As wells and other water sources dry up, women and girls in Kabul must travel increasingly long distances to secure enough water for their families. Credit: Learning Together.

By External Source
KABUL, Oct 1 2026 (IPS)

Drought has depleted wells, withered fruit trees, and reduced crop yields across Afghanistan. The heaviest burden of the water shortage falls on women in their daily lives, as they must fetch water from increasingly distant sources and use every single drop with extreme care.

More than half of Afghanistan is suffering from a prolonged drought and water shortage. The situation is critical in 19 provinces. Authorities predict the crisis will worsen. For instance, the capital, Kabul, is projected to lose the majority of its groundwater by 2030. In the northern province of Faryab, 90 percent of the area is already affected by drought.

Drought affects every aspect of her life. She struggles daily to secure enough water for her family’s needs. As an orchardist, she watches helplessly as the trees she has tended for years slowly wither and die while still standing

Water scarcity and poor harvests are further exacerbating Afghanistan’s food crisis. According to the UN World Food Programme, as many as 17.4 million people are in urgent need of food assistance.

Wells, springs, and groundwater sources are drying up. In some households, the water level in wells has dropped from 20 meters to 40 meters. On farmlands, water must now be drawn from depths of up to 120 meters, whereas previously it was accessible at 20 meters. Water is being rationed, and in some areas, farmers receive water for only 20 minutes a day.

When Afghanistan’s wells run dry, women’s workload increases

In Logar province, near Kabul, drought and water shortages have damaged crops and caused fruit trees to wither. Women must walk increasingly long distances to fetch water for their families.

“When our well ran dry, my immediate concern was whether there would be enough drinking water for our children. I only wash clothes if there is drinking water left over. Sometimes I go several days without doing laundry. I also gather the dishes from three meals and wash them all at once to save water,” says 35-year-old Simin Gul (name changed).

The well belonging to her family of nine ran dry four years ago. The nearest water source is less than a half an hour’s walk away.

At times, Simin Gul and her neighbors are forced to buy water. The local piped water network supplies water only two days a week, and even then, only for a few hours at a time.

Families help one another and take turns collecting water in large containers, but even that is not enough for large families.

The wells around Simin Gul’s home have dried up one by one. Women suffer from back pain and other ailments from carrying heavy water containers from distant sources.

Fetching water is particularly difficult during menstruation. Women must fetch water even when they need rest. At times, children have to miss school to help their mothers carry water.

Water scarcity and poor water quality also cause hygiene and health problems for families.

“The tanker trucks have plastic tanks, and the trucks travel from street to street under the scorching sun. Our children have fallen ill from this water several times,” says Simin Gul.

Drought-damaged crops in Logar province, near Kabul, where water shortages have reduced harvests and caused fruit trees to wither. Credit: Learning Together.

Drought deepens water inequality: “The wealthy can dig deeper wells”

Water scarcity has also changed the daily life of 50-year-old Zarmina (name changed). She has lived and worked on her orchard for about 20 years. Her husband is also a farmer.

“This year, about 50 of my apple and apricot trees dried up. I’ve managed to keep the remaining hundred trees barely alive thanks to a spring. But both the yields and the fruit are smaller and of poorer quality.”

“Some farmers pay for irrigation, but we can’t afford it. My husband lost his tomato crop this year because tomatoes need a lot of water,” Zarmina laments.

Zarmina’s husband farms an area of ​​about 60 acres. This year, he planted only half of it because of the water shortage.

“The wealthy can have deep wells dug. The fields of the poor remain dry,” Zarmina notes.

However, according to her, the problem is not just a lack of water but also inadequate infrastructure.

“Some areas have a piped water system. We should have one too, and the government ought to repair the irrigation canals as well. The problem is that Afghanistan has water, but it isn’t distributed efficiently,” she continues.

Zarmina is sometimes forced to buy drinking water, as her own well has very little water, and what remains is salty. Unless the authorities do something about the water shortage, the result will be a disaster, Zarmina believes.

