A Look at Education in Afghanistan

It was Thursday, the 11th of June, when I received a call from one of our friends in SOLA. She told me that on the 13th, Mr. Ted (the founder of School of Leadership, Afghanistan) had arranged for SOLA students to meet with Mrs. Eikenberry, the wife of Mr. Ambassador, and to pass their messages and any requests for improving the education system and the current situation in Afghanistan. I was surprised when I heard this. Without checking with my parents, I promptly responded, “Yes, yes, for sure I want to participate.” I was sure my parents would not refuse it.

She said, “Okay, good, I will add your name to the list of participants. Make sure you have your passport or tazkira (identity card) with your. And it will be better if you come in official
clothes. By two o’clock, all the students should be gathered at SOLA. Try to be on time.”

I thanked her and said, “I will try my best to come on time. Pass my regards to Mr. Ted.” I was so happy I was just waiting for 13th of June two o’clock!

June 12th was a Friday. We are officially off on Fridays. Finally Saturday came. That is the start of our working week. I had lots of tasks at my office. I started working hard in order to complete my tasks before two o’ clock and leave the office to go toward SOLA. Fortunately I did well, and at one o’clock I left the office, so before two o’clock I reached SOLA.

On that day, SOLA looked different. Everyone was running up and down the stairs. Everyone was busy. All the students were well-dressed and were looking so happy. I could easily see lots of hopes and happiness in the eyes of each member of SOLA.

We got in the car which was arranged for us. Our appointment with Mrs. Eikenberry was at 3:15 p.m. We arrived earlier than that. The driver stopped the car under the shadow of a tree and we waited for the appointment time to come. Finally the moment arrived. We entered the embassy! Mrs. Eikenberry and the volunteer team who wanted to welcome us were standing on our way. They warmly welcomed us to the U.S. Embassy. The embassy was nice place. It was my first time to see such a nice place with lots of kindhearted and wonderful people.

A group of embassy workers left their desks and came to meet us and sit with us. Everyone was offering ice cream, chocolates, candies and juices for us. They were trying to present their best to us. Mrs. Eikenberry was also warmly hosting us. We introduced ourselves for them and every one of those kind people introduced themselves for us. We have wonderful time together. We took lots of pictures together. We found lots of new friends there. Every student was talking with a friend. They were asking us about our studies and our work and they were telling us about themselves. All the students were, one by one, talking with Mrs. Eikenberry about the challenges and problems they face every day. I had lots of questions in my mind that I wanted to get answered, and I had lots of comments and messages I wanted to pass on to Mr. Ambassador and Mrs. Eikenberry. She appreciated my comments and answered my questions.

She was a very kind woman. She carefully listened to us. I had some specific suggestions, such as providing scholarships for students and good monitoring of funds which are for reconstruction of Afghanistan, especially funds for improving the education system.

Our education system is very weak. Most funds which are allocated to be used to improve the system are used to build schools. But unfortunately, it’s somehow usual that most of contractors who want to get the project give a bribe. When they get the contract, unfortunately, they are not building the schools based on standards. They are just thinking about how to reduce costs. It really hurts when we see the schools that start falling down after only few months.

The other problem is that sometimes schools receive money to be built, but no building happens; it is just on paper. These things really hurt us, but we are not at a stage to take action. I thought I should pass these messages on to the Ambassador, because they are at a stage that they can take action. The youth of Afghanistan don’t want funds allocated for improving the education system to be misused.

Mrs. Eikenberry promised they will focus more on the education system in Afghanistan; she said they are trying to work on educating the young generation of Afghan people because they are the only ones who can really help their society. She also said they are trying to reduce the attacks on civilians day by day.

That day was a big achievement for me. I never thought an Afghan woman who was under a burqa and unable to go outside alone would one day find the ability to stand in front of an Ambassador and talk with him. This shows that Afghan women also have the strength and ability to stand on their own feet. Afghan women can also take part in the renewal of their country; they only want to be given the chance. If the world wants to assist Afghan women, they should work on their education. Only a well-educated Afghan woman will be capable of taking the hand of other women and helping them stand.

By Zaralasht

From Idyllic Life To War

Here is what life was really like for me.

I was my parent’s second child and though they had two daughters instead of sons, they loved me and my sister very much and were happy with what Allah gave to them.

At that time, we had a private manufacturing company with more than 200 staff. We owned houses, a car, and were financially stable. My parents worked hard to provide the best of life for us. Though we were children, we had our own bank accounts that our parents put money into for our future needs. They were good parents and we wanted for little. We wore the most beautiful clothes and played with the finest toys. Most afternoons, my mother received a call from my dad telling her to be ready because he was taking us out for dinner.

On holidays, my father planned picnics and invited our relatives. Sometimes we went to our factory for our picnics because my father built a very nice recreational area there. It had a big swimming pool, a beautiful flower garden, and lots of trees. Life was marvelous; abundant moments were passing—one by one—without us fully realizing their worth.

But those wonderful days were short-lived. They started when my sister and I were too young to fully appreciate them and were finished exactly when we need them the most.

