By: Sherin Yousfi
Growing up in Afghanistan, Soraya, 37, lived far from the Taliban’s influence. But their beliefs and practices still reached her – and upended her life.
When Soraya married, she settled with her husband, Ghulam*, in a remote district of northern Balkh province. Soon, their family grew – they had a baby girl, and then another. It was a simple, traditional life. Soraya cared for their two girls while Ghulam earned an income as a coal miner.
But when Soraya was pregnant with their son, her husband was shot dead by Taliban fighters while on his way home.
“There is nothing more painful than your child being born without a father. He will miss his father’s kiss and smile for the rest of his life,” Soraya says.
That fateful day was three years ago. As Covid-19 gripped the world and Soraya five months pregnant, Ghulam, 42, went to work in a coal mine in Samangan Province. He was so excited about the arrival of their third child.
“One day he called me to say he was leaving work to come home,” Soraya says. He wanted to be present for the baby’s arrival and have a big celebration for the birth.
“The next day, my daughters and I were so looking forward to seeing him again,” she says. “I had prepared food for the evening and dressed my daughters in beautiful clothes, but my heart was restless. I was waiting for the phone to ring any moment.”
As the sun was setting, Soraya’s anxiety grew. Her many calls to Ghulam went unanswered, until finally, at 10.00pm, her husband’s cell phone stopped ringing. The battery was either flat or it had been switched off.
“I was worried and my daughters were more worried,” she says. “I called all my friends and acquaintances, but there was no news. That night, I did not sleep even for a moment.”
Early the next morning, as the mullah began the call to prayer, Soraya heard a knock at her gate. She ran to answer.
“I went and I saw four people standing behind the gate with a coffin,” she says.
They told Soraya that the Taliban had killed her husband at the checkpoint on the Dara Suf-Balkh road.
“I thought they had made a mistake. But when I removed the handkerchief from the corpse… it was him. He was wearing the same clothes I’d ironed for him. But they were torn and bloody – there were two bullet holes in his chest,” she says.
“Everything spun. I didn’t know if I was on earth or in the sky. I fainted,” she adds.
Ghulam’s taxi driver told Soraya that two others in the car – university students travelling to Balkh – were also killed in the shooting. He believed Ghulam might have survived if they had been able to reach the hospital, but they were held up by the Taliban for three hours and he lost too much blood.
“The Taliban made my life black from that day,” she says. “I am alive and breathing only because of my children. I will never forget that day.”
Twenty-four days later, Soraya gave birth to their son. She struggled to convince her daughters that their father was not coming back. “A mountain of sadness and responsibility fell on my shoulders.”
According to Soraya, her husband’s family was not able to help her, and she had to take on the task of breadwinner for her family. It was difficult for a widow with three young children to find work, and there were some in her conservative community who felt women should not work – even in her difficult position.
She used to cook bolani at home and go to sell it in the market, but the harassment and disapproval from some of her neighbours made her stop. Instead she started doing laundry for others.
“When I was selling bolani on the street, people would say right in front of me things like, ‘She is a widow and looking for a husband in the streets,” Soraya says. “I lived through really difficult times.”
With a breaking voice, Soraya says that since Ghulam’s death, she hasn’t bought her children anything new, though she tries to provide the best she can for them. She always dresses them in clothes people no longer want.
Things were hard before the Taliban arrived, but then it got much worse.
When Afghanistan fell to the Taliban, Soraya was working as a cleaner in a private school in Balkh. But with the ban on girls schools and then various orders restricting women in public life and some types of jobs, Soraya became unemployed.
“The night, when the school principal called to tell me that I could no longer come to work, my whole life went dark,” she says. “I was wondering how to find the rent money. Where would I find money for flour and oil? My income had been low, but at least we could live with that.”
She rejects the idea that the Taliban orders are made out of respect for the dignity and chastity of women. For Soraya, it’s been the most difficult period of her life.
This winter has been particularly bitter. Afghanistan is experiencing one of its coldest winters in a generation. According to official statistics, more than 150 people have already died due to the cold. Soraya has no means or income to heat her home.
“The Taliban killed my husband and now they have taken away our bread as well,” she says. “This year, I could not even buy seven kilos of coal.”
Also weighing on her mind is her daughters’ education. “My eldest daughter is in third grade. I am worried that the Taliban will not allow her to go to school after a few years.”
With the Taliban regaining power in Afghanistan, women’s lives have taken significant hits. Extensive restrictions against women have been the hallmark of the Taliban’s first 1.5 years in power. The decree banning women’s work and education is one of the biggest challenges to women, and for women without male income earners like Soraya, the pain is particularly acute.
“No one can feel and understand this pain except an Afghan woman whose life has been ruined by the Taliban,” Soraya says.
*Ghulam is a pseudonym at Soraya’s request
