Kabul Apples Are Sweet (uncensored)A creative writing project by Afghan immigrant girls and Bahram Rahimi
Translated into English by Soudabeh Ashrafi
Translator's Note: These Afghan children had either none or very little education and regular schooling when joined Shoosh Child House, a school established and run by volunteers in south of Tehran. This project was part of the reading and writing program created and instructed by Mr. Rahimi, their teacher. Mr. Rahimi also served as the director of the House for 18 onths. Kabul Apples... was published in 2008 in Iran in three languages; Farsi, Pashtun and English.
You go to Kabul
Kabul apples are sweet
You will forget me
The Sun Is the Light of Our Home
A home has four iron pillars. A home is made of chuck, bricks, cement, etc; a home has room, bathroom, kitchen and toilet.
A home is a place that we, the humans, live in. This world is our home and the earth is the carpet. The carpet’s flowers are like seven-- colored monsters. The sun is the light of our home. If you look at the ceiling you’ll see that it’s covered with blue. Everyone who enters the house wonders. We have a house in the world as a mouse has a hole in a very large room.
My home is my heart which is connected to other’s hearts. I wish for your heart to always
be connected.
Navideh Ahmadi, 14 years old, from Parvan
Sad Eyes
I’m tired. So much that I wanted, today, behind the window… to see things with his sad eyes but it didn’t happen. In my opinion, there is a window inside everyone which others can’t see. When I walk in the streets I see houses and their windows. I always ask myself what is behind these windows. A family, a room, a kitchen, but no. It’s as if we search for something else behind a window. We try so hard to find it. I say to myself, is there kindness behind this window, love or a fight, separation or other things? But none of this gives me a good enough answer.
I think of a window that is full of hope and glow. I don’t know why, maybe because of the situation I’m in. there is a pot behind a window with a lead on. You don’t know what’s in it. You touch it to see if it’s hot or cold. You smell it to see what kind of food is in it. You finally open it. Then, you compare it with what you have guessed. That’s all.
Navideh Ahmadi, 14 years old, from Parvan
The Mountains Are the Best Place to Talk to God
The fist thing which catches my eyes is the mountain. It’s very beautiful. It’s wearing brown. I like to sit on top of the mountains in the morning and watch my life from above. I wish to stand on top of a mountain on a mid-night and holler loudly. It would be really nice if I could watch my life from the top. The mountains are the best place to talk to God. I wish the mountains were the place to pray instead of a mosque. When I ride in a car or walk in a street which is facing a mountain, it looks as if it’s really close, but no, it’s my eyes that see them real close. The mountains protect our homeland. An enemy could easily defeat a country without a mountain. I wish I could go to the mountains and hike instead of going to the park, on Fridays. The mountains are one of the sceneries of nature. Mountains are one of the best ways to make water. Some mountains wear white in the winter. I wish I could be on top of a mountain when I cry, not in our home, not under a blanket, not in the room. Rivers and seas form at the foot of the mountains. The mountains live like us. They are young like us.
Navideh Ahmadi, 14 years old, from Parvan
The End of These Streets Takes Me to God
To tell you the truth, I wanted to write about the street for a long time but my life’s street was so crowded and full with colorful cars that I could never find the time. I think the street is beautiful but the smog and noise take this beauty away from people; I still think it’s beautiful. When I ride a car I feel that the end of these streets will take me to God. It seems really close but no matter how much we drive, the car never gets there. I keep saying we will arrive now, in one more minute…in five more minutes….
But I couldn’t get to the end of the street of my heart, the street of my heart’s wishes,
I go over my wishes at nights so I don’t forget them in the time passing by.
I would have liked to walk the street, read books; I would have liked to write my daily journal sitting at a desk, out in the near street instead of writing in our upstairs room. But I don’t have that kind of freedom.
I would like to go back two years and watch my father and me riding the bike. How kind my father is when he takes out the bike because he loves me. How much fuss my brother, Mahmoud, used to make but my father would go on without paying attention to him. I would like to see our laughter rising up to the sky when we rode the bike at night, repeated again.
It would be nice to talk to God in the streets at night instead of in my bed. How nice would it have been if I had the freedom at night. I could have been able to write so much on the heart of the paper and thank my father at the end for letting me ride the bike and enjoy it.
I wish your life’s cars run on the street of happiness. That’s all!
Navideh Ahmadi, 14 years old, from Parvan
Where Is the End of Sky?
How beautiful is the sky! I say to myself. What if the sky was green…I picture all colors in my mind but blue suits the sky the best. Not because our eyes are used to seeing the blue but just because God has chosen the best color for the sky.
I’ve always been in love with the sky; asking myself where is the end of it? Why can’t I see the end of the sky? When I was a kid and I rode in a car and went places I used to say we will get to the end of the sky soon and see the end together, but it was all useless, it’s really like that. Where is the end of the huge and never ending sky.
The sky which belongs to all and all belong to her. Since I was a child I loved to fly in the sky and sit on the clouds. On the cotton clouds… the ones which I painted in my paintings and colored them blue instead of white.
The sky is beautiful. I always talk to myself about the sky. My father used to say: “I used to pray a hundred times every night so the angles would take me to the sky in my sleep.”
I tried to do the same but it was really hard. I tried to do the whole hundred at once but I couldn’t.
What would happen if I could sit on the clouds?
I am upset now that I have grown up and found out that the clouds are just some steam and I can’t sit on them to fly far into the sky and grab the moon. Although, I know the clouds are only steam, I still wish to sit on them and eat a piece of one of them.
Oh, my God tell me how big is the sky? Where would it end?
Navideh Ahmadi, 14 years old, from Parvan
My Mother’s Tears
My heart is full of pain, I like to fly away, I can’t bare my mother’s tears anymore. I wish to die and not see her tears. I like to fly up to the sky, see beyond the sky and go higher with the clouds, to see…
My father is going to Afghanistan with my brother. I like to go with them but my conditions don’t allow me. I want to go in order to find success. I want to try so hard, so much that I can see my way more clearly. I don’t know when my way would become clearer? I’m worried about going to Afghanistan and not being able to continue my education, because of the people’s gossip, because of the poverty because of…
If I go to Afghanistan, I don’t know if I would go to Kabul or Parvan… but I do know that the distance between Kabul and where we live, Chaikar, is not more than 40 minutes; The same distance as if to go to Abouzar Blvd. and come back; The same distance from home to the Cultural Center. Doesn’t matter; I can go to Kabul and come back to get on with my school if all goes right. My gut feeling tells me if I take my goal seriously, I would be able to go to school; then nobody would care where I go. I like to live far from my uncles and aunts in Afghanistan. As they say: Absence grows the heart fonder. The closer we lived to each other the less we visited one another; now we live only one block away but never see each other.
I’m afraid that I won’t marry if we went there. It’s out of my hands. My brothers won’t have a job there. I remember when we came to Iran we didn’t have anyone especial left- we did, but, I mean to say something else. If we go it’s not clear how…
Navideh Ahmadi, 14 years old, from Parvan
A Kid Has Lost Her Mom and…
I want to write, but what do I write about? Should I write about what’s behind a window? There is so much going on that I can’t write them all on this paper’s chest.
Behind the window, a kid has lost her mother and is looking for her with her sad eyes. A tall boy with big eyes carrying a shoe shines box and is calling out, Mr.! polish! polish!
Behind the window, there is a fat man who has drawn everybody’s attention to himself; everyone is saying, wow! How fat he is!
Behind the window, there are mountains which would die to defend their homeland. There is a shining sun. There is a girl in love.
Behind the window, there is a mother waiting for her son to get home so she can shower him with kisses. A child enters a drawing class, instead of teaching him how to draw, they throw him out.
Behind the window, there is a God who is waiting to meet with his creations. There is a prisoner waiting. There is a girl; she picks up enough of the birthday cake’s trash to win a prize. There are pigeons waiting for the children to go to their classes so they can peck the biscuit’s crumbs off the ground.
I can’t write all that there is in my heart. The class is over.
Navideh Ahmadi, 14 years old, from Parvan
I Don’t Know Why Bahram’s Eyes Are so Sad
I am very happy! Why? Because I was on time writing what I had to write. I don’t know what I’m writing about but I know I’m only writing my heart out. I miss Arezou’s eyes. The eyes that used to ask why we were happy or sad whenever we arrived at the Khaneye Koodak.* Now all of our classmates have become too proud. When we enter the class everyone has their head down, minding their own business as if nobody has entered. When they say hello back, it’s like they’ve been whipped a hundred times to confess something. I don’t care anymore. I only care about the stories I’m going to write; my goal.
I like to be on top of a cloud. I really feel sad these days, Bahram! I like to write to you about my sadness, form the bottom of my heart.
I don’t understand the meaning of the nights and the days anymore. I don’t know why the nights come or the days, the summer, the spring… they all come but my trying doesn’t get anywhere; trying for my life.
I don’t know when the answer will come, my heart is full of bloody pain, bloody, pain which is looking for a way to rush out of the veins, in search of a hole and a wound, but there isn’t any. Not a hole not a wound. My heart is waiting for a big wound to pump all the blood out, at once.
Bahram is sad.
I like for Bahram to tell me about his sadness which is showing in his eyes. I know how sad he is. I can’t look in his eyes too much. My heart is boiling. My heart aches for Nahid’s eyes too… the eyes which may be lost any minute; eyes which don’t glow anymore. I get so sad when I come to the khaneye koodak*. My heart becomes a crumpled piece of paper when I see them in pain. There is so much in my heart to write to you about. That’s all.
Navideh Ahmadi, 14 years old, from Parvan
*The Child House
Love Creates Lonesomeness
I step into the alley.
lonesomeness …
lonesomeness, I think to myself. I forgot what I was going to write in the sentence!
I like being alone. I wish I could be alone one day. Not alone of people. I am so glad that I have understood the meaning of being alone. I don’t think people could ever be alone because God is with them. I always thought that I was alone until the day before yesterday.
But I used to see the lonesomeness in a different way; I liked a loving lonesomeness. I see the lonesomeness as love. When a person in love walks in a narrow street by herself, little drops of rain come down on her hair. It is hard, yet joyful to be alone. People find themselves to be alone one way or another. I like to walk alone in the alley before sunrise. This is also a kind of loneliness. I love being alone in nature. I am afraid of being alone at night.
In my opinion, despite all of this, God has created everyone unique in the way they think, act and talk.
In loneliness, one can review her behavior. It’s beautiful to be alone if you understand it and suffer for it. Love creates lonesomeness.
At the end, I write again,
The mountains are together, yet alone
Like us, and the other loners.
Navideh Ahmadi 14 years old, from Parvan
Love of a Homeland Is Common
The merciful God is common to all humans.
Everyone worships God and prays to him. All humans live on the earth and under one sky. The sun, the stars, the moon, the clouds and rain, the snow, the storm, the earthquakes are common to all people. It all happens to all of us. People have conscience and take responsibility in most things they do. Everyone falls in love. Some fall in love with their country, some with their people, some with the innocent children, and some fall in love with the opposite sex. Falling in love is a common thing. Love children and torturing them at the same time is common. Wearing clothes is common to all. Everyone has hands, legs, eyes etc. Studying is common. Love of a homeland is common. Child labor is common. Everyone gets married. Bringing children into the world is common. Having a job…they are all common. Getting together, eating, drinking, taking things back to the store, buying and selling, going to parties and choosing a job—everybody chooses a job.
Arezou Mehr, 16 years old, from Kabul
He Fell Right There
In the name of God who gave people the ability to write their heart out on paper.
Behind the window, I see a mother and her kid. They skin and clean out walnuts together.
I see a mad man who shouts at every biker who passes by: hey ya motor man, how ya doin with ya wo-man. I see men who cuss each other’s mother and sisters, take out their knives, the police comes and takes them away.
Behind the window, I see an old man who fell and hit his head hard on the ground, while walking. He fell, right there. People gathered around him, everyone watching. He lay on the ground for hours. He got worse. The cops came and called others to take him to the hospital.
Behind the window, I see all kinds of people walking by. Behind the window, I see a white berry tree and a grapevine. The vine has grapes and the berry tree is full of leaves.
Arezou Mehr, 16 years old, from Kabul
I Don’t Even Love Myself
If you want the truth, I thought about the meaning of love, but I never got a good result. I once thought love was like kissing all the time, being together all the time, giving each other compliments all the time, and when one talks, the other should agree even if that’s wrong. Yes; I used to think like that, but then I thought to myself: love doesn’t have any special meaning.
