Lamar Zala Gran is the founder and president of Empowering Afghan Women (EAW), a nonprofit organization serving young Afghan women by providing them with online classes and educational resources to thrive and acquire essential knowledge for their future careers, amidst the Taliban ban on girls over the age of 12 from attending school. Lamar is an education, women's rights, and youth activist and student at Berea College in Kentucky in the United States where she continues to expand her knowledge and skills to serve her mission better. Lamar grew up in Kabul, where she witnessed firsthand the obstacles that hindered access to education, including poverty, cultural norms, and security concerns. Her journey as an activist is deeply rooted in her dedication to education rights, especially for Afghan girls and women. Since the fall of Kabul in 2021, she has been actively raising awareness about the situation of women in Afghanistan and has met with figures such as Hillary Clinton and the U.S. Ambassador in Doha. In her spare time, Lamar finds solace in cooking Afghan dishes, exploring music, and enjoying outdoor activities like hiking. In her conversation with HerStory's Communications Manager, Sahar Maqsoodi, Zala offers an engaging look into how her activism began, sharing her personal experiences, her driving passions, and her hopes for the future. Maqsoodi: Please briefly introduce Lamar to us. Gran: I was raised in an educated family in Kabul, Afghanistan. I graduated from high school there and then enrolled at the American University of Afghanistan (AUAF). Currently, I am running EAW and am a first-year political science student at Berea College in Kentucky. For the past four years at EAW, we have been teaching English to young women. However, due to the Taliban takeover, we shifted to online classes covering subjects like English, computer skills, math, and various workshops on capacity building and leadership. We aim to equip them with essential knowledge for their future careers, especially amidst the ongoing conflict in Afghanistan. Maqsoodi: You are a women's rights activist, and your activities on social media speak to that. Please tell us a little about your journey in activism and how it started. Gran: I started my activism journey as an education rights activist, which has been challenging in Afghanistan's current situation. Being a female activist is often considered taboo in our society. When I founded my nonprofit, I researched the educational challenges faced by girls and women, including poverty, full-time labor, child marriage, and security concerns, all leading to high dropout rates. During the republican government, literacy rates were higher, but now they're declining, exacerbated by factors like menstrual taboos. Personal experiences, such as losing my right to education under the Taliban, fueled my activism. Because I was a woman, I felt the impact when the Taliban took over, stripping away our rights to education and freedom of speech. We were forced into hiding, and our achievements vanished overnight. This forced me to speak up, and activism helped me share my story and lighten the burden of women's experiences. This is how I show the world what's happening in Afghanistan. I'm committed to bringing policy reforms and ensuring Afghan women aren't forgotten amidst global conflicts. Lamar started empowering Afghan women, facing challenges such as lack of resources, recruitment, and resistance from pro-Taliban elements. Despite personal struggles, Lamar remained committed to education, providing learning opportunities for Afghan women. She relocated from Afghanistan to Qatar and then to the United States, balancing work, academics, and activism. Despite the emotional and physical toll, Lamar remained steadfast in her commitment to education, demonstrating resilience and determination in her journey. Maqsoodi: What inspired you to become a women’s rights activist for Afghan women, particularly focusing on their right to education? Gran: My activism is inspired by my personal experience and the plight of Afghan women. In seventh grade, economic struggles limited my access to education. I couldn't afford tuition classes, and opportunities were scarce. Moreover, even with resources in the US, I can never forget those in need back home. I urge fellow youth and Afghan nationals to unite for this cause. My motivation comes from the injustices my people face. My own experiences fueled my determination to create change. I established Empowering Afghan Women to provide free education and advocate for women's rights. My love for my country and its people drives me forward. Maqsoodi: Let's move out a bit from your activism journey and explore your personal life. Tell us about your family and the environment you grew up in. What values and traditions were important to your family when you started going to university or when you began your work? Gran: My mother graduated from Kabul University and later became a high school teacher for over 20 years, while my father was a writer and activist. Their influence sparked my journey into activism and education. They supported me immensely, even sending me abroad for education in 2022. When I left Afghanistan, my father accompanied me to the border, a bittersweet moment for both of us. Their pride in my achievements has been constant, whether getting a scholarship to Berea College or pursuing further education in the United States. I have two educated brothers who also value higher education. Our family places great importance on knowledge, education, and progress, instilling in us a love for our country despite our refugee status. I am passionate about activism, constantly seeking new opportunities to make a difference. I work at the Center for International Education while studying political science. I plan to minor in law, peace, social justice, or economics, reflecting my diverse interests. My family's liberal and modern values have always supported my endeavors, from attending the American University of Afghanistan to pursuing education in Qatar and the United States. Their firm support has been priceless throughout my journey. Lamar enjoys a variety of hobbies that bring joy and relaxation to her life. One of her favorite hobbies is cooking, particularly preparing Afghan dishes, which she delights in sharing with friends from diverse backgrounds. In her alone time, Lamar finds peace in music. She is considering taking music classes to learn how to play instruments like the piano, guitar, or violin. Lamar also enjoys hiking, especially during the fall season, immersing herself in the beauty of nature. Additionally, she is interested in watching Korean dramas and movies related to politics and the court system. Hanging out with friends and playing card games like Mafia are activities that Lamar finds both enjoyable and relaxing. Maqsoodi: What personal quality or aspect of yourself are you exceptionally proud of, beyond your achievements and activities? Additionally, is there someone in your life whom you admire the most? If so, why? Gran: Well, honestly, I'm very proud of my resilience. Despite facing challenges or criticism, I am highly tolerant and can quickly move on. My confidence is another aspect I take pride in. I'm not overly confident, but I'm confident in expressing my thoughts and opinions on various topics. Additionally, I'm proud of my determination. Even if I fail multiple times, I continue to give my best effort because I'm stubborn and don't give up easily. As for someone I admire most, it's difficult to choose just one person. Many individuals have influenced me differently, but if I had to pick one, it would be my parents. They have constantly supported and inspired me to pursue my dreams and always believe in me. Their resilience, kindness, and unwavering love have shaped me into who I am today. However, my mother is one person I am grateful for having her.  She's a strong woman, navigating the challenges of this world with remarkable resilience. I've come to understand that being a woman requires patience, especially in the Afghan society with traditional taboos and diverse expectations. Despite these hurdles, my mother has courageously juggled work, provided for our family, and ensured the education of her three children. Maqsoodi:  That is brilliant. Living abroad can be challenging and stressful. What is the one thing that keeps you motivated when you feel exhausted or disappointed? If you had to mention only one thing. Gran: The one thing that keeps me motivated is to reunite with my family because it has been two years since I have been away from them. During this time, I've encountered rough treatment and discrimination from some people. However, the prospect of seeing my family again in the future is what drives me to study hard and work towards making something of myself. Their love and support inspire me to persevere and succeed, ultimately aiming to contribute to their well-being and happiness. "I know the time is tough, but I am sure you all can get through it. This time will pass. All those beautiful moments that we used to have will eventually come back. Stay brave! Don't lose your courage and hope."

Muzhda Akbari is an 18-year-old Afghan girl who was forced to leave Afghanistan following the takeover of the country by the Taliban in August 2021. She has shown the courage to build a new life from scratch in Canada. Despite all the challenges of establishing a new life, Muzhda is not only trying to turn them into opportunities, but she also continues to support her fellow Afghan girls in Afghanistan and advocate for their rights that are taken away in Taliban-controlled Afghanistan. Muzhda is the founder of CodeGreen Afghanistan, a web-based platform with the mission to provide free and accessible online educational resources. As an activist, Muzhda passionately advocates for what is important to her and the world we live in: ensuring everyone enjoys their rights as humans. She finds joy in reading books, occasionally playing the rubab, a traditional Afghan musical instrument, writing, photography, and coding. In this interview, HerStory’s President, Nila Ibrahimi, sat down with Muzhda to share her life story with us and our readers, describing the inspiring journey she has undergone. HerStory: Let's discuss your passions: playing the rubab, writing, photography, and coding. Could you share more about these interests and what motivates you to invest your time in these activities? Muzhda: When I try anything, it serves as a kind of escape from other challenges. For instance, when I began playing the rubab in Pakistan, I was grappling with a lot of depression and various issues, not only in Pakistan but also in Afghanistan and around the world. The decision to start playing the rubab made me feel deeply connected, especially to Afghanistan, as the rubab is our national instrument. Also, when it comes to writing, I love it. Writing serves as an escape from all of my emotions; it's a way that I can organize my mind and write about things that I love. Photography is another passion of mine—when I take photos, I believe each one tells a story, and I love that aspect. As for coding, I started it primarily to experience the joy of education, and it has become something very special for me. This led to the start of Code Green Afghanistan. Currently, I am studying different subjects at school; each of them is also an escape from something else, yet, at the same time, it’s a way for me to truly feel myself. HerStory: Moving to another country can trigger flashbacks that will make you miss every moment of your life back home. So tell us about your early childhood. How would you recall your childhood, where you grew up, and, of course, the specific memories that you might miss? Muzhda: Yeah, oh, about my childhood—so I grew up in Badakhshan, and most of my childhood was there until I was 13. Then, due to the war and other circumstances, we moved to Kabul. Back in Badakhshan, I was raised by my grandparents, and we lived in a very village-like place; you can call it the Village of Chapchi Makhdar. Growing up there, I had many good experiences that make me happy when I recall them. I'm so glad I had those moments. For instance, I used to be quite a naughty kid, always getting into trouble. I led a group of ten girls in our friend circle, and we were very close. We used to do many crazy things. One memorable incident was when we went to a madrasa (a religious school for younger kids). One day, I suggested, 'Let's make those bombs,' similar to the little things boys our age made for fun. They would put it in paint, color it, and explode when they mixed it with water. The boys used to do that. I told my friends, 'Let's do the same thing!' So, one Friday during prayer time, my friends and I made those and placed them around the mosque. When it exploded, people came, assuming it was boys who did it. They went to the boys and asked, 'Why did you do that?' They denied it, and it became a funny memory. I recall that because I was such a troublemaker, and I love that curiosity. We were so eager to try different things, even crossing the river, although it wasn't okay, we did it—crazy things, and I love that. Another significant part of my childhood was growing up in a village. That, in itself, has its own story—the people's reactions, the way they talk, the way they live. It's very different from the city, and I think that was a big part of it. Besides that, the relationships and connections we had—I love that part too. Being that curious and a bit of a troublemaker. HerStory: Great story. To go through the activism and talk about that, what inspired you to start your journey of activism? Could you walk us through your journey? Muzhda: Of course, when it comes to activism, a big part of it is