From afgan girls to you

From Afghan girls, to you

A special collection of recent Assembly articles

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IN THIS ISSUE

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“To be able to stand on my feet” — Afghan girls share their future dreams

Imani White  | 

When the Taliban took over Kabul in 2021, girls were no longer allowed to attend schools. LEARN, a nonprofit co-founded by Malala Fund Education Champion, Pashtana Durrani, is changing that. 4 Afghan students recount what they miss most about school, their favourite subjects and more. 

For International Women’s Day, we are uplifting the voices of girls and women facing gender apartheid in Afghanistan. This institutionalised, systematic oppression and domination of one gender group over another has pushed girls and young women out of the classroom and taken away their right to dream.

Pashtana Durrani knows the importance of education for girls in Afghanistan as a tool for empowerment and agency. “Education has to be empowering you in a way where you financially, emotionally, physically. It is also a safety net for all the girls who are learning now or will learn in the future.”  

LEARN has established 18 schools in Kandahar, Afghanistan, which serve around 300 students in courses ranging from animation, web design, and Javascript to English language and journalism workshops. LEARN also supports in-person and online learning in Bamyan, Herat, and Takhar provinces in Afghanistan. 

We asked 4 Afghan girls from LEARN — a nonprofit co-founded by Malala Fund Education Champion, Pashtana Durrani — what they miss most about the classroom, their favourite subjects to study, dreams for the future, and the women they admire.

What is your dream to be in the future? 

“I have always been fascinated by the advancement in medicine. So, I would try to implement my best knowledge through medicine. I look forward to this job opportunity as a step ahead towards achieving my dream in life.” — Lima, 17 

“My dream is to become a doctor in the future, but in the current situation, I don’t think I will achieve my dream, but I am trying very hard to reach my goal” — Malika, 14

“I want to be a doctor in the future.” — Sara, 14

“My dream for the future is to be able to stand on my feet and be a useful person to society and the people.” — Zainab, 18

What do you miss most about going to school?

“Many students [will] miss their school library, laboratory. They don’t always have access to such facilities when they are at home. I always miss school days, like [when] we had a competition between my friends or two classes. I also can't forget our teacher's day when we were celebrating it. We had a lot of fun. I have a lot of memories from my school.” — Lima, 17 

“I remember a lot when I and my classmate who thought together I remember every aspect of the school when they take the exam. The moment I spent in the school I remember a lot. At the moment, I am not one, but all girls [out of school].” — Malika, 14

“I remember my classmates from my school days, and the time I spent with them and my lessons.” — Sara, 14 


“A school is a place comparable to a home. A person spends a long time in school [as in a home] and I miss everything that is in school.” — Zainab, 18 

What does a typical school day look like for you as a student?

“A typical day is to start school simply, go to school. Start lessons like other days. The teacher comes to class and we continue our lessons. Eat snacks with and have some fun.” — Lima, 17

“A normal day at school means going to school happily, it’s not that there is no closure or tomorrow, it’s going to school and continuing to study and writing notes, and the dreams that I want in the future are very few.”  — Malika, 14

“On normal school days, I was very happy. I was satisfied with my lessons and spent hours with my classmates.” — Sara, 14 

“In the past, everyone was happy and studied together in the same environment.” — Zainab, 18


What is your favorite subject/class to study and why?

“That’s easy! I loved writing and English competitions. I didn’t learn to paint that well, however, I loved writing and if the teacher gave us a subject to write about Eid my pencil was already writing a topic before the teacher finished.” — Lima, 17

“My favorite subject is biology and chemistry because every human being likes a subject according to the purpose and these are the basic subjects.” — Malika, 14

“My favorite subjects are biology and English because I am very interested in these subjects and the teachers teach them correctly, so they learn quickly and I like them.” — Sara, 14

“I liked all the subjects of the school very much and studied with great interest, especially mathematics, biology and chemistry.”  — Zainab, 18

Who is one woman you look up to in your life and why?

