If I were a Mummy Blogger in Afghanistan…


If I were a Mummy Blogger in Afghanistan, it’s possible I’d like to write about the same issues women all over the world write about each day. Perhaps, like many other bloggers, I’d talk about the daily grind of finding the balance of motherhood and career. I’d write about vaccinations, schooling, control underwear and whether we could afford the new bathroom renovation.

Or maybe not.

Maybe I’d take a few pictures of the garden and throw the roses I’d proudly picked in to my Grandmother’s vase for a fantastic instagram shot. I could list my top 10 Etsy online purchases and my 5 favourite pizza toppings. Maybe they’d be a shot of a badly iced birthday cake with a child’s toothless grin and a handful of candles.

Or maybe not.

Perhaps I’d write about my friend who was tied up and raped by her cousin’s husband. I could write about how she was thrown in jail for adultery after reporting it to the police. And how after assessing her options she’d decided the only hope for survival was to marry him.

Maybe I’d write about a sister or a cousin who was running away from my abusive husband. Perhaps I could show photographs of her face after her nose and ears were cut off, I would zoom in on her feet to show you exactly where he poured the boiling water.

It’s possible if I were a mother blogging in Afghanistan, that today may have been my last post. Today as I am walking to a religious festival with my family a suicide bomber will blow himself up – and I will be left lifeless on the ground with my children’s bodies draped over me.

But this would never happen.

If I was a mother in Afghanistan, I would never be able to blog.


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