Azizullah Royesh is a teacher at Marefat High School in Kabul, Afghanistan. He teaches courses on civic education, humanism, Quranic interpretation, Dari and English. He is currently one of 10 finalists for the Global Teacher Prize.



I left school when I was 10. Soviet troops invaded Kabul in 1979 and I fled to the highlands with my family. My father didn’t support the communist regime and, along with thousands of others, he was persecuted. In 1982 I fled again – this time to a refugee camp in Pakistan.

My family couldn’t come with me and life in exile was difficult. I went to camps in Quetta and Peshawar, but I couldn’t stay there for long. I had to go into the cities to find work and provisions. I mainly worked in sweatshops. At one factory I had to collect hot candy which used to burn my hands. The owner would insult me and the other children, but none of us had any choice but to work there. I also worked as a tailor and carpenter, and sometimes on construction sites. I was surviving, but my life was not much more than that.

During this time I began reading whenever I could. There was a kind man called Mukhtar who would lend me books from his shop. He took a real interest in me and we discussed history, politics and different ideologies.

When I returned to Kabul at 16 I was one of only a few people who could read and write. I began teaching the alphabet to small groups. After six months, the local authority, comprised of resistance fighters to the Soviet regime, asked me to help set up a school. People of all ages attended – even many adults didn’t have basic literacy skills. Families contributed small amounts of money or food if they could to help teachers with living costs.

The authority supported us and I went to Pakistan to get supplies from the Swedish Committee for Afghanistan. It was a very dangerous four-day trip. Attacks from Soviet fighter jets were likely and we travelled through rough terrain at night. Over the next three years we set up five more schools in the district of Jeghatoo with the support of the committee. We grew from three teachers to 45 and from 50 students to more than 2,000.

No girls were able to join. It was something that simply couldn’t be talked about at the time. I also had to include lots of religious activities. Some of the local clerics saw the school as being against religious seminaries and I had to maintain good relations with them as they were so influential.

Four years later, aged 20, I fled Kabul again. The Taliban had taken over. I was part of the Hazara ethnic community, which is strongly opposed to its beliefs, so it was unsafe for me to stay. I went back to Pakistan and helped set up a school for refugees with friends.

Families contributed to the expenses and we used textbooks written by Islamist parties during the time of resistance. Later, students studied from books that I and other teachers wrote. One of the subjects we designed was humanism. It’s aim was to provide hope. We talked to the children about the power of the human being: its power of thought, wisdom, will, determination creativity. We wanted them to realise that they had an active role to play in society.

After the collapse of the Taliban in 2001 I moved back to Kabul. Some of the teachers came with me and we set up Marefat High School in a bombed out building. The city was completely destroyed. Families were struggling to feed themselves and it was difficult persuading them to send their children to school. We visited each home and tried to help parents see education in the same regard as other basic needs, such as food and shelter. We explained that they couldn’t wait for the government or foreign donors to help them because they might not come. Initially, the fees were the equivalent of $1 a month and the poorest families didn’t pay. We started out with 37 students, and now have more than 3,500. Since we opened, 163 of our students have won scholarships to universities abroad – 17 of these have been in the US.

We wanted the school to be co-educational. One of the biggest challenges was persuading parents to allow their daughters to attend. A lot of families were trapped in traditional mindsets and it was difficult for them to accept the idea. When we visited homes we explained that the education of girls was not just about providing them with the skills to read and write, it was also about turning them into active family members. As well as bringing them pride, this would mean they’d be able to find better paid work.

Some of the parents took on board our arguments, sparking a cultural change in the community. By showing the impact school had on those first few students, we were gradually able to persuade others. In Afghanistan, there is a long history of gender segregation, but we wanted a mixed school to show that there’s no difference between boys and girls. And we hoped that by giving young people a place for natural interaction it would help them have a more realistic view of each other. Currently, 44% of our students are female.

In 2009, our female students protested against a controversial law which would allow marital rape. In response, around 30 traditional clerics came in a mob to attack the school. They said they were going to burn the building down and called for my execution. We decided not to react negatively. We didn’t go to the press or say anything against them. All we did was ask the government for protection. Police troops were sent to school and after two days we asked the students to come back. We were expecting around 15% to attend, but about 95% came. They walked into school holding their parents hands, who had brought in flowers. It was a wonderful moment. It showed the female pupils that they had the support of their families and fellow students.

The police officers stayed for five months, but no one in uniform stands guard now. This doesn’t mean that the traditional clerics aren’t trying their best to undo our work. But their actions have only made people more determined to attend.

Teaching has never been a profession. It’s a natural part of my life. I’ve always felt that I’ve had something to pass on to others. Sometimes it has simply been helping people read and write – other times it is about providing hope. Our experiences at the school have shown what can be achieved. When a community is poor and oppressed you need to mobilise it to instigate change. I hope that other areas will be supported to do the same.

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