‘Running for Parliament, Afghan style’: the Afghan Women’s Writing Project
The Afghan Women’s Writing Project was set up in 2008, inspired by the novelist, Masha Hamilton, who wanted to provide the incredible Afghan women that she knew with a forum to share their stories. This arena, unbiased by the media or the influence of male relatives, allows these women to assert their voices, even if they often have to do so secretly and without the knowledge of their families.
In honour of Channel 16’s multi-partner ‘Green Scarves for Solidarity’ campaign, we will be featuring an AWWP story each week until the end of October. Last week, we featured one by Mahnaz (‘Mother, I Am Dying, Buy Me An Apple’).
Here is our next, fantastic story by one determined Afghan woman who is running for Parliament.
‘Running for Parliament, Afghan style‘
I can’t travel to all the provinces due to security problems, and even where I am allowed to go, I cannot drive myself as a woman in Afghanistan, so I’ve hired a man as my driver. He met me early one recent morning and drove off like he was James Bond. The way from Kabul to Jallalabad is very dangerous, a tiny road weaving through huge mountains. “Do not drive so fast,” I told him. He kept driving fast, so I shouted at him: “Do you want to kill me? This meeting is not more important than my life.”
He calmly answered: “If Allah has chosen today as our last day, then we will die anyway.”
Can you imagine, this wrong understanding of Islam among our uneducated people? I asked him, “Okay, if I throw you out of this car and push you into the river, then it means God has decided to take your soul?”
“Yes.”
“No, my dear,” I told him. “It will be my decision, not God’s.”
This way to begin a day of campaigning can make you tired and desperate before you start.
I am running for parliament in elections scheduled for September 18th, hoping to represent the Kuchis, Afghanistan’s Pashtun nomads. There will be 249 parliament seats from all over Afghanistan and 33 percent are required to be filled by women. For the Kuchis, they allocated 13 seats, ten to be taken by male candidates and three by female. Currently seven women are running, so three of us will be among the next members of parliament.
The Kuchis are very poor and hungry. Their children and elders are sick, so they can’t think long-term. Most are not educated and will vote as their elders tell them. And most of the elders do business with the candidates. They say, “Okay, we will vote for you, but then you have to pay us.” As I understand, the rate for one vote is the equivalent of two and a half dollars. For example, if I need 10,000 votes, then I have to give them at least $25,000. Impossible! First of all, I will not buy votes because it is fraud.
There are some nice people who will not ask for money, but still I have to pay them to campaign for me, prepare food, print posters, and distribute them in all the provinces. I have to pay their transportation. But it is not even possible to hire a car and ask them to bring my campaigners to mountainous areas. First of all, faraway districts are under Taliban control. Secondly, the roads are not paved so the taxi drivers will not drive in such a place. To be frank, I didn’t know that I would have to pay this much money. I thought I would just have to print out some posters. Later on, I found out I have to hire people in all the provinces and in each district, and pay them to arrange administrative issues for me. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about expenses. Now that I have started, I shouldn’t give up. But the election process in Afghanistan is nothing like the election process in Western countries.
Last night, after working hard on my campaign all week and traveling to different provinces, I was frustrated. I took a hot shower and sat on the couch watching TV. To be frank, I didn’t want to answer the telephone or talk to anyone. I just wanted to relax. As always, my phone rang. I didn’t want to answer, but thought this might be one of the Kuchis who had a question or needed my suggestion. I answered and, with a tired voice, said “Balay” (“Hello”).
I heard a nonstop voice: “As-Salam alaikum, sister. I am one of your Kuchi brothers. I hope you win. Allah is with you. I am sure you are going to win.” Suddenly, the line went dead. I was amazed at this call, at his voice with its honesty and hope, and the way he called me his sister, like a brother calls to his biological sister, with ambition and passion. I wondered who he was. I clicked on received calls and called him back. By now, I had forgotten being tired. Somehow, I felt strong, and like someone was supporting me. I just wanted to hear him again.
He picked up and I introduced myself and he was so excited. “Oh, is this really you?”
I said yes and asked him, “Why did you cut off?”
“I didn’t have credit in my phone,” he said.
“Don’t worry, now you can talk as much as you want,” I answered.
He started again: “Oh sister! My mother, my family and I have prayed for you. I am sure you are going to win.”
“What makes you believe this?” I asked.
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