‘My Dear Kabul: The Shared Pain of Women Writers in Afghanistan’
The hormonal changes during pregnancy made me feel elated one moment, but the next, I would be deeply saddened by the uncertainty of life in migration and the bad news I kept hearing from Afghanistan. Deep down, I knew that Afghanistan would never be a place for me, my daughter, or any other woman to live. Life in Tajikistan was also extremely difficult, and one could never feel at peace.
Amid my worry and unrest, August 15 arrived, and Afghanistan fell into the hands of the Taliban. That day, I stared at the TV for more than nine hours, not caring about food or drink, feeling the dreams of Afghan women crumble. I wept continuously. My husband was by my side, crying. We had no way to return home and no escape from Tajikistan’s anti-refugee policies. I was most heartbroken for the daughter growing inside me. If she were born, she wouldn’t be considered Afghan nor Tajik. The Taliban had erased women, and Tajikistan refused to grant Afghan babies any form of official identification.
A storm raged inside me. My body and soul were in pain, and I had so much to say. Then, I received a message from the Untold Writing Project, with which I had been involved as a novice short story writer. They wanted to publish a book about our daily experiences during those days. The Untold project, launched in 2019 while I was still in Afghanistan, held a writing competition. It provided several women, including me, with the opportunity to publish our short stories in international media and print books. Two of my short stories were translated into English and published in a book titled My Pen is the Wings of a Bird in 2022. It was first published in London, then in the U.S., and later translated into Japanese for that market. It sold well. From 2020 to 2024, I continued writing short stories, memoirs, and letters, which were published in English and German on various literary websites in the U.K. and Germany.
This time, we were about to undertake a different project. We were 21 female writers from Afghanistan who shared all our feelings and daily experiences in a WhatsApp group. Our writings were downloaded several times a week by one of the staff members of the Untold Writing Project in the U.K., and then deleted from the WhatsApp group (so as not to put anyone in danger if their phones were seized by authorities). A year later, these women writers had produced 200,000 words documenting the events of those days. From this collection, 70,000 words were selected, translated from Dari and Pashto into English, and published in a book titled My Dear Kabul in August 2024.
The content of My Dear Kabul begins with the words of Maryam, a 25-year-old from Kabul. She is a law graduate from Kabul University who was also passionate about literature. On the first day of the Taliban’s rule in Afghanistan, she wrote in a group, “Dokhtara, girls, are you okay?” This question began the exchange of the many experiences of the female writers that ended in the book. For security reasons, some of the authors in the book use pseudonyms.
As I revisit my memories in My Dear Kabul, the text that most resonates with my pain is about the night I gave birth to my daughter. It was so intense I thought I might die. I could only think of my unborn daughter. As I wrote about that night: “In labour, all I could think of was to see my husband and tell him not to go to Afghanistan, not to let our daughter’s life be destroyed, and please follow up the asylum application to Canada. She has the right to be free and not to see the faces of terrorists.”
The communal pain and suffering of all women is now a part of Afghanistan’s history. Batool, a 35-year-old psychologist from Kabul, writes: “The way of fighting has changed. Early this morning, we came to the street in support of teachers’ protest. We faced the Taliban once again. They confiscated the cell phones of our comrades, Hameda and Razia. We fought back and changed the face of our fight ”
Marie, 29, who worked for an international organization before the Taliban takeover, shares her fear: “Whenever I hear any sound that is loud like gunfire, my heart stops. I fear the Taliban will start their search of homes tonight. And my family will pay the price for my working with foreigners. This is the first time I wish I lived in the furthest reaches of Kabul.”
Fatima captures the feelings of her fellow authors with a simple three-word sentence: “I can’t breathe.”
Fakhta, a young woman from Daikundi who was preparing for her wedding before the Taliban’s return to power, shares one of her memories: “The Taliban went to my fiancé’s home and asked after his whereabouts. They told my fiancé’s mother that her son had collected government weapons from his office and fled. They told her she should ask him to return the weapons. We all know that when my fiancé came to Kabul from Uruzgan, he was not carrying even a pistol. We know they were just making up excuses to arrest him.”
Parand writes: “Elsewhere in the world, women have gone to space. Look at us — we’re worrying about whether we have a male relative to accompany us. What a shop the Taliban run: selling religious regulations for their own profit.”
A text written by Maryam that appears on the book’s back cover reads: “My dear Kabul, give me your hand, put your head on my shoulder, and don’t be afraid.”
My Dear Kabul (Coronet, 2024) is an Untold Narratives project, supported by Arts Council England and The Bagri Foundation.
Freshta Ghani is the managing editor of Zan Times.