Three years after fleeing Kabul, Afghan photographer rebuilds her life in Paris, continuing to document women’s strength
For two days, I isolated myself, paralyzed with fear. When I finally reached the airport, the chaos that unfolded was unlike anything I could have imagined. A PBS acquaintance helped me navigate the scene, but everything felt like an apocalyptic nightmare as panic and confusion spread across the crowd. The next day, I learned that the Taliban were actively hunting journalists and activists.
- 1 day ago
October 21, 2024
PARIS, France — My grandparents fled Afghanistan during the Soviet war. I was born in Iran, where I faced discrimination due to my Afghan identity despite excelling in school. This experience sparked a desire to reconnect with my roots. Although my parents wanted me to become an engineer, I pursued photography at the University of Tehran.
Three years ago, after the Taliban took over in Afghanistan, I sought asylum in France. Now, I work on a project documenting the resilience of women along the Silk Road, starting in Afghanistan and Central America.
Read more conflict stories at Orato World Media.
Reconnecting with my homeland and determined to return
As a teenager, I loved painting, but I never imagined I could make a career out of art. I studied industrial engineering to fulfill my parents’ dream. Although I excelled in math, I applied for and received a scholarship to study photography at the University of Tehran. I faced opposition at first, but I persisted and developed my passion. Through photography, I became a storyteller, capturing fleeting moments.
In 2015, while studying at Tehran University, I visited Afghanistan for the first time. While there, I reconnected with my homeland and felt determined to return. Growing up, I heard stories from my parents and grandparents about the Afghanistan they knew, but seeing the resilience and beauty of Afghan women firsthand impacted me deeply. I felt compelled to challenge the dark portrayal of Afghan women in the media, which led me to create my project Beauty Amid War, celebrating their strength, resilience, and beauty.
Carrying out the project between Afghanistan and Iran felt challenging. Despite their proximity, the status of women in Kabul, even during the Republic, differed vastly from that of Iranian women. Often, I had to seek approval from husbands, uncles, or brothers, as some photographs were deemed inappropriate. Most of the women whose images I could publish were artists, actresses, or musicians. They were more open to public exposure. After completing my photography studies at Tehran University, I received an offer for a position at Kabul University and moved there in 2018.
Capturing the true Afghanistan woman
In 2015, when I first visited Kabul University’s art department, I saw few women on campus. However, by 2018, when I began teaching there, female students often outnumbered males, and many women ran cafés around the university. The memory of that time feels especially tragic now, given the Taliban’s repression of women. Life was not perfect, but there was hope. Kabul had lively spaces for political discussions, and in my classes, no one wore the veil. We experienced a sense of freedom, despite security concerns.
During this time, I also founded my organization Mastoorat, which promotes women’s involvement in art within Afghanistan. I created the association to encourage women to find fulfillment through art, as women, art, and music are often the first casualties of war. Today, while we try to continue our activities, we have had to close our offices in Kabul.
I aimed to capture Afghan women beyond the usual media clichés, showing them as they truly are. The new generation in Afghanistan was driving a movement of art, creativity, and hope. Despite occasional security threats, life felt relatively normal, and we enjoyed a sense of freedom.
As I photographed these women, a sisterhood emerged, where I saw myself reflected in their stories—stories that often mirrored my own. Despite immense challenges, they maintained their strength, values, and femininity. Under the Republic, they pursued education and broke patriarchal norms, but after the Taliban’s rise, many had to leave everything behind. My own life was on the brink of change.
Taliban’s rise: “unable to accept that it was truly happening”
In April 2021, when Joe Biden confirmed the U.S. troop withdrawal, Taliban insurgents intensified their attacks. In May, a car bomb outside a Kabul school killed over 60 people, mostly schoolgirls, marking a turning point in security. During these months, I lost two journalist friends, and my mother called daily, urging me to take different routes home for my safety. I had experienced the brighter days and felt compelled to stay through the darker ones.
I held a U.S. visa, which served as a safety net. Before my exhibition in the U.S., I thought, “If the worst happens, I can leave.” In August 2021, as the Taliban took over cities like Herat, Kandahar, and Mazar-i-Sharif, a friend urged me to book my flight to the U.S. right away, warning that commercial flights would soon be unavailable.
I felt paralyzed, unable to accept that it was truly happening. I heard stories from my grandparents about people trapped in Afghanistan during the communist years, even those with visas. Now, I found myself unable to grasp that the same fate could be unfolding for me.
