I delivered a daughter's scent to her mother in Afghanistan

The plastic bag I was carrying held the most precious thing I’ve ever been entrusted with. A t-shirt worn for days by a daughter in Germany that I was delivering to a mother in Kabul. It is one of the saddest things I have done.

It was the only thing that Farah’s mother specifically asked for: her daughters scent. Farah wore the same t-shirt for days. It’s the summer of 2022 and I’m in Afghanistan filming for my documentary “Seize the Summit”, the story of four young survivors of war from Ukraine, Syria, and Afghanistan who come together to summit Mt. Kilimanjaro to send a united message of “No to War.” It’s also the story of how taking on such a challenge pushes one’s physical and psychological boundaries. They say a mountain will have a lesson for each climber, and often its not what you think it will be. It’s worth a watch, I promise. You will laugh, cry, be inspired, the whole gamut of emotions. Plus proceeds go to my charity INARA.

I ended up at Farah’s house because she is the best friend of one of our climbers for the doc, Shaqayeq. The two lived together in Germany after meeting in a hospital where Shaqayeq was admitted for a mental break that left her mute and Farah had attempted suicide. The two saved each other.

Farah was raised as what’s known as a “bacha posh” - a girl who is raised/dresses as a boy, a practice that was not super common, but happens in families where there are either no sons or a lot of daughters. A German network had done a documentary on her which led to her receiving death threats and forcing her to flee.

Shaqayeq had fled Afghanistan in 2016 when she was 10 years old, after her mother Shakila Ebrahimkhil, a prominent journalist, was threatened and then nearly killed by the Taliban. Shaqayeq’s father was killed before the US led invasion. Shakila was her husbands second wife and tossed to the street. Shaqayeq was born on a kitchen floor as American bombs shook the building. Her mother would go on to get an education and become one of Afghanistans leading female journalists all while raising her children. It’s just one of many impressive examples of the power of Afghan women.

Farah and Shaqayeq would send part of their earnings to Farah’s family in Afghanistan, both to help support them, but also because the family supported the community, while we were there cooking up a massive meal and distributing it to the needy, all women. I remember talking to them, hearing about how yes before the Taliban life was hard but at least they had dignity and were not reduced to having to beg.

I nearly died laughing when Farah’s sister took a video of me and then sent it to me with a filter and not so subtle hint that i should wear more make up.

Farah’s grandmother had me in stitches talking about how bored she was of her husband while he was sitting right there. Oh and she was totally granny flirting with Cameron, which involved feeding him mangos which is apparently a secret “I’m interested” signal. Note: I haven’t found anyone else to verify that, it might have been a joke at my expense.

That trip I also met another of Shaqayeq’s friends. She should have been just starting university. They were a family of three girls. Her older sister was supposed to be graduating university with a degree in economics. The youngest was in high school, sobbing on the floor. What is there even to say? None of them even knew what life under the Taliban was like, they were all born after the US kicked the Taliban out of power. All of a sudden they were living the nightmare they had only heard about in stories from their parents.

The privilege I have of being able to cross borders, of not having to follow the Taliban’s rules on women and girls, of being able to hug the mother of a young woman I had just met, of sharing a family moment denied to a daughter, the injustice of it all is absolutely maddening.

I’ve been back to Afghanistan numerous times since with my charity INARA. Among the work we do is supporting widows to put their children in school, there are approximately 650,000 of them trying to raise their children alone in a country where the Taliban has utterly restricted female life and work opportunities.

There are extraordinary things being done in secret, behind closed doors. Daily acts of defiance and courage. There are secret schools, online education efforts, women only fancy cafe’s opening up, bustling family or women only spaces in restaurants. We hear about all of that and marvel at the courage and strength it all takes. It deserves our admiration, but at the same time I feel as if it makes us feel better about the disaster we allowed to happen to Afghanistan’s women and girls. And yes it is we, even though America is at the forefront of that, it is still we. Indifference is an enabler.

My last trip I flew Ariana airlines and ended up having the steward seat a young Afghan woman next to me because she was also traveling alone. We spoke a mix of french and english, she was living and studying in Paris, an opportunity she both cherished but one that tore her up. Her sister was getting married. Not because she wanted to, but pretty much because there was nothing else to do.

One mother, whose husband died of natural causes, told me through her tears that he had made her promise to educate their girls. They were still young, barely in primary school. But will she end up failing her husband when they grow past the 6th grade, the level that the Taliban has determined is enough education for a female? Or will we, by then, roughly another five years from now still be performatively wringing our hands over the fate of Afghanistan’s women and girls?