In Herat

It's 11:26pm, Nov. 9th.
Time does fly. It flies when you are busy not just when you are having fun.
Though I've had plenty of that too.
My trip to England was lovely. The Nguyens are great to hang out with, Quan made me laugh a lot
and Maria made me reflect a lot, it was a great combination.
Time went so fast. Before I knew it it was over....And then....

Then came India. And nine women put together on an educational journey. Six afghan business women with artisanal small businesses, 1 young Afghan woman, staff of the design center, then Jaya, a young Indian textile designer and me, the Honduran, Vietnamese and now Afghan student of life.
If there was ever bonding then we were it.
We travelled in New Delhi, then Rajasthan: Udaipur and Pokharan.
We visited social businesses making handmade products, specially textiles.
We heard story after story of how each business began, their struggles, how they finally reached the market, how they
developed standarized systems of production, how they have grown, and where they are now.
It was amazing, at times overload. We visited about 9 of such businesses. Each one unique in kind of product and location yet all united in the same theme: QUALITY GOODS.
Then came the evenings. It all started innocently. Me dropping by Nasreen and Baknazira's room to have some tea, chat a bit, have a laugh. But Hanifa was there and then came Soraia. We got to talking, I got to asking.
I knew the women who'd come on the trip a bit, but I had never really asked about their lives.

And then they opened the door to their lives. And I walked in.
And I took a look, and I saw what they showed me.
It happened on a night just like this, at a time just like now. Late evening.
We were just talking. First Hanifa talked of her marriage.
Of how it came to be. An older man, her family married her off.
She never learned to love him. He beat her, mistreated her, all her days, up until now.
She told her life with an expressionless stare. I asked her, "Do you love him?"
And without any thought and with an immediate reply she said, "Ne."
It was just the beginning. It was the first night.
She left after a while.
Then I started asking Soraia about her life.
She was a widow, married a 2nd time she said.
Then I had to ask, "What happened to your first husband?"
She spoke, resigned, just matter of fact.
He was an educated man. She loved him. He was a good son.
One day he was taken away, and the second day he was in pieces, thrown on the grown in front of her house.
In the same week his other two brothers were killed. Within days, her sisters-in-law and herself were three widows and the mother-in-law was just that, in-law, mother no more.
I couldn't help crying, I sobbed. Soraia maintained composure, a few tears fell on her cheeks as she kept talking.
She was eager to tell, she went on telling me more.
Her husbands friends helped her get her three children out of the country, they sent them to schools in Russia.
So within the blink of an eye lid she was a mother-less widow, left all alone.
After five years she remarried, she was lonely she says.
She also went to jail. The Taliban put her there for having gone with a male neighbor and not a male family member which was the law for women. But she got herself out, she didn't become one of the many thrown in by mistake but overlooked and left for years in there.
She spoke like a lion. She is a fearless woman.
When I told her I saw her as a lion, she said, what was I to be afraid of? Everything had been taken from me.
And so on and so on and so on.
Not one of the seven Afghan women I travelled with left without letting me walk into their lives.
We have come back, and our time in India is over.
But the most amazing part is they either forgot to close the door or purposely left it open for me to come in whenever I want.
So I do.
We have continued to meet. We are getting ready for a holiday market, we are eager to sell. I sure hope all of it sells.
They so deserve it. They have worked hard.
Today I am in Herat. I flew here two days ago. I came to follow up on the samples being made for Holiday Market.
The embroidery is superb. I am amazed.
Being in Herat gives me a break, to stop, think, write, analyze.
But I can't wait to get back to them.
They left the door open, and I want to go back inside. I want to continue learning from them.
I leave you for now with the biggest lesson they have given me: Don't become a survivor when suffering breaks you in half, LIVE LIVES TO THE FULLEST!
Afghan women do so every day, so why on earth do you and I not learn to do the same?