our life in Afghanistan. The fact that we are girls and grew up in Afghanistan means that activism is a way of life. We had to be activists, speak out for ourselves, and stand up for ourselves, or else we'd be limited and isolated. Many moments led me to stand up, and that standing up inspired other girls. That was the drive. As I mentioned in an interview with the Society Inspired Podcast, my childhood best friend, Shamila, was forced into a child marriage. That experience shook me so much. We spent so much time together, and I knew how talented and amazing she was. Unfortunately, she was forced into marriage, limiting everything. Right now, she has two kids. I am so sad that her children might go through the same situation. It feels so bad. But other than that, as I mentioned, for me, activism was a way of life. For example, there were times in school when my teacher said something about girls that I wasn't okay with. I stood up, raised my hand, and said, 'Miss, that was wrong. You shouldn't say that.' So, that itself was a form of activism. For instance, whenever I had a chance to speak out, like at my school programs, I used to write an article about girls' education. I used to be known for feminism; the teachers would be surprised because not everyone was like that. But I always said I was very passionate about it. This passion stemmed from my childhood best friend and the experiences I had in that village, where things were very different. But I think activism started that way, and even now, I feel like every day is a kind of battle for us as women. Even here in Canada, we have to stand up and speak up, not only for ourselves but for women all over the world. The starting point would be that, but it is a continuous journey. HerStory: Could you tell us about your transition into life in Kabul from Badakhshan? How has that taught you? You mentioned that your experiences in the village have made you stand up for yourself, so if there are examples or something like that you want to share, and then your continued journey in Canada—how do you stand up for yourself here? Muzhda: So back in Badakhshan, as I mentioned, I was raised by my grandparents, so I was very attached to them. After some time, wars started happening. The situation in our village was getting worse day by day. The Taliban were coming, and there were conflicts every single night—battles between the Taliban and the former government. The sky was filled with the sounds of explosions and bullets, which looked like stars, but they weren't stars. So, that was the life that we had. There were nights, I recall, when we had to hide. We had a specific room where we used to go every night when the situation got worse so that we could hide. That was a significant part of my childhood, living through war. Then, my parents moved to Faizabad, the capital of Badakhshan, while I was refusing to leave my grandparents; I used to cry a lot. They called me, saying, "Come, the situation is bad; we can't take the risk." So, I had to leave my grandparents behind. So, we went to Faiz Abad. In Faiz Abad, I experienced a different life. For the first time, I was in a classroom with boys. It was very strange for me, but seeing women doing different things was inspiring. I saw a woman driving a car for the first time, which felt weird but also empowering. Throughout my journey from a small village in Badakhshan to going to Faizabad, one of the things I learned was how important it is for women to stand up for themselves. For example, seeing women driving a car challenged the traditional norms I grew up with in the village. For instance, back in that village, I never thought a woman could drive a car. The idea of driving was mainly associated with men and masculinity. But seeing women do that taught me the importance of breaking those rules and standing up, changing the perspective of young girls like me. It changed my whole life, and now, when I think about it, those experiences have become the fundamental forces of my activism. When we, as women, do something, it opens doors for millions of other girls in Afghanistan and around the world. That was a big lesson I learned during the transition, and I also learned how important it is to be adaptive. Adapting to new environments is crucial. For example, when I first joined a class full of boys, it was strange and awkward at the beginning. I was shy, but I learned that I have to work hard and study so I can get those good marks. That became a significant part of it. There were a lot of lessons, but as I said, these experiences taught me a lot. HerStory: What was your school in Kabul like? Was it co-education or not? Tell us about your school in Kabul Muzhda: Yeah, so in Faizabad, as I mentioned, it was my first experience being with boys in the same classroom. When I told my friends in Kabul, they were like, "Okay, you were studying with boys in Badakhshan?" and it was surprising to them because in Kabul, most of my school classes were with girls. Only courses outside of school, like English, were for boys. When I started going to my English course, it was a very good experience because my sister and I were the youngest students in the classroom. Most of our other classmates were men who were working with the government and for different companies. I have a very good memory from this class. So, every week on Saturdays, we had to prepare a speech and speak in front of everyone. On these Saturdays, it was only boys standing up, not girls. And in our class, there were about 45 students in a classroom, with only five girls. I remember once that I prepared the whole week to stand up in front of the classroom and read my speech one Saturday. To my surprise, it turned out very well. My teacher was happy, and everyone was clapping. It was a great experience. What happened after that was even more inspiring. My sister stood up the next Saturday and read her speech. The following Saturday, more girls stood up. After some time, my teacher acknowledged, "Muzhda, you did something very good in the class," and I was very glad about it. Through that experience, I learned that when you try to do something, you should remember it is not only for yourself; you will pave the way for other girls. HerStory: Brave of you. Is there anything else you'd like to share about your activism? Could you describe how you engaged in activism in Afghanistan, both during your journey in Pakistan and after you arrived in Canada? Muzhda: So, activism for me started in school. I began participating in various events and programs. For instance, whenever I had the opportunity, I wrote articles and delivered speeches on topics related to girls' education, women's rights, and participation. It all started from there. Shortly after, I delved into different organizations, particularly international ones. I discovered UNICEF, and I began working with them, contributing articles, and participating in programs. I reported on various issues concerning girls' education. Subsequently, I initiated a small project called 'Kindness for Children by Children.' I collaborated with my sisters, and together, we collected used books, notebooks, and clothing, distributing them to children working on the streets. For example, we would choose a day during winter and visit a park in Kabul, bringing children's books to read stories to them. We continued this not only during the winter but also in spring. Following that, I was on the verge of becoming one of the youth ambassadors of UNICEF Afghanistan. Unfortunately, on August 13th, 2021, on the day of my interview, I received an email stating that the situation wasn't favorable, and although a rescheduling was promised, it never happened. During our time in Pakistan, after learning that the Taliban had prohibited girls from pursuing education beyond the sixth grade, I organized protests with a group of women. We gathered in a park in Pakistan and protested against the Taliban's ban on girls’ education. Another significant action in Pakistan was visiting a refugee camp. I collaborated with a group of activists from Pakistan, and together we visited a refugee camp due to the situation in Afghanistan and also to speak out against the Hazara genocide. Lastly, I embarked on my coding journey. As I learned to code, I endeavored to connect it with activism, and it turned out to be an inspiring experience for me. HerStory: Being an activist requires a significant amount of time and can be emotionally draining. How do you manage to balance your activism with your school responsibilities, considering that school also requires a lot of time and energy? Muzhda: It's really hard to balance it, really hard because, when it comes to activism, you have to be emotionally involved with what you do and what you say. For example, when talking about what's happening in Afghanistan, you have to be very consistent; you have to keep posting about it and keep learning about what is happening there. This is on top of being in grade 12 and handling all the subjects—math, all the assignments, and quizzes. Sometimes it's very overwhelming, and I feel burned out. But I think a big part of it would be planning—trying to plan out, for example, most of the time when I have something regarding my project, CodeGreen Afghanistan, I tend to do it around the weekends so I can have time. For example, I would dedicate my whole Saturday to CodeGreen Afghanistan and my activism. I will plan out, have some meetings with my team, and all those things. But mainly, it's a constant battle for the school to keep up with all the assignments and quizzes. As I said, it's hard, but I think sometimes it's also important to prioritize. For example, if something is happening in Afghanistan, how can I make sure to at least dedicate one hour of my week to raising awareness? That's what I do. But at the end of the day, it is hard to balance, but it is what we have to do HerStory: You mentioned that to be an activist, you need to be emotionally involved with your work, which can sometimes be very hard. Do you have any tips for all the other activists out there who might feel overwhelmed after some time? Muzhda: Exactly. As you say, right now, for example, what you are doing is interviewing different women and experiencing different lives, and again, you are feeling every experience because it's like a flashback. Sometimes we say words and emotions are not real, but I say that, no, they're so real. You kind of relive them again. I think it is hard, and a big part of dealing with it would be, as I said, being emotionally involved. But I think channeling it as a reflective journey might change the perspective. For example, in my activism, I feel overwhelmed sometimes, but what I tend to think about is the big picture. What I'm doing is for a very significant reason, for a much bigger purpose. It will help other girls. It would help someone else. So, I tend to think about that. HerStory: Tell us about August 15th, 2021. Do you recall how that day went for you? Muzhda: Every time I talk about that day, it's like reliving it. For example, I still remember it being August 15th, around the afternoon. I was sitting on my balcony, the small balcony in my room, reading. Then suddenly, someone started knocking on the door very loudly. I ran up and tried to open the door, thinking it was my uncle saying, 'Come on, we have to leave the house.' Because I heard... It was shocking for me because what? The Taliban are here. As I mentioned, I was planning out that interview, literally working on a book. We also had our mid-year exams coming up. I was so prepared for so many things that I never thought about the fact that one day the Taliban would come. Even though the situation was bad—Kabul and the provinces were under Taliban control—I was refusing to believe that. It was so hard for me. On that day, my father was away. So, it was only me, my mom, my sisters, and my little brother and sister. We had to leave the house because if the Taliban found a group of only women living in a part of town, they would not accept that. We went to my uncle's home, and we spent one week there, hiding because my family was also involved in activism, also with the government. Even before, we couldn't go to school by ourselves because we received death threats. There would always be someone to take us to school. Once we received that news, it was very shocking. We spent one week trying to figure out if there was any chance we could get to the airport. Then one day, someone called us and said, 'Come to the airport. There is a plane going to Pakistan. You should come.' So, we went there, and I think you also know what the situation at the airport was like. It was so bad. We found a plane and were able to get to Pakistan. But that day was overall so hard that sometimes, I can't even find words to describe my feelings. For me, as I said, it was like the end of the story. I felt like I was living in a movie and couldn't believe that suddenly, everything changed. HerStory: You said you got on a plane to get to Pakistan. How was that experience when you arrived in Pakistan? Muzhda: So yeah, when we went to the airport, we waited a lot to find a way to leave the country. There were suggestions to try for a plane to the U.S., which was a common idea at the time. Everyone was saying, 'Go to the airport, and you might find a plane that lands in the U.S.' Though we didn't pursue that, we did find a plane to Pakistan. Fortunately, we already had visas because my father, who was going to India, had obtained visas for all of us to Pakistan beforehand. Upon arrival in Pakistan, as I mentioned earlier, we didn't know anyone, so we had to find a hotel right after landing in Islamabad. Since there was no organization supporting us, we secured a place, bought furniture, and established a new home in