Being an Afghanistani girl today means growing up in a world where most of your choices are made by others. For the past four years, girls like me have been shut out of school and university. Not because we don’t want to study, and not because we are unable — but simply because someone else decided we shouldn’t.
My days start early. I wake up, get ready for the small course I’m allowed to attend, and put on the black clothes chosen for me. The moment I step outside, my heart tightens. If I see a Taliban soldier standing on the street, my pulse speeds up, and I pray silently that I can pass without being questioned. This fear has become a normal part of our lives, even though it should never be.
I’ve watched girls in my neighbourhood and among my relatives being forced into marriages they never wanted. In many families, the idea that “a girl belongs at home” has grown stronger. Since the Taliban returned, people rarely tell their daughters to study or dream. Instead, they say, “Learn to cook. In the end you will get married.” Classrooms that once echoed with the laughter of girls are now silent. Poverty has increased, hope has shrunk, and opportunities have disappeared.
These are the forms of violence I face every day. They may not always be physical, but they affect my mind, my future, and the way I see myself. I’ve heard stories of girls being punished for their clothes. I’ve seen women refused the right to work. I’ve experienced internet shutdowns and a lack of freedom to speak openly. Basic rights — choosing my path, studying, working — are taken away before I even get a chance to fight for them. Many girls my age are pushed into early marriage because their families believe education is no longer an option.
In my own life, people constantly tell me, “You should get married and be happy.”
No one asks me what I want.
No one says, “Shakila, follow your dreams. Build your future.”
Instead, they plan my life for me — and expect me to accept it silently.
But even in the middle of all these limits, I haven’t stopped dreaming. I still imagine a future where I choose my path, where my value is not measured by marriage but by my abilities, my work, and my courage. I want a life where fear does not guide my decisions and where being a girl does not mean having a smaller world.
One day, Afghanistani girls — including me — will prove that we are stronger than the walls placed around us. We will show that ambition cannot be erased and that courage grows even in the darkest times. We will rise, not against our families, but for ourselves, our worth, and the future we deserve.
One day, we will stand proudly and say:
“We are girls.
We are capable.
We are strong.
And our lives belong to us.”
– Shakela
Letter received from our students participating in our Mentorship program. Text altered for protection of our students and for grammatical changes.
