An ordinary day in the life of a woman under the Taliban 3
The lives of many women have been wrecked during the two-and-a-half years of Taliban rule. Our journalists asked eight women to recount their activities on a typical day living under Taliban gender apartheid in Afghanistan.
Shazia*
February 1, 2024
7:30 a.m.
I am busy sweeping the courtyard. My brother leaves for school with his school bag. Seeing him reminds me of the mornings I woke up eagerly and prepared to attend the midwifery college. I picture myself in the bustling hospital setting, clad in my crisp white coat, a symbol of my chosen path. I would be known as “midwife,” a title I would have worn with pride.
I would prove something to my strict and traditional family, which told me that going to school and university is disgraceful for girls and girls should sit at home and do household chores. I would smile and feel my dreams were coming true when my father called out: “Shazia, come and set the table. Everyone waits for breakfast, and the table is still not set.” I snapped out of my thoughts and hurried to the room to set the table. It doesn’t matter if I have had breakfast or not; everyone only cares that the boys have their stomachs full and study. We are just the burdens.
10:14 a.m.
Half an hour ago, when I was cleaning the kitchen, my mother called out, “My daughter, make tea; we have guests.” After preparing the tea, I returned to the guest room with dried fruits.
When I entered with the tea tray, I saw my uncle’s wife and her daughters sitting together. After the usual pleasantries, I was about to pour the tea when my uncle’s wife said: “Shazia dear, what happened to your studies? Have you given up? What’s the use of studying and going out? Everyone is talking about you, saying disgraceful things to your family that they send their honour [daughter] to schools and the midwifery college. You’re not like my girls, who work hard and have skills. You don’t even know tailoring or embroidery. How will you find a husband like this?” Hearing her words made me choke up. I was close to shouting, but I controlled myself. I lowered my eyes and said, “God is merciful; maybe this night will turn into day. Maybe the universities will open again, and I’ll study again.” With these words, they all mocked me, and my uncle’s wife, with a reproachful tone, said, “She still wants to go out and study. Don’t think about studying anymore. Learn tailoring and embroidery and learn how to be a woman so you can find a husband and become a wife.” I remained silent, and the silence was burning in my heart. Now I wonder what will become of my future and why I shouldn’t have the right to study and gain knowledge.
5:12 p.m.
I’m hungry. I couldn’t eat anything in the morning because of my uncle’s wife’s remarks. I couldn’t eat lunch. In our neighbourhood, there’s a chickpea seller whose chickpeas are delicious. For a few moments, I longed for chickpeas. My father had just returned from work, and I asked my mother to get some money from him so we could buy chickpeas.
When my mother said, “Shazia wants chickpeas. She needs money to give to the kids so they can bring home a plate for her,” my father replied, “I’ve spent 12 years on her education and one year on her midwifery college. What’s the use? This girl is very demanding; it’s because of her that I can’t face people anymore. What’s the result? If we had given her to a husband, our honour and dignity would have been preserved.” A feeling of worthlessness engulfed me; I exist, but my existence isn’t worth a penny. Here, a girl must marry, bear children and always be under the men’s control. She doesn’t even have the right to receive 50 afghani to buy her favourite snack. I always pray that no suitor comes for me because if he does, my father will give me away, and I’ll never be able to continue my studies.
*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the interviewee. Shazia is the pseudonym for a 18-year-old woman who was a second semester midwifery student before the Taliban returned to power.
