Exile Wasn’t Their Choice. Cricket Is.

By Mehr Jan

What does it mean to fight for a country that has erased you? Can the love for a sport survive exile, loss, and silence? For Afghanistan’s women cricketers, these are not abstract questions—they are everyday realities.

“We want to improve as cricketers and play at the highest level,” said Firooza Amiri, one of the 25 women who once held official contracts under the Afghanistan Cricket Board. 

Today, she lives in Australia, training with teammates who, like her, were forced to flee when the Taliban returned to power in 2021.

They did not leave by choice. They left because silence was safer than being seen, because being seen could mean death.

But they never stopped playing.

While the Taliban banned women from sports and public life, Pitch Our Future became a digital home and lifeline for the cricketers. 

Created as the official platform of the Afghan women’s national team in exile, the initiative now serves as a central hub, tracking player profiles, sharing personal journeys, and advocating for international recognition.

“Pitch Our Future and the ICC are finally giving us hope,” said Firooza. “We are now beginning to receive the kind of support—coaching, resources, and visibility—that we lost.”

The initiative doesn't just aim to support cricket—it’s about rebuilding identity. It has helped the athletes secure training, education, equipment, and the dignity of still being seen as professional players.

International bodies like Cricket Australia, the BCCI, and the ECB have stepped up with support. “Cricket Australia has taken a leadership role,” Firooza added. “Since we arrived, they’ve supported both our game and our lives.”

Erased From Rankings, Not From Memory

Afghanistan’s women’s football team, meanwhile, has not played an official match since 2018. 

After the Taliban takeover, the Afghan Football Federation, now under the regime’s control, stopped recognizing women’s teams. The country has been removed from FIFA’s women’s rankings and excluded from future international qualifiers.

When the regime cracked down, FIFA helped evacuate more than 150 athletes and personnel. Among them was Khinjani, a former developmental player with the federation. After stops in Qatar and Albania, she resettled in Houston with other female athletes, including two from the national basketball team.

But freedom has not meant stability. “We still worry about the safety of our families, about immigration, about survival,” said one former player. Many hold blue-collar jobs, trying to balance unfamiliar lives with the memory of what they left behind.

And the fear still lingers.

“When the Taliban beheaded a member of the girls’ national volleyball team, I wondered if I’d be next,” said Khinjani. “At the airport, Taliban soldiers were everywhere. They were stopping women and people were crying. If you were a woman soccer player, you were marked.”

Among those still carrying the weight of lost opportunity is Roya Samim, a former player who found refuge in Canada. “I was part of a generation that wanted to change the story for Afghan women through sport,” she said. “But overnight, we were erased.” 

Roya had been trying to organize safe passage for her teammates when Kabul fell. Since then, she has spoken publicly about the emotional toll of feeling abandoned, not just by her nation, but by global sporting authorities. “We had dreams. We were told we’d be supported. Then we were forgotten,” she added.

Her story mirrors the pain and disillusionment of dozens of other Afghan women athletes who, despite being contractually part of national teams, were left in limbo. “Our cricket was not just a game—it was resistance. And they let it die,” Roya said.

Wearing the Flag, Without a Country

On Jan. 30, the Afghan women’s cricket team in exile played a match in Australia. It was their first official game in more than three years. “That day wasn’t just a match,” Firooza said. “It was the beginning of a new chapter.”

Wearing the Afghan colors again, standing shoulder to shoulder with teammates, she felt everything all at once—grief, pride, defiance.

Cricket, once practiced in secret and under threat, has become their resistance. “Choosing this sport meant pushing against every barrier,” she said. “We trained in silence, in fear, in isolation. But we trained. Because cricket gave us identity. It gave us power.”

Among the 25 contracted players, 19 are now based in Australia. Most are active in local leagues. They stay connected, they support each other, and they fight not just to play—but to matter.

There is no communication with the Afghanistan Cricket Board. There is little expectation that support will return. And yet, there is hope.

“We're ready,” said Firooza when asked about the possibility of competing in the Los Angeles Olympics. “No official word yet. But we're ready.”

They left their homes, their families, their country—but they kept their game. And in doing so, they’ve kept a piece of Afghanistan alive, one that refuses to be silenced.

“Even in exile,” Firooza said, “We wear our flag with pride.”