KABUL | KABUL | AFGHANISTAN | 11/4/19 | When Mahya, not her real name, is in the pool, she cannot hear the crowded, chaotic noise of the city around her. She does not think about suicide bombings or Taliban attacks. She concentrates on her breathing as she moves through the water. One hand in front of the other. Exhale. For a small group of women, the swimming pool is a refuge. The clean water, the walls and the women around them Ñ all sealed off from the male patrons nearby Ñ are a welcome respite from Kabul, AfghanistanÕs capital. There are 23 public and private pools in Kabul, a city of nearly six million people, but only two allow women. If taken out of the context, this photo of Mahya doing laps in the swimming pool reveal a place thatÕs surprisingly normal but itÕs a far cry from the way the west often imagines and represents Afghan women clad head to toe in the blue burqas.
KABUL | AFGHANISTAN | 7/31/18 | Zohra (27), an acid attack survivor, sits in the room while the dressing of her face is changed by the nurses. Zohra was married off by her father at age 9 to her father’s cousin who was in his 40s at the time. She had her first child when she was 13 and lived through 18 years of constant abuse. She returned to her parents house 5 times, running away from her abusive husband who would repeatedly abuse her and her children physically, sexually, verbally and emotionally. On the day of incident Zohra was at her parents house, while her mother, Simin (40), was away in their home village of Ghazni, when her husband and mother-in-law barged into the house, locked up the doors, beat her up accusing her of spreading rumors in their home village and eventually threw acid onto her face, while her children and her younger sister were present in the room. She has lost one of her eyes but is expected to recover otherwise.
KABUL | | 10/16/19 | For more than 50 years, Haidari WujodiÕs desk in a Kabul library has been a stop for those seeking escape from the violence outside. In his quiet corner, Wujudi polishes Ôthe HeartÕs Mirror.Õ 80-year-old Wujudi, a mystic poet, has kept a quiet window desk at the Kabul Public Library. His seat overlooks the hustle and bustle of the Afghan capital city, all but unrecognizable from the day he arrived as a young library clerk Ñ one with a dreamy mind and stammering speech, but fine calligraphic handwriting that helped land him his day job. As governments toppled around him, Afghanistan sank deeper into flames of war that still burn. But Haidari Wujodi maintained his daily routine, switching his shoes for comfortable sandals that he wears with socks as he arrives at his desk behind stacks of fraying periodicals. His flask of tea fills and empties. About 15 men and women, members of a group called ÒThe Society of Lovers of Mawlana,Ó arrive and quietly take their seats. Mr. Wujodi looks out of the window as the room fills with the warm afternoon sun and a peaceful silence. One of the members, a middle-aged man with a narrow beard and a beautiful melodic voice, sings several verses as the rest follow along in their copies of the book. Then, in a soft but shaky voice, his head trembling, Mr. Wujodi begins explaining the verses.
KABUL, AFGHANISTAN | 2016-09-11 | Malika (28) comfort her son after a fight broke out among them.
Malika was 14 when she was married off in Pakistan. She was 8 months pregnant when her husband and mother-in-law were murdered in front of her eyes and moment before she fainted. Malika and her 5 children live in a small room in Wazir Abad neighbourhood and survive on her monthly income of 800 afs ($12) from washing clothes for wealthy afghans. When asked what’s the most difficult part about being a single mom, she replied: “Watching my kids go to bed hungry”
There is no word for Òsingle motherÓ in the Pashto or Dari, the two major languages spoken throughout Afghanistan, yet after four decades of conflictÑ from the Soviet invasion to the war on terrorÑ millions of women in Afghanistan are raising children on their own. These women are one of AfghanistanÕs most vulnerable populations. Some have had to flee abusive spouses, others have lost their husbands in combat or terrorist attacks and some became pregnant before marriage and have been charged with Òmoral crimes.Ó Widows in particular are seen as morally suspect or symbols of bad luck; In a country where few women are literate or have ever worked outside the home, many widows are forced into remarriage, frequently to a brother of their late husband, and those who choose to remarry outside the family risk losing custody of their children. This is the tale of Single Mothers of Afghanistan told through photographs, a humane story picturing another side of life in a war torn country.
