Foreign women come to see us,
under burqa, take our picture-
we are interesting, novel for them.
They don't understand
our burqas are jail made of fabric.
 
By Seeta

Season Harper-Fox has published fiction, poetry, and book reviews in Cream City Review, Rocky Mountain Review of Modern Language and Literature, OnTheBus, and Primavera. She has taught at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln and the University of Nebraska-Omaha.

When Masha Hamilton asked me to mentor in The Afghan Women's Writing Project, I didn't even stop to think it over. I simply said, "Yes." I had no idea how this experience would affect me, but reading these women's writings, learning about their lives and the injustices they face based on gender-and  because they happen to be born into a particular culture-changed me.
 
During a recent weekly visit at my parents', my brother brought up my involvement with this project. It hadn't occurred to me that my entire world view had already buckled, upheaved, transformed. Not till I began to explain it to my mother, and my voice caught and my eyes filled with tears. I stopped in mid-sentence, surprised. 
 
I told a friend I'd never thought of myself as political. For years, I avoided watching the news, reading the papers, and any reports of bombings or rapes or the nonexistence of women's rights seemed vague and distant. I thought back to being a child of the '70s with newsreels of the Vietnam war playing on the black-and-white TV while my family ate dinner. Somewhere along the way-with CNN and regular reports of violence throughout the world-I grew numb to it all, perhaps as a way of shielding myself from the pain.
 
"But this isn't politics," I said to my friend. "This is people. This is personal. It's women and their experiences and daily lives." All at once, it became real. These women's heartaches and hopes and fears came sharply into focus. It was impossible to remain oblivious.
 
In the U.S. and many other countries, we take our rights for granted. So many of us don't understand how fortunate we are to speak the words we want to speak, to freely write our views, to know that our lives aren't endangered because we express our own opinions.
 
In the midst of all their hardships, these women strive to be heard. They possess a courage and grace and strength that is phenomenal.
 
To the women of Afghanistan who participate in this writing project: You capture my heart with your words. I cannot think of anyone else I admire more. Keep writing. Keep creating. You inspire people throughout the world. You have given me so much more than I could ever hope to give back.
 
With heartfelt admiration, Season

 
Ericka Lutz's award-winning short stories and personal essays have appeared in many books, anthologies, and journals, magazines, newspapers, and on the web. She is the author of seven commercial nonfiction books. She was a founding editor and writes a popular monthly column, "Red Diaper Dharma," at the online literary magazine Literary Mama.

My experience mentoring for the AWWP last month was profound. I've taught creative writing for fifteen years, yet this was some of the scariest teaching I've ever done. As I began my rotation, I wondered how I could bridge our language differences, how I could honor and encourage their efforts yet still challenge and teach them. Our cultures are so different. What if I said something to offend, or to shut down their writing process?  Yes, these are concerns I have with all students, but they felt particularly acute because of the circumstances these women overcome every day just to write.

When the work began coming in, I was deeply and consistently moved. Not just by the content and style, but by the sweet and trusting approach these writers took to me. They unfailingly worked hard to revise, to "stretch and squish" in response to my queries. They improved. And in the end, I was reminded of the universal nature of the writing process. All writers struggle to tell their stories. As these Afghan women bravely write-and rewrite-they are like young women writers everywhere telling their truths.  Just here, the stakes are higher, because these women are writing for their lives.

Naomi Benaron is an award-winning short story writer and the author of Love Letters From a Fat Man whose work has also appeared in CALYX, Red Rock Review, PRISM International Review, Green Mountains Review, and other journals. She is the winner of the 2010 Bellwether Prize for a Novel of Social Change.

The word that first comes to my mind when I think of my experience teaching Writing 103 is "embraced." The eagerness, affection and strength of will of these women shines in their words. The level of talent and the dedication to writing--as well as the love of it--came through in every exchange. Now, seeing pieces that I helped guide into readiness up on the blog, I feel like a mother hen puffed up with pride. I miss these women already. I can't wait for my next rotation.