By Sara Hussaini
It was a warm summer day. Sunlight softly filtered through the semi-transparent curtains into the dorm. I lay on my bed in the corner of the room and watched the shadows of trees outside gently swaying in a light breeze.
I was heavy with a deep sense of loneliness and dread, My mind tumbled over thoughts of how my life had changed so suddenly. How the arrival of the Taliban had changed everything. How, in disbelief and desperation, I found myself forced to go to a place I had never intended for my education.
I had committed myself to studying at a higher level, hoping that this place could provide an opportunity to escape this quagmire in which I was trapped.
Books, notes and belongings were scattered around the room, all bearing signs of despair and anxiety.
I turned my eyes to the ceiling, noticing the faint ticking of the wall clock when my mobile phone pinged with a text message.
It was a man pledging to help me.
He seemed to me like an angel, a rescuer, a hero. His effortless persuasion with words and large promises to find a way out of Iran and send money to help cover my university tuition filled me with fear – and hope.
Was he truly trying to help or was he taking advantage of my vulnerability? I kept going back and forth in my mind, plagued with doubt.
My hands trembled as I typed my replies to his message. He responded rapidly, making promises that slowly eased the anxiety in my heart. His words were full of sympathy and compassion.
He understood my situation and was genuinely intent on helping me out of this crisis.
An internal voice prodded me with concern – did this man truly mean these things? Why was he helping me? What else could he want from this?
But my desperation was louder – finally, here was hope! Rescue! Financial help! And an escape from this suffocating environment and forced exile.
The walls of the dorm room closed in tighter still. It felt like a prison of my own loneliness more than ever. The books in disarray around me reminded me there was no one to save me from this situation.
Memories of men in the past who’ve controlled me rose to the forefront of my mind, and in the same instant, my desire for freedom insisted that not all men should be judged the same way.
I continued to reply to the stranger.
A few days passed, and the man kept insisting on sending me some money to support me. We talked on the phone several times and he was always respectful, patient, kind. Finally I relented – he was truly a good person and wanted to help me.
I gave him my details for the bank transfer and he immediately sent a sum of money to my account.
But before a day had passed, his mask slipped. His conversation turned, and while it wasn’t anything specific I could pinpoint, I felt the change. Suddenly I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being trapped.
“Now that I’ve sent you money, you have to be with me,” he messaged one day. His demands became outrageous, with requests to engage in romantic then sexual conversations. Then to send nude photographs of myself. If I didn’t, I have to return all the money he’d sent.
In that moment, it felt as though my dorm room and all the world outside collapsed in on me.
That night, I lay awake in bed wondering why men reduce their vision of women to a sexual lens. I had chosen to trust him but I had allowed him to play with my mind and soul.
I wanted to tell him that I am more than this – but how? I wanted someone to save me from this trap – but who? I was torn with conflicting emotions of desperately wanting salvation, but deep shame and self preservation stopping me from seeking it.
My tears soaked the pillow. I sobbed and shook with a physical sorrow. But within this heavy darkness, I sensed a thread of strength and determination beginning to stir within me. I remembered that I am not merely a sexual object but rather a powerful being capable of creating change. I didn’t want to allow a man who only saw me through a sexual lens to succeed in overpowering me.
No, I would fight for myself, for my identity, for my femininity. The tears dried on my face as my resolve grow firm.
I borrowed money from my friends and, with a heart full of anger and hatred, I sent the full amount back to him.
A flame of strength burned within me. With full respect for my womanhood and the autonomy over my body, I called him with a firm voice and said, “I am not the woman you think I am. You cannot buy me with money. Never make that mistake again. I stand for myself, for my identity, and for all the women who face these challenges every day, against men like you.”
It was not only a response to him, but a cry from the depths of my being, showing that I would not submit to their sexual demands.
The way these men view women as mere sexual objects is unacceptable. I am a woman of strength, with an independent identity, and a human being, regardless of the beauty that a man may seek for his sexual satisfaction.
With this action, I not only freed myself from the chains but also sent a strong message to all the women who face inequality and discrimination every day: “We can and must stand up for ourselves.”
Despite all the challenges and hardships I had gone through, and the deep regret I felt for having trusted him, that experience served as a wake-up call for me. I would never again trust or believe men who view women through a sexual lens.
As a woman living in a patriarchal and misogynistic society, I face the harsh reality every day that the sexual gaze of men cannot define my identity or my worth. I am more than what others expect of me.
This experience strengthened me. I emerged from the darkness with an emboldened determination within me. I overcame not only my fears but freed myself from the chains of others’ expectations. Today, I am more independent as a result, shaping my life and getting closer to my dreams.
In a land where Afghan women face relentless challenges every day, my story is just one example among hundreds of similar tales. In a society where men view us through a sexual lens and try to question our identity and power, we must stand up and raise our voices.
As women, we possess a strength beyond imagination, not only in the face of inequality but also against the daily humiliations we endure.
We are women who grow stronger and more independent from the pain and suffering we face.
In the end, I say to all the women of Afghanistan: We are together. Our story is still unfolding, and in this story, we will be the heroes. Together, we will break the silence and show the world that we can stand against the sexual gaze of men and fight for our dignity.
Sara Hussaini* is the sole author of this content and is accountable for its accuracy.
