How Can We Accept the Women in Our Family as Our Equals and Consider Their Suffering as Our Own?

Dear listeners, welcome to our second programme in the series of "Liberation." As you know, in this series, we will discuss the problems, issues, and what is happening in the everyday lives of women and girls in our homeland.

Of course, as you know, we have produced this series in the form of radio dramas, and we hope it will attract your attention just like other programmes on this radio.

Dear friends, our aim in this series is not merely to express the reality and existing events. We hope that you will reflect on the issues and problems that plague the women in our society, which you will hear about in this series.

We understand that none of you simply overlooks the incidents and events that occur every day in various corners of our homeland. Because every incident that happens is somehow connected to your life.

So let us consider what the causes and factors are behind all these unfortunate events. Let us think about how we can accept the women in our families as equals and regard their suffering as our own.

Let us ask ourselves once and for all: if a woman is kept away from sound education and learning in the world, can she raise healthy children and contribute to a thriving community? By pondering these questions, we may find the happiness we long for.

Now, with such a wish, I invite you to listen to our second programme in the "Liberation" series. Stay healthy.

I went to see Jin. I said, let’s come and visit you. Welcome. You did a very good thing by coming. Come on, let’s go home. Come inside.

What did you say, Karima? You don’t seem well. You look a bit off. Are you coming here? What can I say, Sitara? This whole day has taken away our happiness. Yes, there’s nothing left to cheer a person up.

But when you talk about food, it's never a day without hearing bad news. You’re right. Just yesterday, I heard that a young girl named Shafika was taken to the hospital. What a time we are living in. They took her to the hospital. I wonder how quickly she will be treated.

Another chaos will ensue with her father and brother. How can one think about food? Sitara, isn’t Shafika the one who lives in the lower part of the street?

Ah, tell me that you know Shafika. She worked for many years in some ministry until they unfairly dismissed her. Oh, I remember now. Isn’t she the middle-aged woman with the nice face who used to sit by your window?

Ah, yes, that’s Shafika. Her young daughter had swallowed fifteen to twenty pills yesterday. Why? Did she have a fight with her father and brother? No, her father and brother love her dearly with all their hearts.

They only have her as a daughter. Poor Shafika, I saw her crying every minute yesterday, and the world seemed dark to me. How did you find out about Shafika’s daughter, Sitara?

Yesterday afternoon, I was calling her mother on the phone. She told me what had happened. I waited for one or two hours, but finally, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

It was close to evening when I rushed to the hospital to see Shafika's daughter. When I arrived at the hospital, poor Shafika had turned into a shadow of herself from the grief of her young daughter.

Her daughter was lying on a hospital bed in the emergency room. Her face had turned pale. I asked Shafika what had happened. At first, she didn’t say much.

I saw two people standing in the hospital corridor near Shafika’s husband. Why? One of them was asking her husband about the girl. Oh, excuse me, I got distracted and forgot to bring a cup of tea.

I completely forgot. I’ll go and bring a glass of tea. Don’t worry about it. I had tea. What are you saying, dear? Aren’t you coming home? The tea is ready.

I’ll bring it right away. Sitara, you’re used to the green tea, aren’t you? Well, it doesn’t matter what it is. Oh, dear, there’s a kettle boiling here; it’ll just take a moment and I’ll bring it quickly.

Really, Sitara, you didn’t hear? What were they asking Shafika’s husband? I think they were asking Shafika’s husband why his daughter had taken the medicine.

When Shafika's husband told them, one of them held the poor man's collar. He was saying, “What kind of daughter do you have?” He was telling Shafika's husband that if he had raised his daughter properly, she wouldn’t have considered suicide.

Poor Shafika’s husband was left speechless, not knowing what to say to them. Another one of them asked, “Why haven’t you been watching your daughter at home? Why didn’t you find her a husband?”

Poor Shafika’s husband was stuck; he couldn’t say anything until they took her away. Taken away? Why? I don’t understand; maybe they took her to empty her pockets, or maybe they took her to threaten her.

Ah, you’re right. The matter of that girl’s suicide should not be disclosed to anyone else. Sitara, this is the tea that you wanted.

Thank you, may you live long, dear. Poor Shafika, God knows how much sorrow she carries. Sitara, how is Shafika’s daughter? As far as I know, the poor girl isn’t doing well.

A female doctor examined her, but the girl is still in a bad condition. They say that the poison had lingered in her blood for a long time. Oh, poor thing, may God protect her.

Didn’t you understand why Shafika’s daughter took those pills? It’s obvious, dear, that girl was in the third year of the science faculty. Well, well. When the order came, girls from the sixth grade upwards were not allowed to study.

Ah, you’re right. That poor girl waited for two years in vain, hoping that girls would be allowed to continue their education. When she realised she couldn’t study, all her hopes seemed to vanish. She went to her father’s cabinet and took fifteen tablets, swallowing them all at once.

Oh, oh. In the hospital, the doctors were asking Shafika, “What’s wrong with your daughter?” Shafika showed them the medicine and said, “She took this medicine.”

Do you understand what the doctor told her? No, what did they say? The doctor told her to take her daughter to a female doctor. Why? Well, why? They said that male doctors shouldn’t treat female patients.

What a strange world we are living in. Oh dear, one doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Oh God! All of this confusion is due to ignorance. You’re right. In the end, did anyone treat that girl or not, Sitara?

Karima, Shafika saw her daughter lying unconscious on the hospital bed, and the male doctors weren’t allowed to comfort her.

