The true history of Jamila, a young Afghan woman who paid for her love with death by stoning
Written for PeaceReporter by
Tommaso Merlo
No one in the village expected this to be one of those uncounted tragedies.
“She was a well-brought-up girl, from a good family.” Behista committed suicide,
silently throwing herself into the river that runs through Faizabad. Who knows
how many times she had crossed it, who knows how many times she had contemplated
it, before finally giving in? Twenty years of wearing the burka, of an arranged
marriage. Behista’s is the story of many young women who grow up in the mountains
of Afghanistan.
Love at last. The story of Jamila. It is ten o’clock at night and Jamila is banging on the door of Hamman’s house.
Young Mirwais opens the door and runs to call his father. “What is going on!
You, at this hour, in my house!” Jamila does not hesitate for an instant, but
blurts out her response: “I am in love with your son Asif and I want to divorce
my husband.” Overwhelmed by panic, the elderly Hamman almost collapses. He
orders his son to bring Jamila to her uncle Rauf’s house and not to let her escape.
Within minutes the disastrous news races from house to house. Jamila is isolated,
locked up, pondering her sad story: the marriage arranged without her consent,
the husband she never loved, who for three years has left her by herself while
he seeks his fortune abroad. And then the loneliness, the indifference of a society
deaf to her sorrow, the sacrifices made just to keep one’s head above water.
And then one day, finally, love. Finally, the right man. And the courageous
decision to see it through to the end.
Judgment of the mullah. At four a.m. the men of the community are already gathered in the mosque.
This is not the usual morning prayer: the mullah has hurried over from the city
just to be here. The atmosphere is charged with tension as witnesses recount
Jamila’s pitiable defiance. But there is no doubt about the outcome. Before
dawn the mullah has pronounced sentence: stoning for the adulterous woman and
fifty lashes for Asif, her lover. Two hundred participants sign the decree of
condemnation. Mysteriously, this decree will vanish into thin air and cannot
be found when investigators begin looking into the case.
The homicidal hands of her brothers. Jamila is still at her uncle Rauf’s house, and it is late afternoon by the
time her father and her two brothers arrive to carry out the sentence. Jamila
understands at once but does not react. She does not try to defend herself,
and silently accepts her tragic destiny. The autopsy will note gross hematomas
on her face, a swollen eye, and other signs of severe beating, although the cause
of death is strangulation. The doctors also report that Jamila had not had sexual
intercourse for years. The investigators from Kabul arrive only five days after
the homicide. But the case is so notorious that it easily breaks the code of
silence in this small village. Judgment is swift. Twenty years in prison for
the father, who tearfully swears that he never struck her. And the same sentence
for the two sons, who proudly boast that with the murder of their sister they
have avenged the family’s honor. Two-hundred-dollar fines for the signers of
the lost writ of condemnation. Freedom for the mullah who serenely returns to
the city from whence he came.
Risk death or commit suicide. The river that carried off Behista is the river of desperation that carries away
silent victims of love in Afghanistan. Few have the strength of Jamila. Few
have the courage to defy ancient traditions and test whether their own families
really have the capacity to murder a daughter after having already trampled her
feelings. But it has ever been thus. Silently, as if only death might give her
voice, and at least a little justice.