Plot Summary
The Underground Girls of Kabul
Jenny Nordberg
The Underground Girls of Kabul
Nonfiction | Book | Adult | Published in 2014
Plot Summary
The Underground Girls of Kabul (2014), a nonfiction book by Swedish investigative journalist Jenny Nordberg, expands on the 2010 article she published in The New York Times and The International Herald Review. The Underground Girls of Kabul is the only original nonfiction work about the lives and experiences of bacha posh (a Farsi/Dari term that literally translates to “dressed up like a boy”), young Afghan girls who disguise themselves as boys, serving as honorary “sons” for their families and accepted as such by the community until puberty. Nordberg characterizes the tradition of bacha posh as a kind of underground resistance by women and girls to the patriarchal norms of present-day society in Afghanistan.
There are no apparent economic, educational, or geographic commonalities among the families that choose to participate in the bacha posh custom. Families may need a son for any number of reasons: to serve as a source of income, to help ensure the children’s safety while walking to and from school, or simply because not having a son reflects badly on the family. According to a professor of religious law at Kabul University whom Nordberg interviews, the tradition likely has its roots in Zoroastrian religious beliefs, which were dominant during the days of the Persian Empire. Zoroastrians, when not enough boys were being born, would resort to “magic” in hopes that more pregnancies would result in the birth of sons. In a way, this idea persists today, as many of the women Nordberg interviews express a superstitious belief that having a bacha posh in the family can increase the chances of having a real son.
Nordberg speaks to a number of women who are or have been bacha posh or who have/have had bacha posh in their family. She first discovers the tradition of disguising daughters as sons while interviewing a female member of parliament in Afghanistan for another story she’s working on. Azita’s “son” Mehran, born Mahnoush, dresses as a boy and is allowed the same freedoms a male child would have in Afghan society. Azita, a former bacha posh herself, decided to disguise Mahnoush as Mehran because she had only daughters; in order to be respected as a wife, and therefore, to be successful as a politician, she had to show that she was able to produce a son. This turned out to be a successful strategy: by the time Nordberg speaks with her, her career has taken off. While the practice is not entirely common, it is so uncontroversial that even those who are aware that Mehran is not a natal male respect Azita as if she were the mother of a son. When Nordberg speaks with Mehran’s teachers at school, they tell her that Mehran does not appear to be confused by her situation. She is aware she is a girl, but she has adjusted well to her new life and always introduces herself as a boy.
Upon entering puberty, bacha posh are expected to resume living as young women. In addition to the fear that older girls will no longer be able to successfully pass as boys, there is some concern that if a bacha posh continues to exist in male spaces her close contact with young men will render her ineligible for marriage. This transition is not always easy for young women who have lived all or most of their lives with certain freedoms that are now being taken away. Nordberg meets Zahra, a former bacha posh, now a teenager who resists her parents attempts to force her to live as a girl again. Zahra continues dressing as a boy, keeping her hair short, and attempts to provide support to other struggling bacha posh in regular taekwondo sessions. Nordberg also shares the story of Shukria, who successfully lived as a man for twenty years before being forced to marry. After she gave birth to three children, Shukria’s husband left her for another woman; she blames herself for not being “female” enough to be a proper wife. Shukria is now a medical student, training to be a doctor so that she can support her children on her own. Lastly, Nordberg speaks to Shahed and Nader, adults who continue to live as men; they pray together as they each keep a potentially dangerous secret. Shahed is a soldier with the Afghan Special Forces.
The Underground Girls of Kabul has been translated into more than ten languages and received the J. Anthony Lukas Book Prize in 2015. In the book, Nordberg is critical of experimental foreign aid projects dedicated to women and girls in war-torn Afghanistan that have failed to effect measurable change on their lives. She believes that the bacha posh tradition is a subversive attempt on the part of Afghan women and girls to create space for themselves in a male-dominated society. Emily Schneider, writing for Foreign Policy Magazine, questions this conclusion in her review of the book. While Schneider acknowledges that women who participated in the bacha posh custom often develop a more confident or rebellious nature than those who were raised as girls, she contends that the practice is not a rebellion against the strict, patriarchal society of Afghanistan, but a method for coping with it.
There are no apparent economic, educational, or geographic commonalities among the families that choose to participate in the bacha posh custom. Families may need a son for any number of reasons: to serve as a source of income, to help ensure the children’s safety while walking to and from school, or simply because not having a son reflects badly on the family. According to a professor of religious law at Kabul University whom Nordberg interviews, the tradition likely has its roots in Zoroastrian religious beliefs, which were dominant during the days of the Persian Empire. Zoroastrians, when not enough boys were being born, would resort to “magic” in hopes that more pregnancies would result in the birth of sons. In a way, this idea persists today, as many of the women Nordberg interviews express a superstitious belief that having a bacha posh in the family can increase the chances of having a real son.
Nordberg speaks to a number of women who are or have been bacha posh or who have/have had bacha posh in their family. She first discovers the tradition of disguising daughters as sons while interviewing a female member of parliament in Afghanistan for another story she’s working on. Azita’s “son” Mehran, born Mahnoush, dresses as a boy and is allowed the same freedoms a male child would have in Afghan society. Azita, a former bacha posh herself, decided to disguise Mahnoush as Mehran because she had only daughters; in order to be respected as a wife, and therefore, to be successful as a politician, she had to show that she was able to produce a son. This turned out to be a successful strategy: by the time Nordberg speaks with her, her career has taken off. While the practice is not entirely common, it is so uncontroversial that even those who are aware that Mehran is not a natal male respect Azita as if she were the mother of a son. When Nordberg speaks with Mehran’s teachers at school, they tell her that Mehran does not appear to be confused by her situation. She is aware she is a girl, but she has adjusted well to her new life and always introduces herself as a boy.
Upon entering puberty, bacha posh are expected to resume living as young women. In addition to the fear that older girls will no longer be able to successfully pass as boys, there is some concern that if a bacha posh continues to exist in male spaces her close contact with young men will render her ineligible for marriage. This transition is not always easy for young women who have lived all or most of their lives with certain freedoms that are now being taken away. Nordberg meets Zahra, a former bacha posh, now a teenager who resists her parents attempts to force her to live as a girl again. Zahra continues dressing as a boy, keeping her hair short, and attempts to provide support to other struggling bacha posh in regular taekwondo sessions. Nordberg also shares the story of Shukria, who successfully lived as a man for twenty years before being forced to marry. After she gave birth to three children, Shukria’s husband left her for another woman; she blames herself for not being “female” enough to be a proper wife. Shukria is now a medical student, training to be a doctor so that she can support her children on her own. Lastly, Nordberg speaks to Shahed and Nader, adults who continue to live as men; they pray together as they each keep a potentially dangerous secret. Shahed is a soldier with the Afghan Special Forces.
The Underground Girls of Kabul has been translated into more than ten languages and received the J. Anthony Lukas Book Prize in 2015. In the book, Nordberg is critical of experimental foreign aid projects dedicated to women and girls in war-torn Afghanistan that have failed to effect measurable change on their lives. She believes that the bacha posh tradition is a subversive attempt on the part of Afghan women and girls to create space for themselves in a male-dominated society. Emily Schneider, writing for Foreign Policy Magazine, questions this conclusion in her review of the book. While Schneider acknowledges that women who participated in the bacha posh custom often develop a more confident or rebellious nature than those who were raised as girls, she contends that the practice is not a rebellion against the strict, patriarchal society of Afghanistan, but a method for coping with it.