Afghanistan Peace CampaignAfghanistan Analysts Network
From humble beginnings
I live in one of the largest and most populated districts in our province in southeastern Afghanistan. During the Republic, there was fighting between the government and the Taleban over control of our province. In those years, most schools were closed, and when they were open, there were either no qualified female teachers or the Taleban wouldn’t allow girls to attend. Still, many families wanted their daughters to go to school. So, the tribal elders asked each village to find an educated woman in their community who could teach girls in their home and asked the parents to pay the teachers whatever they could afford. This is how, six years ago, I started running a home school in one of the rooms in our house.
At first, my father was opposed to the idea of me running a school. He was worried about what the community would think. He said people would gossip about a woman in our household working and supporting the family, which in our area is seen as shameful. But my older brother, who at the time was a teacher himself, convinced him to let me go ahead with it. He could see I was anxious about staying at home with nothing to do and convinced him that teaching would occupy my time and make good use of my education and my energy.
My little school began with only a few girls from the neighbourhood, but by the end of the first year, there were 20 students. As our reputation improved and more people learned about our classes, the number of students continued to grow until I eventually had 50 students aged between 7 and 18.
An official home school for girls, with a new curriculum
One day, the village malek (headman) told my brother there was an NGO that wanted to support classes for girls in our village: “I thought about your family and, if you’re ok with it and your sister’s willing, the NGO will give her a salary and support her class.”
This was exciting news. If we could manage to get support from this NGO, our classes would become official. A team from the NGO came to assess my class. They wanted to see the classroom environment and watch one of my lessons. I also had to take a test to show I had the knowledge and skills to teach. Finally, we got the word that they’d accepted our school for their programme.
They gave us books, notebooks, and other things such as school bags and pens, as well as a new curriculum based on the one introduced by the province’s Directorate of Education and UNICEF – Pashto, life skills, maths, calligraphy, art and religious education, which includes fiqh [Islamic jurisprudence] and hadiths [the sayings and actions attributed to the Prophet Muhammad] and the Holy Quran. The official school hours were from 7 am to noon.
I had to keep an attendance sheet, a lesson plan, results sheets and report cards, and a team from the NGO and the district education office came twice a month to monitor my classes and make sure I was sticking to the curriculum and the quality of teaching was up to par. They also gave me a salary of 9,000 afghanis (USD 105) each month, so I didn’t have to rely on money from the parents in these hard economic times when families are struggling to survive.
They also wanted a photo of each student. This last requirement proved to be a temporary setback because several families objected to having their daughter’s picture taken and took them out of school. After that, my brother and the village malek talked to the fathers and convinced them to allow their girls to be photographed.
There were also other obstacles. My father voiced his opposition once again. This time, he was concerned about me getting a salary from an NGO: “What will people say? They will say that our daughter is working for an NGO and getting paid,” he grumbled. But times were hard, and my salary was our family’s only source of income.
When the Republic fell, my father was too old to work and my brothers lost their jobs. My small salary was supporting 14 people – my parents, my three brothers, their wives and children, my sister and myself. So, faced with the reality of our economic situation, he finally relented.
Making our school official meant the older girls could no longer attend because of the ban on them going to school. I had to reduce the number of students from 50 to 35 and limit them to girls between 7 and 12 years old. So, after lunch, I used to hold free Quran classes for the older girls.
Things were going well. The NGO supported my school for almost three years. Last year, the school took first place at the district level – a well-deserved distinction for my students, who took their studies very seriously.
The order to close my school
A couple of months ago, as my cohort of students was preparing to begin grade six and looking forward to graduating in March 2025, the NGO told us we’d have to close the school because the Ministry of Education had ordered the closure of schools like mine until further notice. As far as I know, the ban only affects schools like mine. In some places, younger girls can still attend the community-based school where they study each class in one year up to grade six.
There’s a lot of speculation in the village about why the school was closed. Some people say it’s because the local government doesn’t want girls walking on the street no matter what their age. But the houses in our village are interconnected – each house has a door leading to the house next to it – and the girls never walked on a public street to get to class. Besides, everyone in the village knows our family and they know that the men leave the house when I hold classes. Other people say the NGO has lost its funding or stopped operating and that another NGO will step in soon to take over the programme. Others say the government’s told NGOs not to operate classes beyond grade three and since my cohort of students was going to be starting grade six, the NGO had no choice but to close the school down. Still others think it was because I held Quran classes in the afternoons for older girls, but these classes had nothing to do with my home-based school. It was a private initiative and the classes were held outside school hours and were free of charge. Anyway, what’s wrong with teaching girls the Quran?
Whatever the reason, the day I told my class that the school was closing was one of the hardest days of my life. Everyone was very upset. We spent the rest of our time together talking about how disappointed we felt and the girls were crying when they left my little classroom for the last time. Among my students were girls with high hopes and dreams for the future. Some of them, believing that the Emirate would reopen girls’ high schools soon, had wanted to become doctors and some said they would become teachers so that they could serve the people, as I do.
The entire community is upset by the sudden shuttering of my school. Home-based schools like mine that operated with help from NGOs and without any support from the government were the only option for many. My brothers have spoken to the local education officials and the NGO to get them to change their minds. But the NGO told my brother not to hold private classes at home under any circumstances, including the free Quran classes for the older girls that I had going in the afternoons. They told him I had to stop all activities. Being told I couldn’t even teach classes privately and for free was a big disappointment. My students’ parents went to the village malek several times and asked him to go to the district centre and convince the education department to let us have classes, but the malek said this matter was beyond his authority and that no one would listen to him on this matter. This was an order from the authorities, he said, and we had to obey.
Sacrifices and hope
When I think about all the obstacles I overcame to get the school going and keep it running, I’m overwhelmed by sadness. It wasn’t easy and I had to make many sacrifices. I had to put off my wedding because I’d have had to have moved to Kabul after I got married. I didn’t want to abandon my students in the middle of their studies, especially since this was the final year for my cohort of students. I talked it over with my fiancé and he agreed. A delay would also give him time to save enough for our wedding.
My students and their parents are disappointed too. Not a day goes by without someone stopping by our house to ask after the school. They say the school was a blessing for the village and ask me to reopen it because their daughters are depressed and want to start studying again. But there’s no word either from the NGO or from the district officials.
Since the school closed, I haven’t been paid and it won’t be long before our savings run out. God only knows what will happen to my family after that.
To be honest, I can’t understand why anyone would keep girls from studying. I taught the Quran and religious lessons and the books that the Ministry of Education gave to the schools. I wouldn’t teach anything else. What could be wrong with helping girls gain literacy and numeracy skills and learn the Holy Word of God?
Still, I hold out hope that one day soon, someone will knock on the door and tell me I can reopen the school.
Edited by Roxanna Shapour