SHELBURNE — On a sunny Sunday afternoon, Wazir Hashimi drove his gray Toyota Corolla onto a long dirt road in Shelburne.
He pulled over to the side and let two women in the car take turns at the wheel.
“They both have permits, and they know the rules,” Hashimi said.
President and founder of the Vermont Afghan Alliance, Hashimi has been busy teaching Afghan women to drive, an opportunity they never had back home.
Sima went first, adjusting the mirror, gripping the wheel and driving steadily. After she drove the stretch and back, her fellow student, Farishta, switched with her. All the while, Hashimi doled out instructions and praise in Farsi.
“She is doing well, isn’t she?” he asked proudly after the first round.
For the next two hours, the women alternated driving up and down the quiet road. Between navigating three-point turns, reversing and a stop sign, there was camaraderie, laughter and a sense of purpose.
“I never had a chance to learn to drive in Afghanistan,” said Farishta, adjusting her gray head scarf over a mustard-yellow long dress.
Both Afghan refugees from Kabul, neither woman wanted to share her real name for fear of harm to families back home who continue to live under the Taliban’s oppressive rule.
Vermont began to accept Afghan refugees after the Taliban takeover of the Central Asian country in August 2021, soon after American forces left. The first families arrived at the beginning of 2022. About 246 Afghans have been resettled statewide, according to the U.S. Committee for Refugees and Immigrants office in Vermont.
Farishta and Sima, who did not know each other previously, arrived with their children separately last year through the refugee resettlement program and now live in South Burlington, 6,485 miles from their homes in Kabul. The capital was captured by the Taliban after the United States withdrew, ending the trillion-dollar, nearly 20-year war — America’s longest.
The Taliban rule has severely affected the lives of women and children, depriving them of access to health, education, jobs and other freedoms, including dress, movement and speech, according to Human Rights Watch, an international watchdog.
Farishta, who estimates being in her 40s, has five children; Sima, 57, has two. Farishta’s husband died of natural causes a few years ago, and Sima’s husband was killed in the war, according to Hashimi.
Neither woman wanted to share additional information about their families or their lives in Kabul. Speaking to a reporter with the help of Hashimi’s interpretation, both agreed life in Vermont is “very different” but they are adjusting and liking it, they said.
“It’s not really comparable,” said Hashimi, 26, who came to Vermont as a student in 2013 and is a small business owner. He attended high school and college in the Green Mountain State and learned how to drive here.
Hashimi, who lives in Colchester, created the Alliance last year to help new Afghan families in Vermont. Teaching them to drive is a key step. He has helped about 65 men in Vermont get their driver’s licenses, he said.
The women’s initiative started when some of them reached out to him last year, he said. They have families to care for and jobs to get to, but they have to depend on spotty public transportation or other people for rides.
So he began to coach them in his car in his spare time, including weekends. This involves several steps — from securing a permit to helping them pass the written and road tests. So far, four women are licensed statewide, and six others are in the process, he said.
Daniel Barkhuff, an organizer who helped Hashimi start the Alliance and is on its board, said this is a monumental effort that will literally change the lives of Afghan women in Vermont.
“Our aim is to sort of plug the gaps with the wonderful assistance that a lot of folks have gotten from USCRI — Medicaid, food stamps, a place to live for a certain time period,” he said. “One of the most immediate problems was that folks had opportunities for jobs but had no transportation. So that was kind of the first thing Wazir identified as a need for his community.”
Driving is a giant step for women toward independence and self-confidence in a foreign land, Hashimi said, and he hopes it will help empower other Afghan women to do the same.
“One of the definitive differences between the American societal system and the one under Taliban is women’s ability to to educate themselves, women’s ability to drive, women’s ability to participate fully in society. And we have hundreds of women who are very enthusiastic about their new country and being able to participate in society,” Barkhuff said.
When she gets her license, Sima said, she plans to get to English classes, find a job and take her children to school. She currently uses public transportation.
Farishta said it would be great to be able to drive to her job, go grocery shopping and take her children to school and on outings — and not have to ask people for rides.
“Go for picnics too,” Hashimi added, eliciting laughter.
The two women have had about six lessons with Hashimi who estimated they could be road-ready in another month or so.
Does he get paid? Not yet. The women jokingly offered to pay him with a cup of tea, eliciting laughter.
Barkhuff, who started a GoFundMe campaign for the Alliance, a registered nonprofit in the state, hopes that will change soon.
“It’s really pretty remarkable what he’s been able to do on such a limited budget,” said Barkhuff, who was a Navy SEAL from 2001 to 2009 and deployed to Afghanistan. “I think a lot of the folks in that community really trust Wazir, and he’s been so successful in getting folks licenses and teaching them how to drive.”
Correction: A previous version of this article misstated Hashimi’s title.