pictures in my head – no one shall see

Samira likes the teacher. He is neither particularly tall nor particularly short, he has clean clothes, a scarf around his neck, he wears two little round panes of glass in front of his eyes held together by a wire which have the pretty name of einek, spectacles. The teacher smiles. Welcome, kohsh amadi. Can you read and write?

Read and write? no, says Samira. What is that? I can ride and I am a good buzkashi player. What is reading and writing? asks Samira.

Reading and writing? says the kindly teacher. That is the gateway to the world, and to life. It is the beginning of everything.

…

This is our classroom, says the kindly teacher and goes with Samira into the little hut. On the floor there is an old kelim, with mats and cushions all around. Everywhere in the room there are neatly stacked things that Samira does not recognise. The room is so full of them that there is hardly room to walk or sit down.

What are those? she asks.

The kindly teacher smiles. Those, my boy, are my books. They are full of knowledge and words. The kindly teacher opens a book. Look, these are written words.

Samira is disappointed. This is supposed to be the world?

You are one who wants to see the world? says the kindly teacher. You go into the world with small steps. Word by word, book by book.

Samira looks at the kindly teacher, does not understand.

Look, he says, writes. S-a-m-i-r. That is your name.

That is my name? That looks nice, says Samira. Can you write everything?

Everything.

Write Azadi. Freedom. That is my horse’s name. And it is a lovely word.

The kindly teacher writes. A-z-a-d-i.

Are there many people like you? asks Samira.

The kindly teacher laughs. Yes, he says. Very many. And you can become one of us. You just have to want it, you must be patient and practise a lot. And if you can read and write, you can write down all the pictures and words you have in your head, and other people can read them.

Samira shrugs. No, she says. No one shall see the pictures in my head.

p.122-125

I wish I was a boy. You have a good life. You are outside all day. You can do whatever you want. I envy you and my brother. You go hunting, you go into the village, you go to school, play buzkashi, shoot your guns. You will go to war and defend our homeland against the enemy. You negotiate with other men, you trade and buy goods. The lives of boys are important, exciting. The life of a girl is a punishment.

Maybe that is so, says Samira.

It is as I say, says Gol-Sar. We have no responsibility in life, we do Nothing. And one day, when some man comes along and marries us, we have children and again we do Nothing, again we have no responsibility.

It is not easy to bear responsibility, says Samira. It is not easy to earn bread for the family.

Do you think it is easy to see my brother being able to do whatever he wants? He does Everything. Yet I am allowed to do Nothing. Look at me, says Gol-Sar.

Samira looks at her, wants to touch her, wants to stroke her. She does not know why she wants this. She does not do it.

Am I not a human being? Asks Gol-Sar. Does the same blood not flow through my veins as flows through my brother’s veins? What is different about me?

You are beautiful, says Samira, looking into Gol-Sar’s dark eyes, which are full of fury. Full of fire.

That is all we are. We are beautiful. Nothing more. Until the day a man comes to take us as his wife. After that we are not even beautiful any more.

What sort of words are those? asks Samira. How do all these dark, heavy thoughts get into your beautiful head?

Gol-Sar hesitates, says, from my brother.

Bashir tells you these things? How does he know all that?

From his books, says Gol-Sar.

I did not know that thoughts like that could be found in books, says Samira. I thought books only had stories of heroes, king and princes.

I will tell you a secret, says Gol-Sar and laughs.

Samira does not know whether she wants to hear another secret.

I can read, says Gol-Sar. Bashir teaches me. Secretly. He teaches me everything he learns.

You can read? asks Samira. I thought girls … Samira does not go on. Says that is good. Girls should learn to read and write.

Do you like me anyway? asks Gol-Sar.

Samira lies down on her back, smiles, says, I like you. In fact I like you even more than you can think,

You don’t know how much I can think, says Gol-Sar. It is possible that I can think more than you can imagine.

Samira the girl-boy laughs.

p.159-161

the above are extracts from the novel:

Samira & Samir : the heart trending story of love and oppression in Afghanistan / Siba Shakib

it surely is heart trending. an easy read – yet forces you to think. think really deep. and it tells us of a life we (at least i) cannot even imagine. living with one piece of clothing. moving house with the season. barely enough to eat. such oppression for women. such oppression for men too. samira says the men are not free either. all are confined in a world that dictates that they have to live a certain way to keep up to the society’s expectation. no one is free. not a single person 😦

and i can’t help think of bashir. poor bashir really. this story is about samira so her thoughts we can read. but bashir – what must have been going through his head. falling deeply for a man … especially in such a place … what demons he must have fought in his mind before succumbing to it … and then later to find out it was indeed a woman … how his reactions, actions, words changed with that … human mind!!! Siba Shakib captured these emotions very nicely i should say … can’t wait to read more from her …