“To be honest, it's my mother. She always takes care of me even now that I am older. I learned from my mom how to stand in front of a problem. My mom always works hard for us, she cooks my favourite food for me. I am very satisfied with my mother and I love her.” — Lima, 17

“I see a lot of women [I admire] but my aunt she is the best doctor and I also want to be a doctor like her.” — Malika, 14

“The woman whose footsteps I want to follow the most is my mother because she always tried to educate herself, faced many difficulties, and did everything for us.” — Sara, 14 

“In the past, I looked up to many women and set them as my role model, but now that I know about Miss Pashtana Durrani, I like to look up to her because she is a very successful and wise woman.” — Zainab, 18

Editor’s note: These answers have been edited for clarity.

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Strokes of protest: the Afghan artist painting a brighter future

Shiza Malik  | 

“It’s the people who inspire me to draw. I focus on eyes and emotions. More than anything else, I want to capture feelings on the canvas. It allows the viewer to connect with the painting” 25-year-old artist Sara Rahmani shares. (Courtesy of Sara Rahmani)

25-year-old Afghan artist Sara Rahmani uses her art to draw attention to the plight and courage of Afghan women.

Sara Rahmani describes the day the Taliban took control of her hometown of Kabul as “the darkest day of her life.” She recalls watching in horror as scenes of chaos at the Kabul airport filled the television screen. “It felt like salt on a wound. Like everything was happening all over again.”

Sara moved with her family to San Diego, California in 2017 where she was pursuing a degree in Civil Engineering. But she always planned to return to Afghanistan, where she saw a bright future for women. “I saw myself working with other women, starting my own company. I had so many dreams, but everything was suddenly multiplied by zero.”  Growing up in Kabul in the years before the Taliban takeover, she was among the first generation who had access to freedoms denied to Afghan women for decades. Sara was able to go to school and enroll in a civil engineering programme at a university in Kabul. “We were three girls in a classroom full of boys and that had its own challenges,” she recalls.

“At the time I was feeling like the whole world had gone dark. It was so painful to see the events unfolding. The only way I could relieve this pain was to paint something.”  (Courtesy of Sara Rahmani)

But she felt lucky. Amid ongoing conflict in Afghanistan, her mother had only six years of education before she was taken out of school and had to leave Afghanistan to live as a refugee in Pakistan. “My mother said she wanted to become a doctor but couldn’t, because of the war. She didn’t want the same for me,” Sara said.

Even as she pursued a career in engineering, Sara continued to foster a special interest in art. 

She had been drawing as a hobby since she was in the fourth grade and her drawing skills impressed her teachers. In 2011, she won a prize in a competition for teenage artists. But with school and college as her main focus, Sara did not have much time for art. “Back home art supplies were expensive and difficult to find,” she adds.

After moving to the US, Sara began to draw more frequently and found emotional solace in painting.  In the days following the Taliban takeover of Afghanistan, Sara retreated to her room to paint. “At the time I was feeling like the whole world had gone dark. It was so painful to see the events unfolding. The only way I could relieve this pain was to paint something,” she said. 

When Afghans in the San Diego area decided to organize a protest. Sara began to work on a painting depicting the feelings of Afghan women that she could take to the protest. Sara took a painting of an Afghan girl with a tear in her eye to the protest — it juxtaposed the colors and beauty of Afghan culture with the grim political realities of the day.

A reporter covering the protest shared a photo of Sara’s painting, which to her surprise went viral and was even featured on CNN’s Instagram page. “It was a drop in the ocean, but it felt like I did something,” she recalled.

Sara took a painting of an Afghan girl with a tear in her eye to the protest — it juxtaposed the colors and beauty of Afghan culture with the grim political realities of the day. (Courtesy of Sara Rahmani)

Since then, Sara has used her art to draw attention to the plight of Afghan women but also to pay homage to their courage and celebrate the beauty of Afghan culture. Most of her work is figurative and often features Afghan women and girls. “It’s the people who inspire me to draw. I focus on eyes and emotions. More than anything else, I want to capture feelings on the canvas. It allows the viewer to connect with the painting,” she explains. 