Maybe people talk to each other or visit each other just because they need to. But then I said to myself that that is not right. It can’t be only for their needs. Maybe there is love. I still didn’t find a good result and wanted to ask what others thought about the meaning of love. I say that I love people but I can’t understand the meaning of loving. I don’t even love my mom and dad and sister or my brothers.
I don’t even know why I say that I love my father, but don’t feel it. The same goes for my mom. But I don’t know why I get sad when they argue. I get sad when one of them is sick. The same goes for my brothers and sisters. I don’t even love myself. Can you believe that I don’t even love myself? That’s right, they call me dear Arezou Mehr but I don’t even know why we use the word dear. I’ve never thought about this. I hate myself. Sometime I tell myself that I do love myself but what does it mean? How do I love myself? That’s right, I sometimes like some faces but when I think about it I don’t understand what the meaning of liking them is?
In the case of my teachers, I like them but I never understood why I like them either.
If you want to know the truth, I’ve been thinking about this all my life but never understood it, but I love the forests and mountains and plains and deserts and I understand why? Because the mountains are high, the forests and plains are green and give life. Well, I have thought a lot and got many different results which would be ten pages if I was to write them all down.
Done. The end of the words.
Arezou Mehr, 16 years old, from Kabul
My Dreams
I can’t easily fall asleep at night. When the night comes, I think to myself that what would I dream about tonight and I say to myself that I wish I dream a beautiful dream. I think about a thousand things before I fall asleep. Most times, I cry under my blanket. I cry about things that happen to me. Well, now it’s time to tell you about one of my dreams: I was talking to Zohreh and was so happy. Another time, I dreamed that I am fighting with her and was so upset that I was suddenly awake. Another time, we were going to Australia on a plain.
The firs time I dreamed about this, was like this: I, Sania, Samim and Beheshteh are going to get on the plain. I hang on to Beheshteh and we get on board. When the plain takes off, I get scared and we both fall down, then we land in a country that we don’t know anything about. The plain wants to get fuel. All passengers get out. Sania, Samim and Behesteh and I go walking around the city. I ask where is this place. We are walking when Sania suddenly says, the plain is leaving! We run; but it’s too late. The plain is gone. I was scared. I woke up and don’t know what happened next.
The other night, I dreamed that Sania and I and all of my family get on a plain and go there but I forget my things in Iran. We all came back to go and get them. My dad got real angry and yelled at us for leaving unprepared. I was so scared of him, I suddenly woke up.
All my dreams are about fighting and making up. For example, I always wake suddenly and scared when I dream about fighting with someone. but when I dream that I’m talking to them and somebody—who is usually my father, wakes me to go to school, I really get upset, so much that it is unthinkable, you can’t imagine how upset I get.
Well, I like some of my dreams. I always wanted to ride on a white horse and go through the lakes, mountains and jungles.
Arezoo Mehr, 16 years old, from Kabul
We Have Moved Many Times
In the house which I live there is my mom and my dad and me, we are five sisters and two brothers. In old times, we only had one room and the nine of us lived in that very small room. My uncle and his wife and his three children also lived in the same house but in a smaller room. There were many rooms in that big house, and each family had rented one room which everybody lived in. After that, we went to another house and rented a room which was a little larger and came with a kitchen in the basement. In that house, the landlord lived upstairs and his daughter in-law and his grandchildren lived in a room- in fact, two rooms next to each other -downstairs. It was hard in that house too but we survived. After that, we went to another house which had two rooms and a kitchen. We did our crafts in one and used the other one to rest and etc; and after that moved to another house which had three rooms, a bath, a kitchen and a yard. Next, we moved to another, which had three rooms, a big yard, a kitchen and two little gardens which had a Pomegranate tree and an Orange tree and a Rose bush. This was better. After that, we lived in a three story house. Three story house. Three rooms, a bath and…
To make it short, we moved many times and now we live in this flat and we’re happy but…
Arezou Mehr, 16 years old, from Kabul
The sound
the sound of wind in the mountain was high in the sky
the sound of spring leaves and beautiful flowers was high in the sky
the sound of water and the Goose,
the sound of departure
there it was, again
the sound of water on the hard stones of life
Parvin Abbasi, 15 years old, from Harat
Time to Say Goodbye
it’s time to say goodbye
the time of our separation has arrived as well
I’m sad that I’d be left alone with your memories
I wish you were here to walk in that alley with me
like always, walking barefoot by the creek
Parvin Abbasi, 15 years old, from Harat
If Love Ends
In my opinion, love is a kind of feeling. To love is something that people may truly believe. I don’t know why God has created love, but I know: if love ends one day, life ends one day! I have heard so much about love in the past few days, and thought about love. Love is a two way street. There is no good in one way loving. There is all kind of love. It may look like love is good for nothing but love is hard to find. I love Khaneye Koodak* group. I also love my country and don’t like to separate from either one of them. I wish I could have both.
Parvin Abbasi, 15 years old, from Harat
* The Child House
Who Is Beautiful?
Beauty is not the only thing in the human’s life. Beauty is not the only condition for being a human. We can’t say someone who is beautiful is a good person for sure. They may be beautiful on the outside but not on the inside. Why do we go after peoples’ beauty? Why don’t we look at their humanity? I wish God created all humans equal, then nobody would be jealous of another.
Who is really beautiful? In my opinion, a beautiful person is not someone who has all the beauty. That means beauty should show in one’s face and behavior. For example, a mother singing lullaby to her baby is really beautiful. There is beauty in everything; in humans, in animals even in plants. Like in a Parakeet feather, a Canary, and a Peacock, in the flowers like Roses and Maryams and Poppies. These are all true beauty.
Parvin Abbasi, 15 years old, from Harat
You, the Land which gave me a Home in Yourself
Hello, a hello as warm as the sun! Hello to a city that gave me a place to live and protected me from the evil of tanks and guns. I don’t know if I should hate the war or be thankful to it. Be happy to be sent to Iran again or sad. I have been in Iran since I have known myself. I am used to it now and feel at peace because I don’t hear the tanks that destroy the houses, when I sleep. I don’t see that anymore but I’m worried for my people. This was a letter from me to you, Iran!
Parvin Abbasi, 15 years old, from Harat
The Place I Want to Go To
The place I want to go to is Afghanistan. In the place I’m going to go to, I can see my childhood friends again. I may not be able to come back here again. Where I am going is the best place for me. Others may not think so but I do. Because I think, I still love to go back to it, even if it has been hit by the war. There may not be many things in where I want to go but I’m sure there will be kindness. I am happy and sad about where I want to go. I’m happy because I can find more friends and sad because I’ll separate from my best friends; plus, I would be separating from the teachers who spent so much time with us. Well, this kind of leaving is really hard especially because I may not be able to see them again.
