At the far end of the narrow alley, where towering concrete structures dominate the landscape of modernity, stands a humble abode. Its sturdy walls, fashioned from weather-beaten raw bricks, proudly bear the marks of years of rainfall, yet they steadfastly preserve the essence of antiquity. Amidst the hustle and bustle of street life, it commands attention, a silent sentinel of tradition amidst urban vigor. A faded sign adorns the small metal gate, bearing the modest inscription “Ferdous Tailoring.” However, to the locals of this vibrant neighborhood and beyond, this establishment is affectionately known as Kamela’s Tailoring. Here, for three generations, women from the community have entrusted their garments to be stitched and ironed with care, a testament to Kamela’s skill and dedication. She is not merely a tailor but a sage of the streets, intimately acquainted with the fabric of her neighbors’ lives. To them, Kamela embodies diligence and resilience, a steadfast force keeping the wheel of her life turning against all odds.
After a few light knocks on the half-open door, I enter the house. Through a large courtyard where a grand mulberry tree stands, guided by a young girl learning to tailor there, I step into Kamela the tailor’s room. She is seated behind her sewing table, on a blue plastic stool with a small pin cushion placed on it. On the table, spools of colorful threads, a large pair of scissors for cutting, and specialized needles for embroidery of various fabrics, each neatly placed in its spot, are visible. As she reaches her right hand towards the sewing machine to adjust the thread, I notice her middle finger is plastered. Before I could inquire, she began to speak: “It’s been three years since the pain became unbearable. Every doctor I visited said that due to excessive machine work, the joint of my finger had deteriorated, beyond any remedy except surgery. They said it needed to be plated. I endured the pain for three years, until last winter when it became excruciating, and I had the operation. The finger was plated. Now the pain has subsided, but the movement in my finger is gone.”
Kamela the tailor has been sewing for a long time. According to her, her hands have been busy with threads and fabrics since the day she can remember. From the days of manual sewing machines and charcoal irons to now, with computerized machines and electric irons. From the time when she was just a young girl; a time when the first Taliban’s rule prevailed and, much like today, young girls didn’t have the right to go to school. In those days, Kamela also didn’t have the right to education. Therefore, she worked alongside her father, whose profession was tailoring and selling canvas tirpal. “In the beginning, I would only fold and package the canvas tirpal my father had sewn. Later, I helped him with cutting until gradually I sat behind the machine myself and started sewing.” In those days, Kamela never thought that one day she would spin the wheel of her life with the same sewing machine. “After my father’s death, as we no longer had dealings with canvas tirpal sellers, I started tailoring clothes to help with household expenses. The clothes of those times required simple sewing and cutting. Since I couldn’t read or write sizes, I would directly mark the measurements on the fabric and cut. And that is how, gradually, I learned to sew every kind of cloth.”
After marriage, Kamela, tired of tailoring, leaves it behind. But two years after her marriage, Kamela’s husband, who is a driver, gets his spine injured in a traffic accident. Her husband’s confinement at home prompts her to return to the profession of tailoring to support the expenses of their small family. It’s been almost thirty years since she started tailoring. Alongside her job, Kamela teaches a large number of girls who have been deprived of school, in two shifts; morning and afternoon. Kamela the tailor, who has only one son named Ferdous, referring to the girls, says, “These girls are like my own children. Sometimes when I look at them, I remember the times when I couldn’t go to school. Now, thankfully, the girls are intelligent and alert. They understand what is education and what is fear. Sooner or later, they compensate for their lost opportunities.” After this conversation, the eyes of two of the girls sitting beside us sparkle with joy. They firmly hold a crimson silk dress they are sewing buttons on, look mischievously at each other, and giggle under their breath. Kamela the tailor, who knows the nature of girls’ looks well, looks at them and confidently says, “Ah, this is it, my darlings. We live by hope in this world.