“And you went through something like this?”I ask Aliah, who appears closer to fifty than twenty.
“I went through something like this twenty-five years ago, the first time Kabul fell to the Taliban.”
Her tone is hard.I don’t blame her.“So how did you get to know Sabera?”
“There are local agencies that greet all arriving refugees and help them settle into their new lives.I’m a volunteer with one such agency here in Tucson.In particular, I try to assist with fellow Afghans.In this case, I prepared the Ahmadi family’s apartment for their arrival—stocked it with tea, basic spices, halal meats, yogurt, that sort of thing.Enough to see them through the first week, while they’re having to learn everything all at once.”
“Are they also in this complex?”I gesture outside to the U-shaped collection of yellow-painted stucco buildings bordered by pretty blooming flowers and odd-shaped cacti.
“Oh, no.”Aliah shakes her head.“There’s money for assistance, but it only lasts a few months.Most refugees start out in a far different level of housing.I got my first apartment because the last tenant was murdered in it.”
My eyes widen.“And the police are still certain nothing bad happened to your friend?I mean, given what you’re saying about where she was living…”
“The police aren’t certain of anything.They would have to genuinely consider Sabera’s disappearance to reach such a conclusion, and so far, they can’t be bothered.”
“Why?”
“All refugees must immediately get a job.Money is important, yes?”
I nod.
“The resettlement agencies help with job placement, too.They have connections with employers who are open to hiring more refugees—for example, they have had success with Afghan housekeepers in the past, so are willing to hire more.Plus it’s convenient to have their workforce living close together and speaking the same language.Means a large resort or construction company can send a single shuttle to round up all its workers in the morning.”
I nod again, having witnessed such things in other cities.
“Sabera got a job in housekeeping at a big hotel.After the first week, the police went there to ask questions.Her fellow chambermaids reported that Sabera told them she was leaving her husband.She wanted a divorce.For the officers, that was good enough.”
“But you don’t believe it.”
A slight shrug.“It happens.Trauma, hardship, stress is very hard on marriages.Couples get here, where suddenly everything is new, they are new… It happens.But there’s no good reason for Sabera to leave her daughter behind.”
“Or she’s waiting to come back for her daughter when she has a place to stay.Could she afford an apartment on her own, given what you’re saying about limited funds?”
“It would be very difficult.Certainly, if that was her plan, she’d need to continue to work.”
“Except she hasn’t returned to work?”
“No.”
“Or her family?”
“No.”
I’m beginning to see Aliah’s point.“What does her husband say?”
Aliah’s lips thin into a hard line of disapproval.“He says he’s sure she’ll be back shortly.”
“She’ll be back shortly?Like what, she went out for a walk?And the cops accept this?”
Another sniff of disdain, which is answer enough.
“Has she reached out to you?”I ask.
“No.”
“Would she?If she needed help, had decided to leave her husband, would she contact you?”
A slight pause.“I would hope so.I’m divorced.She knows that.”