Parvin Abbasi,15 years old, from Harat
The Snowy Mountain Which I Imagined
I like to lean on the mountains, when I look at them and talk my heart out to them. The mountains are people’s shelter. When I think about a mountain, I understand how big it is. To tell you the truth, I have made a mountain out of my life’s hardships for myself which no one can destroy. Well, mountains are also very hard and strong. Dear God! I thank you for the mountains because I can look at them when I feel sad. They comfort me when I look at them.
The mountains which give us life. Once, I imagined a snowy mountain like a pearl and the rocky mountains like shelters. To tell you the truth, I really love the mountains. I wish people’s heart could be as strong as the mountains because they get crushed easily when something bad happens to them. I wish for people to be like the mountains and never stop supporting each other. I have seen many mountains but none of them compares to the snowy one that I imagined. It’s covered with lots of beautiful snow which it calls me out to itself. I wish it could be mine forever. The snowy mountain is beautiful. There are also dirt mountains which humans are made of and one day will become one. It would be nice to always remember them.
Parvin Abbasi, 15 years old, from Harat
The Wind Blew, Stole My Paper
I was really lonely. I’m not lonely anymore because I have a good friend. I can talk to it, but that’s too bad that it can’t answer me. Still, I can talk to it heart to heart. Yes, it’s no one else but my notebook which I can write on its white chest. Today our Journalism teacher talked about love and falling in love. He told us we should think hard about this subject. Today is another day of my life. I’m not so sad or so happy because my mom and dad, also my little sister traveled to Afghanistan and I became lonely.
Well, today is the first day that I am separated from my parents. I went to Khanehye Koodak* today but nothing replaced my mom and dad.
Well, I haven’t heard from my parents and my little sister, Nazanin, for a few days. I don’t know where they are. To make it short, I went home as always and found my sister happy. What are you so happy about, I asked her. She said that our father had called. They will come back to Tehran soon. I was so happy I was jumping out of my skin.
The wind blew, stole my paper.
Parvin Abbassi, 15 years old, from Harat
* The Child House
I Feel like I’m in Afghanistan
The night means peace. They say a night is beautiful because of its two colors, especially because stars come out at night; they come out twinkling from behind the clouds. I don’t know what’s in the blackness of the night that calls me in. when I look at the darkness of a night I understand how joyful and beautiful the stars are. When I look at the night I feel like I’m in Afghanistan. I put my head on the ground; I watch the twinkling stars in the darkness. I don’t know why all is quiet at night. I love the silence of the night, I love the night, I love the night because we are safe from many things at night. We are safe from the evil. We deeply fall asleep and because we are sleeping we don’t lie or gossip. We don’t hurt anyone, we don’t sin. Therefore, we have peace, and there is no sin. I wish all of us were like this during the day without being asleep. How nice and lovely life could have been. When the summer comes, how pretty it would be to lie on the bed in the yard or on the roof and look at the sky. The twinkling stars are so beautiful; it reminds us of our sweet dreams. A person feels and sees the people she loves in the sky and thinks about a bright future.
Usually, the stars, the beauty and the peace remind me of God.
Parvin Abbasi, 15 years old, from Harat
Some People Who Don’t Have a Home, Live in the Street
We need the streets. They let us find our ways. Also, for cars and people to come and go, for things that happen to us. We need cars to take us to our destiny. There are many people in the street such as the shopkeepers, the peddlers, the backers, the grocery stores and many other people who work in the streets. There are also the voices of kids who don’t have any parents and they sell things in the street. I love to walk in the street at night. Some people who don’t have a home live in the street. People who do have homes should help so they can start a new and better life. We don’t know what happens in the street at night. I don’t know much more about this.
Zahra Jafari, 16 years old, from Harat
I Love My County, Iran too, Very Much
I would have loved to study but it didn’t happen. I love to continue my education. I love the Computer and Wood Engraving classes in Khaneye Koodak Shoush* but I don’t think I can continue. I know how to weave rugs. I want to continue that in Harat. I treat all my friends the same. I love them like my sisters. I also love the teachers. I love my country, Iran too; they are the same to me.
Zahra Jafari, 16 years old, from Harat
* Shoush Child House
Separation from Home
Today, Arezou was saying that she is afraid of being alone. But it’s not that scary to be alone. Maybe it is for some people. Parvin said she is sometimes scared of being alone but sometimes she likes it. Now, I think Arezou also was right. I think I’m not that alone because I have good friends and a good teacher and no one compares to Mr. Bahram. I have other good teachers too, let alone my family.
I am far, far from home. Being separated from your country is another hard hard loneliness.
Zahra Jafari , 15 years old, from Harat
For Hans Christian Anderson with Love
I like the sky
and its stars
the sky that is full of your tales
have you looked at it
in each star
there is a tale hiding
which you have written beautifully
The Ugly Duckling
The Nightingale
Thumbelina…
You wrote them all
by the way, there are some empty spots in the sky
with no stars
are you going to fill them?
don’t tell me you are not!
I know you will again,
light another star in the sky
because all the children in the world
are waiting for another one
Zohreh Zarifi, 16 years old, from Golbahar, Kapisa Province
Tell Me of My Homeland
you wrote to me
of the dirt roads of my homeland
you told of its mud houses
you sang with me of its mountains greatness
I write to you
of its children in migration
they are still wandering
away from their nests
tell me tell me more
tell me of my homeland
Zohreh Zarifi, 16 years old, from Golbahar, Kapisa Province
The Street Gives Life
the street means a leaf
a life
happiness
sadness
the street means fame
the street gives alleys
the street means freedom
the street gives life
the street gives love
Sania Mehr, 15 years old, from Kabul
It’s Hard Having Two Countries
it’s hard having two countries
so hard I could not imagine
I love both of my countries
I don’t know which to build my home in
what do you think?
