From Fear to Hope. From Surviving to Serving.

Please read this excerpt written by Shakera Rahimi about her experience:

From fear to hope.

From surviving to serving.

I was born and raised in Afghanistan, a country of breathtaking beauty, but also a place that has endured decades of war and hardship. I was only 6 years old when the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan. That’s when fear became part of daily life. Groups of Mujahideen fought the government, and one of their targets was education, especially for girls.

My father was an army physician, often away helping wounded soldiers. He believed that knowledge was power, stronger than any weapon. But for girls like me, going to school meant risking our lives. We were forced to wear the burqa. Women could not walk freely, and girls’ schools were often attacked. I remember bombings in our schoolyard (Lisa Mehri school), we lost two of my classmates. And one day, I witnessed something I can never forget: my school principal, a kind and brave woman who was also our family friend, was shot in front of us.

One afternoon, my sister and I were walking home. It was my job to carry the classroom chalk and erasers, a small reward for being the top student. I hid them under my burqa. Suddenly, a man on a motorcycle stopped us, pointed his gun, and shouted, “Didn’t we tell you to stop going to school?” My sister tried to protect us, saying, “We didn’t go, we were visiting our aunt.” But I was shaking so hard that the chalk and erasers fell to the ground. He saw them. He said, “I won’t kill you this time. But if I see you again at school, you’re dead.”

That moment still visits me in my dreams. When my father found out, he hired a taxi driver to take us to school every day, using different routes to keep us safe. He refused to let fear steal our education. Eventually, we moved to Kabul, where I finished high school and entered medical school.

During my third and fourth years of medical school, our classes were often interrupted by bombings. We lost several classmates, and some were badly wounded, but despite the danger, we continued going to school. We were determined to finish what we had started, even when survival itself was uncertain.

But in 1996 (1375) when the Taliban came to power for the first time, everything stopped again. I was in my final year of medical school.

They closed the universities and ordered women to stay home. We waited for a year, hopeless, our dreams frozen in time. Then one day, a small group of classmates and I decided to take a risk. We went to the Ministry of Health, to see the Taliban Minister who didn’t even want to face women in person. We asked if we could speak behind a wall. He agreed.

I still remember my voice trembling as I said, “We are here to help, to serve your wives and daughters if they ever need a female doctor.” He paused for a long time, then said, “I will allow only your group to continue, because you are in your last year.

You may not go to the university, but you can go to the hospital.” That day, none of us could see each other smile, because we were covered in full burqas. But under those veils, we were whispering, “Thank God.”

Within moments, everyone rushed home to share the news with their families. It was a small victory, but to us, it meant everything.

And, I am deeply proud of my daughter and my sons for all they have accomplished in the United States. They are shining examples of the many talented Afghan students who were left behind, young people full of potential but without the opportunities to fulfill their dreams. When I look back at that little girl hiding chalk and erasers under her burqa, and that young woman standing behind a wall asking for permission to learn, I see how every step of my journey led me here.

From fear to hope.

From surviving to serving.

- Shakera Rahimi