Author: Stephen Farrell
Publication: The Statesman
Date: June 28, 2000
Stephen Farrell meets the Afghan women who risk their lives by going
to the aid of their countrymen
THEY fled their homes when the mullahs of Taliban made life in their
native Afghanistan unbearable. But now, a few miles south of the Khyber
Pass, a handful of Afghan women are preparing to return home to brave Taliban's
harsh Islamic regime in order to bring desperately-needed skills to their
benighted country.
As tens of thousands of their countrymen continue to flow across the
border into Pakistan, a number of university-educated refugees have started
making the reverse journey to work secretly, teaching girls who are not
allowed to go to school. Others risk the wrath of the mullahs by returning
to work as doctors and nurses.
One such reverse refugee is 29-year-old gynaecologist Farzana, who gave
birth to her first child just three weeks ago. Later this month, Farzana
will take up a job at a mother and child healthcare clinic serving 15 villages
near Rostaq, in the northern Takhar province.
This is only possible because, although Taliban continues to enforces
its harsh Islamic agenda in the 90 per cent of the country under its control,
medical workers are allowed to function under strictly-controlled conditions.
These include wearing full-length veils and being chaperoned in public
by a close male relative.
North Takhar, where Farzana not her real name will be based, is now
under the control of anti-Taliban commander Ahmed Shah Masood. But although
his regime is much more relaxed towards women, the young doctor knows Taliban
could overrun it at any time.
Neither this nor the prospect of earning nearly double the available
pounds 75 monthly wage by staying in Pakistan, will stop her and her husband
returning to the country she fled in 1991.
"The main reason I am going back is for my people. There are a lot of
patients there and I want to help them," she said. "We will stay for three
years and see what happens after that. Taliban doesn't usually interfere
with health workers so I think we will be safe. If they come we will see
what they do with us, and decide then."
Her job, like many in a country devastated by 20 years of fighting,
is provided by a foreign organisation. The Norwegian Project Office aid
agency identified her from a computer database of qualified refugees provided
by the International Organisation for Migration.
Earlier this month, three women doctors already working inside Afghanistan
returned to Peshawar in Pakistan to share their experiences. They told
of being unable to send their own children to school, waiting hours for
single sex buses to arrive together so they could travel with chaperones
and of the restrictions on women socialising or gathering, which have only
recently been slightly relaxed by Taliban.
One 32-year-old doctor forced to leave her husband and two children
behind in Peshawar, said: "I do not regret my decision, but the only thing
that always makes me sad is being away from my children. When I receive
my daughter's letter she frequently writes {mother, you are a good doctor
but not a good mother."
So desperate is the economic situation on both sides of the border that
the Khyber Pass has become a revolving door for refugees. Thousands flee
Afghanistan in search of work and nearly as many head back again for the
same reason, despite deep concern for their safety.
But with two million Afghan refugees in Pakistan "hospitality fatigue"
is evident among the people of Peshawar and other border towns, after two
decades in which the Afghans have seen themselves decline from the anti-Soviet
heroes of the West to an unwanted and forgotten economic burden. The United
Nations High Commissi-oner for Refugees (UNHCR) fears this burden will
only be slightly alleviated by a new US scheme to evacuate 4,000 women
refugees deemed to be "at risk" by virtue of their education, politics
or denial of opportunities.
Marie-France Sevestre, head of the UNHCR's Peshawar office, said she
was delighted to see any refugee given opportunities, but questioned the
long-term benefit to Afghanistan. "We recognise it is a good programme
but we cannot send everybody abroad. It won't solve the country's problem.
We don't want to encourage a brain drain, that's not the way to rebuild
Afghanistan. We want to encourage more education and planning here."
Among the crowds of despondent village-dwellers, affluent Afghans who
have "made it" and toy gun-wielding youths in the mud and brick refugee
camps of Peshawar, there are some who are prepared to take very great risks
to bring such education to their country.
Manizha, 39, a university literature teacher, will soon leave Peshawar
to teach girls in the secret network of "home schools" that provide the
only education available to young women in major Afghan cities where, unlike
some outlying areas, Taliban's control is tight enough to enforce their
rules. Manizha's Peshawar landlord recently increased the rent beyond her
means and this, combined with boredom, persuaded her it was time to go
back after eight years. "I had a Masters degree. I taught at Kabul University.
Now I am teaching 12-year-olds," she said angrily. "There are a lot of
Afghan teachers in Peshawar now, the education system is better than in
Afghanistan. I want to go back to bring a little change to my home. The
Afghan people there need our work more than those living here."
With arrangmnet - The Times, London.
