Rugby flourished in Afghanistan until the Taliban returned to power
The camera rolls on and a group of women appears on the screen. Most sit cross-legged on the floor, others sit on chairs. Few of them cope with a small wave. In the next room, another is immersed in prayer. Some smile barely noticeable, but this cannot hide the sadness imprinted on their faces.
All women used to play rugby in Afghanistan. They gathered in a secret location during a Zoom teleconference hosted by Telegraph Sport to mark two years since the Taliban regained control of the country. Their names and ages have not been released for security reasons.
Like many other athletes who remain in the country, the group fears for their lives every day. Most of the women, whose basic rights were denied after a radical Islamist group came to power, suffer from depression. In Afghanistan, the Taliban's autonomy was completely limited. Unable to continue their education, they are also prohibited from playing any sport, going to the gym, or even going to public parks.
Before the collapse of the Afghan government in August 2021, there were a dozen thriving women's rugby teams in Kabul. Approximately 240 girls attended the city's school system, where Afghan Rugby Federation and World Rugby certified coaches implemented a special program. Since then, all rugby-related activities have been halted, but a small number of women risk their lives every week by secretly training.
“Most of the time my parents try to stop me from going because they fear for my life,” says one woman. “It’s very difficult for me to even train. The only way we can get our parents' permission is to cry and torment them a little until they give up and let me go. For me, rugby is very liberating. The thing is, I can do it with my friends. This is my passion.”
The weekly session is a carefully planned operation fraught with danger. A new location is carefully selected each week to ensure that the women do not attract unwanted attention. The players arrive wearing their club uniforms – the last reminder of happier times – tucked under the burqa they remove before training. At home, they keep their club equipment in a safe place in case their homes are ransacked.
Given that in the Taliban, it is strictly forbidden for women to appear in public places without a mahram or a male guardian. Afghanistan, the gathering offers a rare opportunity to network with a women's group. Players often drink tea before doing ball drills.
“The first thing we do is just talk and ask each other how we're doing,” says another woman. “We have to do everything very quietly. It is important that we do not make noise and do not draw attention to ourselves. There were times when we practiced in a tiny room. Getting permission from our parents is very difficult because they know how the Taliban operate. Even leaving the house is a battle in itself.”
A year before the breakup of the country, Afghanistan, whose men's team played its first match in 2011, became a full member of Asia Rugby, the first step towards becoming a member of World Rugby. Rugby was an emerging sport and was attracting more female players. Kabul even hosted its first women's rugby championship in the summer before the Taliban regained power.
One of the coaches who taught women rugby while they were at school is also in touch. As a man, he risks his life by attending these weekly meetings. Under Taliban rules, a man is forbidden to have contact with a woman who is not his blood relative or wife, but he understands the desperation of these women. “They can't go for a run. They cannot meet their friends,” he says. “Rugby is a pillar. It's a big deal for them, but they're also very scared because they don't know what will happen if the Taliban catch them, but they're willing to risk their lives for their passion.”
The coach then tells the story of a cyclist who was caught cycling in Kabul months after the Taliban returned to power. She was publicly beheaded.
Women, too, are acutely aware of the risks they are taking. “I knew a very close family friend who was a boxer,” says one. “About 18 months ago, she was caught by the Taliban while training with her friend. They attacked her family home through the roof and started shooting at her house until she was forced to marry one of the members. Now I have lost touch with her.
“We all live in fear. And it's not just if you're a rugby player. Every woman in the country is scared. We can't access anything, neither education nor exit alone. What we can do? This is our passion.”
One player says the Taliban often stop him on the street and ask him to show his ID. Like many other women in the room, she excelled at rugby. “I had just entered the professional level when the Taliban came to power,” she says. “I played for my high school club and then started playing for the league. I'm not doing anything right now.”
At this point, the coach spoke, wanting to touch on the evacuation two years ago when, amidst the unrest in Kabul, the Afghan women's soccer team, along with other prominent Afghan women whose lives were in danger, were taken out of the country to a safe place. “Rugby is one of the few sports where players have not been evacuated at all,” he says. There is a note of disappointment in his voice. “The only countries that came to our rugby league to talk about evacuation were Germany and the UK government.”
When asked if they see a future for themselves in Afghanistan, women chant “ne” (the word in dari, meaning “no”) in unison before another player in the room approaches the laptop. “You can’t see the future here,” she says softly, sadness in her voice. “While we are in Afghanistan, we cannot dream. We're stuck here.”
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