“Like countless other women I am tied to domestic work.” Credit: Learning Together.
I am an educated Afghan woman and a former government employee. I have long been active in women’s rights struggles, education, and community development. For me, living in Afghanistan is fraught with dangers and difficulties. In a context where women are denied the right to study, work, or participate in public life, my previous roles in government institutions and international organizations, and my afvocacy for women’s rights, place me at particular risk.
With the fall of the previous government and the Taliban takeover, all my work in women’s rights and civil society issues has effectively turned into a target on my back; I am now being pursued by Taliban operatives and others equally opposed to women’s freedom. I have been repeatedly threatened, both directly and indirectly, by the Taliban and individuals associated with the group.
These threats are not only directed at me as a women’s rights activist, but my husband is also facing similar threats for having worked for the previous government. Thus, our entire family is facing an array of hostile forces; it makes it difficult to continue living in Afghanistan.
Under these circumstances, perhaps it is useful to describe what an average day looks like for me.
My day begins at five in the morning. There is no electricity because our solar panels are old and no longer capture and store enough energy, so the house is dark. I find my way to the kitchen using my phone’s flashlight to prepare breakfast. I ration our flour carefully. Prices are high and wasting food is unthinkable.
The writer is from Bamiyan province in central Afghanistan. Credit: Learning Together.
I also use gas sparingly, only to prepare rice because it is expensive. I heat water using a small makeshift stove that runs on wood and store it away in thermos flasks for tea and other daily needs.
My youngest daughter wakes up and cries. I breastfeed her, and she falls back asleep. Then I take my son to school. Sometimes he is reluctant to go because he is afraid. The road is unsafe, and he does not have pocket money and is increasingly under peer pressure. Despite this, we manage to persuade him.
He often returns from school hungry. Breakfast is usually tea with dry bread or tea with sugar, so he is often undernourished and weak.
After my son has left for school, the rest of the family would then sit down and have our breakfast.
My husband usually goes away to the mountains to meet friends and former work colleagues, so I am often left alone at home with my daughter. By 8 a.m., I have had most of the house chores done before the children’s snack time at 10 a.m.
After finishing with the chores, I feed my daughter and put her down for a nap. It is time to do the laundry, which I do by hand every other day because children’s clothes need frequent washing due to their playing habits in the dirt.
After all the running around, when I can still find a little time, I try to revisit my books. I try to go over my old books or review notes on psychology and education that I studied years ago. It saddens me, because I know that in today’s Afghanistan I cannot continue my education or return to work.
Some days I feel so exhausted and unwell that I lack the energy to do housework or even tend properly to my daughter. But because this innocent child had no choice in being born into this world, I force myself to look after her. On many days, life feels unbearable.
Before noon I return to the kitchen to prepare lunch before my son returns from school at 12.00 p.m. Lunch is usually boiled potatoes and bread, which has become too repetitive for my children’s liking but we have no alternatives. They often cry, but eventually they eat their meal. By 1:30 p.m., the children are done with lunch. After that, I put them down for a nap, wash the dishes and then perform my prayers.
Doing the laundry is part of her daily routine. Credit: Learning Together.
In the afternoons, I teach English and basic literacy to women in the neighbourhood. These lessons help me to stay in contact with the people around us and maintain awareness of their general situation. It also brings some peace to all of us. Most of our conversations revolve around daily struggles – rising prices, lack of money, and worries about our children’s future. None of us has much hope, but sharing our burdens lightens up the gloom engulfing our lives and lifts our spirits.
Our home is outside the city center, in a village where we are not well known. This distance from the provincial center means the Taliban rarely come prowling, which makes the prohibited teaching easier. The women also come in small groups and bring no books or pens that might raise suspicion and likely filter back to the Taliban. I work with them at home, and the literate women take photos of the lessons on their phones, while the others learn on the spot, since they have no further opportunity to study in their own homes.
The learning also involves practicing household skills such as sewing clothes, attaching headscarves, and other practical crafts to maintain their skills.
My husband returns home in the evening, usually tired, disillusioned and very depressed. I try to comfort him, even though I am deeply worried myself. My son struggles with his schoolwork, often showing frustration. I have to sit with him and go over his lessons.
For dinner, I usually cook whatever is immediately available, most often, local rice because it is more affordable.
After dinner, which is usually around 8 p.m., and all the dishes are washed and stacked away, I try to revisit my online psychology studies at the university. Psychology is the subject needed in today’s circumstances, and I am passionate about it. I am truly grateful to those who have supported me in this endeavor, and I thank them for their help. Many of my difficulties are eased, and it brings me happiness.
When everyone goes to sleep, I am left alone lost in thought. I worry about my daughter’s future, knowing she cannot go to school in Afghanistan. I think back to the days when I studied at university and had big dreams. Now, all I can do is pray that someday women will again have the opportunity to study, work, and live freely.
Most nights, these thoughts keep me awake. I lie in bed until morning, exhausted and hopeless. By dawn, I feel as though I have already worked so hard that I cannot even lift myself from the bed. I wake up dizzy, weak, and depressed, yet the day begins again.
It’s important to share that I live this same daily routine every single day. I am no longer a government employee, and like countless other women, I am confined to my home, with no time for rest, leisure, or even a moment of freedom. In the past, days off meant visiting friends or relatives, exploring the city, or enjoying simple outings. Transportation and the possibility of movement made it all possible.
Now, the Taliban have banned women from walking the streets, entering public spaces, or even leaving home for the simplest errands. Every step outside is forbidden, every opportunity to live fully taken away.
I am deeply grateful to those who read these words of mine. Through you, I hope my silenced voice can be heard. I hope it can reach the outside world, not just for me, but for hundreds of women whose lives are trapped under the same restrictions. Together, perhaps, a path can be found to reclaim life, dignity, and hope. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
© Inter Press Service (20251201153024) — All Rights Reserved. Original source: Inter Press Service
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What Daily Life Looks Like for Afghan Women Now, Inter Press Service, Monday, December 01, 2025 (posted by Global Issues)
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What Daily Life Looks Like for Afghan Women Now, Inter Press Service, Monday, December 01, 2025 (posted by Global Issues)