Pakistan. It was a good feeling, but at the same time, we were uncertain about our future. We wondered what would happen tomorrow. After about a week in Pakistan, we started exploring refugee applications, and applying for programs in the UK, America, and Canada. Finally, after a year, we received the news from Canada. Reflecting on our time in Pakistan, it was a mix of emotions. Personally, we all felt a sense of loss because of our deep connection to our country. Constant thoughts about what was happening in Afghanistan weighed on us as our family members were still there. On the flip side, I felt a sense of happiness, finding some peace. The way people in Pakistan reacted to us varied. Some were happy and welcoming, while others were a bit harsh. We faced challenges in finding a house and went through many experiences there. During an exit interview with Pakistan’s Ministry of Interior before leaving for Canada, we encountered a harsh interviewer who disrespected us a lot. I won't delve deeper into it, but that airport experience remains something that, even now, when I recall it, brings tears to my eyes. Other than that, moments when I saw Pakistanis showing love and kindness made me feel so happy and loved. Through this experience, I realized how important it is that, for example, if one day I would be in a position to choose between kindness and hate, I would always choose kindness HerStory: To talk about transitions, could you describe what a typical day looked like for you before the Taliban in Afghanistan and now in Canada? Let's go through that a little bit, discussing pieces of your daily routine. Muzhda: Back in Afghanistan, I believe I was extremely productive. In a way, when I reflect on it, I realize I was more productive than I am now. Perhaps I had more time or energy back then. In Afghanistan, I used to wake up early in the morning and engage in activities like reading and writing. I also practiced meditation, influenced by a productivity guru on YouTube, particularly Ali Abdaal, and other productivity influencers. At times, I would set up a camera on my balcony and record myself, pretending to be a YouTuber while I meditated, wrote, and read. It felt gratifying. Afterward, I would go to school, attend two courses (English and math) after school, and return home to complete my homework. I considered this routine to be a significant part of my identity. I was a hardworking student at my school. However, after moving to Pakistan, I experienced an identity crisis. Coming to Canada was initially challenging, as I had been away from the formal education system for a year. I had to adapt to the new system and teaching methods. Currently, in Canada, I have to wake up early because school starts around 8:30. Fortunately, I enjoy waking up early. I go to school, come back, and engage in numerous assignments and quizzes. This year, I had to study for an exam almost every day, particularly for math tests. That's basically my routine – going to school, managing schoolwork, and also participating in other activities like activism, writing, and reading. While my daily activities have changed, it's just a typical day for a student. HerStory: Thank you for sharing that. What keeps you inspired and motivated when you have days feeling low? So to talk more about this question, there are so many issues coming up after leaving your homeland. Defining yourself becomes a challenge, and finding your place in an unfamiliar country is a journey in itself. What are some challenges you have faced, and how have you coped with them? Muzhda: We all actually feel low at times, and as I mentioned before, one of them is that identity crisis. It's very hard to accept who you were before and what has happened now. The transition between two different countries, two different cultures, two different situations, and accepting what is happening in Afghanistan. I also felt survivor’s guilt, feeling like I have all these opportunities, but then, at the same time, it is hard thinking about what is happening in my country. My friends and my classmates are dealing with a different world right now. That also adds to the fact that we become very unmotivated. But I think one thing that motivates me when I'm feeling alone is to think about the bigger picture; to think about that purpose that I have, and actually, thinking about the bigger 'why,' why I am doing what I'm doing is also important. And, as I mentioned before, whenever we do something, it opens the door for others. So, I also think about that. Okay, if I'm doing whatever I'm doing today, it's going to help others. Something else that helps is self-care. I think self-care is also very important. For instance, after hearing the news about the genocide in Palestine, I was very involved in it for a while, and I was watching video after video, and then I found myself very hopeless and overwhelmed. So I said, I need to take a break because if I don't take a break if I don't take care of myself, how can I be a strong activist, a stronger person? So, I think sometimes taking a break is a must for us as activists, so that the day after that break, we might come back stronger and more motivated to do something. So, yeah, I think one would be thinking about the 'why' but also self-care HerStory: What's your hope for yourself and Afghan girls? Could you share your thoughts on your future and your goals? Muzhda: If we talk generally, one of my hopes is that I really want to live in a world one day where we, as Afghan girls, feel extremely proud of ourselves. So proud that we don't care about what anyone thinks, how they define us, or how they try to limit us. Right now, the fact that the Taliban are using all their power to stop us can be empowering for us. We see that they are trying everything to stop us, but we will still persist. One day, we will go back stronger to our country. Even for those of us already in our country, we will be so hopeful and empowered that we won’t let them overcome us. So, I think one part of it would be that I want to see all of us very proud, happy, and empowered. But for myself, I would say I am thinking of studying law. After that, maybe get into politics in some way. One of my goals right now is to study law. And for my university, I really want to get into a good one because, you know, we went through a lot of things, and we deserve a very good education. Education has helped us a lot. It is education that allows us to communicate, learn, write, and advocate for other girls. So that is a big part of it. My hope for girls is, of course, that I want to see them go to school. I want to see them going to university and working. And for women in Afghanistan, I want to see them become the future leaders of Afghanistan. I believe, deep in my heart, that after a dark day, we will have a very, very shiny day. We will have that light and that shiny day. On that day, I want to see women shine. I want to see women in leadership. And I'm confident that we will see that. So that is one of my hopes for women and for us. HerStory: What would you say to girls in Afghanistan who need motivation? How can you inspire and keep them motivated to hold on to hope? Muzhda: When you talk with a girl in Afghanistan and just ask how they are, it's hard because we all know what they're going through. It's even harder than what we are currently experiencing or what we have been through. But, as I mentioned before, consider the fact that the Taliban fought for years to gain power, and now that they are in power, they're using everything to stand against women. It's quite challenging. So, never lose hope; never let them overcome you, because there is something special about you. Be motivated and use any opportunity that comes your way. Even if you can't go to school, maybe if you have a chance to read a book, do that. At the end of the day, I believe you should be proud of yourself as a woman. One thing I've realized is that some women are feeling low, and they regret being women. Families may want boys instead of girls. I don't want women to feel that way about themselves. I want them to be strong, proud of who they are, motivated, and never give up, as I mentioned. We will see light, and I want them to be strong and not let the Taliban overcome them.

Born and raised in the Baghlan province of Afghanistan where opportunities for youth, especially women, were scarce, Batol Gholami set out to make a change. Fueled with determination and a clear vision in 2019, she co-founded the Afghanistan Youth Leaders Assembly (AYLA) with the mission to empower women and youth across Afghanistan through education, skill-building, and community engagement. Since the fall of Kabul to the Taliban in August 2021, AYLA has pivoted to providing online education, reaching over 3000 students in Afghanistan. Among them, the majority are girls who are banned from receiving education under the regime. Batol completed her high school in Baghlan and received a full scholarship from the government of Pakistan in 2017 to study computer science at the University of Comsat in Lahore. She was in Pakistan when Afghanistan fell to the Taliban in August 2021. “I've felt deeply lost twice in my life. Once in 2018 when I lost my father, which was the worst day of my life, and again when Afghanistan fell to the Taliban,” explains Batol, describing how difficult it was for her to believe what had happened. She had been dreaming of celebrating her graduation from university back home with her family and friends—a dream that was never fulfilled. “After almost a year, I was able to meet my family in Pakistan, but it was still a tough and unforgettable moment in my life.” AYLA was first started in Mazar-e-Sharif, expanding its activities to the provinces of Baghlan, Samangan, Bamiyan, and Kabul. Following the fall of the government in Afghanistan, Batol started receiving messages from girls in Afghanistan, “Batol, you’re so lucky that you’re out of the country.” Afghan girls, including Batol, were afraid of what then turned into a reality: the banning of girls from schools by the Taliban. To help the girls in Afghanistan in such a situation that was starting to happen, Batol and her colleagues at AYLA resumed their online classes in September 2021, only a month following the return of the Taliban to power. Though Batol had the experience of offering online courses before the fall, the demand for such courses was high this time. "We had almost 300+ students for the first round of classes, including school subjects, computer skills, technical courses, and foreign languages," says Batol, expressing gratitude for the support she has received for AYLA's efforts. Aware of the challenges associated with online education in Afghanistan, AYLA was the first organization to provide internet packages to its students, especially for those with financial barriers in remote areas of the country. "Even after our students graduated, especially those in advanced English classes, they continued their education abroad with scholarships," says Batol proudly, considering it a big achievement not just for the organization, but for all youth who work to empower each other. In addition to running AYLA, Batol has been an activist and advocate for women’s rights. While in Pakistan, she was invited as a speaker to deliver a speech on the situation of girls and women in Afghanistan, especially about education. Upon graduation from university in Pakistan, she was neither able to return to her home country like many other international students, nor stay in Pakistan. Feeling restless, she tried reaching out to the embassies of different countries in Pakistan via email, and Spain was the only country whose embassy responded to her. “After two interviews, I obtained a humanitarian visa. However, I left my mother and family in Pakistan,” Batol describes becoming a refugee as a tough experience, especially when someone is alone and on their own. It has been 15 months since she arrived in Spain, building everything from scratch. “Coping with life's pressures is challenging, but I try my best.” Spain and its people have been welcoming to Batol since she arrived in the country. “Spaniards are kind and gentle, much like in other European countries. Spanish is somewhat like English, which makes it interesting for me to learn. That's one reason why I chose to stay in Spain.” “I'm eager to learn new skills and stay updated on IT advancements,” she is interested in areas of Information Technology and International Educational Development. Batol believes in education as the only key to success for Afghans, especially women, not only in Afghanistan but also abroad. “I believe that educated women can reclaim their power. No force in the world can suppress the power of education,” describes Batol, explaining why the Taliban opposes education and her commitment to empowering people through education for the rest of her life. Deprivation of girls and women from their basic rights, including the right to get an education, is heartbreaking for Batol, but she believes they should not give up and keep their hopes high. “I want to remind them that after every darkness, there is success and light. We often achieve our greatest accomplishments during difficult times. Many of our students at AYLA faced similar challenges but persevered and secured scholarships to the US, Canada, and other countries. Despite the obstacles, they kept their hopes alive and worked hard. I urge other girls to do the same—to never give up. The new regime may restrict them, but there are always alternative paths. Don't wait for opportunities to come to you; seek them out.” Batol calls on the world to take action to help women in Afghanistan. “We're tired of empty promises and slogans on social media. We need action, especially in the realm of education.”

