“Come here.” Landon gestured down a short corridor that was abuzz with medical personnel and patients trying to be seen, some of them begging and offering bribes. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Eyeing him, Alexander followed him down the narrow hallway, trying to swallow back the bile rising in his throat from the putrid stench. Hospitals always had a strange smell to them, but nothing like this. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that this was somewhere people went in order to receive medical care. The tile looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years, and he was pretty sure there was a combination of blood and feces smeared on the walls.
“As you can see,” Landon explained, leading Alexander through the crowded hallway, “most hospitals here are so poor, the only thing they can offer a patient is a bed and perhaps a staff member to check in on them once a day. If the patient has no family, there’s no one to pay for medications or food. They’re lucky if a worker can spare a minute to change their clothes or sheets.”
Alexander looked around at the cots in the halls, wondering if any of the people lying on them were still alive.
“I brought Fatima here after my unit found her a few weeks ago.”
“Fatima?” Alexander asked.
“That was before I knew how hospitals worked,” Landon continued, ignoring Alexander’s question. “I thought she’d be taken care of, protected…until I stopped by a few days ago and found her lying in a pool of her own waste. She could have been dead.” He paused, swallowing hard, then looked at Alexander. “Please understand. I’m not blaming the doctors or nurses. That’s just the way things are here. The staff is doing everything they possibly can with the limited resources available to them. In this culture, the family unit is the one expected to nurture and take care of each other. As long as the family unit is intact, the system works. But when the patriarch of your family wants you dead—”
“Wait… What do you mean?” Alexander interrupted, giving Landon a questioning look. He had a feeling he knew what his friend was talking about. He had spent enough time here to know that some antiquated traditions still existed, despite their government’s efforts to paint their culture in a positive light.
“This is what I mean,” he replied, pulling back a simple white curtain, revealing a face Alexander imagined was beautiful at one time. Now it was marred with scars, wounds covered in bandages, fresh blood leaking through. He couldn’t imagine one’s own family abandoning someone in such a state.
“Why?” he asked in disbelief, his voice almost a whisper. He had no idea how this woman could still be alive, although it appeared as if she were holding on by a thread.
“Why has no one come?” Landon replied passionately. “Why would someone do something like this to their own flesh and blood?”
Alexander nodded, swallowing hard.
“Because, according to her family, she’s an adulterer. She’s brought dishonor to her family, and the only way to bring it back is by—”
“Killing her,” Alexander finished.
“Most of the residents of the village we found her in refused to talk. However, I was able to piece together her story from a handful of people who shared what they knew. About two months ago, she arrived with a man. I assume it’s the man whose decapitated body was found next to her. Apparently, just a few days before we found her, two older men came looking for her. The story the villagers were given was that it was her father and her husband. They estimated both men to be in their seventies. This girl probably isn’t more than twenty, yet she was married to a man in his seventies?” He raised his eyebrows.
“So you think she ran away from an arranged marriage?”
“I’m pretty sure.” Landon shrugged. “All I know with certainty is these two men, one of whom claimed to be her father, tied her to a chair and pelted her with rocks and stones for God knows how long. The only reason she’s alive right now is because they probably thought she was dead. It was by pure luck we ran across their two bodies.”
“And the man she was with?”
“Was hardly a man. He was probably only eighteen himself. He was stabbed repeatedly, then beheaded. The scarring on his wrists and legs led us to believe he was restrained and forced to watch them torture Fatima first.”
He grabbed her lifeless hand in his, squeezing it. “She’s just one of who knows how many girls. The doctors say she was lucky to have survived such an attack.” He looked at Alexander, his eyes bold, a storm raging within. “Lucky,” he emphasized, then looked away, his vision focused solely on the bruised and scarred body lying on the small cot. “Most girls don’t walk away from this kind of attack. The government usually doesn’t get involved, either, especially in the more rural Pashtun areas.”
“Why not?”
“From what the staff here has told me, many of the local officials choose to honor the Pashtunwali, an ancient tribal code prevalent in these areas. Advocates have worked tirelessly to overturn such an antiquated system, but it still exists, probably because there have been little to no repercussions to those who violate the law by adhering to this tribal code. A man can kill his daughter for bringing dishonor on the family and be lauded a hero, not arrested as a monster.”
He swung his eyes to Alexander. “Many of these girls have no option but to stay in an arranged and abusive marriage. If they run, they fear they’ll be killed by the very people who should protect them. They have no one to turn to. Some brave women do decide to run, even though they know death will more than likely be their punishment if they’re found. They’d rather die than live another day subjected to sexual and physical abuse.”
Alexander swallowed hard, listening to Landon’s impassioned tale. He had seen some of the horrors of the world. He knew this sort of thing happened. Still, he couldn’t understand what would cause anyone to act in such a way, especially to their own family. He had a daughter whom he loved more than life itself. He would do everything in his power to protect her and keep her safe from harm, including laying his own life on the line. The idea that a father would intentionally harm, maim, and even kill his daughter because she may have acted in a way he didn’t approve of was beyond him. Yes, this was a different culture, but certain social mores should transcend cultural and ethnic lines, including ensuring the safety of your loved ones.
Staring at the bloody bandages, Alexander gripped the side of the cot. “What can I do?” he asked, heat building in him the longer he stared at the bruised and beaten woman.
Landon turned to him. “For starters, you can help get Fatima transferred to a hospital in Kabul where she’ll receive around the clock medical care. I tried to arrange it on my own, but my military salary doesn’t exactly leave my bank account overflowing with zeros.”