By Ziba Balkhi
Abeda worked as a teacher in Afghanistan’s Balkh province for more than a decade before the Taliban returned to power in 2021. As a widow and a single mother, losing her job was catastrophic. For the last six months, she has been selling second-hand clothes by the side of the street to try to make a little money to feed her family. This is her story, told in her own words:
I can say with certainty that after the Taliban came to power, my life became dark and bleak. They took away my peace and all my plans for the future.
Before the regime change, I worked as a teacher in a girls’ secondary school. I had a calm and modest life. My salary was not very high, but at least my children went to bed with full stomachs.
When the Taliban closed girls’ schools, I was forced to stay home. My husband has passed away, and the responsibility of providing for my children rests entirely on my shoulders. I have borne many difficulties up to now, but I have reached the point where life has become unbearable.
To pay rent, electricity bills, and cover the cost of food and clothing for my children, I have held a variety of jobs. At the beginning, I was part of a group of women employed by the municipality who swept streets, collected rubbish and cleaned the roadside. I had never imagined doing such work, but nothing in life is more important to me than my children’s wellbeing.
Even this work did not last long. Once again, I found myself unemployed and confined to my home. I was jobless for a long time. At times, the sight of my children’s empty plates tormented me. That is why I say the situation that has befallen us is worse than any form of violence people talk about.
I was left with no choice but to collect second-hand clothes and sell them on the streets. I get some items free from relatives and friends and sell them for a small price. Sometimes I buy clothes cheaply from people and resell them at a slightly higher price so that I can earn a little money for my children.
Every morning, before sunrise, I wake up worrying about whether I’ll be able to earn anything for my children that day. I wonder what will happen to me today. Every time I see armed Taliban on the streets, my hands and feet start trembling, as I fear what excuse they will use to make my work even harder.
Working on the roadside isn’t easy. Sometimes I hide myself under a chadari (burqa) , so that no one can recognize me. This saves me from the shame I feel when I see former colleagues or even past students. But what can I do about the Taliban’s violent harassment?
Most of the time, I am subjected to harassment, humiliation, and insults by the Taliban. Their officers on the streets find new excuses every day to degrade us women who work on the roadside. Sometimes they say, “Don’t sit here.” Other times, they nitpick about my hijab. Some Taliban members come up with excuses to extort money from me. If I earn 250 Afghanis (£2.84) in a day, I could be made to give them [the Taliban] 50 to 100 just to let me sit by the roadside and sell my clothes.
There are days when I return home empty-handed. There have been days when my children have gone to bed without a single piece of bread. Winter is nearing, and my worries have grown even more. I constantly wonder how I will protect my children from the cold.
What violence is greater than taking away our work, our education, our freedom, and the livelihood of our children? The Taliban claim they have brought security, but what value does security have when it comes with fear, humiliation, insults and hunger? When we lack emotional or psychological safety, what meaning does physical security hold?
Since I lost my teaching job, my life has changed drastically, and I have been under immense psychological pressure. I became very depressed, and I cannot sleep without sedatives and calming medication. For more than four years, the Taliban have taken peaceful sleep away from us women. We women live under brutal oppression, and in these four and a half year, I have aged more than 20 years.
My life under Taliban rule has become nothing but a struggle for bread and for my children’s survival. I have lost my work, my freedom, and my sense of safety, and the life I had before the Taliban has become nothing more than a dream—one I am certain I will never see again.