KABUL, AFGHANISTAN | 2016-09-10 | The kids put the photo of their father back on the wall. Their memories of him are blurred and is only shaped by the only photo that exist from him. Shakar (29) lost her husband to a suicide attack while he was on his way to work. Her youngest was only 3 months old when they brought her husband, better to say pieces of his body, home. Shakir works as a cleaner but had to pull her oldest daughter out of school so she can afford providing her children with their basic needs. The family belong to Ismaeili shia minority fear from the return of Taliban. Òif talib comes back, how am I going to feed my childrenÓ
There is no word for Òsingle motherÓ in the Pashto or Dari, the two major languages spoken throughout Afghanistan, yet after four decades of conflictÑ from the Soviet invasion to the war on terrorÑ millions of women in Afghanistan are raising children on their own. These women are one of AfghanistanÕs most vulnerable populations. Some have had to flee abusive spouses, others have lost their husbands in combat or terrorist attacks and some became pregnant before marriage and have been charged with Òmoral crimes.Ó Widows in particular are seen as morally suspect or symbols of bad luck; In a country where few women are literate or have ever worked outside the home, many widows are forced into remarriage, frequently to a brother of their late husband, and those who choose to remarry outside the family risk losing custody of their children. This is the tale of Single Mothers of Afghanistan told through photographs, a humane story picturing another side of life in a war torn country.
JALDAK | ZABUL | AFGHANISTAN | 2/23/20 | Some of the soldiers of Lieutenant Colonel Musa Kalim’s unit, inside one of the trenches recently built after their base was ran over by Taliban. Their unit has been hit hard and these men lost many of their friends and comrades-in-arm in the last two years.
Leading up to the peace deal between the United States and the taliban, there was a partial cease-fire that was set as a precondition seems to be holding. The police on this remote, southern battlefield suddenly have time for questions they once hardly imagined asking: Could there really be peace? What would that be like?
KABUL | AFGHANISTAN | 2/6/19 | Members of Maiwand Wrestling Club warm up with repetitions under the instruction of their coach before they start practicing their wrestling techniques with their partners.
On Sept. 5, an Islamic State suicide bomber looking for Shiites to kill, burst in and took the lives of as many as 30 people at the club. The following year, they rebuilt it, and their vengeance has been to make it bigger, better and even busier than it was before. Despite the attack, everyday, over 100 members, as young as 9 year old, come together to practice inside Maiwand Club.
HERAT | AFGHANISTAN | 4/1/19 | Nafas (20) cares for the new born baby of one of the prison guards. Most female guards working inside the prison are not educated and have kids. They bring in the younger kids to the prison and pay very little money to their trusted prisoners to care for them while they’re on duty.
As a girl, Nafas, 20, was promised to a drug-addicted relative, a man 17 years older. Before they married, he beat her, leaving her with scars. She protested the union for a year, appealing to her parents and brothers. ÒEven if you die, you have to marry him,Ó they told her. When they wouldnÕt relent, Nafas took her brotherÕs gun and shot her husband. He died from the wound. ÒI had to do it,Ó Nafas says.
Kiana (b.1988) grew up in Tehran and migrated to Toronto while she was still a teenager. Faced with the challenges of adapting to a new environment, she took up photography as a way of bridging the gap in language and culture. Her long-form projects often explore complex topics such as migration, adolescence, identity and sexuality in war-ridden countries. Kiana is a Senior TED fellow and she regularly contributes to The New York Times from Afghanistan. Her work has appeared in The New York Times Magazine, Harper’s Magazine, Washington Post, NPR, Wall Street Journal, GEO, Foreign Policy, Buzzfeed, Le Monde, The Globe and Mail, among others. She is currently based out of Kabul, Afghanistan, covering the region.