Wole Adedoyin interviews Afghan writer Maiwand Banayee

WA: Please tell us about your background and how you became interested in writing and the arts.
Maiwand Banayee: My earliest memories are not of childhood innocence, but of fear, loss, and the instinct to survive. I was born in Kabul in 1980, just as the Soviet invasion began to tear my country apart. By the time I turned twelve, civil wars had consumed the city. My childhood did not fade; it was taken. I spent the next two and half years in the midst of war where I saw things no child should ever carry in their memory: friends and neighbours torn apart, limbs severed, faces burned beyond recognition; a four-year-old boy, my neighbour’s son, killed while playing in his garden; bodies left to rot in the streets, eaten by stray dogs; endless hours searching through hospital morgues for my missing brother. I remember running through shattered streets with my mother and sisters, dragging even our cow with us, as bullets and bombs rained from the sky like a storm. Fear was not a moment. It was the air we breathed.
At fourteen, we fled and ended up in a refugee camp in Peshawar. Nine of us lived in a cramped, two-room mud house with a roof of timber and bamboo. We slept on uneven floor covered with torn plastic rugs. Our pillows were made from scraps of cloth stuffed into plastic bags.
In that fragile, broken environment, I was drawn into the world of the madrassa, Islamic Seminary. Riddled by hardship, anger, and loss, I became vulnerable to an ideology that promised meaning, belonging, and purpose. I was taught to hate the West and to seek martyrdom in the name of Islam. Over time, cracks began to appear in that belief system, and I slowly found the courage to question it. Eventually, I walked away.
At twenty-two, I fled once again, this time alone, and arrived in the United Kingdom in 2002. My asylum claim was refused, and for two years I lived in the shadows, without status, without security, constantly afraid of being sent back to the life I had escaped. Later l moved to Ireland and lived in an asylum seeker hostel for over three years where I was not allowed to work, study and travel.  After I was finally granted the right to stay, I rebuilt my life piece by piece and learnt English. I went to university, earned an honours degree in physiotherapy, and later completed an MSc in Physiotherapy and Leadership at Coventry University.
I began writing at thirty-seven not because I wanted to, but because I could no longer carry the silence. My English had improved, but more importantly, I had finally gained the distance and courage to face my past.
My memoir, Delusion of Paradise, was published in 2025 by Icon Books. It has been reviewed widely and was named one of the greatest memoirs of the year by the Daily Telegraph. Before this, I had written essays about my experiences, which were published in War, Literature & the Arts, The Stinging Fly, the International Human Rights Art Festival, Galway Review, MASI literary journal, Senior Times Magazine, and in two anthologies.

WA: What aspects of your country’s history or culture most Influence your writings.
Maiwand Banayee: As I mentioned earlier, Afghanistan’s history is written in layers of pain, war, displacement, and broken systems. But alongside that, there is also a deep culture of care, hospitality, resilience, brotherhood and identity.
I grew up during continuous conflict and never experienced the peaceful Afghanistan of earlier generations. Kabul, once known as the “Paris of Central Asia,” had become a city of ruins during my childhood.
Therefore, I have the first-hand account of how culture and religion can be both a source of strength and, manipulation. Therefore, my writing sits in the tension between beauty and brutality, between belief and doubt. But beyond publication and recognition, my writing is simply this: a testimony. A refusal to let those memories remain buried in silence. A voice for the voiceless and a voice for the child I once was and a voice for so many others whose stories are never heard.

WA: How would you describe the literary environment in your country today?
Maiwand Banayee: Afghanistan has one of the lowest literacy rates in the world, with an estimated adult literacy rate of roughly 37%. For the past four years, under the Taliban regime, girls have been barred from education. Religious education has surged under the Taliban regime while secular schooling languishes. The number of madrassas, or religious schools, has increased fourfold, often confining children within an ideological echo chamber that limits their exposure to broader realities, suppressing creativity and critical thinking. At the same time, the Taliban have taken control of Afghanistan’s school system, introducing a new jihadist-oriented curriculum.
Therefore, writing inside Afghanistan is not just creative; it is dangerous. Many voices have been silenced. What remains is a quiet, enduring struggle: people burdened with pain and untold stories, yet lacking the means to express them and writers who feel compelled to speak, yet are unable to do so freely. As a result, many of these stories are now carried into exile, which are often shaped by distance, memory, and, at times, bias or old grievances.

