Maryam Laly
My mother is a nurse. Growing up, she would tell me stories about her work and the women she met at the hospitals and homes where she worked. These stories were about fear, bravery, deep cultural flaws, and triumph. They gave me a deep sense of solidarity with the women of my country.
Recently I sat to interview my mother with the intention of writing one of her stories. I started by asking her about how she ended up going to school and became a nurse. Here is a part of her story in her own words:
I was born to poor illiterate parents. I was the eldest of seven children. It was hard for my parents to make ends meet. From a very young age, I wanted to be educated. I was lucky because my parents also knew the value of education so they were supportive. However, due to my family’s financial situation, as a young girl I started working at a public bathhouse alongside my mother.
One day at the public bathhouse, a woman came up to me and asked: “Do you go to school, little girl?”
“Yes. I go to school,” I said.
“You shouldn’t be working here. You should be studying,” she responded.
“I am here during my breaks.”
She went on to ask what I wanted to become when I am older. When I was a child, Afghanistan was a very different country from what it is now. Nurses wore caps and gowns and those uniforms really appealed to me as a young child. So without hesitation, I told her that I wanted to become a nurse.
The woman took my hand.
“My name is Raheela Mujtaba. I am the vice president of the nursing school at Mastoraad Hospital (now Maiwand Hospital) and I will make sure you go to nursing school,” she said.
I was in ninth grade then. When the time came, I took the Kankor exam (the national entrance exam for university) and I was accepted to nursing school. I went to study at Mastoraad Hospital’s school. Raheela helped pay for my educational costs for the three years that I was there. I graduated top of my class and I received my diploma from King Mohmmad Zahir Shah himself.
After graduation, I was assigned to the Operations Ward in Ali Abad Hospital. I worked there for 16 years. For more than 12 of those years, I was the head nurse.
Unfortunately, the civil war happened and the turmoil in the country increased. Many people were either escaping the country or disappearing. That is when I lost touch with Raheela.
I got married and I continued working for another year after my marriage. But the political situation and my own health caused me to ask for an early retirement plan.
Raheela’s support may have seemed very small then, but it changed my life. Because I had an education and a job, I was able to help my family financially. When the war broke out, I became a private in-house nurse and midwife in Mazar-e-Sharif, where we fled to during the civil war. When we were in dire situation as refugees in Pakistan and your father couldn’t find a job, I went back to my profession. I worked at the refugee clinic for four years. Then when we got to Kabul…
My mother paused. I knew this was hard for both of us to say.
“Yes, I remember,” I interrupted. My father passed away suddenly when we returned from Pakistan to Kabul. When he died so unexpectedly, we didn’t know how we would survive.
My mother’s courage and tenacity landed her a job with a private clinic in Kabul. She became the sole breadwinner of the family. She had the insurance to stay economically independent from our extended family. She worked hard day and night so that her three children could go to school and receive an education.
Towards the end of our conversation my mother shared an important lesson for her daughters:
You know that I always advocated for the girls in our family to go to school. I want them to get an education, which is of course crucial, but I also wanted them to study beyond high school and to have a profession. Because, as life has taught us, there are so many hurdles and unexpected problems. If you are economically dependent, you will have an even harder time. But with a profession, you can change that. You will not be economically dependent on anyone, even if you lose a husband or a father. You will have an insurance in their hand that can save you and your community.
In many ways, my mother’s degree was her life insurance. But it didn’t just help her, it helped her entire family, her community, and her country.
—
Read this piece in Persian here.