Hope

This is a story I wrote 3 years back for a competition. The premise was a news article I read few years ago. In 2004, 40 of the top students in Afghanistan flew to the U.S. for a year as part of the first student-exchange program from Afghanistan in more than 30 years. However, when they came back they were caught in a bureaucratic battle, where Afghan officials refused to accept the U.S. curriculum they followed the previous year. I have chosen my protagonist as a girl who returned from this program - because I assume as a girl she would have faced more problems in the country.

December 2, 2005

Kabul

The weather was lousy and cold today – almost as if even the environment reflected what I felt. I got a mail from the Ministry of Education saying I am not eligible to go to college here because I have learned “all the wrong things” in the last one year.

I still remember the excitement with which I boarded the flight to New York as a part of the first batch of foreign exchange students from Afghanistan. I remember the mixed feelings of joy, pride, and a few nerves as the American family, with whom I was staying, welcomed me with open arms and very kindly showed me my room. My own room – a luxury I have never had before. America gave me a lot of things; but above all, it was the freedom that I absolutely cherished.  The freedom to be a girl and not be apologetic about it, the freedom to express my views, the freedom to talk to boys, the freedom to do anything I want without fear.

Well, just to be fair, it was not a very rosy ride, either. Every day I met people who stereotyped me because of my headscarf. I was asked such inane questions that it was difficult to answer them politely. 

“No, I didn’t like Taliban either.”

“No, neither I nor my friends plan to fly an airplane into any buildings in the U.S., or for that matter anywhere else in the world.”

“And for God’s sake, NO, I am not related to Osama Bin Laden.”

Ofcourse, all this just made me more determined than ever to tell people that they should not judge an entire country based on the actions of a few. I gave lectures on why I am proud to be an Afghan. I insisted that there are extremists in almost every country, including America. Many of my classmates stopped talking to me, but the fact that a few came and apologized for their earlier offensive comments made the whole exercise worthwhile.

On hindsight, I see how futile all those actions and experiences were. If I expected my family and my government to receive me with accolades on my return, I was totally wrong. A mere acceptance would have been more than enough. On the contrary, I am treated with disrespect. I am constantly being watched and judged. My relatives think I have become too proud and confident than the ‘Islamic culture’ can tolerate. My government thinks the syllabus I followed in the U.S. does not prepare me for college in Kabul. If I hated the preconceived notions of my class mates back there, I am up against a whole new challenge (and more hurtful questions) in my own country.

"Yes, I still do my namaz."

"Yes, I am still a good Muslim. Yes, I am proud to be one."

"And yes, I am still a good girl."

I just didn’t know when I taught my friends in America not to be judgmental, my own people were blinded by their fundamentalist views. I am tired of being treated as an outcast. I am told to keep quiet even when I am silent. 

Now I am unsure what future holds for me. I try my best to remain hopeful, but it is not easy.  Not with everyone around treating me as though I have sinned. I have had enough of people staring at me, expecting me to act different. I didn’t ask for this. I spent last one year holding on to my values, my roots and my religion even as many of my batch mates stopped wearing their headscarves and started going to pubs. I never misused the freedom I got. And look what I have got in return.

I am ashamed to admit this, but today I regret going to America. I regret tasting the freedom, which is alien in my country. But then I wonder, am I doing the right thing by giving up? I remember the words of Martin Luther King, which was framed at the entrance of the school I went in America.

We must accept finite disappointment, but we must never lose infinite hope.