What I didn’t know then was that this journey would continue for the next year. Every few weeks, I moved from province to province, sometimes living in the heart of cities, sometimes hidden in remote villages. For the first few days, I stayed at my uncle’s house in Sari Pool district, but once the local Taliban found out he was hosting a fugitive, we had to leave in the middle of the night. I went to the city of Mazar-i-Sharif in Balkh, and then made my way to Kabul, passing through the provinces of Samangan, Baghlan and Parwan. We were stopped at checkpoints in every province, and each time my heart pounded in my chest. Fortunately, I was under a blanket [the full Afghan burqa] and passed through checkpoints unnoticed. In Kabul, the air had changed. there was fear and dread alongside the celebrations as Taliban fighters from across the country converged on the capital. With the help of some friends, I was moved to a safe house, where I spent the next three months trying to find ways to leave the country, but rarely even leaving the compound where I was hiding. The Taliban made random raids in the neighborhood, looking for runaways like me. Somehow, our group escaped suspicion, but when the number of raids increased, I knew I would have to leave Kabul soon. In December 2021, I heard the news that my cousin had been killed by the Taliban. He was a police officer and often clashed with the Taliban during the years of the conflict. Like me, he was in hiding for months, looking for a way to leave the country, but he was caught and killed. I broke down, not only from the grief of losing him, but also from the incredible pain of what my life had become. One day I met my mother in a crowded market. I cried, but it gave me strength. I knew I couldn’t quit now I decided to go back to my province, but I didn’t go home because I didn’t want to risk my family’s life. I hid at another relative’s house, but being so close to my family again made me homesick. I longed for my mother’s arms. I hadn’t seen her in months. One day, I met my mother in a crowded market. We hugged tightly and I cried, but she gave me strength. I knew I couldn’t quit now. In the following months, I started weaving carpets to support myself and my family. Since the Taliban takeover, not only had we lost income, but my life in exile was costing my parents, who had already sacrificed so much to raise me and now had to support me. It was a rough birth and I developed rashes and sores on my arms, but it helped my family and took my mind off the threats I was still receiving. Then the threats from the Taliban changed. They didn’t want to kill me anymore. They wanted me to marry one of their commanders. They approached my parents and community elders, pressuring them to give me away in marriage. I couldn’t believe it was happening to me now. In the past, I’ve covered stories of the Taliban forcing young girls into marriage. Now I was one of the women I had reported on last year. When I refused, they sent me pictures of AK-47s and pistols, threatening to kidnap me and kill my parents. I blocked their numbers and deleted WhatsApp but they still found ways to send me threats. Finally, I took out the sim card and broke it into pieces. I was afraid of what they would do to me, or worse, to my family. So in July, with the help of friends, I made another attempt to leave the country. First, with the help of my father, I moved to Mazar-i-Sharif, and then we again made our way to Kabul. I brought medical certificates and every time we were stopped, we said I was going to Kabul for treatment. I was nervous the whole trip because the Taliban were more brutal than before. Eventually we arrived in Kabul, where I met up with other women like me. Together, under the guise of seeking medical help, we managed to board a flight to a neighboring country. I’m somewhat safer now, but not out of danger. I can hardly sleep because I fear for my family, who are still in Afghanistan. They are already ashamed because I left. A young unmarried daughter leaving alone is considered very dishonorable in Afghan culture. But I am lucky for the support I have received from my parents, at great personal risk. They have always prioritized my passion, my happiness and now my safety and future. Contrary to popular belief, many Afghan fathers would, like mine, face social disgrace and threats rather than deny their daughters opportunities for a better future. I call on our international allies to empower such Afghan families, especially women. We have worked so hard to achieve values of equality and freedom and we have lost most of it in the last year. But we are still fighting back and looking for allies to support us and amplify our voices. Subscribe to Her Stage to hear directly from incredible women in the developing world about the issues that matter to them, delivered to your inbox every month: Sign up for Her Stage – check your spam folder for the confirmation email
