Inventory of Being - A Breadwinner Perspective

The Breadwinner, written by Deborah Ellis is a novel about an Afghan child living in a war torn land.
Please read the Inventory of Being poems composed by the grade five and six students in the first person voice of a character from Deborah Ellis' novel.

Aadel an Inventory of a Being

I am Aadel

I am 35 years old

I speak fluent Pashto

and am good at Dari

At my peak I am 216 meters tall

I have brown eyes

my hair is black

I have a long beard

as our rule states

I had one brother

but he was killed

I was orphaned at an early age

I had a wife but she is now gone

she was the love of my life and now I`m bitter and sour

I am a guard at the prison

and am treated with hatred and respect

I am part Islamic

but believe that women should have limited rights

I am a Talib

people see me as cruel and harsh

but they do not understand the Talib ways

people think I have a heart of stone but I am really soft at heart

I detest music

and believe in Talib rules

and no pictures

help our culture

I am Aadel

and this is 1999

　

Ali: An Inventory of Being       By Alex P.

I am Ali.

I am about 2 years old.

At my fullest height, I’m about 62 cm tall.

I have dark brown eyes and dark brown hair too.

I am the youngest of four children.

It used to be five, but my older brother died in war.

I loved to draw and scribble before the Taliban took over.

I live in Afghanistan, the country of war.

I don’t like the rain because it makes too much noise.

I believe in God but the Church blew up 3 months ago.

I’ve been called a cry baby, but I’m two years old!

Of course I’m a cry baby!

My sister Parvana pretends to be a boy and gets food for us.

I would like to move out of Afghanistan but I’m only two.

Freedom.

Some people think it won’t happen. I think it will.

I am Ali and this is 2001.

AN INVENTORY OF BEING by Alex G
I am Parvana’s dad

I have dirt brown hair
and eyes like
pebbles.

I was educated
and taught.
As an English student
I was happy.
When I went back
to Afghanistan.
All was good.
I was married and I had kids.
Then war broke
over the glistening city of Kabul.
First the Americans and British.
Now the Taliban.
They bombed my school.
Blinding ashes.
They blew my leg up in the bombing.
I had a fake leg.
It worked good.
One day a man wanted to buy the leg.
He gave me a good price
I couldn’t resist.
The Taliban finally came
and took me to jail.
They hit and tortured me.
Wanted to know about my education.
It is dark and damp in the jail.
There are rats and mice.
The rats are everywhere.
Finally the Taliban release me.
After all the tortuous months
I am free.

Though I am still sick
I am happy.
I am Parvana’s dad

My Name is Homa   by Katie

My name is Homa.

I am young at heart, but aged by the horrors of war.

I am no different than the next Afghan woman, same hair and eyes, at least, to me.

I had a brother, a mother, a father. I had a family.

A family whom I loved.

Yet I witnessed their deaths.

But I'm not alone, I have a story too similar to so many others.

My brother and father were taken into the streets and shot, by the Talibs.

At least, I think they were shot by them.

It was really the first time I've seen the Taliban

My mother was shot, too.

My mother was shot for caring.

I hid.

I ran and ran and ran when I left

Never stopping for their bodies.

That still haunts me.

I climbed into the nearest space that hid me from the streets,

which was a single car, headed for I now know is called Kabul.

I hid again.

This time in a ravaged building, fit for a coward like me.

I didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, I simply cried.

But I did notice how torn this place was compared to my former home.

Then knew that I was a coward,

a little girl who couldn’t face the Taliban who murdered my family, and many others.

But I also knew that I wasn’t a coward, I was the girl to take off her burqu,

just to feel sunshine on her.

The girl to slip of her shoes to feel the grass on my feet,

to sneak out at night to buy treats.

The girl who played innocent to the war I knew so much about.

I believe that the more you deny things, the better chance they’ll go away.

I haven’t stopped pretending for ten years.

I want to see the world,

from America to Europe,

to see how everyone else lives,

to see if they have any idea what’s going on here.

In my years, I have only experienced very little of the war.

and even a small amount is enough to last a lifetime.

I love art and beauty,

but in these past few weeks,

it seems scarce.

I guess watering flowers doesn't seem important anymore.

The most beautiful thing I can remember is a sunset,

composed of deep scarlets and a pale blush,

with accents of orange and gold.

This against a sea of wild flowers,

of poppies and daisies and tulips.

A true Afghan sunset, framed by the Hindukush mountains.

It was beautiful, nothing like the sunset here.

Everything here is so different.

The buildings differ from bronze, from beige, and from a warm orange.

Sometimes the odd yellow.

Its a mess here of proper buildings, make-shift buildings and former buildings.

But its kind of nice, once to get used to it.

I’m not entirely happy now,

but I feel so much better.

I have a warm place to sleep,

and food on a table.

Its so nice to feel welcomed.

My name is Homa,

and, unfortunately, it’s 2012.

