In a move that surely surprised no one but the Taliban, the group's 2021 takeover of Kabul has had consequences. For three sisters, now back in Afghanistan after being deported from Iran, it's a lesson in the power of hope - and the absurdity of a regime that bans girls from school but will inevitably need educated women to, you know, function.
On that fateful 15 August 2021, Shallah*, then 16, was watching Tolo news when she saw the fall. She ran to the garden crying. Fatimah*, then 11, didn't understand what a 'takeover' meant. Maahi*, then 22, knew exactly what it meant - her hands shook as she read the news on Facebook at work. They were living in Qom, Iran, having left Afghanistan six years earlier for peace and education. But they were undocumented, living on borrowed time.
The sisters initially clung to the hope that the Taliban had changed. Twenty years, after all, can do wonders for a reputation, especially when you're promising women's rights and girls' education. Meanwhile, over a million Afghans have been deported from Iran and Pakistan since the start of the year, with about 400,000 from Iran alone. The sisters' family was among them, after their father was detained in May, followed by Maahi and their mother when they went to look for him.
Their story is a tapestry of bureaucratic absurdity and resilience. Born in Iran, they returned to Afghanistan in 2010 for education, only to flee back to Iran in 2017 as the war escalated. Iran had relaxed its education policy for Afghan refugees, but with an age limit: only under-20s could study. Maahi was 21, so she worked to support her family while her sisters studied.
School in Iran was no picnic for Afghan kids. Fatimah recalls Iranian students always getting higher grades, and principals finding excuses to criticize Afghan uniforms. Shallah was called 'afghani' - the currency, not the nationality - and cried at the bus stop. When she finished top of her class at 12, the school principal claimed a mistake and gave the prize to an Iranian girl instead. Because nothing says 'education' like denying a child's achievement based on nationality.
When the edict expired in 2025, Fatimah, then 14 and in grade 8, was told only Iranians and documented Afghans could register. The timing coincided with a wave of anti-Afghan xenophobia, with accusations that Afghans helped Israel in attacks. Deportations intensified, and the family ended up in Herat, Afghanistan.
Now the sisters stay home, fearing the 'morality police' and their crackdown on dress codes. In June, two people were killed in Herat province during protests over arrests of women for dress code violations. But the sisters attend unofficial private classes, paying 2,500 afghani (£28) a month from savings. No diplomas, but hope.
Maahi studies German, dreaming of finishing high school and emigrating. 'I am not one to wait for what the future will bring me,' she says. 'I am one to make my future by chasing opportunities.' Shallah, the only one with a high school diploma, is considering overseas universities. 'Without this hope, my life would have ended by now,' she says.
Fatimah has sent her certificates to Iranian authorities, hoping to return, but no response. She still believes change is possible: 'I believe that one day, the Taliban will need the women to be educated. They will need women doctors to treat the sick and pregnant women of their family. So they will have no choice but to allow us to study eventually.'
We can only hope she's right, because otherwise, the Taliban's future is looking both bleak and understaffed.