Degrees Gathering Dust: Afghanistan’s Unseen Struggle

In Afghanistan, the literacy rate has always been low compared to other countries, yet it was once a symbol of hope—a promise of a bright future. Families sacrificed everything so their children could study and build the lives they couldn’t. But today, that dream feels shattered.

In Afghanistan, the literacy rate has always been low compared to other countries, yet it was once a symbol of hope—a promise of a bright future. Families sacrificed everything so their children could study and build the lives they couldn’t. But today, that dream feels shattered. Across the country, not only women but men too are struggling to survive. Teachers, engineers, university graduates, and even those with MD and BDS degrees are now compelled to work in shops, push carts on the streets, or sell vegetables just to make ends meet.

The degrees they earned by burning the midnight oil now gather dust at home, while they struggle to feed their families. These aren’t just stories of unemployment; they are stories of lost potential, broken dreams, and a generation stuck in survival mode.

Eid is approaching, and like everyone else, we visited the market. As we entered a shop, it seemed empty at first, but then we noticed a man sitting with his head lowered. When he heard our footsteps, he slowly raised his head—and it was clear he was not in good condition. My sister’s friend asked the price of a shirt. He quoted a high price, as shopkeepers usually do. The girl replied, “Why do you lie? The shirt doesn’t seem to cost an arm and a leg.”

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The man responded, “I don’t have the energy to lie, nor do I have the experience of lying. I am a dentist, just compelled to run this shop.”

Those words hit hard. It was heartbreaking to see such highly qualified individuals working in places where they don’t belong. Not that working in a shop is of lesser value, but those who have invested years of their lives in education deserve the opportunity to work in their chosen fields.

He is not the only one fighting to make ends meet. Hundreds and thousands of well-qualified people are facing the same struggle, hidden behind closed doors.

This crisis doesn’t just affect them—it impacts the next generation. Young people see their educated elders struggling and start questioning the value of education. As many now say, “Survival needs money and a job, not heaps of degrees.” Because of this, they start working early—pushing carts or selling goods on the roadside. They think, “If this is our future, why not start today?”

There is no one to ask them how they feel. They suffer in silence, and only Allah knows how long this suffering will last. There seems to be no end in sight.

In times of mental and financial hardship, family support is crucial. However, there seems to be a scarcity of support in every form—otherwise, the pain wouldn’t feel this unbearable. In Afghanistan, a huge communication gap exists between family members, and this has the worst consequences. We all know that happiness increases when shared, while sorrow lessens its burden. But what happens when people share neither their happiness nor their struggles? A single person becomes engulfed in layers of suffering, with no one to turn to.

In the end, I can’t appeal to anyone. But I will say this:

Dear sisters and brothers, please don’t lose hope! Stay patient. Stay resilient. One can pluck a flower, but one cannot stop the arrival of spring.