Masomah Alizada, an award-winning road cyclist born in Afghanistan, shares her remarkable journey from being forbidden to ride a bike during her childhood to competing in the Olympics as part of the International Olympic Committee. Alizada's story is one of courage and resilience. Despite becoming a refugee at the age of one and a half, she has overcome numerous challenges to achieve her dreams. Today, she stands as a symbol of hope and inspiration, having been appointed as the Chef De Mission of the Refugee Olympic Team for Paris 2024, where she will lead the entire team of refugees in the Olympic Games. Masomah Alizada was born in Sheikh Ali Parwan, Afghanistan, in 1996, but her time in her homeland was short-lived. Forced to flee due to the Taliban's initial control of the country, she sought refuge in neighbouring Iran. However, without proper documentation, Masomah and her family were stripped of basic rights. Renting a property, finding employment, or attending school became distant aspirations. Her first taste of education came through a community-based school established by Afghan refugees in Iran. Despite her challenging circumstances, Masomah held onto a dream: the hope of one day returning to Afghanistan. Life in Iran When I lived in Iran, the situation for girls and women was vastly different from that in Afghanistan. In Iran, we had the freedom to go outside and play, whereas in Afghanistan, girls were restricted from such activities. Riding bikes was considered completely taboo. I recall a moment during my studies when I simply wanted to borrow a classmate's bike, step outside, and see if I still remembered how to ride. Taking my classmate’s bike, I went into the yard, but as soon as I attempted to mount it, boys from other classes poured out with their bikes. They wanted to assert their dominance by riding alongside me. It was such an unusual sight for them to see a girl on a bike that they abandoned their classrooms just to witness it. I felt intimidated, so I retreated to my classroom. That day, I realized how unconventional it was for Afghans to witness a girl on a bike. Cycling on Kabul Roads Since I can recall, I have had a great passion for sports. In 2011, as a member of the sports team at Rabia Balkhi High School, we embarked on a journey to normalize girls riding bikes. Initially, the reactions to seeing girls on bikes were perplexing, but we persevered through the stares until they became accepted in society. I realized that I needed to integrate this into our culture. However, I encountered numerous obstacles along the way, and I was determined not to let the next generation of girls face the same challenges. I wanted our society to recognize that if a man could use a bike as a means of transportation, so could a girl. It was a simple concept that needed acknowledgment. Despite our efforts to maintain hope, the security situation deteriorated. One day, on our way to a competition, our coach was approached by a man who expressed disapproval of our team practicing in their neighborhood. He cited discussions in mosques about the impropriety of girls dressed in sports attire riding bikes in their area. However, we needed that space for training; it was convenient and provided the challenges we sought. Regrettably, we had to yield to the pressure, and we ceased practicing in that neighborhood. In the Pursuit of a Safe Home As a female bike rider, there were several challenges on my way. From societal barriers and disparities to the divide between Olympic committees and federations, security concerns, and the lack of adequate practice spaces. They all led to my immigration out of Afghanistan. So, I left in 2017 for France. When I was in Afghanistan, the dream of attending the Olympics seemed impossible. It was a distant dream and hard to accomplish given the circumstances. When I first came to France and met all the professional athletes, I noticed how much respect there is for their work. So, they all had the same opportunities and chances of competing in worldwide competitions. They gave their all to sports and focused entirely on their goals. I wanted to be like that, but for me, things were different. I was a refugee, and like all the other refugees, I had to learn the language, learn about the culture, or learn a skill. When I enrolled in university after some time, I was also competing in sports-I had not stopped my sports activities. I wanted to pursue bike riding on a professional level so that I could compete in worldwide competitions. So, in the first year of my arrival, I started learning French. Later, I started doing my undergraduate degree, and at the same time, I was bike riding and competing in local competitions. And in those days, all I could think about was competing in the Olympics. But that was when I heard the news. Our coach told us that as refugees, we do not have the right to represent our country in the Olympics, but there is another way. We could join the refugees representing no specific country and with the flag of the Olympics. It was not the greatest news because I wholeheartedly wanted to compete with the name of Afghanistan in the Olympics and represent my own country, but now that I think about it; I became a refugee when I turned a year and a half old. My life has been defined by diverse experiences, so I could change my perspective. Rather than seeing my refugee status as a setback, I could embrace it as a source of strength, because all that has shaped me into the person I am today. Living in Three Different Countries As a refugee, I have always faced problems. In Iran, the discrimination against my identity and race as an Afghan refugee was a barrier to my goals. And just when I thought things would get better in Afghanistan, the discrimination was against not my race, but my nationality as a Hazara. But despite those hardships, when I look back, I see that those experiences have taught me lessons, and they have become reasons for me to stay motivated for working towards my goals; to show up even braver than before, and not be scared of failure.  When I was in Afghanistan, something common was that society would tell girls with goals and ambitions that they could never achieve them. They would tell girls that they do not have any rights or that they’re not strong enough to work for their goals. For instance, bike riding is a difficult sport and they did not think a girl could do something like that. These societal pressures have been barriers to girls' self-confidence. It has made them worry about what other people would think of them, and how their actions might affect their reputation and their families. These things have killed girls’ dreams. They have not even let the seeds of those dreams grow and flourish. But when I got to France and joined some of the competitions, I saw how other girls would challenge themselves. They would ride bikes in even longer distances (more than 100km) in the mountains and in adverse conditions. And I could also; by the passage of time, do the same thing. This made me realize how much the extent to which societal beliefs had influenced my self-doubt. For instance, when a girl wants to do something, say start a project, start playing a sport, or whatever, they doubt themselves. They get so scared that they don't even start. But they should. No matter what the results would be; they would fail or win. But trying it does not hurt. They have taken away the courage to try from girls.  Sometimes I compare my situation with the situation of girls in Afghanistan. Right now, I am a university student, I live on my own independently and do not need a man’s help in my day-to-day life, but when I think of Afghanistan, the society has put so much pressure on girls that they can't even go out on their own. Integration with the Society Process In the seven years I've lived in France, I don't feel fully integrated into society. However, the concept of integration can vary depending on others' perspectives.  Despite this, I have never experienced discrimination or racism here. While some believe it's challenging for Muslim women to live in France, it hasn't been an issue for me. I've been studying at university and now work part-time, and in these environments, I haven't observed any differential treatment because of my hijab. It's common for people to inquire about my hijab, particularly when I'm cycling in warm weather, but the questions have been asked respectfully. When questioned, I explain that wearing the hijab is rooted in my beliefs and values, and adhering to them isn't difficult for me. Overall, the process of connecting with or becoming part of a country differs for each individual. This has been my personal experience, but certain factors, such as the people you choose to spend time with or whether you reside in a city or a town, can influence it. Fortunately, I've been surrounded by supportive individuals who respect my beliefs and values.   How Masomah's Dreams Coming True Have Affected Her Before everything happened, I was struggling with low self-esteem. When I was invited to give speeches in different places, I would notice how everyone perceived me differently upon learning about my life journey. They were impressed and astounded; it's not easy to hail from a war-torn country, pursue a university education while competing in the Olympics, and still muster the courage to pursue one's dreams. So, whenever I was asked to share how I accomplished all this, people were moved and inspired by my words. They would express their gratitude, thanking me and praising me for my incredible strength. However, deep down, I couldn't bring myself to believe their words. I always thought what I had done was easy. But as I reflect on my life now, I am astonished. How could I simply hop on my bike and ride through the streets? These same streets where girls like Farkhunda would face stoning for acts of bravery. At the time, all I could think about was, "I want to normalize this." I was oblivious to the potential dangers that awaited me. Perhaps, as a young teenager, I wasn't considering the consequences of my actions—riding a bike in sports attire through the streets of Kabul. But now, I find myself questioning why. How Masomah Finds Inspiration When it comes to life lessons, we have experienced many trials, with more bad ones than good. For instance, in Iran, I didn't have the right to attend school. I struggled to participate in the community-based school set up by Afghan refugees, often trekking long distances because transportation was out of reach. My father not only had to provide for our family's basic needs but also invested heavily in my education. Despite these challenges, we persevered. Comparing those times to my current situation, there's been a significant change. Now, I have the freedom to choose between work and study and pursue whatever I desire. It would be a disservice to my past self to stop trying now that I have the freedom to work even harder. Thus, I find inspiration in my own life journey. Hope for the future It is difficult to imagine the situation of Afghan girls. So, being in a safe country, it is hard to imagine being in their shoes, but I can only hope everything changes. And it is very brave of them to keep that hope alive in this situation. I hope they continue to fuel their passion for learning using any small resources they have because maybe one day everything will change. The world has been ignorant and silent about the girls of Afghanistan. But it is the responsibility of every one of us to raise awareness so that the girls are not forgotten. And I hope that every time we talk about them, it does have some kind of effect on their lives; to get back their basic rights and live freely again.

