For decades, Afghanistan has had a huge diaspora who, if they can, travel home to visit family and keep connections to their homeland alive. Since the re-establishment of the Islamic Emirate, many Afghan women are apprehensive about returning to the country for a visit. They worry about the Emirate’s restrictions on women and how this might affect their experience of return. In this instalment of the Daily Hustle, a medical student tells Rama Mirzad about returning to Kabul for a summer visit for the first time since she left Afghanistan to study six years ago. She tells us of homesickness, the joy of seeing her family and why in the end she has resolved not to return again to Afghanistan.
Women and children walk along a street in Kabul, Afghanistan. Photo: Hoshang Hashimi/AFP, 13 September 2021
This research has been funded by UN Women. The views expressed in this publication are those of the authors and do not necessarily represent the views of UN Women, the United Nations or any of its affiliated organisations.
Six years ago, in autumn 2018, I left Afghanistan to study medicine abroad, never thinking it would take so many years to come home again. But unexpected and fateful events intervened to keep me away until, finally, I made it back to Kabul during my summer break in 2024.
Leaving Kabul
When I went off to study medicine, it was the first time I’d left Afghanistan, the first time away from my family. Everyone came to see me off at the airport – my parents, siblings, some of my aunts and uncles and even a cousin or two. I was the first member of my extended family to go to medical school and one of only a few in my generation to go abroad to study. My father looked on with pride as my older brother loaded my suitcases onto the airport’s security belt. My mother kept telling everyone within earshot that her daughter had graduated from high school top of her class and was now going abroad to become a doctor on a full scholarship.
The first two years of university went by in a flash. On top of studying hard and keeping up my grades, which was a condition for my scholarship, I had to settle into life in a new country and learn a new language. The transition wasn’t easy and I found myself terribly homesick. I missed my life back in Kabul, my family and the hubbub of the house, especially before dinner when all my siblings were home.
In summer 2020, I was looking forward to coming home. I’d been putting money away from my stipend to pay for the flight home and buying presents for my family. But before the term ended, the Covid-19 pandemic shut the world down. The university moved all classes online and told students to go home to their families before the airports closed. But I was concerned about the poor infrastructure in Afghanistan, worried that the unreliable internet and power cuts would keep me from keeping up with my studies and maintaining the good marks that were a requirement for my scholarship. So, as my classmates rushed home to spend lockdown with their families, I stayed put. I spent the two years of Covid lockdowns alone in the university’s vast dormitory.
As the world was waking up from the pandemic, things in Afghanistan were taking a bleak turn. In summer 2021, my parents worried about how events were unfolding in Afghanistan and told me not to come home. On 15 August 2021, the government fell and the Taleban entered Kabul to re-establish the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan. Alone in my dorm room, I watched online as my country transformed. I watched the scenes at Kabul airport as people clamoured to get in and on flights out of the country. The future looked uncertain. One of the first things the newly established Emirate did was to close girls’ high schools. They’d eventually keep women from going to university, as well. If I’d gone back, I’d have been stuck in Afghanistan, unable to return in time for the start of term. I’d have lost my scholarship. I wouldn’t have been able to attend medical school at home. It would’ve been the end of my dreams of becoming a doctor. My parents kept reminding me that I was lucky to be abroad and in education. They said I carried the dreams and hopes not only of the entire family but also the women of Afghanistan. I had to study hard and succeed as a doctor.
But the longing for home and family was a constant companion. It had been six years since I was last in Afghanistan and the years away from home had taken their toll. It was time to go home for a visit.
A summer vacation
As I was preparing for exams in spring 2024, I told my parents I couldn’t bear being away from them any longer. At first, they opposed the idea. They said the Emirate didn’t allow women to travel abroad without a mahram [close male relative]. To leave again, one of my brothers would have to come with me to Iran, one of the only countries that still gives visas to Afghans, before I could take an onward plane back to school. Money was tight and I knew my family couldn’t pay for the flights and Iranian visas for both of us. My parents were also concerned that Iran might change its visa policy and stop issuing visas to Afghans. Finally, my sister settled the argument and told me to come home for the summer.
The thought of going back put new wind in my sails. I passed my exams with flying colours and I started preparing for the trip to Kabul. I spent USD 30 for a shuttle from my university to the airport and USD 444 for a one-way ticket to Kabul from my savings. I didn’t have enough money for a round-trip ticket, but my sister promised to cover the cost of my return.
In the days leading up to my fight, I could barely contain my excitement. I meticulously packed and repacked my suitcase, ensuring the presents I’d collected over the years were carefully wrapped to prevent any damage. As I waited to board my flight, it felt like a line had been drawn in time. The six years I’d spent away from my family were on one side and the journey ahead was on the other. I couldn’t wait to see them.
Back at Kabul airport
A note on my Kam Air ticket advised female passengers to observe hijab. So, before I got on the plane, I went to the bathroom to change into clothes that complied with the Emirate’s dress code for women. There were only a few women on the flight and we had to sit separately from the men. Unlike the flight I’d taken six years earlier, there were no female flight attendants welcoming us on board with a warm smile. All these new things made me sad. Afghans are observant Muslims. Like all other Afghan women, I’d always worn the hijab and dressed modestly. We don’t need anyone to tell us how to observe hijab.
