They call them prostitutes and threaten their fathers and brothers, saying they should be punished for letting a family member dishonor them.īut among more progressive Afghans, particularly women who had seen their rights curtailed under the Taliban’s first rule, from 1996 to 2001, there was a persistent push to allow girls and women to think and behave in ways once forbidden.įati said later that she basked in the moments on the soccer field when she could be aggressive, diving to save a shot or walloping the ball with a thunderous goal kick. Religious hard-liners say women violate the Quran when they play soccer because men can still see the shape of their bodies even if they wear hijabs, long sleeves and pants. Until then, Fati was not even aware that women in her country played organized soccer.įor Afghan girls, playing sports in public had long been risky. Her father, who worked as a night guard in an apartment building, was so proud of Fati that he often called her his son. She recalled once fixing the electricity in her house by fiddling with the wires as her mother stood by, holding her breath and whispering prayers.įati became proficient in English when she and her sister Zahra binge-watched Marvel films. She tended to Kawsar, her youngest sister. Seeing how her mother was forced to live, Fati, the second child, set out to do more and be more. While raising her family, she moonlighted as a seamstress, sewing cushions that Afghans use as seating. She was engaged to be married at 13 and had the first of her five children a few years later. Like many Afghan women, Fati’s mother never learned to read or write. (At the request of Fati and her teammates, The New York Times is not using their last names because they fear retribution from the Taliban.) Growing up, Fatima - who is called Fati (pronounced FAH-tee) by family and friends - was faced with constant reminders that women in Afghanistan had limited options. She feared that she would never finish her bachelor’s degree in economics, never open a business as she had hoped and never return to the soccer field or help bring about the day when Afghan women could thrive as equals to men.Įven more terrifying was the thought that she was about to die after barely having lived.Īs she dug the hole in her backyard, she felt like she was digging her own grave. Just 19 years old, Fatima struggled to comprehend that her life, her country and all the gains Afghanistan had made in the 20 years since the Taliban last ruled were collapsing. If the Taliban found them, she and her family could be tortured and killed. The jerseys and trophies would identify her as a traitor. The targeted groups, now rushing to hide and save themselves, included female athletes like Fatima, who, according to the Taliban’s fundamentalist views, had defied Islam by playing a sport in public. Just days before, in a whir of trucks and rifles, the Taliban had conquered Kabul and begun searching for anyone considered an enemy.
They symbolized her accomplishments as the goalkeeper for the Afghanistan women’s national soccer team, and she adored them, once even telling her mother, “These are the things that keep me alive.”īut on this day in mid-August 2021, they might get her killed.
Five golden trophies in the shape of a goalkeeper’s glove. In the shade of a grapevine, with the sweet smell of rose bushes hanging heavy, she made a hole about two feet deep and just as wide, and placed some items into it.įour soccer jerseys lovingly tucked into a plastic bag.
Ali project the forbidden game Patch#
To begin her goodbye, Fatima stood inside her family’s walled-in courtyard in Kabul, Afghanistan, shovel in hand, and pierced a patch of soil with the tip of its sharp blade.
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