Zahra, a 19-year-old Afghan girl living in Germany, tells us her story of finding herself through her journey from the city where she was born, Kabul, to Germany, where she is now. A lover of photography, cycling, and filmmaking, she says she has become a new person, now longing for a better world by following her passions. Zahra’s Story Before the takeover of Afghanistan in 2021, Zahra was a high school student in Kabul, the capital of the country. “I was one of the last generation of girls who had permission to study at school and graduate,” Zahra says. The 19-year-old Afghan teenager grew up following her passions for cycling, photography, and art. After Taiban came to power, Zahra had no choice but to leave. It was not easy, though. “It was a time of uncertainty; it was very difficult for us.” She explains. After a few months, when she was certain they were going to leave the country, she had an idea. She wanted to find a way to keep the memories she made in Kabul. So, she started taking videos and pictures of the streets and people of the city, but under her veil. “I was very scared, but these are very beautiful memories to carry with me because I had the chance to show the pain of the girls who are watching the world behind the prison. I wanted to carry the feeling I was experiencing to show the world what is happening in Afghanistan and what it is like to see something from behind a barrier.” A few days later, her family found a way to get to Pakistan. She then spent more than eight months in limbo, waiting to get to Germany. Now, she is residing in Germany, with her family. “I never thought I would be the person I am today. I was just a little girl who was growing up in Afghanistan, and I am getting to know who I am now in Germany.” What Zahra says about girls’ education “I know Afghan girls are so smart; they were all the top scorers in the university entrance exam (Kankoor exam) each year,” Zahra says as she reflects on the education ban on her fellow Afghan girls. The Taliban, the militant nationalist organization that rules Afghanistan now, has banned girls over the age of 12 from getting an education. Girls cannot continue school after 6th grade and beyond. They believe education is against their interpretation of Islamic Sharia law. Zahra’s Passions After Zahra could get to a safe place, she started to think about how she could help raise awareness about what was happening back home. She describes that feeling as a fire in her heart, longing to do something to help. After a while, Zahra decided to make a photography collection along with her sister, Manizha Abbasi, who worked as a journalist with Afghanistan’s most-known TV channels. “Our photos are for the girls who are still alive, the girls who are dead, or the girls who will be born in the future. These are the stories of all of us.” Zahra is also a committed cyclist. She started cycling when she was 12 years old, just for fun. “For me, it was always a question: why can’t girls do cycling like boys can easily?” Growing up in Afghanistan taught her to be silent and obedient as a girl, while boys were free to do what they wanted. With time, she developed a deep passion for cycling, which led to her dream of joining the national cycling team of Afghanistan. Her dream couldn't be turned into reality after the fall of the country. Future “I love a saying from Malala. She says that when the whole world is silent, even one voice is powerful. So, I think of my voice as that. And when I am thinking about myself, I remember my people, for instance, my cousins. I try to remember them, and I ask myself, Why not continue now when I can?” Zahra finds inspiration by reliving her own past experiences. When thinking about her future career, she dreams of becoming a filmmaker. “When I was in Afghanistan, I had the passion to become a doctor. During our stay in Pakistan for about eight months, I started to find myself through art. I fell in love with storytelling. Then, I decided to become a filmmaker.” At the age of 19, Zahra has already made three astounding short films based on her experiences. Her first short film, “For Me, For You," was nominated for the Girls Go Movie Festival 2023 in Germany and also won the OK-TV-Förderpreis gestiftet vom Offenen Kanal Ludwigshafen Award. Her other film, Ali’s Story, was nominated for the PILNet Award in 2023. As well as the videos and pictures she took during her last days in Afghanistan, they are now put together in a short film named “Behind the Veil," which has been published in Germany as well. “I hope the newborn girls and boys of our country will live in a peaceful Afghanistan. If we do not have the chance, I hope they can. I hope they can have the power to choose where to live. Not be trapped out of their country, like us.” Photos courtesy of Zahra Abbasi | Submitted to HerStory

Position: Interpreter & Narrative Writer Job Type: Volunteer, Part Time Hours: 5 Hours a Week Schedule: Flexible Location: Remote Start Date: April 1, 2024 Date Posted: Feb 19, 2024 Closing Date: Open Until Filled Position Overview and Purpose: As an Interpreter and Narrative Writer, you will play a vital role in bringing the authentic voices of Afghan women to a broader audience. Under the direction of the content creation team, this volunteer position provides a unique opportunity to contribute to a meaningful cause by translating interviews conducted in Farsi (Dari) to English and crafting compelling articles that capture the essence of these stories. Key Areas of Responsibility: Transcribe interviews from Farsi and/or English into written form, ensuring accuracy and attention to detail. Collaborate with the content creation team to synthesize translated content into cohesive and impactful articles that resonate with a diverse audience. Develop narratives that fluently convey the experiences, challenges, and triumphs shared in the interviews, maintaining the emotional depth and authenticity of the original stories. Smoothly integrate cultural nuances and context into translated content and narratives, ensuring a comprehensive and respectful representation of Afghan women's stories. Work closely with the content creation team to ensure accurate translation of interviews and content. Manage multiple transcription and narrative development projects simultaneously, meeting deadlines and maintaining high quality. Stay updated with industry trends and storytelling techniques to enhance the impact of HerStory's narratives. Qualifications: Proficiency in Farsi and English languages, with a strong command of written and spoken Dari. Proven experience in translation, transcription, and narrative writing. Strong written and verbal communication skills. Self-motivated and able to work independently. Motivated to work at least 5 hours a week. Passion for women's empowerment and advocacy for Afghan women's rights. Familiarity with cultural nuances and context related to Afghan women's stories. Afghan girls both inside and outside the country are highly encouraged to apply. How to Apply: To apply, please send your resume along with a cover letter stating why you are interested in the position and what qualifies you for it, to info@herstory-af.org. Please quote the name of the position in the subject line. Applications will be reviewed on a rolling basis until the position is filled. Shortlisted candidates will be invited for a virtual interview.

Position: Graphic Designer & Video Editor Job Type: Volunteer, Part Time Hours: 5 Hours a Week Schedule: Flexible Location: Remote Start Date: April 1, 2024 Date Posted: Feb 19, 2024 Closing Date: Open Until Filled Position Overview and Purpose: A Graphic Designer and Video Editor will play a crucial role in supporting HerStory’s mission of creative content creation for its audience. Under the direction of the Program Director, the Graphic Designer and Video Editor will be working closely with all initiative members and actively participate in content creation, content development, and content management. Key Areas of Responsibility: Develop and maintain a consistent visual identity for HerStory across various platforms, ensuring alignment with the organization's mission and values. Design engaging graphics, photos, and videos for social media, presentations, and other digital platforms to enhance storytelling. Collaborate with the content team to visually tell the stories of Afghan women, ensuring cultural sensitivity. Demonstrate proficiency in design and editing software. Quickly adapt to changing project requirements and feedback, delivering high-quality designs within specified deadlines. Stay updated with industry trends and storytelling techniques. Qualifications: Proven experience in graphic design, video editing, and content creation, preferably for non-profit or advocacy organizations. Strong written and verbal communication skills in English and Farsi. Fluency in using different graphic design and video editing software, such as Adobe Creative Suite (including Photoshop, Illustrator, Premiere Pro, and After Effects) and Canva. Self-motivated and able to work independently under minimal supervision. Motivated to work at least 5 hours a week. Passion for women's empowerment and advocacy for Afghan women's rights. Familiarity with applications such as Canva and Adobe Suites is considered an asset. Afghan girls both inside and outside the country are highly encouraged to apply How to Apply: To apply, please send your resume along with your portfolio (samples of your works), to info@herstory-af.org. Please quote the name of the position in the subject line. Applications will be reviewed on a rolling basis until the position is filled. Shortlisted candidates will be invited for a virtual interview.

Position: Social Media Officer Job Type: Volunteer, Part Time Hours: 5 Hours a Week Schedule: Flexible Location: Remote Start Date: April 1, 2024 Date Posted: Feb 19, 2024 Closing Date: Open Until Filled Position Overview and Purpose: A Social Media Officer will play a crucial role in expanding HerStory’s reach and impact by effectively and efficiently managing and growing our presence across various social media platforms. Under the direction of the Communications Manager, the Social Media Manager will be working closely with all initiative members and actively participate in content creation, content delivery, and content management. Key Areas of Responsibility: Developing a social media strategy to increase brand awareness and engagement. Developing compelling and engaging content that highlights the stories of Afghan women, leveraging multimedia elements such as images, videos, and infographics. Monitoring social media channels for feedback, questions, and comments. Responding to comments and messages on time. Analyzing social media metrics and adjusting strategies to improve performance. Foster a sense of community and engagement by interacting with followers, responding to comments, and facilitating discussions related to the featured stories. Develop and maintain a content calendar to ensure a consistent and impactful online presence. Staying up-to-date with the latest trends and best practices in social media. Managing social media advertising campaigns. Building and maintaining relationships with influencers and other relevant parties. Qualifications: Proven experience in social media management and content creation, preferably for non-profit or advocacy organizations. Strong written and verbal communication skills both in English and Farsi. Fluency with using different social media platforms such as LinkedIn, Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. Self-motivated and able to work independently under minimal supervision. Motivated to work at least 5 hours a week. Passion for women's empowerment and advocacy for Afghan women's rights. Familiarity with applications such as Canva and Adobe Suites is considered an asset. Afghan girls both inside and outside the country are highly encouraged to apply. How to Apply: To apply, please send your resume along with a cover letter stating why you are interested in the position and what qualifies you for it, to info@herstory-af.org. Please quote the name of the position in the subject line. Applications will be reviewed on a rolling basis until the position is filled. Shortlisted candidates will be invited for a virtual interview.

