I was the same, wide-eyed and amazed, but in a different way. I had never seen so many cars and people in one place! It looked as if everyone who lived in Kabul owned a car. And store after store, the streets were lined with exotic wares and different foods. Bakeries, tailors, even a beauty salon! This was so different from home. I wished Shahla could be here to see it all with me. Or the boys. There were so many places we could have explored if we’d grown up here!
“Kabul is… Kabul is amazing!” I exclaimed.
Badriya seemed entertained by my reaction. “Of course it is! There’s a lot going on here. We won’t have time for me to point everything out to you.” I saw Maroof and Hassan in the front seat look at each other. It was unlikely Badriya had actually seen any of Kabul. She had complained to Jameela that the guards took her from her hotel to the parliament building and back. “We’re almost there. We’re going to be staying at a guesthouse run by some Europeans.”
Down a tree-lined street, a building came into view.
It had a gated entrance flanked by porticos with stone pillars, Through the main entrance, a wide path led to and encircled an imposing tower with a flag flapping from its summit. I craned my neck to get a good view.
That tower reaches the sky! I thought.
The palace’s façade was embellished with carvings and arches, dull and chipped, but it surely once looked very majestic. A woman walked past the front gate, her green-yellow head scarf pulled across her face, hiding everything below her nose and cascading down her shoulders. As we drove past, she turned slightly and looked directly at my tinted window, her eyes meeting mine as if she could see through it. This first glimpse of a Kabuli woman was exciting for me, a girl from a village.
“What’s that building?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“That’s Arg-e-Shahi, the presidential palace.”
“Bibi Shekiba…,” I whispered. I got a chill thinking of how my great-great-grandmother must have felt when she first saw those gates. And to think of what she had seen on the other side. As usual, Khala Shaima had left her story unfinished. The turn of events in her life was unpredictable. I wanted to know what became of her almost as much as I wanted to know what would become of me.
“God have mercy, what the hell are you mumbling about?”
Badriya’s question went unanswered. I stared at the palace, where my legacy began.
What happened to you here? I wondered.
Maroof turned left, then right and left again, weaving through the crowded streets and cursing every car in his path. There were tanks and soldiers in fatigues and helmets. They didn’t look Afghan. These were the foreign soldiers Badriya had told us about. Just like my husband’s guards, they had large guns hanging at their sides. Little boys stood in front of them, looking curious. The soldiers laughed and chatted casually.
“Are they American?” I asked Badriya.
“They’re from everywhere. Some are American, some European or whatever they are.” She pointed to a building coming up on our left. “We’re here,” she announced.
“Is this where you always stay?”
“Yes, it’s a nice place. You’ll see.”
Badriya was right. We pulled up to a metal gate on a small street, tucked away from the busy market.
Our driver rolled down his window when we pulled up to the blue-uniformed guard at the gate. He mentioned Abdul Khaliq’s name. I thought the men were shaking hands but I realized Hassan’s fingers held a folded stack of bills that the man slipped into his pocket.
I looked over at Badriya but she either hadn’t noticed the exchange or didn’t care.
Hassan opened the gate and our driver, Maroof, pulled into a circular drive that looped in front of the largest building I’d ever seen. It was three stories tall with rows of windows lined up like a hundred eyes. Two columns framed the glass, double-door entrance.
“And this is where the meetings are?”
“No, you fool. The parliament meets in the parliament building.” I was too excited to be annoyed with her condescending tone.
We were led into an elegant lobby with a reception desk. A man wearing a crisp dress shirt and slim pants was talking on the phone, but he nodded when he saw our driver and the other guard. He cradled the receiver and looked up at our guards. I stood behind Badriya, not wanting to make an inappropriate move. Three women walked in from outside dressed in fitted tunic tops and denim pants. Their head scarves were demurely tied under their chins but wisps of hair framed their faces and their delicately arched brows. Their shoes got my attention most. Black leather pumps broke the silence in the room.
Looking at their clothes, I was thankful the burqas hid our faded, baggy dresses. I felt suddenly unsophisticated and awkward. I tried to hide my feet behind Badriya. The women were busy talking and hardly noticed us.
The conversation between Abdul Khaliq’s bodyguards and the man at the reception desk went back and forth until finally there was another handshake. Another wad of bills slipped into the receptionist’s palm and from there was quickly tucked into his jacket pocket, while he made a quick glance around the room to make sure no one else was watching, not that anyone would have cared.
We were led to a room on the third floor with two single beds and a bathroom with a western toilet. The window looked out on the courtyard behind the hotel, a small stone area surrounded by flowering plants and shrubs. I saw a pigeon waddling in the shade of a tree.
Like the palace gardens where Bibi Shekiba used to stand guard, I thought.
“I can’t believe this is where you stay in Kabul! No wonder you like coming here so much!”
“Don’t get used to this,” she said, opening her duffel bag and pulling out a sweater.
“Why not?”
“Because we’ll be in an apartment soon. Abdul Khaliq is only using this place temporarily. He’s been looking to find a place in Kabul where we can stay with more privacy, only his guards outside.”
“Has he found a place yet?” I asked.
“How the hell should I know?” she replied. She sat on the bed and took her sandals off. Her heels were cracked and yellow. She rubbed one of her soles and sighed. “Look, Rahima, I know why you’re doing this. Don’t think I’m stupid.”
I looked at her but said nothing. I thought it best I let her explain.
“But as long as you help me with what I need to read and write for these meetings, then I don’t care much. Just don’t expect to see much of Kabul.”
Badriya was right. Our personal guards kept to themselves but were never more than twenty feet away. Most of the time they stayed in the small seating area on the third floor, just two doors away from our room. I hated knowing that Abdul Khaliq was keeping tabs on us at all times, but Jameela had told me about the threats against parliament members, especially the women, so there was something comforting about knowing Abdul Khaliq’s trusted bodyguards were watching over us in this new, busy town. I felt safer because of them.
Work started the following day. Our guards drove us to the parliament building in the morning. We wore our burqas until we got there. Badriya slipped hers off and instructed me to do the same. I looked over at the guards to see their reaction. They had turned away but watched peripherally while we entered a long and stately building with a row of columns before it.
People walked in and out, men and women who looked to be from all different regions. Some of the men were dressed in the flowing caftans and pants common to our village, their heads wrapped in turbans, one end cascading over a shoulder. But it was the women who made my jaw drop. Some were dressed as we were, in simple flowing calf-length dresses with loose pants underneath. But others wore button-down shirts and long flowing skirts. Some even wore jackets and slacks. They wore their colorful head scarves smartly. As we got nearer, I could see that a few women wore lipstick or rouge, while others had outlined their eyes with kohl. I wondered what their husbands thought of them walking uncovered, with painted faces.