Drought affects every aspect of her life. She struggles daily to secure enough water for her family’s needs. As an orchardist, she watches helplessly as the trees she has tended for years slowly wither and die while still standing. Together with her husband, she mourns the loss of productivity in their fields, where crop yields have dwindled because of the drought.

For Zarmina, water scarcity means more than just the drying up of springs; it means jeopardizing an entire livelihood and way of life, as well as constant worry about her children’s access to water.

As drought worsens, life in Kabul revolves around water

Water scarcity affects the capital, Kabul, too, even just a stone’s throw from the former presidential palace.

Sixty-year-old Shazia (name changed) lives in western Kabul. A large part of her week is spent securing water for her family of five.

To meet their daily needs, families either buy water or wait for the local communal tap to start running. Water used to flow every few days, but now the wait can be much longer.

When the water finally arrives, large containers and buckets are filled, and as much as possible is stored.

“Our lives revolve around water. We buy different types of water for different needs: bottled water for tea, filtered water for cooking, and tap water for washing and the toilet,” Shazia says.

Sheila lives on one of the hills in western Kabul. Together with her young daughter, she tries to find enough drinking water for her six children.

In Sheila’s neighborhood, some homes are connected to a private water supply system that delivers water every two days. Those who cannot afford it buy their water. Another option is to carry water uphill to their homes in heavy containers.

Before water flows properly from the taps of households connected to the private system, it must be allowed to run from the main street pipe for a few minutes. When nearby residents see the water flowing, they rush to the spot with their jerry cans.

“If we’re lucky, we manage to fill a few containers. Here, next to the presidential palace, we aren’t looking for a gushing water source anymore. A few drops for our children are enough for us,” Sheila laments.

“Aid organizations used to install water pipes, but no one comes to help anymore. We’ve been left here with empty jerry cans and thirsty children.”

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Since the Taliban seized power in August 2021, girls have been banned from schooling beyond the primary level and women’s employment has been severely restricted. Credit: Learning Together.

By External Source
KABUL, Sep 10 2026 (IPS)

Many wonder why men in Afghanistan do not protest when women’s rights are trampled upon. In reality, many are rebelling behind the scenes, for instance, by helping their daughters get an education.

“The only thing I can leave my daughter is an education”, says Yaser.

Every day before leaving for work, he checks whether the internet is working. He does this not for himself, but for his 18-year-old daughter, Mariam. Mariam has been unable to attend school for five years, but she can still study online, provided the internet connection holds.

Mariam shares this plight with two million other girls. When the Taliban seized power in August 2021, it became the only country in the world to ban girls from schooling beyond the primary level and severely restrict women’s employment. Afghan women have never been as invisible as they are now.

Other men I have interviewed have reached the same conclusion. Instead of protesting, they have begun supporting their daughters' studies at home. There are valid grounds for their fears, too

“I cannot reopen schools, but I encourage my daughter to continue her studies online. I encourage her to remain hopeful,” says Yaser.

Both within Afghanistan and internationally, many have wondered why men have not protested, even though their daughters have been deprived of educational opportunities. Why have they remained silent? But the question can also be framed differently: Have men been doing something else instead of staying all quiet?

To find answers, I spoke with fathers, uncles, teachers, and principals in Kabul, Herat, Mazar-e-Sharif, and several other provinces. I realized that what appears from the outside to be silence and acceptance of the situation is actually a form of quiet resistance.

Fear is a major reason why men remain silent.

“If I protest publicly, the Taliban will come to my home at night, beat me up, and take me away. What would happen to my wife and daughters then? But I can ensure my daughters are able to study online. That way, I won’t have to be ashamed of myself one day for having done nothing.”

Yaser tells the story of a man who criticized the closure of girls’ schools on Facebook.

“Two days later, the Taliban came and took him away. His family was beaten, too. The man wasn’t released until months later. I am terrified of that happening and don’t want the same thing to happen to my own family.”

