A Fight for Education in Khairabad
In the dusty alleys of the Khairabad Refugee Camp, a hidden struggle is stifling the hopes of an entire generation. For Afghan girls, the concept of education is not just unfamiliar—it is outright forbidden. Even boys face obstacles that crush their dreams, while the idea of a girl receiving an education is considered sinful. This is not merely a matter of poverty; it stems from deeply entrenched cultural beliefs that trap both boys and girls in cycles of ignorance and injustice.
In Khairabad, girls are raised to believe that their sole purpose is to serve others. They are taught to lead obedient lives and are allowed to leave the house only in emergencies. Access to education is taken from them at an early age. As they grow older, they are forced into domestic labor, expelled from schools, and even denied religious education. Because such practices are considered “family matters,” no one intervenes to stop the blatant violence against women. As a child, I felt powerless to challenge this normalized cruelty, and I have witnessed women being beaten in front of entire neighborhoods.
The struggle does not end with childhood. Even after completing college, I faced relentless challenges in pursuing higher education—ranging from documentation delays and passport issues to repeated rejections. Each obstacle felt like a fresh battle for my right to learn. I could have given up, but I chose not to. Eventually, I secured admission to Quaid-i-Azam University, where I now study pharmacy and lead the Afghan Students’ Society, helping others navigate the same barriers I once faced.
My story is not unique. Khairabad suffers from a structural crisis that deprives the entire community of its potential. Due to socioeconomic constraints and regressive traditions, even boys often drop out of school, while less than 1% of girls receive any formal education. Families who view education as sinful or unnecessary are endangering their children’s futures. My own younger brother, Wali Jan, gave up his education so I could continue mine. This pattern of generational sacrifice perpetuates poverty and robs the nation of future doctors, engineers, and leaders.
I refused to be idle in the face of this injustice. Using my own savings, I purchased books and supplies and dedicated my free time to teaching local children—both boys and girls. Over the years, I have taught around 35 students free of charge. I’m proud to share that nine out of eleven students from one local school achieved excellent grades. I remain committed to ensuring that no child in Khairabad is denied the right to learn, a right I had to fight so hard to claim.
Change is possible—even in Khairabad. Because I persevered, my own family, once staunchly against girls’ education, has slowly begun to support it. I believe that no child, regardless of gender, should be denied the opportunity to learn. Education is not a crime. It is the foundation of freedom, dignity, and a brighter future. The children of Khairabad are not criminals—they are dreamers waiting for a chance. It is time to break the silence, challenge the taboos, and build a society where books are seen as tools of empowerment, not threats.
Every child deserves the opportunity to grow, to learn, and to change the world.
