My samanak prayer: ‘May God make the Taliban disappear’
On March 10, 48-year-old Soroya placed 150 kilos of wheat on four nickel trays and set them to sprout on the rooftop of her large courtyard home in a village in Takhar province, where she lives with her two daughters-in-law. Every year, she grows greenery and prepares samanak, believing that fresh sprouts bring health and samanak brings blessings.
Every morning after the dawn prayer, Soraya and her two daughters-in-law went up to the roof to sprinkle water on the wheat grains to help them sprout. Soraya has five daughters, five sons, and four grandchildren. Her elder daughter-in-law is illiterate, while the younger one has studied midwifery. These three women, along with the young girls in the household, have been preparing for Nowruz since the middle of Ramadan. Making samanak is an important part of those preparations.
At 10 a.m. on March 19, Soraya, with the help of her daughters-in-law and daughters, took the trays of greenery down from the rooftop, reciting Bismillah and prayers for peace and well-being for their home and homeland. They put the sprouts into three sacks and handed them to one of her sons who took them to the market for grinding. This year, Nowruz coincided with Ramadan, making the 19th night of the month particularly significant for Soraya and her family. Before the next day’s sahari, the meal consumed before the day’s fasting, they lit the fire under the samanak cauldron. After her son returned with the ground wheat sprouts, the four women of the house kept the fire burning and stirred the samanak for hours until it was fully cooked.
On Nowruz day, while the samanak pot was boiling, they invited their neighbours. Women gathered around the cauldron, taking turns stirring the mixture. Young girls and small children also joined in, forming a circle around the pot, clapping, and singing the traditional samanak song.
Soraya remembers how the Taliban raided their home in 2021 during the engagement celebration of her second daughter-in-law. They scolded the women for playing loud music and detaining Soraya’s sons and husband for two days. So, anxious that the sound of the drum and the girls’ voices might reach the ears of the Taliban, she asks them not to sing or dance as freely as in the past.By 4 p.m., the samanak was ready, and Soraya was the last person to finish stirring it before leaving the cooking area.
At 5 p.m., an hour before Iftar, Soraya baked fresh bread in the tandoor for the guests while her daughters-in-law set the table and prepared other arrangements. They sent a bowl of samanak to every neighbour’s home and invited the women to join them for Iftar. The women shared laughter and joy, wishing each other happiness as they ate the samanak.
The Taliban have imprisoned Afghan women in their homes. They have been driven out of society and workplaces and deprived of education. Yet, women are the guardians of life, always finding ways to celebrate life and console one another, even under the harshest circumstances. Soraya’s actions are an example of how housewives resist, preserving social solidarity and dynamic traditions.
The Taliban have banned Nowruz. Last year, they cancelled the holiday on March 21, banned people from going to picnic sites, and drove women out of parks. During Nowruz celebrations, samanak holds a special place for women. Under the Taliban, however, women can no longer celebrate Nowruz as they used to, nor honor their traditions of greenery, and samanak. Although Soraya lives in a remote village, she is aware of the Taliban edict yet refuses to give up her efforts to bring joy to herself, her daughters, her daughters-in-law, and the women of her village. By celebrating Nowruz and cooking samanak, she resists the Taliban’s oppression.
For centuries, religious fanatics and oppressive rulers who oppose joy have fought against Nowruz and traditional public celebrations. In response, people have linked Nowruz to religious rituals to protect their cultural traditions. Mela-e-Gul-e-Surkh (the celebration of wild red tulips) takes place under the sacred banner of Sakhi Shrine, and the cooking of samanak is often framed as a religious offering (nazr). This has been a way to safeguard Nowruz and its communal festivities.
Women in northern Afghanistan and some other regions refer to samanak as the nazr of spring. When financially able, they make a vow to prepare samanak and pray for their wishes to come true. One of the most well-known prayers spoken around the samanak pot is: “May God bring happiness.” In recent years, another prayer has been added: “May God make the Taliban disappear.”
Soraya is illiterate, but her 17-year-old eldest daughter is not, though she was forced to drop out of school after the tenth grade. Her second and third daughters have also reached the age where they can no longer attend school. Soraya’s eldest son has migrated to Turkey for work, and her midwife daughter-in-law remains unemployed. Like many of her fellow Afghans, Soraya has suffered under Taliban rule but has not lost hope. Over the past three and a half years, she has sprouted wheat three times, turning it into samanak and praying that God will ease the hardships of their life.
Some women believe that samanak does not bring good fortune to every household. Because of this, if a family’s wish is not fulfilled after offering samanak once, they may not prepare it again — or, if they do, they may choose to cook it in someone else’s home. Soraya’s neighbour, Mastura, loves the samanak festival, but her husband’s family considers it unlucky. Mastura’s mother-in-law has unpleasant memories associated with the ritual, so Mastura joins Soraya’s household for the preparation.
In Soroya’s village, it is said that the person sprinkling water on the wheat sprouts should be in a state of ritual purity (wudu), or else the samanak may not bring blessings. Women also place a few washed pebbles or walnuts into the samanak pot. While stirring, they listen for the sound of the ladle hitting these objects, believing that it is a sign their wishes will be fulfilled. After a woman hears this sound, she hands the ladle to the next person. Soraya’s neighbours took turns stirring the pot, praying for a prosperous spring, for happiness among women, and for relief from the hardships faced by the youth.
On the night of Nowruz, after the Taraweeh prayers, Soraya’s daughters and their teenage friends gathered in the basement to dance and play games. Soraya advised them to keep the music volume low. Despite all the bitterness life has forced upon her, Soraya continues to water the seeds of hope — so they may sprout, grow, and flourish.
Khadija Haidary is a Zan Times journalist.
