficult for her to resume her studies after the five-and-a-half-year ban on girls' education, she persevered, taking the university entrance exam and landing a position as a young professor at one of Kabul's leading inst.i.tutions of higher education. For two years after the Taliban departed, she continued to wear the chadri, finding it difficult to adjust to the change of being out on the street in a mere headscarf. Her sister, who also sewed with Kamila and her sisters, resumed her studies alongside Mahnaz and went on to become a doctor, just as she had always hoped.

In 1998, after nearly two years of Taliban rule, Dr. Maryam Dr. Maryam decided to move her family to Helmand province in southern Afghanistan, right next door to the seat of the Taliban. Few women doctors worked in that region at the time, and she was both adored and respected by her community for the services she provided. Taliban officials were also grateful for her work and for her willingness to leave Kabul, and they did nothing to interfere with the treatment of her patients. Many of them, in fact, brought their wives and daughters to her. Some of the women in Helmand whom Dr. Maryam hired and trained during the Taliban years went on to become nurses and midwives themselves, teaching others in their communities about the importance of protecting women's health. Dr. Maryam continues to work as a pediatrician and encourages her talented young daughters, who are now at the top of their own cla.s.ses, to consider a career in medicine. decided to move her family to Helmand province in southern Afghanistan, right next door to the seat of the Taliban. Few women doctors worked in that region at the time, and she was both adored and respected by her community for the services she provided. Taliban officials were also grateful for her work and for her willingness to leave Kabul, and they did nothing to interfere with the treatment of her patients. Many of them, in fact, brought their wives and daughters to her. Some of the women in Helmand whom Dr. Maryam hired and trained during the Taliban years went on to become nurses and midwives themselves, teaching others in their communities about the importance of protecting women's health. Dr. Maryam continues to work as a pediatrician and encourages her talented young daughters, who are now at the top of their own cla.s.ses, to consider a career in medicine.

Rahela, Kamila's impressive cousin who helped to lead the UN Habitat efforts during the Taliban years, is now a senior government official. She is currently leading an effort to strengthen the country's civil service and, in between managing a demanding career and a family of young chil-dren, is also helping to organize and deliver microloans to wo-men in need in two provinces of Afghanistan. In the coming years she hopes to grow the program, which is funded by donations from local women leaders in the community.

Most of the women involved in the Women's Community Forums programs went on to become leaders in their fields. Many are serving in government, a number are educators, some are running their own community organizations, and others have succeeded in business. All credit the Community Forum program with helping them to discover their leaders.h.i.+p potential and to prove to themselves that they did indeed have the ability to make a difference.

As for the UN Habitat Community Forum program itself, it became a role model for the new government's plan to develop rural Afghanistan. The National Solidarity Program built upon the Community Forum's democratic and ground-up model using new Community Development Councils to empower citizens to decide on local development priorities for themselves.

Ali and his brothers are still in Kabul. Though they no longer have their own stores, they continue to support their families and each other. And they refuse to take credit for the good work they did during those difficult years when Kabul's economy collapsed. Only one of the brothers has seen Roya, their former client, since the Taliban left and the government changed. This accidental meeting came in 2004 when Kamila found herself in a taxi with a driver she recognized. He did not recognize her, since he had never before seen her face, so Kamila/Roya introduced herself to Hamid. He marveled at meeting his longtime client and sent his best wishes to her family. Kamila returned his kindness and added that she and her family remained very grateful for all the support he and his brothers had offered them during the Taliban years. are still in Kabul. Though they no longer have their own stores, they continue to support their families and each other. And they refuse to take credit for the good work they did during those difficult years when Kabul's economy collapsed. Only one of the brothers has seen Roya, their former client, since the Taliban left and the government changed. This accidental meeting came in 2004 when Kamila found herself in a taxi with a driver she recognized. He did not recognize her, since he had never before seen her face, so Kamila/Roya introduced herself to Hamid. He marveled at meeting his longtime client and sent his best wishes to her family. Kamila returned his kindness and added that she and her family remained very grateful for all the support he and his brothers had offered them during the Taliban years.

As for Kamila's sisters, they, too, have forged their own paths, supporting one another and their own families. Saaman Saaman, who never forgot the joy and beauty of the novels and poetry that had so lifted her spirits through the difficult years, went on to make her family proud by completing her university studies and taking a degree in literature. Laila Laila also successfully completed her university courses. also successfully completed her university courses. Malika Malika is now among the busiest women in Kabul, managing all at once to help her husband, raise four healthy children, work with Kamila at Kaweyan, and complete her long-deferred university degree. After sifting through years of memories to tell me about the women she worked with and sewed for during the Taliban years, she remembered the satisfaction she found in her tailoring work and was inspired to resume her dressmaking. She is now once again creating suits, dresses, and jackets for private clients, with help and support from Saaman. is now among the busiest women in Kabul, managing all at once to help her husband, raise four healthy children, work with Kamila at Kaweyan, and complete her long-deferred university degree. After sifting through years of memories to tell me about the women she worked with and sewed for during the Taliban years, she remembered the satisfaction she found in her tailoring work and was inspired to resume her dressmaking. She is now once again creating suits, dresses, and jackets for private clients, with help and support from Saaman.