Witness 15 Written Testimony

In the name of Allah, the Most Compassionate, the Most Merciful.

My name is Seema. When I was in the second grade of school, my leg was amputated as a result of a mine explosion. I was a very young child at that time. Both of my legs were injured — one was amputated immediately, and the other was fractured. With the help of doctors, I was able to recover.

In 2007, I began my work in the field of the rights of persons with disabilities.

I endured many hardships and painful experiences but never gave up hope. Although I do not remember the exact date, I was later injured again by an explosive bullet. I suffered greatly, but with the support of friends who stood by me, I managed to stand on my feet again.

Together with a group of persons with disabilities in Bamyan, we succeeded in establishing an organization in Afghanistan. Within a short period, our activities expanded to Herat, Mazar-e-Sharif, and several districts of Kabul.

Our work included awareness-raising, advocacy for physical accessibility, psychological support programs, educational activities, and sports programs for persons with disabilities.

I personally focused more on women and girls with disabilities. Peer counseling and psychosocial support were part of my work. I visited homes of women and children with disabilities — especially those who were newly injured or disabled — and I listened to their stories. We shared our experiences, provided encouragement, and distributed educational and awareness materials.

If they wanted to register for educational centers, we helped them do so, free of charge. We also worked to provide prosthetic limbs for those in need. I organized vocational trainings such as computer skills, English language, tailoring, and cooking to help them regain confidence and rebuild their lives.

But everything changed on that dark day — August 15, 2021.

I will never forget that day. I was the breadwinner of my family. My brother was also disabled, so the entire household depended on me. That day, I was at the office, preparing materials for an upcoming program.

Suddenly, we received the shocking news: the Taliban had entered Kabul. We were told to leave immediately and go home because the roads were unsafe.

It was about 11 o’clock at night when I finally reached home. Because of my disability, I could not walk normally — I had to move with my hands, crawling on the ground. My hands were burned and wounded, but I had no other choice. That was the hardest and most painful day of my life.

After that day, our office closed, and I lost my job. I spent two weeks in darkness and despair. Day and night no longer had meaning. The women I had once supported called me in tears, saying, “You promised to stand with us — what will we do now?”

A few days later, the Taliban came to my home. I had important documents from my organization, which I quickly hid out of fear.

That night, they searched our home without any warrant. They took our money and belongings. They insulted me — a disabled woman — saying:

“God has cursed you; you are crippled and shameless, and yet you worked with foreign organizations!”

They accused me of immorality and of committing a crime by working in a human rights organization.

That night, they crushed my spirit. Everything I loved — my home, my dignity, my peace — was shattered. My soul was torn apart. I was broken from within. From that day onward, I lived in constant fear, and eventually, I was forced to flee the country.

I later went to Pakistan and registered with the UNHCR, but after about eight months, I had to return to Afghanistan because of difficulties and lack of support. Then I went to Iran, but life there was also full of fear and hardship. My brother — my only supporter — was arrested by Iranian police and deported back to Afghanistan. I was left completely alone. Living in exile, with insecurity and no family, was unbearable.

Since the Taliban’s return, our lives have become dark and meaningless. Everything has collapsed. Afghan women have lost their most basic rights — the right to education and the right to live with dignity.

Despite this, people like me continued to speak up, to advocate, and to raise our voices in national and international platforms without fear. But in the end, we were forgotten.

Today, I still dream that someone will listen to our pain. The international community must not ignore us. We need support so that we can stand again.

Recently, a young woman who had lost both her hands and legs called me. She said:

“I wish suicide were not a sin — I would have ended my life.”

These women often share their pain with me, confiding their grief and hopelessness. Although I, too, am suffering from loneliness and exile, I try to give them hope and strength.

Once, I was an active woman, always helping others, standing among people, giving encouragement and solidarity. But now, I sit alone, overwhelmed by silence and sorrow.

With all my heart, I appeal to you: Be the voice of Afghan women, especially women and girls with disabilities.
The fall of Afghanistan was a devastating blow for us, but I still hope that one day we will rise again.

May God protect you all.