Street vendors, tailors and young designers are reshaping everyday life, balancing faith, family and survival
‘Hard times create strong men’ goes the saying attributed to G. Michael Hopf. Strong women too – and Afghan women are a remarkable example of that strength.
Since 2021, the Islamic Emirate has placed restrictions on women’s employment. Women are excluded from government positions, from domestic and international NGOs and from administrative jobs – for example, a December 2024 decree ordered that female university staff be replaced by their male relatives. In some provinces, women are not allowed to come to work unless they are accompanied by a male guardian – a husband, father, brother or son.
According to Taliban officials, these bans are based on religious principles and are intended to protect the dignity of women. A few years ago, Mohammad Sadiq Akif, spokesman for the Taliban Ministry of Morals and Virtues, told the Associated Press that a woman “loses its value” when strangers look at her uncovered face – a kind of logic that may be difficult for non-religious people to understand.
Yet many women continue to find ways to earn a living within the strict framework of prohibitions, cultural norms and Islamic values. Starting your own business is often the best way to maintain that delicate balance.
How forbidden business opportunities became
The sizzling sound of oil fills the air as Nargees turns a golden brown ‘bolani’ – a thin flatbread filled with mashed potatoes – over the frying pan. Her hands move quickly and surely: roll the dough, spread the filling, fold the edge closed and place it on the hot pan. Within seconds, another one joins the pile.
“The number of customers depends on my mood,” she says. “When I’m sad, no one comes. When I’m happy, there’s a crowd.”
At 40, Nargees is a mother of five and once worked as a health educator at Malalai Maternity Hospital in Kabul. She visited poor neighborhoods to teach women about hygiene and family planning. After the Taliban returned to power, that job quietly ended — not because she was exiled, but because the women she would meet no longer felt safe leaving their homes.
Nargees had always been the family’s main breadwinner: her husband’s health prevented him from working and her sons are still too young. So she didn’t wait for anyone’s permission. She rented a cart, set up a frying pan and started selling bolani on the street.
The small business turned out to be good enough to keep the family afloat – and, as she puts it, to keep her calm.
“I know approximately how much I can earn and what my future looks like,” she says, pouring more oil into the pan. “That’s reassuring. When I’m calm, my children are calm too. I have to be their example.”
A little girl in a dirty pink jacket pulls her sleeve and asks for money. One of the many street children spread across Kabul. Nargees shakes her head.
‘This is what happens when parents stop caring’ she says calmly. “I work so that my children never end up like this.”
Across the street, another bolani seller, Humaira, rolls dough on her own cart. In her late forties, she taught the Quran at a girls’ school before it closed four years ago. Now she is known in the neighborhood as ‘Aunt Potato.’
‘Sometimes they tell me to cover my hair’ she explains. “No one cares about the face. So now I wear this.” She lifts her headscarf to reveal a gray hijab hat underneath as she turns back to the frying pan, smiling.
Working within the system – and making sure it works
Street vendors like Nargees and Humaira are part of a silent shift across Afghanistan. Since 2021, women have found new ways to work within the country’s changing rules — not in protest, but in adaptation.
And as incredible as it may sound to a Western audience, the government actually supports these initiatives. Founded in 2017, the Afghanistan Women’s Chamber of Commerce and Industry (AWCCI) is still active and expanding – with local chapters now operating in 20 of the 34 provinces.
The chamber issues permits, provides training both physically and online, organizes exhibitions and supports regional markets. AWCCI CEO Salma Yousufzai said the total number of women entrepreneurs would cross 100,000 by 2023. Not all of them are licensed, but small businesses like Nargees’ food cart require no paperwork.
One of the most famous examples of a women-owned business is ‘Banowan-e Afghan’ (“Afghan ladies” in Dari), a restaurant launched in 2023 by businesswoman and mother of three, Samira Mohammadi. The place served traditional Afghan food and catered only to women, while male customers – including some Talibs – could order takeaway.
Mohammadi tried to create jobs for women from vulnerable backgrounds; as she said in an interview, even beggars came from the streets to ask for work, attracted by the daily wages of 100 Afghans. Banowan-e Afghan flourished and soon opened a second location. During the ribbon cutting, the owner thanked the Taliban government for its support and cooperation.
