Book review of ' The rugmaker of Mazar-E-Sharif ' by Mazari and Hillman

Memoir: The Rugmaker of Mazar-E-Sharif by Najaf Mazari

Reviewed by Elizabeth Emanuel





It is a story that many people have heard before - fearing for his life, a refugee seeks asylum in Australia, is 'vetted' by the rigorous system enforced enthusiastically by the Immigration Department, attains residency then citizenship, is eventually reunited with his family and lives happily. But Najaf Mazari's memoir, The Rugmaker of Mazar-E-Sharif, begs the question, have we really been listening?

Mazari’s tale, compellingly told by biographer Robert Hillman, unpacks the grim reality of life in a war zone, of what it’s like to be in a house blown apart by a rocket explosion, to have brothers killed and to live in constant terror, pursued by violent religious extremists and to flee home and country in a reckless gamble to find a safe haven somewhere, anywhere. It is a story of grief, death, misery and hopelessness. It tells of a troubled country, Afghanistan, torn apart by the Mujahedin, the Russians, the Taliban and the Americans over the past three decades. It documents the days of endless waiting in a soulless detention centre, Woomera, now thankfully closed forever.

One might be forgiven for thinking that this is a dismal saga, a territory too terrible to visit, full of anger, bitterness and hate. Nothing could be further from the truth, for Mazari reveals a gentle soul, a heart made for love not war, hands designed for creation not destruction. His passion for the rugs he weaves and repairs threads a seam of joy through this tale that is inspiring and uplifting. There is also an optimism here, matched by endless patience. And patience is something Mazari has had to learn from an early age; initially on the hillsides of Shar Shar where he tended flocks of sheep, and later, as he lay in hospital for months recovering from the serious injuries he sustained in the rocket attack that killed members of his family.

It is a quality that stood Mazari in good stead on his circuitous trip to Australia—the final league risked in a leaky Indonesian boat—and during the months of waiting in Woomera, where he was left wondering if he would be sent back to Afghanistan or permitted to stay. It is a quality that, Mazari suggests, could well be learnt by those that people, whom he says “did not wait before they dropped the bombs on us, and did not wait before they fired rockets, and did not wait for the United Nations to make peace in our lands.”

Despite these words, it would be wrong to think of this memoir as a political tract. Mazari seems incapable of rage and this deftly crafted memoir is a testament to his simple but nonetheless intelligent conclusion that war is a senseless waste of time, energy and sadly, of lives. In fact Mazari’s unpretentious wisdom permeates Hillman’s writing to a degree where this book seems almost mystical at times, reminiscent of fable or myth. Mazari himself leads me to recall Santiago, the humble shepherd in Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist who sets forth on an epic adventure to explore the world, only to discover that real treasure always lies close to home. Coelho said that “simple things are the most valuable and only wise people appreciate them.” If this is true, then Najaf Mazari is a very wise man.

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