Crying for change: Letters of despair from girls in Kandahar
September 18 is the third anniversary of the Taliban’s decision to close schools to girls above grade six. To mark that day, Zan Times is publishing letters from girls who have been deprived of education to show the extent of the suffering created by that Taliban decision. We published the first letter on September 19, and then five more last week.
With two exceptions, the remaining letters come from Kandahar, the Taliban stronghold where mullahs issue their anti-women decrees and construct a regime of gender apartheid. Hearing the voices of women and girls from that province is of great importance – its capital city, Kandahar, was home to many schools and universities during the two decades of non-Taliban rule despite many threats. Now, it is hell for its residents, as one letter writer states.
Afghanistan has become the hell of girls’ dreams
Name: Golsom
Province: Kandahar
I was in ninth grade when they closed the doors of girls’ schools. I started attending a private educational institution but four months later, they closed that, too. Then I decided to study online, but we don’t have internet at home, and my family is struggling financially.
My biggest dream is to wake up one morning, put on my school uniform, and leave the house to go to school. I haven’t felt well since I’ve been separated from my studies. I hate the fact that I am a young Afghan girl. Afghanistan has become the hell of girls’ dreams. Life in this country is incredibly hard.
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I wish I had a phone and internet
Name: Asma
Province: Kandahar
I was in seventh grade when they closed schools to girls. A lot of time has passed since then, and I’ve fallen behind in my education. The things I had learned have slipped from my memory and I’m not as good at reading and writing as I used to be.
When I was going to school, I used to study from 8 a.m. to noon. I would review my lessons at home and do my homework. Now, I spend all day from morning till night doing house chores. Life has become very exhausting for me.
I wish I had a phone and internet so I could study online like some of my classmates. My father is poor, and our financial situation is not good. He can’t afford to buy me a phone so I could continue my studies. Now, I sometimes read my seventh grade books but I can’t properly grasp the lessons.
I dreamed of becoming a teacher. Maybe this dream will remain just a dream.
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I feel like I will be in the same class as my grandchildren
Name: Shaista
Province: Kandahar
I dreamed of becoming a lawyer and defending women’s rights but the schools were closed to me before I could finish school and take the first step toward becoming a lawyer. If the schools hadn’t closed, I would now be in my first year of university. It pains me to see my younger brother going to school while I cannot. He will soon graduate from high school, while I am stuck in tenth grade.
Sometimes I think maybe the schools will reopen and I’ll continue my studies. Other times I imagine that the schools have reopened, but by then I’ll be an old woman with no teeth, going to school alongside my grandchildren. I think that my grandchildren will mock me and wonder why I have the desire to go to school at such an old age. Maybe they won’t believe that schools were once closed to us, and I couldn’t get an education.
These imaginings and hopes, which may seem like mere stories to others, speak of the deep and damaging effects that the school closures have had on our lives and psyche.
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I still dream of becoming a successful doctor
Name: Ghotai
Province: Kandahar
I’ve been wearing glasses since I was a child. When I would visit the doctor to get my prescription, I would dream of becoming a doctor and wearing that white coat. As time passed, I became more interested in eye care, and I wanted to help treat people with eye diseases. I gave my best effort in school to prepare myself for becoming a doctor.
I had just reached the eighth grade when they closed the schools to girls. We were deprived of school for being girls. It doesn’t make sense to me why my brother is allowed to go to school, but I am not. When I see my brother studying and going to school, I feel deep sorrow over my own deprivation. I often cry.
I still hope to return to school, go to university, and become a successful doctor.
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Reopening of schools has become my dream
Name: Amina
Province: Kabul
I was in sixth grade when they closed the schools. I had a great passion for studying. I went to school with excitement and loved science. I studied every day and wanted to be the top student in my class. I had dreams of studying computer science in the future, but, when the schools closed, I became very disheartened. It’s been three years since I last went to school. I miss my teachers and classmates. Reopening schools has become a dream for me.
These days, when I wake up in the morning, I have breakfast and go to religious school. When I return, I sleep again, and if I stay awake, I keep myself busy with my phone.
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I hope the Taliban disappear so we can go to school
Name: Zainab
Age: 16 years old
Province: Jawzjan
Two years ago, I finished the sixth grade. I have been stuck at home ever since. The desire to continue my education is still alive in my heart. I tried to study online, but economic challenges and the lack of internet in our village prevented me. At first, I would try to go up on the rooftop at night to find a better signal, but it didn’t work. I didn’t have the money to afford high-speed internet, and the data package I had on my phone wasn’t working.
My father is a farmer. In the past, he wanted us to study. Now, he doesn’t want girls to go to school. He says that what the Taliban are doing is right and that a woman’s place is in the home. He used to encourage us to pursue our education. My mother has two sons and four daughters. My grandparents also live with us. Providing food for such a large family is hard for my father.
The financial situation of our family and the burden on my father’s shoulders made me realize that I had to do something instead of sitting in a corner and crying over school. I joined a tailoring workshop, where I initially paid 100 afghani a month [for training]. After learning the work, they set a salary of 300 to 400 afghani a month for me. I enjoy the work but the sorrow of being away from education is always in my heart.
The Taliban have taken away all our freedoms. I hope that one day these zealots disappear so we can study, work freely, and have a bright future in peace.
