Dismissed Teacher Builds a New Life Through Flower Cultivation in Laghman

Every morning in Mehterlam, before the first light spreads across the city, Nafisa opens the small greenhouse beside her home. Inside are rows of blooming roses and seasonal flowers, carefully tended each day.

After more than a decade of teaching at Sultan Ghazi Baba High School in Laghman Province, she now earns a living by growing flowers to support her five children. Nearly two years ago, she was dismissed from her position in what the Taliban describe as a “downsizing” process, leaving her life marked by daily uncertainty over rent, food, and basic needs.

A widow for the past six years, she describes the period after losing her job as one of confusion and fear.

“When I was dismissed, I felt completely lost. I had no other source of income and I kept asking myself how I would feed my children,” she says.

With limited options, Nafisa turned to something she had never formally done before: flower cultivation. She began with a few pots inside her home, learning through trial and error. In the beginning, she says, she faced not only lack of experience but also doubt from others around her. Gardening was unfamiliar, and survival felt uncertain.

Slowly, she began teaching herself through online videos and advice from experienced growers. Step by step, the small indoor effort turned into a modest greenhouse beside her home—now filled with dozens of flower varieties.

While gently watering her roses and petunias, she recalls the transformation:

“At first, I only had a few pots. Later I expanded the work and built a small greenhouse in my village. Over time, I grew thousands of plants.”

Rose cultivation, she explains, is the most demanding part of her work. It requires constant attention, careful watering, and patience. But it is also the most profitable.

Today, Nafisa earns around 6,000 to 7,000 Afghanis (approximately $90–110) per month. While the income is not enough to fully meet her household’s needs, it has become a crucial lifeline for survival.

“I have dozens of flower varieties. Traders come and buy them in bulk and retail. Some even place orders at the beginning of the year for planting seasons,” she says.

Her day begins long before most of her neighbors wake up. After finishing household chores, she walks to the greenhouse with her two daughters. Together, they tend to the plants, water the soil, and prepare flowers for sale. The greenhouse has become both a workplace and a shared family responsibility.

Despite the hardship, Nafisa speaks about the future with quiet determination. She hopes to expand her small business and train other unemployed women in flower cultivation—especially those with no access to formal jobs or income.

“If women are given opportunities to work, they can play a major role in supporting their families,” she says. “Many women do not need much—just a small chance.”

Her story reflects a wider reality for many women who have lost formal employment and are now seeking alternative ways to survive. What began as a response to hardship has become, for Nafisa, a form of resilience.

As evening falls over Mehterlam, she waters the last pots of the day. The greenhouse grows quiet, but for her it remains more than a workplace—it is a fragile but steady foundation for her children’s future, and a reminder that even after loss, new paths can take root.