By Haniya Frotan
Afghan photographer Homa Mohammadi* braves constant intimidation in the course of her work, once having her camera smashed up by armed Taliban representatives who deleted all her images. Yet nothing has deterred her from her mission to tell Afghan women’s painful stories.
Her photographs, which she recently showcased in a groundbreaking Kabul exhibition, portray ordinary Afghan women. Together, they tell a story of deprivation and suffering, but also resilience and hope in the face of oppression.
Homa, 22, vividly portrays the social and cultural conditions of women under Taliban rule. In one photograph, two girls in traditional burqas are painting, the paintbrushes in their hands symbolizing a quiet resistance. In another, a girl in a blue burqa walks through the narrow streets of Kabul, holding a book – showing how the love of learning and culture survives, even in the worst of conditions.
Image : Supplied
The exhibition’s title, Borderless Flight, was inspired by an 11-year-old girl who dreamt of being a pilot until the Taliban forced her out of school. Homa came across the girl’s notebook, which was filled with drawings of birds and airplanes, when she was working as an English tutor. When asked why she had drawn so many birds, the child replied, “I dreamed of becoming a pilot and flying through the sky, but they didn’t let me go to school.”
“Every story I followed, every photo I took – whether about restrictions, the closure of universities, the loss of the right to work, or the girls I met while photographing – there was always a sense of flight in their eyes and words,” says Homa.
“I chose the name ‘Borderless Flight’ for this collection because these girls, even in a cage, still dream of flying.”
Homa was born in a remote and rugged part of central Afghanistan, and she had her access to education abruptly cut off when she was just 14. Instead, she picked up a camera and took to the streets of Kabul to document the stories of the women of her homeland.
Her images went on display for two days in April, in a classroom in a private school, discreetly tucked away down an alley.
Image : Supplied
“When I saw the photos, I was astonished. In a situation where even a man dares not speak about his beard in front of the Taliban, organizing such an exhibition takes great courage,” said Isra, a 21-year-old visitor.
“Homa has not only documented the truth, but has also given us the strength, power, and motivation to fight against darkness. I want to be like her and fight for my own rights.”
Organizing the exhibition was no easy task. Homa spent over a year gathering the photographs and preparing for the event. She funded the entire project herself, saving money she had earned teaching English. “I saved every single Afghani. I even skipped lunch just to make this exhibition happen,” she laughs.
The challenges went beyond cost. Homa describes how Taliban representatives repeatedly challenged her right to carry a camera, on one occasion accusing her of spying. On another, armed men broke her camera as she tried to film on a Kabul street.
Image : Supplied
“They deleted all the photos and videos I had, then threw my camera on the ground and smashed it with the rifle butt. He laughed and said, ‘Now, come take pictures!’,” she recalls.
None of this was enough to put Homa off. She saved up to buy another camera, and continued her work. Each photograph in this exhibition represents a victory over fear and oppression.
One of the most powerful photographs shows a woman in a burqa, her face completely hidden, with only her hand visible, pointing forward. The vague and silent background of the image conveys a sense of sorrow and longing for freedom. “This photo is about oppression and the struggle for self-expression. It’s as if this woman wants to say, ‘I am still here, even if my face is unseen,’” Homa says.
The exhibition was the first of its kind since the Taliban returned to power in Afghanistan in August 2021 and set about imposing severe restrictions on women, banning them from education and work, and requiring them to have a male chaperone in public. Many visitors viewed it as a cry of resistance as much as an art event.
“I didn’t just want to take pictures. I wanted to tell the world that we are still alive. We still have dreams. We are still fighting. These photographs are not just images; they are our voices,” Homa says.
“Maybe today I can’t go to school, maybe they’ve broken my camera, but they can’t break my dreams.”
Note*: Name changed for security reasons