Reports from human rights organizations corroborate Yaser’s account. The Taliban have detained and issued warnings to journalists and activists who have criticized the regime. They have been threatened with harsher measures if the criticism does not stop.

Ahmad, a Kabul resident, is the father of two daughters. He lost his job when the Taliban came to power and now takes on odd jobs whenever he can find them. Putting food on the table for his family is a daily struggle.

When I ask why he has never protested on behalf of his daughters, his answer is brief: “My wife and children would starve if I protested and got arrested. But I can send my daughter to a neighbor’s house to study. Before the Taliban took power, our neighbor was a university professor. Now, she teaches girls in her home.”

“It might not be a substitute for school, but it’s better than nothing”, says Ahmad

Ahmad falls silent for a moment before continuing his train of thought: “People have protested before. Women have marched in the streets but what did that change? Many of them are still paying a heavy price for it.”

Other men I have interviewed have reached the same conclusion. Instead of protesting, they have begun supporting their daughters’ studies at home. There are valid grounds for their fears, too.

For instance, in Herat, the Taliban detained university lecturer Qadoos Khatib and civil society activist Fayaz Ghori for posting videos and messages on social media advocating for girls’ education. Both emphasized that Afghanistan cannot develop without educating women.

Another case also came up repeatedly in my interviews.

University professor and former journalist Ismail Mashal refused to remain silent about the ban on girls’ education. He tore up his university diplomas during a live television broadcast and later distributed thousands of books to girls and women on the streets of Kabul.

The Taliban detained and brutally beat him. The books were confiscated.

For many of the men I interviewed, these events were not merely news stories, but reminders of what can happen if one speaks out. Many are looking for other ways to help their daughters.

Amir, 45, from Mazar-e-Sharif, never had the chance to go to school himself. He cannot read or write and has been working since childhood.

“My daughter means the world to me. I don’t want her to miss out on an education, the way I did”, says Amir.

Amir knew that some girls were studying online, but he couldn’t afford a mobile phone or an internet connection. So, he borrowed money from relatives to pay for them. Now, he works in a shop during the day and puts in extra hours at a tailor’s shop in the evenings to pay off his debt.

“If I don’t do everything I can for my daughter’s education today, what will she have for tomorrow?”

Amir owns no home and has no savings.

“The only thing I can leave my daughter is an education.”

It is not just about the girls; it is about the future of Afghanistan.

Farid, 38, does not have a daughter of his own, but every Friday he helps his 16-year-old niece with her studies at her home. Farid brings her books and downloads learning materials from the internet.

His niece’s dream was to become a doctor, and Farid does not want to let that dream die.

Farid believes that supporting girls is not solely the duty of fathers. It should be a shared responsibility for everyone.

Of the people I interviewed, the one who took the greatest risk was the principal of a private school. She wants to remain anonymous.

She refused to comply when the order came to stop educating girls after the sixth grade. Instead, she kept the girls officially registered as sixth graders for another two years and continued teaching them.

She knew she would lose everything if she were caught. When I asked if she was afraid, she smiled.

“Of course I was afraid. I have often had nightmares about it. But I couldn’t do otherwise when I saw the girls crying because their schooling was coming to an end.”

There are also those who believe girls do not need much education.

“Girls will get married eventually anyway. Basic literacy is enough for them,” said one man who did not wish to give his name. However, he was in the minority among the men I interviewed.

Most wanted educational opportunities for girls. They have not been able to change government policy, but they have found other ways to help their daughters continue their studies.

Excerpt:

“They say driving is only for men. But women have proved that they, too, can drive.” Credit: Learning Together.

By External Source
KABUL, Aug 7 2026 (IPS)

The Taliban’s rise to power robbed Mehrmaa of her husband, her job and her chance to live freely.

It was a cold, snowy night in March 2022 when Mehrmaa’s neighbors brought her husband’s lifeless body home. He had disappeared more than seven months earlier. Mehrmaa had barely managed to cope with the new restrictions imposed on women by the Taliban, and now she felt as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders.