Paintings like the one titled ‘300 Days’ which shows a girl painting with a chain on her wrist show the resolve of Afghan women to fight for their rights. “The girl is still trying to paint through the situation. It shows how our girls are still fighting,” she says.

“Afghan women are trying so hard. They are running online schools and trying not to give up. Other countries should support the efforts of Afghan women.” (Courtesy of Sara Rahmani)

Even as the situation for Afghan women worsens, Sara continues to have hope. “Afghan women are trying so hard. They are running online schools and trying not to give up. Other countries should support the efforts of Afghan women,” she says. Sara still dreams of a day when she will be able to return to Afghanistan and build an art school for women. “When you leave your home, you leave a part of your heart behind. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day all of us will have to go back. I hope for change, even if it is slow. Maybe the Taliban will get educated and realize the importance of women in our society.”  

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For the love of the game: the Afghan Youth National Team reflects on life after leaving home, making a documentary and the Youth World Cup

Imani White  | 

Still from the film “We Are Ayenda” dir. By Amber Fares. (Photo courtesy of Amber Fares)

The Afghan youth team is at the center of a new documentary reflecting on their 2021 evacuation, prepping for their first Youth World Cup, and their hopes for the future of Afghan girls. 

Football is more than just a sport for the national youth football team of Afghanistan. For some people, it offers community and a chance for glory. For others, it is a platform to take a stand. For Ayenda FC – ayenda being the Farsi and Dari word for future — it’s a place of safety, community, and empowerment. 

The team is the subject of a new short documentary that follows their escape from Afghanistan following the 2021 Taliban takeover, their resettlement in Portugal, and their participation in this year’s Gothia Cup in Sweden.

When the Taliban took power in August 2021, they banned girls from going to school and limited women’s ability to participate in many parts of public life. Women are no longer allowed to participate in sports, go to work, or participate in activities like shopping alone or visiting beauty salons. “The moment the Taliban took over is when I realized, this was no longer our country,” says Erfani.

Farkhunda Muhtaj — a professional footballer and refugee activist — helped  300 Afghan soccer players and their family members evacuate. There was a sense of blind trust between Farkhunda and the players since they had never met before. “I saw myself reflected in every young Afghan girl,” she says. “I knew that they couldn’t be left behind.”

Farkhunda Muhtaj coaching Ayenda FC ahead of the Gothia Cup. (Photo courtesy of Amber Fares)

After multiple attempts to escape through the Kabul airport and a 21-day stay at a safe house, the team never lost hope. For Fatima Zarbi, 18, though the experience was harrowing she found solace and unity in the company of her teammates. “I felt united as if we were sisters,” she says. “We learned about each other on a deeper level and we built a stronger bond with the team throughout the evacuation.”

“I felt united as if we were sisters,” she says. “We learned about each other on a deeper level and we built a stronger bond with the team throughout the evacuation.” (Photo courtesy of Amber Fares)

Finally, the team was evacuated. On the plane, Erfani felt nervous, like anything could go wrong. Zarbi felt conflicted; saying goodbye to her country under unforeseen and heavy circumstances, But as they descended in Lisbon a wave of emotion hit them. “Safety was the first thing I felt,” says Aziza Alizada. “I felt like I had a chance at a brighter future and,” She adds with a smile. “I could continue to play football.”

Still from the film “We Are Ayenda” dir. By Amber Fares. (Photo courtesy of Amber Fares)

Qualifying and training for the Gothia Youth World Cup was next on the agenda for the team. “The preparation was a huge thing for us,” says Erfani. “It was the first time our team was in a big tournament.” Not only that, this was the first time Afghanistan was represented in the cup. 