Sania Mehr, 15 years old, from Kabul
To Think of Someone Who is Not
I like to stand by the window
and watch the dark street
watch people and cars drive by
I like to think of someone
someone who is not here
and should have been
instead, I see someone who is here
but should not have been
Sania Mehr, 15 years old, from Kabul
The Street
The street is like a home; A home which we live in. It has a memory for every person. You can walk in the streets and watch different people come and go and catch something from each face. There are stores to buy your needs at. Children are lost and found in the street. The street that takes peoples’ lives or sends them to the hospital. Walking down the street, everyone’s mind is occupied with something. You can walk in a street and write poetry. Some people find peace in the street. When someone is in a fight with another family member, she can walk in the street and think. The street has many accidents.
Sania Mehr, 15 years old, from Kabul
Together
love
is not a life together
it’s remembering
it’s thinking of the other
Sania Mehr, 15 years old, from Kabul
I Open the Window
There are many things behind a window; like sorrow, joy, love, people, animals, cities, and the birth of a kitten.
What happens if I open the window; a home, kindness, friends, fighting, making up, weddings, shops, and the city.
I open the windows to see the future. I open our window. I see the tree, the voices of kids playing, the shops, talking, house keeping, tailoring, the school, classes, the chapel.
I like the window when it opens up and the cool breeze circles in the house.
The singing birds; My good friends.
There are people behind the windows who know about peace and love. There are more things behind a window than we can imagine.
Fatemeh Khaksar, 13 years old, from Chaikar
I Like People Who Laugh
We could like whatever we want. I like my parents. Even animals like things as humans do. To like, is a sort of softness. I, for example, have a notebook that I like very much because my friends’ handwritings are in it. I like people who laugh; people who are happy. In my heart, all people are likable. I like some of my classes very much. I even like writing. I like the dictation class.
Fariba Khaleghi, 11 years old, from Takhar
They Would Never Have Learned How to Fly If They Were Not Free
I wish I was a bird; a bird which doesn’t know about grudge, hatred, borders. The borders that separate humans; The borders which cause the murder of innocent people. The ones who name borders are wicked because they bring distance to people. But these birds which always fly don’t ever think of borders. My passing through here is a crime. No, the birds never think of such a horrible thing. They would have never learned to fly if they weren’t free.
Maria Mehr, 17 years old, from Kabul
A Day for Me
There is a day that I would leave Iran. Like the day that we were coming to Iran and I was happy. Those days were good days. Because we were coming to Iran and I was going to feel comfortable here.
But now, the day that I would leave Iran is going to be my day…my day…my day…yes… my day. But I wish these days were like those days.
I wish I didn’t expect so much. I like to know a lot and have many things when I go back. I wish all of my people would long for learning instead of longing for positions or money but I still want to reach that day.
It’s OK, I will go. My day is the day that I see my country.
Of course, all days are my days but some days are special like the day I mentioned or the day that I can get my Translator license. My special days are many; let it go Bahram… let it go… let it go… let it go.
Maria Mehr, 17years old, from Kabul
A Home at the End of the World
Where I’ll go is a home at the end of the world; a home not too small not too big. Somewhere I can get some rest; if they let me be-- of course, a home with a cute little girl and a cute little boy, next to me. A home which I manage with the kind of love that never ends; where nobody feels left out. No.
Where I’ll go is very pretty. It has been born beautiful, will die beautiful, and will leave many beautiful things behind.
Today, it doesn’t matter where to go and not to go anymore; because I understand that it’s under my control. I make it as I wish; with the help of someone.
Where I go, where I will go there is no hatred or grudge. No war. I don’t know; maybe there will be but I don’t imagine it like that. And even if there was I will try to gradually get rid of it. But what about now?
My pride doesn’t let me… It doesn’t let me express the love I’m talking about, because others act selfish towards me. I will conquer my pride when I get there.
It’s not important to go to own country or to another place, I must strengthen my fate first. Then I ask where is this place that I’m going to go to?
It is clear where I will go at the end; To a very narrow and dark place but it may get a little larger and brighter later. God is kind and forgiving.
Maria Mehr, 17 years old, from Kabul
Lonesomeness
“In the Name of God”
Look Bahram! Yes; I like to be alone very much, but how? I like to have my room, my furniture and the rest of my belongings to myself and not shared. But I don’t want to be alone in a series of things which are done outside the home. I know I have said before that I want to be alone but it’s not possible when I think about it now.
Bahram, I think you have said all that needed to be said about loneliness. There is not much to say and I don’t want to keep repeating it.
Of course, when I’m alone, I can take care of my personal stuff better and without others getting in the way. I can focus and think better. I can go deep in my head.
Sometimes, when I stay away from my family, my mom asks: why are you running away from us. Especially when my dad comes back from work and sits in the room with me, I get up and go somewhere else. And then my mom says: she runs away from her father.
But it’s not true. It is because I’m not comfortable, in any way. For example, I can’t sit the way I like to and…
But I don’t like to be alone outside the home.
Maria Mehr, 17 years old, from Kabul
A True Beauty Is Always In the Heart
If a person is pretty on the outside, that doesn’t mean it’s a real beauty. A true beauty is always in the heart. Nature is beautiful. Beauty is not wearing make up, it’s being simple. It is the make up that everyone is trapped in, whether they want to or not. It’s hard to find people who look to the inside beauty instead of outside beauty. Even though Khaneye Koodak* doesn’t look pretty, but it really is beautiful. There are schools with painted and colorful walls and schick furniture but kids are not looked at equally in them; but no, not Khaneyeh Koodak; the prettiest place in Iran.
People should pay attention to the things that are borne beautiful not to the things which are made beautiful by hand. In any case, everyone likes beauty.
Maria Mehr, 17 years old, from Kabul
* The Child House
She Has Questions, Many Questions
Yes.
I see the round ball.
With all that there is on it.
Alive, dead, asleep, awake, good, bad, hungry, full, weak, care-free.
It goes without a question that people are not found alike and with complete understanding of each other, on this round ball.
There is a girl living in a small corner of this huge ball. A girl in love, seriously in love, she has dreams, many dreams. She has questions, many big questions, as big as this ball maybe or maybe not. She observes many people every day—big ones with thousands of problems and small ones who on the contrary, have no problems.
Is that true?
No, they’re in trouble too. Therefore we shouldn’t judge small people from their looks. Their eyes are small but their heart is big, their soul is big, their problems even bigger than the ones of big people. Sometimes they look innocent, sometimes very happy. But this girl mostly sees them at a small place on a small spot on this huge ball, which its name starts with K and ends with K.
She learns from them and becomes familiar with what goes on around her. But they only see life in eating, sleeping, working, taking abuse…
They don’t know how their rights are violated, they don’t think of freeing themselves.
