By Laila Khamoosh*
Sohaila* hides her hands so no one notices the blisters on her palms and fingers. From a distance, I watch her skillfully weave coarse wires into the shape of gabions, rectangular wire baskets or cages that are filled with rocks and used as retaining walls for agricultural fields, irrigation canals and rivers. Her son helps her separate the tangled wires so that she can weave small loops.
She closes her eyes and sighs as she continues her work, holding pliers, a knife, and wire cutters specially designed for the job. It is hard, painful work. “When I weave wires, my hands burn from the blisters and wounds,” she tells Zan Times. “My feet ache, and my back hurts so much that I can’t sleep all night when I go home.”
Sohaila is a 42-year-old widow whose husband, a former soldier, was killed by unknown armed men seven years ago. She is responsible for their six children, who age from their 16-year-old eldest son to a 7 year old. Sohail’s family pays 1,500 afghani a month to rent a two-room house in Baghlan province.
A year ago, she was cleaning a wealthy family’s house when a friend introduced her to an NGO that provided work weaving gabions for women like her. While there is no precise data on the number of single moms heading households in Afghanistan, decades of war and conflict mean that such households are common.
Now, Sohaila and 11 other women, most single mothers and heads of households, each create six gabions for 450 afghani per day. The wire cages are made in three standard sizes, with the largest measuring one by three metres. “The money we earn barely covers our debts. I’m already thinking about the winter,” she says, noting that fewer gabions are needed in those cold months.
Another of the female gabion weavers is 17-year-old Rahima*, who has worked for the NGO for three years. She used to work with her mother, but then she died a month ago due to deteriorating health, including diabetes. Now, as their father died a year ago, Rahima lives with a married sister and two brothers. “We have no family provider; it’s just me,” she explains. Though still underage, she’s had to increase the number of gabions she weaves.
Life wasn’t always this hard, Rahima explains. Before the Taliban took control, she was in the ninth grade and dreamed of becoming a doctor. Now, she doesn’t want to think about her dreams: “My mother used to say I should study to build a future. I wanted to, but now I can’t go to school, and I don’t have a good life.”
Rahima works making gabions with her sister, Sorya*. She used to look after her brothers, parents, and household chores. “I’ve been with my mother for three and a half years, and it’s been a year since we lost our father. Before his death, my father was sick and could not move around. My mother used to say, ‘You go and build a future for yourself with your husband.’” Sorya, her husband, and their daughter had just moved into their own rented home when her mother died. Now, the 32-year-old and her family have been forced to return to help her sister and brothers.
Sajia* has made gabions for this NGO for six years. Now, the 45 year old is an instructor for newcomers. Like Sohaila, she’s a widow – her husband was a national army soldier who was arrested and killed by the Taliban just two days after the takeover in 2021. Her experience means she gets a higher salary, which is enough to pay for her family’s expenses, including her home’s monthly rent of 3,000 afghani.
“I must visit three centers daily and supervise the women’s work. If they don’t know how to weave, I teach them,” she explains. Sajia is happy that she can work, saying, “Even though it’s difficult for me to meet all these expenses, we still have hope.”
*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the interviewees and writer. Laila Khamoosh is the pseudonym of a freelance journalist in Afghanistan.
