HERAT, Afghanistan • For Afghan wives, suicide by fire is a desperate way out.
Even the poorest families in Afghanistan have matches and cooking fuel. The combination usually sustains life. But it also can be the makings of a horrifying escape: from poverty, from forced marriages, from the abuse and despondency that can be the fate of Afghan women.
The night before she burned herself, Gul Zada took her children to her sister's for a family party. All seemed well. Later it emerged that she had not brought a present, and a relative had chided her for it, said her son Juma Gul.
This small thing apparently broke her. Zada, who was 45, the mother of six children and who earned pitiably little cleaning houses, ended up with burns on nearly 60 percent of her body at the Herat burn hospital.
"She was burned from head to toe," her son remembers.
The hospital here is the only medical center in Afghanistan that specifically treats victims of burning, a common form of suicide in this region. Through early October, 75 women arrived with burns — most self-inflicted, others only made to look that way. That is up nearly 30 percent from last year.
But the numbers say less than the stories of the patients.
It is shameful here to admit to troubles at home, and mental illness often goes undiagnosed or untreated. Zada, the hospital staff said, probably suffered from depression. The choices for Afghan women are extraordinarily restricted: Their family is their fate. There is little chance for education, little choice about whom a woman marries, no choice at all about her role in her own house. Her primary job is to serve her husband's family. Outside that world, she is an outcast.
"If you run away from home, you may be raped or put in jail and then sent home and then what will happen to you?" asked Rachel Reid, a researcher for Human Rights Watch who tracks violence against women.
Returned runaways are often shot or stabbed in honor killings because the families fear they have spent time unchaperoned with a man.
Those who burn themselves but survive often end up watching their husbands marry other, untainted women.
"Violence in the lives of Afghanistan's women comes from everywhere: from her father or brother, from her husband, from her father-in-law, from her mother-in-law and sister-in-law," said Dr. Shafiqa Eanin, a plastic surgeon at the burn hospital, which usually has at least 10 female self-immolation cases at any one time.
The most sinister burn cases are actually homicides masquerading as suicides, said doctors, nurses and human rights workers.
"We have two women here right now who were burned by their mothers-in-law and husbands," said Dr. Arif Jalali, the hospital's senior surgeon.
Doctors cited two recent cases where women were beaten by their husbands or in-laws, lost consciousness and awoke in the hospital to find themselves burned because they had been shoved in an oven or set on fire.
For a very few of the women who survive burnings, whether self-inflicted or done by relatives, the experience is a kind of Rubicon that helps them change their lives. Some work with lawyers whom the hospital recommends, and request a divorce. Most do not.
Farzana was engaged at 8 and married at 12. (United Nations statistics indicate that at least 45 percent of Afghan women marry before they are 18; a large percentage before they are 16. Many are set up to pay a debt.)
"On the marriage day, he beat me when I woke up and shouted at me," she said. "He was always favoring his mother and using bad words about me."
She endured such treatment for more than four years.
"I thought of running away from that house, but then I thought: What will happen to the name of my family?" she said. "No one in our family has asked for divorce. So how can I be the first?"
Farzana resorted to setting herself on fire when her father-in-law belittled her, saying she was not brave enough to do so. But she did, and when the flames were out, 58 percent of her body was burnt. As a relative bundled her raw body into a car for the hospital, her husband whispered: "If anybody asks you, don't tell them my name; don't say I had anything to do with it."
After 57 days in the hospital and multiple skin grafts, she is home with her mother and torn between family traditions and an inchoate sense that a new way of thinking is needed.
Farzana's 9-month-old daughter is being brought up by her husband's family. Despite that, she says that she cannot go back to her husband's house.
"Five years I spent in his house with those people," she said. "My marriage was for other people. They should never have given me in a child marriage."
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