Kabul has become a city without women

First the hippies wandered around here. Then the Western soldiers, diplomats and aid workers arrived with their SUVs. But after the Taliban took power in 2021, things became a lot quieter on Chicken Street.

Nevertheless, business continued on the popular shopping street in the Afghan capital Kabul. Chickens are not sold there. Once upon a time, a long time ago, they made way for tourist souvenirs. Jewelry dripping with gemstones. Colorful traditional costumes decorated with stitching and mirrors. Copper teapots and hand-blown glass. Merchandise that has remained popular despite the intense, often violent upheavals in Afghanistan, each time with a different audience.

Shopkeepers who don’t have much to do on this Thursday evening drink tea. They lean against the high piles of rugs and chat with the neighbor. Crowds of young men hang out on the street, children on bicycles cross unexpectedly. It is especially busy at the bakery, on the far corner of the street. Besides warm bread, the street smells of roasted nuts and popcorn. Freshly squeezed pomegranate juice is sold in paper cups. The peels lie in heaps on the sidewalk.

“Chicken Street attracts everyone,” says Abdul Wahab, a friendly-looking, stocky man with a sharp look behind his glasses. He turns up the burner in his carpet shop. You have to be careful with the tea inside, there is hardly any place where there is no merchandise lying or hanging.

When the Americans and NATO ruled Kabul, the Chicken Street market exploded, says Abdul Wahab. “Many people seized the opportunity to start a business. A rug is a beautiful souvenir – and if the buyer doesn’t know what to look for, it’s very easy.”

His own shop had already been there for a long time. His father gave him a love for traditional rugs. Heavy, hand-woven. Nowadays, the businessman says, a lot of cheap junk is also sold.

Abdul Wahab walks away from the store and returns a little later with items. “From the neighbours.” He holds up a bright pink carpet with drones, linked in a geometric pattern. Mats with ‘Afghan war weapons’ are popular. “Made with a machine,” says Wahab. “Very commercial.” According to him, the habit of recording wars in woven form arose during the battle against Soviet soldiers in the 1980s.

The latest war carpet design features human figures falling from an airplane, with the Kabul skyline in the background. A reference to the fall of the Afghan capital on August 16, 2021. Western troops left in a hurry when the Taliban approached the capital. The advance, which the Afghan National Army could not stop, caused panic among international organizations, and among Afghans who did not want to live under the Taliban. Citizens tried en masse to get a place on evacuation flights. Some clung desperately to departing planes – only to fall off again during takeoff.

It is not so much the morbid narrative on the carpet that Abdul Wahab dislikes. “I think it is too early to judge August 16,” he said when asked. What the businessman is completely unhappy about is the quality of this carpet. “It gives our handicrafts, of which there is increasingly less and less in Afghanistan, a bad name.”

The ‘milder’ Taliban

After taking power, the Taliban renamed the country an Islamic Emirate. They no longer wish to be referred to as ‘fighters’, but want to be seen as administrators. They said they would not introduce the same reign of terror as in the 1990s, when they were also in power. The promise of a ‘milder’ Taliban was met with justified suspicion; the international community has not recognized those in power as legitimate. In addition, human rights organizations see a return of previous oppressive measures.

Yet Abdul Wahab has also experienced relief in the past two and a half years: the country feels a lot safer now that it is clear who is in charge. “After forty years of war, no longer bombs or violence every day. You can take to the streets – or even travel from city to city – without having to fear it.”

Scouts who go looking for special weaving for his shop can now safely hit the road and travel across the country, he says. The Sharia law imposed by the authorities is harsh, but also ensures order. Residents in the big cities are less afraid of crime, they take to the streets at night. The initial unrest about how the Taliban’s rule would turn out has “settled a bit more,” says Abdul Wahab.

For women it’s a completely different story. The 28-year-old Muzhgan does not experience “peace” at all, but “loss”. “The situation in this country is not good for women,” says the young woman from Kabul, who works as a secretary for an international humanitarian organization and does not want her full name in the newspaper. “I don’t think that will improve.”

Abdul Wahab also collapses for a moment when he talks about the position of his nieces. “They almost have to quit school.” From the age of 12, girls in the Emirate are no longer allowed to attend education. Concerns about these types of bans are heard more often in Kabul. There are hardly any organizations that stand up for Afghan women anymore. But, it quickly sounds again: “The relief about the end of the violence now has the upper hand.”

