April 2001

April 2001 arrives in the third and worst year of a catastrophic drought that has ravaged Afghanistan. The drought, which began in 1998, has desiccated the land, forcing farmers to abandon their parched fields and flee to Kabul, where they crowd into makeshift slums on the Kareh-Ariana hillside. The shallow wells have dried up, and the Kabul River, deprived of its spring floods, has become a dry, public toilet filled with human waste and rubble. Lines at the deep wells stretch for hours. In this season of scarcity, the family's poverty has become absolute. After a fire destroyed Rasheed's shoe shop, they sold everything: Mariam's and Laila's belongings, Aziza's baby clothes and toys, Rasheed's watch, radio, ties, shoes, wedding ring, the couch, table, rug, and chairs. Rasheed, now jobless, has grown violent, slapping Aziza, kicking Mariam, and finding fault with Laila's appearance. He was fired from a kebab house after a scuffle and from a restaurant for long waits. Hunger has become the crux of their existence. Rice, boiled plain and white, is a rare treat; they skip meals with alarming regularity. Rasheed brings home sardines, dried bread, stolen apples, and canned ravioli, which they split five ways, with Zalmai getting the lion's share. They eat raw turnips sprinkled with salt, limp lettuce leaves, and blackened bananas. Death from starvation becomes a distinct possibility. Laila, watching her children waste away, declares, "My children are going to die. Right before my eyes." Mariam, determined to prevent this, devises a plan. She and Rasheed walk to the Intercontinental Hotel, where Rasheed borrows a satellite phone from a doorman. Mariam calls the mayor's office in Herat, desperately seeking her father, Jalil, to ask for help. She learns that Jalil died in 1987, the same year he had driven to Kabul to see her, a visit she had refused. The call yields nothing. On their way out, Rasheed steals a ring of jelabi from an abandoned coffee table and gives it to Zalmai. With no other recourse, Laila makes the agonizing decision to send Aziza to an orphanage. In a paper bag, Aziza packs her flowered shirt, lone pair of socks, mismatched wool gloves, an old pumpkin-colored blanket, a splintered plastic cup, a banana, and a set of dice. On a cool morning, Laila, Mariam, and Aziza walk to the squat, barracks-style building in Karteh-Seh. Laila tells Aziza a lie: she is going to a special school where the children eat and sleep. Aziza, sensing the deception, asks repeatedly how long she must stay. At the orphanage, the director, Zaman, a stooping, narrow-chested man with a pleasantly lined face, gently takes Aziza in. Laila, weeping, tells him, "What kind of mother abandons her own child?" Zaman reassures her, blaming the Taliban savages, and promises to feed and clothe Aziza. The good-bye is traumatic: Aziza panics, kicking and screaming as Zaman pries her loose. Laila runs down the hallway, holding back a howl. At home, she tells Mariam, "I smell her sleep smell," and is inconsolable. The month encapsulates the family's utter destitution and the shattering of their last hope for survival as a unit.