Haft Mewa (Seven Fruits)

 

In Afghanistan, a symbolic compote of dried fruits and nuts known as haft mewa, which means "seven fruits," is traditionally prepared on Nowruz. The following seven dried fruits and nuts: walnuts, almonds, pistachio, hazelnuts, Persian olive, dried apricots, and raisins.

"Seven fruits" is very similar to fruit salad and is a delicious and popular food in Afghanistan.

A few days before Nowruz Eid, Afghans soak these dried fruits in water to prepare for Nowruz, and traditionally it's served during Nowruz to greet their guests with seven delicious and sweet fruits. Sweets and chocolates also have their own place. 

It's traditionally served around March 21 or the first day of spring to celebrate the Persian New Year.

The taste and sweetness of the fruits and nuts combine to form a syrup, which gives haft mewa its distinct consistency. The dried fruits absorb the liquid, leaving a sweet and pleasant drink.

It's a dish you must try!

Welcome little Angel

My Love Selena 

Our little angel was born on Thursday 19.01.2023 at 8:08 pm at Sana Kilinikum Lichtenberg, Berlin, Germany. and Selena is our little angel's name. She's lovely and calm. I like how she giggles and looks at us.

I wrote this brief paragraph to welcome our angel to a new world. 

University closure

When the university was closed, my family also forcibly gave Mehtab to her husband. My uncles used to say to my father: "When a girl grows up, it is bad for her to be in her father's house. No school, no study, no work, nothing else to do..."

I had just returned from work after a week. When I walked into the hall. I noticed my father, who was excitedly counting the money bundles with a flower-covered handkerchief next to him. I said hello! He did not give any feedback.
I was surprised. I went to my mother's room. Where did all this money come from? I saw my mother sitting alone and crying.
When I saw my mother, I forgot to say hello and I mistakenly asked: Mother what happened?

My mother, with tears in her eyes, sighed and answered:

" Your father! gives her husband, to mullah Mohammad. Oh, she will become the second wife of mullah! You know that he has a wife. Don't let your father give her husband. Oh God, what can I do? My daughter wanted to become a doctor."

I was parched. I left my mother and ran into Mehtab's room. When I opened the door, I noticed Mehtab unusually gripping herself. She hugs his knees and cries quietly. When she saw me, she wiped her tears and smiled, and stood up. As if nothing happened. I was ashamed of her courage and patience.
I quietly asked her: Mehtab What's up, what's going on?
She made a sad smile and said: There is no special news. Today, Father sold her doctor's daughter! the girls see such things every day in every home.
I asked again: Did father ask you? do you know?
She gave me a terrible look, and I fell in shame.
she claimed: They don't ask about the property to be sold, whether we should sell it or not, they see us as property. Her words were filled with pain. She replied the same thing and placed her head on her knees once again. I didn't know how to answer her queries. I slowly left the room ashamed.
I went to talk to my father. After all, I was his brother, and I wanted to help Mehtab in any way possible. But my father did not listen to my words. As if he was not satisfied. I insisted that do not give her husband. However, my father slapped me. We fought and our voices were raised. I became upset and left the home in the hopes that my absence would convince my father.
For months, I had not heard from them. After a month, my uncle's son taunted me, "Tomorrow is the wedding day," referring to Mehtab's marriage to Mullah Mohammad. Will you not join your sister's marriage?
My body's liquid had run out. My tongue was stuck. I felt helpless. I had no response for my uncle's son. I could tell he was going to make fun of me. I didn't sleep till the morning. I was thinking about Mehtab.
Tomorrow was the wedding day. I took a knife and went to the wedding. I wanted to kill my father together with Mullah.
Many people had gathered to celebrate. Everyone was dancing. But I was waiting in a corner for Mullah and my father to arrive when suddenly my mother's scream filled the whole house. We were scared, what happened? I walked into the room where my mother was. I noticed Mehtab there. She was sound asleep in her bed. Her skin went yellow, and her body froze. unable to breathe We realized she was no longer alive. Everyone gathered around her was sobbing. My mother sobbed:

 "Oh, my child. Oh, my dear girl, oh, my dear doctor, I wish i died in your place..., I raised you for twenty years to watch you die?" 

I couldn't believe it and wanted to scream. I grabbed her shoulders and yelled, Mehtaaaab...!

But she slept peacefully. My attention went to her right hand. She had a pen in her hand and drew a heart on it. My father, Mullah... the entire crowd had gathered. They moved Mehtab and tried to pull the pen from her hand, but they couldn't. She refused to let go. It seemed as though she was fighting those who had taken his pen... No one could possibly steal that pen. All of the mouths were shut. They were all parched.

Everyone knew she was battling for education because she realized that losing knowledge is the true death of the universe.

Written by: Arzoo Noori
Translated by: Asif Yousufi