Carefree recreation with neighborhood kids dominated Warda’s early years, as did evenings spent in her father’s joyful company, who would melodiously voice his poetry, popular folklore, and national songs.

Little Warda would exclaim, clapping her hands with excitement, “Yo zal bya, baba!” or “Once again, dad!”

Unaware of the nuances, she assumed that by cheering for her father, she could persuade him to continue his performance for a longer duration, thereby enabling her to enjoy his companionship for a few more moments.

“Enough! You, lazy bones,” chuckled Banou. “Fancy words are not going to get you through school or college or fill your tummies with a decent meal.”

“God willing, Mustafa will grow up to become a doctor, and you,” waving her finger to Warda, who sheepishly took refuge behind her father’s sofa, “will be a janitor in his hospital.”

“Now have your dinner and learn A, B, C and 1, 2, 3, instead,” she continued.

Warda grasped her father’s sleeve to urge him to retaliate on her behalf.

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“Your mother is the boss. We have to obey her orders.” Saifullah shrugged his shoulders and smiled at Warda. “Now let us wash our hands and have dinner as Commander Mummy dictates. We are her loyal subjects.”

Kabul was under the shadow of the Soviet invasion when Warda started school in the late 1970s. Her ten-minute ride to the school on a motorcycle with her father would become one of her most treasured memories. In his company, she felt confident and secure, braced up to take on the world.

On her way, she could identify the Soviet soldiers in their distinctive attire, and, unafraid, she would often frown at them as an act of defiance.

Saifullah could perceive the transformation of Kabul’s once spirited panorama into an uncomfortable locale of mistrust and uncertainty. Yet he decided to stay in the capital and continue his job to support his family.

The university would often shut down, unexpectedly, for variable durations, allowing him to teach his children at home.

Saifullah strongly supported his daughter’s unquenchable enthusiasm for literature and education, which she displayed from an early age.

Warda engrossed herself in learning amid all that was happening around her. Her father’s tutoring served as a solid foundation for her spiritual and mental amelioration.

She had no idea at the time how deeply his training would influence her perception of both her own identity and that of marginalized communities in society.

Studying late into the night, she would often envision herself teaching literature at the university, like her father.