“Training together, for a goal that was bigger than us, was exciting,” says the midfielder. “It was a really proud moment for us.” 

When Amber Fares, the film’s director approached the team, she knew that this story needed a platform. 

“The Taliban takeover of Afghanistan was not just a news story. It was a dream-crusher for countless Afghan girls who, until then, believed they had a viable future in their country,” Amber says. “My hope is that this film will give voice to those who are forced to leave everything they have ever known for an uncertain future.”

And for the girls, they wanted their story told. “We put a lot of effort into this film. There’s a story behind every scene and detail,” says 18-year-old Fatima Erfani, the team’s midfielder. Filming a documentary can be disruptive; cameras and microphones are everywhere, trying to act naturally in front of a camera and crew, but eventually, the team got used to it and found a greater purpose in it. “Filming was fascinating to me,” says Fatima Zarbi, the team’s forward (who doubled as a goalie during the Gothia tournament), “But above all, we were just happy to share our story and, to me, this movie shows the talent and power of Afghan girls.”

“I felt like I had a chance at a brighter future and I could continue to play football.” (Photo courtesy of Amber Fares)

Beyond the excitement of being the focus of a documentary, it was difficult to relive some of their most tumultuous moments, but to the team, it felt necessary. “This is the story of our reality,” says Erfani. “And the sad reality of what female athletes go through just because they want to play a sport or even study.” 

While the story of Ayenda FC is extraordinary, there are many women athletes in Afghanistan who still cannot partake in sports. “We went through a lot,” says Zarbi. “But we were able to return to [a] life [of safety]. It’s important for us to share our story — and our story is full of hope, desire, and patience.”

Playing football has been a staple for the team members for most of their lives and it has taken on different meanings to each of them. For 18-year-old Fatema Erfani, playing football has meant an opportunity to represent her country in a nuanced way. “Afghanistan is more than what you see in the news — which is mostly war and women being denied their basic rights,” she says. “For our team to represent Afghanistan, it meant proving people wrong.”

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Two years on, the world has failed us

Aydin Sahba Yaqouby  | 

As the school year begins for many globally, the same cannot be said for Afghan girls. 19-year-old education activist, Aydin Sahba Yaqouby, pens an open letter to the leaders of the world who have not acted to protect the rights or hear the demands of Afghan girls.

A week ago, I began my senior year of high school 10,000 miles from my home in Afghanistan.

On that usually exuberant first day, a heavy shadow trailed me to school; I knew I was on a path that no girl my age in Afghanistan was walking. I was one of very few Afghan girls in the world legally entering a classroom that day.

Confusion fogged my brain, and I didn’t know if I was supposed to feel lucky or miserable. All I knew was that with every step I took toward that classroom, the mountain of guilt I carried grew.

Anyone can understand the guilt I feel. I can enter a classroom, and my sisters back home cannot. I can greet a friend joyfully upon seeing her for the first time since summer break, while my classmates back home are prisoners in their own homes. I am working on college applications and looking forward to my final year of high school, and no girl my age in Afghanistan has done that in two years. I am a teenager living a very simple life — a life every girl deserves to have — and I struggle to enjoy it because my sisters back home live in hell.

I said above that I believe anyone can understand these feelings of guilt, but sometimes I wonder if that’s true.

Many people in positions of power vowed publicly that this would never happen. They promised loudly to protect us. They swore on all things holy that we’d be safe. But they lied.

I can barely manage my own guilt: I cannot imagine theirs. 

Since the Taliban takeover of Kabul in August 2021, girls above Grade 6 have been officially banned from attending school, meaning no girl has graduated from high school in Afghanistan since then. Not one. Of this brilliant generation of girls, none have been allowed the most fundamental human right: education.

This is catastrophic for my country, but it also reverberates across the globe: it obliterates the progress towards gender equality women and men worldwide have struggled and died for, for centuries. This is clearly an “us” problem, not a “them” problem.

