Aziza sent to orphanage
Aziza sent to orphanage
In April 2001, as the third year of a devastating drought tightened its grip on Kabul and the family's resources had been exhausted by the fire that destroyed Rasheed's shoe shop, Laila and Mariam were forced to make an agonizing decision: they would send Aziza, Laila's daughter, to an orphanage. The drought had dried up wells and turned the Kabul River into a public toilet, and the family was surviving on plain white rice, raw turnips, and blackened bananas. Aziza's ribs were pushing through her skin, and Zalmai lay around the house with dulled eyes. Laila, desperate, had told Mariam, "My children are going to die. Right before my eyes." Mariam, determined to prevent that, had insisted, "They are not. I won't let them." The orphanage, run by a stooping, balding man named Zaman, was a squat, barracks-style building with a splintered facade, sagging roof, and windows covered with sheets of plastic. Zaman, who ran the orphanage on the honor system, accepted Aziza without questioning Laila's claim that her husband had been killed by the Mujahideen.
The Journey to the Orphanage
On a cool morning in April 2001, shortly before Laila's twenty-third birthday, the family set out for the orphanage. Aziza, who had been told she was going to a special school where children ate and slept and didn't come home, packed a paper bag with her flowered shirt, a pair of mismatched wool gloves, an old pumpkin-colored blanket dotted with stars and comets, a splintered plastic cup, a banana, and a set of dice. As they walked, the wind blew the dirty scarf tied under Aziza's chin and rippled the hem of her dress. Zalmai bounced in Rasheed's arms, and Aziza held Mariam's hand. Two blocks from the orphanage, Rasheed stopped, saying he and Zalmai would wait. He fished a stick of gum from his pocket as a parting gift for Aziza, who took it and muttered a thank-you. Laila marveled at Aziza's grace and vast capacity for forgiveness, and her heart squeezed with sorrow at the thought that this afternoon Aziza would not nap beside her. When Aziza was led away, Zalmai began wailing, crying "Ziza! Ziza!" and squirming in his father's arms until his attention was diverted by an organ-grinder's monkey across the street.
The Orphanage and the Farewell
At the orphanage, Zaman, who had a pleasantly lined face, a shaggy beard, and eyes like peas, led them through poorly lit hallways where barefoot children with disheveled hair or shaved scalps stepped aside and watched. Laila smelled soap and talcum, ammonia and urine, and felt Aziza's rising apprehension as she began whimpering. In Zaman's office, a room with only three folding chairs and a disorderly desk, he asked for Aziza's date of birth, history of illnesses, and allergies. When Laila told him that Aziza's father had been killed by the Mujahideen, Zaman listened without revealing belief or skepticism. Laila began to cry, and Zaman, leaning forward, said, "It isn't your fault. Do you hear me? Not you. It's those savages, those wahshis, who are to blame." He promised that as long as he could, he would see to it that Aziza was fed and clothed. When the time for goodbyes came, Aziza panicked. Laila saw Zaman's thick, calloused hands close around Aziza's arms, pulling gently at first, then harder, then with force to pry her loose. She saw Aziza kicking in Zaman's arms as he hurriedly turned a corner, heard her screaming as though she were about to vanish from the face of the earth. Laila ran down the hallway, head down, a howl rising up her throat.
Aftermath and Consequences
All the way home, leaning on Mariam, Laila heard Aziza's shrill cries in her head. At home, she told Mariam, "I smell her. I smell her sleep smell. Do you? Do you smell it?" Mariam, disconsolate but choosing to cradle her suffering privately, tried to comfort her. Laila's life suddenly revolved around finding ways to see Aziza, but she was often stopped by the Taliban, who beat her with wooden clubs, fresh tree branches, whips, and fists. One day, a young Talib beat her with a radio antenna, saying, "I see you again, I'll beat you until your mother's milk leaks out of your bones." Laila took to wearing extra layers, even in the heat, for padding against the beatings. When she did make it to the orphanage, she spent hours with Aziza, who told her about the clandestine lessons Zaman gave the children, teaching them reading, writing, geography, history, and science, but pulling the curtains so the Taliban wouldn't see. Aziza had developed a stutter, and Laila noticed the dirt under her fingernails and her nervous, high-spirited chatter meant to reassure. The separation from Aziza deepened Laila's resolve to escape, and it was during this period that she and Mariam began planning their failed attempt to flee to Pakistan, an event that would lead to Mariam's brutal beating and imprisonment in the toolshed, and ultimately to the murder of Rasheed and Mariam's execution.
Thematic Significance
The event of Aziza being sent to the orphanage is a crucible that tests the limits of maternal love and sacrifice. It forces Laila to confront the brutal reality that her daughter's survival depends on a separation that feels like a death. The orphanage, a space of deprivation and hidden resistance, becomes a symbol of the Taliban's war on women and children, but also of the resilience of those who, like Zaman, risk their lives to educate the next generation. For Mariam, the event deepens her bond with Aziza, whom she had come to love as her own, and it strengthens her determination to protect Laila and the children at any cost. The orphanage, with its cracked floors and secret lessons, becomes a site of both loss and hope, a place where Aziza learns about tectonic plates and the scattering of light, even as her mother is beaten for trying to visit her. The event ultimately propels the narrative toward its climax, as the unbearable weight of separation and suffering drives Laila and Mariam to take the risks that will either free them or destroy them.