It’s true: Muzhgan can travel without security measures, as he recently did to the western city of Herat for training. But it is only allowed under the supervision of a man. And so her father had to come along. It was not possible to have breakfast together in the hotel. He sat with the men, she in the women’s section, a corner of the room hidden from view by a wicker room divider. She sat there alone, with her laptop open next to her omelet.

The job as a secretary is one of the few opportunities she sees “to still work outside the home,” she says. “Women can only work at a few companies or institutions.” She pauses, then says: “Actually, I’m a journalist.” She studied communications and wrote reports and articles for magazines under her own name for five years. That is impossible under the Taliban, her press card has become worthless. But she has not lost her calling. “I am an ‘informal reporter’. I want to write down everything that happens to myself and women in this country.”

Just as Muzhgan can no longer be a journalist, one of her sisters had to quit her job as a teacher. Another sister was a pharmacist. The family has five daughters. “How do you think my parents feel? After all those investments in the future. All those choices. My sisters just can’t imagine what to do anymore. Or can. Let alone what they would want.”

To the outside world, Muzhgan acts as if she has adjusted her ambitions. But she wants to remain an example for her sisters. “I mainly work for them now. And we’re looking for a way to get out of here. That is heavy.”

No flirting in the palace garden

Muzhgan and her sisters not only lost their dreams for the future, but also access to public space. Such as the gardens of Bagh-e Bala, the nineteenth-century summer palace that an emir built for his cabinet and household in a town just outside Kabul. Luxurious villas, surrounded by greenery. Located at the foot of the impregnable Hindu Kush mountains, the complex offers views over the Afghan capital. It is also a nice place to be in November, on the free Friday after afternoon prayers – for men.

Men picnic at the Summer Palace. Men play a game of cricket, handball or football on the lawn, men pour each other cups of green tea. Men of all ages, their shoes off and their trouser legs rolled out. Over the past two and a half years, more and more city gardens and parks, so popular for family outings, have increasingly closed to women. At Bagh-e Bala, the family section was even completely closed last year.

Unfortunately, women cannot enter nowGuardat the summer palace

A guard at the entrance of the complex is willing to explain why, while he looks into the car to estimate what the visitor is doing. “Of course everyone finds the palace a nice place to come. It is a historically important place. But the Ministry of Vice found that there was intercourse that the authorities could not approve.” Unmarried people flocked to the park, young women and men enjoyed meeting each other in this idyllic, leafy environment. “The Emirate believes that such behavior should be prevented,” says the guard. “So unfortunately, women cannot enter now.”

After consultation, the reporter is admitted in exceptional circumstances – at a double rate. The guard has the car parked close to him so he can keep an eye on things.

Such control is everywhere. The Taliban have set up checkpoints throughout the city, many manned by young men in vaguely military-style gear worn over their traditional long shirts and baggy pants. The brand new sneakers underneath stand out against it. All the men who now work on behalf of the authorities have beards, although stubble also seems acceptable.

Glimpses of hope

Gym billboards show muscular bodies, but the faces above them have been washed out. Music is banned, just like in the 1990s. It is quiet in shops and restaurants. Drivers passing through checkpoints turn down the stereo. A mural has been painted on the outer wall of the now empty American embassy: the red stripes of the American flag are pushed around by a large hand, to indicate how decisively the Emirate has ended foreign interference. Only a few of the embassy buildings are still operational, such as those of China and Iran.

Diplomatic relations may be tense, but carpet dealer Abdul Wahab sees small movements. Rents appear to be rising again in its famous shopping street, a sign of growing economic activity. Afghans who are about to leave the country also visit Chicken Street frequently: they want a souvenir to take with them on their long journey.

Since the summer, Abdul Wahab has also seen more foreigners walking. Employees of NGOs who dare to carefully leave their compound again, and even some tourists. “Those people may be traveling very adventurously now, but I of course hope that they will encourage their friends to come too. Afghans who lived abroad for a long time now dare to return to visit family. They are good customers of mine.”

International orders are also on the rise. Processing such orders is difficult – in Afghanistan everything is done with cash, debit card or online payment does not work. But thanks to an ingenious system of brokering through Dubai, anything turns out to be possible. And there are plenty of small adjustments to get around the current strictness, says Wahab, who considers himself fortunate that his family business is still standing. “Just because I can continue my business does not mean that everything is peace and quiet. We have hope and worry at the same time.”

He clings to a piece of wisdom from his father, who started the carpet shop: patterns can always be changed with a few stitches.

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