Madrassas the only choice for Afghan girls barred from school

Amina will never forget the moment her childhood changed. She was just 12 years old when she was told she could no longer go to school like boys.

The new school year began on Saturday in Afghanistan but for the fourth consecutive year, girls over 12 were barred from attending classes.

“All my dreams were shattered,” she says, her voice fragile and filled with emotion.

Amina, now 15, has always wanted to become a doctor. As a little girl, she suffered from a heart defect and underwent surgery. The surgeon who saved her life was a woman – an image that stayed with her and inspired her to take her studies seriously.

But in 2021, when the Taliban retook power in Afghanistan, Amina’s dream was abruptly put on hold.

“When my dad told me the schools were closed, I was really sad. It was a very bad feeling,” she says quietly. “I wanted to get an education so that I could become a doctor.”

The restrictions on education for teenage girls, imposed by the Taliban, has affected more than one million girls, according to Unicef, the UN’s children’s agency.

Now, madrassas – religious centres focused on Islamic teachings – have become the only way for many women and teenage girls to access education. However, those whose families can afford private tuition may still have access to subjects including maths, science and languages.

While the madrassas are seen by some as a way to offer young women access to some of the education they would have had in mainstream schools, others say they are no substitute and there are concerns of brainwashing.

I meet Amina in the dimly-lit basement of Al-Hadith madrassa in Kabul, a newly established private religious educational centre for around 280 female students of various ages.

The basement is cold, with cardboard walls and a sharp chill in the air. After chatting for about 10 minutes, our toes are already going numb.

Al-Hadith madrassa was founded a year ago by Amina’s brother, Hamid, who felt compelled to act after seeing the toll that the education ban had taken on her.

“When girls were denied education, my sister’s dream of becoming a heart surgeon was crushed, significantly affecting her wellbeing”, says Hamid, who is in his early thirties.

“Having the chance to go back to school, as well as learning midwifery and first aid, made her feel much better about her future,” he adds.

Afghanistan remains the only country where women and girls are banned from secondary and higher education.

The Taliban government originally suggested the prohibition would be temporary, pending the fulfilment of certain conditions, such as an “Islamic” curriculum. However, there has been no progress towards reopening schools for older girls in the years since.

In January 2025, a report by the Afghanistan Centre for Human Rights suggested that madrassas are being used to further the Taliban’s ideological goals.

The report alleges that “extremist content” has been integrated into their curriculum.

It says that textbooks advocated by the Taliban promote its political and military activities, and prohibited the mixing of men and women, as well as endorsing the enforced wearing of the hijab.

The Afghan Centre for Human Rights calls the ban on older girls attending school a “systematic and targeted violation” of their right to quality education.

Before the Taliban return, the number of registered madrassas is believed to have been around 5,000. They focus on religious education, which includes Quranic, Hadith, Sharia law, and Arabic language studies.

But since the restrictions on girls’ education were introduced some have expanded the teaching of subjects including chemistry, physics, mathematics, and geography, and languages like Dari, Pashto, and English.

Though a few madrassas tried to introduce midwifery and first aid training, the Taliban banned medical training for women in December last year.

Hamid said he was dedicated to providing an education which blends both religious and other academic subjects for secondary school-age girls.

“Socialising with others girls again made my sister much happier,” he told me with a smile, clearly proud of his sister’s resilience.

We visit another independently-run madrassa in Kabul.

The Shaikh Abdul Qadr Jilani madrassa educates more than 1,800 girls and women from the ages of five to 45. Classes are organised by student ability rather than age. We were able to visit under strict supervision.

Like Al-Hadath madrassa, it is freezing cold. The three-storey building has no heating, and some classrooms were missing doors and windows.

In one large room, two Quran classes and a sewing class are taking place simultaneously, as a group of girls wearing hijabs and black face masks sit cross-legged on the carpet.

The only heat source in the school is a small electric radiator in the second-floor office of the director, Mohammad Ibrahim Barakzai.

Mr Barakzai tells me that academic subjects are taught alongside religious ones.

But when I ask for evidence of that, staff search for a while before bringing out a few tattered maths and science textbooks.

Meanwhile, the classrooms are well stocked with religious texts.

This madrassa is divided into two sections: formal and informal.

The formal section covers subjects like languages, history, science, and Islamic studies. The informal section covers Quranic studies, Hadith, Islamic law, and practical skills like tailoring.

Notably, graduates from the informal section outnumber those from the formal section by 10 to one.

Hadiya, who is 20 years old, recently graduated from the madrassa after studying a broad range of subjects including maths, physics, chemistry, and geography.

She speaks passionately about chemistry and physics. “I love science. It’s all about matter and how these concepts relate to the world around me,” she says.

Hadiya now teaches the Quran at the madrassa, as she tells me there was not enough demand for her favourite subjects.

Safia, also 20, teaches the Pashto language at Al-Hadith madrassa. She passionately believes that girls in religious centres should enhance what she described as their personal development.

She focuses on Fiqh, the Islamic legal framework essential for daily Muslim practices.

“Fiqh is not included in mainstream schools or universities. As a Muslim woman, studying Fiqh is vital for women’s betterment,” she says.

“Understanding concepts such as ghusl – ablution – the distinctions in prostration between genders, and the prerequisites for prayer are crucial.”

However, she adds that madrassas “cannot serve as a substitute for mainstream schools and universities”.

“Educational institutions, including mainstream schools and universities, are absolutely essential for our society. The closure of these establishments would lead to a gradual decline in knowledge within Afghanistan,” she warns.

Tawqa, 13, is a quiet, reserved student who also studies at the Shaikh Abdul Qadr Jilani madrassa. From a devout family, she attends classes with her older sister.

“Religious subjects are my favourite,” she says. “I like learning about what kind of hijab a woman should wear, how she should treat her family, how to treat her brother and husband well and never be rude to them.”

“I want to become a religious missionary and share my faith with people around the world.”

The UN special rapporteur on human rights in Afghanistan, Richard Bennett, has raised serious concerns about the Taliban’s restrictive “madrassa-style” education system.

He has emphasised the need to restore educational opportunities for girls beyond sixth grade and for women in higher education.

Mr Bennett warned that this limited education, combined with high unemployment and poverty, “could foster radical ideologies and increase the risk of homegrown terrorism, threatening regional and global stability”.

The Taliban Ministry of Education claims that around three million students in Afghanistan are enrolled in these religious educational centres.

It has promised to reopen girls’ schools under certain conditions, but this has yet to materialise.

Despite all the challenges Amina has faced – her health struggles and the education ban – she remains hopeful.

“I still believe that one day the Taliban will allow schools and universities to reopen,” she says with conviction. “And I will realise my dream of becoming a heart surgeon.”