The night before Kabul fell in August, I confidently told CNN that the Taliban would never reclaim the city, bolstered by the hope carried by Afghan women. That evening, I shared tea with friends, unaware it would be our last time together. The next morning, I hurriedly booked a flight to the U.S., but as I rode through the streets, my taxi driver warned, “The Taliban are at Kabul’s gates.” His words made me realize the situation became undeniable.
The fall of Kabul: “two days, I isolated myself, paralyzed with fear”
When I returned home, I saw Taliban fighters on motorbikes, waving flags, realizing the collapse was happening. Within hours, I began receiving threats from the Taliban, demanding I stop my work and criticizing everything I stood for. I immediately locked myself in my flat, calling embassies for help and trying to figure out how I could escape.
For two days, I isolated myself, paralyzed with fear. When I finally reached the airport, the chaos that unfolded was unlike anything I could have imagined. A PBS acquaintance helped me navigate the scene, but everything felt like an apocalyptic nightmare as panic and confusion spread across the crowd.
The next day, I learned that the Taliban were actively hunting journalists and activists. A friend warned me to delete my social media and hide. I gathered my essentials, packed a small bag, and hid at a friend’s house. After several terrifying days of uncertainty, I returned to the Kabul airport with thousands of other desperate Afghans. The chaos was unbearable—mothers abandoning children, lovers parting ways—everyone willing to risk everything to escape.
Navigating through seven Taliban checkpoints, I eventually made it to the commercial section of the airport. There, people lined up, desperately hoping for asylum. Among the chaos, I even saw several well-known Afghan politicians and artists. The scene felt utterly surreal, watching so many dreams unravel into pure desperation while I joined the lineup seeking asylum in the U.S.
Suddenly, I realized how deeply French society values artists. So, I cried out, “Take me away! I am an artist,” and then they moved me from the American to the French line. The French ambassador, who had seen my exhibitions in Kabul, greeted me warmly, promising, “You will be welcome in Paris.”
Leaving Kabul behind, feeling a mix of relief and heartbreak
Hours later, I flew to France, feeling a mix of relief and heartbreak. Letting go of my Afghan identity left me disoriented, waking up in Paris with a profound sense of loss. Leaving Afghanistan was agonizing. I had long dreamed of visiting my grandparents’ homeland, and in 2015, I finally did, falling in love with the country and reconnecting with my roots.
For years, I captured images of the “invisible” women, their faces unveiled and draped in vibrant fabrics, a project I thought would remain incomplete. In Paris, I reimagined the series: why not finish it with portraits of women like me? Exile does not erase one’s identity, and I saw this as a way to honor Afghan culture now silenced by the Taliban.
I expanded the project by including women who fled Afghanistan in 2021, like Aqila Rezai, a former film star now feeling like a “dead soul” in Bordeaux, and Shegofa Ibrahimi, a theater actress who fled with just a dress made by her mother. Others include Anarkali Kaur Honaryar, a Sikh doctor and parliament member, and Atefeh Amini, an artist who escaped with her canvases and now paints in Lille to process her trauma.
I have dedicated my work to capturing Afghanistan’s rich diversity, from the varying ethnicities to the distinct traditional attire in each province. This project focuses on the face, highlighting its individuality and strength. Since the Taliban’s return, the series has taken on new meaning, preserving cultural expressions that are now at risk of vanishing. A woman’s face tells a story—even in silence. It still feels surreal.
New beginnings in Paris: focusing on women in conflict zones
When I arrived in Paris, I reacted in shock. It took months to process. I did not know anyone, nor did I speak French, but I found a welcoming community. Paris offered me a platform to continue my artistic work, especially highlighting Afghan women’s stories. I love Paris, a place that could easily become my home.
Still, I miss Afghanistan deeply: cooking with friends, the Hindu Kush mountains, and historical sites like Bamiyan and the Citadel of Herat. I miss the orange hues, the river fish, and every inch of my homeland. I know I will return one day—it is not just a dream but a matter of the right circumstances. When the time comes, I will be ready.
Recently, I started a new project in New York, focusing on women along the Silk Road. I began with stories from the borders of Afghanistan and Central America and will travel through South America, Arab countries, and North Africa. My goal is to document the resistance and resilience of women in these regions. Women have always been central to my work. In conflict zones, people often overlook them. By highlighting them, I aim to showcase their beauty, strength, and stories.