WA: What role does art play in reflecting the realities of society?
Maiwand Banayee: In a place where truth is often suppressed, art becomes a form of resistance. It carries memory. It holds pain. It refuses to let people disappear. It communicates pain and it promote critical thinking and creativity and it gives voice to the voiceless and it bonds cultures, transcends borders and promote empathy and understanding.
For me, writing is not just storytelling; it is revealing societies wounds. It is saying: this happened, these lives mattered.
Having studied with the Taliban in a Madrassa, and having lived in a refugee camp as a radical Islamist who once hated modernity, I now want to communicate the contrasting needs and anxieties of the two different worlds. My life journey from potential martyr to a person of reason and science sheds light on how young and precious young lives are being indoctrinated into destructive ideologies of Jihadism and martyrdom.
In a nutshell, art gives us wings to explore the far corners of the world, while also offering the tools to enter the darker, shadowed depths of the human psyche. In doing so, it fosters understanding and understanding is essential for empathy.

WA: How do you engage with themes of human rights in your work?
Maiwand Banayee: Much of what is written about Afghanistan comes from external sources, journalists, historians, or observers. Genuine insider accounts are rare.
Those inside Afghanistan often cannot speak freely, while those in exile carry the responsibility of telling these stories.
My work seeks to contribute to human rights discourse by offering a lived, personal perspective, one that reflects both individual experience and broader realities

WA: What Challenges do you face when addressing sensitive or controversial issues.
Maiwand Banayee: The greatest challenge is fear, fear of challenging dominant narratives, fear of confronting religious dogma, fear of speaking freely, and fear of expressing one’s thoughts without judgment. There is always the weight of societal expectations, societal judgement and the risk that comes with stepping beyond accepted boundaries.
There is also an emotional cost. Writing about trauma means reliving it. You don’t just tell the story, but you go back into it and revisiting your emotions in its naked ugliness. And sometimes that is the hardest part.

WA: How can Literature serve as a voice for the marginalized communities?
Maiwand Banayee: Literature gives a face to suffering. It reminds the world that behind every headline is a human being. It gives voice to the voiceless and reveals the wounds within a society.
My story begins with an “I”, but it is not mine alone. It is the story of a country and of people who have no platform to be heard. It is pain carried onto the page. In The Delusion of Paradise, I write about my own life while helping the reader understand the wider geopolitical forces that pushed Afghanistan to the brink of collapse. Through my journey, I show how a young boy can be shaped by war and ideology, and how that same person can later question it.
That complexity matters. It personalises history and sheds light on how young lives are drawn into destructive ideologies. In doing so, it creates space for understanding and, ultimately, empathy.
As Albert Einstein said, peace cannot be maintained by force. It can only be achieved through understanding. It is through literature that we can build bridges between people and cultures and deepen the communications to create space for empathy to grow.

WA: What support exists for writers and artists in your country?
Maiwand Banayee: Support within Afghanistan is almost non-existent. Outside, there might be opportunities, but they are not always easy to access. That is why organisations like IHRAM matter. They create space where stories like mine can be heard.

WA: What Barriers do writers face in getting published?
Maiwand Banayee: Many writers face barriers before they even begin, including language, access, safety, and resources. Sometimes, the greatest barrier is internal: the fear that your story is too painful to tell, or that no one will understand it.
There are also external challenges. For an unknown author without a platform, getting published can be extremely difficult, as publishers often see it as a risk. My own experience reflects this. My book, The Delusion of Paradise, was rejected by over 200 literary agents before I finally found a publisher.

WA: What role should governments and private institutions play in supporting the arts.
Maiwand Banayee: At present, there is no support for the arts within Afghanistan. In many ways, creativity is restricted rather than encouraged. I believe international organisations and institutions should play a greater role in supporting marginalised writers and providing platforms for their work. At the moment, I am not aware of any widely recognised initiatives doing this at scale. If there are organisations working in this space, I would be more than willing to collaborate and contribute in any way I can.

