Reclaiming a future they were told they couldn't have: Afghan women in tech

Fauzia didn't plan to go into tech. She wanted to be a doctor.

When Afghanistan's nationwide university entrance exam, Kankor, placed her in computer science instead, she felt lost. She didn't own a laptop. She'd never written a line of code. Her understanding of the internet began and ended with social media.

What happened next is a story about talent finding a way through, even when almost everything is working against it.

Starting from zero

Fauzia's first semester was disorienting. While her professors talked about Java and programming logic, she was quietly learning to type code on her smartphone because she had no laptop to work on. YouTube tutorials filled in the gaps.

By the time the pandemic hit in 2020, she was making real progress. Then in 2021, everything changed again. Universities revised their curriculums. Restrictions tightened. And by the end of her sixth semester, women were told they could no longer continue their studies.

"After the regime changed, I felt lost again. I lost my motivation and courage to keep going."

A friend sent her a registration link for CodeWeekend. She almost didn't apply.

What CodeWeekend actually is

CodeWeekend started in Kabul in 2014 as something simple: a space for developers to meet, share knowledge, and support each other at weekends. Over time it grew into a community of thousands of young Afghan developers, and eventually into a structured bootcamp built around depth and real-world skills.

Today the programme covers web development, collaboration, problem-solving, and more recently, a dedicated AI module where students learn to integrate AI features directly into applications by working with APIs. The curriculum is updated regularly to stay relevant to what the global tech industry actually needs.

For Afghan students, the bootcamp is free. CodeWeekend also provides internet bundles and laptops for students who need them, because as Fauzia puts it:

"Support isn't just about teaching content. It's about removing as many barriers as we can so effort and talent actually has a chance to turn into growth."

The women's cohort

Afghan women have been banned from formal education beyond grade 6 for the past three years. CodeWeekend's founder, Ustad Jamshid Hashimi, made a clear decision: they wouldn't stay neutral.

The organisation's most recent cohort, which concluded in November 2025, was exclusively for women. They've committed to continuing women-only cohorts until restrictions are lifted.

Fauzia, who now tutors on the programme, has seen what it means to the people going through it.

"For many of them, this wasn't just learning technical skills. It was about reclaiming a future they were told they couldn't have."

The cohort ran through internet shutdowns and electricity shortages. Women graduated anyway.

What she'd say to anyone feeling stuck

Fauzia's advice isn't abstract. She's lived it.

"Your situation does not define your potential. Start with what you have, learn through free online platforms, use whatever device or internet connection is available to you, and keep practising."

She talks a lot about community too. Not networking in the generic sense, but finding people who are genuinely learning alongside you. CodeWeekend exists precisely to build that, connecting Afghan developers with each other, with mentors, and with real career opportunities locally and internationally.

And for anyone waiting for the right moment to start?

"You can't wait for perfect conditions. The perfect conditions may never come."

Watch the full conversation

Fauzia ended up in tech almost by accident. Today she's a software engineer and a tutor, and one of the clearest voices on what it actually takes to build a career when the odds are stacked against you.

Watch the full conversation on the DevLab podcast.

If you're interested in collaborating with or supporting CodeWeekend, you can follow them on LinkedIn and reach out directly. They're open to partnerships and always looking to connect with people who share their mission.