By Hana
I coached women’s sports and bodybuilding at a university and club. I was going to the gym the day the Taliban returned. I parked my car, took my bag and sports shoes, and headed to the club’s gate.
In 2019, I got married after eight years of engagement. My husband was staying in a Western country. He’d been working on my visa for two years.
At four o’clock that day, an embassy-approved laboratory was to conduct the health examination, the final step in obtaining a visa.
Suddenly, I noticed that everyone was talking about the Taliban entering the city, and it filled me with concern. Although I was anxious, I took a deep breath to avoid passing on my anxiety to my trainees.
Each training program lasted one hour in the gym. Some trainees did not attend the first hour. The program began with music, as always. The session wasn’t over when the Taliban arrived in Kabul and the Afghanistan Republic collapsed.
In disbelief and despair, my students and I looked at each other. I turned off the music player in a hurry. My students fled the club in fear. I remembered my appointment for the health examination. I called the laboratory. “Ma’am, the Taliban are in Shahr Naw. It is closed and all the staff are gone. The medical examinations will not take place,” a man said in a worried tone.
He hung up. I called two or three more times, but no one answered.
I was shocked and had no idea what to do. I left the club. Next to the club was a quiet cafe. Every day after sports, I would walk there, drink coffee, listen to soft music, and write in my diary. I don’t know if it was habit or reluctance to accept the bitter truth that led me to the cafe.
The cafe was open, as if nothing had happened. There was soft music playing, as usual. I stepped inside. Greeting the cafe owner, I inquired, “Do you know the Taliban have entered the city?”
“No, that isn’t true. The American soldiers are still on duty and will not allow Kabul to fall. There are so many embassies and so many foreigners in Kabul,” he responded with a naive smile.
In order not to disturb his pleasant belief, I pretended that I believed his words. I tried to forget about the Taliban’s arrival and the desperate conversation I had with the laboratory employee in Shahr Naw. I ordered a cup of coffee and sat in a secluded corner of the cafe. I drank my coffee black and bitter.
Visa processing was hampered. The airport was teeming with terrified fleeing crowds. In spite of receiving an email from the university asking me to go to an airport gate, I wasn’t able to make it. There was no way out.
Kabul’s days turned dark for women. Not only me, but all girls and women felt helpless and hopeless. None of us went to the gym. We waited to see what would happen. For two weeks, we stayed home. The feeling of desperation gradually turned into depression. Eventually, we decided that hiding at home would mean surrendering to the Taliban’s oppression. After consulting the owner and five or six trusted trainees, we managed to reopen the gym.
Photos of women jogging and dancing decorated the club’s signboard and exterior walls; posters and pictures of women exercising on bodybuilding machines adorned the gym’s interior. We removed the photos from the club’s walls and replaced the remaining posters and pictures with newspapers. In the days before the Taliban arrival, about 200 to 250 trainees attended the club every day. Nevertheless, we started exercising with a small group of six people that day. We began sports without music.
A group of Taliban gunmen arrived at the club a few days later. Despite their calm appearance, their eyes were wild and terrifying. My throat felt dry when they came in. All of us were scared. The Talib introduced himself as the new head of district police. His eyes scanned every corner of the club. “Don’t be afraid. Keep exercising with ease. I’ll give you my phone number so you can call me if anyone bothers you,” he said. Then they walked away. Taking deep breaths, we relaxed. Their words, however, did not seem to be trustworthy to me. In my heart, I was still worried.
Eventually, other trainees heard about the reopening and joined us. Over time, our small group grew to 20 and then 30. Eventually, the same Talib returned to the club with his soldiers from the same police station. He asked for a list of employees and students with their names and addresses. We had no choice but to hand over the list. That made our trainees and colleagues at the club feel insecure. Fear of the Taliban prompted a number of students to leave Afghanistan for neighbouring countries in the following days.
Finally, my husband completed the process of obtaining my visa and residency. I was to travel through Pakistan and was busy obtaining a Pakistan visa when one day a trainee turned on the music during practice. The sound did not go unnoticed. It was likely that a local had informed the Taliban. The Taliban’s directorate of vice and virtue came to the gym and said that the sound of music disturbs the local people, so it is forbidden. “We’ll warn you this time, but it shouldn’t happen again,” they threatened. After that visit, the number of students was reduced to the fingers in one hand. The gym’s income was not even enough to cover expenses.
I have finally left the country. Later, I heard that the club’s owner had to sell it to a man at a very low price. The doors of a female-only club that had been opened with great hope were closed.
Hana is a pen name for a women’s sports and bodybuilding coach.
