Home schools emerge from secret but Islam remains the theme

KABUL, Afghanistan -- With a sweet smile and gentle voice, the teacher dictated a writing exercise for her primary school pupils: "Saber's brother went off to jihad." The girls and boys nodded gravely and wrote.

In her single mud-walled classroom, no longer clandestine now that the Taliban have gone, Nafisa Nadery shapes young Afghans. She wants them to be well-rounded and curious, but she also wants them to defend the faith.

Her private "home school" and hundreds like it across northern Afghanistan are what remain as an education system after four years of fighting among warlords and another five of Taliban rule.

Nadery teaches reading, writing and arithmetic, but Islam is the overriding theme. A giant photo of Mecca decorates the wall, next to a colorful crepe paper heart. Another poster declares: Jihad is our duty.

"For Muslims, jihad does not mean killing innocents," she said. "What the prophet meant by 'holy war' was for us to spread his teachings and to resist infidels who tried to divert our beliefs."

False charges

Under the irony of Taliban rule, Nadery and her husband, Abdul Ali, were persecuted on charges of preaching Christianity. He was jailed for days and choked and beaten so badly that he lost two teeth.

Eventually, he was released because of overwhelming testimony from parents that the charges were baseless. Had he been convicted, he would have faced hanging.

Abdul Ali Nadery said he might have escaped the charges, but he refused to let Taliban officers into his school.

"I was terrified they might carry off some of our little girls, like they did at other schools," he said. "What would I tell their parents?"

The couple started their school when the Taliban fired Nafisa Nadery, along with all women teachers, after they captured Kabul. Abdul Ali was also forced to close his soft drink plant.

"For five years, schools taught only the Quran," Nafisa Nadery said. "We didn't graduate a doctor, an engineer, anything. I just sat at home. Three years ago, I decided to start the school," she said. "At our peak, we had 105 children."

Left in small bunches

They moved from a comfortable space in their home to a tiny unheated room in a densely population neighborhood of collapsing adobe houses, fearing Taliban authorities would discover the illegal school.

After each class, pupils left in small bunches to escape notice. But Taliban police stormed in one day, shouting and banging doors. Panicked youngsters threw themselves through windows.

All of that is now past, and enrollment is building up again. But Nafisa Nadery still teaches only 15 boys and 45 girls, from first-graders up to teen-agers. Few parents can afford the school fees of 30 cents a month.

The kids seem to love it. Attendance is 80 percent even though some pupils travel for two hours, on foot and in rickety buses, for 8 a.m. classes, and then sit shivering on the floor in the early-winter chill.

A quick sampling revealed an overwhelming goal in life. Just about every kid in the room wanted to grow up to be a teacher.

"I like school," said 9-year-old Alaha. "When I grow up, I want to be a doctor." With a quick glance at her teacher across the room, she amended her answer. "No, I think I'll be a teacher."

During the writing exercise, Alaha had carefully copied down the word, jihad, but demurred when asked to define it. "I'm only in first grade," she said. "I don't know what it means."