​The word goal has more than one meaning: it can mean scoring a goal in a game, and it can mean aiming to achieve something in life. “If you fight for your right, one day you will achieve the things you want,” Sodaba Khinjani said. “If I am scared or if other girls are scared, if we stay silent, that’s what they want—that is what they want from us—and I will not allow that.” For these women, simply being on the field is a form of protest. Their very existence on the pitch is a revolution.
They are Afghan soccer players who were frantically evacuated from the country after the United States withdrew and the Taliban took control five years ago. Most arrived alone, with only the clothes they wore. Zed Sultani, who was 16 at the time, was born years after the 9/11 attacks and the U.S. invasion of Afghanistan. When the Taliban reclaimed power, she received death threats. “They’re always saying, ‘A girl is only for washing dishes, cleaning the house, and getting married, nothing else,’” she said.
Elsewhere in Houston, in a small southwest apartment, roommates Rabia Yaqobi and Zahra Hasani struggle to pay their rent. Hasani works overnight at a warehouse, while Yaqobi works in a University of Houston cafeteria. “Sometimes I finish at 4 a.m., sometimes at 6 a.m., sometimes at 7 a.m.,” Hasani explained. “Here, it’s just me. There’s nobody to support me. Nobody to help me pay for a home, not to mention a car.”
FIFA, soccer’s global governing body, helped the women leave Afghanistan and obtain green cards. But once they reached Houston, FIFA turned them over to local aid groups that were already overwhelmed. They say they were denied access to FIFA training camps and were not invited to join the Afghan women’s refugee team, which had formed for women relocated to Europe and Australia. For two years, they did not play soccer.
Khinjani is the oldest on the team at 28. She had been a dentist in Afghanistan, but her credentials did not transfer. After studying and passing a series of exams, she now works as a dental nurse. “I will show them this was not the end of the story. Your behavior is not making us weak. This was our strength. That’s why I don’t want to forget it,” she said.
Khinjani cannot forget what it was like to leave her country. “I said, ‘I am a footballer,’ and the other women were like, ‘Shh, don’t say that, they will kill you over here, don’t.’ They had guns in their hands and beat us with the butts of their guns and told us to go home,” she recalled. She also spoke of her brother, who had worked as an interpreter for the U.S. Army and was captured after U.S. forces left. “I never forget the moment I saw his dead body; his upper body was separated from his lower body, and the side of his face was gone,” Khinjani said.
Rachel Fabre now coaches the group of women. She says she sees their journey, their resilience, and their ongoing fight as part of a larger story about courage, displacement, and the will to keep playing.