By Zohal Azad
After darkness falls, when the market closes and the crowds thin out, Sodaba puts on her brother’s clothes, takes her bicycle, and rides through the back alleys of her neighbourhood – away from the eyes of the Taliban.
Sodaba, a former professional cyclist, has always dreamed of competing for Afghanistan at the Olympics. But ever since the extremist group retook power in Afghanistan nearly five years ago and imposed draconian restrictions on women and girls, disguising herself as a boy and cycling under cover of darkness has been her only way to train.
Even before the Taliban’s return, Afghanistan’s conservative values made cycling difficult for girls. Now, it would be impossible without her disguise. For Sodaba though, the feeling of freedom makes it worth the risk of getting caught.
“At first, I only practised in the yard. I thought if I went out during the day, the Taliban might notice me and I would get into trouble. But at night, when they’re not around, why not use the darkness?” she says.
After nearly three years away from the streets, she finally went out one night wearing her brother’s clothes: “I rode for about an hour and a half. What a beautiful feeling it was – it felt like I had conquered the streets.”
At first, the fear of being recognised was always there. But cycling is not just a sport for her, it’s her life.
“Every night I go out to train, I’m afraid they might recognise me, arrest me, whip me, or even stone me. But I cannot give up, because if I do, all the struggle I endured — the humiliation and abuse — will mean nothing.”
Sodaba was in secondary school and had already begun cycling professionally when the Taliban returned to power on August 15, 2021. As well as barring girls from all secondary and university education, they banned women’s sports completely. Many female athletes went into exile, but others were forced to abandon their dreams. For her security, we’re not using her real name or revealing her location.
Sodaba says she has been deeply passionate about cycling since childhood. Aged 12, she began practising secretly, using her brother’s bicycle. She continued training in this way for about a year, and in 2020, she won a local competition – exposing her secret to her family.
“The only person who was happy for me and did not oppose me was my mother,” she recalls. “My father and grandmother always said that cycling would disgrace them and make them ashamed in front of the neighbours, and that relatives would mock my father and brother. Whenever there was a competition, I would go secretly so they wouldn’t stop me from participating.”
Worse was to come. Neighbours began complaining, telling her father that it was immoral for girls to take part in sports. She was repeatedly threatened. Drivers would block her path, pass dangerously close to her to disrupt her balance, and verbally abuse her. These pressures extended beyond street violence; social condemnation and judgment from those around her further suffocated her everyday life.
“One day, when I had gone out to train, a man on a motorcycle came speeding toward me and hit my bicycle. I was seriously injured and ended up in the hospital. But instead of apologising, he angrily said, watch where you’re going! What does a girl have to do with bicycles and the street? Go learn how to cook.”
On another occasion: “Once, while training in an alley, my bicycle broke down. Instead of helping, people laughed at me. Young boys mocked me, and even girls whispered, ‘Look at this shameless girl.’ That day, I returned home in tears.”
At one point, she was beaten so badly that she sustained permanent injury.
In the days leading up to August 2021, she was preparing to participate in the “Tour of Bamiyan” and join the national team. But with the Taliban’s takeover of Kabul, everything collapsed overnight. “The hardest and most painful moment was when the Taliban entered our city,” she said. “It felt like the world had ended.”
After the Taliban came to power, like hundreds of other girls, she lived in despair for months. But as she says, she “never gave up” and found another way to resist this imposed isolation.
But she is taking a big risk – the Taliban have repeatedly detained female athletes and coaches for training or teaching. One recent case is Khadija Ahmadzada, a female taekwondo coach in Herat, who was arrested while secretly training girls and detained for two weeks.
But the hope that cycling gives her matters more, and it’s what lies behind her determination to keep going.
“I don’t want to lose the last hope I have,” she says. “I won’t let even this small hope be taken from me because of conditions that are not fair and that we did not choose—even if it means I have to ride for years in darkness, under a male identity, for my future and for the girls of my country.”
