Women’s rugby in Afghanistan: They’re willing to risk their lives for their passion

The camera switches on and a group of women appear on the screen. Most are sitting cross-legged on the floor, others are perched on chairs. A few of them manage a small wave. In an adjoining room, another is deep in prayer. Some wear the faintest of smiles, but it does little to hide the sorrow etched on their faces.

All of the women used to play rugby in Afghanistan. They have gathered in a secret location on a Zoom call, organised by Telegraph Sport, to mark two years since the Taliban regained control of the country. Their names and ages have been withheld to protect their safety.

Like many other sportswomen who remain stranded in the country, the group fear for their lives every day. Most of the women, whose basic rights have been eroded since the hard-line Islamist group swept to power, are suffering from depression. In the Taliban’s Afghanistan, their autonomy has been completely curtailed. Unable to pursue an education, they are also banned from playing any type of sport, going to the gym or even accessing public parks.

Before the collapse of the Afghan government in August 2021, there were a dozen thriving women’s rugby teams operating in Kabul. Around 240 girls played in the city’s school system, where a dedicated programme was being rolled out by the Afghan Rugby Federation and World Rugby-certified coaches. All rugby-related activities have since been halted, but a small number of women are risking their lives every week to train in secret.

“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 through crying and giving them a bit of a hard time until they give in and let me go. For me, rugby is very freeing. It’s the fact that I can do it with my friends. It’s my passion.”

The weekly session is a meticulously planned operation that is fraught with danger. A different location is carefully chosen every week, so the women do not draw unsolicited attention. Players arrive wearing their club uniform – their last reminder of happier times – hidden under their burqas, which they remove to train. At home, they keep their club kit stashed away in a safe place in case their houses are searched.

Given that women are strictly forbidden to be seen in public places without a mahram, or male guardian, in Taliban-ruled Afghanistan, the gathering offers a rare opportunity to socialise as a female group. Players often drink tea first before doing ball-based drills.

“The first thing we do is just catch up and ask each other how we’re doing,” says another of the women. “We have to do everything very quietly. It’s important we don’t make any noise, or draw attention to ourselves. There have been times when we’ve trained in a tiny room. It’s very difficult to get our parents’ permission because they know how the Taliban operate. Even leaving the house is a battle in itself.”

A year before the country collapsed, Afghanistan, whose men’s national team played their first match in 2011, became a fully recognised member of Asia Rugby, the first step towards gaining World Rugby member status. Rugby was an emerging sport and was attracting a growing legion of female players – Kabul even held its first women’s rugby national team championship the summer before the Taliban resumed power.

One of the coaches who taught rugby to the women while they were at school is also on the call. As a male, he is another who puts his life at risk by attending these weekly meet-ups. Under Taliban rule, it is forbidden for a man to come into contact with a woman who is not a blood relative or his wife, but he understands how desperate these women are. “They can’t go for a run. They can’t meet up with their friends,” he says. “Rugby is a support pillar. It’s a big thing for them, but they are 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 goes on to recount the story of a female cyclist who was caught training on her bike in Kabul a few months after the Taliban returned to power. She was publicly beheaded.

The women, too, are acutely aware of the risks they are taking. “I knew a very close family friend who was a boxer,” says one. “Around 18 months ago, she was caught training with her friend by the Taliban. They attacked her family home through the roof and started firing at her house until she was forced to marry one of the members. Now I’ve lost contact 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, education, or go out on our own. What can we do? It’s our passion.”

One player says it is not unusual to be stopped on the street by the Taliban and asked for her ID card. Like many of the other women in the room, rugby was something she excelled at. “I was just getting to professional level when the Taliban took over,” she says. “I was playing for my school club and then started to play for a league. Now, I’m not doing anything.”

At this point, the coach speaks up, eager to touch on the evacuation efforts of two years ago when, amid chaotic scenes in Kabul, the Afghan women’s football team, along with other prominent Afghan women whose lives were at risk, were transported out of the country to safety. “Rugby is one of the only sports where players have not been evacuated at all,” he says. An undercurrent of frustration is discernible in his voice. “The only countries who approached our rugby league to talk about evacuation were Germany and the British Government.”

Asked if they see a future for themselves in Afghanistan, the women chant “ne” (the Dari word for “no”) in unison, before another player in the room approaches the laptop. “It’s not possible to see a future here,” she says softly, her voice tinged with sadness. “While we’re in Afghanistan, we can’t dream. We’re stuck here.”