“What has happened? Why have you [women leaders] put aside your commitment to a world in which all girls and women are safe?”
— Aydin Sahba Yaqouby

But this truth that is so clear to me – a young girl torn from her home, working hard in a foreign land to build her own future while fighting for her sisters who currently have none – seems entirely lost on world leaders.

So today I want to ask them: Where are you?

The United Nations states unequivocally that “women’s full and equal participation in all facets of society is a fundamental human right,” yet world leaders have failed to uphold these values. It might be out of political convenience, the false belief that this is a “cultural” issue or perhaps it is simply preventing them from acting. Rather than the global outrage I hoped to still be hearing — two years after Afghan girls lost their freedom — today there is silence. I hoped the collective strength of the world would right the terrible wrongs I was witnessing, but instead, I see timidity, with some nations even establishing ties with our oppressors. 

So, I ask again: Where are you?

And to women leaders specifically: You have been a source of inspiration and hope to millions of girls like me. Watching you lead has helped us envision a more just world in which we have a voice and a role. I have seen you raise your voices and your fists. I’ve always assumed that you share the same sense of responsibility I feel for women who are not free, including my Afghan sisters.

But these days, I cannot hear you. What has happened? Why have you put aside your commitment to a world in which all girls and women are safe?

Leaders of the world, the girls of Afghanistan — and the youth of this planet — are looking to you.

Do not let us down.

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Meet the Afghan women leading alternative learning initiatives

Emily DeVivo  | 

Pashtana Durrani, Axana Soltan, and Freshta Karim have carved out space for education in Afghanistan — which for girls, is particularly powerful. Meet the three Afghan education advocates making education accessible.

This September marks two years since the Taliban enacted a ban on girls’ secondary education. Today, restrictions affect every aspect of women and girls’ lives; from the forced shutdown of beauty salons to prohibiting women from working for NGOs. But, in the spirit of resilience, Afghan activists across the globe continue their efforts to increase girls’ education access in any way possible.

Pashtana Durrani

Pashtana was 7 years old when her family turned their home into a school for Afghan child refugees. She grew up in a family that recognised the value of an education and it inspired her to advocate those who could not access it. In 2018, she co-founded the organisation LEARN, with the intent to provide digital literacy resources to students in community schools. Now, she is using those resources to reach girls across Afghanistan who are no longer allowed to attend school. Her commitment to Afghan girls’ education remains steadfast; LEARN continues its distribution of digital learning materials to girls who study in secret. For Pashtana, leading efforts for girls’ education in Afghanistan remains her biggest priority.

“We are a traditional family. But one thing that was understood by everyone: women and girls have the right to be in school. They have the right to work and that it's important for the men to cater to those needs and provide for those spaces.”

Axana Soltan

Growing up in Afghanistan, Axana Soltan attended an underground school during a previous span of Taliban rule in the 1990s. Her secret schooling inspired her to advocate for girls’ education throughout her country. In 2014, she founded a women’s library and café named Afghan Girls Roaring Louder than a Lion to improve literacy rates and provide a safe space for women and girls. 

After its forced closure in 2021 due to the Taliban takeover, Axana started an underground school for girls to continue their education. With the increasing danger of discovery, Axana took her efforts to the radio waves. Her organisation broadcasts lessons in science, maths, geography and so much more. Axana’s incredible work as an advocate, lawyer and initiative founder ensures that even in the midst of danger, Afghan girls continue to learn.

“Today, through my work I want every child in my country to feel that they are not invisible, and forgotten in the ashes of war, that we see them in their moments of joy, their struggles, and their challenges. ”
— Freshta Karim

Freshta Karim

Freshta Karim spent her childhood fascinated by the ways in which media could connect people from across the globe. She spent many years working in Afghan radio and television interviewing children about their struggles and bringing those issues to the attention of government officials. Freshta’s work with young people inspired her transition into the advocacy world. In 2018, she founded Charamghz; a network of mobile libraries providing  books, games and other educational materials to children across the country.

