For Savida, a 30-year-old mother of four from the Bajaur Agency of the Federally Administered Tribal Areas, life had followed the same pattern for 14 years. She woke, prepared breakfast for her husband and children, worked in the field, and then cooked lunch and dinner. The family had to flee the war and ended up in Jalozai. She and her husband got divorced one year ago.

“He was a drug addict and very aggressive,” Savida said, cradling her 1-year-old boy, his feet caked with mud from playing outside. A thatched roof protects the women from the rain; walls prevent outsiders from looking in at the women. “My husband kidnapped the two older ones when they were on their way back to the tent from school,” she said, tears rolling from her eyes.

Savida, who declined to give her family name because she feared violence from her husband, said the support of the community center and other female refugees helped her. She has learned to tailor, and she stitches together clothes that the center sells for her in the local market. She wants to earn money for her children to get an education — something she was denied because fathers, and later, husbands, have to give permission. “I will not make a difference between my daughters and sons,” Savida said. “I want them all to learn and have a bright future.”

Husbands and fathers indeed have to be persuaded to allow their women to visit the center.

Neila Bibi, a teacher, and her colleague Huma Farman said they went each day from tent to tent to assure the men that only women were allowed in the center and that Islam also permitted the teaching of women. “They fear the gossip of other people,” Ms. Bibi said.

For most of the men, even negotiating with women is a big step. “We are the only chance for these girls and women to get a new perspective in their lives,” said Ms. Farman, who grew up in the nearby city of Mardan.