Nadia Anjuman Herawi (1980? – November 4, 2005) Afghan poet and journalist.
In 2005, while she was a student at Herat University, her first book of poetry was published. Gul-e-dodi (Dark Red Flower) became popular in Afghanistan and even in nearby Iran. On November 4 of that year, police officers found her body in her home. It was reported that she died as a result of injuries to her head. Her husband, Farid Ahmad Majid Mia confessed to beating her following an argument, but not to killing her. He stated she committed suicide. The Times Online had this article about this tragic event.
According to friends, Anjuman was seen as a disgrace to her family because of her poetry, which described the oppression of Afghan women. But her mother and close acquaintances insist she would never kill herself. During the Taliban regime, Anjuman and other female writers of the Herat literary circle studied banned writers such as Shakespeare and Dostoevsky. If caught, they risked being hanged.
Anjuman was survived by a six-month-old daughter. Other sources say a six-month-old son.
From The Middle East Times
Under the fundamentalist Taliban regime of 1996-2001 women were denied the right to education and could not even leave their homes without a male member of the family.
Women have been given more freedom since the Taliban were toppled in a US-led campaign in late 2001. But rights groups say that they are still mistreated by men, including through sexual and domestic violence.
Work by Nadia Anjuman:
From Strands of Steel
In this horrendous storm?
--
Do not question love as it is the inspiration of your pen
My loving words had in mind death
--
Even though I am the daughter of poem and songs
My poem was novice and broken
My autonomous twig did not recognize the hand of the gardener
--
I am caged in this corner
full of melancholy and sorrow ...
my wings are closed and I cannot fly ...
I am an Afghan woman and so must wail.
--
Ghazal 1
From this cup of my lips comes a song;
It captures my singing soul; my song.
--
Ghazal 2
There is no desire to speak again; whom to ask, what to say?
I, who was treated ill, what should I not read, what not to say?
--
Ghazal 3
It is night and these words come to me
By the call of my voice words come to me
--
~~~
I came across Nadia's story in a roundabout way -- On a morning newscast I heard of an organization called Little Women for Little Women in Afghanistan founded in 2006 in the Okanagan by a generous and compassionate nine-year-old girl, Alaina Podmorow. Her goal is to work with other young people to help young Afghan women.
This led me to Canadian Women for Women in Afghanistan a truly inspiring group committed to supporting the empowerment of Afghan women and girls
Knowing only what I heard on tv or read in newspapers about the dire predicament of women in Afghanistan I searched Google for women poets from that country. I believed there must be women there who had words flowing from their hearts, women who needed to express that which had so long been forbidden. I wanted to know that these women existed and that the world knew about them. This story about Nadia Anjuman's short, sad life was the first article the search provided.
Her story made me cry. It made me angry. Afghan women have suffered a life beyond my comprehension. To have no say. In anything. Their bodies controlled by men. Never, it seems, kind men. (Perhaps I'll search for a male Afghan poet. But that will be another day.) I can't imagine not being allowed to read Shakespeare. Or poetry. Or to write!
Nadia Anjuman, and others like her, are brave heroes to those who follow. They defied the brutal regime of the Taliban. And still they must fight on.
The saddest thing is that nowhere that I searched could I find the date of her birth. Every site and article gave the year as 1980 question mark
~full of melancholy and sorrow ...
my wings are closed and I cannot fly ...
I am an Afghan woman and so must wail.
--
Ghazal 1
From this cup of my lips comes a song;
It captures my singing soul; my song.
--
Ghazal 2
There is no desire to speak again; whom to ask, what to say?
I, who was treated ill, what should I not read, what not to say?
--
Ghazal 3
It is night and these words come to me
By the call of my voice words come to me
--
~~~
I came across Nadia's story in a roundabout way -- On a morning newscast I heard of an organization called Little Women for Little Women in Afghanistan founded in 2006 in the Okanagan by a generous and compassionate nine-year-old girl, Alaina Podmorow. Her goal is to work with other young people to help young Afghan women.
This led me to Canadian Women for Women in Afghanistan a truly inspiring group committed to supporting the empowerment of Afghan women and girls
Knowing only what I heard on tv or read in newspapers about the dire predicament of women in Afghanistan I searched Google for women poets from that country. I believed there must be women there who had words flowing from their hearts, women who needed to express that which had so long been forbidden. I wanted to know that these women existed and that the world knew about them. This story about Nadia Anjuman's short, sad life was the first article the search provided.
Her story made me cry. It made me angry. Afghan women have suffered a life beyond my comprehension. To have no say. In anything. Their bodies controlled by men. Never, it seems, kind men. (Perhaps I'll search for a male Afghan poet. But that will be another day.) I can't imagine not being allowed to read Shakespeare. Or poetry. Or to write!
Nadia Anjuman, and others like her, are brave heroes to those who follow. They defied the brutal regime of the Taliban. And still they must fight on.
The saddest thing is that nowhere that I searched could I find the date of her birth. Every site and article gave the year as 1980 question mark
To Nadia:
Even the brightest star will burn out and die;
Your words will live forever.
--Cat
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