Fatima Amiri is an education and girls' rights activist from Afghanistan who made it to the BBC’s 100 Women in 2022. She is one of the survivors of the deadly attack on the Kaaj tutoring center in the Shittee Hazara neighborhood of Dasht-e-Barchi in western Kabul, Afghanistan, in September 2022 while she and dozens of other students were taking the practice public university entrance exam. She rose amidst the blood and ashes to fight for her dreams and those of her 150 fellow students who were killed and injured. In this interview, HerStory’s Program Director, Murtaza Ibrahimi, sat with Fatima Amiri and discussed her early life, advocacy for girls' education, the attack on Kaaj, her current status, and more.  The interview is being published in three parts. Ibrahimi: You are a survivor of the brutal attack on the Kaaj Educational Center in the Hazara neighborhood of Dasht-e-Barchi. Tell us about the attack. How did it happen, and how did you survive? Amiri: The day the attack happened was just like any other day when we were taking the practice university entrance exam. However, what made it different was the prevailing happiness in the class. Why? Because we had just been informed that both male and female students would be allowed to take the university entrance exam. This announcement came on Thursday, a day before the attack. As the news spread, there was a tangible sense of hope and joy among everyone. Students were instructed to collect their prep exam cards, and it seemed like the climax of hard work and dedication throughout the week had paid off. I remember the positive vibe in the classroom, and I'm sure everyone had put in extra effort into their studies that week. I personally never sat in the classroom that was targeted during the attack. I usually took the test in another room, specifically in the "C: the classroom of elites." However, on that fateful day, everyone found themselves in the same classroom. A seminar was scheduled to follow the prep exam, focusing on choosing study fields. The atmosphere was supposed to be one of anticipation and excitement for the future, but sadly, it turned into something far more tragic. I often arrived late at the educational center, but that day I arrived as early as the center’s doors were closed, and I coincidentally arrived at the same time as the center’s principal. I was then the first student to receive the exam papers, though I was told it was too early and there were not enough students. But I did so after much requesting and stressing out. When I sat in classroom A, the room was completely dark, and there was no one. I started answering the questions, and students began to arrive gradually. We, the students, were close and friendly to each other, especially those of us in the special class for elites. We used to always study together, give each other advice, and chat. That is why I remember everyone who arrived in the classroom, and we greeted each other that day. I exactly remember who sat in which seat. I saw Nargis with her tired face, and I am sure that she had studied all night; yet, she had a smile on her face. She said that she wanted to sit next to me at the seminar, and I promised that I would make a seat for her.. I saw Wahida and Nazanin who were solving the questions while laughing with each other. I remember the faces of all the last people who were there. Read Part 1: ‘A bad choice might seem better than a worse one’: Fatima Amiri I had completed all my mathematics questions and was ready to mark the answers on the answer sheet. As I reached for the answer sheet, a loud, ominous noise reverberated around me. This sound wasn't unfamiliar; it had haunted my memories since my high school days. Just a week prior, I had encountered the same jarring noise in a math classroom – shattered windows, broken glass – the aftermath of an attack that had occurred across our educational center. I had hoped the sound I heard this time wouldn't be directed at us, but it was swiftly followed by gunfire. Panic ensued. The air was filled with screams. Some sought escape, while others stood frozen in uncertainty. Tears and cries echoed through the room, especially among the visibly frightened girls. Determined to bring calm to the chaos, I stood up, assuring everyone that we could find a way out, and urging them to remain calm. The noise was overwhelming; I couldn't hear anyone else amid the chaos of screams and cries. At one point, I turned around and saw an individual impeccably dressed. I remember his face vividly – young and neatly attired, not instilling fear. Despite his refined appearance, he was shooting relentlessly, consumed by frustration. Fear gripped me as I witnessed him shooting my friends. When he aimed at me, I instinctively sat down, bracing myself for the terrifying sounds that followed. Describing the situation doesn't capture the full weight of the adversity. In those moments, it felt like I was engulfed in flames as if I had ceased to exist. Darkness surrounded me, and I recited my Shahada ("There is no god but Allah, and Muhammad is the messenger of Allah."). Unable to open my left eye and barely managing to open my right, I surveyed my surroundings. The smiling faces I had greeted just minutes ago were now lifeless bodies. Nargis, with whom I had shared a light moment, lay bleeding. We had joked about sitting next to each other, planning for a seminar, unaware that circumstances would dictate we shouldn't be sitting together at all. Everyone had been killed; there was no one left alive around me, I saw my dearest ones covered in blood, the place that had become my second home was a mess. I couldn’t find a way out. I wanted to step forward to find an exit, but I didn't dare to walk over the dead bodies of the dearest people in my life, who were all like sisters to me. It was not possible for me. I promised right there that if I survived, their dreams would not be buried with their dead bodies; I would fulfill their dreams. Somehow, I managed to navigate over the benches and make my way out. I ran towards the exit gate. The gate was locked, but despite being someone who used to fear climbing even a small height, I climbed the wall with barbed wire and jumped into the neighboring house’s yard. Unfortunately, the yard’s door was closed. I don’t know why I didn’t try to open the door; as soon as I saw it closed, I attempted to jump over the wall to enter the next house’s yard. For a moment, I couldn’t move, and I sat on the ground, unable to see perfectly and feeling dizzy. After a few seconds, when I noticed a bike parked next to the wall, I stood up on the bike and jumped into the next yard. The door was open, and I successfully made my way out. When I was outside, I didn't know how to judge the people around me, as my situation might have been dire. As I approached them, seeking help to get to the hospital because I couldn't see well, they screamed and ran away from me. It was very strange; I thought maybe I didn't have my head on my body, as everyone seemed terrified. I couldn't comprehend their fear, and their screams only intensified my fear. Despite the numerous people present, no one helped me in getting to the hospital. What surprised me even more was that people were afraid to lend a helping hand, but none hesitated to take my photo and video. Watan Hospital was across the Kaaj, and somehow, I managed to reach there. Upon arrival, the doctors appeared anxious because a few more wounded students had arrived before me. Those with less severe injuries had managed to reach the hospital earlier than I did. The only thing I recall is pleading with them to provide something to numb the pain; and inject me with a painkiller, as the agony was unbearable. Fortunately, I had memorized my father’s phone number and had it in my mind, and asked a few people there to call him, but none did. I clung to the doctor's skirt, begging her not to leave me alone, but she explained that I wasn't the only patient and she had to attend to everyone. Eventually, she called my father. The doctors could not remove my scarf from my head as it had burned together with my hair. As soon as my sisters and father arrived, they took me to the Estiqlal Hospital. When the doctors saw me, they said they couldn’t do anything for me. I then moved to the next Hospital. We went to 5 hospitals that day. All I wanted was to get a painkiller as I could not bear the pain, but all the doctors were doing in each hospital was seeing me and saying they could not do anything for me, asking us to go to another hospital. I went through two medical operations involving my eye and jaw that day. What was interesting even for me was that I was not becoming unconscious. I saw everything and felt: the attack, my pain, and the medical operations. One saying of the doctors that my family has teased me for some time now was that the doctor was asking my father what drug I was addicted to so that they would not make me unconscious. May it be because of the heavy shock I was going through. I was hospitalized for two days after the operation. Ibrahimi: I'm sorry for what you went through and for making you bring back terrifying and sad memories of the attack. Amiri: It is fine. I hope it was only me going through this. What is more painful for me is that I am not the only one experiencing such a situation. There were and are so many people going through the same experience. When I hear about their stories, they tell me that I was lucky that at least I survived the attack. But it may be easy for those who didn't make it, as for those of us who survived, recalling those memories is more painful. This is war, and war always has its casualties and sorrows. I am hopeful that, at the end of many of us being victimized and martyred, there will be peace. That the new generation does not inherit the darkness we did from our previous generations. I am hopeful that we strive for education and enlightenment so that the next generations don't become ignorant like our previous generations. Ibrahimi: What was inspiring, interesting, and encouraging was that you, along with many other students, took the real university entrance exam shortly after the attack, even while your wounds were still fresh and you had not fully recovered. What motivated you to do it, and did your family and friends try to dissuade you from doing so? Amiri: I couldn't get up from bed on the scheduled exam day, and missing the exam was incredibly difficult for me. Despite doctors advising against crying due to my wounded eye, I spent the entire day in tears, pondering on the promises I had made to my friends and the hard work I had put in. Fortunately, as soon as I could leave my bed, I managed to make it to the final university entrance exam for miscellaneous students. As fate would have it, I scored 313 on the exam. While some might see it as a great score, it fell short of my expectations. In practice exams, even the challenging ones for elite students, I had never scored below 340, except for that one time when I scored 313. There's a saying that students usually score 20 marks higher in the real exam than in practice because the real exam is easier. However, given my situation on the exam day, sometimes I wonder if what I scored is not less. I had lost many dear people, and my psychological and physical state was far from optimal—I had just undergone ear surgery, my head was bandaged, and my eye was freshly bandaged and occasionally bleeding. During the exam, there was no special accommodation or treatment for me, and no extra time was given. Despite being advised to be full of energy on the exam day, to have a good night's rest, and to bring snacks, I couldn't comply like other healthy students. Since the attack, I hadn't eaten anything substantial because of my broken jaw, making it difficult to open my mouth or speak. I could only consume liquids through a pipe. Despite the limited time, I had to lower my head during the exam as my eyes would start to ache while solving each question. Yet, against all odds, I passed the exam. Although I believe I could have performed better without the attack, I am satisfied with my score. The motivation to take the exam stemmed from being a survivor among my friends who did not make it. I couldn't let go of the dreams we had all worked so hard for, nor could I forget the promise I made to them on the day of the attack. Despite my lack of interest in medicine, I chose it as my first option in honor of Nargis, who was passionate about the field. Teachers persistently advised against taking the exam, offering to find scholarships instead. However, I insisted on taking the exam. Ibrahimi: When the results of the university entrance exams were announced that year, none of the top 10 students were girls. Do you believe that the regime in power had tampered with the results, just like many other things? Amiri: This is crystal clear; they did it, 100 percent. Is it even possible for not a single girl to be among the top 10? Girls used to be the first position holders in recent years. Okay, so they eliminated many of them in the Kaaj Education center so they couldn't make it to the top 10. Weren't there others in different educational centers? I knew many friends who scored excellently in practice exams, so why weren't they in the top 10? It was surprising for me that all the top 10 were boys, and I'm sure they tampered with the results.

