“From what I have seen, the nominations that have been presented thus far have been of men who worked alongside the most sinister characters in our country’s recent history. The money in their pockets comes from drugs, from alliances with warlords and mercenaries. They have the blood of their fellow Afghans on their hands.
“And there are candidates who are family members, getting special treatment from those in the highest position.”
It was obvious she was talking about the president’s brother-in-law, who traveled between Kabul and other cities like Dubai, Paris, London and Islamabad, importing and exporting goods. He had built a successful trade business and a life of luxury for his family. But everyone knew his business didn’t account for all of his income.
“We must watch who we place in these official positions. They should be there for the right reasons, for the development and protection of our beloved Afghanistan. We have suffered enough in the hands of others in the last decades. Our people deserve to have right-minded individuals in power. I wonder, as do so many others, how it is that some of our nominees have been able to amass a fortune when our people go hungry. How is it that they are able to live lavishly when they are engaged in simple businesses? We all know the answer. We know that there are sources of money that are not talked of, that are not openly discussed. Bribes. Nepotism. Drugs. These practices will bring our country down.”
The room began to talk. Zamarud continued, louder.
“I will not stand for this. I will not approve the election of such people, brothers and cousins taking under the table what rightfully belongs to our country. Are we to sit here quietly and let them suck the blood of the Afghan people? Getting fat off of government money?”
“That’s enough!” one man called out. Others echoed after him.
“Shut her up.”
Zamarud went on, unfazed by their comments. She raised her voice over the protests.
“Every person in this room, every man and every woman, who would dare to approve these nominations will share the responsibility for keeping those lips greasy with the money that should go to the Afghan people, to the Afghan country. And for what? For a chance of fattening your own pockets! You know who you are. You come here and pretend to represent your provinces when really you represent nothing but your own pockets!”
“Who does this woman think she is?”
“I will not listen to this harlot babble on!”
The yelling became angrier. Hamida and Sufia, not far from Zamarud, had gone over and pulled her back to her seat. Sufia was talking to her, saying something in her ear, while Hamida put a hand over the microphone. We were close enough that we could still hear her.
“I will not be silenced! I have had enough of their nonsense! Which of you will speak up if I do not? Call me what you like but you know I speak the truth and it is you all that are damned for what you’re doing! It’s a sin! It’s a sin!”
Two men went to confront her directly. Fingers were pointed, just inches from her face. I felt my body tense with their aggression. I wanted to pull Zamarud back but I sat frozen, my eyes wide. I prayed for her to stop talking.
The room was on its feet. Arms were waving. A group of men had gathered in a corner of the auditorium, pointing in Zamarud’s direction and shaking their heads. Two other women had joined Hamida and Sufia in trying to restrain a belligerent Zamarud. Others were on their feet, watching the fray with interest or enjoyment.
I was nervous for her, as was every other woman in the room. I’d never seen a woman speak so boldly, so directly, and in a room full of men! Everything I’d ever seen in my life told me Zamarud wouldn’t make it out the door.
“This is bad,” Badriya muttered, keeping her head low. We had not stirred from our seats. “We can have no part in this, understand me? Just stay where you are. We’re going to leave just as soon as things calm down.”
I nodded. The last thing we wanted was for Abdul Khaliq to get word we’d been involved in a shouting match between the parliament’s most outspoken woman member and the group gathered by the door. They were men like my husband, older and with fearful constituencies back home. They were warlords.
Hamida walked over to us when things calmed.
“Unbelievable,” she said. “These people are wild!”
Badriya nodded politely, not wanting to weigh in with an opinion.
“I mean, she’s a bit bold, I’ll give them that. Actually, she’s a bulldozer. But she’s right. Especially about Qayoumi. He has friends in the Ministry of Defense and they fed him every contract that came through their office. As if he needs any more money. Have you seen his car? His house?”
“No, I haven’t,” I said, intrigued. Badriya was so silent around these women that I almost forgot she was there. It was completely unlike her but she tensed, fearful that Abdul Khaliq would hear about any idle chatter.
“Let me tell you, his house is one of the nicest houses in Kabul. He tore down an old, run-down home in Shahr-e-Naw and then built himself a two-story mansion! And you know how expensive that area is! No Afghan can buy anything there. All those properties go for at least half a million U.S. dollars. At least!”
Half a million U.S. dollars? My mind reeled at the staggering amount.
“Half a million…?”
“Yes, that’s right! He’ll do anything to get what he wants. Anything. He was a Taliban ally not too long ago and they pillaged one town, robbed the people of everything they had. Setting fires, lining up the men and killing them. By the time they finished with that town, whoever they left alive had only the clothes on their back. Sinful!”
“And they want to vote him in?” If this was common knowledge, why weren’t people more upset about him?
“Yes, they do. That’s how it is. For God’s sake, warlords make up at least a third of the parliament right now. Those people who led the rocket attacks, the bloodshed — they’re all sitting in this assembly room. Now they want to fix what they broke. It’s almost comical,” she said, shaking her head. “If I thought of it too much, I’d go crazy. Like Zamarud!”
Had I been anyone else, I might have been more surprised. But I was a wife of Abdul Khaliq, a man who inspired fear in every corner of our province. And I was sure I didn’t know a quarter of what he had done in the years of war. Actually, I still didn’t know what he did when he set out with his guards and his automatic weapons. Someone could nominate him for a post as well.
“What can you do? Our politics are full of people like that. But I can tell you, I won’t be approving the nomination of that corrupt butcher. Sufia’s talked to the other women. They’re going to be rejecting him as well.”
“If so many people are going to vote against his nomination, he won’t stand a chance, right?” I watched Badriya, her lips pulled down in a frown. I was asking too many questions.
“He stands a very good chance, actually. Warlords make agreements, alliances, to serve their own purposes.”
I wondered if Hamida knew who Abdul Khaliq was. I wasn’t sure how far his name had reached. Where we came from, he held a lot of power and he was trying to grow that. Badriya’s involvement in the parliament was a step in that direction.
“Hamida-jan, we’re going to get a cup of tea from the cafeteria, if you don’t mind,” Badriya said. The conversation had touched a nerve. Her voice was stiff. “Can I bring you anything?”
“No, I’m fine, thank you. Let me go see what Sufia is up to. The session will probably resume in another thirty minutes.”
In our hotel room that night, I asked Badriya about Zamarud’s allegations.