When I was only 16 years old and in the eleventh grade at school, the previous Afghan government fell, and my life, like that of thousands of other girls, changed. I was a girl with big dreams and a passion for learning, but with the arrival of the Taliban, the doors of school were closed to me, and all the hopes I had for the future turned to darkness. But I did not give up.
Despite not attending twelfth grade, I still participated in the university entrance exam with the permission of the local Taliban. I was accepted into an English programme at a good university. However, this success did not last, as the Taliban then prohibited girls from attending university. I never stepped foot inside the university.
A few girls and I decided to protest for our right to education. During the protest, Taliban forces arrived. While the others fled, I was caught. I was in Taliban custody for four hours and was only released with guarantees from my father and brother. Those terrifying moments still haunt me.
I was then unemployed, with time on my hands. My uncle, who lived abroad, fortunately sent me money and that allowed me to enrol in a private dental institute. Except it was a similar story: I studied diligently for two years and then the institute was closed.
I experienced something else terrible: a man who was part of the Taliban, a religious student, turned my life into hell. He wanted to marry me without my consent. I was only 16 years old at the time. He would come to our house at night, threaten us, saying to my parents that “if you do not give me your daughter, I will kill you all”. One day he grabbed me by force and violently beat me on the hands and feet. This man only left my life because he apparently committed a crime in the eyes of the Taliban themselves and for that he fled the country. I constantly live in fear that he will return.
Despite all these pains and emotional wounds, I have not yet surrendered. I have even managed to find work in a dental clinic. Most patients are women because families don’t usually allow women to interact with men for examination or treatment. I prefer to work with female patients – I feel safer with them.
None of this is easy. In the environment where I live, speaking freely on the street as a woman is always accompanied by feelings of fear and concern. When I leave the house for work or errands, I am very cautious. I go about my business quietly so as not to draw anyone’s attention. I am in contact with a limited number of women who, like me, face many restrictions. We sometimes talk and share our experiences. These interactions are often done in secret and conducted with great caution.
Even so, I believe that the right to education, the right to safety, and the right to live freely have not been taken from me; they are still alive, and I must stand up to achieve them. My wish is simple: to continue my studies, live in safety and help women and girls who share a similar fate. I do not want to remain a victim; I want to raise my voice so that a path may open, not just for myself but for all girls who are gasping under the shadow of oppression.
In telling my story, I want to depict a true picture of my daily life as an Afghan woman; a woman who, under the shadow of restrictions, gender discrimination, deprivation of education and social threats, still fights to survive, learn and stand firm. This narrative is not just an account of one day, but a depiction of the sufferings that the women of my country experience every day while men, in most cases, are safe from these pressures and deprivations. At night, with a heavy heart, I close my eyes; I pray that the day will come when neither I nor any girl in this country will be a victim simply because she is a woman.
Today I want the world to know that my life is not just statistics and news; I am a human with dreams that have been buried under ashes, yet my heart still beats for hope. I want them to know that we, the girls of this land, are not just seeking rescue; we want to live; with dignity, with the right to education, with security and with dreams that, like other humans, we have the right to achieve. I want the world to know that despite all the hardships, I am still standing and I do not want to be silent. I can be a voice for girls who are no longer allowed to shout. I try as much as possible to find time to speak the truth because ultimately silence only intensifies the pain.
Editor’s note: For her safety, the woman who wrote this letter requested that we change her name.
