You won’t believe it but it’s true

The painful life of a 13 years old Afghan girl at Quetta Pakistan

By Sulmaz Saeedi

I had to go to the office of the UNHCR in Quetta. I was sitting in the waiting room and at another corner, a young woman, around 25-26 years old, was breast feeding her newborn.
I asked:
- Where are you from?
She answered:
- Afghanistan.
- What’s your name?
- Atefeh
- Is this your own child?
- Yes
- What are you doing here?
- I need help
And her eyes became full of tears; she caressed her newborn’s head and asked:
- Do they really help people?
- What’s your problem?
With her sweet Dari accent she replied:
- My father sold me. My husband brought me here. He is much older than I. He has 3 daughters from his ex-wife. Few months after marriage, my husband and his mother thought that I am sterile and started treating me badly. At that house instead of being the new bride, I was the valet of everybody.
- How old were you at that time?
She looked at me and said: I am not sure, but maybe 10.
- How old are you now?
- I guess it is now 3 years that I have been married.
I was surprised. She looked much older than 13.
- OK. Tell me what happened next?
- When I was pregnant my husband was beating me often: “I will kill you if it is not a boy”! When this girl was born, while I was still in pain from the delivery, while beating me my husband was repeating: “You are inauspicious”. They were not giving me food. I did not have enough milk. My mother in law was not allowing me to breastfeed my daughter. After 40 days, my husband returned me to Afghanistan and told my father that he wants a divorce. When my father heard that, he grabbed me and threw me toward the door: “I have 5 more daughters that I haven’t found husband for them. Here I have no bread for her and no place to stay. Take her to your home and use her as a made but do not return her to me”.

Her lips were trembling. You could easily see the pain of loneliness in her eyes. Few tears were dropping from her eyes. She wiped them out with the corner of her chador; she didn’t want me to see them. I stood up and gave her a cup of water from the water cooler. I told her:
- If repeating these stories are painful to you, stop telling. No need to tell.
She said:
- Have you ever felt that you are dead but you are walking?
Then without waiting for my answer, she continued:
- My husband brought me back. But five days ago, he announced that we are divorced. I stayed few days at one of the neighbor’s house. They told me about this office. I am very lonely. Where can I go with a little kid? I don’t know. I even do not have money to buy milk for my child. I do not have enough milk myself and my daughter cries all the time. She is hungry.
She was right, the child was crying all the time. Atefeh’s eyes were full of tears again and she was staring at her daughter.

- Now what do you want to do?
- I don’t know. I have nobody here and my father in Afghanistan is not accepting me.
- Do you have any friend in Afghanistan who would accept you?
- No. In such poverty? Who would add another hungry stomach to his family? And I have nobody. When my own father refuses to give me shelter, who would trust me and my child?
- What do you want to do before they give you an answer here? They are not going to say anything to you today.
- I don’t know. I can not stay more with my neighbor. Her husband is nagging all the time about the fact that she has accepted me in their house.

I wanted to talk more with Atefeh but my name was called. When I was going inside, I asked her to wait for me and she accepted.
I really wanted to help her but my situation did not allow me to take any step.
When I came back she was not there anymore. I asked the security where Atefeh was. He said that as the office was not accepting any application for the day, she had to leave, to come back the day after. When I realized that she will come back again, although I knew that I might not be able to help her, I was happy. Somehow I had the feeling that talking to me was calming her down a little. I wanted to listen to her. I wanted to answer her question regarding feeling dead and still walking. That’s why the day after, much earlier than everyday, I left home. I had to walk half of the distance as my money was not enough for a round trip commute. When I arrived, offices were still closed. I waited for a long time. Time for accepting applications was over and Atefeh did not come. I don’t know why I was so much interested in seeing her again. Although I had seen her once, inside myself I was feeling anxious about her. And that anxiety is still there. I don’t know where she went and what happened to her. But I am sure that she will have a hard time. I even left a message for her, but until today, I have no news from her.

This is something that I have heard often: “In this city Quetta/ Pakistan), most of the prostitutes are either Iranian girls or Afghan girls. Iranian girls are those who have been given hopes for a better future and brought here to be sold. Afghan girls are those whose families while under pressure of debts have sold them to illegal sex traders. What wrong have done these girls? Should these lives end up in such fetid milieu? Should the candle of their lives extinguish in such sewage? Shall we watch all of that and do nothing? Atefeh too will end up in this fetid environment, I am afraid, just because she wants to save the life of her daughter, save her from hunger. What shall we do?