“At the end of our road home, there were seven coffins containing bodies that had been delivered to their families. Seven months ago they had been taken alive and now they have been returned dead,” Mehrmaa says.

“I will continue to fight against forced marriage for the sake of my children and in memory of my late husband, until my last breath,” Mehrmaa says

Mehrmaa describes how, in July 2021, the Taliban took over the provinces and its forces entered her hometown on motorbikes. The Taliban raised their flag in the centre of the city as a sign of victory. Government helicopters bombed the city, leaving many people homeless and without shelter. Mehrmaa’s province was the first to fall under Taliban oppression. Many fled in panic.

“The state kidnapped many young men to defend the city, including my husband.”

After the Taliban takeover, women were threatened with imprisonment if they walked the streets alone.

“Women were flogged in public for small and frivolous reasons. Widowed women and underage girls were forced into marriages without their consent.”

Women faced daily hardships, regardless of whether they had male relatives to protect them.

“Now that the Taliban are in power in Afghanistan, what can we do? We only live for our children. Women want to work so they can earn money for their families.”

Under the Taliban, women were forbidden from working. Mehrmaa wanted to continue working to support her children. That drove her onto the streets.

“Now I live a nomadic life with my children. We have no permanent home and we don’t stay in one place for long.”

Work became a means of survival

Mehrmaa is a trained teacher and midwife. She treats women’s fertility problems with herbs and gives massages for knee, back and joint pain. Under her late husband’s guidance, Mehrmaa learned to drive. She ran the first driving school for women in her province and taught hundreds of women how to drive.

Then the Taliban banned women from driving. Under the direction of the Ministry of the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice, or morality police, local Taliban authorities reprimanded Mehrmaa and issued her a warning.

“They say driving is only for men. But women have proved that they, too, can drive. Even those who don’t have a husband in their family have learnt to drive.”

After her husband died, Mehrmaa had to continue working to feed her children. To survive, she returned to the city and began working as a teacher.

Despite changing careers, Mehrmaa was once again banned from working. Girls were banned from attending school from high school onwards, and educational institutions were closed to them. Mehrmaa took up work as a domestic helper and also provided personal physical education lessons to girls and women who had been excluded from school.

She is also a skilled physiotherapist. She founded the first women-only sports and massage centre so that she could help women manage their weight and improve their overall health. Mehrmaa’s health advice has given hope to women who had lost faith in their recovery.

Through her work, Mehrmaa met an 18-year-old girl who had fallen into a well two years earlier, damaging her legs, arms and ribs in the accident. Mehrmaa treated the girl’s muscles by massaging them with olive and black cumin oil. In less than two months, the girl was able to move.

The girl’s father praised Mehrmaa’s skills at the local mosque. Men heard about her healing abilities and rushed to propose marriage to her.

The Taliban regime considers it shameful for an unmarried woman to work alone. When the morality police learnt that Mehrmaa had rejected all offers of marriage, they banned her from working.

Mehrmaa rejected a life of dependence on others.

“For the sake of my children, I want to earn my own honest living and not live under the humiliation of anyone,” she says.

Sometimes injustice is a greater pain than poverty.

“I will continue to fight against forced marriage for the sake of my children and in memory of my late husband, until my last breath,” Mehrmaa says.

Once again, Mehrmaa moved with her children, this time to the northeast of the country. She brought with her hope for justice and a better future.

The women of her new village encouraged Mehrmaa to stay and help provide healthcare at local clinics. They told her about the countless pregnant women who die before they can reach a hospital.

The women in the village speak of Mehrmaa with admiration, describing her as incredibly kind and capable.

“It’s as if there’s light in every finger of hers,” they say, using an Afghan proverb to describe someone who is highly skilled and brings much good to those around them.

Despite constant losses, threats, and marriage proposals, Mehrmaa keeps going. She fights for her children, for women in need, and for a better future. Mehrmaa envisions an Afghanistan where women can work freely, study, and take care of their families.

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