How do girls’ secret schools operate in Afghanistan?
In the corner of a modest home in Afghanistan, a line of shoes reveals a quiet act of defiance. Each pair belongs to a girl who has come in secret to continue her education. Freshta*, a mother of five, opened her living room to teach her 14-year-old daughter after the Taliban shut down girls’ schools. Word quickly spread, and soon 25 girls were gathering in her home.
“The girls were depressed and had lost all hope,” Freshta recalls. “But I told them we could still learn, even from home.”
To hide their efforts, Freshta told neighbors she was teaching Quranic interpretation and placed religious books in plain sight. Her eldest daughter, once a university student, began helping with lessons. With few supplies, students pooled money for a whiteboard and markers. Rotating responsibilities, they stretched what little they had to keep the school alive.
Then the landlord raised the rent and threatened to report them. When he followed through, Taliban officials came to their home. Fortunately, it was outside class hours. Freshta’s husband convinced them it was a Quran class. The Taliban left, but the family was forced to vacate. Freshta later connected with the Daricha school network, which supports underground girls’ schools across Afghanistan.
Since its founding in 2020 by Canada-based writer Hazrat Wahrez, Daricha has supported 66 home-based schools in 20 provinces, educating 4,500 girls. Initially self-funded, Wahrez later secured international support. At its peak, Daricha paid 175 female teachers and several staff, providing salaries, classroom supplies, and winter heating gas. But in May 2024, donor funding was cut. Teachers were told they could stop. None did.
Freshta, unpaid and with her husband unemployed, couldn’t pay rent for five months. When the landlord began harassing students, she borrowed 30,000 afghani to stay. She now hopes to reopen in a quieter location with a supportive landlord.
Zan Times spoke to 20 female teachers across Afghanistan. Most began teaching with little more than chalk and courage. Eventually, some joined Daricha and received basic support. But even when the money stopped, the teaching did not.
Soltanat*, once a public school teacher in the south, was recruited by Daricha to open a home school in the north. She and four others now teach 100 girls in shifts at a religious school that rents them two classrooms. For over two years, they have continued under the watch of Taliban patrols, shielded by sympathetic community leaders.
“The girls are so eager they don’t even want days off,” Soltanat says. “When the Taliban came to the school gate last September, I was four months pregnant and nearly fainted from fear.”
Their curriculum includes both religious and academic subjects. Community support—especially from men whose daughters attend the school—has been key to their survival.
Makrama*, a former geography teacher in the southeast, now teaches elementary Dari and English. With four others, she formed a school in a mosque built by local residents. Initially supported by Daricha, they taught 150 girls until Taliban threats and pressure forced 20 to drop out.
“Our students are disciplined, fully veiled, and deeply committed to learning,” she says. After Eid last year, they returned to find the school vandalized. “Windows shattered, carpets covered in glass. The girls cleaned everything themselves.”
Despite repeated threats, none of the teachers quit. “We refuse to leave these girls behind. We won’t let a generation grow up illiterate.”
Parisa*, a 30-year-old teacher in the northeast, opened a home school with her sister after losing her job at a private school. With only a whiteboard, a few markers, and hand-me-down books, they enrolled dozens. But when the Taliban found out, they ordered the school closed. Parents intervened, promising protection. The sisters now teach 16 girls from their own street.
“These schools give girls a safe space to learn and grow,” Parisa says. “They read novels, write poetry, draw, and dream.”
They were supported by Daricha for one year and have continued on their own since. Parisa doesn’t know if help will return, but she is certain about one thing:
“Education always finds a way. The determination of our girls, the support of their families—it proves that no restriction can fully silence the need to learn.”
Names marked with * have been changed for security reasons. Khadija Haidary is Zan Times journalist.