When I was five, I loved to play with the neighborhood boys, but still I can clearly remember the words of my kind mom who warned, “Take care; don’t go so far from house. There is a group of people who are kidnapping children. Don’t eat anything from the hands of people whom you do not know because it may be poisoned. Don’t pick up any pens, dolls, or other nice things on street because it might be a bomb or connected to a bomb. Don’t go anywhere else. Just play in front of the house so I can see you.”
I will never forget the moment the war was started. We were playing in front of our home. When we heard the voice of bullets, we were so happy. We shouted and jumped, not know it was war and that it was dangerous.

My mom ran to me and yelled, “Come fast. Let’s go home. Don’t stay here!”

I said to my friends, “Let’s go to my house and watch the bullets from window together.” And that’s what we did, not realizing that we were enjoying the start of our dark coming days. The bullets came with greater frequency, along with other sounds of danger and violence. We grew afraid, and our laughter and shouting stopped.

My sister said, “This is all because of me. When the bullets started, I prayed for Allah to not let them be finished. But now I am very much afraid of them.”

Throughout the night, bullets flew. Throughout the night, we did not sleep. Our house was situated between two rival factions of mujahedeen. We were caught in the crossfire, so we were unable to leave the house even though it was too dangerous to remain. Finally, we had no choice. Our parents carried us in their arms and ran barefoot from our home. We were not the only family running away without knowing where we were going. The street was filled with people just like us who were trying to flee the fighting and killing.

I saw terrible things. On the street corner, an injured man lay bleeding. He was still alive but medical aid could not reach him. Our parents tried to not let us see the dead people who were lying all along our path.
I still clearly remember each moment of that awful time. After hours of walking, my father finally found a car with a driver who was willing to take us away from the fighting. While my father and he spoke, many people jumped into the car—all of them with children and women. The driver was a good person: he took everyone to t heir requested locales.

He dropped us at my grandparent’s house. We stayed about one week, but my grandmother and grandfather were unable to safely live there any longer because I had four young aunts who also lived there. Any second, we feared mujahedeen would knock on the door and take away my aunts. No one was capable of preventing it.

So my family, my grandfather’s family, and my married aunt decided to leave Afghanistan and go to Iran or Pakistan in order to safe our lives. Along with our wonderful country, we left all of our happiness. We left our beautiful house that my parents had built out of hope and our factory that my grandfather—after years of hard work—had built into a successful business. But at that time, we could only think out how to find a safe place for our family. My idyllic childhood died in the face of war and migration to neighboring countries. Everyday my parents were faced new challenges: our schooling, our shelter, living expenses, on and on. For a time, war and relocation stole from me even the ability to look back and appreciate the happy childhood I’d once had.

By Zaralasht

One of My Worst Memories

It was a nice summer day during the Taliban regime. My mother wanted to go to bazaar. I was very bored at home, so I asked, “Would you please let me go with you?”

She replied, “Umm, well … it’s better to stay home. I will bring you whatever you need.”
“Please mom, I am very bored at home …” I said, and she accepted.

We were going to buy some materials for our kitchen and some clothes for my elder sister, who always preferred to stay home rather than going outside and buying clothes of her own choice. She hated wearing a burqa. I was very happy. Finally it was my turn to go for shopping with my mom. No matter what my mom wanted to buy, I loved to be with her while she wanted to go outside. At that time I was around twelve-year-old. I was not wearing a burqua, though my height was tall enough.

We take a bus and went to “froshga.” It’s the main or the center bazaar of Kabul. I was out shopping after very long time. I was looking around surprisingly. Every piece of clothing was looking nice to me. I was looking for something good for my sister. It was really enjoyable!

Suddenly we saw a big crowd of people running away. My mother grabbed my hand and told me hurry up go fast. I was shocked. I asked my mother, “Mom, why are all of the people running?”

With a loud voice she replied, “Didn’t I tell you don’t come? Now, be fast–”

We start running away too. Then I saw the Taliban’s car! Their car was moving slowly. Two of them jumped out of car and start beating a girl. She was around my age. They were beating her in foot and head, because she didn’t have a burqa. I had heard of, but had not seen such as event before. I started crying. I was not able to run. My mother hid me in her burqa. She was afraid too.

Finally their car passed. They didn’t beat us, but we completely lost our selves. She told me, “let’s sit somewhere. I cannot walk any more. I feel my feet are not mine.”

Our clothes and our shoes were totally dirty. We didn’t know how that happened. We didn’t buy anything. We took a taxi to go back home. On the way, I was just thinking about that girl… she was running while they were beating her. Another woman was with her, she was trying to hug the girl, she was saying “Don’t beat her, don’t beat her.” The girl’s hands were on her head. She was trying to secure her head. She was crying. It was very terrible; no one was helping her except the woman who was with her.

It was around 1:00 PM that we arrived home. My sister opened the door with a smile on her face.

She said, “Salam, mother jaan, welcome, lunch is ready. I was waiting for you to come –!” Both of us were quiet. We didn’t reply. She looked at us surprised. “Mother jaan, what happened? Why your clothes are dirty? Didn’t you buy anything? Did someone steal your money?” I started crying and told her the whole story–she was laughing at me while I was crying! She told me, “What do you think, am I a fool that I am staying home?” In my heart I thought: no, you are not; you are a mature girl who understands it’s better to stay home rather than going outside.

After that I promised that I wouldn’t go outside without having a burqa, but having a burqa is awful. You cannot breathe under that.

This was one of the thousand memories that I have from the Taliban regime. It reminds me of those awful days again! Those days went away, but their footprint will stay in our hearts forever.

By Zarlasht