Wednesday 24th of August, 2016. The fourth day of my second semester. My last class finished at 6:20 p.m. I expected to meet a friend, but she did not come so I finished my dinner and went to the mosque to pray. At 7:04 p.m., I had just finished praying when three explosions went off two meters (6.5 feet) from the mosque. The air turned dark, the ceiling fell upon us. It was hard to breathe. Seconds later, gunshots began. I could not believe what seemed clear: the American University of Afghanistan was under attack.
The 24th of August was the third day of my second semester at AUAF. I had started with so many hopes. I was in statistics class on the second floor of the Bayat Building, listening carefully to the lecture, when we heard gunfire close to campus. Growing up in Afghanistan, we think of gunfire as routine. Our professor continued his lecture. Seconds later, an ear-blasting bomb shook the building and shattered the window glass. The campus was under attack.
Every day in Afghanistan, people walk with fear and think death is following them.
Folsom, 15, has six younger brothers and sisters at home. She sells cacao, polishes boots, and collects shoes she finds in the garbage to burn at home to help keep the house warm in the winter.
She is a mighty woman who has raised her sons, faced discrimination, and solved her economic problems alone.
Most of the old women were wearing long, wide scarves in different colors, which looked like half tents blowing in the wind.
Life in Barchi is hard, but interesting. The day starts at 4:00 AM and ends after midnight for both men and women.
Street children in Afghanistan work to provide the family’s income.
I was fourteen years old the first time I put my feelings and thoughts on paper and a guest had come to our house from the village.