Text Silai Estatira | Photography Elise Blanchard

از چشم کبود نور میبارد صبح

From the heart of the blue glow, the mourning rains

آتش به دل آیینه میکارد صبح

In the heart of the mirror, the morning rises.

ز آن سرخی پاشیده به دامان افق

With that redness sprinkled on the horizon’s hem

عطر تن لاله زار می آرد صبح

The morning brings the fragrance of a field of tulips.

لیلا صراحت روشنی
From ‘The Tulip’s Blush Amongst The Azul Sky’ by Layla Sarahat Rushani

In Afghanistan, girls play amongst torrential rain, earthquakes and bomb strikes. In my own early childhood, political instability was the background noise to a rich inner world characterised by fantasy, play and imagination.

One night, my cousin Gul Bano and I climbed onto the rooftop of our mud home, peeking through the sniper holes carved into the walls that dot every neighbouring home. For us, the sniper holes were windows alluring and inviting us to spy on the comings and goings of the street. We giggled as we watched unsuspecting burqa-clad aunties, trying to guess their identities. That same night, we jammed through a weighty lock to get into Lala’s rooftop storage, filled to the brim with Gul Bano’s dolls, all adorned with outfits she had made them from leftover fabrics.

My 5-year-old self had never seen such an extravagant doll collection like that of my cousin. With childlike jealousy and awe, I watched as she listed the dolls’ names. Moments later, an RPG strike demolished the nearby neighbour’s home. We just about survived. In moments like these, we remember the dolls and the play more than we do details of strikes. Elsewhere, girls are sneaked secret sweets by neighbourhood boys, the boys promised by the intoxicating fragrance of love.

Originally published in Dazed MENA Issue 00 | Order Here

Elise Blanchard’s photographs echo this quiet resilience, capturing Afghan girlhood in the soft spaces of home. Here, there is a gentle reverence, a tender eye for intimacy and warmth, often framed by the drapes of fabric reserved for weddings and family gatherings. It can sometimes seem like all girls are artists here. Like my cousin Gul Bano weaving clothes for her dolls, we learn from diary entries submitted by the girls (using pseudonyms), that Nuri makes handicrafts at home, Lisa weaves traditional Hazaragi chadors and our ‘Girl of the Ocean’ works in a tailoring centre. There is a budding resilience in girlhood here, a refusal to trample upon hope. Diligent routines of cooking, cleaning, working and studying become the pathway to a future imagined otherwise.

The girls write to this future. When night departs, daydreams, like spring and soft sunlight, sift through the mountain’s horizon. The dreams are simple: for Nuri it’s peace, for Lisa it’s a happy life, for ‘The One Who Will Not Lose Hope” it is for her family to have a good life and for her to find a job to support them. For my cousin, it was love.

The West often fails to understand the blossoming that can happen in secret, when veiled or underground. In our context, magic unfurls always. Throwaway tiles covered by dust become a site for play and computer science classes, a gateway into another life. Girlhood dictates that imagination must find its way out. And, when no one is looking, magic happens.

These Journal entries were written by Afghan girls, some of whom are in the photographs and others not. They use pseudonyms that they chose themselves to protect their identities. Afghan women in Kabul translated their responses. In their own words, they describe their daily routines, clothes, and dreams.

I am 18, and I have five sisters and two brothers. I sleep in this room with my sister, I study there, and we also use it to receive guests. My parents are away, as my father works in the fields in a rural area. I moved here with part of my family to access classes. I also study in this room.

On a typical day, I watch computer science videos on YouTube. I hope to take computer classes as I am interested in working in communication. I took English classes in the past. Otherwise, I work in a tailoring centre. This is what my brother does as well.

These clothes, made by Afghan women, reflect our culture. I wear them at weddings or on Afghanistan’s Independence Day in August. I like them because they represent my nationality.

I hope to become a talented doctor, and my big dream is to live without anxiety. I hope that Afghan people can live with ease in the future. I think people should think bigger than they do now. We should try to change and make new things.

Written by Girl Of The Ocean

I am 16, and I live with my mother and my grandmother. My father died when I was 3 months old. Four people sleep in this room. I go to the madrassa every day. I also make handicrafts at home. My brother is a taxi driver; he supports us.

I do not wear these clothes outside, except for wedding parties and birthdays, or other special events. I like to wear this dress because it reflects my culture, and I love the colour blue. This dress is from Daikundi province and is sold in the Kabul market.

Every day I wake up at 5:40 AM, pray, make breakfast for my family, then start cleaning the house. I do my Islamic course exercises and my other work like sewing and weaving from 10 to 12:50, a chador and pants for myself for example, and I also sew and weave for other people. After that, I start cooking lunch and after lunch, I start getting ready to go to my Islamic course. I come back home from Islamic school at 3pm, and after that, I go to the market and cook dinner, then we eat dinner, and after dinner, we sleep.

What I wish for is the health of all my family members and peace in our country.

Written by Nuri

I am 19. Four people sleep in this room. It is used to sleep, sit, eat, and work.

This is how my day goes:

At 6am, I wake up
At 7am, I read different books
At 8am, I make and eat breakfast with my family
At 9am, I help with house chores and clean the house, etc.
At 10am, I study at home
At 11am, I do artisanal things, like weaving traditional scarves and hazaragi chador
After, I cook and have lunch with my family, then I go to Islamic school, make dinner and eat with my family.

My hope for the future is always to be happy and share my joy with others, so we can all live together in peace. What I hope for Afghanistan one day is for everybody to be educated, wealthy, and healthy, for all Afghan people to be united, and for them to experience a happy and peaceful life.

Those clothes are traditional hazaragi clothes from the Bamyan province. I wear them for special occasions like weddings, birthdays, and engagement parties. They represent our culture, carry happy memories, and remind me of my culture and loved faces.

Written by Lisa

I am 16.

My dream is for my family to have a good life. My father died from illness, and I am the eldest, so I need to support my family–my mother and my sisters. So, my dream is to find any job that can help me do that. This is my dream now.

I sleep in this room with my mother, my four sisters, and my brother. Everybody. We eat here, we receive guests here. The two rooms we have do not even belong to us, they belong to a relative who let us use them for free because we cannot afford a home of our own. But the house is very old, we worry it will fall on us, fall apart during the winter because there are cracks everywhere. But we have no choice but to live here.

The clothes my sister and I wear, we made most of them ourselves. Others we bought but it’s been a very long time since I bought new clothes. To be honest, I do not like my clothes. I wear them because at least they were new before. The clothes I like, I don’t know when I will be able to afford and wear them. We wear our nice clothes for important events only.

Most of my days are spent trying to find work, anything, studying from books, and, of course, helping at home with house chores.

Thank you for asking me questions.

Written by The One That Will Not Lose Hope