WA: How do writers balance creativity with restrictions?
Maiwand Banayee: In places like Afghanistan, for many writers, this balance becomes a matter of survival. Some write anonymously, some leave, and others are forced into silence. Creative freedom is often a privilege, not something everyone can safely exercise.

WA: What themes dominate contemporary literature in your country
Maiwand Banayee: These themes are heavy today: war, exile, identity, dogmatism, indoctrination, trauma, survival, the silencing of women’s voices, the ban on women’s education, and the rise of populism. Yet within them, there is also resilience. Afghan literature is not only about suffering; it is also about endurance, courage, and strength. It is also about hospitality, beauty, and poetry.

WA: How can collaboration across different art forms enhance storytelling?
Maiwand Banayee: When different forms of art come together, they create something more powerful. A story told through words and images can bring pain onto the page, and that same pain can then be carried into theatre, film, and music. In this way, it reaches people on a deeper level. A story expressed through words, images, and sound can connect with people in ways that a single medium cannot. It makes people’s emotions not only understood, but deeply felt, leading to empathy and understanding.

WA: How have readers responded to your work?
Maiwand Banayee: Many readers tell me they had never encountered this side of Afghanistan’s story before. They have heard about ethnic tensions and long-standing grievances, but not as much about the kindness and sense of kinship that also exist. They say that my book gives a human face to the situation in Afghanistan and helps them understand what it was like to grow up in Kabul under constant bombardment.
It also shows how the situation has been shaped, exploited, and at times manipulated by international stakeholders, often with a profound human cost that is rarely fully acknowledged.
There is often shock, but also empathy. For Afghan readers, especially those in exile, there is a strong sense of recognition. They see parts of their own lives reflected back at them. I have also been told that my book does not apologise or seek sympathy. Instead, it offers understanding. It aims to inform, to challenge, and to teach.

WA: How did you become involved with IHRAM?
Maiwand Banayee: I came across IHRAM through my engagement with human rights storytelling. It immediately resonated with me, because it aligns with what I believe writing should do which is giving voice to truth. One of my articles titled, “Why Wars” was published by IHRAF in October, 2022.

WA: What inspired you to contribute to this movement?
Maiwand Banayee: My story is not unique. There are many like me who are affected by conflicts, but never get the chance to speak. I felt a responsibility to share it, not just for myself, but for those whose stories remain unheard.

WA: How has IHRAM influenced your work?
Maiwand Banayee: Being connected to a movement like IHRAM reinforces that writing is not just personal. It is collective. It reminds me that stories can contribute to something larger: awareness, dialogue, and change.

WA: What opportunities has IHRAM created for you?
Maiwand Banayee: IHRAM creates connection. It brings together voices from different parts of the world, allowing shared human experiences to emerge. That connection is powerful. It offers visibility to my work by allowing it to reach wider audiences.

WA: What is the importance of international networks in promoting art and human rights?
International networks amplify voices that would otherwise remain unheard. They turn individual stories into global conversation and that is where real awareness begins. It gives visibility to important and yet undervalued art and literature by allowing it to reach wider audience.

WA: What advice would you give to emerging writers?
Maiwand Banayee: Tell the truth, even when it is difficult. Your story matters more than you think. Writing about human rights is not just about being a writer, it is about being a witness. All you need to be a good writer are three things: heart, creativity, and imagination. The words and sentences will come in time. Be persistent and never give up. Read widely, listen to people, and pay close attention to emotions. Put yourself in other people’s shoes and try to understand how they think and feel. Stay objective, be aware of your own biases, and try not to judge the people or the characters you write about.

Maiwand Banayee is an Afghan-born writer and physiotherapist based in the United Kingdom. His memoir Delusion of Paradise tells the true story of growing up in war, being drawn toward radicalisation, and ultimately finding a way out. His work explores the human side of conflict, identity, belief, trauma, and resilience, offering a rare and deeply personal perspective on the realities behind extremism and displacement. He has been published in Stinging Fly and War Literature & the Arts: An internation Journal of the Humanities and in IHRAF journal. “Delusion of Paradise “ is his first book.