An Inventory of Being
My name is Qari.
I’m four decades old.
I’m part of a feared group,
A group they call the Talibs.
I’m hated, loved, feared and controlled all over.
I respect the Laws of the Taliban
and I will continue being a strong and proud Talib.
I have also have a soft side of me.
I’m a father, husband, son and brother.
I have a family,
though not many are left.
There was once a time
where I played in a field as a boy
and later on brought my son there.
I laughed, flew kites and even read books of many tales.
That was the time where none of these actions were illegal.
However, that was the past not the future.
I’ve shot, hung, executed, and arrested Muslims.
I’ve taken people from their homes and families to be beaten.
I’ve punished people for breaking the Sharia Law.
I’ve felt guilt, sorrow, sadness, happiness and accomplishment.
I’ll admit that I’ve felt regret.
At first, I wanted peace
which is why I joined the forces .
Later on, we became aggressive,
power-hungry and our innocent plan became more and more violent.
We took over most of southern Afghanistan.
Our journey included Kabul, Kandahar, Pakistan and Kuzdar.
All of my friends are Taliban,
they brag and boast of how many people they’ve shot, arrested and beaten.
I don’t join their conversations anymore; I can’t bear the guilt of killing.
However, I will live and maybe one day this war will end.
My name is Qari and I am a Taliban soldier.

Maryam an Inventory of Being  by Desiree

My name is Maryam

I'm 5 years old

I live in Kabul, Afghanistan

I have chocolaty hair and brownie eyes

I had not been outside in a year and a half

The Taliban had banned girls to go to school.

I miss my friends and I don’t think it’s fair to be stuck inside

After my dad got kidnapped by the Taliban, my sister Parvana had to go to work

In order to, she had to dress up as a boy and cut her hair

She looks funny

After a while, Parvana took me outside with my sister Nooria

I felt the warm sunshine pouring onto my face

I soaked it all up as I hadn’t for a very long time

I went to the water tap and the luscious, cool water showered me

That became our daily routine

My mom and Mrs. Weera

Made a secret school that I went to along with other girls my age

Then Nooria got engaged, whatever that means

I get to go to the wedding with everyone

Parvana is staying home

The wedding will be over soon

Except that the Taliban have taken over again

We will live in camps for a while 

When I get home, I’ll be reunited with my family

 I can’t wait for the day, if it ever comes

I’m Maryam

And this is Kabul, 2003

The Garden Man 

By Austin

Old, Crippled, Weak.

But I wasn’t always like this.

Before it was perfect.

When the sun set with the colour of marmalade

and everyone was grinning.

I, had a garden.

It was big and beautiful.

Equipped with the finest colours under the sun.

My plants were famous in Kabul.

Everyone knew me as “The Garden Man”.

Eventually that plot of land became my life.

I started to sell my creations in the town of Kabul.

Then one day I caught sight of another person like me.

She was selling flowers too!

Her ebony locks splashed into her colourful appearance.

I walked up to her, and we smiled. I think she had the same idea as me because before I realised it we were selling our flowers together and eventually, we sold our lives to each other.

Our plants grew together, and so did we.

Until…

Kabul got bombed and my wife died along with my meaning.

All was hopeless.

Many years passed and I became too old to garden.

Then there was one day that changed my life once again.

 I was out for a walk in the shops when I had a spotted a young boy planting my favourite flower.

The black eyed Susan.

They are my favourite because they appear to look like my wife in a sun dress.

I stumble over to the young lad and gingerly crouch down.

I start to assist him and we plant it together.

This brings back memories of,

The Garden Man.

Hani Pajub: An inventory of Being

My name is Hani Pajub.
I am a father of three daughters and a son.
The names of my children are,
Parvana, Nooria, Merriam, and Ali.
I have only one leg.
I had a prosthetic one but I sold it.
My family and I live in Afghanistan.
It is a very poor country, and is ruled by the Taliban.
I had a son. He was killed
when he stepped on a
landmine during the bombing.

My favorite food is Kebabs.
They are hard to afford
and I only eat them on special occasions.
They are like cooked meat on a long stick.
They are usually served with naan.
I enjoy sitting with my family,
drinking tea and talking about life.
It is very hard to enjoy things when you are constantly agonized
over what future is waiting for your children.

My wife wanted to publish a magazine.
Her dream never came true.

In Afghanistan publishing is not allowed.
Everyone in my family tries to work as much as they can to
help the family.
Not many people can though because most of us are girls and women.
The Taliban does not allow women to have the same rights as men.
Some of the laws against women are:
Forced to wear a burqua (a clothing only with eyes uncovered),
Not allowed to go outside without a man,
Not allowed to go to school,
Not allowed to work in any occupation,
Not allowed to play sports,
Not allowed to attend public gatherings,
Not allowed to talk (if not necessary)

My family used to be rich and live in
a huge apartment with a TV and everything,
we were bombed every day and had to move into this small one-room apartment.
I have been arrested for attending a university in England and put in jail.
I was beaten and tortured in jail.

My younger daughter Parvana works in the market
to get enough money to support our family.
She has to dress like a boy.
Women aren’t allowed to go outside without a man
Every day I agonize over the fact that the Taliban fanatics might
find out that Parvana is a girl.

I still believe that there are still kind people like the
two men who brought me back home.

Right now our life is not going well
but if we all try we can stop this

·         and live our lives like any other people.

I am Hani Pajub and this is 2012