Zaria is a 14-year-old girl from Bamyan in Afghanistan. Her family is poor and the ongoing war in her province, the drought and the opposition's massacre in this area earlier this year has further reduced their wealth. She is from the Hazara ethnic group. They are Mongolian looking people who have been traditionally persecuted.
Zaria was sent as a refugee to Pakistan. She worked in an Afghan carpet factory, making the intricate knots that increase the value of the merchandise. She and her co-labourers were given caffeine tablets to keep them awake throughout the night: thus their efficiency was increased.
Zaria and the other children are trapped in their sweat-shop existence, their mothers cannot work because of the strict social laws, their fathers and brothers are probably dead or too ill to work, courtesy of the war or, if that did not get them, the massacre probably did.
Someone needs to feed the family. At least the children can work and the family does not have to turn to the humiliation of begging or the horror of prostitution. There are probably 10 or more family members relying on Zaria's wage. She pulled her weight, kept her job and took the caffeine tablets. She kept going and did not complain too much when the heavy metal bar fell on her left shoulder.
Yes, the shoulder looked peculiar, it hurt, but marriage was a little way off and maybe time would stop it looking quite so deformed. Hopefully it wouldn't affect her prospects. The worse was yet to come. Zaria started to get sick, her knots weren't quite so neat, she was unable to keep up with the required output. The caffeine tablets weren't helping, but they needed the money. Eventually the fever was too much, her chest heaved with the laboured breathing, the pain was distorting her concentration, and the cough racked her body. Zaria was now useless to Pakistan.
She came back to her family who were now living east of Bamyan, near a village called Besud where there was an NGO clinic. She was so frail her family dared not move her. Eventually the illness was too much. Her elderly father put her on his back and carried her the three-hour walk to the clinic. She was diagnosed with a chest infection and given antibiotics.
However, the pills didn't seem to be working. Her father again put her on his back and undertook the long walk. This time the doctor suspected typhoid. He was concerned and the only investigations he had were his clinical skill and basic blood tests. Two days later she presented again, this time paralysed down her left side, she also complained of a headache. The doctor referred her to the nearest tuberculosis clinic, suspecting TB meningitis. The clinic was in the capital city of Kabul, a two-hour drive or a two-day walk.
When Zaria was seen in the clinic the doctor was shocked and saddened by her appearance. The left hemiplegia had ruined all her chances of marriage; she couldn't even get herself to the toilet. As the doctor examined Zaria, her body gave away her sad and horrifying history. The tip of her index finger looked as though it had been severed, the area that was intact was callused. The doctor could see exactly where the carpet fibres lay as she knotted furiously, holding onto her ability to feed her family. Her left shoulder was grossly deformed. Her skeletal appearance indicated her measly wages and maltreatment. She was severely malnourished; her immunity needed a serious food boost. No wonder she had contracted TB.
Zaria is now in the paediatric ward. Seven days of food and good quality of TB drugs have helped. However, her existence is still in jeopardy. The war continues; the racial hatred will always be there. Zaria has no home in which to convalesce; this week the opposition again took her home. She, and her family's struggle for life, is now further handicapped by her physical disability. In a country where you live one day to the next, you dare not hope for the future, but something in you cannot help doing so. At least eight months of TB treatment and food incentives can afford you some respite from the battle to survive.
I think Zaria is counting her daily blessings because this is a world that cares about the Bamyan stone Buddhas more than the Bamyan children.