About a year ago, a student spoke about a different life. Today, a young Afghan man and a woman named Wajiha focus on basic duties at home, as the country endures a hard shift since the Taliban took power. The change is stark: opportunities once seen as possible now feel distant, especially for women who were pursuing nursing and university studies. The weight of this moment rests on many young people who once planned careers and now confront uncertainty just to move through a day at home.
At 25, Wajiha F. carries a professional past she longs to rebuild. She had trained as a nurse and midwife at a university-affiliated center in Kabul and awaited an internship in a hospital. A year later, thousands of Afghan women are effectively confined to their homes, unable to work or unable to use a mobile phone as a lifeline out. The sense of lost momentum, the missing horizon, and a knot of pain define daily life for these young people and their families.
Wajiha spoke to EL PERIÓDICO, a newspaper affiliated with the Prensa Ibérica group, without revealing her exact location. Her family keeps watch over a house somewhere in Afghanistan, a place that is constantly guarded by relatives who take turns. The first steps they took were to change addresses to stay one step ahead of the danger posed by the Taliban. Perhaps it is the realization that many women in the household have built knowledge and ambition, or perhaps a sister has taken a leadership role in a government body that briefly held authority before the fall of the Afghan institutions. In many cases, the Taliban’s rise disrupted lives already in motion, reversing previous gains.
Since August 15, 2021, Wajiha’s life has largely revolved around the walls of her home. She explains succinctly that she can’t go out and spends days indoors. The restriction weighs heavily, and only a few family members manage to avoid exile in the process. The rest find themselves unable to work or study. Facing poverty, they have sold belongings and, at times, even their personal items to buy food and survive a harsh year with no income.
in the morning
At five in the morning Wajiha rises from bed. Her family’s needs shape the day because her mother is ill and her sister children require care. Her brother has his own routines, and another sibling sleeps through the early hours. The morning routine has become a strict ritual rather than a simple start to the day.
Making breakfast is no longer a time-consuming task; it is a lean, necessary routine. The family often has tea and bread for breakfast because there is little money for more. The lines of scarcity are clear, and hope is tempered by the daily reality of limited resources.
Afghan women demonstrate for civil rights outside the presidential palace while the country grapples with uncertainty. The image of resilience, captured by reporters, marks a moment in time that remains heavy in memory and in the fear that still travels through households in Kabul and beyond.
All the work and academic energy that once followed breakfast seems distant now. Cleaning the house remains a daily task, a quiet ritual that anchors the day as life slows down in the face of upheaval. Wajiha misses the connections with her high school teacher friends and students, many of whom are now too young to understand the full weight of the changes around them. The longing for school and the sense of opportunity linger as a persistent ache.
At noon on August 15, 2021, while Wajiha was teaching at her high school, her employer arrived with urgent news: the Taliban were entering Kabul. The decision to leave the classroom was painful, yet the belief that studies could continue kept her hope intact for a time. All schools and universities closed the next day, and the restrictions grew. Wajiha could not go out to study or work, and shopping required careful budgeting because money was scarce. Her only protection was modest, a headscarf and a mask when she ventured outside for essential needs.
afternoons
During the pre-Taliban years, classes ended around two in the afternoon. Now the family gathers at one, sharing a lean meal that uses fewer vegetables and avoids the richer fare of prior days. The familiar dish of bat qabli has given way to simpler meals such as a casserole of eggplant, tomatoes, and onions, with legumes if possible. The household’s finances shrink as income disappears, and items once considered luxury become luxuries no longer available. Even jewelry and bedding have sometimes been sold to cover basic needs.
After lunch and a nap, the afternoon drifts into long, quiet hours. The family describes a sense of aimlessness that settles in after the bustle of daily routines ends. News becomes the main spectacle, but it is laden with sadness. The Taliban’s rule, like other autocracies, blocks some information, yet free press and social networks still offer glimpses of a broader world. The daily news often carries more sorrow than hope for the younger generation.
The cover of a digital edition featuring Wajiha and a report on a girl who was killed in the Panjshir region underscores the grim reality. The images reflect a country where the threat to youth remains a constant undercurrent in daily life, and where even subtle propaganda can be as jarring as direct violence.
Nights
Evenings begin with a simple supper; potatoes and beans are heated on the stove, and after washing dishes and tidying the kitchen, the family settles in to study with the younger children while the living room television hums in the background. Bedtime comes around eleven, but the house stays awake. Vigilance becomes a nightly ritual, a habit born from fear that an intruder might come at any moment. In many homes across Afghanistan, this quiet vigilance is the new normal.
Two days after the Taliban’s return, the family moved cautiously within their home and then learned from neighbors that the threat had intensified. The warning reinforced the sense of danger that shadows every room. The teacher explains how fear never fully leaves the house, and how it shapes even the most intimate moments. Sometimes nightmares grip the children, and a niece asks questions about what might happen next. The night reveals a country where safety remains fragile and where dreams can be jolted by the sudden memory of danger.