Kabul airport stood in stark contrast to the one I’d left only a few hours earlier, where friendly staff were ready to help passengers find their way. In Kabul, passengers walked briskly under the stern gaze of the airport’s staff. Ours was the only plane that had landed and the passengers stood in the passport queue, tense and silent. It was definitely not the warm welcome you’d expect when you first arrive in a country.
I turned to a man standing behind me in the queue and asked if he knew whether the Taleban allowed women to travel without a mahram. He shook his head. According to the rules, I’d need a mahram, he said, but some girls did come to the airport a day before their flight and asked for special permission to travel without a mahram. It’s not a sure thing, he said, but worth a try.
All my apprehensions dissolved as soon as I spotted my family waiting for me in the arrivals hall. The sight of my mother, her face radiant with joy, was balm to my soul. My sister, now a wife and mother, stood there with her husband and children. The moment I held her newborn daughter in my arms, I was overwhelmed with love and joy.
I couldn’t wait to get home and hear all the family news since I’d left and tell them about my life and my studies. I’d brought my transcripts and all my commendations along. I knew my parents wanted to see them and my mother would even want to frame one or two to boast about. In that moment, standing among the people I love most, I felt content and at peace.
Coming home
At first glance, Kabul didn’t look too different – the same gridlock, the same men pushing handcarts, hawking everything from cucumbers to second-hand clothes, even some of the same policemen directing traffic. But Kabul wasn’t the city I’d left six years earlier. Everything looked the same, but everything had changed. The bustling modern city I’d left seemed like an exquisite dream, as though it had never existed. In my mind’s eye, I could still see men and women in modern clothes weaving through the traffic and going about their business – shopping, waiting for taxis, going to the office, high school girls carrying colourful school bags, wearing their black coats and white scarves, walking together in groups, chatting happily. All that was gone. Now, there were very few women on the street. In their place were mostly men, many with long henna-tinged beards wearing traditional clothes.
It’s true there were many problems before. There was the conflict, explosions, insecurity, violence and loss. But there was also hope and freedom. Women and girls were in education, in jobs, in parliament and held high government office. When I left Afghanistan, I could move around the city freely. I could go to the mall with my friends and pass the time with them in a cafe without a mahram. I could wear my favourite clothes.
I never imagined when I left that by the time I came back, Afghanistan would be so altered that it would no longer resemble the country I’d lived in all my life.
Life in the new Afghanistan
Now, every day, my mother cooks my favourite food and gets my sister and me to help prepare the house for visitors. At home, it feels like the old days as though nothing has changed, but I know that outside the safety of our home, there’s a new Afghanistan where I have to wear strict hijab and cover my face with a surgical mask. I have to go around with my little brother as a mahram, and my friends and I can no longer meet up in cafes to pass the time.
The economy is also bad and many families are struggling. My family, thank God, is doing better than most. My sister has a good job and contributes to the household expenses. The money she earns keeps the family afloat. Still, I worry about the money my family has to spend feeding and hosting the people who come to the house to see me. There was also the expense of taking me back to our village for a week to visit relatives there. All these are extra financial burdens that my family can ill afford. I can see how careful my mother is to stretch every afghani. It makes me feel like a selfish and inconsiderate daughter, so wrapped up in my own misery that I failed to see the burden of my visit to my family. But then I take one look at my mother’s face as she hovers in the kitchen over a pot of my favourite stew and in that moment, it all seems worth it.
So much has changed in the house, though. My parents are getting old. My siblings are older and busy building their own futures. All the relatives who come to visit seem anxious and worried about the future. They tell me about their lives, but sooner or later, the conversation turns to the same topic – leaving Afghanistan.
I can’t go home again
Being a woman in Afghanistan has never been easy, but the situation now is hopeless. I asked one of my nieces about her plans for the future. She looked down and shrugged. She told me she’d already finished primary school and had nothing else to do but help her mother around the house.
The summer is coming to an end and I have to start preparing for my departure, but I’m leaving Afghanistan with a heavy heart. As I pack my bags, I don’t even know if I’ll be allowed to leave without a mahram – unlike my brother, who’s returning to Pakistan and will have no trouble leaving because he’s a man.
I don’t think I’ll come back to Afghanistan. I have one more year left of my medical studies. I have to start thinking about what to do after graduation. I could stay in the country where I’m studying, but a residence permit costs USD 5,000. It’s a hefty sum and far more than my family can afford.
In the past, I had the sense that things were changing for Afghan women. I felt we could plan and aspire to be anything we wanted. I don’t want to live in this Afghanistan. I want to have hope. I want to live. I want to depend on myself. I don’t want a man to be with me when I go shopping or travel. A person should not be defined by their gender. I know that men have restrictions imposed on them as well, but they have it much better than women do.
I want to live in a free Afghanistan where men and women have the same rights – to work and study, to live and be happy. Despite the current situation, I hold on to the hope that there will one day be a thriving Afghanistan where men and women are equal citizens. I could live in that Afghanistan, but not in this one.
Edited by Roxanna Shapour
Revisions:
This article was last updated on 13 Oct 2024
Tags:
diaspora
Higher Education
student
women
women's rights
