It’s not the kind of love call-in show you might expect. Everyone, including the host, “I will be with you until 9 p.m.You can call 456 to record your stories, or if you have access to the internet, you can post on our Facebook page — my colleague Yalda Jan will read it anonymously in her warm voice.”The Friday night I visited the Arman FM studio in the posh Wazir Akbar Khan neighborhood of Kabul, Ajmal was wearing a checkered shirt, its short sleeves rolled up further to reveal, on his right arm, a tattoo in a shape that is neither a scorpion nor a flame.In her 14th book, “An American Bride in Kabul” (Palgrave Macmillan) out early next month, she shares for the first time the story of the five months she spent, as a young bride, held prisoner in a Afghan household. I did not enter the kingdom as a diplomat, soldier, teacher, journalist or foreign aid worker.I came as a young Jewish bride of the son of one of the country’s wealthiest men. I am only 18 when my prince — a dark, older, handsome, westernized foreigner who had traveled abroad from his native home in Afghanistan — bedazzles me. We marry in a civil ceremony in Poughkeepsie with no family present.Suddenly, all the men drop to the floor on all fours, prostrating themselves. He explains that a group of workmen a quarter-mile away caught sight of a “naked woman” and could not concentrate on work. Because the sewage system consists of open irrigation ditches that are used as public bathrooms and for drinking water, I contract dysentery. She gives me prayer rugs and prayer beads and urges me to convert to Islam.examines many of the complicated issues facing young Afghan women.
Phyllis Chesler, 72, is a feminist scholar and a professor emerita of psychology and women’s studies at City University of New York. The young woman and her sweetheart are asked by a mullah if they understand what they are undertaking.Then begins the serious task of preparing the bride.He had three mobile phones — 68 unread text messages on one, eight on another — and two computer screens in front of him.A bright neon light on the blue ceiling lit the otherwise dark room. At the mic, he took a moment to do what he does every show: ask listeners who called in to talk naturally, in their normal, human voices, and not to do what everyone always seemed to, which is imitate, in monotone, monologues from the Bollywood movies we Afghans consume en masse.