Through Charamghz, Freshta’s efforts led to the creation of 26 mobile libraries, reaching more than 2,500 children. Her organisation not only provides resources to improve child literacy rates, but also inspires them to be curious and recognise their power. Even in the wake of the Taliban’s ban on girls’ education, she refuses to let anything stop a girls’ right to learn.

“Today, through my work I want every child in my country to feel that they are not invisible, and forgotten in the ashes of war, that we see them in their moments of joy, their struggles, and their challenges. Each of them possesses a unique sense of agency, individuality, needs, and talents that deserve recognition and nurturing. And many of us work every single day of our life to bring any change that is within our control, even if it's small.”

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Echoes of separation: letter to a lost homeland

Aiman Ramizy  | 

Aiman Ramizy reflects on the loss of her homeland after the August 2021 evacuation at Kabul airport. She documents her experiences through poetry and photos.

I entered this world within the embrace of a land known as Afghanistan. My generation emerged as radiant rays of hope, arriving on the scene after the shadows of the Taliban had retreated from our homeland. The tapestry of my life has been woven with the vibrant threads of Kabul, a city that holds all my earliest memories. It was in Kabul that I embarked upon my life’s journey, and learned the graceful dance of existence and love, all under the watchful gaze of a city that felt like home. Within this city, my pen first touched paper, writing the letters that paved the way forward. It was in the classrooms, the cozy corners of home and the laughter of friends and loved ones that I discovered my world.

“I was lucky enough to be born during a time of renaissance in Afghanistan. The echoes of the Taliban’s departure mingled with the dawn of a nation's recovery.” (photo courtesy of Aiman Ramizy)

I was lucky enough to be born during a time of renaissance in Afghanistan. The echoes of the Taliban’s departure mingled with the dawn of a nation's recovery. It was the time that the landscapes of my country transformed with the blossoming presence of newly constructed schools, buildings, parks, and roads. The once-quiet markets and restaurants were bustled with life again and simultaneously, Afghan women found their rightful place in society once again.  

“The past twenty years have adorned my country with an unparalleled beauty. It's the cherished memories of my time in my homeland that now shape my existence in exile.” (photo courtesy of Aiman Ramizy)

(Photo courtesy of Aiman Ramizy)

The past twenty years have adorned my country with an unparalleled beauty. It's the cherished memories of my time in my homeland that now shape my existence in exile. I can still clearly recall the joy of ascending the Wazir Akbar Khan hill, gazing down at the beauty of my beloved Kabul city, and wondering, when our nation would finally embrace true peace. A peace where every soul could live in happiness without any fear. 

But reality took a different course. We not only lost the fragile peace we built, but also our happiness, dreams, and aspirations —  here one moment, gone the next. All of our hard work of two decades vanished in an instant. I still remember the day when the TV news announced the former president's escape. A sudden coldness gripped me, and I could hear my heart break. It was hard to believe what I was hearing. Twenty years of struggle and striving, and this was the outcome. All I can say is that I witnessed my dreams buried that day. They say time travel is impossible, yet at that moment, it felt like I had been transported back two decades to that dark period when the Taliban first seized power.

I remember the day I packed my whole life into a single backpack, with tears streaming down my face. Each room in my home held memories, and I took a moment to cherish them before saying my final goodbyes to my home, family, and friends. As I was sitting on the airplane, I looked down at the city I had called home, closed my eyes and engraved its image in my mind and heart deeply. The emotions I felt at that moment are beyond words. Every time revisit that moment, I am overcome with the same wave of feelings. Even though I physically left my home, a part of my soul remains, wandering through the familiar streets of Kabul city, forever connected.

“Reality took a different course. We not only lost the fragile peace we built, but also our happiness, dreams, and aspirations —  here one moment, gone the next.” (photo courtesy of Aiman Ramizy)

(photo courtesy of Aiman Ramizy)

I sometimes feel like my country and I grew up together, changing and improving every day. Amidst the challenges we faced, hope kept us going, preventing chaos from taking control. 

