She was told to marry in a country which bans girls’ education. So she got in a taxi and fled

She was told to marry – Alia, a 19-year-old from the remote village of Daykundi, made a daring decision last year when she fled her home in a taxi to Kabul. This act of defiance came after her family had insisted she marry, a fate she feared would trap her in a life without education or autonomy. Accompanied by her female cousin, both wrapped head to toe with only their eyes visible, the journey was not only risky but also remarkable in a nation where women’s movement is tightly controlled by the Taliban. The pair navigated checkpoints without incident, a rare occurrence in a country where the regime enforces strict rules limiting women’s access to education and public spaces. Their escape marked the beginning of a new chapter for Alia, one centered on pursuing her dreams beyond the confines of traditional roles.

Ambition and Constraint

Alia’s plan was simple yet audacious: enroll in an English language course in the capital. These short-term, specialized private classes are the sole avenue for girls to continue learning after primary school in Afghanistan, though they are accessible only to those with financial means. The Taliban’s ban on secondary education for girls has left many young women like Alia with limited options, forcing them to rely on informal or costly alternatives. Despite the risks, Alia’s family accepted her decision to stay in Kabul, even supporting her studies. Yet, the reality of life under the Taliban’s rule continues to weigh heavily on her and others.

“Before the ban, my parents passionately encouraged me to go to school. They told me you can definitely achieve your dream of becoming a pilot,” Alia recalls. Now, however, her parents express a different hope. “They say the best way for me is to get married because I can’t go to school, to university, I can’t even work.” This shift in perspective reflects the growing pressure on families to prioritize marriage over education, a trend that has intensified since the Taliban’s return to power. For Alia, the fear of being forced into an early marriage looms large, as she grapples with the possibility of losing her independence to a spouse who may not share her ambitions.

The Silent Sacrifice

While Alia’s journey is one of courage, her cousin Shama’s story reveals the broader impact of the Taliban’s policies. Shama, now a mother of two young girls, was pushed into marriage at 18 by her mother, who felt compelled to protect her daughter from the scrutiny of Taliban enforcers. “If the Taliban had not taken over, I would have almost finished school by now. I would be close to my dream of becoming a doctor,” Shama says. Her mother, Kamila, had worked as a cleaner to fund her daughters’ education after her husband’s death six years prior. But the Taliban’s restrictions created a new urgency: marrying before the age of 12 had become a way to shield young women from public criticism and potential punishment.

“I was fearful that they [Taliban foot soldiers] would question why I’m not getting her married,” Kamila explains. “I had wanted her to be educated, work and contribute to society. I am illiterate so I am like a blind person. But I wanted my girls to learn. She [Shama] had so many dreams. But it didn’t happen for her.” Kamila’s sacrifice underscores the generational impact of the education ban, as mothers are often forced to choose between their daughters’ aspirations and the societal pressures of a male-dominated regime.

A Nation Stuck in Time

Alia’s escape highlights a stark reality: education for girls in Afghanistan is increasingly a privilege, not a right. With three out of every four people struggling to meet their basic needs, access to schooling becomes a luxury few can afford. The Taliban’s ban on girls’ education has not only disrupted academic progress but also altered the trajectory of countless lives. For years, young women like Alia and Shama have been denied the chance to shape their futures, their opportunities constricted by rules that prioritize tradition over progress.

According to the United Nations, the prolonged ban could result in over two million girls losing access to education beyond primary school by 2030. This statistic is particularly alarming in a country where female literacy rates are among the lowest globally. The restrictions have effectively cut off the path to careers, leaving many girls with few alternatives but to enter marriage early. For Alia, this means the risk of being trapped in a relationship that might limit her freedom. “Some families can be very restrictive. It’s possible they could tell me to forget my dreams. I don’t feel positive at all about it,” she says, her voice steady but tinged with anxiety.

Despite these challenges, Alia remains resolute. “If my family don’t force me to get married, I will wait. I will resist it until my very last breath,” she declares. Her determination is a testament to the resilience of Afghan women who still fight to reclaim their right to learn. Yet, the struggle is far from over. For every girl who escapes, hundreds more are left behind, their dreams deferred by a system that views education as a threat to cultural norms.

Shama’s experience mirrors this struggle. Her mother’s decision to marry her off was driven by fear of social backlash, a common narrative among families navigating the Taliban’s rule. “Having a husband is not the only dream a woman has. She needs to stand on her own two feet first, become independent and then she can marry and start a family. But I went into this new life with none of that. My dreams remain unfulfilled,” Shama reflects. Her words echo the frustration of millions of girls who have been denied the chance to build a future beyond marriage.

The Taliban’s policies have created a paradox: while they claim to protect Afghan culture, their actions have stifled the aspirations of generations of young women. Education, once a gateway to empowerment, is now seen as a challenge to the status quo. For families like Alia’s and Shama’s, the decision to send a daughter to school or keep her at home is no longer a choice but a gamble. The consequences of that gamble are far-reaching, affecting not just individual lives but the broader prospects of Afghanistan’s future.

As the ban on education persists, the dreams of girls like Alia and Shama are pushed further into the shadows. Yet, their stories are not just about personal defiance; they are symbols of a larger movement for change. In a country where the Taliban’s rule has imposed strict limitations, these women’s determination to learn and grow is a beacon of hope. Their struggles, however, also serve as a reminder of the urgent need to preserve and expand educational opportunities for all Afghan girls, ensuring they are not left to choose between marriage and the chance to dream freely.