In the name of God!

In 1995, the Taliban achieved their greatest victory at the time by capturing the strategic province of Herat, located on the borders of Iran and Turkmenistan. A year later, in 1996, they succeeded in seizing the capital, Kabul. Burhanuddin Rabbani, the then-president of the Mujahideen government, relocated his administration to Mazar-i-Sharif after the fall of Kabul, but that city too soon fell into Taliban hands.

By 1998, the Taliban had gained control over nearly 90% of Afghanistan. However, in 2001, the United States led a coalition against them, launching an invasion that resulted in the Taliban’s downfall by the first week of December. With their removal from power, Afghanistan experienced a period of relative peace: boys and girls returned to school, women were allowed to work, independent media outlets flourished, and democratic institutions and government structures were gradually strengthened.

Then, in 2021, history reversed itself. The Taliban once again took control of Afghanistan, dragging the country back into the darkness of twenty years prior—a moment in history that will never be forgotten. Every time I recall that day, my entire body trembles with an indescribable fear. I never imagined that I would one day experience the same suffering and tragedy that our parents endured.

I remember it clearly: it was Friday, August 12, 2021. My two sisters and I were visiting my aunt’s house with our husbands and children. It had been only a week since my sisters had arrived from the United States. At around 1:30 in the afternoon, we sat down for lunch. Just as I took my first bite, a terrifying explosion shook the entire city—it was the sound of fierce clashes and the Taliban’s advance. That deafening noise sent a wave of terror through us. The phones and internet suddenly went down, electricity was cut off, and the children screamed and cried in fear. My father tried to calm us, saying there was nothing to worry about, but the relentless sound of gunfire echoed from every corner of the city.

People—women, children, and men—were fleeing barefoot from their homes, screaming as they ran in all directions. Fear, panic, and desperation gripped the streets. Everyone was saying we had to find a safe place because the Taliban could start raiding homes at any moment. The same Taliban whose mere mention in the news used to terrify us were now standing just steps away from our house.

Above all, my sisters were in danger—they had their U.S. passports and green cards with them, making their escape nearly impossible. All we could do was place our trust in God and pray. That night, no one in our house slept—we stayed awake, consumed by fear, anxiety, and uncertainty.

The next morning, news spread that military evacuation flights had begun at Kabul airport, the last place not yet under Taliban control. Afghans who had worked with the U.S., those with American passports and green cards, and former government employees rushed to the airport, desperate to leave the country. My sisters, too, spent a week enduring unimaginable struggles before they were finally able to board a flight. With tearful eyes, they bid us farewell, uncertain if we would ever meet again.

For ten days, thousands of Afghans struggled to reach the airport amid chaos, violence, and deadly attacks. Many were beaten, some fell from airplanes, and others perished in suicide bombings. Those who managed to leave found refuge in foreign lands, while those left behind were trapped in a nightmare.

The Taliban swiftly seized control of Kabul and all other provinces. Overnight, they had taken an entire nation for themselves. On September 7, 2021, they announced their new government, led by Mullah Hassan Akhund, replacing the Islamic Republic with the Islamic Emirate. It was a tragic turning point—all the progress of the past twenty years was wiped out. International aid was suspended, diplomatic ties were severed, and Afghanistan was once again isolated.

Women were the first to suffer. Schools, universities, and government offices shut their doors to them, forcing them into complete isolation. Fear of an uncertain future loomed over every girl and woman, yet no man—no father, brother, or husband—stood up to defend their basic rights. It was the women themselves who rose to resist.

Despite the dangers, they organized protests against the Taliban’s oppression, demanding their right to education and work. But their voices were brutally silenced. The Taliban abducted women from their homes under the pretext of suppressing demonstrations, and no power in the world could stand against them. Psychological distress among Afghan women and girls deepened. Some, unable to bear the pain, took their own lives. One by one, public parks, restaurants, and cafés banned women. We were like birds locked in a cage—buried alive in our own homeland.

Later, Taliban decrees forbade women from leaving their homes without a male guardian and forced them to wear full-body coverings. Women without burqas were dragged out of public transport and beaten. With every passing day, their space shrank further.

Faced with this suffocating reality, Afghan girls and women turned to online education, seeking scholarships, applying for SIV, P1, and P2 visa programs, hoping for an escape. Many young people—especially the educated elite—were left with no choice but to flee the country, becoming refugees in foreign lands.

Those who remained behind, unable to attend school or university, found hope in online learning. By late 2024, however, the Taliban had shut down even private institutions, banning all forms of education for women. Over these four years, countless young girls were forced into early and arranged marriages, their dreams of education and independence crushed.

Thirteen-year-old girls, who should have been planning their futures, were instead preparing for lives of domestic servitude.

Then, on September 20, 2024, a friend called me and told me about an online women’s empowerment class. It gave me hope—I immediately applied and was accepted. On September 22, the classes began. It was a warm, supportive space, a tiny glimmer of light in the darkness that had engulfed our lives.

We, the girls left behind, have been cut off from the modern world, from technology, from everything. Our future remains uncertain, shrouded in darkness. But we still dream.

We dream of the day Afghanistan will be free again. We dream of the day our country will rise from the ashes and our people will flourish once more.

With respect,

Mrs. Yaqubi