KABUL, AFGHANISTAN -- The room is freezing cold. There鈥檚 a gauzy curtain over the window that lets in soft morning light. The street outside feels forbidden and hostile. If not dangerous.
And now to the story of Anzorat Wali.
The empty room is where she and her older sister Nilab practise taekwondo. Anzorat has a black belt, and a fistful of medals that jingle. She can鈥檛 remember exactly how many golds she鈥檚 won, but it鈥檚 a lot.
And it all stopped the day the Taliban arrived. The shattering of dreams. The end of freedom. A life that now feels hopeless, and she鈥檚 only 19.
鈥淚 don鈥檛 want something big,鈥� she told me, in a soft voice and confident English, sometimes smiling, sometimes unbearably sad. 鈥淚t鈥檚 our right to do something for ourselves, to fight for ourselves.鈥�
They practise at home because all the gyms are closed to Afghan women and girls. Taekwondo has become a world reserved for boys only. Boys have rights. Girls don鈥檛.
鈥淲omen鈥檚 rights mean nothing to them,鈥� she says, a teenager鈥檚 lament that comes across more as weariness, than anger. 鈥淲e鈥檙e getting worse day by day, just sitting at home, eating and sleeping. Nothing else.鈥�
The two of them used to train by jogging around the neighborhood. Everybody knew about the Wali sisters. The Taliban took that away. Now, they rarely go outside, trapped in their home by fear.
鈥淚 had lots of hope and dreams,鈥� says Anzorat, her voice trailing off into tears. 鈥淲e have nothing now. Our rights, our freedom, our jobs. I mean we have nothing here.鈥�
She uses that word a lot. 鈥淣othing.鈥� In two syllables, it sums up a young state of mind, adrift in despair.
She took up taekwondo for the purest of reasons: to learn to fight. Years of training have given her strong, firm legs and a forceful kick.
鈥淚t was necessary for any girl to know fighting for self defence in Afghanistan.鈥�
But then she started winning competitions, and out of that grew her biggest dream, to compete at the Olympics. This is a young woman never been satisfied winning silver or bronze.
鈥淲hat an athlete wants is to do something for myself, for my country,鈥� wiping away more tears without embarrassment.
Her family is Tajik, which is not a good thing in Afghanistan these days. It was a Tajik leader who resisted the longest against the Taliban.
Her brother Milad worked for the foreign affairs ministry. Her sister and her mother held good positions in other departments. They were untroubled and comfortable. The Taliban took that away too. Now they鈥檙e all jobless.
鈥淟ife was so good,鈥� he says. 鈥淛ust a normal life. There were no problems.鈥�
Until a beating from the Taliban put him in the hospital. He was waiting in line to apply for passports. Relatives in Vancouver are trying to get them to Canada.
鈥淚 felt just a small pain, but after one night it got worse. I told my family this is going to kill me.鈥�
He is immensely proud and protective of his younger sister. As happens when somebody close to you achieves astonishing success.
鈥淪he was in love with her sport,鈥� he says. 鈥淎nd when I saw her, she had a happy look on her face.鈥�
The look her face gives off now is more like sorrow. She returns to the words that slip out of her mouth like a moan.
鈥淲e have nothing now. We have nothing.鈥�
