Shumaisa Rahimi

Content Warning: Death threats. Please take care.

Law was my calling. My mother was a doctor. She would often treat injured women in our home. I saw what those women had to go through and I wanted to do something to stop it.  

I was born in Kabul in 1992. When I was one year old, we moved to Mazar-e Sharif. At the university there I actually did study law. Initially I worked as a defence counsel in the bar association. Then in 2019 I joined Medica Afghanistan.  

Until 2021, I represented women in court in Samangan (Aibak), the capital of the eponymous neighbouring province.

And I travelled around the villages to educate women and girls about their rights. For example, the right of girls to attend school. Or the right not to be forced into marriage. And, of course, I also informed them of the legal possibilities to assert these rights.  

Long before the Taliban regained power in August 2021, they were already the real rulers in the villages of Samangan. My colleague and I used to change cars frequently in order to protect ourselves. And we did not take on cases where the Taliban were involved. Until June 2021. 

A woman made contact with me. She wanted a divorce from her violent husband. When I asked, she said he was a farmer. But later it transpired this farmer was a Talib. At some point she withdrew the divorce papers and I received a call: “We gave the dog in front of your office a note for you,” said the man on the telephone, and he hung up. In fact, a letter for me had been given to the guard. It was an official edict from the Taliban sentencing me to death. The reason given was that I had led women onto the false path. 

That night I slept at a colleague’s house. I did not dare visit my aunt, where I normally stayed during the working week. I usually spent the weekends in Mazar-e Sharif where my husband lived and followed that plan the next day. This had been arranged with the security officers at Medica Afghanistan.  

In the morning, I was one of the first to board the bus, and another woman soon sat next to me. Then the bus filled up. At some point the woman commented, “Apart from us, the bus is full of men.” She asked if I would prefer to get out into another vehicle that belonged to friends of hers. It still had space. I refused. A few minutes later she stood up to leave the bus:

“We will find you,” she hissed, “and we will destroy you.”  

I never returned to Samangan.

Over the next few weeks, the Taliban took control of more and more regions. So, on August 12, my husband and I fled to Kabul. I was three months pregnant. We thought we would be safer in the capital. However it was not to be: On August 15, Kabul fell into the hands of the Taliban. Twenty years of progress erased in a few hours.  

Shortly afterwards they began to exert pressure on my in-laws. They forced their way into our house and ransacked my study. But they did not find any relevant documents. I had destroyed them before leaving. 

I had escaped. But the danger remained. Even now my parents-in-law move house as soon as they notice people are asking questions about them. My brother-in-law was arrested. He was held captive by the Taliban for a week until the family paid for his release. It is barely tolerable. 

I take some comfort in the fact my own parents were able to escape to safety a few months ago. My father had worked a long time for the GIZ (Gesellschaft für Internationale Zusammenarbeit). This qualified them to emigrate to Germany. 

We were able to get out earlier. In November 2021, we landed in Hannover – but also in a feeling of emptiness. The first winter was a dark time, I was now very pregnant and I was in pain. But the gynaecologist did not take me seriously. He only gave me a proper examination when a social worker accompanied me to see him. It turned out that I barely had any amniotic fluid left. So my son was born in Fulda by emergency C-section.  

Now we are doing well. My son attends kindergarten. My husband has work. And at the beginning of 2024 our daughter was born. I am learning German. As soon as my German is good enough, I want to complete the training to work in public administration.  

In Afghanistan, I was actually planning to train to be a judge. But the Taliban took everything away from me. My home. My family. My vocation. Now I am far away and can only watch as they trample on the rights of women there. 

Where do I find hope? Seeing how Afghanistan’s women and girls are rebelling in spite of everything. They are looking for chances to continue learning and working. It is not very visible, but they are putting up resistance, these courageous fighters who do not accept being forced to live like prisoners.