By Muzhdan Mohammadi
In a quiet alley in western Afghanistan, a middle-aged woman swathed in a hijab is pleading with a dealer to buy one of the only remaining things she has to sell – hair cut from her and her daughters’ heads.
Eventually, Simin Gul hands over the black plastic bag she is clutching to the man in return for 300 Afghanis ($4.20). “It’s not much money,” says the mother of five after the sale, “but it’s enough to buy a few loaves of bread.”
The global trade in human hair to make wigs or hair extensions has long provided a lifeline for poor women in Afghanistan. After the Taliban took power in 2021 and cut off almost every avenue for women’s livelihoods, severely restricting access to education and employment, it became one of the few ways they could earn anything at all.
In the city of Herat, where Gul lives, men with handcarts going door to door seeking to buy women’s hair to trade had become a common sight in recent years.
“Sell your hair — it’s worth a piece of bread” became a common phrase as more and more women resorted to cutting off their hair to survive, women told Rukhshana Media.
Then at the end of last year, the Taliban administration’s Ministry for the Propagation of Virtue and Prevention of Vice – the feared enforcer of restrictions on both women and men – declared the sale of human body parts, including women’s hair, to be un-Islamic and issued a ban.
In February, the ministry publicly burned about 900 kilograms (about 2,000 pounds) of women’s hair in the capital Kabul, saying it was to “preserve Islamic values and human dignity.”
Gul, who has four daughters and a son, had little choice but to contravene the ban. Her husband used to find casual work by illegally crossing into neighbouring Iran and has not worked since he was caught and deported. She does whatever she can to earn for the family, sometimes picking up cleaning work.
Her story is that of countless Afghan women who, unable to earn due to the Taliban’s strict prohibition on women working, have to resort to selling their hair or that of their daughters so their families can eat.
The sale of human hair globally is driven by poverty, with much of the supply coming from countries like India, where long hair is prized, and much of the demand from wealthier Western countries. It’s a controversial trade, but no other country bans its citizens from selling their own hair.
In Herat last month, the local vice and virtue authorities confiscated 400 kilos of women’s hair from shops. Department head Azizurrahman Muhajir said the trade went against Islamic law and warned shopkeepers they would be shut down if it continued.
The move has angered beauticians, who were already struggling after the Taliban banned them from practicing in 2023, forcing them to ply their trade in secret. Several told Rukhshana Media that the collection and burning of hair dishonored women.
“They are so deeply anti-women that they’ve even blocked this modest source of income,” said Yasamin*, 29, who works at a beauty salon in Herat. “Women used to collect and sell their hair to afford basic household necessities — but the Taliban have taken that away too.”
Maryam*, 40, has worked as a beautician in Herat for the past 15 years and ran her own salon until the ban. She says the latest decree prohibiting the sale of hair has only served to drive the trade underground.
“Most hair buyers are nomads who go door to door under the pretense of collecting scrap metal. They ask if anyone has hair to sell, saying they’ll buy that too.”
Maryam explains that cut hair, as well as strands that fall out during brushing, are collected and exported to countries like Iran, China, and Pakistan, with the price depending on its quality, color and length. That allowed beauticians and hairdressers like her to earn a little extra. Sometimes, she says, Afghan brides buy hair at salons to give their own more volume.
Beautician Samira*, 28, had to move her salon into a guest room in her home after the 2023 ban. She said she used to earn between 500 to 700 Afghanis a month by selling hair, until Taliban forces raided her home and confiscated all her beauty tools and equipment last month.
Her voice trembling, Samira recalls how she was cutting a customer’s hair in her salon one morning when she was startled by a loud knock at her door.
“Five Taliban security personnel were standing at the door. One of them was knocking and shouting, ‘Get out of here, clear this place!’ Another was filming us and the salon. They wanted to enter, but my father stopped them,” she says.
Samira, who lives with her parents, no longer dares to work as a beautician. “At that moment, my hands and feet were shaking. The only thought in my mind was, what will happen to my future?” she says.
“I wish I wasn’t a woman, that I was just a stone, so I wouldn’t have to endure so much suffering.”
Note*: Names have been changed for safety reasons
