Forced Back from Iran, Afghans Face Drought, Poverty, and Repression

Emergency aid isn’t enough—only strategic investment in livelihoods and water infrastructure can prevent the crisis from spiraling.

At the transit camp in Islam Qala in western Afghanistan, Fatima steps off the bus into the blistering heat and an uncertain future. She is one of 10,000 people who arrived from Iran that day—and one of over 800,000 who have returned in the past six months. Hurrying her three children to a patch of empty ground, she slumps onto the dusty earth and shields them with a bed sheet. When asked where she’ll go next, she says a brother might take them in back in her hometown.

The IFRC supports the Afghan Red Crescent Society in providing hot meals and basic healthcare at the camp. UN agencies offer limited cash assistance. But within 24 hours, Fatima is told it’s time to move on. Bus drivers call out the names of Afghan cities and towns. Fatima drags her bags toward a bus headed for Owbeh in Herat province. Her three children trail behind.

She explains she learned to weave carpets while in Iran but wasn’t allowed to bring any materials or tools back with her. “How can I start from scratch with no money?” she asks. “And even if I could, who in my village would buy a carpet? They have nothing—not even enough for food.” Her departure from Iran was traumatic, but the real challenges begin now.

In her hometown, there will be no public-sector jobs for women. Most men will be reluctant to hire her due to restrictive policies around female employment. Her only chance will be to start her own small business—but she’ll need start-up capital. She may also need her brother’s help accessing markets. It will be an uphill battle, but more and more Afghan women are taking on this challenge. Fatima could too—if she can access credit.

Yet even if she starts a business, who will be able to buy from her? Like most Afghans, her neighbors depend on agriculture, which in turn depends on irrigation and rainfall. In much of Herat province—and across Afghanistan—drought has made irrigation nearly impossible. Rivers have dried up. Groundwater sources are vanishing. With no way to farm, men are flooding into the cities in search of day labor, only to find that even there, the battle for water continues.

Mercy Corps reports that half of Kabul’s boreholes have already dried up. The city may run out of accessible groundwater in as little as five years. This trajectory could be slowed or even reversed, but only through major investment in water conservation—such as rainwater harvesting systems, small dams, and improved storage infrastructure. Unfortunately, these are precisely the investments Afghanistan currently lacks the resources to make.

If Fatima can earn a little money and live somewhere near water, she might be able to focus on her children’s education. Her daughter will have to attend a madrassa—a significant downgrade from the schooling she had in Iran. But if they’re fortunate, it might be one of the madrassas already offering more diverse subjects and classes through the 12th grade. With creativity and modest funding, she might even explore vocational training or online education. The restrictions she faces are extreme, but not new—they reflect an enduring tension between rural conservatism and aspirations for self-determination.

Foreign aid can help by quietly enabling flexible, low-profile pathways for learning and economic participation—while acknowledging that Afghanistan’s ideological debates must be settled by Afghans themselves and will take time. Some organizations are doing this work, but not at the scale that’s needed.

It would take considerable luck for Fatima to get investment for a small business, secure clean drinking water, and ensure her children’s education. The alternative is bleak—and sadly, far more likely. Like many recent returnees, she could be destitute within weeks. She’ll likely miss out on rare opportunities for economic assistance. The villages around her may empty out due to water scarcity. If she stays, her health could fail. Medical care will be out of reach or unaffordable. She might feel forced to marry her daughter off early and push her sons into low-paid labor. This is already happening across Afghanistan. If she can, she may even try to return to Iran to escape such a future.

Can foreign aid still make a difference for Fatima and millions like her?
Despite political sensitivities, humanitarian funding has been significant over the past four years—more than $7 billion. That could have been enough to help tens of thousands of women start businesses, irrigate farmland, deepen wells, store water, and create alternative learning paths for children. Humanitarian agencies have tried to respond in all these areas, but emergency needs continue to absorb the bulk of available funds. Many donors hesitate to fund long-term projects, worried about appearing to legitimize those in power.

But the need for a new approach is urgent. While available funding is shrinking, what remains must be directed toward locally led, sustainable strategies—focused on livelihoods, water infrastructure, health, and education. This could give people like Fatima a small but vital chance at a future.

If the moral argument isn’t enough, consider this: the mass repatriation to Afghanistan this year may only be a prelude to a larger exodus in the future. It’s far wiser to invest now—to help Afghans thrive at home—than to pay far more later in managing refugee flows and combating human trafficking.

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