Fatima Amiri is an education and girls' rights activist from Afghanistan who made it to the BBC’s 100 Women in 2022. She is one of the survivors of the deadly attack on the Kaaj tutoring center in the Shittee Hazara neighborhood of Dasht-e-Barchi in western Kabul, Afghanistan, in September 2022 while she and dozens of other students were taking the practice public university entrance exam. She rose amidst the blood and ashes to fight for her dreams and those of her 150 fellow students who were killed and injured. In this interview, HerStory’s Program Director, Murtaza Ibrahimi, sat with Fatima Amiri and discussed her early life, advocacy for girls' education, the attack on Kaaj, her current status, and more.  The interview is being published in three parts. Part 1: ‘A bad choice might seem better than a worse one’: Fatima Amiri Part 2: ‘People were afraid to lend a helping hand, but none hesitated to take my photo and video’: Fatima Amiri Ibrahimi: Farhad Darya, a well-known singer from Afghanistan, started a fundraising campaign to assist you with your treatment abroad. Could you please tell us how he learned about you? How did it all start, and how did the process work? Amiri: This was one of the positive outcomes after the attack. Many people came together to support the wounded of Kaaj. The attack brought about significant changes, leading to the creation of the #StopHazaraGenocide movement, aimed at raising awareness about the ongoing plight of Hazaras in Afghanistan. To provide context from the beginning, I should mention that no country was issuing me visas. This problem may have been a result of my advocacy work for girls before the attack or, perhaps, intensified after the attack as I persisted in standing up for our rights I remember that many of the wounded girls went to Iran for treatment. My name was at the top of the list of wounded students eligible to go abroad for treatment due to my deteriorated situation and pain—I couldn't even sleep at night. However, I was consistently rejected, and they moved on to the next person on the list. Many girls went to Pakistan, and the day I went to say goodbye to them was incredibly difficult for me because they were going to receive treatment, while I was left behind with my situation. I desperately wanted to begin my treatment. With the help of one of my relatives, an Indian doctor sent me an invitation letter to commence my treatment. It was said that if I could urgently make it to India, they could restore my eye’s vision. However, when I went to the Indian embassy, even though I wore sunglasses, I was recognized and not allowed inside because Taliban fighters were stationed at the first gate. The same process continued until Farhad Darya learned about me from my media interviews and articles. He decided to start the fundraising campaign, and I am grateful to the people who contributed, no matter how small or big. Many of them chipped in, and the needed funds were raised quickly. However, obtaining a visa became a significant issue. No countries were issuing me visas. The embassies had no problem with me, but the Taliban did. Their fighters didn't allow me into the embassies. I applied for a Pakistani visa in my absence, but even it was rejected. I became disappointed and hopeless about receiving treatment. I was being threatened due to my advocacy and media presence, speaking out about the facts. Finally, I successfully connected with a Turkish organization and went to a branch of the Turkish Embassy in Kabul, where the Taliban were not as aware. There, I applied for my visa. Otherwise, they wouldn't have allowed me into the Turkish embassy, just like other embassies. I didn't let anyone know about leaving the country until I was at the airport to avoid potential problems. Ibrahimi: What is your status in Turkey? And how are you doing there? Amiri: I'm currently in Turkey, dealing with an uncertain status. The challenge is they won't grant me permanent residency. My journey in Turkey has been quite a ride. I initially came here on a three-month visa, and of course, had to go through the process of extending it. The doctors insist that I need more time for treatment, but getting the government on board with that has been a struggle. I've been in touch with various authorities here, including the Turkish government, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Ministry of Public Health, and the Afghan Embassy in Turkey. Despite the ongoing conversations, getting permanent residency seems to be an elusive goal. For those initial three months, it was a routine of hospital visits in the mornings and navigating the bureaucratic maze at the Ministry of Refugees to extend my visa for another six months. This routine repeated itself each time. There were even fines thrown into the mix for visa-related matters. It's been a bumpy road, but here I am, still holding on. Ibrahimi: Is your treatment finished in Turkey? Amiri: I don't have a clear sense of how well my treatment is progressing. To be honest, it hasn't been very effective. The shrapnel is still in my face, my ear's hearing hasn't fully recovered, and they mockingly suggest that my eye's vision is irrecoverable due to the delayed medical attention. They claim it could have been restored if I sought help earlier, but unfortunately, I went to Turkey three months after the attack. I've lost vision entirely in my eye, and currently, we are only focusing on improving its external appearance. One significant issue was the contamination of my blood with microbes from the smoke and gunpowder during the attack, and we consulted three public hospitals for this concern. The visit to the third hospital has shown some positive results. It's exhausting to repeatedly explain this when people inquire, but yes, my treatment is still ongoing. Ibrahimi: When did you start your advocacy work for girls? Can you walk us through this journey? Amiri: My advocacy work started before the attack but may have gained notice after it. It began when the school doors closed for girls. Although my friends were telling me that I would receive my high school diploma when I graduated and not to worry about it, it was very heartbreaking for me. I envisioned myself as a girl in the 11th grade, eager to study her 12th grade and go to university. She had studied for 11 years and then was confined at home. Or a girl who had graduated in the sixth grade and couldn't continue. I advocated sometimes anonymously, sometimes revealing my identity, and occasionally appearing with a face mask. I also attended some protests. But after the attack, I could not stop and stay silent because of the friends I lost in the attack. Unfortunately, something that is agonizing, and I am reminded sometimes, is that they tell me that I was not the only wounded individual in the attack, and there were so many others who were not saying anything. But after the attack, the media reached out to all wounded people, and no one wanted to speak out; I don't blame any of them because it was really a bad situation. They couldn't and did not want to get out of the hospital bed and talk, also because of security threats. They survived the attack and did not want to put their and their family's lives at risk again by speaking out. For me, I have not had any personal benefit in my advocacy work. Wherever I have gone and spoken, I have even paid for my transportation. I remember going to TV channels, and our house was in Dasht-e-Barchi, and none were there, and I was spending 500-1000 Afs for each trip while I could hardly pay for my medication. I spent money with no intention for personal benefit, only speaking for what was happening. It even put my life and my family's lives at risk, but I was not giving up on speaking out. I felt that I was responsible; I had lost many things and could not be silent anymore. And I had made a promise to my friends: this was the most important thing that made me not give up. Though my advocacy work puts my family members' lives at risk, I am stuck between two ways. I can neither stay silent nor can I speak out. Girls in Afghanistan contact me, crying and saying, "Fatima, you have to speak for us; no one is there to do it for us." I got a call saying, "Education was the only thing I had, which I don't have anymore." I get a call saying they are forcing me into a marriage. I can't hear all of this and stay silent only because of risks. Though I know no one would pay attention or listen to what I say, I can't stay silent either. Ibrahimi: What is your message to women who are home-imprisoned in Afghanistan? For those who are not giving up even in this situation? Amiri: The current situation is truly frightening, especially here in Afghanistan, unlike anywhere else in the world. When I look at the struggles faced by girls in Afghanistan and compare them to girls in other countries, it's disheartening. I'm convinced that if girls elsewhere were dealing with the same challenges as Afghan girls, they might not show half the resilience and determination. I recall an interview I had with a Spanish media outlet where I highlighted that even though Afghan girls are forbidden from receiving an education, they refuse to give up. They find alternatives, a fact that surprised the journalist. She mentioned that if her daughter encountered something negative on her way to school, she would skip it, and she wouldn't allow her to go because they felt too vulnerable. The journalist was amazed that Afghan girls, despite having all paths closed to them, managed to find a way. To all the girls out there, I want to express my happiness at being an Afghan girl, standing in solidarity with those for whom all doors are shut. Every time I hear about an Afghan girl achieving something, it fills my heart with joy. Despite facing stiff competition, Afghan girls have secured scholarships that seemed almost impossible. Yes, I understand the struggles of all girls in Afghanistan because I'm in the same boat, no different from them. I, too,  was in the twelfth grade when the Taliban came and I was the one whose school was closed and was denied access to university shortly after acceptance. I've experienced being banned from work. However, giving up is not the solution; it's what they want us to do. They want us uneducated to mold the next generation into terrorists. In this challenging situation, we must make use of the limited opportunities we have. We might be forbidden from attending school, but we can still study with the textbooks we have, without needing the internet or any device. If there's no light at night, we have sunshine during the day. If we lack school textbooks, we can borrow books from friends, but we should never stop learning. If learning is halted even in our homes, it would be a catastrophic loss. Ibrahimi: The situation will not remain the same, and those who don't do anything will lose valuable time. Everyone should make use of their time so that they will be prepared when everything changes. Amiri: When the situation changes, the winners are those who have made efforts and not given up today. We had a similar experience previously as well. During the first Taliban period, some people gave up on learning and became uneducated. However, some individuals continued their education in some way, and they became successful people following the first period of the Taliban.

