War, high prices and censorship: the Taliban won't even let us talk about our suffering

KabulThursday marked two weeks since the fighting between Afghanistan and Pakistan began. For the past three nights, no Pakistani drones have been seen flying over Kabul, but that hasn't been the case since the end of February. Now that it's Ramadan, our alarm clocks no longer wake us in the early hours to eat before dawn, but rather the drone of Pakistani planes and the sound of gunfire. In fact, more than once I've woken up while it was still dark, with the sound of gunfire echoing throughout the city. Later, the Taliban would report that Pakistani drones had entered Kabul's airspace and their forces had shot them down.

For me, and for most Afghans, hearing gunfire in Kabul is a familiar, yet painful, experience. We are a generation that has always lived in war. Sometimes I think we are people born amidst explosions and suicide attacks, and perhaps this will also accompany us when we are in another world.

Aside from the clashes with Pakistan, there is a war in Iran, which also borders Afghanistan. Although both conflicts are hundreds of kilometers from Kabul, they affect our daily lives. Afghanistan is a country that depends on imports. Many of the products we use come from our neighboring countries. For example, from Pakistan we import rice, oil, chickpeas, spices, medicine, clothing... Trade between Afghanistan and Pakistan exceeded $1.108 billion during the first six months of 2025, according to data from the Taliban's Ministry of Trade. But since last October, many border crossings have been closed, and it can be said that imports have practically stopped.

The Taliban assured that they would find alternative routes to import the products that Afghanistan needs, and one of the main routes was through Iran. But since the country went to war, imports from there have also decreased. As a result, prices have skyrocketed. Rice that used to cost around 3,200 Afghanis now costs 4,300. The price of flour has risen from 1,500 Afghanis to 2,200, and oil from 1,500 to 2,150.

In my house, only my mother and I work. She's a primary school teacher, and I'm a journalist. My siblings are still studying, and my father, who was an officer in the Afghan army, lost his job when the Taliban came to power. I'm 25 years old, and until now, I don't remember ever hearing about us having trouble buying food. But five days ago, my mother asked my father to go buy flour and rice because we didn't have any. My father went to the market and came back empty-handed. Since the prices were so high, he returned home to discuss it with my mother. I found them talking about the possibility of buying low-quality rice, which was much cheaper. My father explained that the shopkeeper had told him the grains were much smaller, but edible. We've always been a middle-class family, but at that moment, I felt like we were moving to a lower economic status. I wonder how many families feel the same way. Food Search

During these days of Ramadan, when it's time to break the fast, some merchants and people with a certain amount of money do charity work and distribute food. They give each person a bowl with a little rice, a small portion of meat, a date, and half a piece of bread. I see this scene more and more often on the streets of Kabul: hundreds of people—women, men, the elderly, children—gather to get that little bit of food. When the distribution begins, so do the pushing and shoving. People are afraid they won't get anything.

I've seen scenes like this in Kabul before, but now there's a very important difference: there are also women, and the number of people looking for food has skyrocketed. Today, in fact, the street I was walking on was blocked by the crowd of people gathered to get food, even though there was still more than an hour and a half to go before breaking the fast. "Hurry up, if we don't get anything, we'll starve," I heard one child say to another.

Winter isn't over yet in Kabul. It's raining and too cold to spend the night without lighting a gas stove or a charcoal brazier. But the price of gas has also gone up. Before, a kilo cost 45 Afghanis, and now it costs almost 70. In recent nights, at my house, we've wrapped ourselves in wool blankets instead of lighting the stove to get through the night.

The Taliban's censorship is so tight that the Afghan media can't even report on all of this. The Taliban have warned us journalists that we can't talk about the economic impact that the closure of the border crossings with Pakistan is having on people, even though it's a topic on everyone's lips. Everyone is talking about the same thing. The Taliban's foreign minister has even declared that the closure of these trade routes has had no effect whatsoever on the lives of Afghans.

Sometimes it seems that we not only have to cope with war or rising prices, but also with the denial of our own suffering.