Student Stories:
Voices from Afghan Classrooms
Ali
Ali (not his real name) was just four when his father—struggling with drug addiction—abandoned the family. His mother disappeared soon after, taking Ali’s sister with her. Left behind, Ali moved in with his grandmother and aunt.
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To keep the family fed, Ali’s grandmother washes clothes in other people’s homes, while his aunt begs for bread outside a local bakery each day. When we met Ali, he was selling packets of chewing gum on the streets, earning roughly 30 AFN (about US $0.34) a day to help buy food.
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“Since Ali doesn’t have parents anymore, I worried he might end up like his father,”
says his grandmother. “Now that he’s going to school, I feel relieved and full of hope for him.”​
Ali dreams of becoming a doctor. When we asked why, he replied, “I want to treat people who can’t afford medical care. My grandmother’s arm is becoming disabled from so many years of washing clothes, and we don’t have money for her treatment.”
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Thanks to his sponsorship, Ali is now in school—one step closer to turning that dream into reality.
Meena
Meena is ten years old and currently in first grade.
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“When I was five, my mother died in childbirth,” she explains. “Life has been hard ever since. We were poor and uneducated, but we were happy.” To help her family, Meena collected empty bottles and soda cans, earning just 50–100 AFN (about US $0.58–$1.16) a day. Before noon she begged for vegetables from shopkeepers and for bones from the butcher so her mother could make soup. “I envied the smell of food from the restaurants and the fruit in the stalls,” she admits, “but we couldn’t afford any of it. Other children wore new clothes; we never could.”
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Her mother had always encouraged her: “Be patient, my child. You will go to school and study hard. When you have a job, you can have anything you like.”
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Meena’s father repairs shoes on the street and takes occasional construction work, but the family still struggles. She has four sisters, none of whom can read or write.
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“Coming to school gives me hope,” Meena says. “I feel good when I study at home. One day I want to become a doctor.”
Ayesha
Ayesha was nine years old and attending first grade.
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She had been selling plastic bags on the streets of Kabul for about US $0.46 a day to help her family buy food. Three years earlier, her 53-year-old father—who sold juice and water near a hospital—had been killed by a suicide bomber. With no other income, Ayesha felt compelled to work rather than go to school.
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“I couldn’t go to school because my father, 53 years old, was killed while he was at his job three years ago by a suicide bomber, and I had to start working for us to survive,” she said.
“It was very difficult to work on the streets. I was being scolded and denigrated by municipality workers and shopkeepers. Sometimes, they took my money by force.
For lunch, some days, some kind people gave me bread and some potato chips.”​
Ayesha’s mother, then 45, begged outside a bakery to feed her eight children—four daughters and three sons besides Ayesha. The family rented a single room in her uncle’s house for US $35 a month.
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“I am very happy to be in school. I feel that I am growing and learning. I want to become a pilot. Monthly food items that we receive from the school are very helpful for my family,” Ayesha added, once she was able to return to classroom life.
Faisal
Faisal was seven years old and in first grade when we met him. He spent his days helping his father sell vegetables from a small street cart. Faisal had started working at just four years old. Each morning after the dawn prayer—around 5 a.m.—he waited for his father to bring fresh produce. Together they cleaned, sorted, and bundled the vegetables before moving from street to street, hoping to earn about 300 AFN (US $4.16) per day. Some days were so exhausting that Faisal fell asleep right on the cart.
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When asked what he hopes to do with an education, Faisal said, “I want to become a teacher. The kind of teacher who teaches drawing, painting, and art. I want to paint green and beautiful scenery.”
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Pressed on the scenery he envisions, he added, “I want to paint a farm with tall trees, a stream running through it, a very clean place with lots of flowers, and some people working in it.”
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Let’s help Faisal make that farm a reality—not just a painting.
Fatema
Fatema was eight years old and visibly anxious about talking to us—she feared anything that might take her away from the school she loved.
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Since the age of five, Fatema had spent her days weaving carpets. She was one of eight siblings. Their father had once supported the family by working in Iran, but a severe back injury forced him to stop sending money home. When that income ended, several of the children had to leave school. Fatema, her sisters, and their mother began weaving carpets to keep the household afloat.
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Fatema’s schedule was grueling: from 5 a.m. to 9 p.m., with only a one-hour break. Yet she clung to her studies.
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“I am very happy in school. I want to stay and become a teacher to teach others like me.”
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Helping Fatema remain in class means giving her a future beyond the loom—and the chance to inspire children who share her story.