From educator to embroiderer: A teacher’s struggle for survival under the Taliban
This narrative was told to Shaheemi:
To make ends meet, I do bead and leather embroidery. This work doesn’t pay much, but it helps us get by. Over the past year, I’ve had many difficulties and am now dealing with severe financial challenges in supporting our family of eight. One of my neighbours, aware of the situation, suggested I learn bead embroidery. I was delighted and started working with her for a company that provides us with beads and tools. Usually, they give us work that takes 10 to 12 days to complete. We earn 200 afghani for each metre of bead embroidery.
I work four to five hours daily and sometimes embroider with my daughters. I earn about 800 to 1,000 afghani a month, depending on the amount of work completed. My eldest daughter is 21 years old and married. My youngest daughter is in the first grade and is 7. My second daughter, who is 18, was in the 12th grade when the Taliban came back to power. She developed psychological issues since the schools were closed. I spent everything I had on her treatment. She would cry for hours, then grow weak and faint. She is somewhat better now but still talks to herself and refuses to go out. Despite her illness, she participated in the capacity-building exam that the Taliban held for 12th grade girls and managed to obtain her diploma.
My eldest son is 15 years old and in the 8th grade. He studies well but will have to give up his education if he starts working soon. My second son is 13 years old and in the 6th grade, and my youngest son is 8 years old and in the 2nd grade. Now that winter has arrived, I’m in debt on one hand, and on the other, fuel prices are extremely high. I can’t afford to buy firewood. Our house, being shaded and without sunlight, is colder than homes that receive sunlight.
In addition to the embroidering income, I’ve rented two of the four rooms in my house for 5,000 afghani a month. The income covers only a small portion of the needs for our family. In the past year, I’ve borrowed money from friends and purchased food and firewood on credit from shopkeepers.
Our situation is dire and I don’t know what to do. If things continue this way, I may have to send my boys to work as apprentices with a mechanic, tailor, or shopkeeper. I know from experience that we shouldn’t force children into hard labour at such early ages, which is why we are enduring these hardships and poverty.
When I was a teacher, I earned 8,000 afghani a month. That salary, combined with the rent from those two rooms, covered our needs. But I was made redundant a year after the Taliban took over. The school principal handed us our dismissal letters and released us from our duties. No matter how hard I tried to regain my job, I couldn’t. They completely ignore my eight years of teaching experience.
My husband died six years ago, which means that all family responsibilities are on my shoulders. Thankfully, we have a roof over our heads and don’t need to pay rent. Otherwise, we would have faced even more crushing hardships during this time.
I owe about 40,000 afghani to neighbours and friends, and around 8,000 afghani to shopkeepers. All these amounts are recorded in my notebook as well as theirs. The shopkeepers haven’t pressured me too much yet, but lately they ask me to pay back at least part of what I owe. I used the money to buy food. With winter, I’m burdened by debt on one side, the incredibly high cost of fuel on the other.
Among my relatives and close friends, there’s no one who can afford to help us. My parents are elderly, and my brother struggles to cover the expenses of his own family. The reality is that life in Afghanistan today isn’t good enough for anyone to have the capacity to help others.
Niloofar Shaheemi is a pseudonym for a female journalist in Afghanistan.