Distress of Afghan women who can no longer work

At 21 years old, Madina had her dream job: she was a journalist, her salary crucial to her family's life in Afghanistan.

Then the Taliban came.

Now, like so many other Afghan women, Madina cannot work and her family has lost her income -- just as Afghanistan's economy collapses and the United Nations predicts half its population could run out of food during the long, cold winter. 

It leaves Madina, trapped behind closed doors, to wonder anxiously how her family will pay the rent and buy the wood to heat their home until spring.

"I have a dark future ahead," said Madina, whose name has been changed to protect her identity.

Just a few months ago the young woman worked for an American-funded radio station. She dreamed of presenting the news on television and perhaps, later on, entering politics. 

Now the station is off the air, and looking for a new job would be futile. Except in specialised sectors such as health and education, few women have worked since the Taliban drove the Western-backed government from Kabul and took power in August. 

Last year, under the previous government, more than 27 per cent of civil servants were women. Now, the Taliban have told them to stay home until further notice.

Many families have lost a significant part of their income, just as Afghanistan faces one of the world's worst humanitarian crises.

More than 22 million Afghans will suffer food insecurity this winter, the UN has said, as a drought driven by climate change adds to the disruption caused by the chaotic Taliban takeover.

Madina, who lives with her parents, is the oldest of four girls and two boys. Her father, a labourer, gambled on her education, which until the Taliban reached Kabul seemed like a good bet.

The family lived on two salaries, Madina's and her father's.

"I was paying the rent," she says. "When I had a job, I could meet the family's needs."

But they now have to buy basic staples such as rice and flour on credit -- and despite winter's cold already biting, they can't afford coal or wood to heat their home. 

"It's very painful for me to see these difficulties," Madina says.

Rabia -- who also spoke under a pseudonym -- worked at the Ministry of Mines and Petroleum. On August 15 at 10:00am, she left her office in a panic when the Taliban entered Kabul.

Her male colleagues have resumed their jobs -- but she can't go back. 

"I feel I'm in a prison in my house," the 25-year-old says. Rabia lives with her sister and brother, who are teachers. Both work, but have not been paid.