Zaraf Shan is a career policewoman, mother of six and the senior female officer at Kabul’s new Prison/Detention Centre. At 42 she is slim, attractive and well groomed; no hijab covers her glossy chestnut hair and in terms of both running a tight ship and presenting a modern image, she literally ‘wears the trousers’.
Any lingering fears that this relatively new jail will conjure up images of ‘Midnight Express’, or even Kabul’s own notorious Pul e Charkhi Prison (described as “a slaughterhouse” during the period of Russian occupation) are soon dispelled as Zaraf introduces us to what can only be described as a model detention centre.
The new facility was handed over by the UN Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC), to the Afghan Ministry of Justice, in January 2008. As Zaraf show us around it seems that there are no ‘no-go’ areas; cell doors are open or ajar but still she knocks briefly before entering. The rooms are large, lined with bunk beds and bright soft furnishings; they are en suite, have televisions and as we speak to the women, young children play at their feet.
Zaraf’s own children provide a bond with the women many of whom hardly qualify as criminals by UK standards. Most are Afghan but 32-year-old Numthip is from Thailand. “You must speak to this sister,” urges Zaraf, putting a friendly arm around Numthip’s shoulders,” she speaks some English.” How are things here, I ask? “Much better than Bangkok I think!” grins Numthip.
Other women have been incarcerated for leaving their abusive husbands – one very elderly lady admits to murder. The ‘victim’ was her husband.
“Sister” is not a word usually used in Afghanistan about women who have fallen from grace, but we hear it again and again in the prison. After declining offers of tea from the inmates I return to Zaraf’s office where she starts to look at her watch; it is weekend and she wants to get home to her family.
Female prison guards in Kabul are drawn from the ranks of the ANP (Afghan National Police) in which Zaraf has served for 18 years. Her husband is also a police officer and she never wanted to be anything else. “From childhood” she repeats to make the point, “it was my dream. It is a very hard job for a woman, but my family support me and so I don’t feel the problems so much. I love police work and if you want to do something very much you never get tired of it.”
Trading her police uniform for a burqa during the Taliban era was the hardest thing she has ever done. “ I wasn’t sure if I would ever be a policewoman again; we were almost without hope. I will always remember after they left seeing thousands of people on the streets again. I thought, ‘What’s going on here?’ and I cried with happiness under my burqa.”
Today Zaraf is responsible for 15 staff managing security in the women’s prison, patrolling, looking after administrative issues and looking for ways to make things better. Four doctors are attached to the prison and the women have access to advice on birth control, female health, STDs and hygiene training.
She has lived through turbulent times; I wonder what her hopes are for her own daughters? She is emphatic: “I want her to be anything that she wants to be. I know how upset I would have been if I could not have been a policewoman. Freedom is the important thing.”
ENDS