On November 2, 1972, Saad Najwa was born in Herati, a small town forgotten by wind and history on the edge of the Arabian Peninsula. Her first cry did not bring joy to this traditional family that valued boys over girls. Instead, it was like an ominous prophecy, starting her silent and bumpy life.
In the purdah courtyard surrounded by high walls in Herati, Saad's childhood was wrapped in the smell of spices and turbans, and was also bound by strict dogma. She was gifted and intelligent, and secretly learned to read from her brother. Books were the only crack through which she could glimpse the outside world. However, when she was ten years old, her elders said, "A woman's shadow cannot be seen by outsiders", which completely locked her under the black robe and extinguished the flame of seeking knowledge that had just been ignited in her heart.
At the age of twelve, for the benefit of the family, she was betrothed to a businessman who was thirty years older than her. Like a beautifully packaged piece of goods, she was moved from her father's courtyard to her husband's prison. Her youth withered before it bloomed, and she aged prematurely under the weight of endless housework, her husband's indifference and childbearing. She gave birth to six children, but could only watch two of them die in her arms due to poverty and disease. People only comforted her: "This is God's will."
When the smoke of war swept across this ancient land, her husband died in artillery fire and her home was reduced to rubble. In order to survive, she was forced to cross the desert with her surviving children and became a refugee in troubled times. She used her hands to dig for food in the ruins, and she also knelt in the dust of the refugee camp, exchanging a pot of bitter tea for a little dry food to sustain her life.
Just when everyone thought she would be completely swallowed by the quicksand of fate, this traditional woman who was forbidden to even go out alone had a steely will in her heart. In the second half of her life, she stood up from the embers of war and, in an almost miraculous way, lit a lamp called "Hope" for the forgotten girls like her in Herati.
Intention: Different place