When the Taliban returned to power in August, banning women and girls from receiving an education, I began receiving anxious messages from Afghan girls who had been awaiting the results of their important university entrance exams. They were so scared and hopeless, and I felt their pain: as an Afghan refugee and former teacher myself, I know the value of education – and what it feels like to have it taken away. I felt I had to do something, because a victim of violence must be able to prevent others from becoming victims themselves.

So the day after the Taliban’s takeover, on August 15, I used social media and Telegram, the encrypted messaging app, to set up an online school – the Online Herat School – for Afghan women and girls. In the first week, we had just 35 students and a few volunteer teachers from Iran. But each week we gained hundreds more – the school now has 1,300 students aged seven to 35 and more than 500 highly-qualified, Persian-speaking teachers who are predominantly based in Iran. We run hundreds of classes and daily lessons take place via Skype, Zoom, and Telegram. 

Subjects include maths, science, politics, economics, and astronomy. We also teach music, art, sculpting and 17 different languages. As in a normal school, students take regular tests and classes are separated according to age. We have compulsory critical thinking lessons, which I believe is one of the most important subjects: when women learn to think, and to say no, they learn independence of mind. 

Although attending the school could put the students in danger, they remain determined to learn. Unlike me, the girls in Afghanistan today were not born in war; they have experienced democracy, freedom and education and they don’t want to lose that.

My family left Afghanistan in 1992, when I was seven, and we became refugees in Iran. It wasn’t until I was 13 that we secured visas and I was able to attend an Iranian school. In the evenings, I would return home and teach what I had learnt to other Afghan children. I loved teaching, and in the years that followed I returned to Afghanistan, becoming a teacher of Persian literature. 

I later moved to Holland and then, in 2018, I settled in the UK with my three children. I have a part-time job as an engineer assistant in Brighton, but I dedicate most of my time to running the online school. The thousands of students have become like my other children; I refer to them as my daughters – all I want to do is keep them safe.

But when I see the terrible situations that many of the girls are in, I feel so much pain. A few weeks ago I received a message from one of the school’s first students, who is 15. Her dream was to become a doctor but, because of money problems, her family is selling her as a bride. She is to be married to her cousin, a Talib, and she is so unhappy. All I can do is give her words of hope and encouragement.

She isn’t the only one of my students being sold as a child bride. Some girls have sent me messages like: “Goodbye teacher, we cannot study here any more because we are getting married.” 

I try to help in any way I can – I’ve enlisted a team of volunteer therapists for the students, who provide virtual support – but it’s really hard. I have a maternal feeling about all of the girls in the school and I wish I could do more to protect them. When you see someone is in a terrible situation and you can’t do anything for them, it’s devastating.