When I saw the “Promotion of Virtue” patrol in the marketplace, I felt like a criminal. A question formed in my mind: Why should I be afraid? What is my crime? I blamed myself for coming out onto the street. For a moment, I had forgotten that I am deprived of the freedom to walk outside without anxiety. My whole body was trembling.
I looked at myself: I was wearing a long coat, socks, a black chador that completely concealed my hair, and a black mask instead of a face veil. Only my eyes and hands were visible. I was fully covered according to the rules, yet fear still stirred violently inside me. I carried a backpack containing my computer and phone. I had been attending a center that secretly taught us computer skills in exchange for a fee. I was afraid they would stop and search me, ask where I studied, and take away the small opportunity I had gained with such difficulty.
All I wanted was to get away from the street. The joy of walking had vanished. I turned into an alley, even though I knew it would take me two hours to reach home. Still, I preferred the long but quiet alleys to a route where the “morality patrol” might be present, because their presence fills me with fear, anxiety, and distress. The detention and removal of girls and women from public spaces has become a source of great panic and commotion among the people.
Under the pretext of not observing the Islamic hijab, girls are arrested and taken away from the streets and markets. These reports and patrols by the Taliban’s “Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice” group have prevented my friends and me from leaving our homes since June 8. We had a regular and disciplined computer course and attended without absence or laziness. But after the patrols began, none of my friends dared to attend class. They feared being arrested for secretly studying. Our classroom, once full of eager young women, is now empty of girls.
My father always accompanied me to class. During these days when I cannot go, he asks me every day with disappointment, “Aren’t you going today?” The question tightens my throat with emotion, and I answer, “No, I’m afraid to go.” My father had become accustomed to taking me there, and on the way, we would talk about the future and my dreams, and about how I would never allow restrictions to defeat me.
Once again, I gather my strength and refuse to let the current situation take away my focus or determination. I not only encourage myself, but also my sisters and friends. Through WhatsApp, I stay in touch with them, and we give one another hope with encouraging words. We reassure each other that this situation will eventually end. We must continue our studies through videos and independent learning. These circumstances should not distract or scatter our minds. All of this is intended to weaken the strength and spirit of women. The current situation will change, but the time we lose can never be recovered. We must focus even more on developing our skills.
Some of my friends were deeply discouraged and confused. They did not know what to do. My friend Aqila, for example, was lost and uncertain. I advised her, hoping to ease some of her confusion. This is not the time for despair. We must protect ourselves and make sure, God willing, that they cannot reach us. We must be extremely careful to preserve our dignity. Every girl and woman must look after herself, because those girls who have been detained by the Taliban are often viewed by society and even their families as if they were guilty or impure.
I told Aqila, “My friend, staying at home does not mean we have been defeated. We will move forward with our pens and our knowledge. We must encourage our friends so they do not feel alone. We cannot allow these circumstances to cloud our minds. We are responsible for not giving up on ourselves. Perhaps today we are afraid to leave our homes, but they have not taken away our dreams. As long as we preserve hope and knowledge, we have not been defeated.”
