Bahar Ebrahimi
When the Taliban seized Afghanistan five years ago one of the first things they did was ban girls from secondary education. Some 2.4 million girls have since missed out on school, according to new UN estimates. Rukhshana Media reader Bahar Ebrahimi, whose education was cut short by the Taliban, writes here about what August 15 means to her.
There are days that, no matter how much you may want to, you can never forget. For me, August 15, 2021, is one such day – it is the day when my life changed forever.
That morning, I woke up like any other day; my textbooks were beside my bed and, as always, I was thinking about school – about lessons, exams, my friends and the simple things that seemed ordinary at the time.
When I think about that day, it brings home how unaware anyone is of the future. We make plans for tomorrow, but life has another plan for us. That day, I was just a girl who wanted to study and build her future. I had no idea that a few hours later, everything would change.
Five years on, many doors have closed, especially for the women and girls of Afghanistan. But personally, I still believe no one can destroy a girl’s dreams. The path may become harder, reaching the goal may take longer, but as long as hope exists, it is still possible to keep going.
Today, when I think of August 15, I do not think only of that one day. I think of all the days that followed. I think of all the girls who had big dreams, and still do; of all the books that remained closed; and of all the pages that were not written.
Sometimes I think to myself that, if I could return to the past for just a few minutes, perhaps I would choose that very morning of August 15. A morning when everything was still in its place; a morning when I still did not know what was going to happen.
Before that day, school was an ordinary part of my life, something I did every morning without thinking much about its value. But afterwards I understood that some things seem ordinary while we have them, and only when we lose them do we realise how important they were. I not only missed the lessons, I missed all the small things that made up school life: the laughter of girls in the classroom, the chats with my friends, and the moments when we all sat together waiting for the teacher to arrive.
For a few days after August 15, I was still hopeful. I told myself that perhaps everything would sort itself out in a few weeks, that perhaps this situation was temporary. But the weeks passed, and then the months came and went, and I understood that things were not going to return to normal any time soon.
I still keep myself occupied with memories of school. Sometimes, for no reason, I open my school bag and books. I remember one day I opened one of my notebooks and read the last things I had written. For a few minutes, I just looked at the page. Those writings belonged to a time when I had no worries about continuing my education; to a time when I thought that the following year I would move up to the next class and, after that, go to university. But how our dreams have changed.
I know many girls who were like me: girls with big dreams. They wanted to become doctors, teachers, writers and engineers. Each of us had our own story.
Sometimes at night, before sleeping, I think about the future – about the days that have not yet come and the things that have not yet happened. But really, I am looking for the day that will mark the end of our plight. Throughout this time, I have asked myself many times: What if that day never comes?
Despite all these worries, I truly do not want to lose hope. Sometimes it has been a good book that lifted my spirits, sometimes a simple sentence from a friend, and sometimes just the thought that I still have the chance to strive for the future. Over the years, I have come to understand that as humans we are much stronger than we think. When we face a difficult day, we imagine we cannot endure it, but little by little, we learn to keep going. We learn how to live with small hopes and be patient for big dreams.
Sometimes, when I see a young child happily going to school, I smile, but something also tightens in my heart – not because others’ success makes me sad, but because I remember the days when I, too, had that same feeling. I remember the days when my biggest concern was whether I had done my homework.
Some memories, you can never erase. The sound of the school bell is one, the smell of new books another. Some days, I can even still imagine myself in the school corridor, as if a part of my being has remained back in that time.
I still have my dreams. I still want to study. I still want to learn many things, and I still believe that education is the right of every girl – a right that should not be reduced simply to a dream. I do not know how long it will take to reach that day, but I know that having hope is worth it.
Perhaps years from now, when I look back, I will not remember August 15 only as the day everything changed. Perhaps I will see it as the day that taught me not to give up easily. The day that made me understand that a person can preserve their dreams even in the most difficult circumstances.
But I do not want to look at it only with sorrow. I want to remember it because it is part of my life story.
Above all, I do not want to forget this day because we must never allow the Taliban’s dark face and ugly way of thinking to be forgotten.
