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8 of 8 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Nobody Wins, May 9, 2001
"Stay away from Afghan women or we'll kill you." Underneath was a crude drawing of a knife with blood dripping from it. This note was delivered in spring last year to Deborah Ellis who was in Peshawar, researching her book The Breadwinner. This is the story of Parvana, an eleven year old girl, who, in order to save herself and herfamily, cuts her hair short and wears the clothes of her older brother, Hossain, killed by a land mine. Back in Toronto, Ellis paired up girls' schools in Ontario with girls' schools in the camps in Peshawar and Quetta. Funds were sent for building classrooms and establishing scholarships. In the spring and fall of 1998, Ellis visited Moscow. By this time she had begun researching the role of women in the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. She wanted to find out how this war, which lasted for 10 years, impacted on women from the time it started in 1979 until the present. Her book, Women of the Afghan War,published by Praeger, makes a connection between the women on both sides: the attacker and the attacked. But the most searing indictment of conditions in Afghanistan is her most recent book, The Breadwinner. Written for children and published by Groundwood Books, The Breadwinner evolved from Ellis's conversations with refugee Afghan women and girls. There is a connection between The Breadwinner and Ellis's first book Looking for X, set in Toronto and winner of the Governor General's Award, 2000. In both books strong girl characters work out how to survive in a difficult world. Ellis met the mother and sister of a girl in Kabul who cut off her hair, put on boy's clothes and sold things off a tray in the marketplace to support her family. "They told me a lot of girls were doing this," Ellis said. "Their fathers and brothers were killed or imprisoned, and they have to go out and earn money to support their families ." What she heard reminded Ellis of children's enormous capacity for acts of courage when they cannot rely on the adult world. "Out of the horror of war and oppression that has been Afghanistan for the last two decades rise the voices for girls who insist on saying, 'We're still alive. We're still human. Hear us.'" Parvana has lived for the past year and a half in one small room in Kabul with her father, mother, two sisters and baby brother. To cross this room on the third floor of a bombed out apartment building, Parvana takes ten steps one way and twelve steps the other way. The windows, in conformity with the decrees of the Taliban, are painted black - except for one window, small and high up, through which the sun's rays filter for a short period. Every day the women and children huddle together in this beam of light before it disappears. Formerly this family, highly educated, of old respected Afghan stock, lived comfortably in a big house with a courtyard. They had a car and a couple of servants. The bombs destroyed their home and they had moved several times since then, losing more of their belongings with each subsequent bombing. Ellis's achievement is that she has integrated within a suspenseful story the brutal conditions in Afghanistan. Every detail in her account of Parvana's family - to whom she does not give a last name, for even a fictional name can lead to terrible repercussions - is taken from first hand sources, and clandestine film footage smuggled out of Afghanistan. The privations of this particular family are true for millions of others, especially those who live in Kabul. But, for the women and girls, who are under what amounts to house arrest, it is harder. Household chores like getting water, cooking, and caring for younger children develop into strategies for keeping alive, for keeping up one's morale. It takes five pails of water to fill the metal drum, the family's water tank, housed in a miniscule alcove which also does duty as kitchen and lavatory. The hardship is not that there is no running water but that the women cannot fetch water from a communal tap outside. Restricted by their burquas, Parvana's mother and older sister, 17 year old Nooria, cannot negotiate the broken stairs, let alone lug a pail of water up them. The stairs were on the outside of the building, zigzagging back and forth on their way up. They had been damaged by the bomb, and didn't quite meet in places. Only some parts of the staircase had a railing... The streets, filled with potholes, are also hazardous. Women, covered from head to foot with mesh across their faces, often fall down and hurt themselves. Besides, going without a man is always dangerous. And for those who have lost limbs it's even worse: There were a lot of false legs for sale in the market now. Since the Taliban decreed that women must stay inside, many husbands took their wives' false legs away. "You're not going anywhere, so why do you need a leg?" they asked. Parvana's father, who is himself an amputee - he had lost the lower part of his leg during a bomb explosion - is hauled off to prison by the Taliban because he had spent time studying in England, and come back with "foreign" ideas. Reading matter, unrelated to the Qur'an, is subversive, and the Taliban, mostly illiterate, burn books they don't like. At first Parvana continues doing what her father, a history teacher, did: reading and writing letters in the market of Kabul for those who cannot read or write themselves - the majority of the population. Her university educated mother, who has been kicked out from her job as a writer at one of the radio stations, gives her things left over from the bombings to peddle at the market: dishes, bed linen, clothes. But the family is still short of money for rent, food and fuel. While Parvana is trying to figure out how to earn more, she meets a former school mate, Shawzia, who is working as a tea boy in the market. Shawzia tells her if they have trays of their own, they can follow the crowd instead of waiting for the crowd to come to them. That way they'll make more money. The two girls go bone-digging. They join the hordes of other children scrabbling in the churned-up earth
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