“Aliah,” I answer honestly.“She’s worried about her friend.”In a fit of inspiration, I remember the photo of Aliah and SaberaI have on my phone.I cross to the young woman, holding out the image as proof of my good intentions.
The woman studies it.She’s about the same age as Sabera, I realize.And also has a small child.Maybe they’re friends?
I stay silent, will the woman to come to me.Finally, she pulls her gaze from the photo and studies me instead.
“Isaad received a package yesterday morning.He asked me to watch Zahra for a bit, possibly overnight.Then he left.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“No.”
“But he hasn’t returned yet?”
“I expect he will show up sometime this evening.Isaad is Isaad.He is brilliant with all numbers, except those on a clock.”
This is interesting.“Have you watched Zahra before?”
The woman shrugs, shifting the drooling toddler on her hip.“Childcare is expensive and Zahra is close in age to my oldest.So yes, we help each other when we can.”
“I’m Frankie Elkin,” I volunteer.“Your name?”
“Nageenah.”She tilts her head toward her hip ornament.“Hasan.”Who looks to be a little over a year, as he gnaws furiously on his knuckles.
“According to Aliah,” I venture, “Sabera has been missing for around three weeks.Have you heard from her at all?”
Nageenah shakes her head.
“She hasn’t dropped in even briefly to grab clothing, personal possessions?”
Another shake of her head.
“Don’t you find that odd?”I press.“That she would suddenly take off and leave her daughter behind?”
“She is a good mother.She would do what is best for her child.”
Interesting answer.What had Ashley the housing coordinatorsaid about depression, PTSD leading some parents to think their children would be better off without them?
“How did she seem the last time you saw her?”I try.
A delicate shrug.“She was tired.Zahra had had a cold, keeping them up all night.”
“Is Isaad an attentive father?”
“Isaad is Isaad.”
I really gotta meet this man.For now, I switch gears.“You’re from Afghanistan?Your English is excellent.”
“My father is Tajik; they have more liberal views on education and women’s roles in society.He ensured all four of his daughters attended university, even if many thought it foolish.”
I regard her curiously.“What did you do in Afghanistan?”
“I worked in the government, for the Ministry of Women’s Affairs.We focused on legislation to improve women’s rights.We created the first anti-harassment laws.I was very proud of that.”
Her tone is matter-of-fact, her expression unchanging.But I can feel the hard edge of her grief.All that work, dedication, hope.All that love for a country that disappeared nearly overnight.I’m impressed she remains standing on her own two feet.I would be curled in a ball, still screaming at the injustice of it all.
“Did you know Sabera when you lived in Kabul?”I ask now.“I understand she attended college there as well.”
“No, but Kabul is a major city.It would be like asking you if you saw my cousin that one time you went to New York.I met Sabera when her family arrived here two months ago.It’s nice to have another young family as neighbors.I helped connect her to the Afghan society, recommended the best local restaurants, things such as this.The mountains here are good; they make Tucson feel more like home.But it’s very hot here and… Kabul is Kabul, a city that has existed for over three thousand years…”