They can’t put the wicked in their place. I really don’t think so.
Maybe, there will be a couple of these small people who would rise up and protect not only their own rights but the rights of the others, too. Tomorrow belongs to them. I wish I could fly high up in the sky. I wish I could compare other round balls to this one with its many different things. I wish I wasn’t a round ball. I like this round ball and all its problems in any case, because mine and other’s lives began with this ball and will end with it. But who knows what kind of traces it will leave behind?! Only one person knows the answer to this question. The one who’s name is engraved on my heart.
By the way… what do you think about these two titles?
The round ball and small people
The small people and the round ball
Maria Mehr, 17 years old, from Kabul
Hans Himself Was a Child Worker
On Monday, after we got out of school, we went to Khaneye Koodak* as usual. As we entered the Wood Engraving class, a couple of our peers said: congratulations! Congratulations! You have won and we want goodies. I, who already knew of the news, said: Arezou and Zohreh have won and why should we treat you to goodies? In fact we all had won. But I said that just to tease them. We all took pride in the award. We then, waited for our Journalism coach to come. We had a class at two like we did on all Mondays and we were supposed to go to the Iran Art Organization at 2:30-4:00. It was Hans Christian Anderson’s, the great Danish writer, 200th birthday celebration event. As a matter of fact, our award was related to this event. Our teacher came in and we had our class. The subject of our discussion this time was the spring and we had a lot to talk about that. After the class, Mr. Rahimi called on us and said: let’s go; the car is waiting. We then, got in the car and arrived at our destination. The place was full. There were many, maybe a thousand or more, some of them had won an award like we had. The reason for this crowd and award giving was his 200th birthday celebration like I mentioned in the beginning. The popular competition was arranged as part of honoring the great writer and many participated. There were adults and children from different schools and societies and… in fact, all the participants were well off, as they say, from the up-town or maybe they knew someone within the judges, maybe not! It’s not important. We were the only ones from the lower side. There were only six of us. This competition was for all. God knows why there was only six participating from the poor. I would have loved to see more of the street and working kids because Hans himself was a child worker.
Most of the names called up to receive an award had good economic and social status. It was the same in Hans’s time, like now that street and working children aren’t comfortably living, as these kids are. Maybe these kids will be famous after two hundred years as well; when they are not alive anymore. When Hans was alive nobody honored him as they do now. It is only now, after 200 years that he is honored as a great writer and his birthday is a celebration and awards are given in his name.
Instead of looking down at him as a poor, how nice would it have been if someone like Hans was celebrated when he was alive. Maybe his soul could have rested more at peace. Hans was also a working child as I said. Everything is for the ones up there. They have taken everything away from the ones down here. Their lives, their schools, these events, oh God! What kind of thank you prize do you have in mind for these suffering kids? Are you going to make them famous one day, like you did Hans or no, one or two of them only. In Hans’ time, he wasn’t the only working child. For sure there were many other children who worked. Only some get lucky.
Maria Mehr, 17 years old, from Kabul
I Don’t Know How Much I Love My Parents
Hello Bahram,
There is a series of things that I don’t like to write about; for example, this topic which you suggested. It’s because whenever I like something very much, I see a series of negatives in it, and then I can’t like it wholeheartedly. I don’t even know how much and in what ways I love my parents. The same goes for everyone else. I’m always thinking about what subject am I going to study but I can never decide.
In fact, I ask myself in my heart, what a person should be like for me to love him very much. I’m sure he can’t be found. There isn’t anyone and there won’t be. The same goes for things. Otherwise, I like many things; kids, freedom, security, my country, my family, Khaneye Koodak* and… I also like Maria; Even this person-- but not very much.
Maria Mehr, 17 years old, from Kabul
* The child House
The Roads of Kabul and Ghandehar
I’ve seen many streets. I’ve seen many things in the streets. But one was really scary. We almost walked 24 hours in this street on our way to Iran. It was exactly the distance between Kabul and Ghanehar. They were horrible streets. We had to go up and down a lot. Maybe it wasn’t a street but a plain with high and low hills which people chose to traffic on. Not all streets are the same.
This is a dirt street and lots of dust fills the air when cars drive by and it makes the passengers and the car and the people in the street, cough.
There are other streets which are beautiful. For example, a street that is asphalted by the city and cars can travel on it comfortably.
There are streets which are built up in the air.
It is beautiful to drive up to and walk on the streets which are in the air. You can see all the beautiful sceneries from up there.
The cars down here look small from the above. People are small too.
We see the top of the mountains still covered with snow. High rises are better shown.
We can see all the parks, waterfalls, trees and everything else from the above.
We can see many children selling gums, chocolate, horoscopes and so on. There are accidents in the street. There are some people who are stoned and slowly dying in a corner.
There are electricity polls in the streets. There are bridges over the streets.
Maria Mehr, 17 years old, from Kabul
Immigration
A window; behind a window there are all sorts of things. There are many things inside and outside a window. The inside is a little sad but not the outside. On the contrary, the outside is cool and beautiful. When we look at the window from the outside, we see all the personal stuff. Oh, I don’t know, like dishes, a television, the rug, the ceiling, the wall, the walls with many things hanging on them. For example, posters of actors, painting or framed family pictures or honorary awards that they have received. Light switches. Everything. Yes, as I said there is personal stuff inside which only the family members can use not the others. But not on the outside a window; it’s the other way around. Everything belongs to everyone. The alley; all sorts of people are traveling in the alley. We reach a street going through an alley. There are all sorts of houses with different looks and colors. There are green and refreshing trees. Sometimes we see many cars and bikes in the street and what doesn’t happen in a street! We see all these happenings when we look out the window form the upstairs. From a window, we can watch the blue sky and the burning sun and all the different shapes of cotton clouds… the birds flying high in the sky especially when they are immigrating. How beautiful! And at nights, we see the dark and the bright sky with the moon and all the stars shining up there. A person feels like she is twinkling in the middle of the twinkling and shining stars, herself. And the others are watching her.
Maria Mehr, 17 years old, from Kabul
The Home of Dreams
A home is a place to rest all the worries. You can find peace in a home. Maybe it’s not the same for everybody but it is peaceful for me. If there wasn’t for this home I would have wished for my death a thousand times each day; or maybe not. I miss my home and my family every time I am away for an hour or two; and I like to go back as soon as possible because I know there are not only one but a few people waiting for me. My home is a very nice home. It is a home of my dreams. I know my dreams will come true in this home.
