I was at home in Kabul when the Taliban reseized power on August 15 2021. The morning began like any other. I sent my son, Siawash, who was then seven years old, to school. I sat down to work on a collection of short stories I hoped to publish in Afghanistan.
By mid-afternoon, the Taliban had entered Kabul, and the president had fled the country. By the end of the day, there was no government left.
I went outside to check if what I was seeing on Facebook and TV — people running in panic in every direction, shouting “Talib! Talib!” — was actually happening. It was hard to believe that the same Taliban ousted from their seat of power two decades ago had returned. But they were there, out on the street. They wore kohl eyeliner, shoulder-length hair and white sneakers.
In that instant, we transitioned from a period of democracy to one of repression. The streets became eerily empty of both men and women. A few days later, the men began to reappear, but women were rarely seen.
My parents travelled hundreds of kilometres from Herat to Kabul amid the upheaval. They were concerned for my safety. For the past 20 years, I had been speaking out against the Taliban, writing books and articles criticising them and advocating for equal rights for men and women. And in the Taliban’s warped logic, a divorced woman was expected to remarry swiftly. I had given them plenty of reasons to want to harm me. My father urged me to leave the country. And so, 13 days after the fall of Kabul, while I was sautéing onions in the kitchen to make mash palaw, a mung bean pilau rice dish, I received a call from a US diplomat saying, “It’s time to come to the airport. I can help you leave Kabul.”