The poor thing clung to the nurse at the hospital. After an hour, a nurse’s heart melted, and she called a female doctor to come and help the poor girl.

Well, well, Sitara, let’s be honest, our hearts are heavy with life being so miserable. How can a person complain about their pain? How can one be a patient in a hospital without a female doctor? How can a male doctor be forbidden to treat them?

Have you ever thought about this situation before? Oh dear, you’re right, this is not life. In the eyes of many, women have no dignity as human beings. You’re right.

That’s why they say women should be like prisoners of their homes? To be confined at home? Oh dear God, you’re right. As long as we’re alive, in their eyes, a woman is only allowed to leave the house twice.

Once when she goes to her husband’s home, and the other time when her corpse is taken from her husband’s house to the graveyard. You’re right. This is their view of women.

Just as you say, just as you say, you’re right; our pain as people comes from ignorance and poverty. Sitara, drink your tea before it gets cold.

May you live long, I will. I understand that your heart is filled with pain. It seems like you haven’t found peace. Your eyes are filled with tears. Karima, what is it that you haven’t told me?

What can I say, Sitara? I only share what I can. They closed my salon yesterday. What do you mean? Why? Didn’t you talk to them?

What a question you ask, Sitara. What should I have said? Yesterday, there were several customers at the salon. Yesterday was busier than any other day.

I was happy to find a little extra money to cover food and expenses for my children. Suddenly, I saw an armed man banging on the glass of the salon. I quickly covered myself and stepped outside.

I saw three men standing at the salon’s entrance. One of them asked, “Are you the owner of this salon?” I said, “Yes, I am.” Then he said, “Get your customers out of here; this salon is closed.”

You see, Sitara, I was taken aback and confused. I never thought they would close my salon one day. All my efforts seemed to have gone to waste.

People gathered around the salon door. Were those men saying anything? No, dear, they didn’t say a word. They just stood there, not caring about my feelings.

The men standing in front of the salon were making fun of me. Besides not protesting, they mocked me.

Oh Karima, don’t blame anyone. The real issue is that poverty is a terrible thing. Wherever there is ignorance, there is poverty. You’re absolutely right, dear.

Did you ask them why they were closing the salon? I wanted to ask them, but I saw that talking to them was pointless.

I was stuck when one of them pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me. He said, “You owe two days’ rent. Now go to the municipal office and pay them four thousand Afghanis.”

He added, “Then take your belongings from the salon and go home. You can’t open here again.” Now, I was left wondering where on earth I could find four thousand Afghanis.

You could have told them that you are the breadwinner for your family? You should have told them that your husband has passed away. You have four children to feed, dear.

Do you think they would listen to that? They are only concerned that women shouldn’t work in public. They don’t care if a woman is the sole breadwinner for her family or not.

For them, only the enforcement of their orders matters, Sitara. Didn’t they tell you why they demanded that four thousand Afghanis from you? I don’t understand.

I don’t get it, dear; besides closing the women’s salon, maybe they fined the men as well. They said if you don’t pay this four thousand Afghanis at the municipal office, we will arrest you.

Now we are left wondering what to do. I wish someone would come along to buy the salon’s equipment. Dear, if you know anyone who could buy these salon items, I could pay the fine and provide food for my children.

Dear, don’t worry. We will find that four thousand Afghanis for you. You should be focused on finding another job. What job can I find, Sitara?

They won’t allow me to work in any government or non-government office. They won’t let me go out without a male guardian. There is trouble everywhere, Sitara.

They have caged us women. I wish we could talk to them. When you drink your tea, dear, tell me so I can pour you some more.

I’ll pour it in a moment. Tonight, I will discuss my children’s future. I will find that four thousand Afghanis for you. Come back tomorrow.

Oh, may you live long, may you live long, Sitara. God bless you, dear. May happiness be yours. What do you think about bringing something for dinner, dear?

If only you could get some help from your friend? Karima, the closure of your salon has put me in a daze. You used to provide for your children through that salon.

Ah, you’re right. You’re absolutely right; I’m puzzled about what to do. This worry is overwhelming me. Dear, I don’t understand how this will turn out.

Sometimes I think to myself: why are we women even alive? Don’t lose hope. Eventually, a solution will come that will stop us from starving.

It’s better to die of hunger than to submit to humiliation, dear. I understand what you’re saying, dear. I lose hope every day regarding everything.

We women in this country are so unfortunate. We’ve completely lost our hope. Yes, Karima, these words don’t heal any pain. You’re right.

You must not lose hope for the future. You have to strive to find a way to provide for your family. That is the most important thing you can do in this situation, dear.

Karima, the day we lose hope, think of that day as our death. You can still serve your clients at home. You know how to do hairdressing.

We can also sew clothes for people at home. You’re right. Maybe through this, you can provide for your children. What do you think, dear?

Maybe we can find a good job to do at home. You’re right. Just remember to be a strong woman in your life, dear; don’t lose your hope.

You’re right, Sitara. Thank you for encouraging me. But I live for my children. I had prepared my salon to provide for my children after my husband’s death.

Now I’ll see what I can do. If I have any ideas, I will let you know. Good, dear. Now, I plan to go and see Shafika’s daughter.

Where are you going? Oh, I’m going. It’s good that you said so. I had it in my heart to tell you to let me know whenever you go to see Shafika’s daughter.

I’m glad you mentioned it. It’s very good that I told you, dear. Oh, drink your tea until it’s hot. Dear, get ready, and I’ll go to put on my clothes. Is that okay?

Okay. I hope that no one sees me without a proper scarf or dress. I hope nobody sees me without a proper scarf or dress.