Sina Saeedi
Reports emerged last week that the Taliban have banned women from visiting the Sakhi shrine in Kabul, removing one of their last remaining freedoms. The shrine, a large complex containing a historic mosque and a cemetery, is a significant site for Afghanistan’s Shia community, many of whom belong to the Hazara ethnic minority. They have long faced persecution by the Taliban, a Sunni Pashtun movement.
Shias come to the shrine to pay respects to the dead and to honour Ali, the son-in-law of the Prophet Muhammad. Many go to the shrine in the early spring to mark Nowruz, the Afghan new year. Until recently, it was one of the few places outside their own homes where women could go and feel safe. Families would go there to worship, often bringing food to cook and eat together. A section of the mosque was dedicated women-only.
Rukhshana Media sent a reporter to the shrine to investigate the reports. This is what he saw:
At the south gate of Kabul’s Sakhi shrine, a large black cloth now hangs in front of the women’s entrance. The courtyard beyond on the day that I visited was almost empty, with so few visitors you could count them on one hand. I had never seen it so deserted.
I asked a staff member why it was so empty and he shook his head and told me the Taliban’s morality police had prohibited women from entering. He didn’t know why, he said. “No one knows. They [the Taliban] just ordered that women are not allowed to enter. That’s it. They haven’t told us anything more.”
Before reaching the entrance, I had seen an officer from the Taliban’s morality police sitting on a chair looking relaxed in the bright sun of the late morning. His white coat – the uniform of the morality police – protruded from beneath the black blanket he had wrapped around himself for warmth, and his cheerful expression belied his purpose there – to inspect the faces of newcomers.
As I arrived, I saw a young man and woman helping an older woman get out of a car and walk towards the entrance, her head covered by a red headscarf, her expression fatigued. A shopkeeper called out to the young man: “Don’t trouble yourself, brother, they’re not letting women in,” but the trio ignored him and carried on. Sure enough, as they approached the entrance, a Taliban guard stepped in front of them and blocked their way, saying women weren’t allowed. The younger man tried to reason with him, saying she was unwell and had travelled far to visit the grave of a relative. But the guard just repeated that women weren’t allowed in, and the group turned back the way they had come.
Outside the main courtyard, I bought tea from one of the young sellers sitting by a fire that he was using to heat a samovar why women were no longer allowed to enter the shrine.
He counted the money, looked around, and said:
“These people are capable of anything. It’s poor people like us who pay the price for their decisions. They [the Taliban] have disrupted our work too with this order. We have no choice but to go along with whatever they want.”
To return home, I left through the western gate of the shrine’s courtyard. It was slightly busier than the southern one and four or five young women were standing at the entrance, sadly looking inside. Another morality police officer in his white coat gestured to a guard to remove the women and he walked towards them and said:
“Excuse me, sisters. We’ve been told not to let women enter. You should go back home.”
The women stepped away from the gate. Hearing the call to prayer, the morality officer stood up and entered the shrine’s courtyard.