Monireh Ahmadi, 17 years old, from Harat
The Right to Love
In my opinion, some people use love to fool and play with the others. In my opinion, everybody has a right to love. Then why some take this right a way from the others? It maybe because they don’t understand love and maybe they have never had a friend who they understood and cared for. I, like to love very much. When I go to places and meet someone, I like to become friends. For example, when I came to Khaneye Koodak- Shoush* the first day, I didn’t know anyone and I was really sad until I saw Maria. I was really happy when I saw her because I knew her from before. The days weren’t boring anymore because I found a good friend like Maria. I found a new friend every day until I met the teachers. I met a nice teacher every day. It was a very good feeling because I wasn’t feeling like a stranger anymore. Then, my family, after a series of problems decided to go back to my country. I was really happy and sad about this; happy, because I was going back to my country after a few years and sad, because I would be separated from my friends and teachers and especially from Khaneye Koodak. It is really hard for me to separate from my friends. And I don’t know how to bare it.
Monireh Ahmadi, 17 years old, from Harat
* Shoush Child House
Is This My life or Yours
I am a girl called Nahid and in the present, I live in Iran. I like to tell you what kind of girl I used to be and how I am now. I didn’t understand myself yesterday. I would get angry easily and scream a lot. I was in pain because I couldn’t understand life. I let anyone to tell me whatever they liked. I didn’t know anything except for crying. But today, when I came to the Journalism class I realized what life was about and what do we live for. I have changed now and can comfortably talk about my thoughts and try to be myself not what others want me to be. I always suffer from relative’s blow but have no permission to ask them if this is my life or yours. If it is mine, then let me decide for myself.
I love books. I love to read novels because novels describe loving lives. I hate people like Navideh who discourage you from love and loving. I like to be in love with someone or something. I was never encouraged by my family. My family thinks that I have to live an old fashioned life. But the way of life has changed now. What’s the use, they keep repeating themselves. I have decided to correct myself as much as possible and learn the meaning of loving and living. I love my parents. I want to be able to live as I have learned. I hate selfish people. I have many experiences form the past and I’m trying to change. I hate people who have no knowledge of their own culture. I want people to be honest. I want to never lie. And at the end, I love to spend one day of my life with the best man on the earth. I try to put smile on my face when I’m sad.
Nahid Ahmadi, 17 years old, from Parvan
There are Birds Which Sing When Feeling Sad
Standing by a window, I can see my future better and clearer. I want to see my life easier and happier and calmer. Behind a window I like to see the sky and people who are waiting to see my future. There are many important things behind a window which people should feel. Behind a window, there are birds which sing when they are sad. Behind a window, reminds me of my childhood. Days that I can’t see but I can imagine. When I look out the window I think about why we can’t know about the days ahead. But I’m sure that mighty God knows the answer better. When I look out the window I feel calm in my heart. A window means peace.
Nahid Ahmadi, 17 years old, from Parvan
I’m Afraid to be Alone
To be alone is only proper for God. It is God who is completely alone. Loneliness means defeat. The end. A person is alone only when she feels sadness and hopelessness. It’s good to be alone but not always. Most times a person needs a companion and can’t remain alone. I think that it’s good to be alone in due time. A person can think about many things when she is alone. It helps to think right. I like to be alone when I feel sad. While in crowd, a person may still feel lonely. I live in a crowded family but I still feel alone. I like being alone but am afraid of it. To be alone is not for people; it’s only for The Only Creator. It’s only God who is unique and doesn’t have a partner; and thinks about loners and takes care of them.
Nasrin Abbasi, 17 years old, from Harat
This Window Is Not Empty
Behind this window which we all think is a useless frame, behind this useless frame there is a world of lives and mysteries which we neither see nor feel. Behind this window there are children who work under the sunlight. Behind this window there is a world of sorrow and delight. A window means our lives which is full of ups and downs. This window is full of words which we have no idea about. Behind this window we see people who have it all, cars, mobile phones, and pay no attention to a child who is working and trying so hard. Behind this window we see women, whom their husbands are drug addicts, work so their children won’t starve. This window is not empty.
Nasrin Abbasi, 17 years old, from Harat
I Like My Home
All humans have a home and where ever they are, they wish to come back to it. They feel at peace in a home, even though it’s not a good and excellent home. A home is a place of safety. They can speak, walk, laugh and cry as they wish in their home.
The walls of a home keep secrets which no one knows about. Like the tears which fall down the cheeks on the pillow in the middle the night. Only a home hears and understands whose sadness it is that’s melting down. In fact, a home is alive and witnesses all of our pain and happiness. I like my home, although it changes every year. Still, all homes are familiar. The end.
Arezou Ahmadi, 16 years old, from Harat
I May Have Lost Somebody
The street is like a shop which anything can be found in it. The street is people’s road and each person goes their own way. I don’t know why every time I mention the name Road, I remember awaiting; a waiting which is not too pleasant. Maybe I’m waiting for somebody who I have lost. The street is full of different noise. The sound of cars, the voices of drivers and the voices of kids who shout, Gums! Cigarettes! and…
These voices are tired and angry. The crowds of the street make you think and ask yourself, what troubles these people have. Are they sad or happy? Do they have a dream? Every night, when I go to bed I think about the usual bus station and the man who I buy my ticket from, and think about whether I see him again. Do you know what the meaning of cars honking is? Do you know about the hardship of living in the street? When someone is feeling sad, she wishes that there was a road or a street to walk on-- to the end of it, and talk heart to heart. This is beautiful.
Arezou Ahmadi, 16 years old, from Harat
Sad Songs
Monday, was an excellent day. I enjoyed that man’s voice and guitar, although it reminded me of my grief and pain. Fortunately, whenever that man is sad he can play sad songs and break into tears. Life is like an instrument which is sometimes happy, sometimes sad. Well, that is life. I wish that the strings of the life’s guitar would break so everyone would break free from this world and from the living in it. Maybe what I’m saying is unfair but life plays and deceives human beings.
The end.
Arezou Ahmadi, 16 years old, from Harat
Loneliness
For who do I write and what for? For selfish people who only think of prestige, money, status, not living? You must always try hard, they say. I am sad that I can’t be as care-free as I was in my childhood. Why do we forget the beautiful world of children, and go to a world that has no pleasure; full of lies and hatred; a world with no end. Kid’s fighting is like lighting a match and could be put out with a blow but adult’s fighting is not like that. When they fight they create a volcano which a million kids can’t stop its eruption even if they blew at it all together.
