The Story of Laila and Her Classmates

The “16 Days of Activism” campaign is a global movement aimed at raising awareness and ending gender-based violence against women and girls. Held annually from November 25 (International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women) to December 10 (Human Rights Day), the campaign brings together countries, civil society organizations, and activists. This year’s theme, “United to End Digital Violence Against All Women and Girls,” emphasizes the urgent need to combat online harassment and discrimination.

The Rights Monitor Media will cover the campaign by sharing news, reports, personal stories, and reflections from Afghan women and girls, highlighting their experiences with violence and restrictions.

By: Safia Karimi

Today is the first day of school—the 3rd of Hamal, the start of the academic year. The school bell is ringing everywhere, and children, excited and cheerful, are rushing toward their schools.

I stretch, rub my eyes, and yawn.

Mother calls out:

“Laila, Laila, get up, my girl! It’s the first day of school. Come on, get ready. This year you’re finally in seventh grade. Today they’ll give the schedule for the whole year. Sit in the front row so you can learn well.”

“Okay, mother.”

I wash my face and hands.

“Mother, where’s the new scarf you bought me?”

“My girl, in the wardrobe with the mirror—your white scarf is there with your black uniform.”

“Found it! Found it!”

“Come, my daughter, eat breakfast before you go.”

“No, mother, I’ll go now, I don’t want to be late. Farida is waiting by the door.”

“It wasn’t Farida, it was her sister. She said: tell Laila to call her when she leaves for school.”

“Is it late?”

“No, my girl. Today you woke up very early because you were excited.”

“You know, mother? I couldn’t sleep at all last night.”

“Why, my girl?”

“I was planning everything for today—how I’ll go, how my classmates have changed after months, how I’ll read my new books.”

“This year your books are different from last year.”

“Yes, mother. We have great subjects this year—chemistry, physics, biology. They’re really interesting.”

“Drink your tea, my daughter, and then go. If you’re late, you’ll end up in the back of the class and won’t see the teacher or the board.”

“Mother, it’s fine. I won’t drink tea today. I’ll drink breakfast every morning after this.”

“No, my girl, it’s still early. It’s 5:35. Your class starts at 6:30. The school is only five minutes away.”

“No, mother, I’m just too excited. After four months, I’ll finally see my classmates.”

“Then go, may God protect you, my sweet girl. Call Farida on your way so you can go together.”

“Okay, mother! I’m so excited I can’t even find my socks!”

“What are you looking for, girl?”

“Mother, where’s one of my socks?”

“My heart, both of them are on your feet. Where’s your head? With all this excitement, don’t end up going to the mosque instead of school.”

“Hahaha, no mother, I’m fine. I’m going—goodbye!”

“Go, my dear.”

Mother watched me with her gentle eyes until I reached the end of the alley. I called Farida.

“Laila, how many books should we take today?”

“Farida, it’s the first day—just bring Dari and Math. After we get the schedule, we’ll know.”

“I’ll take Biology instead of Math. It has fun topics. We can read it during breaks.”

“Fine, let’s go.”

“Want me to hold your bag?”

“Thanks, dear, just until I put on my shoes.”

“What a nice uniform you bought! Did you get a new bag too?”

“Wow, Farida, your shoes are beautiful! Congratulations!”

“Thank you! Yours too.”

“Is your bag too big?”

“No. Our subjects will be many this year, so we’ll probably have lots of books. Good thing it’s big.”

As we walked through the alley, sunlight slowly touched the walls. Mother was still watching us.

“Look at my mother—she’s still looking.”

We waved.

“Laila, did you bring tissues?”

“Why?”

“The benches haven’t been cleaned for four months. They’ll be dusty. We should wipe them so our new uniforms don’t get dirty.”

“I brought two—one for you.”

“Wow, you’re so kind, Laila.”

“You’re like my sister, Farida.”

The gate was still closed.

“Wow, Zahra has changed so much! She’s gotten taller—what did you do these months?”

“Take your hand off my eyes.”

“Guess who I am!”

“Razia? Aisha? Lina? Robina?”

“No! You named everyone already—just one more.”

“Diba!”

“Exactly!”

“Oh, it’s you!”

“Hello, hello! I missed you all so much.”

“Really? You forgot my voice?”

“No! You’ve changed, mashallah. I didn’t recognize your voice.”

“Diba, this year the three of us want to sit together—me, you, and Laila.”

“Okay.”

“Hurry, the gate opened.”

“Hey! You stepped on my shoes—Diba, wait! Farida—”

“Laila! Laila, my girl! Wake up. Ahmad is about to come home from school.”

“What—mother! What about school?”

“What school, my girl? You finished sixth grade last year. That’s it for you.”

“Mother… didn’t Farida come to the door?”

“No, my girl.”

“So… I was dreaming?”

“No one came to the door.”

“No… no… no… What am I supposed to do this year? Where do I go? My lessons… my homework… my dreams…”

As long as I can hold a pen, I will write.

As long as blood flows in my veins, I will think.

As long as I have legs, I will chase my dreams.

As long as I have a tongue, I will defend my rights.

I am an Afghan girl. I have grown through pain, and I do not tremble in the wind.

We are strong.

We are strong.

We are the light—no curtain of ignorance can extinguish us.

We are hope—even if the school gates are shut.

We are the voice of the voiceless—even if they cut our throats.

No power can imprison thought. No wall can stop the flight of dreams.

Our dawn is near—the day when the gates of knowledge will reopen.

And on that day, we will return stronger than ever.