“My pen is the wing of a bird; it will tell you those thoughts we are not allowed to think, those dreams we are not allowed to dream.”

At times, voices of Afghan women rise from the streets of Kabul and other cities in small, loud, protests. Often, they ring out in speeches by women now far away, outside Afghanistan. But mostly, their thoughts are only expressed quietly, in safe places. Or they fester in their heads as they try to reconcile their lives with the increasingly rigid rules of the Taliban government. They restrict what women wear, where they work, what they can do, or not, with their lives.

In the months before the Taliban returned, in August 2021, 18 Afghan women writers wrote fictional stories, drawn from real lives, and published early this year in the book, My Pen is the Wing of a Bird. Many Afghan women felt let down and left alone by the international community. But these writers used their pens and phones to comfort each other and to reflect on issues now faced by millions of women and girls. Here, two writers in Kabul, with pen names Paranda and Sadaf, shared their thoughts written in secret.

“Today I woke up with determination. When I chose my clothes, I decided to wear a pink headscarf to fight with the black headscarf I wear daily… is it a sin to wear a pink headscarf?”

Paranda prefers to wear pink, to feel feminine. But what women choose to put on is now a battleground. Strict Taliban edicts on modesty are enforced, often forcefully. In this traditional society, Afghan women aren’t fighting against head-coverings – some just want their right to choose. You see it on the streets, in public spaces. A pink scarf. A sparkling trim. A little light in the dark.

“Going backwards is not easy. Going forward is also a big hassle, should I be hopeful or not? We cannot go back,” writes poet Hafizullah Hamim.

Afghan women have been leading the charge in rare public protests. Small brave crowds have taken to the streets in Kabul and other cities brandishing banners calling for “bread, work, freedom.” They’ve been forcibly dispersed, and detained. Some have disappeared in detention. Across the border, in Iran, it’s also the women leading calls for change with cries of “women, life, freedom” and a demand to end mandatory hijab. For Afghans, it’s the right of women to work, for girls to be educated.

It’s the unpredictability that is so hard. Some Taliban guards are aggressive, some more accepting. Women’s journeys are nerve jangling. For long distances over 72km (45 miles), a mahram – a male escort – is mandatory. Some Talibs invoke the rule at will – sending women home on a whim.

You often see queues at ice cream kiosks, crowds of women and children in cafes. These have become places to escape for a rare treat, a retreat. Now even public parks and women-only gyms and baths are off limits, “because women don’t observe hijab”, the strict dress code. All this means small spaces could get smaller still.

Afghan regimes come and go; patriarchy stays put. Afghan women have long lived with limits set by men. But advances of recent years are reversing – with what the UN describes as “staggering repression”. It has a knock-on effect – reinforcing conservative family norms which keep women and girls under wraps.

Paranda is a pen name – it means bird. Women like her, especially educated women in the cities, refuse to be caged. Many have fled. Many still hope to. Small crowds bravely protest. Even in remote corners of the country, I’ve met illiterate women seething inside about their prison-like life.

“One of the students introduced the book in beautiful words, and the best part was when she mentioned my name. All my students cheered for me. I write this as the most pleasant memory of my life.”

Women’s work hasn’t been wiped away. Some female doctors, nurses, teachers, policewomen are still in their jobs, mainly working with women and girls. Some businesswomen are still in business – but there’s a crushing economic crisis. And doors have been slammed shut for women in most government ministries. With girls’ high schools closed, the link between women and work is being severed.

It’s a whisper you hear everywhere. Suicide attempts – especially among young women – are reported to be on the rise, but it’s hard to confirm. Families keep their secrets. Public hospitals are told to hide any proof. A UN agency tells me when they meet women in the provinces, this issue comes up. Forced marriages of young girls blocked from school is cited as a cause.

More than one generation now has only known war – it’s been more than four decades. The country lurches from one conflict to the next. Afghans keep daring to dream the next chapter will be better than the last. It’s a story which never seems to end.

Afghans often say hope is the last thing to die. In recent years, before the Taliban took over, when everyday violence intensified, some said hope was killed too. But people who have lived through so much still hold fast to whatever hope still lives.

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