Fatima Amiri is an education and girls' rights activist from Afghanistan who made it to the BBC’s 100 Women in 2022. She is one of the survivors of the deadly attack on the Kaaj tutoring center in the Shittee Hazara neighborhood of Dasht-e-Barchi in western Kabul, Afghanistan, in September 2022 while she and dozens of other students were taking the practice public university entrance exam. She rose amidst the blood and ashes to fight for her dreams and those of her 150 fellow students who were killed and injured. In this interview, HerStory’s Program Director, Murtaza Ibrahimi, sat with Fatima Amiri and discussed her early life, advocacy for girls' education, the attack on Kaaj, her current status, and more.  The interview is being published in three parts. Ibrahimi: Can you share a bit about your background, family, and the role your family has played in supporting your education? Amiri: I'm 18 years old, born in Ghazni province, which is next to Kabul. Education holds significant importance in my family, prompting us to relocate to Kabul from Ghazni for better educational opportunities a few years after I was born. I am the youngest among my five siblings, including two sisters and three brothers. Despite the challenging security situation in Kabul in recent years, my family remained committed to my education. While concerns for my safety arose, they continued to encourage me, occasionally suggesting that skipping school might be safer. However, they never insisted on it. What's remarkable is that my mom, despite having the least formal education in our family, turned out to be my biggest supporter. I really cherish her constant encouragement; especially given the challenges we've faced in recent times. Ibrahimi: Which school did you attend for your primary, secondary, and high school? Amiri: When my family moved from Ghazni to Kabul, my sisters started attending Rabia-e-Balkhi Girls High School. My parents picked that school because we were always on the move within the city, and Rabia-e-Balkhi was in a spot that worked well for us, reaching different neighborhoods easily. Because of my strong interest, I joined with my sisters and started school before my legal age at six years old, and it made sense – I got to go to school with my sisters, making our daily routine much simpler and safer. As time went on and my sisters finished high school when I was in 4th grade, I had to figure out the daily commute on my own. Even though my family thought it might be easier for me to switch to a school closer to our home in Dasht-e-Barchi, I stuck with Rabia-e-Balkhi. The familiar faces, the friendships I had built, and the feeling of belonging were more important to me than the hassle of a two-hour commute each day. In the end, I graduated from Rabia-e-Balkhi, holding onto the special connections I had made and appreciating the unique journey that shaped my school years. Ibrahimi: You mentioned that your daily commute to and from school took around 2 hours. What made Rabia-e-Balkhi special for you? Is there a standout memory that you still carry with you? Amiri: Rabia-e-Balkhi was different from other public schools because it had a sufficient number of teachers for its students – a rarity in public schools at the time. I vividly recall my brothers, who attended a public school in the Dasht-e-Barchi neighborhood, often complaining about the lack of teachers in their classes. What set Rabia-e-Balkhi apart was not only its curriculum, which mostly matched up to private schools but also the existence of extracurricular activities. We frequently had cultural events for various occasions, and I actively participated, delivering speeches and reciting poetry. One lasting memory from my time at Rabia-e-Balkhi is the discovery of my talent for reciting and writing poems. It all began in the sixth grade when my teachers noticed my potential and started encouraging me. Until then, I had thought I was just like everyone else when it came to reciting poems. However, when I started reciting poems in the classroom and during school events, it turned out to be a pleasant surprise for everyone, and they truly enjoyed it. I owe my success as a dedicated student to the excellent teachers and wonderful friends I had at Rabia-e-Balkhi. Ibrahimi: Rabia-e-Balkhi was one of the prominent public schools with students from diverse ethnicities and languages. Did you experience any form of discrimination at the school? Amiri: When I first joined the school, discrimination was unfortunately quite prevalent. Despite my deep affection for my school, I cannot deny the existence of discrimination among the students, even if it wasn't originating from the teachers. Perhaps it was just the nature of kids, but these instances of discrimination were widespread across the country. Allow me to share a memory that might shed light on your question. In the 4th grade, during breaks, students would gather for prayer as we attended the afternoon shift, leaving no time for prayers after I returned home. There was a small room we referred to as the mosque where we conducted our prayers. Most students were Sunni Muslims, praying with open hands, but I noticed one of my Shiite friends abstaining from prayer. Despite facing insults and criticism for my way of praying, I continued without being bothered. One day, when I asked my Shiite friend why she avoided prayer, she said that she feared revealing her sect of being a Shittee Muslim. While I may have been resilient, other students felt the impact of such discrimination. As mentioned, discrimination was prevalent in the early years, including language differences. The school had both Pashto and Farsi-speaking students. However, I believe it was a part of our childhood, and it gradually diminished as we grew older. By the time I graduated, I had formed strong friendships with Hazara, Pashtun, and Tajik friends, many of whom I am still in contact with today. Ibrahimi: When did you figure out what you wanted to study, and when did you start making moves to pursue that dream? Amiri: Back in 9th and 10th grade, my classmates and I used to chat about our future. It was during those conversations that I confidently declared my interest in computer science. Despite the concerns from some about my eyes and the constant computer work, my decision stayed firm. I couldn't ignore the reality of our country lagging in technology, which became obvious whenever we had to deal with things like applying for a national identity card or a passport. My love for mathematics played a big role in steering me towards computer science. I was pretty good at it, and I had great relationships with my math teachers throughout high school and in the prep classes for university entrance exams. During those practice exams, you could always find me acing the math questions, even if I stumbled a bit on chemistry or social subjects. The combination of my math passion and the clear need for tech progress in our country made computer science the perfect fit for me. Ibrahimi: When did you start taking prep classes for the university entrance exam? Amiri: My journey to prepare for the university entrance exam took a unique path. I began by studying at a madrasa, a religious school, and didn't attend a tutoring center, unlike my sisters. My routine revolved around going to both school and madrasa, with additional basic classes during the winter. I saved money specifically for these winter basic classes to ensure I was well-prepared for the upcoming academic year. When I considered enrolling in prep classes, seeking advice from experienced individuals, including my cousins, initially discouraged me. They emphasized the importance of foundation courses, a step I hadn't taken. Despite feeling discouraged, I stood my ground, citing my strong foundation in school subjects. Starting the prep courses was tough—I had regular school, English classes, and university entrance exam prep all crammed into one busy day. My daily schedule was a whirlwind – leaving for school at 6 am, returning at 1 pm, attending English classes until 3 pm, and then moving to another tutoring center for the university entrance exam prep until 7 pm. Throughout the day, I used breaks for assignments and quick study sessions. Evenings were allocated to reviewing the lessons from prep courses. The announcement of a special class for elite students in my tutoring center urged me to challenge myself, despite not having taken foundation courses. Persisting through late nights and firm determination, I surpassed expectations in my first practice exam. Securing a spot in the special class was a victory, especially considering the competitive requirement to maintain top scores in practice exams – a challenge I met, even with my hectic schedule. As my journey progressed, I and my fellows faced numerous challenges, including the disruptions caused by the COVID-19 pandemic and the political changes in the country, marked by the Taliban takeover. Ibrahimi: Could you share how life was for you before and after the fall of Kabul in August 2021? What noticeable changes have you experienced, especially regarding the challenges faced by women in Afghanistan? Amiri: You know, life in Afghanistan wasn't perfect even before the Taliban came back. Back then, when we went to school, there was this constant fear of terrorist attacks, even though the Taliban wasn't officially in power. The education quality wasn't top-notch, but at least we could attend school. It was something, you know? A sort of freedom, even if it wasn't perfect but we were making progress and everything was getting better. We could go to public places, breathe freely, and just live our lives. But now, everything has turned upside down. We don't even have the right to go to school anymore. People, especially women, can't even learn how to read and write, and that's a basic right we had even with the imperfect education before the Taliban. Despite the flaws, many of us managed to achieve things. Now, security is a mess, and hopes for the future are shattered. Forced marriages, restrictions on work and education, and even going to a park – it's all controlled. Women are told what to wear, and extremism has taken over, all in the name of Islam. Before the Taliban, education might not have been great, but talented individuals could get scholarships to study abroad. Now, women can't even leave Afghanistan without a Mahram. It's a nightmare. The situation in Afghanistan is heartbreaking, not just for women but for everyone. People are struggling economically, big time. In the past, even if you couldn't find a job, you could sell something as a street vendor. Now, even those who manage to earn a bit must give a huge chunk of it as taxes. It's tough to find anything positive in the stories my friends tell me from Afghanistan. Male students can still go to school, but who are their teachers? This is the question! It makes me wonder if it's better for girls not to go to school, to avoid being exposed to extremist ideas. If this situation continues, I wouldn't be surprised if women end up resorting to suicide attacks because what is being taught is even more dangerous and worse than being illiterate. In such a grim situation, a bad choice might seem better than a worse one. Afghanistan is in a league of its own – you can't compare it to anywhere else in the world.

Parwana was 15 when she was deprived of going to school under the Taliban’s regime, which took power back in August 2021 in Afghanistan. At such a young age, Parwana started to stand against the regime’s restrictions on Afghan women by recording herself dancing Sama and posting it on social media. For her safety, we use Parwana as her pseudonym and an AI-generated photo as her image in this feature article. The Sama dance, also called Sufi whirling, is a spiritual practice associated with the Mevlevi Order in Sufism. Practitioners, known as dervishes, perform circular spins symbolizing a mystical journey toward spiritual enlightenment. While women in Afghanistan are deprived of their basic rights, such as choosing what to wear, going out in public freely, studying, and working, Parwana began to dance Sama in public to criticize the restrictions on herself and millions of other women in Afghanistan. Following threats from unknown sources and the Taliban, she did not stop but turned to an alternative: recording herself dancing while covering her face and posting her videos on social media through media outlets. “It is really hard to do it here. After sharing my videos on social media, it has a lot of problems and challenges for me,” she describes how she was impacted by the threats. Schoolgirls in Afghanistan, including Parwana, who are now imprisoned in their homes, have started to spend their days learning new skills and thinking of pursuing a different path for their dreams and passions. Parwana was 17 when she discovered her passion for photography. Soon, she found herself in this beautiful art as a skillful photographer, using photography to showcase the unseen beauty of Afghanistan and Afghan women to the world. “At first, I started photography as my hobby, but after some time, I realized I was not doing this for myself anymore. I am doing it for my people,” committing to capturing things through the lens of her camera that often goes unnoticed in Afghanistan. Parwana stresses that the difficult circumstances and moments that millions of Afghan girls and women are going through should be captured. “I think with myself that there should be someone who captures these moments to show the world the lives of millions of girls at this time—that women and girls are still doing [their best] with this much pain and this much problem.” Parwana tries to reach out to as many girls as possible to talk to them, listen to what they have to say, and bring it to life through her camera. The photos she takes go into her photo collection called "Egyptian Lotus," which implies the concept of flowers growing up in swamps—comparing Afghan girls to flowers that have to live under difficult circumstances. As Parwana grows, she learns more about herself, and life, and shapes her beliefs by exploring different books from well-known authors. “When I read those stories, I think that if they could survive those times, then maybe I can too,” adds Parwana after sharing that she has been reading narratives and stories of Afghan women under the first period of the Taliban regime back in the 1990s. Khaled Hosseini, Lillias Hamilton, Elif Shafak, and Michelle Obama are some of her favorite authors. For Parwana, it is highly significant to keep her dreams alive and not give up despite all the challenges she and her fellows are facing in Taliban-controlled Afghanistan. “My dreams are very important to me, and I will do anything to achieve them, I know that one day I will have a speech at the United Nations, and I will talk about all of these women and say that I am only a teenage girl, and what is happening is not fair.” In her last statement in the interview with HerStory, Parwana stresses again the importance of continuing to introduce Afghan women to the world, “I want to show that women and girls in Afghanistan are so beautiful—their dresses, their hair, their homes, and all of their traditions—but at this time, they’re all trapped in their homes.”