Paul Workman: A girls' school in Afghanistan that is now silent under the Taliban

KABUL, Afghanistan -

There is a plaque on the grounds of the Zarghona girls' school in Kabul. It reads, in part, “so that freedom of thought may always flourish.”

The school is empty now. Benches and desks gather dust. It’s been empty since the Taliban took over Afghanistan in August 2021.

Before then, 8,500 girls of all ages came to their classrooms in three shifts a day. Zarghona is the most famous girls' school in the country. It dates back to the days of the last Afghan shah.

The words, “If you try, you can fly” are scrawled across a classroom door. A lesson in English, and life, at the same time.

Photo spreads of the best students from year-to-year adorn the walls. They're dressed in white headscarves and look happy. That was then. Now is a different world.

The Taliban have implied, but never officially stated, that older girls will be able to return to classes in March, after the winter vacation period.

I asked the principal, in a room that echoes from the lack of children’s voices, if she believed it. It’s not an easy question for a woman who minutes earlier told me girls have a right to education.

“The Taliban have to come up with a plan for the girls to study,” she says. We hope are the words she keeps repeating. Hope is a long way from certainty.

The school had 234 teachers. All women. All now out of work.

Hakimullah, the caretaker, lives at the school with his family and looks after it. He points out the community square, the fruit trees, and the balcony where the principal stands to make announcements. He calls to the roaming pet heron.

His own 13-year-old daughter may be a victim of the Taliban’s final education decrees.

“It’s very sad,” he says. “All the teachers worked hard to make this a good school. It’s their achievement.”

'I DON'T HAVE ANY OPTIONS'

On a square of hard sidewalk, on the other side of Kabul, Hadia Ahmadi watches dirty shoes pass in front of her and stay dirty. Her shoe shine business is only a step away from begging.

She has an impressive array of polishes and brushes, and wears dark glasses against the glare of the sun. Afghanistan is poor. Most of her hours outside in the cold are shoe-less.

“I didn’t have any options, so I decided to shine shoes,” she told me. “Our savings were finished. All of us, for many days, were hungry and didn’t have food.”

Her real job, in a happier life, was teaching in a school. That was before the Taliban sent all the female teachers home and reduced a proud woman to a lowly, near-penniless existence.

“I loved my job,” she said. “I was teaching language and really loved it. I miss my work.”

She told me that some days she makes so little money, she returns home in utter despair

“I go home. I’m crying. It’s so sad for me.”

Hadia Ahmadi, a former teacher, works at her shoe shining business in Kabul, Afghanistan.