I was raised in an academic family, full of human rights advocates, where education was important. Immersed in this environment, my aspirations took shape.  One day, no matter what career path I choose, I wanted to become an advocate myself, contributing to bringing positive change into people’s lives. I started my advocacy efforts right from my school, where I organized events. I also took on a leadership role in organizing eye-opening events like Model United Nations (MUN) conferences and TED talks, particularly geared towards empowering and inspiring girls in my school. Even in exile, I continue to advocate for Afghan people's rights however I can.

I wrote this letter to my homeland while going through the emotions of recalling the day I said farewell to it in August 2021. In the letter, I delicately unfurl the emotions and the whispered words that have remained unspoken, each word a testament to the passage of two years since I departed from Afghanistan after the Taliban takeover.

“Echoes of separation: letter to a lost homeland”

Among the mountains, rocks, fields of gold and green, mud houses, lakes and streams. Forests and deserts, torments and delights, sorrows and laughers, lovers and broken hearts there you were, my precious homeland

What befell us that made us so separate from one another? Who did this to us? We were blissful, weren't we, my dear? Albeit, in each corner of you, you had an account of agony to tell 


Still, you were our home, and we were your light 


For so many years you were witness to the moms who lost their children, sisters who lost their siblings, children who lost their fathers and sweethearts who lost their lovers in the name of war. I wonder when you embraced those bodies into your soil what stories do they tell?  


Did they tell you about their unachieved dreams, the adventures they wanted to go on, books they wanted to peruse, friends they wanted to meet, lovers they wanted to kiss and the futures they wanted to achieve but couldn’t? What happens to their dreams when they are buried in your soil?


My dear, I have so many questions to ask you. However, I can't because I don’t think my heart can handle the responses you might give me


In any case, I cannot help you without asking you if you recall the day I bid you farewell


It was on August 24th, 2021, in Kabul airport. The day that I was forced to pack my whole 17-year-old life in a bag and leave my identity and life behind


The day that I was sitting under the military marquee with hundreds or thousands of other people in that stifling hot weather with no food or water for one day and night waiting to get rescued


As I was staying there, I pondered what I saw prior to entering the airport, it was the miserable and hopeless eyes of children, men, women — old and young — who were waiting tragically behind the walls of the airport to be rescued

I thought about the future


The days that I won't be able to wake up in my own house, to the view of Pol Artel and Sher Darwaza Mountain


The days when I won't be able to hug my friends or go to our little coffee shops all around Kabul city 


The days I won't be able to see my whole family together 


The days I won't be able to live in the city that I was born and raised in


I wondered what would happen now. Now that we left, what will happen to those who stay? 

It pains me to think that the land where we used to make our dreams come true is now the graveyard for such countless dreams.


My dear, saying goodbye to you was as though my soul was going to leave my body for I wasn't just leaving you, I was leaving my home, family, friends and people behind. 


The most distressful part is that I don't have a clue when will I meet them again, or if will I ever meet them again. 


My beloved, it has been two years since we got separated from one another. Now I am thousands of miles away from you. There is even the whole Atlantic Ocean between us and I am longing for the feeling of home more now than ever


For no matter where I am, if it is not you then it’s not home


We got robbed of a lifetime with you, but I believe our futures are connected


I promise you that I will become the individual of wisdom that you want me to turn to. 


Without a doubt, there is light after darkness and I believe our generation has endured pain to be able to free the following generations


My precious, goodbyes aren't forever

Until we meet again, my beloved homeland

“I sometimes feel like my country and I grew up together, changing and improving every day. Amidst the challenges we faced, hope kept us going, preventing chaos from taking control.” (photo courtesy of Aiman Ramizy)

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What life in Afghanistan was like before the Taliban takeover

Muzhda Akbari  | 

17-year-old activist Muzhda Akbari writes about growing up in Afghanistan and her hopes for the future. (Courtesy of Muzhda Akbari)

17-year-old activist Muzhda Akbari writes about growing up in Afghanistan and her hopes for the future.