Work, risk, repeat
Behind every company there is a story of loss and acceptance.
In a shopping center in Dashte-Barchi – an area in western Kabul populated mainly by Hazaras – women-run shops take up an entire floor. They sell handmade ethnic dresses and jewelry, both of which are in high demand during the wedding season.
None of the women behind the counters dreamed of this. Seema, who now touched the intricate beadwork on a green velvet dress, used to work for an NGO in Bamyan. Sakeena studied civil engineering at Kabul Polytechnic University and later taught a semi-underground literacy course. Farah had an office job, but she always loved sewing – a skill that turned out to be her lifeline.
Her shop radiates cheerful energy: pink floral wallpaper, mannequins, shiny synthetic silk dresses – and the best income in this part of the mall (which seems to confirm Nargees’ theory about customers). Farah is wearing wine-colored lipstick. Her smiling assistants happily pose for a photo.
They all lost their ambitions, their daily routines and their peace of mind at some point – and then built their lives from scratch.
Needa, the owner of a beauty salon in central Kabul, has almost lost her business more than once. While the majority of professions – from cooking to jewelry making – remain socially and culturally acceptable, the beauty industry is experiencing turmoil. A mural on the wall of the Ministry of Vice and Virtue roughly means: “When a Muslim woman understands her inner worth, she does not adorn herself.” Beauty salons are often visited by the religious police.
‘The first time they came to warn us, we didn’t take it seriously’ recalls Needa, a vibrant 28-year-old with perfect winged eyeliner. “Then they put a lock on the gate and I had to rent another salon. And once we barely managed to escape through the back door. I just hope they won’t find us here.”
The place is not easy to find; Afghan addresses rarely are. The salon’s Instagram page simply states: “Behind the school, first street on the left.” But if a foreigner like me knows how to get there, so can the religious police. Needa shrugs.
“The rent is 50,000 Afghans a month – about $760. I can afford it now, thank God, but if I hide the location I will lose customers. So I have to take the risk.”
Modern tools, traditional roots
‘I hope to become a successful businesswoman one day’ says 20-year-old Diana Ekhlasi.
She looks like a girl from a medieval Persian miniature: fair skin, almond-shaped eyes, perfectly arched eyebrows. We met over cappuccino and cheesecake to talk about her project.
When Afghanistan became the Islamic Emirate, Diana was in tenth grade. She couldn’t go to school anymore, so she focused on reading books in English (“The Kite Runner” by Khaled Hosseini is her favorite), drawing (she loves Vincent van Gogh) and developing her Instagram account. Later she started using it to sell her handmade items: tote bags and headscarves.
“I saw so many beautiful things on Pinterest, but couldn’t find anything like this here, so I decided to make something myself. My mother taught me how to embroider,” Diana recalls. “That’s how I started my own brand.”
She draws inspiration from Afghanistan’s rich cultural and historical heritage: Rumi’s poetry, the Buddhas of Bamyan and the Shah-Do Shamshira Mosque, one of Kabul’s most iconic landmarks. The headscarf she is now wearing has a black and red carpet pattern from the northern province of Jowzjan. Sometimes Afghan motifs meet Western art and create new stories – one design shows a Sufi dancer twirling under Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’.
Diana tests every new idea with her Instagram followers. Whenever a design comes to her, she makes an example and posts a photo. Their feedback tells her whether she needs to produce more. Delivery around Kabul is possible, but since cash is the only payment option, both buyer and seller must take certain risks.
“Someone once ordered fifty containers and then he stopped answering my calls,” Diana says. “It was frustrating.”
Another challenge is the criticism she receives online; many people call her behavior un-Islamic and shameful “Good girls don’t show their faces on social media.” But she continues and is working on her next product: a long-sleeved T-shirt, long and loose enough to wear outside, printed with a mix of European art and Afghan landmarks such as the Minaret of Jam or perhaps the Buddhas of Bamyan again.
‘A lot of people blame the hard times’ Diana says. “But instead of waiting for opportunities, we can create them.”
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