Witness 6 Written Testimony

My name is Sahar. I am originally from Khost Province, but I currently live in Kabul.

About twelve years ago, I was injured in a suicide attack, and as a result, I became physically disabled. Both of my legs were severely damaged, and since then, I have been unable to walk without assistance. I can only move around using either a wheelchair or a walker.

Despite my physical disability, I had a strong desire and determination to pursue higher education. Unfortunately, I could not continue my studies because educational institutions in Afghanistan lack accessibility and facilities for persons with disabilities — for example, there are no ramps, elevators, or accessible restrooms for wheelchair users.

Since I was unable to study, I decided to turn toward sports. I started training in wheelchair basketball, handball, and shooting. I wanted to bring honor and pride to myself, my family, and my country through these activities.

Over time, I received numerous appreciation letters and certificates from the Afghanistan Paralympic Committee, recognizing my achievements and participation in these sports. My dream was to one day represent Afghanistan in international competitions and make my country proud.

I had prepared everything necessary — my passport, documents, and training certifications — to be ready for that opportunity.

However, when the Taliban returned to power, all my hopes and dreams collapsed overnight.

One day, the Paralympic Committee contacted us and asked that we come to their office to collect our passports and other documents, warning us that if we continued to engage in sports, we might face arrest.

When we went to the office, we were told that because of the new rules under the Taliban, we should not leave the car, as it could be dangerous for us to be seen. We followed their instruction — we stayed inside the car while our passports and documents were handed to us.

That day, when I received my passport, it felt as though the door to my dreams had been slammed shut. With the arrival of the Taliban, everything I had worked for — every effort, every goal, every aspiration — was destroyed.

Since then, I have been living like a prisoner inside my own home.

Before the Taliban takeover, I used to regularly attend a local organization that provided space and training facilities for wheelchair basketball. I used to go there for practice and physical exercise.

But one day, when I was on my way to the doctor’s office, I was harassed by the Taliban’s “Amr bil Ma’ruf” (Virtue Police). Even though I was fully covered, wearing a long dress and hijab, they stopped me and accused me of wearing clothes that were too short and inappropriate.

I explained to them that I was disabled and used a walker to move. I told them that if I wore longer or heavier clothing, as they demanded, it would get caught under my walker or wheelchair and cause me to fall and injure myself.

But they refused to listen. They said, “No matter what your condition is, you must wear the clothing we prescribe. If we see you again dressed like this, we will take you to the police station.”

I was terrified. With tears in my eyes, I returned home.

Since that incident, I have stopped going out. I no longer go to the doctor, I do not practice sports, and I have lost all motivation to study or even visit the park.

Now, I am confined to my home, and every day I feel the walls closing in on me.

For women with disabilities like me, life under the Taliban is unbearably difficult. The streets of Kabul are full of obstacles — uneven surfaces, mud, open drains — which make it almost impossible for a person in a wheelchair to move freely.

Even when I need to go somewhere, I cannot find a mahram (male guardian) to accompany me, as required by Taliban rules. This dependency is deeply painful. The emotional wound of being treated as helpless is worse than my physical disability, and there is no cure for that pain.

The Taliban’s constant surveillance and questioning — about our hijab, our appearance, and whether we have a male guardian — have made life suffocating.

Every day, women with disabilities face new restrictions. We are invisible in society, deprived of dignity, and our voices are silenced.

I once dreamed of bringing pride and recognition to my country through sports, but today I am forgotten and voiceless.

I wish someone could amplify our voices and tell the world about what is happening to Afghan women — especially those with disabilities — who have been abandoned by both their society and the world.

Before the Taliban came, life was already hard. We faced unemployment, social isolation, depression, and economic challenges. But now, fear has taken over everything.

Even visiting a doctor is a challenge, because taxi drivers often refuse to pick up unaccompanied women, fearing punishment from the Taliban.

All the opportunities that once existed for persons with disabilities have disappeared. There are no support programs, no educational opportunities, and no safe spaces left for us.

Today, every Afghan girl lives as a prisoner in her own home — deprived of the right to education, to freedom of movement, to visit parks, or even to seek medical care.

I want the world to know that Afghan girls are suffering in silence.
No one is hearing their voices, and no one seems to care.

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to share my story.
I hope that one day, freedom, justice, and human dignity will return to the women and girls of Afghanistan.