A MONDAY IN KABUL (english)

‘Wow…’, the group of girls look at us in disbelieve. 'So you two really have a love-marriage?’ After my confirmation they gaze at Philip for a while and then respond: 'we don’t have that here.’

 'The impossible dilemma of a 25-year old girl’

We’re at the TV-studios of Khurshid TV for the recordings of the New Year’s show. I get a seat in the women’s section of the audience. Setting up the studio lights seems to take ages, so the only thing to do is just wait and be patient.

Sitting amongst all these women in their best outfits, I feel a bit underdressed with the Zara scarf wrapped around my head. I do appear to be a great pass time for the other women. 'How did you end up here?’ they ask me curiously. When I tell them I’m making a photo series and point at my partner Philip sitting in the men’s section, the women look at me in disbelieve. 'Wow, so you really have a love-marriage? We don’t have that here.’

The girl next to me starts whispering. 'I’ve been in love for years now, just like you. But my father won’t let me marry the man I love. To show my father I can’t live without this man, I recently cut my own wrists.’ She shows me the scars, that are still clearly visible.

Farzhia (not her real name) is 25 years old and still lives with her parents in Kabul. It is common here for girls to live with their families until they get married. Living together with a partner is simply out of the question. As is having a relationship without being engaged. The family (that is: the father) has the biggest say in a future partnership.

Farzhia met the love of her life in high school.

'I’d never been that in love before, I was completely overwhelmed. It turned out to be mutual and so a secret love affair began. We often kissed when we knew no one would see us. Whenever I was near him, life was good. Unfortunately his parents made him go study in Paris, while I had to finish University in Kabul. We haven’t seen each other in four years now. I miss him everyday; I feel torn. He keeps sending me text messages, saying I shouldn’t give up and he stills want to marry me.’

'However, my father wants me to marry another man. I’m 25 now and I don’t have a lot of time left, he says. Afghan men prefer a young wife, so they can have a big family.’

'We’ve fought over this many times, it even got physical. The whole family is suffering from this situation, even my younger brothers. My mother sometimes tells me: “just finish your education and then go to him.” She understands where I’m coming from, but she has no weight in this discussion. I have to hang on for another year, but I feel depressed and desperate.’

'Another thing: how am I going to get to Europe? I’ve secretly tried to get a 3-month visa through the German Embassy. Germany or France, that doesn’t matter to me. I would just take the train to Paris from there. But at the German Embassy, they were like: 'if we give you this visa, you’re never coming back. I guess they were right, if I got the change, I would never return here.’

'After all these years, I do wonder: why do I still love him so much? Am I in love with him or with a dream? I just want to hold him and look into his eyes. Then I’ll know what to do. Until then, my life is on freeze.’

In the meantime the studio lights are set up and the show starts. It’s a music programme in which the presenter winks at the camera after every joke. He also calls just about everything 'cool’. The guys in the audience are going insane and start dancing on the chairs. The girls’ section on the other hand is quiet, dancing is not allowed when men are present.

I look around the audience and wonder: what stories lie beneath this crowd?