By Tamana Taban
Arezo and her sister had ducked out to a bakery near their home in northern Daikundi province when they were chased by Taliban members for inappropriate clothing.
Their dresses and headscarves were the typically modest attire that women in the region have always worn. The problem for the Taliban was that they were not completely dressed in black.
Arezo had heard about the new decree from the Taliban on women’s clothing, but her and her sister thought a quick trip to get some bread would be okay. But before they reached the bakery, some Taliban members noticed them and began to approach.
“We fled from the Taliban soldiers and went back home, but the Taliban didn’t give up and they followed us. They knocked violently on our gate several times,” the 25-year-old said.
“Eventually, my father went out to speak with them. They told my father that two women without [approved] hijabs had entered the compound and demanded that he surrender us immediately.”
Arezo said the incident was only resolved with the intervention of their neighbors, which prevented their arrest.
However, her father has given the Taliban a guarantee that his daughters will never leave the house wearing colors.
“Full-blown hell”
The Taliban’s imposed dress code is completely foreign to Daikundi. The folk dress of the province is famed for its ornate designs elegantly decorating bright and bold dresses and head pieces.
“I don’t remember ever having worn such clothing before,” said Sakina*, a resident of Nili, the capital of central Daikundi province.
“My family and ancestors were all Muslims, and our hijab was entirely Islamic. I don’t understand where this extreme and strict interpretation of Islam comes from.”
“When I am alone, I ask myself what sin we have committed for God to decree such a fate upon us, that we now live under the Taliban, who are both our contemporaries and fellow countrymen.”
The 25-year old described the decrees as “full-blown hell,” she said.
women in Daikundi before the Taliban regime / Image: kabul press
On June 29, the local Taliban authorities in Daikundi issued a six-day deadline instructing women to wear full-body black hijabs and cover their faces with masks.
“After the above date (June 29-July5), any woman seen in the market or an office without the Arabic-style hijab will face punishment and imprisonment,” the one-week warning from the Daikuni department of Vice and Virtue read.
As a student at a private health institute, Sakina said she feels the fear of the Taliban from the moment she steps out of her house until she reaches her destination.
“I must walk for an hour daily from home to the health institute. According to the Taliban’s latest decree, I must wear a full-body black hijab. When I come home from the institute in the sweltering heat, it feels like I’m burning in a fire,” she said.
“It’s that difficult for me. When I think about how the Taliban make decisions and we are forced to comply, I feel a sense of emptiness and humiliation. It feels as if I am not alive, like a dead person for whom the living decide what kind of shroud to use and where to bury me.”
“When they take away a person’s will, is there any difference between that and being a moving corpse,” she said.
In early August of this year, a joint report from the International Organization for Migration, UNAMA, and UN Women found that about 64 percent of women in Afghanistan do not feel safe leaving their homes.
This is particularly acute for women who do not have fathers or husbands to defend them such as in scenarios like Arezo and her sister.
The women disappearing from public spaces
In a remote area of Nili, Sabira* single-handedly takes care of her five children as both the sole breadwinner and caregiver.
The 36-year-old runs a small handicraft shop and has found the decrees are also affecting her business.
“The number of women coming to the market has significantly decreased. I can say it’s less than half of what it was even four months ago,” she said.
“The reason is the Taliban’s strict enforcement of the Arabic-style hijab. Most of our customers are women, so as the number of women in the market decreases, our customer base shrinks accordingly.”
Sabira said her husband was a civilian shot dead by the Taliban on July 7, 2019, in Jalrez district of Maidan Wardak province.
Jalrez connects Kabul to the central provinces of Afghanistan. The road through it became known colloquially as the “Valley of Death” because of the hundreds of soldiers and civilians, mostly Hazara, who were taken hostage, killed, and beheaded by the Taliban in this area.
Despite her discomfort, Sabira abides by all the decrees imposed by the Taliban to protect her children.
“We have been forced to wear the Arabic-style hijab all day at work. As soon as I come home and remove this compulsory attire, I can finally take a deep breath,” she said.
“Working with such clothing is difficult. If I weren’t so compelled, I would have given up this shop and working in the market. I am truly exhausted from all these restrictions. I hope this group’s rule ends soon so that we can all be at ease.”
Monisa*, a 24-year-old student at an English language center in Daikundi, said she experiences deep discomfort in the Taliban’s dress rules but she obeys out of fear.
“If we don’t comply and get arrested, it will bring shame to our families,” she said.
“We walk very laboriously from the home to the course. Believe me, in many places, we struggle to breathe. I try to remove my face cover in less crowded areas to catch my breath, but I am also afraid that a Taliban member might come along and cause trouble for me.”
In August, Taliban supreme leader Mullah Hebatullah signed a new morality law that further extends restrictions on women to include a ban on talking in public.
The newly enacted law contains several controversial provisions, among these being that women’s voices are referred to as “awrat,” meaning that their voices are considered as intimate as private parts and should not be heard by men who are not members of their family.
Note*: Names are changed due to security reasons.
