Read Online Born Under a Million Shadows by Andrea Busfield - Free Book Online Page B

the dump that wafted bad smells and disease across Massoud Circle. Without a word, I watched him unhook the can from the waist of his trousers, give it one last look, then throw it as far into the heap as his thin arms could manage. As we stood side by side, our eyes followed the can as it bounced off the top of an old gas bottle before disappearing into the fleshy mess of rotten food and waste.
    I glanced over at Spandi and saw his lips move with no sound. Suddenly, he turned to me and asked, “You know who your girlfriend’s boyfriend is, don’t you?”
    “She’s not my girlfriend.” I laughed, pushing him hard in the stomach, the spell of the ceremony now broken.
    “Whatever you say,” Spandi said, pushing me back. “Your
friend’s
boyfriend, then.”
    “If you are referring to Haji Khalid Khan, then yes, I do know who he is.”
    “Who?” Spandi challenged.
    “He’s a businessman from Jalalabad. He imports diesel and ghee oil from Pakistan and Toyota car parts from Japan.”
    “Of course he does.” Spandi laughed, slapping me on the back. “For God’s sake, Fawad! It’s Haji Khan!
The
HajiKhan—the scourge of the Taliban, the son of one of Afghanistan’s most famous mujahideen, and now one of the country’s biggest drug dealers. He’s Haji Khan, Fawad! I recognized him the moment I saw him. And he’s drinking tea at your house and sleeping with your girlfriend!”

5
    A FGHANISTAN IS FAMOUS for two things: fighting and growing poppies. And despite the best efforts of the international community to put a stop to both, we seem to be better than ever at these two occupations.
    After the Taliban fled in 2001, the air was filled with talk about “democracy,” and within a couple of years everyone had the right to vote; women were allowed in Parliament; laws were written to protect the innocent; girls were allowed back in school; and all the wrongs done by our past leaders were apparently put right. But in the middle of all the excitement, everyone seemed to forget that Afghanistan already had a set of rules, a justice system going back thousands of years that was as much a part of our lives as the Hindu Kush mountains, and even though it was generally agreed that “democracy” was a good thing, the fact remained that if a man committed murder, then he was going to get it. Some blood feuds have gone on for generations in Afghanistan, with families carrying out so many killings nobody knows who started them anymore.
    And even though the government has ordered everyone to give up their weapons for the greater good of the country, no one seems to be in a hurry to do so because things change so fast here. Therefore, the big men in the north and the west still fight over territory and power; army commanders in the east continue to shoot at Pakistanis who creep onto our soil uninvited; the Taliban fight goes on in the south againstAfghans and foreigners; and in the streets the adults beat boys, the boys beat smaller boys, and everyone beats donkeys and dogs.
    Meanwhile, the opium crops continue to grow, and grow, and grow, and the newspapers say that this year there was a record harvest, making Afghanistan the biggest opium producer in the world. Although my mother says everyone should work to be the best at something, I don’t think she has this in mind when she says it. I think she means math or religious studies.
    And though I don’t know much, I do know that fighting is bad because people die, they lose body parts, and it makes the women cry; and I know it’s wrong to grow poppies because the West says it is and therefore so does President Karzai. So I don’t think I’m being childish or selfish when I say that Haji Khalid Khan, or Haji Khan as I now know him to be, is probably not the right man for an Englishwoman in Kabul who combs goats for a living, having, as he does, a history of violence and opium money in his pocket.
    Although how I should convince Georgie of this is anyone’s guess. As my