Life in Afghanistan before the Taliban takeover was a rollercoaster ride of emotions. It was a world of sharp contrasts, where discrimination and violence coexisted with joy and hope for a better future. As a child growing up in this ongoing war, I learned to laugh and play amidst the chaos, but the harsh realities of being an Afghan girl would come to shape the course of my life.

As a little girl, I remember dreaming of a better future, one full of endless possibilities and adventures. At school, I would close my eyes and imagine myself as a doctor or even the future president of Afghanistan. The thought of leading my country and transforming it into a place free from pain and suffering filled me with exhilaration. I dreamed of a world where no family would cry because of war, and every child would have the freedom to dream and pursue their goals.

“As a child growing up in this ongoing war, I learned to laugh and play amidst the chaos, but the harsh realities of being an Afghan girl would come to shape the course of my life.”
— Muzhda Akbari

But as I grew older, reality set in. After the forced marriage of my best friend, I was shaken to the core and began to see the constraints placed on Afghan girls. It was hard to accept that some people didn’t care about these limitations or how they affected us. It was then that I realized that if I ever became the president of Afghanistan, I would make it my mission to ensure that no child was ever forced into marriage again and that no girl would ever have to feel fear just for being a girl.

My family and I were living in the beautiful countryside behind the mountains, but one day in 2017. we woke up to find that war had come to our doorstep. Like many other families, we were forced to leave our homes and move to Kabul, the capital city. Kabul was a city of opportunity, but it was also a city of fear and suicide attacks. Every day was a struggle to survive, and with every suicide attack, I imagined myself being caught in the next one.

Despite the dangers, I loved my studies in Kabul. The schools were beautiful, and I made friends from different cities in Afghanistan who spoke different languages and had different beliefs. It was amazing to see how big and beautiful our country was. I even took a course where boys and girls studied together in the same classroom. This experience gave me courage and confidence to read my speeches in front of everyone. I felt even more confident when I received the highest marks in my class.

“Despite the dangers, I loved my studies in Kabul. The schools were beautiful, and I made friends from different cities in Afghanistan who spoke different languages and had different beliefs. It was amazing to see how big and beautiful our country was.”
— Muzhda Akbari

Sometimes, my friends and I would go to cafes in Kabul to share stories and laugh. In the morning, I would go running with other women, and some of them even taught me how to ride a bicycle. Seeing women in markets, offices, parliament, television, parks, parties and even driving cars gave me hope and inspired me to believe in myself and my abilities as a woman.

I often wondered what would happen if Afghan women and girls could realize all their rights. What if every Afghan girl could go to school and university and have the same opportunities as boys? I hoped and believed that this future was within reach. A future where we were all equal and could work together for the development of our country.

“For the Taliban and others who seek to silence Afghan girls, our courage and determination are the most powerful weapons we have.”
— Muzhda Akbari

But then on August 15, 2021, everything changed. The sun of my hopes and dreams set forever. I woke up to what felt like the sound of the whole city shouting: "Hey Muzhda, your biggest nightmares have come to life: the Taliban took your Afghanistan." It was a day that will forever be etched in my memory, a day that shattered my hopes and dreams for a better future.

The Taliban takeover of Afghanistan was a crushing blow to all of us who believed in the promise of a brighter tomorrow. It was a return to the past, a time when women and girls were oppressed and silenced, and hope was just a distant memory. But I refuse to let the Taliban break my spirit. 

I believe we all have the power to create change in this world and I will seek this change through education. I will read and write, which is what the Taliban fears the most. Through my knowledge, I am determined to be a force for good, to use my voice to speak out against oppression and to stand up for what is right. For the Taliban and others who seek to silence Afghan girls, our courage and determination are the most powerful weapons we have.

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