I was born into a liberal family in Kabul province of Afghanistan. When I was three years old, civil war broke out, and we left all our belongings and immigrated north to Mazar-e-Sharif. Shortly afterwards, our house in Kabul burned and we lost everything. We lived in Mazar-e-Sharif peacefully for seven years and had a pretty good life. Our good days ended in 1998 when the government collapsed and the Taliban took over Mazar-e-Sharif.
My lovely blue / You are with me / As I travel / My pen / You write everything about me
In the rainy season of Pakistan, the news of my grandmother’s death made our lives rainier / This season showed me my father’s tears for the first time / His red eyes hurt so much, I wanted to take the pain away but didn’t know how
Last night I asked the sky / Hey why you are dry? / Sky told me: / I am angry with you and / your countrymen
Nik Mohammed, father of eight, spent three months without work, with no way to pay for food, warm clothes for his family, wood to heat their home. In desperation, he took his children from school and sent them to the bazaar to find odd jobs.
But a new cash-for-work program funded by USAID/ Central Asia Development Group with close collaboration with the Farah municipality has brought 4,000 temporary jobs…
I am a daughter who has witnessed sixteen springs and the nests / Of beautiful swallows in those winters. / In the spring, all beauty and blessings rain onto the earth. / Like in my father and mother’s house where it rained the blessing of God.
I asked my mom is it possible / That my legs and my hands / will grow again? / No one / No one / No one answered me. / Everyone, including the doctor, was silent.
And I feel so young / Pains start growing inside of me / I begin to hear / You have to / have to / have to / I have to live with “have to.”
Sahar is 20 years old. She is one of my friends who never gave up in the face of difficulty. She has given me the sense that I have something inside, that I can do what I want and that I have rights I am afraid to claim. Here is her story.
“I was usually beaten with cables and sticks. I got pregnant twice but lost my babies because of severe living conditions. In three years, I didn’t leave my in-law’s house even once; I was always locked in a small house,” says Mahnaz.
Mahnaz, 22, is my friend. I met her through my job. She was working in one of the ministries in Kabul.
The Afghan Women's Writing Project : Dedicated to the Memory of Zarmeena
Security notice:
The security situation can be difficult for many women in Afghanistan, especially those who are determined to further their education or those who frankly tell their stories. Out of concern for their safety, this blog will not use family names or specific locators.
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