The end… This was just to get rid of the loneliness.
Arezou Ahmadi, 16 years old, from Harat
Dandelion Caravan
Life is like a colorful wheel which turns to a single color each time it’s turned and this time is the color of leaving. The wheel of life is too heavy and it can’t be easily moved.
Should I smile for the days that we spent together or should I be sad. What awakes the memories, the classes and the beautiful days we had? What is the best sentence to wipe the sadness with? I miss you or I’m hoping to see you? Maybe both. I don’t think that the window of our friendship will be closed. I wish there is a caravan of Dandelions in Afghanistan to send you a Dandelion and get a letter back from you every day. I hope that we can be together again and organize a Journalism class and with you reading poems for us. The end, as always.
Arezoo Ahmadi, 16 years old, from Harat
Look at Me, Window!
Where is the end of the world? Where could we find love? Who knows the meaning of love? Who says to love is to have peace, then how come a lover doesn’t stay in one place? Do you know it’s because she is anxious? The door tells you to leave, the window tells you to watch, the life tells you to bare the hardship; forget me: life says. Think! So you can find peace, I say. I have gathered some wonderful experience these days. Especially, the talk of Ms. Esfahani was perfect. The end. This is to fill the end of the paper. The end.
Arezou Ahmadi 16 years old, from Harat
The Letters
Letter One
In the name of mighty God
For Khaneye Koodak*
Hello to Khanye Koodak’s teachers! I hope you are fine. A warm hello to all of my friends. I hope you are all doing fine. I miss all of you very much. I would love to close my eyes and be with you in a blink but that’s not possible. I cried so hard on Tuesday night. I felt so sad and liked to talk heart to heart with one of you.
I remember Mr. Rahimi said: are you Afghani or Irani? Well, I said: Afghani. Now I don’t say that anymore. I’m Irani. I’m Iranian, because all I can think of is you and Iran. I couldn’t find a way to forget my sadness. I wish I was in Mr. Rahimi classes and we were talking about loneliness. Please appreciate this class and respect Mr. Rahimi a lot. I hope you are happy wherever you are because I’m not. I don’t mean to say that it’s bad here. I can’t calm myself or my heart here.
Mr. Rahimi, how are you? Are you OK? Please spend more time with the kids and don’t yell too much. OK? Take care of yourself. Look out for Nasrin. I get in touch when I can. There is no news but it’s decided that I continue with my studies. One of these days I will follow up with that. OK, Monireh says hi. I hope to God that you think of me too. I look at the moon at night and think about you guys every night. I remember you and cry. OK, I think my letter got to be too long. God bless you.
* The child House
I received this letter in July 2005
Letter Two
First page
your absence is not a death
is not a life either
the flavor of love is separation
to be together, doesn’t have a meaning
a true love is a pearl hidden in a shell of regret
and has fallen in people’s hatred
Dear Nasrin, I have written these poems from my heart because I am very lonely, my mind has become a little creative. I will be OK, Goodbye…
Second page
In the name of mighty God
Arezou
I’m sitting next to a dried and dead tree
there is a breeze with a tiny voice
there is a strange silence
leaves’ rustling
is it you?
no, it’s not you! it’s some stranger
oh, God! I’m trembling, what if he tears up my letters, and my silence is broken forever
the noise is gone; I think it was the wind, the breeze I mentioned. Do you remember?
For you dear Nasrin and Zohreh and all of you, please tell them to write to me. Call me at the number that I gave you from morning to 12.00 Noon, it will make me glad. The end.
I received letter number two and the third letter at the end of August
Letter Three
First page
In the name of God who created you and me (Hope to see you)
Please forgive me for the bad handwriting, I was rushing
Hello dear Nasrin
How are you? I hope to see you soon. I miss you. I miss you very much. You had said to write to you about here. It’s wonderful. I’m not lonely anymore. I suffer from missing you and the kids.
Good news!
I received a work invitation from the Haraat Television. I was so happy. I don’t have time to write more because my aunt is leaving. Say hi to everyone. We don’t have to speak Irani here anymore. Nasrin, hurry up and come. All doors will be closed if you delay. Don’t tell me that I didn’t tell you!
Come as soon as possible. I will wait for you to go to school together. Starting next year, OK?
I love you very much, me dear.
Second Page
Arezou at your service!
Give my warm hellos to your dear family; I hope that they are fine. My hello especially to Ms. Karimi. I miss you all. Nasrin, dear! You won’t be able to plan your future if you delay your coming here. Believe me, it is a dreamy town. You can find peace here. Don’t think that I’m lying! We work in a company, also in a place like Khaneye Koodak* with a difference; the difference is that this is ours. We don’t have to suffer being a way from it. I love writing to you very much.
I don’t want your postal code anymore because I want you to come back, not for me but for your own future. Please don’t let it get too late. Goodbye. I love you.
Arezou Ahmad, 16 years old, from Haraat
Letter Four
In the name of God who is beautiful and likes beauty
Hello, dear Arezou… I will directly go to the notebook that I gave you to write anything you like in it and think of us. It is really important for me that you talk to it heart to heart whenever you miss talking to Mr. Rahimi or one of us. Go to the notebook and write your heart out. I do the same.
When I am alone and lonely, the only thing I go to is a notebook and a pen to write. I hope you do the same because I know you need it. Now, let me tell you about here.
I don’t exactly know when, but it’s decided that we also come back next year. Pray that it will happen soon. I am glad that I can see my other friends.
We’ve been going to this company to learn Language and Computer for the past a few days. I didn’t sign up for school this year because I had to go. Learning computer and language will help when we come back. Dear Arezou, we got all your letters. Mr. Rahimi I and the rest of the class were really happy and the subject of the class became a letter to Arezou.
Everybody wrote a letter to you. You mentioned that you wish I was there, well, we will also come back soon or later and I don’t disagree with the sentence you wrote… I read your poems. They were really good but you better work on them some more because I believe that you can write better than this. Say hello to dear flack Monireh! Hope to see you soon. God bless.
Zohreh Zarifi, 16 years old, Golbahar, Kapisa Province
This letter was sent to Arezou in Haraat from Khaneye Koodak, in AugustRelated Materials:
